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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

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A Surprise to be Sure

Pairing: Geralt/Fem!Reader

Words: 5761

Summary: You meet Geralt and Jaskier on the road and have a lovely little adventure in the kingdom of Temeria.

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of violence, TW mentions of rape, SMUT, 18+

A/N: It’s here y’all, my b-day Geralt fic! I’m really happy with how this turned out and could honestly have published it without the smut, that’s how much I love this fic. It is definitely going to be part of a series so I hope you all enjoy! (PS I love writing Jaskier way too much and could honestly just do a full series of him having random misadventures all over the continent!) I’m tagging @navybrat817 because I know she loves some Henry Cavill

Jaskier had been belting the Fishmonger’s Daughter for the past 30 minutes, and Geralt was ready to murder him.

“Must you insist on shouting our position to every living creature in a 5 mile radius?” He hissed at the bard.

“List, my grumpy, hoar-headed friend. I need to be sure my voice is in top form if I’m performing at a royal ball. Now, you’ll feel better if you sing with me, Oooh Fishmonger, Oh Fishmonger, Come Quell your Daughter’s Hunger!”

“I’m going to feed you that damn lute before we reach the castle if you don’t shut up. I can’t listen to this for three days.” The Witcher growled under his breath. He couldn’t figure out why he had agreed to accompany the irritating man on his journey, but the man always managed to convince him to go along with his stupid plans.

“Now, Geralt. You know you secretly love my singing. After all, how many jobs has that little song of mine rustled up for you, eh? Stop being so grouchy.”

He gave him a grunt. “Fine, can you at least sing something else?”

“Ah, but of course, my large, angry friend. Eh hem, You think you’re safe, without a care…”

“Gods, not that one.”

“Well, there’s no pleasing you is there. Ahh, what’s that noise?”

A feminine shriek split the air, causing a flock of birds to take flight only a few feet from the pair of riders. Roach of course didn’t mind, but Jaskier’s mount almost threw him, causing Geralt to smile.

“Gods, see, this is why I hate travelling on these creatures. Give me a nice coach ride any time. Come Geralt, let us see what fair maiden is in need of our assistance.”

“Our assistance?”

“Well, your assistance. C’mon Geralt, a damsel in distress, this is the perfect material for a new song.”

Geralt followed the idiot as he rode towards the sounds of distress, determined to keep him from getting himself killed. He didn’t really like getting involved in petty issues of the realms but knew that Jaskier lived for these tiny adventures.

They came upon you, surrounded by five men in soiled armor. Your cart had a broken wheel and was sinking into the snow and mud. One of the men had you pinned in the back of the cart by your neck as he buried his other hand in your skirts. The other men jeered at you as they kept their watch.

“Look Geralt, a fair maid waiting to be rescued, what could make for a better song? Ho there fellows, stop your raping or you’ll have to deal with my cantankerous companion here.”

“Move along, bard this doesn’t concern you.” One of the soldiers growled at Jaskier before spitting to the side. “Or, wait your turn and we’ll let you and your pal have her when we’re done.”

“Ah, Geralt, I’ll let you take care of them. Make sure to draw it out, a long fight always makes for a better song.”

“Oh, fuck this.” You hissed, pulling out the stiletto you had hidden in your skirts and gutting the man who was restraining you.

Jaskier turned his head and vomited as the man’s intestines seeped out of him and he crumbled to the forest floor. You flung your cloak off your shoulders as you drew the obscenely large longsword you had concealed beneath its folds and chopped off the hand of the next soldier who came charging at you before plunging it into his chest.

“I don’t know, bard. Seems like the maid has things under control.” Geralt grinned at his companion once he had finished emptying his stomach.

You wrenched the blade free as the two unhorsed soldiers rushed you. One of them tossed his own dagger at you and you used your sword to whip it back at him, catching him in the throat. You brought up your dagger and crossed the blades you were holding to catch the sword of your fourth opponent. You managed to loop the dagger under his hilt and wrenched the sword from his grasp as you let the momentum from his attack carry you the two of you backwards, flipping him over your head until you were straddling his chest. You gave him a small smirk as your drove your dagger through his eye.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Jaskier asked as he watched the bloody show with abject horror painted on his face.

“What would you suggest bard? The woman seems to be able to handle herself, and I can’t say these soldiers seem particularly deserving of assistance.”

The final soldier had dismounted and was now striding towards you, twirling his sword around like an idiot peacock. You scowled at him before pulling a massive crossbow from beneath the packages in your cart and shooting him in the shoulder.

He went down with a soft grunt and you strutted over to him, crossbow slung over your shoulder and dagger twirling through your fingers. You tutted at him like you were chiding a naughty schoolboy.

“Oh, Abbett, what did you do with the money? I certainly hope you have it on you. I don’t feel like trekking through this frozen forest digging for it.”

“You cunt.” The man spat at you. “We fought those bloody Nilfgaardians to keep these farmers safe and warm. The least they can do to thank us is give up a few bloody coins and their daughters.”

You shot him again in the leg and he let out a scream.

“One more time, Abbett, the money? I can’t give those poor girls their maidenhoods again but maybe their families can offer a dowry to make them good matches.”

“Argh, bitch! It’s in the saddlebags.”

“Excellent! See, not so fucking difficult, and you saved me the nasty task of gelding you!” You took a few steps forward and shot him through the eye as you went to examine the horse and find the stolen coins.

“Ahem, hello, madam! I am Jaskier the Bard and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Would you join us on our journey to the capital of Temeria? You seem like a lass with stories to tell and I’m just the fellow to put them to song.”

“Jaskier, shut the fuck up.” Geralt hissed at him.

You whipped around to the two of them and pointed your crossbow at the Witcher. “Fuck, I almost forgot about you two. Well, you’ve given me a bit of a conundrum boys. I was counting on there not being any witnesses here. These vagabonds are still wearing the king’s colors after all, and we’re close enough to the capital that that could prove to be a problem for me.” You had started to unfasten the bodice of the gown you were wearing, desperate to get out of the confining layers of cloth that had comprised your disguise. You revealed an outfit of bleached leather and furs that clung to your body.

“Oops.” Jaskier murmured, giving Geralt a sheepish grin as he raised his hands in supplication. “Geralt, friend, maybe you can talk to our new companion.”

“Right, listen, we don’t care that you just slaughtered five of the king’s soldiers, though I’m sure upon closer inspection they’ll be shown to be deserters. And as we have no desire to bring any trouble down on you, we’ll just be on our way.”

“Wait,” You called after them, tossing the rags of your gown onto the abandoned cart as you saddled your horse. “If you’re heading towards the capital, I’ll join you. I have some deliveries to make before I get out of this god-forsaken country, and that way I can keep an eye on you.” You gave them a grin as you rode up the hill to join them. “I can think of worse company than a bard and a Witcher.”

Jaskier shot a grin back at you as you joined them. “Ah, finally someone who will appreciate my talents. Tell me… um..”

“Y/N”

“Y/N, lovely, do you have any requests?”

Geralt groaned internally at the thought of being stuck with two singing idiots for the journey but was cut short by the sound of multiple bows being drawn.

“Fuck.”

“That’s far enough you three.” A captain in shining armor commanded as you came into view of a mounted regiment of king’s soldiers, accompanied by about 100 footmen who all had arrows trained on you. “What do you know about several groups of dead king’s men that have been found in these woods.”

Geralt shot you a look of reproach over his shoulder as you pointedly avoided making eye contact, examining your fingernails like they were the most interesting thing on the continent.

“There’s another group of dead soldiers in the clearing back there, captain. Looks like we’ve found our culprits.”

“Oh, just wait a minute. My grouchy friend and I were just passing through when we came upon this lovely woman being set upon by these supposed kingsmen. Granted, we considered dispatching them ourselves but our fair companion had things well in hand. Seems like she was doing your jobs for you.”

You and Geralt shared a groan. “Shut up, Jaskier.”

The captain gave a snort of derision. “You want us to believe this pretty thing has been besting the king’s chosen troops on her own for months? Take their weapons and restrain the Witcher and the woman. The bard can sing us some songs to pass the time as we travel. We’ll save this for the king to sort out.”

You gave a heavy sigh and started handing over your blades. Jaskier’s eyes started to bulge as you continued pulling smaller and smaller knives out of an increasingly absurd number of hiding places, until there was an impressive pile in front of the soldier who had been tasked with collecting your weapons.

Geralt was less forthcoming in turning over his weapons and didn’t really start until a spear prodded him in the back. He was gazing at Renfri’s blade when the captain lost his patience, and the butt of the spear whipped across the back of his head, knocking him cold.

“Put his blades with the rest of it.”

Geralt woke up with his face buried in your hair and let out a groan at the throbbing in his skull.

“What the fuck?” He lifted his head, squinting against the sun reflecting off the new fallen snow.

“Good morning, Witcher. Apparently this type of restraint has been proven to limit the ability of the restrained to extricate themselves from their bindings. You missed a fascinating lecture on it as they were tying us up.”

The two of you were bound face to face on the saddle of your massive black courser. Your arms and legs tangled around each other and wrapped in an intricate series of knots. He started trying to wrench himself free, but only succeeded in bringing you even closer to him as he let out a grunt of frustration.

“Look at the two of you, so cozy.” Jaskier rode up with a grin on his face, strumming his lute. “Do not worry yourselves, my violent friends. I am currently working on a plan to extricate the two of you from this predicament. I have the ear of the captain.”

“Are you going to annoy him to death Jaskier? Maybe if you sing that damn abortion song enough times, he’ll release us just to be rid of you.”

“You wound me, Geralt. The name of that tune is “You Think You’re Safe” and you’ll be happy to know that the captain is enamored of my talents and has asked me to regale him and his officers at their meal tonight.”

“Ah, good for you Jaskier. Make sure to sing the ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ I hear that’s a favorite of the troops.” You smiled at him, throwing him a wink.

“Oh, I knew I liked you, Y/N! See Geralt, it isn’t so hard to appreciate what I bring to the table. Thank you for your advice, sweet lady, I will be sure to take heed!” He rode off, humming to himself as he tuned his lute.

“Why would you encourage him?” Geralt growled in your ear, still fighting against his bonds.

“Ah, Witcher, you need to relax. I’m sure Jaskier’s plan will work out just fine.”

“The bard is an imbecile, the day I trust myself to any plan of his is the day I resign myself to a slow and painful death.”

“Well, be that as it may, if you don’t stop struggling, we’re going to end up in a very uncomfortable situation.” You said, giving a gasp as another jerk of your bonds brought you indecently close.

“Fuck.” He let out in a hiss, resigning himself to waiting for a better opportunity as a lock of your hair blew into his face, smelling of pine and turned earth “I don’t suppose you have any sort of plan of escape, since it’s your fault we’re in this situation.”

“Geralt, I do apologize that you have ended up in my mess. I’m so sorry that the war with Nilfgaard has caused unprecedented levels of desertion, and that the cowards that have runoff have been terrorizing and robbing the smallfolk. And I’m sorry that the king failed to listen to the pleas of his people, who had to pool together the last of their coin to contract me to come in and relieve them of their problems. But yes, this mess is entirely of my own making, and nothing to do with the colossal mismanagement of the realm of Temeria.”

“Hmmph.” He grunted into your hair. “So how are you getting us out of this mess?”

You gave him a snort. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours Witcher, something will work out.”

“Alright, dismount.” One of the lieutenants ordered, leering at the two of you. “Hope you two have enjoyed today’s ride. I hear they’re already constructing a gibbet for you in Vizima.”

“I see the royal council has decided to do away with even the minimal farce of a trial then.”

Two soldiers had started to undo the maze of knots binding you and the Witcher together and you gave a hiss as blood started to flow back into your legs.

“An attack on the king’s army is an attack on the king. No trials for traitors to the crown.”

“You do know that neither of us are citizens of this kingdom?” Geralt asked him. “You can’t betray a monarch you don’t serve.”

“Pssh, a minor inconsistency. The king can’t be seen as soft during wartime.”

“Oh, of course not.” You murmured as the soldiers dragged you off your mount and led you to the prisoners’ tent that had been erected next to the officers’. The same intricate raveling of ropes and knots started again as they bound your upper bodies to the poles in the center of the tent. You could hear the beginnings of revelry in the officers’ pavilion when they left you.

“Well, now what?” Geralt asked you, pulling against the bonds at his wrists.

“Just, have a little patience.” You chided him, leaning against your pole in as relaxed of a pose as you could achieve.

“You did hear that they plan on executing us once they get us back to the capital?”

“No, Geralt, I missed that.” You spat at him as you heard Jaskier start to sing and gave a small smile. “Excellent, let’s hope he leaves the good stuff until they’re well and drunk.”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” He asked you, still trying to wrench himself free.

“For fucks’ sake, give it a rest. Apparently the royal knot tyers are the only members of this army who haven’t fallen lax in their duties.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Just give it a half hour and we’ll give you a chance to get out all the pent up aggression.”

“So you do have a plan? Any chance you want to let me in on it?”

“I think I’ll leave it for a surprise.”

The two of you sat there listening as the sounds of drunken celebration filled the camp. It only took 20 minutes for the revelry to reach a dull roar, and a smile crept over your face when you heard the first refrains of ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’.

“Ah, Jaskier, perfect timing.” You muttered.

The song started speeding up and spread through the regiment. You heard the soldiers start clapping along and seized your moment, bending your legs and driving your back into the post you were bound to at each clap, starting to shift it out of the ground with each drive of your shoulders.

Geralt finally seized on your idea and joined you in wrenching his post out of the ground. Within a few rounds of the song, they were loosened enough for you to drag them out of their anchors, causing the tent to collapse around you. You slipped your bonds over the ends of the posts and unraveled yourselves. Geralt gave you a look of appreciation as you hefted your post, flung the folds of the fallen tent off yourself and whipped the post around to take out the two guards that had been posted at the entrance.

“Well, let’s find our weapons, shall we?” You said, giving him a grin.

Apparently, your appraisal of the army had been accurate; you ran into minimal resistance as you made your way to the weapons tent and managed to knock out the only sentries you encountered before Geralt had a chance to react.

“Ah, my babies.” You said to yourself as you started resheathing the ridiculous number of knives you had accumulated for yourself, kissing each blade before you returned it to its rightful place.

“How can you possibly be comfortable wearing all of that steel?” Geralt asked you around a grin, watching you tuck a dirk between your breasts and wondering how you managed to not cut yourself.

“I’m a woman traveling the continent alone, Witcher. I’ve found that the element of surprise is my friend, and there’s nothing quite as surprising as an unexpected knife between the ribs.”

He actually laughed at that, strapping one sword to his back and one to his hip as you hefted your crossbow and loaded it with a bolt before heading back out into the snow.

You were met by the surprised faces of a drunken group of soldiers who were wending their way through the tents, arms around each other as the slurred the lyrics to their favorite song. You shot the first through the chest as you drew your longsword over your shoulder and you dropped your crossbow to the ground, slashing the second across the face before they finally regained their composure and sounded the alarm.

Geralt drew his blades and clashed with three of the remaining soldiers as you grappled with the other two. He managed to drive his long sword through one of their chests before the other two had a chance to converge on him and he struggled to drive them apart with his fists to allow himself room to maneuver. One of his opponents went down suddenly with a dagger through his throat and Geralt threw a look your way to see your first opponent down and missing an eye as you drove your knee into the chest of your second opponent, driving him into a post as you brought your sword around and ran it across his throat.

Geralt threw his assailant over his shoulder and rammed his blade through his chest as you let out a shrill whistle and hefted your crossbow as the sound of hoofbeats rose through the camp. Roach and your courser came charging around the bend suddenly and you latched onto your steed’s mane and swung yourself onto his back as Geralt vaulted onto Roach’s. You turned suddenly and led him back towards the officers’ pavilion as drunken soldiers did their best to pursue you.

“We almost forgot the fucking bard!” You grinned at him as you hopped off your horse and slashed through the back of the officers’ tent. You emerged seconds later with a terrified looking Jaskier, who you tossed over the back of your mount like a sack of potatoes before leaping up behind him and kicking your steed to a gallop.

“Either of you want to fill me in on what the fuck is happening?!” Jaskier shrieked as he bounced around.

The two of you ignored him as you rode on. You set a punishing pace through the whole night, not looking back until you crossed the river into the kingdom of Redania as the sun rose and you finally allowed your horses to slow their pace to a walk, dismounting to give them a rest.

“If my lute is damaged, I’ll never forgive you.” Jaskier whined as he inspected his instrument, hobbling along as he tried to adjust after the unceremonious thrashing he had taken during the ride.

“Jaskier, a little thanks should be in order. Y/N and I did save you from a rather nasty execution after all.” Geralt grinned at him as he walked beside you, Roach nuzzling him in the shoulder as he patted her snout.

“I told the two of you, I had the captain’s ear, I would have been able to talk us out of any trouble.”

You gave him a snort as your courser butted his head into yours, begging for his own pats. “Jaskier, you would have been strung up right beside us. Just think though, this little adventure has the makings of a great song, eh? I’ll buy you a nice hot meal and a bath at the inn we’re coming up on.”

“Well, I’d never say no to a bath. How close is this inn?”

“Just over the next hill.”

You arrived within an hour and made arrangements for the horses as Jaskier headed in to arrange rooms and meals for the three of you.

Geralt and you headed into the inn and you grabbed the two of you the largest mugs of beer you could arrange before joining Jaskier at a table and tearing into the trencher of bread.

“So, good news first.” The bard said. “I arranged for nice, hot baths for all three of us, in addition to our meals. The only thing is, they only had two rooms.”

Geralt let out a groan at that. “Fine, bard, I guess the two of us are sharing accommodations for the next few days then.”

“Aah, well. I figured, with you two having grown so close during our little journey, that you wouldn’t mind sharing the much, much larger room whilst I make due with the tiny, lonely room myself that I’ve already had them unload my things into.”

The two of you shot him equally reproachful looks over your mugs of beer as a barmaid arrived to let him know his bath was ready.

“Ah, splendid. Well, you two enjoy your breakfasts. I’m going to take a very long nap after my bath and I’ll see you this afternoon, or maybe even tomorrow.”

A whole roasted chicken arrived and the two of you tore into it without a word, polishing it off quickly as you hadn’t realized how famished you were.

“I’ll arrange for them to bring up the hot water for baths for us.” You told Geralt as you stood up and stretched, downing the last of your beer.

“I’m fine without.” The Witcher grumbled at you.

You gave him a derisive chuckle. “If we’re bedding together for the two days it’ll take for the horses to rest up, you’re bathing yourself at least once, I don’t need to smell everywhere you’ve been in the past month.”

He gave an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders as he followed you upstairs. It had been a while since he’d spent the night with a woman he wasn’t paying, and there was something about you he found disarming. Endearing, but disarming nonetheless.

“Ah, at least there’s two tubs.” You said gleefully as you entered the room. A group of attendants arrived a moment later, carrying four large buckets of steaming water between them that they emptied into the copper tubs before taking their leave.

You started by pulling off your supple boots and Geralt turned his back as he began to unlace his jerkin. He heard you give a soft laugh behind him. “Are we really going to pretend like neither of us have seen a naked body before, Witcher?”

He whipped around at the amusement in your voice. You had removed your corset and sleeves and were down to nothing but a thin linen tunic on top. He tried not to stare at the shape of your breasts moving beneath the fabric as you worked at unlacing your breeches. You shot him a wicked look through your lashes as you moved your fingers back to unstrap the multiple sheathes that had been hidden beneath your bodice.

He did his best to ignore you as he ripped his jerkin off over his head. He made easy work of his tunic and breeches and sank into the tub while you were still working on undoing the intricate trappings of your hidden arsenal.

“I really don’t see how you can be comfortable in all of that Y/N.” He chided you as you removed the final straps and drew your tunic over your head before shimmying out of your breeches. He did his best to keep his eyes occupied elsewhere as you stepped into your own bath, hissing at the heat.

“Comfort is a matter of individual preference, dear. Oh, that’s wonderful.” You sank into the water with a sigh and dunked your head under before coming back up with a gasp.

“So, you going to tell me how you ended up with a warhorse, enough steel to equip a small band of thieves, and the strength to wield a tentpole like a damn quarterstaff, or is that something I’ll have to guess at?” He asked as he dumped a bucket over his head and ran the water through his hair before shaking it back out and splashing you, making you yelp.

“I think I’ll keep that my little secret for now, Geralt. Maybe if you buy me a few strongales over the next few days I’ll regale you with my tale of woe.” You let out a sigh as you felt your muscles relax. “Maybe I’ll get you to tell me your history as well. I hear the Redanians have a liquor that will light your chest on fire and make you forget the seasons.”

He gave a laugh and settled his head back against the tub. “You think you can outdrink me girl, you’re in for a nasty surprise… fuck.” He hadn’t heard you leave your tub and sat up startled when you crawled into his, sloshing water over the sides.

“Oh, Geralt, you’ll find that I’m full of surprises.” You said before pressing your mouth to his softly and giving a gentle sigh.

He got over his surprise quickly and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to him fiercely as he growled against your lips.

You gave him a small laugh as you moved your lips down the line of his jaw to his neck, running your teeth along his collarbone before nipping at him softly as your hands moved down the plains of his chest, dipping below the water to take his cock in your grasp. He gave you a satisfying moan as you did so and you began sliding your hand up and down his length slowly as you raised a small bruise on his shoulder with your mouth.

He bucked his hips up into your hand as you increased your pace and you moved your other hand below the water to play with his balls. You leaned against his chest and gazed up at him with heavy lids as you watched him come apart under your ministrations.

He arched his back and gave a heavy moan as he came in your hand and you grinned against his chest as he softened, planting soft kisses along his throat as he came down and his breathing slowed.

He swallowed thickly and grinned at you before scooping his arms underneath you and lifting you out of the tub easily, making you shriek with glee before he dropped you unceremoniously on the large bed and pounced on top of you, nuzzling himself into the skin below your ear as his large hands skimmed down the sides of your torso before coming to rest on your hips and kneading them, raising bruises on your soft skin.

He brought one hand between the two of you and ran his fingers through the soft hair of your mound before rubbing them between your folds, making you arch into him as you let out a thin whine, fluttering your lashes as you gazed at him. He grinned down at you as he inserted two fingers at an agonizingly slow pace and you moaned as he started fucking them into you, curling them against that sweet, spongy spot each time.

He added another finger as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your clean scent as you mewled and whimpered, begging him for more. He started strumming your clit with his thumb and you writhed underneath him, doing your best to grind your cunt into him as his fingers stretched you.

It was almost too much when he added the fourth finger and you wrapped your hands in his silver hair, pressing his face to your neck as you cried silently. He moved his mouth back to yours as he increased his speed and pressure on your tiny bud, moving his tongue softly past your lips and tangling it with yours. You came around him, clenching down on his fingers in your release as all the breath rushed out of you. He felt you go rigid beneath him before you collapsed back against the bed with a sigh.

“You think you’re ready for me sweetheart?” He asked as he kissed your neck, moving his hands up to palm your breasts.

You pulled his head back by his hair and gave him a grin before squeezing his sides with your thighs and rolling until you were on top of him, straddling his hips.

You sat up over him and he groaned at the sight of you, soft skin moving over lean muscle, a patchwork of faint scars covering your torso. He ran his thumb over an especially noticeable one that ran over your ribs below your left breast as you guided him to your entrance and sheathed his length inside you suddenly, making him hiss.

You started grinding against him, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone before you started fucking yourself on his cock. He tossed his head back with a moan and a murmured “Fuck” as his hands moved to your hips and guided your thrusts, meeting your hips with his own as he rutted up into you.

He sat up suddenly and pressed you to him as he knelt beneath you, staring into your eyes with lust blown pupils, a thin golden ring around a pool of deep black. You wrapped your legs around his back as he fucked up into you at a faster pace, making it hard for you to breathe.

He wrenched your head down to his and crashed his mouth against yours, his tongue invading you hungrily as you felt your pleasure starting to coil in your abdomen and you whimpered into his mouth.

He felt you starting to clench around him and moved a hand between you to strum at your clit. It only took a moment and you were flying apart around him, every muscle below your waist spasming as your orgasm wracked you and you cried into his mouth. His release was right behind yours as his hips stilled and you felt his spend spurting into you, coating your velvety walls in his release with a feral growl.

He collapsed back on the bed, still holding you to him as you both came down from you pleasure, breathing heavily as your hearts pounded together. You propped your chin on his chest and gave him a sinful grin that he returned, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to untangle yourselves.

“Well, if all your surprises are that pleasant, Y/N, I can’t wait to find out more.” He said to you over his shoulder as he stood up from the bed, grabbing a towel to finish drying himself off. He tossed you one and you ran it softly between your thighs, cleaning the mixture of your releases from your slit as you grinned back at him.

“My dear Witcher, I aim to please.” You threw a wink at him before you stood up and stretched. “I arranged for some clean clothes to be brought up, could you check the door for them?”

He peeked his head out and brought in two sets of soft woolens, tossing one to you. You yanked a tunic over your head before stepping into the clean pair of breeches. You decided to forgo most of your blades for the moment, opting for a simple belt that contained two daggers once you had finished lacing up your bodice.

“Shall we head down for more ale?”

“Gods yes, what else do you know about this storied Redanian liquor?”

You gave him a throaty laugh as you headed down to the main room and lute music floated up to meet you.

“Ah, Y/N! Geralt! My friends! Join us for a song won’t you? Y/N, I still want to hear you sing ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’ for us, eh? Oh Fishmonger, Oh Fishmonger, Come Quell your Daughter’s Hunger”

“Gods, Jaskier, aren’t you sick of that song yet?” Geralt growled half heartedly

“Pull the stick out of your ass, Witcher. C’mon, Jaskier. To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn!”

“What a lovely voice you have my lady! For tis naught but bad luck, to fuck with a puck!”

The Witcher rolled his eyes at the two of you as he headed to the bar and the rest of the patrons joined in. What he wouldn’t give to never hear this abominable tune ever again.

“Lest your grandkid be born, a hairy young faun! Bleating and baying all day, hey ho!”

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Blue Eyes Part 24

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 24: Alfie attends his first Shelby family meeting, Ella grows suspicious of a black cat.

Ella had been to plenty of Shelby family meetings. However, she had yet to take her husband to any of them. Mostly because Tommy wouldn’t allow it and Ella wasn’t too sure it would go over well for anyone.

“You’re going to behave, right?” Ella asked as Alfie opened the door for her.

“Behave? Love, I’m gonna be a perfect angel.” He replied but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

She sighed. “This is serious, Alfie.”

“I know. I know. Just let me get one jab in at your brother.”

“I suppose I can't stop you even if I tried.” Ella found Arthur speaking with Linda. “Has it started yet?” She interrupted their quiet but obviously tense conversation.

Arthur smiled when he saw his sister but it immediately got smacked off his face when he saw her husband had come along. “No. No, El, he ain’t a part of this.” He pointed accusingly at Alfie.

“Tommy invited him,” Ella replied firmly. If she had to go to bat for her husband, she always would.

“Well Arthur’s the chairman, Ella, he’s running this meeting,” Linda informed her in a stern tone.

She wasn't bothered. “That’s good news, Lin. But Tommy still insisted he be here.”

“Arthur, mate, I’m family now, ain’t I?” Alfie placed a hand over his chest as if appealing to him. Not that the man would ever grovel to a Shelby.

“No…”

“Your lovely wife is able to sit in, right, so Ella’s lovely husband should have the chance to sit in as well.”

Arthur’s hands balled up into fists and his face began to turn red. A common symptom of Alfie’s presence. “Ella, I said no.”

“Arthur, he’s here to help, nothing more.” She responded and linked arms with Alfie, walking into the meeting room. Polly, Lizzie, and Ada were already sat at the large table with a man Ella wasn’t familiar with.

Polly stood to greet her niece, kissing her cheek. “How was Paris?” She asked gently.

“Wonderful before we were so rudely interrupted by the stock market.” Ella attempted to smile but it felt forced in such an uncertain time.

Alfie pulled out a chair for Ella before he sat next to the unfamiliar man. “Lizzie, how are ya? How’re the little ankle-biters?”

The woman looked a little surprised that he was being so cordial. She’d never had a run in with Alfie before, but she was well aware of his reputation. During her days as Tommy’s assistant, she’d facilitated calls and meetings between the two and they often became heated. “Oh, uh, they’re fine, thanks for asking, Alfie.” She responded.

“How ‘bout you, Ada? How’s Karl?”

Ada looked mildly impressed and glanced subtly at Arthur. “He’ll be turning eleven next month.”

“Eleven? Fucking hell they grow quick don’t they?”

Ella smiled a little smugly. She knew that her family was just waiting for Alfie to kick off but she took pride in being able to shove that prejudice back in their faces. She reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“While we wait for Tommy,” Mr. Greene began with a smile. “Could I just lighten the gloom and express as a new member of this company, what a pleasure it is to be in a boardroom that has so many females. And females who are both sharp-witted and decorative.”

Lizzie, Polly, Ada, and Ella all made faces at the man’s comment. Alfie just chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, mate, you don’t know Shelby women very well do you?”

Arthur didn’t like Alfie speaking so he tried to gain control. “Yeah, we’re a very modern company, Mr. Greene.”

“Oh boy…” Ella mumbled and shook her head.

Finally, Tommy entered the room in a bit of a flurry. It looked like he hadn't slept at all. “How far have we got?”

Polly didn’t look up from the paper in her hand. “We’ve established that ladies are decorative.” Ella and Ada snorted in agreement of the absurdity of Mr. Greene's comment.

“We’ve just sat down, Tom.” His older brother answered from the head of the table. “I’ve got some documents.” He began to hand out papers down the table for everyone.

“What documents?” Tommy asked, not taking a seat, instead just standing. Ella reached over to hand him one of the papers outlining the outreaches of the market crash.

“Well, we’re fucked.”

“Tommy, mate, how fucked is the company?” Alfie asked.

“Excuse me, but if you’ve got a question, you can ask the chairman of the board.” Linda snapped before Tommy could even answer.

Alfie looked exasperated. “Pardon me, love, but your husband doesn’t take too kindly to me, now does he? Tommy, at least, answers my questions.”

“Because you beat him up and had him arrested.” She retorted, rising to the challenge of Alfie’s argument.

“Hang on, hang on.” He held out a hand before Ella could jump down Linda’s throat. “First of all, that were years ago weren't it? Second of all, I apologized for that, now didn’t I, Arthur? Tom?”

Tommy nodded silently and Arthur made a grunt neither confirming nor denying.

“I apologized, right, ‘cause that’s what me religion says I should do. Contrition, right? In fact, Linda, you and I’ve got the same God, now don’t we? You were the one who so kindly introduced Arthur to Jesus. Therefore, we can put our differences aside.”

“Arthur, Alfie is a part of this family now whether we like it or not,” Tommy spoke steadily, ignoring the death glares Linda was sending Alfie. “We’re going to use as much help as we can get.” Arthur still looked grumpy but sat down almost in surrender. “As for your question, Alfie, a large portion of our funds were invested in American stocks and shares.”

Ella’s husband scratched his beard. “Right, so you’ve dug your own grave and those of your family as well.”

“What is the return they’re offering now?” Ella touched Alfie’s shoulder to get him to drop it. It would do them no good to keep pointing fingers. They were far beyond that point anymore.

Tommy grimaced and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Five cents to the dollar.” The room buzzed with disbelief and worry. “There is hope.” He interrupted before they all got worked up over the news.

Alfie scoffed. “You gonna use some gypsy magic, Tom? Aye? How are you meant to fix the fate of America’s stock market all on your own, aye?”

“As nonexecutive director of the company, I need permission of the chairman.” Tommy pointedly ignored his brother-in-law.

“Let me guess.” Alfie continued, despite being snubbed. “You’re gonna go back to your roots, aye, Tom? That’s why you’ve asked me here. ‘Cause you know there’s nothing that makes me itch more than legitimate business. You want to get back to the good ‘ol days, that it? The man that fixed races then killed Billy Kimber.” He grinned. “Now that, is something I can get on board with. Tell us your plan then.”

Tommy hated that Alfie was right. He sighed. “We need to rely on cash. And there are very reliable ways to get large sums of cash.”

Ella pinched the bridge of her nose. “And we’re back to square one.” She muttered.

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

“Ella Laura, as I live and breathe.”

Ella smiled. “Hi, Uncle Charlie.” She skipped a few steps to hug him tightly.

“Thought you’d forgotten ‘bout Curly and me.” He teased.

“I’m sorry. I’ve meant to visit but I’ve been busy.” She sighed, inhaling the familiar scent of the Yard. Burning coal and hay. “What’ve you got for me, then?”

Charlie chuckled and led her over to the stables. “Wild filly going to the tracks soon. One of Curly’s favorites, a draft mix. Only seven.”

Ella’s fears and worries melted away when she found herself enveloped in the warmth of the horses. The familiar scent and sound of their snorts and hoofs against the shavings. “You know I’m impartial to wild but I think I need something steadier. I need to clear my head.” She gravitated towards the large gelding with massive hooves and a stocky frame.

“I’ll grab his tack then.” Charlie agreed.

“Hello, love.” Ella cooed and stroked the horse’s soft muzzle. “You are handsome, aren’t you?” She chuckled as his lips mouthed over her hair and clothing, looking for a treat. “How’s about I give you sugar cubes after our ride, aye?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was freeing to be out on a horse, riding past the city limits of Birmingham. The large horse, that Charlie said Curly had nicknamed Kennedy, plodded along the damp grass. His long and steady gait allowed Ella to process the company meeting. She blankly gazed at the trail ahead, her hands loose on the reins.

How could Tommy return his family to 1919? The days where nothing they did was legal and the threat of enemies and police were always looming over their heads? The days where trouble was always lurking around the corner. The days where their pub was shot up.

They’d come so far and Tommy promised that they’d be fully legitimate in the nearby year. No longer would they have to be concerned with legal issues or threats on their lives. They could just live as they were meant to.

It didn’t matter whose fault it was anymore. What matters was they were all at the mercy of money. And there was no telling what deeds Tommy would drag her husband into. It angered Ella that only in times of crisis did her brother invite Alfie into the family. Not when they were married years prior? But wasn’t that just how Tommy was? People’s worth was based on their helpfulness to him.

Deep in her thoughts, Ella was hardly paying attention to the road ahead. So, when a black cat jumped onto the path, she didn’t have enough time to gather the reins. Kennedy neighed shrilly in alarm and reared.

Ella desperately tried to grab ahold of the horse’s mane or the saddle, but it was too late. She was thrown off into the grass. Kennedy leapt over her, his large hooves only barely missing her as he took off back towards the Yard.

She groaned in pain and rolled onto her back. “Fuck…” Her arm had gone completely numb and she was familiar with the feeling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She forced herself to sit up and found herself face to face with the black cat. It stood in the center of the path, staring at her with green eyes.

“You fucking…” She spat at the animal, making it hiss and run off into the long grass. “Fucking cat.” She staggered to her feet, clutching her arm. Kennedy had already gained a big head start and Ella could only hope that he was returning to Charlie’s or she’d never hear the end of it.

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

Alfie was down at the Yard by the time Ella finally made it back. Kennedy had, in fact, brought himself back to his stall sans rider. Charlie panicked a little and called up Tommy who told Alfie who rushed down to find his wife.

“El!” He hurried over to her. “What happened? You alright?”

“Think I broke my arm.” She mumbled. “I need to lay down.”

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, love.” He wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her back to Watery Lane.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Polly helped get her niece into a makeshift sling. “Never too old to break your arm, isn’t that right, chavi?” She teased to lighten the mood.

Ella smiled weakly and sat at the edge of the bed. “Is Tommy around?” She asked.

“He was at the Garrison,” Alfie answered. “Do you need him?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I need to tell him something. You can stay, I don’t mind.” There were no secrets between her and her husband.

Tommy arrived at Polly’s after Alfie had called the pub to tell him what happened. “Did you ride that filly?” He asked. “I told Charlie she was too green, May needs to work with him a little longer.”

“No, I was out with the draft.” She shook her head.

Tommy frowned and sat down. “That thing’s never spooked at anything.”

Alfie crossed his arms over his chest. “Well it did and now she’s got a broken arm.” He retorted grumpily. “So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Easy. It’s fine, I’ve fallen off before.” Ella soothed. “But it was a black cat that spooked him.”

Tommy’s face paled a little. It had only been moments earlier that he was recounting his black cat dreams to his family.

Alfie looked confused as the siblings shared worried looks. “Black cat? Like it’s bad luck or something? That old wives tale?”

“Sort of.” After her miscarriage, she’d taken to paying more attention to omens and nightmares. It might've been from her time spent with the Lees, awakening the part of her that used to believe in such things. Whether it was just a coincidence or not, she wasn’t going to risk it. “It means there’s a traitor nearby.”

“I’ve had the dreams,” Tommy admitted and ran a hand through his hair. “I think you’re right.”

Alfie’s brow furrowed. “Hang on, it’s a fucking animal. I think you lot are looking for signs that aren't there.”

“Always a good idea to be wary of omens, Alfie,” Tommy replied calmly. “Otherwise you’re caught off guard when you could've been on alert.”

“And you’ve got no one else to blame but yourself for ignoring the signs,” Ella said quietly agreeing with her brother. An eerie feeling overcame her when she remembered who was missing at the family meeting. “When’s Michael coming back?”

He nodded as if they were thinking the exact same thing. “Soon. He’ll be here soon.”

“And you’re going to keep an eye on him?”

“Naturally.”

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

“Alfie?” The frustrated sigh came from upstairs. Ella and Alfie had returned back to London and she was finding it difficult to function with her broken arm.

“Yeah, love?” Alfie was downstairs in his study reading about the market crash. It made his blood boil how just a few greedy businessmen could screw over the entire world, leaving destruction in their wake.

“Can you help me?”

He got up, glad to abandon the newspaper on his desk and go upstairs to his wife. Cyril followed him, alerted by Ella’s call. “You need something?” He asked as he entered the room.

“I can’t bloody get anything done.” She protested. It was natural to assume that after breaking her arm several times before as a child, she would be able to navigate. But she’d forgotten how strenuous it was to have only one working arm.

“Got a broken wing, little dove?” He smiled and stepped behind her.

“Lucky I have you then.”

“Mhm, I think I’m luckier to have you.” He kissed the nape of her neck and slowly undid the buttons.

They stood in silence for a second before Ella glanced behind her. “Alfie, things are going to be okay, right?” She whispered.

He couldn’t help the hesitation in his voice. “Of course, love. The stock market doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with our relationship. We’re gonna be perfectly okay.”

“But my brother…”

“He wants to get his hands dirty again, then he can. But I tell ya what, think he’s going to get in more trouble in Parliament than on the streets of Small Heath.” Alfie turned her around so she was facing him again. “He’s already claimed royalty in Birmingham. But he wants more, don’t he? There are fucking dangerous men in Parliament. You ought to warn him now, ‘fore he gets into something he can’t get himself out of.”

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quentinquill · 3 years

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The Dog and an Imp

It was just after sunrise, and the muggy Summer air did not stir as Felix and I walked through the wet grass. Last night’s rain quickly soaked into our shoes. The trees hummed with insects and above us lay the heavy bellies of dark grey clouds. Ahead, the horses grazed quietly in the morning shadows. With sudden alertness they raised their heads, ears pricked towards us. One snorted and another pranced, and within moments they took off at a run wheeling around us in a thunderous flurry of hooves, their manes and tails flagging behind them like pennants. My little mare was at the head of the heard, and she brought the others around us, narrowing the circle with each turn. She slowed and the herd slowed with her until finally they stopped to stare only a few paces away, nostrils flared and sides slowly heaving. We must have made a strange sight, appearing so suddenly out of the morning, that I don’t think the horses even recognised us at first.

I called to Nelly and Felix to Teddy, and the little grey mare stepped towards us, closely followed by a big bay gelding and then, of course, all the others. Our two horses shared this great paddock with another couple of bay geldings like Teddy, a miniature horse with ice blue eyes, and a palomino pony with no notion of personal space. We slipped the halters we brought onto Nelly and Teddy, and led them and their procession towards the gate.

A friend had offered a smaller, leaner paddock for my horses to live on over the Summer, and my horses very much needed it. Nelly’s belly is as round as a beach ball, and her back is so broad the Mad Hatter could have hosted his tea party on it. Teddy has the pot belly of an old man, almost fitting for his age. And his grumpiness. Their new paddock is within Cloudstrom, just over the river and a few streets away towards the north-eastern edge of town so Felix and I lead them on foot. My dog has waited patiently at the gate and wriggled with excitement as we approached.

Some maneuvering saw us and our two horses through the gate without any other attendants and as we walked away the other horses cantered and whinnied up and down the fence line, calling for their herd-mates. Teddy was completely uncaring as long as he was with Nelly and Nelly was only too happy to have some peace. As the only mare in the herd, the geldings were all besotted with her and could be very demanding when it came to getting her attention.

Neither Teddy nor Nelly had left their paddock in some months and were a little nervous on the walk. Teddy had a small scare when walking past a painted square on the road that reserved a parking space for the disabled. It took a few hesitant steps and some pronounced sniffing before he trusted the square wasn’t going to eat him. As soon as they were released into their new paddock they trotted around together along the boundary, sniffing at everything new. After they had settled a bit, Felix and I walked towards the water trough. I wanted to check the water was full and clean, and even show the horses where it was. They followed us over, filled with nervous energy. As we neared I heard a faint splashing coming from the trough. That was enough to trigger Nelly and Teddy who took off again.

Tucked up in a sheltered corner of the paddock, the trough was wide and shallow and never in full sun as it was shaded by the boughs of a great tree. Now, skimming the surface was a large froglike creature, which upon seeing us, used its long fingers to clasp the edge of the trough. It peered up at us with bulbous green eyes, a wide toothless mouth grinned, and its short tufts of hair lay lank across its head. With the sounds of a wet mop smacking onto a tiled floor, the creature slithered out of the trough and disappeared into a small muddy hole. A gurgled humming emitted from the hole, almost like purring.

“Quintin, what was that?” Felix had his nose scrunched up in confusion and disgust.

“A water imp,” I said with a giggle at his expression, “It won’t worry the horses, but I wonder what it is doing here all on its own? They normally live in big groups.”

“Do they all look like that? Like squashed toads with hair?”

As I nodded the dog chose that moment to dive into the trough. She lay down in the cool water, drinking as it swirled around her. An angry croaking echoed in the hole and the imp crawled out in a tangle of elbows and knees. Leaping up and down, the imp chattered its anger towards the dog, who upon spying the creature jumped out of the trough straight towards it. The imp disappeared once again down its hole, closely followed by the dog’s nose. She clawed at the hole, and stuck her mouth in as deep as she could trying to get at the imp. Suddenly she pulled back, her tail dropping between her legs. The dog shook her head furiously, but was unable to shake the imp who had its wide mouth clasped firmly around her nose.

She furiously tried to bite at the imp’s dangling body, but it flipped itself up onto her snout and wrapped its long skinny legs around her jaws. The dog ran in circles, tried to swipe the imp off along the ground, clawed and pawed at it, but could not make an impact on its tough rubbery skin. Felix and I were laughing guiltily at the dog’s expense, but after a few moments I called to her and she sulked up to my side. She looked past the rounded body clutched to her face and set her frightened eyes on mine. I gave her a reassuring rub on the head, then grabbed hold of the imp’s back legs with one end and squeezed the sides of its mouth between the thumb and forefinger of my other. The imp let go of the dog’s nose and I gently tossed the creature back into the trough.

The dog lay down, relieved, her tail thumping on the grass. A bubbled chittering could be heard from the water as the imp swam about, evidently pleased with itself.

Felix checked the dog’s nose, “you sure it won’t hurt the horses?” Finding no harm, he gave the dog a friendly scruff around the head.

“So long as they don’t try and take a bath I think they’ll be fine.” Felix returned my smile and held his hand out towards me. I take it, and with the dog at my heel we began our walk home leaving the horses grazing and the water trough sloshing.

#writing #short fiction #fantasy #love dogs #imps #horse

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

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Second Chances - Ch. 8

Finding Courage

Warnings: Swearing, angst, grief, fluff with an extra serving of fluff!

Word count: ~10,000

**Author’s note: A book is mentioned that wasn’t published until 1999, but humor me. It’s fiction!

It’s been three weeks since Arthur brought you back to camp. Your ribs and head have mostly healed and cause little pain. Your leg, on the other hand, still has a ways to go. You are starting to get bored and stir crazy, trapped in camp. Strauss determined, shortly after you came back, that you would need around 6 weeks of recuperation, and Grimshaw is hell bent that you don’t leave Arthur’s tent until you can walk again.

Nearly everyone in camp has come to your aid in relieving the boredom. Mary-Beth will sometimes come and sit next to you, discussing books as the two of you knit. She brings you the materials so you don’t have to leave the cot. Javier occasionally sits next to you and plays his guitar or tells you stories about Mexico. One day Jack even comes, offering you a string of flowers to wear around your head that he made himself. You feel extraordinarily grateful to all of them. However, no one can light a candle to Arthur’s efforts.

He’s hardly left camp, determined to take care of you. He brings you coffee every morning and Pearson’s stew every night. As much as you appreciate it, you also wish he’d go out and do things for himself the way he did before you left. He has done one thing for you that you have greatly enjoyed. Nearly every afternoon, he comes into the tent with a book and he reads to you. Sometimes, he’ll hand you the book and have you do it, but you secretly adore it when he’s the one reading. You love hearing his deep, gentle voice. His face softer when he reads, brightening his eyes.

You feel bad for taking the man’s tent and cot. A week after you returned, you tried to offer it back to him, saying you could go sleep in your own tent and bedroll, but he refused, stating you needed it more than him. He’s been spending his nights sleeping close to you, usually on the ground propped up against the crates.

It’s nearly afternoon now and Arthur’s been in camp all day. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, watching as he does chores during the morning. He approaches you, smiling.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he greets, sitting down in the chair that’s remained in the tent. “I need to go huntin’ again, Pearson’s gettin’ real low. But listen, I ain’t gonna go far. When I get back, we can read some more if ya like.”

“Sounds good. I hope Hosea has a new book, think we’ve breezed through his collection already.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he has one ya ain’t read. ‘Sides, I’m shoar Mary-Beth would be more than happy to lend ya one of hers.”

You sigh, a soft smile on your lips. “Wish I could go with you,” you admit. “I’m getting so bored! If only this damn leg would get better.”

“I know, ya just gotta be patient. Anyways, I need to get goin’.”

He stands up and heads off. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been careful with your emotions around him. You’ve done nothing to show you’re still interested, despite it being completely true. If anything, your feelings have gotten stronger, but so has your friendship, and you refuse to let anything ruin that again. He climbs onto Artemis’s saddle and leaves after waving to you.

You wave back, feeling your heart sink. A few days after you had returned, you remembered what happened to Rain. The pain from your leg has been nothing in comparison to the loss of your horse. You tell yourself she was just a horse, an animal. Still the pain of losing such a close friend and companion is so deep sometimes you feel like you’re drowning. You’ve been trying your best to hide it all from Arthur and everyone else, but there are few things you’ve done that are more difficult than suppressing them. Now that no one is around to see you, you lie down on your side, facing the wagon. You silently acknowledge the pain now and let the tears stream down your face, soaking the pillow. It feels like someone shot you in the chest, leaving a gaping hole that cannot be filled. You wish you couldn’t feel anything, it would be so much easier. You purposefully clench your leg in a way that you know will force it to flare, the physical pain is a great distraction and far preferable to what you feel in your heart.

You must have fallen asleep; someone shakes your shoulder gently.

“Y/N, ya awake?” Arthur quietly asks.

You turn, rubbing your sore eyes, looking up at him and sitting up. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. I have somethin’ for ya, though.”

You look at him as he sits down and reaches into his satchel. “I stopped in Valentine, needed to get somethin’ from the store. Found this, thought ya might like it.”

He hands you a thin book. The green cover has a sketch of a horse’s head, framed in gold ivy. You read the words above the sketch. “Black Beauty,” you say.

“Yeah, thought it might be different. I ain’t never read it before. Figured we could try it.”

You smile as your eyes begin to water. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He smiles sadly at you. “I know ya miss her, darlin’. Rain. She was a good horse.”

“The best,” you say, wiping your eyes. He grabs your hand, running a thumb over it. “It’s hard, sweetheart. I still miss Boadicea. Every day, ‘s matter of fact.”

“But you have Artemis, and I know how much you like her.”

“I do, but that don’t mean I don’t miss Boadicea. What I’m tryin’ to say is it’s okay to miss her, but that don’t mean ya can’t get another horse and care about it, too.”

You can’t prevent the tears falling again. “I just… it makes me feel so weak to feel this way. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand. “But to be honest, if ya didn’t feel this way, I’d be more worried about you.”

You sit there in silence, trying to wipe the tears from your face, which seems pointless since they keep falling. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thin cloth, handing it to you.

“You wanna tell me about her?” he asks softly, taking hold of your hand again.

You smile, despite the pain. “Yeah” you sniff hard, composing yourself enough to talk. “When I was about 10 or so, my grandma had this big, black mare. She got pregnant. I was staying in her cabin when the horse went into labor. My grandma was one of the toughest people I ever known. She had me help her with the foaling. While we were in the barn, a huge thunderstorm came on us. Rained like the devil. My grandma handed her to me right after she was born. I held her head in my lap while we waited for her to start breathing. She was so goddamn cute! We stayed up for hours, cleaning her up, petting her all over. Then she finally stood. When she started nursin’, my grandma told me to name her. I remember listening to the rain outside; that’s how I named her.”

You wipe your eyes as a new wave of tears hits you. Arthur rubs your hand encouragingly. “My grandma told me that she wanted me to take care of the foal. I didn’t live with her, but I visited her every day after that. She showed me how to train her to take a halter, bridle, saddle. Then she taught me how to groom her, clean her feet. When she was about a year, she taught me how to ride on her. We learned together. I can’t tell you how many trail rides I went on with my grandma after that. She used to tell me how Rain would pine for me when I wasn’t there.”

You smile fondly at the memory, your chest clenches painfully. “Then my grandma died a few years later. My dad sold every horse she had, including Rain’s mom. Made a lot of money, too. He tried to sell Rain as well. That was the scariest time of my life. I thought I was gonna lose her. Somehow, though, I convinced him to let me keep her with his grumpy old gelding. She came with me when I got married. I remember one time my husband was outside. He was real drunk, stumblin’ all over the place. He somehow made it inside our pasture. Rain walked over to him just so she could kick him!” you chuckle, Arthur joining in. “Probably a good thing he was drunk; he couldn’t remember a thing about it later on. I’ve always been able to trust her. Knew she’d never let me down. She was the only thing I could depend on after my grandma died. And now I’ve lost her!”

Your voice gives out as the pain overtakes you, forcing your knees to your chest. Arthur lets go of your hand and places it on your back, rubbing gently. He stays silent as you sob into your hands. When you begin to quiet down, he speaks up.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I never knew you had that kind of connection to her. Makes me and Boadicea seem like a regular pair of fools. But I want ya to know something.” He takes his hand and places it under your chin, turning your wet face to look at him. His thumb wipes away a tear from your cheek. “She’s happy, I’m shoar. She’s up there in a great prairie, where she can eat, drink and play all day long. She still remembers ya, though, and no matter what happens, she’ll always be with ya. Don’t ever doubt it. She wants ya to be happy because ya made her so happy.”

You close your eyes, fresh tears dripping from your eyes. Arthur’s face is so close you can feel his hot breath on you. You open your eyes and see yourself reflected in his blue ones, the scar on his chin. His scent envelopes you; that smell of pine and leather. He’s starting to lean in, you can’t stop looking at his lips.

Reverend Swanson stumbles over, waving around a bottle. “One night when I was frisky,” he starts singing loudly. Arthur and you dart away from each other, startled by his sudden presence. “After drinkin’ some potent whisky!” He continues on. His red, puffy eyes find the pair of you and he smiles broadly, making his clumsy way to you.

“Hey, you two! I want ya to know,” he stumbles, leaning against the pole that holds up the canvas above your heads. “That you are children of God! Children of God!”

He suddenly slumps onto the ground, unconscious.

“Damn it, Swanson,” Arthur grumbles as you giggle. He stands up and picks up Swanson, kicking his empty bottle away. You wipe your eyes as he heaves the Reverend back to his own cot. You hear someone calling his name after that, asking him for his help.

Sometime after the incident with Swanson, you’re lying in the cot still. You’ve managed to compose yourself after your meltdown, but you still hold the book Arthur brought you. You haven’t opened it, waiting for him to return so you can read it together.

Charles enters the tent, holding a long, wooden cane. He looks at you; he seems nervous. “Hello, Y/N,” he greets.

“Hey there, Charles,” you smile.

He holds up the cane. “I, ugh… I made this for you. I know you won’t be able to walk for a bit, but I thought it could help you.”

You look closely at the cane as you take it from him. It’s made of dark wood, the handle has been carved into the intricate form of an owl. You run your thumb over its orb-like eyes.

“Charles, this is amazing!”

He gives you a rare smile. “I just wanted to let you know how much this camp’s appreciated you. Ya know, Pearson’s stew hasn’t been this lean on meat since Colter.”

You chortle. “Well, that means a lot to me, Charles. Thank you so much.”

He nods and leaves. You glance back at the cane, admiring the delicate carvings. You feel honored to receive such a beautiful gift, despite the fact that you and Charles have rarely even spoken to one another.

Arthur returns, followed by John, Bill and the O’Driscoll prisoner, whom you learned a while back is named Kieran Duffy. He looks around nervously, particularly at the tree he’s been tied to since the gang arrived here. You’ve spent hardly any time around him since you yourself were a prisoner of sorts until recently and didn’t want to be seen interacting with a known enemy. You come to a decision, determined to pull it off.

You throw off the blanket, swinging your legs so they dangle off the cot. Your thigh complains at the movement, but you ignore it. You press your feet to the ground, basking in the feeling of grass against your skin again. You grasp the cane as hard as you can, using it to begin lifting yourself up.

“Woah, woah!” a voice calls out, getting close to you. Lifting up your head, you see it’s Arthur. “What ya doin’, girl?”

He approaches you so quickly you sit back down on the cot.

“I’m bored, Arthur. I been layin’ here for weeks! I wanna get up, see the world. Even the other side of camp would be a welcome sight.”

He huffs, standing in front of you. “I know. I don’t know if yer strong enough, though. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yer leg again.”

You straighten up. “I can handle it just fine, Arthur. Besides, I have this to help me.”

You lift up the cane. Arthur grabs and inspects it. “Where you get this from?”

“Charles. Said he made it for me.”

“Well, that’s real fine,” he says, smiling as he hands it back to you. “Tell ya what, ya can try standin’ and walkin’, but I ain’t leavin’ yer side.”

“Deal.” You situate the cane again, using it to pull yourself up. Arthur offers you his hand, which you take. He helps lift you up, letting you put a good portion of your weight against him as you slowly start to press down on your leg. Although it hurts like hell, it seems like it will hold your weight. For now, at least.

Arthur takes a step away from you, still holding onto your hand. He gestures to you, telling you to walk forward to him. You take a hesitant step, moving the cane with your leg. You can tell instantly by the shaking and the pain that if Arthur weren’t there, you’d have fallen already. You look down, shaking your head.

“Maybe you’re right, Arthur. I don’t know if I can do this.”

He sighs heavily. “I ain’t surprised. Well, can ya stand on it at least?”

You slowly nod, a little unsure.

“Good. Ya mind if I…” he gestures his arms towards you, wrapping one around your waist while the other approaches your knees. You realize he’s offering to pick you up. You nod your head and drape an arm over his shoulder before he sweeps you up effortlessly into his arms. You hold on tight to your cane; it dangles from your grip as he swings around and walks towards the hitching post where Artemis is tied. You see Hosea and Grimshaw looking at the two of you, smiling. You try your best to prevent the blush in your cheeks as he carries you over to the large grey horse, setting you down close to her. He stands behind you, letting you use him as a pillar to lean on in case your leg gives out.

You test your aching thigh, finding it capable of holding you up. You reach up with your arms and pat Artemis’s neck. She rumbles softly, the sound low and deep, swishing her tail. Her ears point back so she can hear you, her eyes soft as she chews slowly.

“Ah, knew she’d remember ya,” Arthur says softly behind you. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a treat, handing it to you. You take it and offer it to the large horse. You continue to pet her as she munches on it.

After a few moments, your leg begins to remind you that it’s still wounded. You do your best to turn to Arthur. “Thank you for this,” you say, smiling up at him, limping. “You’ve no idea how nice it is to pet a horse again. Even if it’s not…”

His hand reaches up and settles on your upper arm, his thumb tracing lines. Without a word, he sweeps you up into his arms and towards the tent. You hear from the direction of the campfire the sound of Javier playing his guitar.

“Arthur, wait. Will you take me to the campfire?”

He stops and looks. “Shoar, why not?”

He changes directions and takes you over, setting you down carefully on one of the logs. You adjust your leg so the pain is hardly noticeable. Arthur sits down close to you, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

Javier stops playing, looking up at you. “Hola, Y/N,” he says.

“Hi, Javier. Please don’t stop playing on my account.”

He smiles as his fingers expertly pluck at the strings again. “Glad to see you finally out of that tent.”

“Me too. Arthur here’s too kind to let me use it, but I’m ready to leave.”

The two men chuckle. Arthur hands you his cigarette. You take it and drag from it as Javier begins singing in Spanish. The sound of the guitar and his voice washes over you. You’d take this any day over Dutch’s gramophone, especially since you swear Dutch likes to play it either late at night or unforgivably early in the morning. It’s amazing it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared. You hand Arthur back his cigarette, trading smiles with him.

A few days later, you’re standing in camp, leaning against the table where Lenny and Micah play five finger fillet. You’ve been standing up each day, even taking a few steps, trying to gain the strength back in your legs. You feel particularly proud today since you managed to walk all the way to the table by yourself, despite the pain. You had to use the cane, of course, and it took an unimaginably long time, but you did it. Your leg throbs painfully now, having been strained by the walk.

Arthur’s not in camp. Dutch had sent him out early this morning to go meet with someone named Trelawney with Charles and Javier to retrieve Sean. Word is that Sean is being held near Blackwater by bounty hunters, so the group left to go and get him back. You have to say you’re looking forward to seeing him again. He always has a way to lighten up the mood in camp. You just hope nothing goes wrong.

Hosea approaches you as you lean up against the table.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says as he uses a mortar and pestle to grind up some herbs. You recognize it instantly. After Grimshaw and the others had you cleaned and stitched up, Hosea made a highly useful combination of grounded herbs to help with the pain. Swanson had given you a dose of his morphine previously, but you didn’t like how fuzzy it made you feel. It also tended to make you feel nauseous and sick. You wondered how he managed to take it so frequently. Soon afterwards, Hosea introduced you to the herbs. They didn’t knock out the pain as effectively as the morphine, but at least they didn’t make you sleepy.

“Keep on giving me that stuff, Hosea, and I’ll live to be a hundred,” you joke as he leans next to you.

He laughs. “That’s the idea. How’s that book you and Arthur been readin’? What’s it called again?”

“Black Beauty,” you say fondly. You and Arthur have been reading from it nearly every day since he brought it to you. You’ve grown fond of it, even though it makes you miss Rain.

“That’s the one. Ya mind if I borrow it when yer done?”

“Sure. Don’t know if it’s really up your alley, though.” Arthur mentioned that Hosea was more of a mystery fan when it came to books.

“I’m always open to new stories,” he says with a sly smile. “Arthur tells me yer gettin’ real good with readin’ and writin’.”

You smile. “Yeah. Hard to believe only two months ago, I couldn’t read. Seems like a lifetime ago that I was runnin’ on my own.”

“It’s lucky Arthur found ya. You’ve been good for each other.”

You smile wider, staring off into the camp as Hosea continues to grind the herbs. Lenny, standing in the trees, shouts that someone’s coming. Javier prances in on Boaz, his silver paint; Sean sitting behind him. He hollers loudly, calling the entire camp’s attention to him. Charles follows behind, rolling his dark eyes.

“Fear no more, ladies and gents!” Sean yells loudly in his thick Irish accent, spreading his arms wide open. “The life of te party is back!”

You can’t help but laugh as he hops off Boaz; you can tell by Javier’s face that he was quite the companion. Javier dismounts, muttering in Spanish, stalking off to the campfire.

“Ol’ Grimshaw!” Sean yells as Susan walks past, holding a cup of coffee. “Don’t ya worry, lass! I’ll get these girls whipped up into shape again! Pearson!” he yells at the cook, skinning a rabbit. “That pot o’ yours will never ‘ave been fuller now I’m back!”

Pearson and Grimshaw laugh. Sean turns and sees you next to Hosea. He notices the the way you hold your leg, cane in hand.

“Ah, it wouldn’t be right if ya didn’t have some new injury to show off!” he guffaws, approaching you. You can’t help but chuckle with him. “You and John could be best mates! Ol’ Scar Face and the One-Legged Belle!”

You guffaw, “Yeah, ‘cept I still have my leg, ya dolt!”

He stands next to you and drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, not noticing your attempts to gently shrug it off.

“Ah, o’ course, o’ course. Bet ya gave te bastard who tried rippin’ it off quite a time, though. Hardly known a better butcher than you, ‘cept for old Arthur maybe!”

You giggle, finally pulling his arm off of you. Hosea walks off, shaking his head fondly. Just then, Arthur trots in on Artemis. You turn to face him, smiling widely. He smiles back as he dismounts.

“Ah, and if it isn’t ol’ grumpy Morgan now! Don’t know why ya hang wit’ him so much. Such a downer, that one!”

You laugh, waving him off. Sean struts away, calling to Uncle. Arthur comes and stands in front of you, hands on his gun belt.

“Ya manage to get over here on yer own?” he asks.

You smile proudly. “I sure did! Only took me half an hour. Glad you got Sean out of there, even if he talks too much.”

“Yeah, he might be a loud mouth and a braggart, but he’s a good kid.” He smiles, reaching into his satchel. He pulls his hand out, which is clenched around something.

“I, ugh,” he begins before clearing his throat loudly. “Found this when I was headin’ back. Well, after I helped some wildlife photographer get his bag back from a greedy coyote. Reminded me of you.”

He opens his hand and reveals a necklace made of a silver chain. Dangling from it inlaid in a silver clasp is a small sapphyre. You look up at him after admiring the stone.

“Arthur, you didn’t have to get me this,” you say. “How much this cost you?”

He huffs. “Technically, it didn’t cost me nothin’. Some guy on the trail bumped into me, then demanded I apologize.”

You laugh. “I imagine that didn’t end well for him.”

“No, it didn’t. He’s fine, though, if yer wonderin’. I only took his money and found this in his pocket. I was gonna sell it until I saw it proper. Thought you might like it.”

Your heart swells as he puts it around your neck, latching the chain to the hook. You admire it as it rests on your chest, then look up at him again.

“Thank you, Arthur. But seriously, you should have sold it. Bet ya could’ve gotten twelve dollars for it, if not more.”

“Nah, I think I prefer it this way. Looks nice on you.”

His hand comes up to settle on your upper arm. You find yourself placing your hand on his chest, feeling the stamped leather of his red vest. He starts pulling you closer, shrinking the gap between you. His eyes are mirroring yours.

You hear someone yell Arthur’s name. John walks up and the two of you split immediately, hoping he didn’t see you standing so close to one another.

“Morgan,” he says again. The look on his face says he didn’t notice your close proximity to one another, and if he did it doesn’t show. “Mary-Beth said somethin’ ‘bout that train goin’ south to Saint Denise. I think we oughta start plannin’ on it, see if we can take it.”

Arthur sighs in frustration as you lean back on the table. “Robbin’ trains are a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but she did some diggin’. The take should be real good. ‘Sides, I have a few ideas for it.”

“Fine,” Arthur says. He glances at you before leaving with John, heading for the other side of camp. You clutch your cane and start preparing yourself to walk back to Arthur’s tent.

“Well, well,” says a greasy voice from behind you. “Looks like Ms. High-and-Mighty decided to grace us with her presence and leave her cozy little tent!”

You turn and glare at Micah.

He sneers at you. “Was wonderin’ when you’d finally leave Morgan’s cot. Not that I’m surprised. I thought you’d have invited him into your bed a long time ago.”

You stand up as straight as you can, ignoring the pain. “I ain’t that kind of girl, Mr. Bell. Besides, I’d let him or anyone else in this camp in my bed before I’d ever let you even come close.”

He snickers. “Ya always did have a soft spot for him, didn’t ya? Well, I hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but he’s still got somethin’ for that Mary girl. Now I bet she’s a fine woman. The kind that could make a man wanna kill another man. Doubt anyone would even look twice at you if she were around.”

Your temper flares. You know he’s just trying to upset you. “How would you know, Micah? Ya ever seen her? I doubt it, the sight of you is enough to make anyone nauseous.”

Laughing again, he approaches you. “Because Morgan only goes after pretty girls.” He grins nastily at you as he leaves. You wish your leg was stronger, you’d already be giving him a good beating. Instead, you turn away and stare off into camp, trying to ignore what he said. The warm feeling you had before is gone. You clasp the cane again, heading back to the tent.

Night has come. Pearson, Karen and Uncle have pulled out bottles of alcohol to celebrate the return of Sean. The Irish man stands on a box, giving an almost taunting yet endearing speech about how everything’s going to be okay now he’s back. You can’t help laughing with the others as you lean on Pearson’s wagon. Karen approaches you with a bottle of whisky.

“Here, girl!” she proclaims, handing you the bottle.

“Nah, I really shouldn’t. I just took some more of those herbs Hosea’s been givin’ me, I doubt they’ll mix well with that.”

“Ah, don’t be so worried! ‘Sides, it can’t hurt too much.” She winks and shoves the bottle in your hand and you take a sip. She walks off, swaying a bit.

You grasp your cane and walk over to the campfire slowly. Uncle, Sean, Javier, Pearson and Arthur sit around it, drinking and joking. As you sit next to Arthur, Uncle breaks out into song.

“When I was just a lad, you know, I met a gal from Blue Bordeaux, she had blonde hair and blue eyes too,” he starts and the others join in the song. You can’t help but laugh at the heavily inappropriate song, drinking more.

“That’s what ya call the ring dang do!” the men finish, roaring with laughter.

“Yer a dirty man!” Arthur chuckles as you hand him the bottle. He takes a long drink as Dutch calls from his tent.

“That’s all well and said, but how about something a bit more civilized?” He turns around and switches on his gramophone. Classical music sweeps over the camp. Arthur gets up to go and speak to John and Charles. You stand up, too, leaving your bottle behind. You don’t really want to drink anymore, despite the fire in your belly. You find yourself limping past Dutch’s tent and stop when you see the man dancing slowly with Ms. O’Shea. They laugh sweetly when Dutch twirls her around. You can’t help but smile.

Arthur wanders past you, finishing a bottle of beer. You call his attention to Dutch and Molly.

“They seem so sweet together,” you mumble, your head feeling a little misty. “Y’know, I never known how to dance.”

He looks at you curiously. “Well, I ain’t much of a dancer neither, but ya wanna try?”

You stare up into his eyes, unsure. “I don’t know, Arthur, with this leg…”

“Ah, don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll help ya.”

He offers you his hand. You toss your cane a few feet away and take it. You reach up and place your hand on his sturdy shoulder as his hand hesitantly slides onto your waist. He starts leading you around in a slow circle. The mixture of herbs and alcohol has greatly dulled the pain from your legs as well as your regular inhibitions, although you still limp. He takes his hand from your waist, bending you down backwards and pulling you back up, releasing a giggle from you.

“Well, Mr. Morgan,” you laugh. “I never knew you could be so graceful!”

He huffs. “Turns out I’m just full of surprises.”

He leads you in a circle again, breaking it up every once in a while with a dip or a flourish. Your heart flutters every time, you can’t help but breathe in his scent and gaze into his blue eyes.

The pain in your leg is starting to flare, making you long for the bottle of whisky, when Arthur grabs your hands and twirls you around delicately. He spins you back towards him and pulls you in close, enveloping you in his strong arms. You wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your head under his chin. The sound of his heart pumps fast in your ears. You feel your own beating a thousand miles a minute. His arms wrap tighter around you as he sways you back and forth, no longer circling. Despite all the efforts you’ve made to not let him know how you feel, you revel in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feeling of his cheek resting on your head. You never want this moment to stop as you close your eyes.

The music suddenly ends, you hear Dutch compliment Molly. Arthur’s arms relax, releasing you. You have to adjust your leg quickly so you don’t stumble, taking your weight back and feeling somehow colder. His eyes are hidden beneath his hat, but he’s wearing a smile.

“Sorry if that was a little too close for comfort, Y/N,” he sighs. “I just… been wantin’ to do that for a while now.”

You giggle, unable to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. “No, Arthur, that was… well, it was nice.”

You stretch up as much as you can and kiss him on the cheek, turning away to watch Karen lead Sean into John’s tent.

Two weeks have gone by since Sean’s party. The ambience in the camp has shifted; it’s become lighter and happier. At night, the sounds of laughter often echo from the campfire. Your mood has greatly improved as well, now that you’re no longer restricted to Arthur’s tent. You’ve been moved back into your own for nearly a week after Grimshaw declared your leg is healed enough to withstand lying on the ground. You still have to walk around with the cane sometimes, but you can go for a period of time without it.

You’re standing at the washbin, scrubbing at some dishes when you hear a familiar snort. You turn and see Arthur riding in. He smiles widely at you when he sees you, and you return it without hesitating. Ever since the night Sean came back and the two of you danced together, your friendship has blossomed. Of course, it has also deepened your feelings for him, although you’re still reluctant to mention or even show it. You’ve become conflicted by his behavior though. When the two of you are hidden from the eyes of the others in camp, Arthur will usually grab your hand or put his hand on your shoulder or back. Sometimes he’ll even pull you into a quick hug.

He approaches you, rubbing his hands together.

“There she is!” he says happily. You return his greeting.

“How’s yer leg?” he asks, putting his hands on his gun belt. You turn your face back to the water, blushing. Nothing makes you want to wrap your arms around him more than when he stands like that.

“‘S doin’ good!” you say, continuing to scrub. “I’ve hardly had to use my cane today.”

“Well, good, I’m glad. Say, ya wanna go into town?”

You look back at him. “God, I’d love to. So sick of seein’ this camp.”

“Let’s go then,” he says turning away and going back to his horse. You begin to follow, limping a bit, but then stopping as he hops onto the saddle. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know if I can ride a horse yet, Arthur, with my leg.”

“We’ll go slow, darlin’,” he says, reaching his hand towards you. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much.”

You grab his arm and he lifts you up behind him, not letting you go until you’re situated. Your thigh twinges a bit, but the pain is manageable. You nervously slither your arms around his abdomen. He turns Artemis down the trail, walking her slow. When he gets to the main trail, he turns to you.

“How ya doin’?”

“Good. You might be able to go faster, actually.”

He kicks Artemis into a trot; she picks up the pace, swishing her long, black tail. He keeps her at that pace all the way into town.

You almost admit that you’ve missed seeing the muddy town and its simple folk, but then you realize that even after six weeks, nothing can really improve this dump named Valentine. He slows Artemis to a walk as the two of you pass the train station and livestock yard. You see a large, white tent to the left up ahead.

“What is that?” you ask, never really having paid attention to it before.

“Think it’s one of them movin’ pictures I been hearin’ folk talk about,” he answers, pulling up to it.

“I never seen one of them before,” you admit, taking one of your hands away from his waist.

“Well, let’s change that,” you can hear by the tone of his voice he’s smiling. He stops Artemis outside the tent and swings his leg over her head, slipping off. He puts up his arms, helping you off. Your stumble a bit as your leg adjusts to the weight, but he doesn’t let go of you. Once you’re balanced, he offers you his arm and walks you up to a man standing behind a desk, offering tickets. He pays $2 for them and walks you inside.

Inside, the tent has a projector pointed at the opposite wall, rows of seats filed under the projector’s beam. You pick two seats; there’s only a couple of other people in the tent. Just as the two of you sit down, the show starts as the electric lights dim. It consists of nothing more than some images with some type of moving element. A man narrates over the scenes, telling the tale about why the bear hibernates during winter. You’re fascinated; you’ve never seen an image move before.

As you’re watching, Arthur lifts up his arm as he scratches the back of his neck. He then drapes it behind your head, resting his hand on your shoulder. You lean into him, feeling your cheeks grow hot. You’re glad the tent is dark so he can’t see.

The show ends, the lanterns glowing again. Arthur removes his arm as the two of you stand. He smiles at you as he hides his eyes under his hat again. You take hold of his hand as you both walk out and back to Artemis. He lifts you back onto her then climbs up in front of you, carrying on to the middle of town.

He hitches Artemis outside the saloon, helping you off. The two of you head inside and he buys you dinner, despite your comments that you can buy your own food.

“Ya think ya might be up for a huntin’ trip soon?” he asks as you both eat.

You pause, chewing. “I dunno, I hope so. Be nice to get out again for a few days. I just… don’t know if…”

“I know, yer worried about yer leg. But ya seem to be doin’ good. I bet ya can handle it. ‘Sides, ya deserve to get out. Been cooped up in Horseshoe too long.”

You smile at him. “Well, there’s that then. Only problem is I don’t have any weapons anymore. Those damn monsters took ‘em when they… after I got captured.”

“Well,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gun smith is right ‘cross the road. Bet we could get ya another bow, maybe some guns.”

“That’s a fine thought, Arthur,” you say, taking the last bite of your lamb. “‘Cept, I doubt I got enough money. And before ya say it, I don’t want ya spendin’ anymore money on me.”

He laughs softly. “A’right, fine.”

You nod your head, happy that’s settled. The two of you head out of the saloon.

“Ya mind if I go get a bath? I haven’t had a proper one for far too long,” you say. He nods his head, saying he’ll go back into the saloon and order some drinks while you’re gone. You go and order a bath. Before you enter the water, you take off the bandage from around your thigh. Grimshaw showed you weeks ago how to change it, which must be done every couple of days. You go to a tall mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and twisting your neck so you can inspect the wound. It’s ugly, but at least the stitches are gone. You frown at the angry red line that marks where you were shot by the arrow. You tell yourself it could have been a lot nastier; at least the wound didn’t get infected.

You sink down into the tub, sighing happily as you scrub the old sweat and dirt from your skin. You get up, dry yourself off, and redress your leg. You head outside, thanking the hotel clerk as you exit, and see Arthur standing next to Artemis, holding a Springfield rifle. You approach him, wondering what he’s up to, when he hands you the rifle.

“What’s this?” you ask, taking hold of it. You realize it’s brand new. The metal’s carved with intricate, weaving patterns, and there’s an engraving of a wolf in the handle.

“‘S for you,” he responds.

“What? Arthur! I told ya not to buy me anything!”

He guffaws. “”S too late now! ‘Sides, I wanted to. Also, got ya this.”

He hands you a bow and a quiver of arrows. You blush, sighing deeply. You feel frustrated yet grateful. “Why are you doin’ this, Arthur? I coulda gotten these myself.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” You sigh, defeated before leaning up and place a kiss on his cheek. You notice the red on his cheeks, but say nothing.

He hops onto Artemis, offering to take your new weapons back to strap onto Artemis. You hand them to him, resigned and hop on behind him with his help. The two of you trot back to camp as the sun begins to descend. When Arthur hitches Artemis and dismounts, he speaks up.

“So, tomorrow sound good for huntin’?” He helps you off again, not letting go of your hand.

Smiling, you answer. “Of course. One question, though. I… obviously don’t have a horse anymore. How are we going to work around that?”

“I’m shoar ya could borrow a horse from camp. Plenty a people here ain’t gonna be usin’ theirs for the next few days.”

You shrug your shoulders.

You’re lying in your tent, the singing of birds and the cool air gently waking you from your sleep. You hear someone walking towards your tent. Arthur’s deep voice calls your name. You sit up and peak out of your tent.

The sky above his head is still dark but the horizon is fading into a soft, light blue, rivaling the color of Arthur’s eyes.

“Ya ready to go?” he asks.

“Now? This early?”

“‘Course,” he smiles. “We can get more time in if we leave now.”

You stand up, stretching and putting on your hat. You’re glad that you had approached Hosea the night before asking to take out one of the draft horses that usually pulls the wagons. He also offered you a spare saddle and bridle to take. You go groom a large dun Belgian Draft, strapping the saddle to her and fitting on the bridle. She stomps her foot, making you a bit nervous. You swallow, gather your courage and mount her, your leg only twinging a little. Arthur comes up, strapping on his satchel, smiling.

“Got on yer own just fine, did ya?”

You smile and nod, patting the mare’s neck.

He hops onto Artemis and the two of you head down the trail at an easy trot. You’ve no idea where he’s leading you, but you follow him obediently, enjoying the sweeping views of New Hanover: the distant river, the wide canyon, the orange that is beginning to take over the sky. He leads you up into Valentine and passes the stables, trotting merrily down the faint trail which winds down the hill and towards the river. The two of you cross it, glancing at the sound of a man in a nightgown standing waist-deep in the river, screaming at some invisible being to get away.

You both continue on until you reach an intersection in the trail, heading up the mountain. The temperature begins to drop slightly, and far up ahead on the mountain you see distant trees topped in snow.

The trail levels out and you head down the left side, travelling along it until a pond comes into view. Arthur slows to a stop and you do as well, admiring the sight. The wide pond is beautiful, rippling calmly, its far banks flanked by deer and ducks. You spot the arching antlers of an elk in a nearby copse of small pines. On the other side of the pond, the land rises up into a tall mound, topped with a ram and multiple bighorn sheep, browsing among the trees. You look to the left, to the open grass sloping down the hills and towards the train tracks tucked into a gorge.

“Arthur, this place is beautiful,” you say.

He turns back to see you. “Found it right before we left Colter. This the place we tried robbin’ that Cornwall train. This is Cattail Pond.”

You lead the dun mare to the water. She dips her head and drinks as you dismount, removing the bow and quiver. You adjust your gunbelt slightly, making sure the knife is still in place. You’re happy these things got saved, along with your sawed-off shotgun.

Arthur pats Artemis, telling her to stay put. He approaches you, situating his own bow.

“Now, if ya need anythin’, ya just call me.”

You nod, the both of you wandering into separate directions to hunt.

By midafternoon, you approach the large mare, heaving an elk pelt onto her bag. She snorts as you strap it down, swishing her tail. You glance up the hill towards the main trail and you see silhouettes of horses, grazing. You pull out your binoculars and zoom in on them. You spot a pure black saddler, a palomino, and a dun Appaloosa stallion, his hindquarters heavily spotted. For some reason, you can’t take your eyes off him. You study him as he raises his head, snorts and then goes back to grazing. Arthur approaches you, a white ram pelt tucked under his arm.

“What ya lookin’ at?”

You point ahead at the stallion. “That horse. He’s real pretty. I always had a soft spot for Appys.”

He pulls out his binoculars and looks with you. He lowers them and turns to you.

“Well, go get it then.”

“Huh?” “Go get it!” he says, gesturing to the horse. “Go get on his back and tame him. Bet ya won’t even have to try hard.”

You look at him doubtfully. “Arthur, even with a good leg, I don’t think I could do that. No way I’m coordinated enough. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t even know the first thing.”

“Ya even been bucked off before?”

“Oh yeah. Rain’s mom bucked me once. Flew off and landed like a sack of potatoes.”

He chuckles. “It really ain’t that hard sweetheart.” He goes on to explain how to break a mustang, to maintain your balance until the horse tires out.

“C’mon, girl. How ‘bout I lasso him, ya get on his back. We’ll work together.”

You hesitantly agree. Arthur pulls out his long rope, already knotted. He gestures for you to follow him, hunching slightly. The two of you sneak up the hill slowly, walking as quietly as possible. When you’re close enough, you call out to the stallion, Arthur stopping behind you.

“Easy boy!” you call. “Easy.”

His head launches up as he snorts heavily. He stomps his feet, his ears darting in every direction. You walk towards him slowly, your arms slightly raised.

“Stay calm, boy. I just wanna make friends. You’re real pretty.”

Surprisingly, the stallion doesn’t run but he continues to stomp, tail flicking. You get closer, almost within patting distance, when he rears up. You quickly take several steps back when Arthur’s lasso flies up and over his head, wrapping around his neck.

“Now, Y/N!” he yells.

You dash over and launch yourself onto his back. The stallion begins bucking and plunging, roaring in anger. You grab hard onto his mane, twisting and turning your body to maintain balance. He rears again, nearly throwing you. You clutch to his neck as Arthur yells at you to hang on. He slams back into the ground, you feel yourself start to slide over his side when Arthur catches you, pushing you back onto him.

“There,” he says, breathing hard. “Think ya wore him out.”

The stallion stomps his feet again, tossing his head. You straighten yourself up, patting his neck.

“There,” you pant and pat his neck. “We’re friends now.” You reach into your saddle, offering him a treat.

“That was real good, Y/N,” Arthur praises. He tells you to stay on his back as he leads the horse to the other two. For the next few hours, the two of you work together with the horse, getting him used to being touched. By the time the sun sets, you’ve managed to get the bridle and saddle from the Belgian onto him. You hitch him to the tree as Arthur sets up his tent, spreading out your bedrolls. You pat the horse fondly before turning and kneeling next to the fire.

After cooking a few hunks of meat, the both of you decide to call it a night. Your thigh is sore and achy from the strains of taming the appaloosa. You limp over to the tent, sighing as you lie down. Arthur settles himself behind you. You twist your body so you’re lying on your back. You face him, your eyes already growing tired.

“Night, Arthur,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You feel his hand takes yours as he bids you goodnight.

It’s still dark when you wake, but you can tell by the songs of the birds that morning is near. Your leg hurts quite a bit, which is probably why you’re awake so early. You force yourself to get up, going to Arthur’s grill where the fire was, even though all that is left is a pile of smoldering coals. You reignite it with some nearby dried pine needles. You add some grounded herbs for the pain to a tin cup, adding some hot water from Arthur’s percolator to it. You drink it quickly, despite the awful taste. You add some coffee to the percolator, drinking that as well.

Despite the early hour, you’re wide awake. You hoist yourself up, grunting a bit, and approach the appaloosa stallion still hitched to the tree. You feel a tightening in your gut when he grumbles a deep, happy snort at you, reaching for your outstretched hand with his muzzle. You offer him a treat, patting his neck. You admire the fine white hairs on the back half of his body, the smattering of brown spots. You suddenly feel inspired.

You turn away and take a seat by a large log near the water of the pond. You pull out the journal from your satchel and turn to a blank page. You start to sketch the horse, trying to match the delicate lines of his neck, his slender legs, the long tail. You can see in your head how Arthur would have drawn it since he’s shown you a number of his own drawings. You stop and see your work, feeling unimpressed and dissatisfied. You sigh, disappointed.

“How ya doin’ with that?” Arthur says, plopping himself next to you.

You smile. “It’s crap.” You show him the sloppy lines. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“Let me help ya,” he says, putting an arm behind you. You flip to a new page and he takes your hand in his, guiding the pencil along the page. Every now and then, he’ll point to the horse, drawing your attention to certain details. He shows you techniques to bring out different textures and patterns. After only a few moments, the shape and details of the stallion begins to appear.

The sun is well-risen now, illuminating his face, his scruffy beard turning gold. He’s so close you can see the scar of his chin once more, the specks of green in his blue eyes.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you almost whisper. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.”

You can’t stand it anymore You don’t want to hide your feelings for him. So what if he doesn’t feel anything for you? All you want is to show the entire world how you feel about Arthur Morgan. You take your hand from his, reaching up and placing it on his cheek. You almost expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t. You glance briefly at his lips before you stretch up and place your own against them. You breathe in deeply, absorbing his scent as he stiffens to your touch. You pull away. Well, he knows what you think of him now.

You open your eyes; his face is unreadable. You let your hand slip from his face, feeling a sinking in your chest. You fool, you think. Of course he wouldn’t want this, your kiss. You distance yourself more from him, looking down.

“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say. You snap your journal shut, sliding the pencil back into the leather strip quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

As you begin to stand up, his hand suddenly reaches and gently touches your neck, pulling you to him. His lips crash into yours as his other arm wraps around your shoulders. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck, memorizing his lips with your tongue. His hand leaves your cheek and knots into your hair.

You pull away from him, panting heavily. He places his forehead against yours.

“Ya’ve no idea how long I been wantin’ to do that, darlin’,” he mutters deeply. The sound of his voice sends shivers up your spine.

“You don’t have to want anymore, Arthur Morgan,” you sigh. He leans in and kisses you again. You kiss him back hard, pressing yourself into him. His arms pull you into his broad chest. You kiss one another until you’re forced to pull back again by the need to breathe. He guides your head to settle onto his shoulder and you cuddle into him, your arms still wrapped around his neck.

You both sit there, watching the sun climb higher into the sky. His hand traces patterns into your back as you brush your hands through his hair.

After a while, he pats your back.

“Ya ready to go hunt again, sweetheart?” he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Mmm. Do we have to? It’s perfect here.”

He laughs softly, the sound reverberating through you. “I know, darlin’. I don’t want this moment to end either. But camp’s gotta eat.”

You sigh heavily. Arthur Morgan, the outlaw who would break his own back to make sure the people he cares about are taken care of. You reach up and place one more kiss to his lips before standing up. He follows your lead, grabbing his hat from the tent before wandering over to Artemis to remove his bow. You grab yours as well, scanning the environment for signs of animals.

For the next few hours, the two of you go about, bringing down animals and butchering them. You aren’t as smooth with the bow as usual. You keep getting distracted by the memory of Arthur’s lips against yours.

You stalk a whitetail buck near the train tracks. You hide in a clump of bushes and see him grazing. You notch an arrow and take aim for him. You let the arrow fly; it plunges into his side. The buck falls, but then stands up again, running off. You follow as quickly as you can, ignoring the pain in your leg. He falls again after a few yards, brought down by blood loss and shock. You approach him, trying to ignore his cries. You kneel down, pulling out your knife.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” you say, knowing how painful it is to be struck by an arrow. You plunge the knife into his heart. You skin the carcass and start heading back up the hill towards the pond and the horses. By the time you reach the top of the rise, you’re panting heavily; your thigh burns. You sit down to give yourself a break. Arthur calls to you from across the pond in the trees. You can’t understand what he’s saying, but you wave your hand to show you heard him. He calls again, and again you wave.

You start massaging your leg through your jeans, trying to soothe the pain. You hear splashing and look up. Arthur’s wading across the pond up to his calves, coming towards you. He calls to you again from the bottom of the hill.

“Ya a’right?” he yells.

“Yeah, leg’s just being a pain.”

He climbs the hill, approaching you. He kneels next to you, looking hard at your leg.

“I’m a’right,” you say. “Like I said, leg’s bein’ difficult.”

He looks up into your eyes. He sighs heavily. “Maybe we oughta head back. Ya ain’t much use huntin’ if ya can’t walk.”

“I can walk, just need a break, Arthur,” you say indignantly.

“I know, darlin’. Ya have to remember yer still healin’. Do this for me?”

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. Let’s just see if we can bring back something whole for camp.”

He nods, helping you stand up. He takes the pelt from you then grabs your hand as you both wander over to the horses. He throws the pelt over the stallion.

“Ya thought of a name for yer boah?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, maybe.”

He looks at you, waiting for you to say. When you don’t, he speaks. “Well?”

“Rannoch,” you finally say. “His name is Rannoch.”

He raises his brows. “Rannoch, huh? Where’d ya get that?”

You shuffle your feet. “My grandma used to read me a story. ‘Bout a stag named Rannoch, born the night his dad was born. I wish I could remember the name of the book. I’d love to read it again. Was my favorite.”

“I like it,” he says, putting a finger under your chin, lifting your face. “Suits him.”

You smile, glancing over to Rannoch. He flicks his tail, eating from a bush, completely uncaring about his name.

“Well, let’s do a bit more huntin’,” he says. You agree and the two of you head back out, away from one another. After several moments of stalking, you bring down a bighorn sheep. You bend down to pick it up, but as you start standing your leg gives out.

“Shit!” you yell as your knee slams into the ground, the carcass slumping back down. You feel your wound quickly, determining that it’s fine. Turns out your leg just isn’t strong enough to carry the extra weight. Arthur comes dashing out of the trees, attracted by your yell.

“I’m fine,” you holler as you stand up, testing your leg. “Will you help me? I can’t carry this thing.”

Arthur approaches, smiling mischievously as he lifts up the sheep onto his shoulder with ease. You follow him back to the horses, where he straps the sheep onto Rannoch.

“I’ll be back,” he says, walking back into the trees. You brush Rannoch while he’s gone. After several moments, he returns, hauling the body of a doe. He straps it to Artemis. You both saddle up the horses and mount up. Arthur puts a lasso around the Belgian Draft, pulling her along behind him as the two of you leave Cattail and head back to camp.

The sun has set when you both enter the trees to Horseshoe. Karen’s on guard duty, she calls to you.

“Nice horse!”

You thank her as the two of you go up the trail, approaching the hitching post. You dismount, then turn to Arthur. The two of you are standing between the horses, blocked from view of the camp.

“Arthur?” He turns. “Thanks for takin’ me out and for… everything else.”

He smiles, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Anythin’ for you, darlin’. Can I ask you a favor, though?”

“‘Course.”

“D’you mind if we keep this between us for now?” You pull away, surprised and even a little hurt. He must see your emotions on your face.

“It ain’t that I’m ashamed,” he scrambles, pulling you close. “I just… want to keep this quiet for now. Besides, we both know how the others will talk. And maybe I like the idea of havin’ ya to myself for now”

You chuckle, relaxing in his arms. “Yes, I do know. But promise me it won’t be long?”

He smiles, pulling you into a tight hug. “I promise.” He leans down to kiss you, shielded from the others by the horses and the darkness.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x oc #Van Der Linde Gang #rockstar games #r* games #it's so fluffy i'm gonna die!#i'm awkward #second chances

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mercy-thompson-fanfiction · 7 years

Text

Twin Trails

“Ouch!” Charles feigned hurt when his eldest tugged on her pony’s girth to the best of her ability with his fingers slipped underneath. “I think you got it there.”

She beamed up at him proudly.

“Poker looks so sad there alone,” Sora sighed, already atop her own mount for the day. Their childhood pony had been long grown out of, both girls were ten now and a little too tall.

“He looks pretty happy to know he isn’t coming.” Raven disagreed, watching the pony in the paddock to the right of them. He had been a gift to the girls as mere toddlers from one of their fathers’ friends. Meanwhile Missy and Lorry were just tall enough for the girls to still have room to grow into. “Lorry got fat.” She nodded to her sister’s pony with a wicked grin.

“He didn’t!” Sora protested with a whine, “He’s just too lazy to work it off in turnout.”

“So he’s fat.”

“You don’t have to worry until it shows in his neck and head.” Charles settled the argument with a chuckle, double-checking the younger girl’s girth. “He’s puffing out a little anyways.” The medicine hat paint underneath her looked grumpy to have been caught in his lies.

“He’s named Colorful Charade and he lives up to it.” Sora smiled, patting the gelding’s neck approvingly. Her sister laughed, earning her a glare.. “It’s better than someone who can’t find their way on the trail.”

“I would think ‘Miss Guided’ would be in reference to Raven’s steering.” Charles said quietly, smiling. The black pony seemed to know she was being spoken about and picked her head up. Raven made a noise that made it known how she felt about being mocked. “Are you getting on anytime soon?”  Raven sighed and led Missy to the mounting block, wishing to avoid a scolding for just swinging on and pulling on her pony’s back. It was the pony’s one fault though, mounting, and she took off like a rocket the moment Raven had one foot in the stirrup. Charles was unphased, having seen it before and also having watched Raven fail to mount the way they had been practicing.

“Oh, there she goes again.” Sora commented as her sister let out a short shriek of surprise.

“We talked about how to do this the right way.” Charles called.

“I know!” Raven muttered before mustering up the strength to pull herself up and over. She counted it as a small victory over the pony who seemed frustrated to have lost the game and allowed herself a smile before Missy stopped dead in front of her father.

“You’re not a clown.” He reminded. “Off.”

“Dad, I got on.” Raven whined.

“Off and again the right way.”

“I think that was cool.” Sora defended her sister. “The way she just swung on like that. She didn’t let her get away with anything.”

“No, but she also didn’t teach her the right way to do it.” Charles gently held the reins of the mischievous black pony. “Again, Raven.”

She caved and swung back over, sliding off the pony until her feet bounced on the ground. She took the reins from her father and dragged Missy again to the block, repositioning her and holding her still when she tried to move away. Her father didn’t like the idea of teaching the girls how to mount in a corner, knowing that some horses would be capable of (or otherwise stupid enough to try) jumping a gated outdoor from a standstill.

Which is exactly why Raven struggled for six or seven minutes before the black pony was still enough to be mounted.

“I think this is going to be a very long weekend.” Sora commented. They were supposed to have left on an overnight trail ride and hour before but the girls had struggled to pack their own saddles right. “Who are you taking, da?”

“He’s taking Bear, I saw him all tacked before I left.” Bear was easily both of the girls’ favourite. Large, but still with fairly fine bone structure, Bear’s real name was actually just Jim but his deep bay coloring and surprisingly cuddly personality had earned him a nickname from the twins.

“I’m taking ‘Bear,’” Their father agreed, watching them both very closely for a moment more. “Can I leave you here while I get him?”

“Yes, father dear.” They chorused, very sarcastic for ten year-olds but they had learned that one from their cousin. He tried not to grimace as he left them for a moment to get his own horse. He was back only minutes later, already mounted and ready to go. He opened the gate for the girls and let them jog on through.

“Da,” Sora started. Charles pressed his lips together in a line to keep from laughing. His daughters had a way of asking too many questions and he had a feeling this weekend wasn’t just going to be long for them. “You sent Aunt Mercy on a vision quest—”

“We’re ten!” Raven shrieked. Charles winced at the decibel.

“Yes, but I’m just asking!” Sora protested. “I’m allowed to ask.”

“I thought it would do her good.” Charles nodded, passing the both of them to take the lead. “Are you asking me to leave you alone in the woods?”

“No, I’m ok.” Sora shrugged, “I just wanted to be sure.”

“Be sure of what?” Her sister asked, genuine confusion in her voice. Charles glanced back to see they were next to each other and silently thanked himself for getting two ponies that enjoyed each other’s company enough not to kick each other at that distance.

“That he’s not leading us into the woods and abandoning us.”

He had to snort in amusement at that.

“I don’t know, I could make it out.” Raven teased and her sister was the one to growl.

“Not all of us have fur and claws, Raven.” She huffed, “Isn’t that right, Lorry?”

Raven reached out to grab her sister’s rein tauntingly before her father shot her a glare at just the right moment.

“I think giving you the ponies would be cheating.” Charles turned back to face the front.

“I couldn’t be too sure.” The youngest said seriously. “You get some crazy ideas sometimes, mom says so.”

“Porsche hasn’t even had hers.” Raven pointed out. “Has she, da?”

“Does she count?” Sora fired before Charles could even open his mouth.

“She’s just as much as we are.” Raven hissed. “Dad’s half and we’re a quarter. Anyhow, you’re more white than Porsche or I.”

“If you stayed indoors, you’d be pretty white, too.” Sora pointed out.

“You both look almost the same,” Charles halted. “Are we going to argue about lineage and pedigree the whole weekend or are you going to enjoy each other’s company?”

The girls looked at them, surprised he had stopped and more startled that their own ponies had as well. They both exchanged a sheepish glance with each other. Their father waited patiently with a raised eyebrow.

“Raven, I’ll race you on that flat patch down by the old town.” Sora offered.

“You’re on.”

It was about to be a very long weekend.

#charles #fanfic #fanfiction #daughters #baby bonding

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cometladyicarus-blog · 7 years

Text

Swords and Children - Part Three

Takes place after Dragon Age Origins, and during the events of DA2.

This also has my wardens, mostly my Elissa Cousland, and mentions of my other wardens (mostly in passing).

Part One

Part Two

Part Three - Here!

The baby boy in his wife's arm was his. His uncle – sort of – was busy trying to convince him to let him in, but he was enjoying this moment to set aside being a King and just admire the sight of his wife. His exhausted, sweaty, delighted wife smiling and counting the fingers and toes on the hands and feet of the heir.

His son. He never thought he’d actually have someone to put those words to. His son, the son of Alistair. The son of Elissa Cousland. His son with Elissa Theirin, formerly Cousland.

He just leaned against the door hinge, effectively blocking out the Bann, and any other members of the court, from entering the room. Elissa looked up at him after bringing their son to her face and blushed as he grinned.

"So, I finally get to see you with your hair down."

If he had said that at any other time, he'd have gotten a gauntlet thrown at him. And he'd be throwing it at Teagan just because it was the Bann's fault she started that habit. But the midwife and her assistant were cunning enough to hide away the Queen's armor and weapons from the room, and El was certainly not going to throw their son at him just yet. Not until he was closer and it wouldn't count as throwing.

Her glare softened enough to a smile. "Not quite." She turned her head to show that half of her snow-white hair had been pulled and clipped back to be out of her face.

"Blast, but y'know, Elissa, one of these days – or nights – I'm going to see you with your hair down."

She shook her head again, some of the locks falling over her shoulder like a frozen waterfall, but her smile dissolved as she looked at the door he was keeping shut. "I will not be responsible for a curse on you, not anymore than people think I have done."

"Whichever member of the court who says that about their Queen should be a bit more concerned that their Queen killed the Archdemon who had angered her a year ago."

Her melancholy expression was wiped away as she smiled and beckoned him over with one occupied hand. "Now get over here and look at our son."

"'Our son', I can't say I ever thought I'd hear those words and be part of that 'our.'" He walked over, finally releasing the weight from the door and looked down at the dozing tiny human. Turning to kiss her forehead, he muttered into her damp bangs. "I just realized we haven't decided on names."

She almost headbutted his chin as she laughed. "Not Maric, not Cailan, not Oren, and for the mercy of the Maker, certainly not Bryce."

"Teagan will be so disappointed to hear you reject all of the names he and the rest of the court have been trying to force me to decide on. Not sure if he’s grumpy enough to name after any grumpy mages we know."

The dozing newborn opened his eyes, his bright golden eyes, identical to the ones Alistair saw on himself in every reflected surface and that Maker's-help-the-artist awful portrait of the coronation. The eyes he saw as King Cailan delighted in announcing the battle plans and made his speeches, or the eyes he saw once before when he was very young and Cailan took the few minutes to correct his stance with a sword. The eyes the portraits claimed were the ones of the King who took back Ferelden from Orlais who fathered him and was therefore the grandfather of the bundle in the King's arms.

"If we must name our son after a man who has passed to the Maker's side, I can think of only one name for him." She turned her face to him and smiled.

"Duncan? If anyone complains, he was a very dear friend of Maric's."

"And my father's."

"And because of Duncan, the kingdom of Ferelden is not covered in darkspawn because we were recruited to the Order."

"Welcome to the world, Prince Duncan Theirin. You were named for a man who rose from the most common to the greatest of people."

"Duncan!" He shouted from the stables and waved his arms to get the attention of the ten-year old boy riding in the field.

"Yeah, Pop?" The golden haired prince grinned the Theirin grin at his father as he brought the gelding over. Looking over Alistair's appearance, his smile widened. "Wait – Ma's here?"

"She won't be if you don't take care of your horse right now and before you come back in."

"What?! Why not? I haven't seen her in months – she can't just leave already!"

Alistair laughed at the outrage on his son's face, one of the times the heir to the throne looked like the now often absent Warden-Commander of the Grey and Queen of Ferelden. "Well, she's been arguing with the Orlesian Wardens about things for a while, apparently, so I have to try and keep her from starting a war already."

"Right,” Duncan’s outrage shifted with a roll of his eyes, “and Aunt Anora would just love to rub your face in how Mother started the war you guys were worried Loghain would start."

"Yeah, killing her father and letting her live may not have been the wisest of choices on my part, but she has a point." Alistair held a hand out to help young Duncan down and the two started to care for the horse, storing the saddle away.

"Hey, Father, is it true you were raised by giant Andrastian dogs from the Anderfels who loved cheese?"

He laughed. "Now, who told you that line?"

"Aunt Solona."

"Well, the cheese was horrible for their breath."

"But Uncle Teagan got mad at her for the story and said you were raised in Redcliffe castle."

He slowed his brushing and ran his hand over the hair of the horse before smiling. "Well, the dogs were at Redcliffe Castle. Joking aside, no, I was not raised by dogs despite some of my manners according to our Orlesian neighbors. I was raised in Redcliffe Castle until I was a little older than you, when I went to the Chantry to be trained as a Templar before I Joined the Grey Wardens nine years later."

"Huh. I like the dog story more."

"They were flying dogs. Giant dogs. Strictly Andrastian."

The prince snorted. "Bigger than Mabar?"

He smiled and looked up to the door from the castle to the stable where silver and blue armor was topped by a smiling woman with her white hair braided up, and all of her was leaning against the doorway watching them. At her side was a massive Mabari hound who was more grey than brown.

"A little bigger than Mabar."

Duncan had finished brushing his side of the horse, so Alistair nodded his head towards the door with a smile.

He was going to have a few words with his fellow Heroes of Ferelden about stories of the Blight they were telling his son, and a few more words with Teagan and Eamon about stories of his own childhood. Not keep the tales secret, just keep in mind that the court still muttered about their young Prince being a bastard's son as well as the stories they spread about Elissa not being his mother despite the midwife and her assistants being questioned so many times.

For the love of the Maker, he really didn't want to deal with more questions about why he and Elissa hadn't had anymore children after Duncan was born. He would rather only having one child than have a second child deal with the pressures of being The Spare like their mother had grown up under. Like he had grown up under, though in a very different kind of environment.

Duncan ran and had his arms around Elissa's, telling the Warden-Queen all about the latest lessons he had taken since she started her quest for 'The Solution'. He finished caring for the horse and meandered over to his wife and son, for a moment imagining to himself what this very kind of scene would have been like if she were just Guard Captain of Highever returning home from a long patrol while he stayed home and was charged with being the Chantry's sword and in caring for his Templars in Highever.

It was a pleasant imagining, but it wasn't reality. Nah, reality may not be as kind, but it was better considering he didn't really want to be a Templar, though being a Knight instead of a King would have been nice.

"Come on, Pop! Ma said she won't be here too much longer if you keep standing in the stables like a Paragon statue."

He laughed and walked the rest of the way, pulling his small family into a hug.

Prince Duncan was thirteen when King Alistair got the report from Nathaniel Howe about the problem with Warden-Commander Clarel, and when in that same report he was informed of the Ferelden Order of the Grey had essentially dissolved to keep themselves alive. A report from Elissa arrived the next day, with a letter to himself and another for Duncan.

"Alistair,

“I'm still alive, don't worry. The Wardens have not left Ferelden, I have only issued the order to not congregate in Vigil's Keep. I had also called to cease recruiting in Ferelden. Clarel needs to believe we've left the Order and abandoned our posts if Ferelden is to stay safe.

“If I must, I will rebuild our Order from scratch again, and I will declare a new Order of the Grey, free of Weisshaupt's nonsense.

“I can't let our home go to war, we're still suffering from the Blight and the end of the Circles has caused too much pain and chaos. I do not want Duncan to become an adult in a world where he grows up hearing about The War Against Orlesians. Well, The Second War Against Orlesians, I suppose.

“Tell Anora she can stuff her snide comments about how Loghain Mac Tir would have done anything else than what I or you have done. I worry war is coming anyway.

“I worry about why the Seekers have been seeking 'Us' out. But the song is getting stronger. And it sounds wrong. Other Wardens, new Wardens, they hear it already. Not just the ones who get Blighted like Maharial and I were, but the ones who were too young to hold a sword in the Blight.

“Al, my love, my King, my heart, the protector of the Rose, I am terrified that I will find myself in the Deep Roads, and not know if Duncan's ever fallen in love. I want to see our son become a man, and I've already missed the last few years.

“Keep safe, please,

“Love,

“Elissa, Ferelden Commander of the Grey"

He wasn't certain what terrified him more, hearing the Calling so loud in his bones that he worried he was going to kill someone and run through Denerim stark naked, how his wife was alone in the wilderness seeking the cure and the end of the Calling, how Duncan had stopped asking when his mother was coming home, the eyes of some of the noble women had started looking to Elissa's empty throne, or the fact his days were not as bright and colorful without seeing her white hair loose across their sheets and her smile before kissing him in the mornings when they weren't the Warden-Queen and King – just Elissa and Alistair.

But his wife was alone out there, away from him, facing who knows what. Listening to the song she's heard since her home was invaded by darkspawn, and if she goes into the Deep Roads...

Duncan shoved the door open.

"Mother wrote a letter?"

He held out the other letter and smiled at his son.

Duncan grinned, took the letter and stuck it between his teeth as he tied back his blonde hair into a low ponytail. His hands free, he opened the letter still standing next to Alistair. Shaking his head with a smile, the King left the aviary wondering how in the world the Theirin line managed to keep the male members looking so similar to each other.

Then he wondered how in the world Duncan managed to get a flock of young noblewomen already following him around when the kid seemed to have inherited his father's ability to shove his own foot in his mouth while trying to flirt. It was almost painful hearing Teagan's reports on his pickup lines, not that Alistair was any better when trying to woo Elissa.

Not when her last letter asked him if he'd been licking any lampposts in the winters since she'd been gone.

The answer was no. In all caps.

As was hers when he asked her.

And then she asked if she should swoop over.

"Swooping would be bad."

He looked to the peaks of the Frostback mountains to about where that blasted cult once lived, and now the Divine was calling for a meeting between Templars and Mages.

“You said something, Pop?”

He shook his head with a smile. “An old joke.”

“Like the hair obsession?”

“And the cheese.”

#Dragon Age #alistair theirin #elissa cousland #Babies ever after

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