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revolversandlace · 1 year

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Blemished Silk | Chapter Twenty-Six - Magicians For Sport

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 6k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Arthur POV, Violence, Swearing, Angst

Summary: After a night with Amelia, Arthur finds Trelawny in a spot of bother.

Scarlett Meadows, June 1899

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he squinted his eyes against the rising smoke. His thumb smudged the lines on the paper, blending in the shadows.

He thought that given everything that had happened the previous day, the least he could do for Amelia was to leave her a token of his affection. He wanted to capture her from the day of the suffrage protest. Fierce and full of life and the way she turned and smiled up at him, a smile that was only for him.

He ripped the paper from his journal, folding it twice, and left it on her pillow.

He smiled fondly to himself, as giddy as a young maid as he stubbed out his cigarette and went to leave. However, a thought gnawed at him in the back of his mind. Would the servants be doing their rounds? Would they see the drawing?

The last thing he wanted to do was put Amelia in a position of having her staff gossip about all the things he knew young women talked about in hushed tones - that was if Mary-Beth was anything to go by.

He picked up the paper again and walked over to her dresser, placing the picture more covertly between two bottles of perfume and less likely to be stumbled across.

He left her chambers, taking the grand staircase down to the elderly gentleman, who opened the door for him with no more than a smile.

As he made his way to the hitching post, the carnage from last night left no evidence as all had to returned to normal within the grounds. However, as he looked around, there was no sign of Montague. Inspecting the post, it didn’t seem he had ripped free in the chaos and the mount had seen enough gunfights to not get too spooked.

‘Your horse is in the stables,’ a voice interrupted him as Arthur looked away from the hitched post and over his shoulder.

It was Talako, the stable master, the same man from last who he fought side by side. The same man who had seen share many smiles with Amelia.

‘He been fed?’ Arthur huffed, his eyes narrow underneath the brim of his hat in the mid-morning sun.

‘Fed, groomed, and ready to be saddled.’ Talako’s voice was clipped, a tension that he didn’t even try to hide.

‘Well, s’pose I should thank you,’ Arthur returned as the two men eyed each other with a healthy distance between them.

Way it was going, Arthur weren’t too sure whether he should hit him or laugh it off. But it was a tense night for everyone. And Arthur wasn’t going to allow for his good mood to be spoiled.

He walked forward, a taunting smile already on his lips as he clasped the man’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

‘Real appreciate you lookin’ after my horse overnight, friend’ with a firm pat, Arthur let out a small chuckle and carried on towards the stables.

The feller was fit to play games all he liked. He was thankful for him in a sense. He was a good shot for someone coddled on such a fine estate but he knew what this all came down to. Talako was jealous for one reason or another. Ain’t no secret Arthur stayed at the estate until the morning, but he thought it was more amusing to let the other man’s mind wander to what did or did not happen, and to never know for sure.

After saddling the mount, and feeding Montague a swift oatcake which he spent no time in gobbling down as though he were starved, Arthur placed his foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself onto the beast.

Slowly they cantered out of the estate, past the stable master, as Arthur tugged the brim of his hat with a sneer as he made his way back to camp.

He was sure his presence wasn’t to be all that much missed at camp. However, as soon as he dismounted at Clemens Point, Dutch was already calling his name.

Arthur strode over to the gang leader’s tent. He tried to hide it. He thought he was doing a fine job, but he could feel his stomach bubble over every time his mind involuntarily thought back to last night.

Her worry, how her hands shook, and how without even a single hesitation she had taken him to her bed. Amelia’s face played over in his mind. As much as he wanted to indulge it, he tried to not think of it, knowing it would serve nothing but the distraction Dutch had warned him against.

The softness of her skin and how her delicate fingers wrapped around him as she pulled him closer by the neck. The smell of the woodlands that she always seemed to wear and the sounds he had caused her to make.

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what the feeling was, but whether it was lust or love didn’t matter, not in the moment, and certainly not now. He had always wanted her, but not in a way that men usually wanted women. He didn’t want her for a simple release or for the ease of pleasure. He wanted her, and all of her.

Those laughs, that poised charmed as though she was a painting come to life. Hell, he would have sold it all for the scolding and that distant look in her eye she sometimes fought with.

And so, Arthur walked up to Dutch’s tent with the feeling that something weren’t right. He respected Dutch, he loved Dutch, but he was given his orders and now he had to bury all those feelings deeper than all that he felt about everything else going on.

Dutch was leaning up against the post of his tent and pushed his body weight off of it as soon as Arthur came near, his hand falling heavy at his side.

This ain’t right at all, Arthur tried to pin it down to his paranoia, the stress, on everything that both he and the gang were facing. He ignored the voice and the thoughts, all those pictures of last night that flashed across his eyes without any warning. All those thoughts of Amelia.

‘You sweating yet, Dutch?’ He asked, with some resounded humour in his voice.

‘Of course, I’m sweating! We’re in some disease-ridden, swamp, dixie-whistling shithole,’ Dutch said, his arms flailing around as his thick black moustache twitched.

He didn’t seem his usual self. But at least that meant he was irritated rather than outright angry.

‘I meant about… What Trelawny said? About those bounty hunters?’

As much as it was something Arthur said to change the conversation, it somehow always led back to that estate. To that connection.

But he weren’t wrong. Only three weeks Trelawny was on about some super bounty hunters, like something out of those dime novels. Good versus evil. Somehow, a dime was all it took to pay for morality, and yet very few seemed to abide by it.

‘I thought you would have seen him lately, Arthur? Given how much time you are spending up at the Edwards Estate?’

Arthur tried to be dismissive, shrugging his shoulders slightly as he hooked his thumb into his belt.

‘Nah, I ain’t seen him since you did. Besides,’ Arthur said, looking over to the lake, ‘ain’t it these bounty hunters we should be worried about?’

‘Until we know more, ain’t too much harm wasting good liquid on sweating.’ Dutch said, wiping his heavily jewelled finger across his forehead, removing his hat.

Arthur gave a nod, and if, in truth, he weren’t really listening to Dutch’s ramblings. All his energy was being spent on not giving himself away, which in truth he felt he was failing miserably at.

‘So, I think you should pay Mr Trelawny a visit and find out exactly what he knows and who he spoke to.’

The infraction in Dutch’s voice made his skin like it was on fire. Shifting his neck side to side, Arthur didn’t like this. Not one bit. What the hell is Dutch trying to say?

It seemed the webs he had warned himself and Dutch about those weeks ago on the lake were about to find themselves frosted over like a winter’s morn.

Dutch raised his arm, pointing over Arthur’s shoulder, walking him back to the middle of the camp.

‘Take Charles with you. Oh, the sight of the pair of you would make a statue sing out its secrets.’

He’d known Dutch a long time, the only one in the gang knowing him any longer was Hosea and Grimshaw yet the look he gave Arthur…

Dutch brushed the tip of his thumb across his bottom lip, almost licking it in some secret satisfaction.

He knows.

Arthur weren’t sure what it was that he knew, but he damn well knew something.

For a second, a very stupid second, Arthur thought of opening his dumb mouth, of arguing in some capacity. But it wouldn’t serve anyone or anything any good. He had his orders, and that was that. And now was hardly the time to split his loyalties.

Arthur was a loyal man, he knew his place better than any mut. His gun was Dutch’s, plain and simple.

Strolling back to the center of camp where he could already see Charles looking out from the corner of his eye, whittling whatever knife or arrow he was working on.

‘Charles, I need you for some business in town.’ The request was simple - easy even, as it always was with Charles - there was no hesitation, as he put down his tool as stood.

With only a nod, Charles was on his feet, following Arthur to the hitching post and towards the horses.

They led the horses from camp, their hooves crunching at twigs as the sun split itself through the canopy of the trees. They passed through the beams of light, bathing them in the promise of a warm summer’s day while the breeze from the lake careened over them as it always would in the morning.

‘Where are we going again?’ Charles called from behind, his quiet self disappearing as it always did on the trail.

‘Dutch wants us to have a… talk, with Trelawny. ‘Bout these bounty hunters who are comin’ for us.’ Arthur replied, as the sweat was already beginning to build on his lower back. ‘Hopin’ he can tell us who they are, or where they’re comin’ from.’

‘Okay…’ Charles said, as they passed between the rocky grove, the meadows rustling sweetly at the end of the path. ‘And you’re deputies now?’

Arthur smiled, his chin tucked into his chest. He didn’t think it was Dutch’s finest move but here they were.

‘Somethin’ like that,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘soon as we laid eyes on that fool of a sheriff who runs that town, I knew Dutch was gonna pay him like a fiddle.’

They continued on, as Charles pulled up next to him on his molten mount.

‘Besides, Amelia had already warned me on that imbecile. Seems he’s getting played from every angle,’ Arthur chuckled. That sheriff really was more stupid than he looked, and that was saying something.

‘So it’s Amelia now?’ Charles said, his eyes directly on Arthur.

He could feel it, feel the blush that crept up his neck as soon as Charles said it.

Arthur held his tongue, maybe the sheriff weren’t the only fool in these parts. Arthur straightened in his saddle, his hand gripping onto the horse’s reins as he composed himself, trying to control his thoughts and his mouth.

‘On the run from one bunch of lawmen, working for another… Interesting.’ Charles said after a moment of silence.

If Arthur couldn’t even keep his mouth shut around Charles what hope did he have? Yet, he knew the man, knew him well enough that he was sure there wouldn’t be anything said to the wrong ears.

‘“Hidin’ in plain sight”, Dutch calls it,’ Arthur said with an awkward laugh, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

The mill yard pulled up ahead as the two men took to the main road into Rhodes as Arthur instinctively tapped his sidearm with his fingers.

The sun danced on the treeline, almost blinding them as the horses took to the incline. A whole world of greens and yellows erupted before them, as the flurry of life sat amongst them.

A herd of deer raised their heads before galloping off, back into the thicket of the trees as a hawk kee-eeee-ared above them, circling whichever unlucky prey it had landed its eyes on.

Leymone was a lot of things, but most of the people aside, it certainly was beautiful.

‘So, spirits seem good… in the new camp, I mean,’ Charles said, breaking Arthur from the views that lay at every gaze.

‘We got some space between us and that mess now, ain’t seen no more Pinkertons for a while now,’ he said with a nod, ‘there’s these bounty hunters of course but Dutch don’t seem too worried ‘bout it.’

‘Can’t believe they’re still coming after us. We didn’t even get away with the money!’ Charles said, as they turned right towards Rhodes, the tall deep grass giving way to the red clay.

‘Yeah, but they don’t know that,’ Arthur said, his shoulders tense but thankful for the distraction of work. Anything to take his mind from wandering where he knew he could not allow it to.

‘Trelawny. I’ve only met him a couple of times but he’s…’ Charles mused, ‘he’s a strange one.’

‘Fear not,’ Arthur said. ‘He’s just a cockroach in fancy breeches. But he gets into nooks and crannies the rest of us can’t.’ They crossed over the railway, and the sound of the horses’ hooves thundered across the steel. ‘We just need to find him before he scurries off again.’

They pulled over the hill and into the bottom of the town as the church bells chimed with melodic hopefulness.

‘I think it’s just up here,’ Arthur called to Charles, his vague recollections of Josiah’s caravan piecing together in his mind.

They turned their horses into the small area, with several other run-down structures nestled between an equally rundown fence. Smoke was gently rising from the recently ignored campfire in the center and a dog barked, greeting them with a wagging tail.

‘Let’s take a look,’ Charles said, as they both dismounted.

The place was quiet, with no signs of people as the back of the hairs on Arthur’s neck stood. Pulling his revolver from his holster, he walked up the steps cautiously.

The caravan was a mess. Broken glass knocked over chairs, all manner of curious items he expected the likes of Trelawny to have on the floor, broken or both.

‘Shit, this don’t look good,’ Arthur mumbled, as he pulled the safety guard on his gun.

His stomach turned as his blood tingled through his hands. He eyed Charles warily as he squatted on his haunch over the small pool of blood on the ground.

‘Someone got here first,’ Charles said, looking over the destruction.

All sorts of images flashed through Arthur’s mind. But none of them ended with a happy ending. Maybe Trelawny had managed to escape, but looking around him, it didn’t seem likely.

‘Certainly weren’t a social call,’ Arthur said as he stood and began rifling through the writing desk.

With no other clues than some barely eaten food and a mining share from some Tacitus Kilgore or whoever, Arthur was becoming acutely aware of how much time was ticking if they wanted to find Trelawny alive.

‘The struggle looks about twelve hours old, maybe?’ Charles said as Arthur continued to look around. ‘But the blood leads outside.’

With a nod, Arthur followed the puddles of blood out the back of the caravan as both men whistled for their horses. Charles took the lead, following the path away from the caravan as Arthur tailed behind him.

‘Not the kind of place I’d expect to see Trelawny staying in,’ Arthur said, scanning the horizon for any signs of the missing vagabond.

‘It’s certainly a step down from the estate,’ Charles said, his eyes firmly on the ground, watching the tracks with a firm hold on Taima’s bridle.

Arthur’s chest tightened. God, if anything had happened to Trelawny, Amelia would be devastated. He prayed that it wouldn’t be the case.

‘You know,’ Charles said, tearing Arthur from his thoughts, ‘when me and Javier went down with Trelawny to get Sean after the bar fight? I swear he talked the whole way and never actually said a damn thing.’

‘I thought you knew that was his special talent,’ Arthur said with a smile as he continued to follow his friend.

‘Well, at least you’re dealing with his niece for business. She seems a lot more on the ball,’ Charles said, turning over his shoulder to Arthur.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur repressed any temptation to say anything. Probably for the best to keep his mouth shut for once. Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks, but it felt like everyone knew. It seemed impossible. How could anyone know? But Arthur seemed to be hearing it everywhere today.

At least if Charles did know, it wouldn’t go much further, of that he was sure.

‘They could be twenty miles away by now,’ Arthur said, his jaw tensing as he changed the conversation.

‘We can track them that far if we need to. Depends on how much you want to find them.’

Charles had a point. If Trelawny was still alive, there weren’t no saying he didn’t talk. He’d be lying if he said he trusted the man and if he had talked… Then, well, the gang had its rules.

‘These tracks lead into the forest here, Arthur,’ Charles said, slowing his mount down as he turned her towards the trees.

Just by the treeline, he saw two men, their tent set up and horses hitched. But no Trelawny. He did not have a good feeling.

Throwing his leg over Montague and walking towards them, Charles followed behind. One of the men was sitting in a chair, whilst the other laid down with his feet stretched out before him.

‘Excuse me,’ Arthur called, attempting to sound as friendly as possible as he cleared his throat, ‘have you seen… we’re uh…. We’re lookin’ for our friend.’

The man’s eyes narrowed at him as he leaned forward, placing his elbow onto his knee.

‘I don’t think he’s here,’ the man said, his eyebrows so thick they nearly covered his eyes entirely.

‘Nah… you seen a strange sorta feller, sort of formal?’ Arthur asked as the other man sat up from where he was resting, looking between both Arthur and Charles.

He could feel the air around him change behind him. It was a skill very few men possessed, but one Charles had in spades. He prowled around the camp like a cougar with a tomahawk, ready to kill and maim at any given second.

The men both looked at the native, their necks near disappearing from how tense they became.

‘Stange, sure.’ The sitting man said, ‘formal… no.’

Charles knelt down on the ground, and for a moment, Arthur wasn’t exactly sure whether all hell was going to break loose at that very second.

‘He uses a cane. Looks a lot like this one.’

Within a blink of an eye, both the men were on their feet, as Arthur reached for his pistol, pulling it from his holster and aiming it at the men.

‘Where the hell is he?’ Arthur commanded, his voice changing back to his usual commanding tone.

They both leaped at him and Charles. But the one who went for Arthur wasn’t quick enough and he doubted his friend was much faster. Arthur smashed the butt of his gun onto the side of the man’s head, staggering him somewhat, as Charles already had the other one on the ground by his throat.

Arthur balled his other hand into a fist and swung upwards, connecting with the man’s jaw. Hard enough to send him down like a sack of shit.

Charles, meanwhile, wrestled himself off of the man, putting his foot on his throat as Arthur walked over to him.

‘I assumed you wanted to do the honours?’ Charles said as the man squirmed and gargled beneath them.

‘I sure do.’ Arthur said, kneeling next to the struggling man. ‘Where is Trelawny?’ He yelled, sending a boot into his ribs as Charles held him in place.

‘I don’t know anything!’ the man pleaded as he stifled his groan.

‘Always the same damn song,’ Arthur said, nodding to Charles, who pulled the man up by his collar and threw him against the nearest tree trunk.

‘Where is he?’ Arthur growled, pulling his fist back as Charles held him with dead weight.

‘You go to hell!’ the man yelled, spitting a thick glob of spit into Arthur’s face

Arthur saw black immediately, the anger coursing through every part of him, even down his damn fingernails. If it weren’t for finding Trelawny, more for Amelia’s sake than anything, he would have gutted the vermin there and then.

Instead, he pulled his knife from his belt, grabbing the little remaining hair on the man’s head as he shoved the blade at the back of his ear.

‘Tell me now, you son of a bitch,’ Arthur said, his voice low as it took all of his power to not slice him ear to ear.

‘Okay! Okay!’ the man cried, attempting to eye at the knife that threatened him. ‘They took him to a cabin. Over by the cornfields.’

‘Which cornfields?’ Arthur said, wiping the spit from his face with his free hand.

‘Left! Down the path, by the Braithwaite Manor!’

Good. Was all Arthur thought as he grabbed the man’s ear, slicing it off with little resistance from the cartilage as the knife made short work of it.

The blood sprayed across his face as the man let out a toe-curling scream, dropping to the ground and clutching at the wound.

Arthur threw his ear back at him, and both he and Charles made their way back to the horses.

They rode hard up the path and Arthur was keen to not waste any more time than they had to. If these bounty hunters had taken him to a cabin, it could only mean they intended to question him, and that wasn’t good at all.

‘What do you think they want with Trelawny?’ Charles called over the horse’s breath as the men continued to push them.

‘Could be any one of a hundred things. Just depends if any of them involve us.’ Arthur said back, his hand tightening on the bridle.

‘You think he’ll talk?’ Charles said a look of worry that Arthur rarely saw him wear. If Charles was rattled, then hell, Arthur should be ready to stain his breeches.

‘Course he’ll talk. He’d sell his own sister to save a train fare!’ Arthur wasn’t entirely sure if he was being serious or not, but his trust didn’t extend very far, and certainly not to the likes of someone as slippery as Trelawny.

‘What about his niece?’ Charles said a quiet and wry smile at the corner of his lips.

‘Ain’t the time,’ Arthur snapped, knowing full well what Charles was getting at, and now certainly wasn’t the time to be talking about Amelia. ‘He don’t know where we’re holed up, though. Least I don’t think he does.’

Charles continued looking at him, the way he often did. It was an all-knowing look, one that would have made Hosea proud. Christ, Arthur thought, wanting to curl up in his tent with a bottle and forget about the whole damn day.

‘I don’t know why Dutch still deals with him,’ Charles said, mildly changing the subject.

‘Yeah you do, Charles,’ Arthur drawled. ‘He’s got his uses and loyalty… well that’s what matters to Dutch. And money. Trelawny has given us the first steady income we’ve had in months, hell probably since before you joined us.’

‘I’m not disputing the money, but is he really loyal? To Dutch I mean? To us?’

Arthur sighed, afraid of the answer himself. He trusted the man in his own way. Trelawny was loyal to himself, to turning a trick and being as unpredictable as they came.

‘I guess he ain’t exactly disloyal… just a big mouth,’ Arthur said, half to himself. But if he really was all that, he supposed he wouldn’t have kept Amelia in the dark about them and, well, her own existence.

Arthur wasn’t a man who liked to complicate things and now certainly wasn’t a time to do that.

‘Don’t worry. If he talked,’ Arthur said as they turned the corner of the dusty track, ‘we’ll goddamn find out what he said. Nothing’s ever straightforward with him, I tell you that much.’

‘I mean, how much time have we wasted getting this fool out of trouble?’ Charles said as they slowed their horses into a canter across the rough terrain. Last thing they needed now was for one of the horses to go and break their ankles.

‘The man’s both lucky and unlucky at the same time. But for all the times we’ve done this for him… well, he’s got us out of just as much shit, I know that.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ Charles said, slightly out of breath from the hard ride.

‘He’s pays us good and pays us back. Just need to make sure if he talked right now is all.’ Arthur wasn’t sure whether he was defending himself, Trelawny, or Amelia in all of this. ‘Just when we think of cuttin’ him loose, he brings us something big.

I guess that’s his special talent. Keepin’ fish on the line.’ Arthur said, his knee giving a slow reminder of the ache from months back on the Cornwall train.

‘Funny way to describe your woman,’ Charles said, chuckling as the cabin danced on the horizon amongst the corn and tobacco fields.

‘She ain’t my woman!’ Arthur shouted, so loud it was almost as though he made himself go deaf.

Not that it mattered. Charles played with a boyish grin on his lips as Arthur shot him a look. If it was anyone else, he would have pulled him off that horse and left him in the dirt.

‘And I weren’t callin’ her a fish,’ Arthur mumbled, although not entirely sure why.

He didn’t need a reason to defend himself, or her for that matter. But Christ, he was growing tired of this constant needling.

‘There,’ Arthur said, pointing at the cabin already thinking about the sweet taste of liquor he would be drowning his thoughts and emotions in later.

They herded the horses away from the crops, unstrapped their guns, and headed towards the cabin.

Before they even made it to the door, it burst open, three men, one of which was Trelawny. His face was barely recognisable. He was dishevelled and covered in blood and bruises, but it was Trelawny all the same.

‘Let’s get you out of here! Come on boy,’ one of the bounty hunters said, as they both dragged Trelawny by the arms, his wrist bound and feet unsteady.

‘After that shack, this will be remembered like a good time!’ Another one chuckled as Arthur and Charles exchanged a quick look, their guns already raised.

‘Put the man down, gentleman,’ Arthur called, his anger near breaking point.

They did so obligingly as they threw Trelawny to the ground as he yelled in pain, the bounty hunters wasting no time in scampering off.

Charles was on him almost immediately, taking his knife to cut his binds.

‘That the last of them?’ Arthur said, praying that Trelawny’s bruises were earnt from him, keeping his mouth shut.

‘I… I think so…’ The Englishman managed to stammer, as he moved awkwardly on the ground.

Charles took to the chase almost instantly, as Arthur knelt down by Trelawny’s side.

‘So, you’re alive?’ He asked, his gun resting lazily in his hand.

‘Allegedly,’ Josiah grumbled as Arthur slung his arm around his back, helping him off the ground.

‘Well, don’t worry. They won’t be for much longer.’

Aiding the man off the ground with a few whimpers and grunts, he helped him over back to the stairs of the cabin.

‘Go get them, Arthur. I… I can handle this,’ Trelawny said, his voice strained as his eyes flinched and narrowed at every movement. Whatever they did to him, they certainly didn’t hold back.

Arthur ran back towards the cornfields.

Both he and Charles made short work of the bounty hunters, regardless of their attempts to lose them in the towering corn. A few bullets later, nearly being strangled with a lasso and a few more bastards in the barn, they made their way back towards the cabin.

At least if Trelawny did tell them anything, it was only words that the dead could hear.

‘Put your feet up, why don’t you!’ Arthur called to Trelawny, who had managed to find himself in a chair on the porch.

‘You okay?’ Charles asked, holstering his shotgun.

‘Never finer!’ Trelawny said, with an attempt at a smile that soon turned into a grimace as he clutched the side of his ribs.

‘So, who was they?’ Arthur said as both he and Charles took one arm each, pulling him up.

‘They were bounty hunters,’ Trelawny said with a groan, ‘attached to Cole Stoudemire. But they weren’t looking for me, per se.’

Guiding him over to Montague, he could feel the dead weight on Trelawny’s steps. He’d been gone for at least half a day and Arthur knew full well in the kind of the time the damage you could inflict upon someone.

‘What you tell them?’ Charles said, slipping out from underneath his arm and bringing the horse closer.

‘Not much,’ Trelawny said, a heavy, wheezing cough erupting from his lungs. ‘I… I told them I was an intellectual. That I had come down here from Oregon, looking for a job at the university.’

He breathed heavily, planting his hands on his knees as he doubled over.

Montague stood patiently until Trelawny straightened himself up again, gripping the saddle horn as Arthur helped push him onto the saddle.

With a heavy groan, Trelawny sat on top of the horse, his eyes closed tight as his head fell back as he faced the afternoon sun.

‘Of course, they didn’t believe me. Seems you stirred up quite the hornet’s nest in Blackwater.’

‘So I keep hearing,’ Arthur mumbled.

‘It might be best if I stay with you gentleman for a while,’ Josiah said, as Arthur mounted the horse in front of him.

‘Nah. I’m takin’ you back to the estate so you can rest up somewhere proper.’ Arthur said, earning another smirk from Charles.

‘Now dear boy, as grateful as I am -’

‘This ain’t up for debate. Charles head back to camp, let Dutch know the situation.’

‘Sure thing, Arthur,’ Charles said with a nod and a grin as he trotted off on horseback.

‘Arthur, I really don’t think it’s right for my niece to see me in this state,’ Trelawny said as Arthur clacked at the bridles, leaving the cornfields behind.

‘It ain’t ideal, but healin’ at camp isn’t neither.’ Arthur retorted.

‘Very well,’ Trelawny said after a moment as a heavy gust of wind blew over them.

A few moments passed, but to say it was in silence would have been a lie. Every few seconds, it seemed there was some sign of discomfort from Trelawny, some grunt or groan as Arthur tried his best to keep the horses at a steady and consistent pace.

‘There was another attack last night. On the estate,’ Arthur said after some time, ‘No one was hurt, not physically anyway.’

‘Dear God, were you there?’ Trelawny said, his hands gripping tighter on Arthurs’s sides.

‘Yeah, I was there.’

‘Well. That is fortunate indeed… Do… Do you know who’s behind it?’

‘Not yet. But I’ll find out,’ Arthur said with a firm nod, as they made their way through Scarlett Meadows.

A twinge of guilt formed in his chest from nowhere. This was their life. On the run, constant fear of death or jail, or both. Now Trelawny had been beaten to a pulp. This was the life he was dragging Amelia into, a world he wasn’t even sure she knew really existed.

It wasn’t like he didn’t try to tell her. He did, he wanted to. But well, one thing after another happened that night and now he felt he was in too deep on yet another mess he had helped cause.

He had got her entangled in something that she had no knowledge of that, and that did not sit well with him. But for now, at least, he just had to get Trelawny somewhere safe.

‘I er…,’ Arthur began, unsure of what he was really going to say, ‘your niece… Miss Edward’s… she er…’ He paused, already feeling sheepish at bringing her up to Josiah.

‘She mentioned she was going to meet Cornwall today, some business stuff -’

‘What?’ Trelawny said, and Arthur was unsure whether he just hadn’t heard him correctly. ‘That woman will be the death of me, dear boy.’

Arthur chuckled. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the troubles she must have caused Trelawny over the years. Beautiful, strong-willed with a fighting spirit. He was sure there must have been many arguments along the way.

‘Yeah, well, you know how she is. Besides, it’ll give you some time to clean up.’ Arthur said, trying to not feel too disappointed with how she won’t be at the estate to greet him.

Trelawny remained silent, probably too occupied with his wounds to carry on the conversation.

Montague trotted along, his head swaying in the summer air and cool breeze. Thankfully, they were still off a few weeks of the humidity really kicking in, and outside of the swamps, it was a beautiful day.

‘You know, Arthur,’ Trelawny said quietly, his breath heavy, and he gave a sigh, ‘Amelia, ever since she was a little girl, has always looked for adventure.’

Arthur’s mouth grew dry, his whole body tensing.

‘She is scared of very little, but…’ Trelawny exhaled again with a slight rattle underneath his breath, ‘she has also suffered a great deal of heartache. A great deal. I do not want her to suffer anymore.’

Arthur weren’t a clever man, but he weren’t stupid neither. It wasn’t hard to discern what exactly Trelawny was trying to say.

He gripped at the reins so tightly; he thought the bones in his hands would pop through his skin. He felt almost sick at the thought of what this “heartache” was, but for once, it didn’t sound as though Trelawny was over-exaggerating.

‘Does she know? About you, about the gang?’ Arthur managed to say eventually, although his voice was barely above a whisper.

‘She knows very little. Amelia knew I was indirectly involved in Blackwater, a bad investment gone wrong, if you will. But that is it.’ Trelawny said, his voice uncharacteristically stern.

‘You’ve never told her?’

‘No, Arthur. And I want it to remain that way. She doesn’t belong in our world.’

Arthur sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for Trelawny’s words or not. It did give him a fine old excuse for not telling her, but at the same time he still didn’t think it was right that she didn’t know who he was. He knew damn well that she would rightly want nothing to do with him if she knew he was an outlaw. But all the same, he wanted to tell her. To warn her, to protect her.

‘You know, you shouldn’t’ve got me caught up in all this in the first place,’ Arthur snapped, the stress of the day finally cracking at his edges.

He could hear Trelawny laugh softly behind him.

‘The world is hardly that simple, my dear boy. And for all of my many talents, even I cannot see into the future.’

The estate sat on the horizon, the giant oak trees nestled around it as the white pillars poked through their leaves.

‘I should’ve left you with those damn bounty hunters.’ Arthur grumbled.

#blemished silk #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x female oc

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pancat-n-sausage · 3 years

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here's a colored and very hyperspecific sketchdump featuring:

sad casses because my tunes made me forlorn

eugene but give him that dilf beard that lord viren from the dragon prince has going on

dragon pascal from this ask

warrior raps and centaur cass but specifically from this post and this post

#ympkinilly i was too nervous to @ you but i hope i got the colors on your design right #i am SO happy with how these came out specifically eugene #his face can be so hard to do sometimes??? i dont get it #i never want to draw a saddle or stirrup again though. never #tts #tangled the series #warrior!raps au #centaur au #eugene fitzherbert #tts cassandra #tts rapunzel #tts eugene #my art

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songbirdsingingthings · 3 years

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Heartbeats - Levi Ackerman x Reader

WARNINGS: Season 4 Spoilers, Mentions of Blood, Stitching up Major Injuries, Somewhat Angst, Ending In Fluff, FLOCH SLANDER

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Hajime Isayama

AOT Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: I REPEAT - SEASON 4 SPOILERS!!! Okay, so basically in this, you replace Hange in the little ride that she, Floch, and the rest of his little group takes out into the wilderness when they end up finding the remnants of the cart explosion. This also means you find out what happens to Levi (poor bby). I hope you enjoy, I had a lovely time writing this!

To put it simply, you were pissed off. If anyone could do a deep dive into your brain, navigate your nervous systems, and land themselves straight into your amygdala, they would find out just how livid you are. Being betrayed by your comrades was one thing. You’ve seen corruption in the military before whether it be in the Military Police or in the Garrison, so you knew it was only a matter of time that a seed of deceit sprouted within the Scout Regiment. However, you didn’t think that there would be so many to purposely go against their oath and betray the core values and people who helped the Scouts become who they were. But the real kicker was that you and Hange, two of the highest ranking people in the regiment, were being led out by gunpoint by Floch. As one of the last remaining captains of the Scouts, you were almost humiliated at the thought of cadets technically holding your life in their hands as the group of you rode on horseback.

“Move along Y/N, we don’t have all day.” Floch said. You didn’t have to turn your head to see the power hungry grin donning the red head’s face. Instead, you scoffed and moved one of your hands up to tug the hood of your cape lower over your face. The rain was pelting your back relentlessly and you shuddered a little at the chill that ran down your back. Of course the rain had to come to make this experience even more miserable than it already was. You wished that Hange was by your side on this little outing, but of course, the little group headed by Floch would only take one of you out at a time. Pay no mind, just try to get through this, you tell yourself, gritting your teeth. You turn your focus onto happier thoughts to try and propel yourself through this little “mission”. Your mind flitted to random, somewhat material things; a freshly washed and dried long sleeve shirt, a cup of soothing tea, and using your ODM gear just for fun. But, like all thoughts of yours tend to do, they all turned onto the man that had been stationed out in the woods for weeks. Levi Ackerman. Four, maybe five years ago, you never would have thought that the gray-eyed man could become anything closer to you than a colleague, much less a boyfriend. But, things just fell weirdly into place, setting up your relationship. Oh, what he would say when he finds out what has been happening back at HQ, you muse, your mouth twitching into a small smile. However, your somewhat appeased expression morphed into one of confusion when a sudden cracking noise reverberated through the air and landed on the ears of you and the group of traitorous scouts.

“Uh… Floch?” You hear one of the scouts say, their voice laced with concern.

“What the hell was that?” Floch asks.

“Thunder maybe?” Another scout chimes in, not sounding confident in their answer. Your eyebrows knit in perplexity as your eyes narrow in the direction the sound came in. Then, it all comes together. A Thunder Spear. You conclude. A lump in your throat forms. But why? The only people out in the woods would be… Levi.

“Let’s head in that direction.” The redhead concludes. The group wordlessly kicks their horses into a canter as everyone heads toward a more northern direction. It’s only when you get closer to the forest’s tree line that you see where that sound came from. In the short distance, a somewhat mangled titan was laying down on its stomach, but closer to you was the wreckage of a wooden cart. Planks of wood were sticking out haphazardly, and to your sorrow, so were two horses. You heard the murmurs of confusion from Floch’s group, but your focus remained on one of the horses. Why was your attention captured by such a sad sight? This poor, jet black horse was on its side. It almost reminded you of Levi’s… no, it looks exactly like his horse. Hurriedly, but not so fast as to draw attention to yourself, your eyes and head dart around the surroundings of the wreckage. Over the drenched plains and tall grass, nothing was out of the norm. Until your eyes landed a green Scout Regiment cloak with its hood up, definitely covering a person’s body that you recognized immediately. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Without hesitation, you hopped off your horse - your feet almost getting tangled in the stirrups of the saddle - and sprinted towards the cloak-wrapped body.

“CAPTAIN Y/N, DO NOT RUN OFF!” Floch shouts over the downpour of rain. Paying no mind to the mud that caked your boots and the stinging of the tall grass as it cut and pricked your face. You reach him and flip him over immediately. As soon as you see his face, you audibly gasp. A long, slightly deep cut stretched from just on top of his right brow, over his right eye, over his mouth, and then finally stopped at his chin. Substantially sized wood chips were buried into his left cheek. What made your hands shake, though, was the fact that all over his pale face and stuck in his silky black hair was his blood. You jostle him once, then twice, and then finally a third time to yield no movement from him.

“ARE YOU ALIVE?” You shout into his ear, your voice trying to reach his eardrums. “ANSWER ME, PLEASE!” You feel your heart breaking as his lips don’t move and his eyes don’t flutter with movement. Never did you think that your time with him would run out. Humanity's strongest soldier, the captain of the special ops squad, and the love of your life taken out of the world just like that? No. He was too stubborn, too hellbent on avenging Erwin and making sure that you don’t get yourself into ‘dumb predicaments’ as he likes to say. You hug his limp body close to you and press your ear to his chest. You knew that Floch and his cronies would be surrounding you soon, but you just wanted one last moment with you and him alone. Your eyes closed as you nestled yourself into him in a last ditch effort in order to find some final comfort from him. All you could hear was the rain and the faint squelching of the “Scouts’” boots coming towards you. But then, as light as a feather, a heartbeat. Your eyes shoot open as you press your ear against his chest closer to his chest, trying to make sure what you heard wasn’t a hallucination. Another heartbeat, although faint, was there. You didn’t have time to react when you heard a voice from behind you.

“I don’t know what happened, but we got lucky. Our biggest threat, now covered in his own blood.” Floch’s words pierced your heart. How he could be so insensitive, so disrespectful of a human life.

“I’ll send a shot through his head.” Another one said.

“He’s dead.” You quickly say, earning silence from the rest of the group. If he’s going to stay alive, I have to act fast. I have to make up stuff on the fly. You say to yourself. “He must have been hit by a Thunder Spear explosion at close range,” you say, incorporating the cracking noise that everyone heard. “I saw something similar in a training accident when Hange was in the developing stage with prototypes. He might not look dead, but his vital organs are in shreds. He died immediately from the internal bleeding.” You say, trying your best to convince them that Levi was, in fact, ready to be buried six feet under. You look up to Floch, forcing tears to spring from your eyes in order to fully sell the effect.

“Well, I know how to take a pulse. Lemme see him and I’ll check to make sure that he is, as you say, dead.” Floch said, nonchalantly. Shit. But, like some higher power was looking down on you, the titan near the treeline produced a strange smoky-like substance, gaining the attention from the group.

“What’s going on?”

“I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“What do we do?” Comments from everyone in the group were voiced, everyone’s eyes - including yours - trained on the origin of the smoke. And there, like he emerged from a phoenix’s ashes, was Zeke. Your eyes widen, and then narrow. They’re obsessed with Zeke and Eren. This is my chance. Gripping Levi as tightly as you can and putting all of your energy into this exact moment, you launched you and Levi into the river that ran right next to you. You could hear the warped voices of the traitorous scouts as you plunged into the freezing water, but you couldn’t and wouldn’t turn your head. They had the guns, they had the manpower, and they had the higher ground. The only way you and Levi would survive this is if you swam down the river. So, you swam, and swam, and swam.

You gasp and cough up water as you resurface, immediately putting your efforts into getting Levi out of the river water. You manage to push his body and roll it a foot away from the riverbank before you get swept under the water again. FIGHT, DAMMIT! You scream to yourself, clawing your way out and onto the land next to Levi. With another cough and hack, you grab hold of your unconscious boyfriend and somewhat drag, somewhat carrying him into the woods to find what little shelter you could get. You whip your head around quickly to survey your surroundings, finding solace in the fact that it’s just the two of you.

“O-okay,” you waver, your mind strained and your body exhausted, “there’s no one here or after us right now. We’re safe for right now.” You say, hopeful that Levi could hear you. You quickly make a camp out of the supplies that you had on your back as well as the things you could find in nature. Thankfully, every scout - captain or cadet - was required to carry a full tent and sleeping pack, so as quickly as you could, you set those both up. From when you were hammering in the little pegs of the tent and unfolding and rolling out the sleeping pack, you kept a watchful eye on Levi. Finally, everything was set up and a small campfire was roaring. Now, you could officially tend to him. You peel back the cloak from his body and set in near the fire to dry it off. Pulling Levi gently over and onto the sleeping pack, you brush back his hair from his face so that you could fully assess his injuries.

“Oh Levi…” You murmur, taking in that big scar again. There was no doubt that he had gone blind in his right eye. All you could hope was that there is no infection. So, quickly, you take out your first aid kit and get to work. First, you start to remove the wood chips from his face with tweezers. “You know, you would be furious if you saw how Floch treated Hange and the rest of the leading officials within the Regiment. Probably would’ve ended him right then and there.” You blab, trying to distract yourself and talk to Levi at the same time. Pulling wood out of your boyfriend’s face was not something you loved doing. Thankfully, there weren’t that many chips and they didn’t splinter, so that work was quick. Now came the monstrous task of stitching up those gashes stretching across his face. The one on his cheek didn’t worry you, but the one stretching across his eye and mouth most definitely did. So, to try and fuel your confidence, you start with the smaller and less dependent one. After a couple of shaky tries, you finally thread the needle and tie a knot at the end of it to prevent the stitch from coming undone.

“Okay, you can do this Y/N. It’s just like when your mom used to stitch up your clothes, right? Just nice and slow…” you say to yourself, bringing the needle to his mangled skin. “Levi, I can’t believe you’re making me do this you asshole!” You whine, a few tears falling from your eyes as you finally stick the needle through his skin and stitching it together. You got into a steady rhythm, messing up a bit here and there, but eventually getting the job done. You grab the little thread scissors and snip off the end of the thread, tying the little thread at the end of the gash tightly, but not as taut as to rip the stitching.

“Now onto the big one.” You breathe, prepping yourself. With a deep breath and a scrunch of your eyes, you begin at his chin and start making your way up. It was a short distance to stitch to his bottom lip, but you hated to sew that part up. Those lips were always so soft against your skin. From pressing butterfly kisses to your shoulders when you would wake up in bed, quick ones to your forehead before leaving for a mission, and passionate ones to your lips when you would finally get back, those lips comforted you and helped you through the tough reality of living. Now, you had to leave a permanent reminder on his lips that he wasn’t as invincible as he might’ve once thought. You tie that part off before starting at his top lip, making your way up to his eye. This was the part you were dreading. Those silver irises drew your attention in whichever situation you were in. Whether it be a meeting of the minds or just a quick glance his way, you would get absolutely lost in those gray pools. Now, he would have only one and his vision would be used through a single eye.

“Come on L/N, you’ve got this.” You whisper while starting to stitch his eye. It was a rough, uncomfortable experience, but finally you made it over his eye and to his forehead. And, with one last tie and a snip from the scissors, you were done. The last thing you had to do was wrap his right hand. You discovered, when dragging him through the river, just how far his injuries extended. Two of his fingers, his middle and index, were cut clean off. It pained you to know that he would have to relearn how to use ODM gear again. The tool he was a master and artist at using, making himself look graceful and deadly at the same time, he would have to relearn. You just covered his hand and wounds quickly, and let your mind veer from that. You cleaned his face again, swiping a clean strip of your shirt, a piece you ripped off, and went carefully over his stitches and took extra care in the more tender areas. Then, you threw it to the side and plopped down at his side, staring at the grass in front of you.

“What the hell do we do now…” You say, your voice dry and void of life, your eyes sullen. “We can’t stop Zeke between you, me, and the rest of the scouts we have on our side. Eren’s on this weird and insane rampage, ostracising Mikasa and Armin from himself, as well as the rest of us. The Yeagerists are becoming this crazed cult by seizing control over everything… I just do not know what to do.” You confess, laying all of your feelings out for him to, hopefully, hear. Glancing back at Levi, you see he’s still motionless. However, you see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and that comforts you for now.

Levi is still unconscious when you begin formulating ideas on how to get him back or get help in general. Armin, Mikasa, and the rest of the 104th cadets were being kept somewhere, you knew that much. You had no way of knowing where they were keeping Hange or how she was doing, and the other top ranking officials of each of the different regiments were either colluding with the Yeagerists or being beaten to a pulp by them. Even Hitch, a member of the Garrison that everyone had taken a large liking to, was probably still guarding Annie who was stuck in her crystal for four five years and counting. Your thoughts were put to a hold, though, when a beam of light and a booming sound erupted from the walls. You spun around to face the light, absolutely dumbstruck at the sight. You had seen something like this before, for example whenever Armin or Eren changed into their respective titans, but this was something different.

“Oh my-” You begin to say, but then a strangled sounding groan was voiced. Levi. Whipping your head to face him, you find the black-haired man sitting up slowly and grumbling.

“The Beast… That piece of shit… where is he…?” You quickly make your way over to him, pressing a gentle hand to his stomach.

“Hey, easy, lay back down.” You order softly. To your surprise, he complies. “Zeke went back to Shiganshina with the Yeagerists.” You explain, trying to answer Levi’s question. You see the absolutely defeated look in his eye, but was not able to see his frown through the wrappings you had placed around his head to dress his wounds. “Levi,” you ask softly, bringing your hand to lightly hold his left hand, “what happened?” His gaze left yours to look beyond yourself, maybe towards the sky.

“I screwed up. I didn’t take into question whether Zeke was ready to die or not. I guess he was since he triggered that thunderspear I had aimed towards his neck. I let him get away. Again.” His eyes went back onto yours.

“I… I know you’re upset and you want your revenge, I really do. But, for right now, I think that we-”

“If we keep running and hiding, where the hell will that get us.” Levi interrupts. You press your mouth into a tight line and look away from him.

“I know, I agree.” You say, sighing. “We’ll get back there, back into the action. We’ll make things right.”

“My goal is to kill Zeke.” He says. You know that killing Zeke has been on his mind ever since Erwin, and you know it will never leave it. However, you can’t stop the worry that rises within you when you think about how that may be Levi’s only goal. How after he completes it, he won’t make new goals or find new dreams to carry out within life. Your body goes a bit rigid and now you turn away from him completely. However, if you could see Levi’s face, you would know that he realizes how his wording found a way to hurt you, and he hated that. He hated the thought that you had to risk your neck for his, take care and stitch him up, and now put up with him. “Y/N-”

“No, I understand.” You say, turning your face back to his and pressing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes onto your face.

“Y/N.” He says more forcibly now, causing your fake smile to drop. “Killing Zeke is my goal. It’s not my entire life's purpose.” Tears start to well in your eyes as you bite your cheek, willing them to stop.

“Okay.” You croak, grasping onto his hand tighter. You feel his grip on you tighten as well. “Levi Ackerman, we will get through this, do you understand me? You are not allowed to die on me until we are both old and gray and on rocking chairs outside on the little patio in front of our house, got it?” You say, letting the tears flow freely.

“Until we’re old and gray.” He repeats, nodding. You sigh out of pure exhaustion and lay down next to him.

“It fucking sucked stiching you up. I don’t understand how medics do that.” You say, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, well, I could tell the stitches are shoddy at most. You’ll probably leave me with an ugly ass scar across my face.” He bites back. This earns a smile from you as you turn your head, pressing a kiss to his left cheek.

“You could prove to be a whole lot nicer to me. I had to drag your ass through a river.”

“I would’ve paid money to see you swim.” He muses, earning a drop of the jaw from you.

“Hey, I can swim fine!” You reason. A few beats of silence pass.

“Thank you. For dragging me away from those little shits and cleaning me up.” You nod and let one of your hands fall on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s steady and consistent this time, causing a smile to spread across your face as you close your eyes.

“I love you.” You say, grasping onto his shirt.

“I love you too. And I promise, for the rest of your life, I’ll be there for you too.” Unfortunately, the last part of confession falls upon deaf ears on your part since you passed out into a much needed sleep. That’s okay to him, though. He would be there by your side to tell you that again, and again, and again.

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lemonjoonah · 4 years

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Blood Bounty - Part 2 (M)

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), vampire feeding during intercourse, referenced non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted vampire feeding on a minor, referenced captivity, referenced injury to animal, blood, violence, gore, threats, obsession, poisoning, murder, minor character death(s), illness, referenced death of brother, historical medical practices, self-inflicted injury (for the sake of vampire feeding), contemplation of action which might result in self-harm, discussion of drugging (with vampire blood)

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Just a quick note, there will be a few flashbacks in part two, all of which should be italicized (as long as Tumblr doesn’t fail to format properly). Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!

...

You wake before Yoongi at the start of dusk, after having fallen back asleep propped against his chest. The tension in your thighs from your two days of riding resurfaces as you stand. Restricted to a strained hobble, you grab the nearest supply sack. Heading outside to take a moment of privacy and address your bodily needs, while leaving Yoongi to continue his rest.

As you finish putting on the fresh clothes you acquired the day before, swapping out for a new tunic and the much needed smaller boots, Yoongi bursts out the door of the ramshackle house. His face fraught with worry. “Your Highness?!”

“Here,” you call over to him, stepping out from the cover of the trees. “I’m here.”

His chest heaves with a sigh as he relaxes. “You should have woken me.”

“So you could hover over me as I change?” You ask with a raised brow as you fit your cap back on your head.

“N-no... it’s just best if...” Yoongi’s reply is marked with stuttered speech and a tone of frustration. “H-how can I keep you safe if you wonder off in the night? You act as though you don’t have a bounty on your blood. There are sure to be hunters about and still looking for you.”

“I didn’t stray far, and there was still light out when I left you.”

“Even so, it worried me to wake, and not find you by my side.” He mutters, before returning inside to fetch the horse’s tackle and the rest of the bags.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise to his turned back, disarmed by his compassionate concern.

While he readies the horse for the day's journey, you keep to the front of the stead. Holding on to the bridal, you brush the dark mane as you make a request. “Are we able to stop at a river soon? The waterskin is running low.”

Yoongi nods, “We will cross one shortly before my ally’s post.”

“Your ally?” You ask, your heart starting to race as you panic over the suggestion. “You never said we would have to meet with more of your kind.”

“He has a residence he keeps for the clan between here and your castle. He will have a spare room and bed for us. I can promise you resting there will be far more comfortable than it has been the past two nights.”

“And it’ll be safe for me to be around such company?”

“He has no need for your blood. He resides there with his blood consort, a human-”

“A human! A captive-”

“No, no of course not.” Yoongi cuts in. “They are companions, Namjoon feeds Seokjin by choice, and in return Seokjin looks after him with his own blood, keeping Namjoon free from age and ailment.”

“But-”

“Seokjin will not approach you if I ask him not to. I trust him.” Yoongi comments as he straps the last bag in, the horse now equipped to depart.

Placing your foot in the stirrup before Yoongi can even offer to assist. Muttering your apprehension over the situation as you attempt to mount the stead. Though your endeavour to reach the saddle on your own fails miserably, resulting in your back colliding with Yoongi’s chest as you fall. His arms catch yours while your foot remains caught in the metal brace. “Careful now,” Yoongi warns you.

“I know. I can do it on my own.” You urge back, frustration edging out into your voice over your apparent state of helplessness, as you struggle to right yourself.

“I’m sure you can.” He chuckles, while pushing you up and onto the horse, before joining you himself. “But it doesn’t mean you have to.”

You shrink down between his arms trying to avoid his touch, continuing to fume over the prospect of spending the day within reach of another vampire. Yoongi may have become less of a concern after the revelation last night, but the thought of being in such close proximity to someone of his clan puts you on edge.

As you shift in the saddle trying to find a comfortable position for your seat, one of his hands comes to clutch your waist. He presses you back against him, mercifully relieving some of the weight from your thighs.

“Better?” He asks.

You nod in reply. Despite your bitterness you lean into him further, the ache being a far more pressing issue at this moment, then the ally you meet later tonight. Soon finding comfort in his support, you turn your concern to the other vampires that neither you nor he can dismiss so easily. “Earlier you said that Taehyung’s hunters are still about, you don’t think they would make it out this far and this quickly do you?”

“For you? Most certainly. I’m sorry to say, I doubt they are far behind.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was forced to work among them. The swiftest way for me to get to you on my own was to be granted an invitation inside, but to do that I needed to hunt. I gave them a false identity, calling myself Agust, and my services in an attempt to gain their favour.” You go rigid in the saddle. Yoongi must have sensed the change as he is quick to clarify his words. “I never gave them people, only blood I acquired in the same way that I obtained it for myself.”

“And how do you do that?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Yoongi mutters. You’ve come to despise this answer, still huffing at his need to keep all a secret. “When you keep insisting on hiding it, I start to doubt more and more that I will like the answer.”

He hesitates before replying. “What if that is what I want?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t judge so quickly? Now you wish for me to dislike you and your ways?” You blurt out in confusion. Why after attempting to build your trust would he want you to hate him so.

“Not necessarily, just to question and be critical once you have all of the information, to hold your own opinion and not my own view. If your memories come from me how can I know that they are unbiased.”

“But how is that a memory of mine if it’s your method of feeding?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond but merely clenches his jaw when you look back at him, refusing to speak anymore on the subject.

The silence between you stretches on for most of the night, he checks in on occasion to ensure that you are well. But other than that you hardly exchange another word, right up to when Yoongi slows the horse at the sight of the moonlit river and bridge. He helps you dismount, and unhooks a pack from the saddle, giving you access to the provisions you require.

“Our stop is only a few more minutes away down road. We have several hours until day break.” He nods to the river, “Take all the time you need. I’ll give you some privacy and take the horse just around the bend.”

When Yoongi leaves your line of sight, you remove your boots, roll your trousers, and step into the chill waters. You take one stride in and another unit you are submerged almost to your knees. Filling up the waterskin you take a long daft, while also savouring the coolness of the river your skin and sores. The bandages on your heels are a ragged mess, in desperate need of being replaced. You reluctantly return to the banks, crouching to rummage through the pack to hunt for something that could be of use to protect the broken skin.

You have no such luck in locating any spare cloth, but find instead a heavy roll of leather at the bottom. Dragging it up to the surface of the pack, you are curious as to what it might be. While peeking up to ensure that Yoongi has not come back to check in, you loosen the string ties and unravel the well-worn wrap. There’s a small clang from whatever lies inside as it unfolds. Your heart races as you attempt to brace the objects within, slowing your motions to prevent the noise from happening again. Not wishing to draw attention to your invasion of the vampire’s belongings.

But your cautionary actions come to a swift halt when tucked inside you find sharp metal instruments, encompassing a variety of shapes, sizes, and serrations. Kept well enough to glare back at you as they reflected the moonlight. You immediately drop the leather carrier to the ground, and stumble away from the horrific implements. Though in your fear and hurry, you miscalculate the security of the ground on which you stand. Teetering on the rocks at the river’s edge, you fall back. Losing your hat to the current, while your hands plunge into shallow water. The sharp pebbles of the bank dig into your palms, skinning off the scab of Taehyung’s bitten wound.

You gasp in pain, pulling your hand out from the river to inspect the freshly opened break in your skin. Yoongi appears seconds later, reaching out for your hand from the edge of the water. “Are you hurt?”

You look from your palm up to Yoongi. The sting of the lesion and his presence triggering a memory of a darkened cobblestone street, a fanged monster hidden beneath a hood, reaching out for your hand, caked with dirt and blood. Then a gap, a break in your recollection, ending with a flash of Yoongi taking that same hand and passing his own blood over yours to close the cut. The brief glimpse ends, leaving you with a bleak look at your alleged friendship.

“You... you gave me your blood?!” You ask, delving further back into the river out of fear, the prospect of the freezing water is nothing compared to the demon who seems to have poisoned you long ago.

“What are you-”

“You gave me your blood. You used your sway to compel me into-into caring for a monster like you!”

His face falls at your accusation. “Is that how you truly view it then? You do in fact see me as a monster?”

“How else can I? Why else would someone like you carry those tools other than to harm? ”

Yoongi looks down, his lips tightening upon seeing your discovery. “Because you gave them to me!” He counters, to your shock and horror, allowing his forced confession to sink in for a moment before continuing in a more sombre tone. “If you feel that I influenced you poorly, for that I am deeply sorry. I thought, I hoped you might have seen it all differently. I had your blessing back then, but I can see that I was right to question my undue-influence on you.”

“I’m not talking about your influence, but your blood, you used it to manipulate my thoughts and actions! If I gave you such things I was surely under your spell.”

“No, I would never intentionally force you to think a certain way! But your circumstances back then made you vulnerable, I fear they made you open to my persuasion, and to desire my good graces.” You stand there thigh deep in the river, frozen in place, as his words continue to challenge your perception and memory. “If you revoke your once good opinion of me I will not fault you for it. But I don’t know how else to remedy my mistakes other than to take you home. Can you please trust me long enough to do that?”

“I-” You begin, while trying to figure out where your answer will end, your head swimming with conflicting recollections of his blood, and kindness to you.

But your answer is halted by the sudden change in the vampire before you. Yoongi turns his head back to the line of trees his nose lifting before like it did when he caught the scent of the highwaymen. “Hunters, they’ve found us.”

A shiver passes over you, unrelated to the cold water. “You can smell them? Are they Taehyung’s?”

“No, not them per se, but the blood they are dressed in, and based on that...” He turns back to you, his expression fraught with worry as he points to the river. “Go in further and remain in there until it is safe to come out. They will not be able to fetch you if the river reaches past the leg of their mount. Promise me, whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever you hear, you will not leave until you are certain it is safe.”

You nod unable to verbalize your agreement. Your breath catches in your chest as you continue to lower yourself into the water's depths. The slow current comes to reach your waist, just before a mounted hunter and his much larger companion on foot break near the banks of the river.

“Agust,” the mounted hunter address Yoongi by his false persona, confirming your dread of who they serve. “Fancy meeting you here. We thought we smelled something sweet, but had not realized you would be attempting to collect it too. Since when do you capture live prey? I thought you dealt more in bottled goods.” He proceeds to laugh at his own words, while his fellow remains silent.

“This bounty is mine Thane.” Yoongi commands from the ground standing between you and them. His attention focused solely on the vampire with the stead, marking him as the superior of the two hunters in your eyes.

“Is it now?” He asks with an air of conceit. “It looks more like it’s just beyond your reach. Smart of her to use our weakness in such a way.”

“She’s just playing a game,” Yoongi mutters. “She won’t last long in there, the cold will send her out soon.”

You wish it wasn’t so, but there’s truth to his words, for you are unsure of how much longer you can bear the frigid temperatures. The chattering of your teeth brings further evidence to them that the chill has sunk deep into your skin.

“If she was so difficult to control why did you not give her your blood?” The larger of the two hunters asks.

“What, and taint the product with my own?” Yoongi spits back, looking offended that the hunter would suggest such practice. “I plan to take her back to Lord Taehyung, unspoiled, and alone.”

The lip of the leader, Thane, curls at Yoongi’s comment. “I do not think you will. She seems like more than you can handle.”

“Then you and your partner leave me to fetch a human who may breach the water’s banks.”

“No, you will come with me. Averill will stay and watch her.” Thane nods to the hulking vampire next to him.

“And leave my blood bounty with you? I think not.” Yoongi’s worry starts to cross into his voice, his wavering tone evident to even you. He stands down with a fake chuckle and proceeds to dismiss their presence by busying himself with the task of repacking the belongings you left out of the sack. “If you're not going to send for assistance leave me be, for I plan to wait as long as it takes to recollect her for his lordship.”

“And what will you do when the sun rises? You are not in a position to negotiate Agust. You should be glad that we are offering to even do you this favour. I hear the reward for this one is greater than any before. Lord Taehyung is offering an immediate position among his keepers to whomever can capture her.”

It becomes clear to you that they will not give in so easily, and Yoongi too pauses upon hearing this news. “Since you insist, I will go with you, but he does not make an attempt to touch her until we get back. If I find out you’ve tried to cross me-”

“He will stick to the shore of the river, until our return.” Thane looks to his companion who nods to confirm that he will abide to such terms.

Yoongi turns his back to them, the light of the moon granting a dim view of the concern on his face. He points one figure at the ground, what you can only only read as a supposed signal for you to stay, before mounting up and riding off with one of the hunters in the direction of his ally.

The vampire on the water's edge began to prowl back and forth, watching you with intrigue. “You look cold and tired my dear. You should come out, let’s not play this game any longer.”

“It’s not a game.” You mutter in response to the vampire.

A menacing grin takes hold of his face. “Of course it is, your kind consider hunting to be of sport, do they not?”

You turn your head and ignore his comment. Letting minutes pass with you in silence, until the vampire's pacing comes to a halt, and the smile has all but faded from his features.“Where the hell are they?”

Considering the torment his clan has brought you, you take great pleasure in seeing his frustration rise. “What’s wrong?” You tempt him, hoping that he might be foolish enough to try to reach you on his own. “Does the night wane too quickly for you? Is the vampire afraid of a little sunlight as well as running water? With so many weaknesses it’s a wonder you’ve survived.”

“There are still a few hours to go until sunrise human, I wouldn’t raise your hopes just yet. Because when I pull you from that river, I will show you just how well I survive. ” No sooner than the threat passes from his lips, a single horse rides back into view. Though to your terror it is not Yoongi’s stead, but Thane’s, with it’s rider wrapped his tattered and blood stained cloak. Your chest tightens and breathing stops, as you consider what might have happened to Yoongi. His absence brings grim thoughts to your mind regarding his fate, fearing what kind of situation he must be in to prevent his return.

Looking downriver with a choked sob, you contemplate your only escape with Yoongi now gone, ready to take the current to its end, or yours.

The imposing vampire that was left with you calls out to his ally. “What in the devil's name took you so long? I thought you were going to deal with Agust, and bring back someone who could assist? I see no humans!”

Thane doesn’t answer out loud. After dismounting he pulls his cloak tighter, and approaches his friend, leaning in to talk to him. It’s not until a stake pierces Averill’s chest that you see the true face of the rider. Painted with blood from, and contempt for, the being he just slaughtered.

A sense of déjà vu grips you once again, and refuses to let go. You’ve witnessed something like this before, so many years ago. Another memory starts to resurface, another vampire slaying much like this, both executed by the hand of... “Yoongi?!”

...

-10 years ago -

Just a few hours outside of the palace walls, that is all you desire. Dressed in your lady’s maid’s change of clothes you go in search of the sights outside. Hoping to find something unfamiliar and new. After hearing the very maid you ‘borrowed’ the clothes from, discuss the bakery, the public houses, the marketplace, and more. You could no longer hold back your curiosity. Your books and maps are not enough to quell your taste for adventure, your eyes seek to explore the areas that the tomes in your library fail to touch. And since it all resides on the crown's land, surely you have a duty to study it?

As much as you would have preferred to go out in the day, the cover of darkness is so much easier to slip out under. No one should look twice at a person your attire, and you yourself are not expected to be anywhere else other than bed.

Unfortunately that means the bakery is closed and the market packed up. The only place warmed with light and presence is the tavern, but you know it would be foolish to go in there. For you have no coin on hand for a meal, and are far too young to have any other sensible reason for entrance.

Despite your first expedition not being everything you wanted, it only makes you determined to plan better for your next. After two hours pacing the streets, looking for sites of interest, you consider heading back. You turn to face the direction you had just travelled and look for another route home, not wishing to view only the same roads as before. Travelling one side street and another, though you soon make an error and find a dead end greeting you on the third.

Turning about, you double back, but fail to notice the slick pile of refuse, which sends you falling forward. Your hands reach out to stop your face colliding into the cobblestones, while the rest of your body flattens painfully in your tumble.

Following the shock of your plummet you take a moment to inspect your well-being from the ground. You curse your foolish inattention when you find your palms coated in mud, and stinging with scrapes. Resulting in a small amount of blood, beading on the surface of your skin.

A man dressed in a long cloak and hood from the nearby road turns into the alley and encroaches upon your, no doubt pathetic looking form. You thought he might be there to offer his assistance after such a fall, but he only looks down upon you with a hunched posture.

“Well aren’t you a rare breed. Surely you are not from these parts, or I would have found you before.” His sinister words immediately put you on your guard, after giving you the impression that you are something to be collected rather than aided.

“I’m sorry sir but you are mistaken.” You ascend from your knees and brush yourself off, seeking to flee his uncomfortable presence, but the stranger blocks your path. With an outstretched arm, his hand rests against the wall, taking up the entire width of the alley. The lower half of the man’s face peaks out from beneath his hood, only to show his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You clench your jaw and stand firm, attempting to give him reason to reconsider preying on one such as yourself. “I hail from here, and my family expects my return soon. Now let me pass.”

“I am not mistaken, I know a new and valued vintage when I smell it, and you are quite something...” He steps closer as you back away, continuing to cut off your escape by dragging his fingers along the stone wall. His stride resembles that of a predator, narrowing in on their presumed feast. You raise a hand in to signal for him to stop, but he merely gives it a keen stare.

“Did you hurt your hands my dear? Here let me take a look.” He reaches out with his own taloned hand, his long fingers ending with sharpened nails. “I can help heal them right up for you.”

“Thank you sir, but I would rather just go home and tend to them myself.” You give one last plea, one last appeal to his humanity. Fearing that his next action against you will be truly monstrous.

“It will take only a moment, and I promise,” the fabric of his hood falls back to reveal his feral face with pointed teeth, “You won’t remember a thing.”

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his mouth. You try to tug it back, but his grip is like none you’ve felt, so firm that even the strongest pull you can muster has no impact on him. Even a push to his chest from your other fist does not disturb him. You close your eyes waiting for the pain of his strike but there’s nothing of the sort. Only a soft grip on your wrist for a second and your hand is released. You open your eyes back up in hesitation, to find your attacker pinned against the wall by another.

“We do not feed on children! Have you forgotten our clan’s law?”

“Yoongi, I’m sorry sir you’re right. But you must understand, you must smell how sweet her blood is. Do you not find it as tempting as I?”

“We do not feed on children.” The newcomer reiterates his tone drawing into a low growl.

“Surely she is not so young that you cannot make an exception this once? No one else in the clan has to know sir, it’s just us here. I’ll even share her with you.”

There’s a swift flash of movement and the second has impaled the first through the chest with a wooden stake. The predator who cornered you looks on him with shock before slumping down the side of the wall, leaving a strip of blood in his wake.

You stare into the vial stranger’s blank eyes, unable to quell the worry that he might still launch an attack on you. “Is-is he, is it-” You manage to stutter out, as you battle your nerves, deeply shaken, but increasingly grateful for the intervention of the one before you.

“He’s dead.” The vanquisher tends to the cast-off on his coat and skin, brushing his hand over the crimson stains while he addresses you. “You should run along princess, it’s not safe for you to wander about at night.”

“You-you know who I am?”

“I’ve come across your scent before, it was just after one of your family’s gallant displays of authority.” You tilt your head confused by what he could mean. He takes in your bewilderment and explains further. “One of the royal processions, I spotted you just after dusk when you returned to the castle some years ago. Your aroma is not one my kind would forget.”

“Your kind, what do you mean your kind? What was he?”

“A weak willed monster who feeds on blood, and hunts by night. He is not alone out there, so you should stay very far away from the darkened streets.”

“But you are not like him.”

“I swear to you, he and I are the same.” The man comes towards you lowering himself on one knee and baring his fangs. “He is a vampire, and so am I.”

You don’t turn away but look at them with curiosity. His brow furrows as you move in closer. “And what of your name?” You ask, desperate to know more about him, for his appearance, his very existence, has certainly become the most intriguing part of your night .

“You don’t need-”

“But I would like it.”

“Yoongi. I go by Yoongi,” he mutters, looking taken aback once again. “May I?” He extends his hand for yours. You give it to him with little hesitation, wincing as his thumb brushes the mud away. He pauses upon noticing your discomfort and extends an offer to you. “If I take away this pain, will you promise to go straight home?”

You nod back, wondering how he could offer such a thing. He bites his hand before taking your own, rubbing the blood over the scrapes. And to you surprise, the cuts vanish before your eyes, the skin forming back together as though your fall never happened. Regardless if this being thinks he is a monster or otherwise, it’s apparent a miracle cure flows through his veins. Your brother's condition jumps to the forefront of your mind. “You can heal wounds? Cuts and contusions too?”

“I can.” His answers with a raised eyebrow.

“So you could help my brother?”

“Your brother, what of him?”

“He has an illness. My parents don’t want to spread word of his condition, but whenever he gets hurt, he bruises and bleeds without end. You can save him, right?”

“I cannot assist your brother.” He rises from his knee and proceeds to drag the body of the former vampire deeper into the shadows, all while continuing to answer your request. “Making myself even known to you goes against the wishes of my clan. I should wipe your memories, but if I do, I fear you’ll forget the danger and return here once again.”

“Please! He needs your help.” You beg, hoping that he’d agree to be your salvation once again.

The self proclaimed monster looks at you, while tugging the stake from the chest of the corpse. Meeting your eyes when you refuse to look away from him or the gruesome sight. “If you swear to stay within the walls of your castle and tell not a soul... I will see what I can do.”

You lead him back to your home, the vampire following a few paces behind. Returning to the passage hidden in the roots of the hedge, the trap door beneath the flora, from which you ventured out earlier tonight. You open it stepping in first. Your companion stops as if being held back by some invisible force. “I need your permission to enter.”

“Why?”

“Consider it a courteous limitation of my race. Now do you want me to heal your brother or not?”

“Yes, you may come in.”

Lighting the lantern you left for yourself at the entrance, you lead him through the dark tunnel beneath the castle.

“What is this place used for? I can’t imagine anyone ventures down here much.” He remarks brushing away cobwebs that stretch across the path.

“It is an escape tunnel, to ensure the safety of the royal line. Only my immediate family knows of it. If there were to be danger we could flee down here and leave the grounds. And no, they do not visit here, only I come down myself when I wish to hide away.” The hidden offshoot of the cellar is ample space for you, and far less restrictive than the palace above ground.

You climb a set of stairs ending in a door which returns you to the halls of the castle, the entrance to the secret route concealed behind a painting of a king who came long before. Peeking out into the corridor you find it clear of guardsmen and servants, and doing the same again at your brother’s door.

The physicians and surgeons had left him for the night, which allows for Yoongi to slip in behind you. He checks over your sleeping brother, paying close attention to both the recent injury to his knee and the incision on the inside of his elbow. “Why was this made?” He points to the latter. “It’s too clean to be an accident.”

“Bloodletting, they bleed him regularly to dispose of the weakened blood.”

“Weakened Blood?” Yoongi shakes his head as he reopens the spot on his hand, spreading his blood over your brother's wounds. They close up with the skin returning to its normal state and hue. “I hadn’t realized that surgeons practiced such things. If you want to keep him alive don’t let them bleed him anymore. Come to think of it...” He examines the tools of their trade, and roles up the leather pouch in which they are contained. “May I borrow these? I might have a use for them.”

“Take them, please.” You urge, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s a shock to see your brother's condition, which has plagued your family since his birth, so easily remedied with Yoongi's help. But the worry over the uncertain future still holds. “What if it happens again? How will I find you if I shouldn’t leave the castle?”

“You said few know of the cavern below? I’m in need of somewhere safe to rest during the day when I come to town, that spot will do. If I have your consent to use it?”

...

It’s been a couple weeks since your first meeting. The vampire, Yoongi has grown more comfortable within the tunnel beneath, and far less hesitant around you. You’ve learned so much about him, and his shrouded kin, both the good and the bad.

He lays back against the stonewall his eyes closed in satisfaction. Far different from the first few times you met him. “You look... more relaxed.”

He keeps his eyes closed as he gives you his answer, “I had the ability to address some of my needs I’ve been neglecting. I’ve been able to feed on a far more frequent basis.”

“Oh...” You exclaim, not knowing how to comment further on the topic.

One of his eyes opens to peek at you while he remains at rest. “Does that scare you? Do you fear me now?” He chuckles darkly.

You respond with a quick and decisive, “No.” Catching the vampire by surprise judging from his tongue in cheek and open mouth.

“And why is that?”

“If you took no issue with human suffering you wouldn’t have saved me. You wouldn’t have saved my brother. Did you bring pain to the person you feed on?”

Yoongi scoffs, his tongue still rolling in his cheek as he looks to the floor. “No, I did not. And I have you to thank for that.”

“How did I help?” You ask in utter bewilderment. The two of you have never discussed his own meals before.

“When a vampire feeds they don’t often care about the damage they cause, they can make their prey forget they ever saw them, becoming nothing more than a bad dream. I have been struggling with this way of life for a while now. But you, you gave me another method to feed, and for that I am eternally in your debt.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I know,” he chuckles back. “I’ll show you one day. When I can be certain it is safe to do so.”

...

A month later, Yoongi sneaks into your room in the dead of night, waking you from your slumber.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” You ask with slurred words as you rub your eyes.

“Nothing, nothing, but I’m ready to show you. Dress in what you wore when we met. We can’t have anyone recognizing you.”

You bolt up out of bed and dash over to your desk. Yoongi watches as you tug out the false bottom you created in one of the drawers that hides the cotton-spun dress from sight.

“You appear to be well versed in the art of hiding secrets princess,” Yoongi laughs, as he examines the panel.

“When every eye in the household seeks to critique you, you find ways to hide your less-than-amiable indulgences.”

“And is that what this is?” The vampire holds up a book of cartographic exploration also stored in the secret nook of the drawer. “An indulgence?”

You take the tome in question from his hand and return it to the drawer, replacing the panel to conceal it. “For a situation like my own it is.”

After changing into the plain garment Yoongi takes you from the castle, bringing only the leather roll of surgical instruments you had given him. He doesn’t take you far, a house, located only a five minute walk beyond the gates of your castle. “Are you sure you want to see this?” He asks as his fist hangs above the door.

You nod, curious as to how he’s been feeding himself.

“Very well, if anyone asks you are my assistant.”

“Assistant for what?”

He answers only with a wide grin as he knocks. The door opens a fraction, by the hands of a startled woman, whom Yoongi is quick to greet. “Sorry to intrude, and so late too. I heard you might be in need of a surgeon?”

“W-we can’t pay,” she croaks back, and attempts to close the door, but Yoongi stops it by placing the leather case in the gap.

“I require no monetary payment. My services have already been covered.”

“By who?” The woman is sceptical, and rightly so. Based on your experience with your brother’s past needs, you know a surgeon’s fee to be no small price.

“The daughter of the crown.”

“The crown? But why would she-”

“Because there are those in this kingdom in need of my assistance. I’m sure you’ve noticed the rapid recovery of your neighbour just a few doors down.”

Her eyes widen, lighting with hope. “The surgeon was you?”

“It was.” He answers with a closed lip smile.

The resident looks from Yoongi to you, her gaze lingers for a second on your appearance, before opening the door further. “You may come in.” She takes you to a small residence, her hands trembling as she escorts you into a nearby bedroom.

The stench of a sickly-sweet rot overpowers your nose the moment you step into the room. You cover your mouth in an attempt to keep down your rising dinner, while Yoongi goes to the aid of an unconscious man laying in bed. A deep and putrid gash extends from the inside of his thumb to his wrist.

“Another surgeon said he might need to take the hand... it’s not so bad is it?” Her voice quakes. “My husband won't be able to work if he loses it.”

“No, he’ll keep it.” Yoongi states, as he lifts a ceramic bowl, notched at the rim, from the bedside table and props the wounded man’s arm over it. Several small cuts already adorn the weak skin at the crease of his elbow joint. “I take it you've bled him regularly?”

The wife nods. “Yes, but we ran out of money. I couldn’t afford to have anyone else continue the bleeding. So I attempted it myself.” She looks down at the floor in shame, clearly upset that she had not been able to help her own husband.

“He will be well again. I promise I can heal this.” He assures her, before turning to you. “Can you hold these for me?” Passing you the same tools you gave him just months before. You unravel the leather pouch. Exposing the sharp tools for his selection, his slender fingers choose one of the smaller blades to make the incision. As the scarlet fluid drains, Yoongi calls for fresh linen and the wife leaves the room in search of his needs.

The second she is out of sight, you start to question the vampire. “Bloodletting? But I thought you said-”

“It’s both a cover, and an exchange. He gives me his, and I’ll give him mine. I must thank you for the tools, they’ve been very helpful in keeping up the disguise. But do you think you can keep her out? I can’t let her see this next part, the improvement to his hand will be too drastic and too quick for her not to suspect a mystical source.” Yoongi requests as he breaks the seal on a bottle filled with thick crimson fluid. Pouring out a drop he rubs his blood onto the festering wound of his subject's hand.

You nod, watching the two sides of the laceration seal together, leaving only a clean scar. When the wife returns with a knock at the door, you take the material and ask her to wait there. Thankfully she obeys without much resistance, taking a seat just outside the room, her eyelids drooping from exhaustion, and her skin slick with the sweat of worry.

You hand over the linen to Yoongi who wraps it around the previously infected area. The man, much to your concern, remains unconscious. “Will he wake soon?”

“It might take some time, but yes. He still has a fever, but that should break in the next couple of hours with the infection gone.”

“And that?” You nod to the basin of blood.

“That, I will keep for myself.” Yoongi finishes wrapping the man’s hand before taking a wine skin from his coat, carefully pouring the viscous fluid into the flask, and taking every drop.

“It won’t affect you adversely even though he was ill when he gave it?”

“No, his ailment won’t harm me.” Taking a draft as if to prove his point, he wrinkles his nose as it goes down, and licks his lips clean to hide the evidence of his feast. “The taste isn’t always perfect, but it fills my needs, and it’s far better than the alternative.”

Yoongi passes off the patient’s care to his wife and warns her not to remove the bandages for several days. A continuation of his ploy to maintain that his methods have a more realistic recovery rate.

After returning you to the passage of the castle shortly before dawn, Yoongi looks to be apprehensive, wringing his hands as he bids you farewell for the day. “Seeing that... taking part in it wasn’t disturbing to you? You do not think it malicious for me to lie and profit in such a way?”

“No, not at all.” You shake your head, and beam at the vampire before you. “I was pleased that you showed me.”

“I owe my thanks to you,” he whispers, as a smile starts to cross his own features.

“But I did nothing.”

“You gave me the idea. I was not aware, nor did I think to benefit from such a human norm. I thought I was condemned to feed like a monster until the end. So as long as you approve, as long as you think it decent to conduct myself in this way, I will continue.”

“You’ve already helped us so much, how could I not? You are the reason my brother is well again, the reason that man will continue to live and work. You are more a saviour than any being I’ve met before.”

...

You thought him a hero in your past. Every action had a valid reason, every motive morally sound. His store of blood, the surgical knives, every memory of his history with you is beyond reproach.

“Yoongi?”

The friend of your past, falls to his knees beside the body of the hunter. He raises a hand to his face to contain a cough, but even from your distance you can see scarlet sputtering from his lips and spilling down between his fingers.

“Yoongi!” You wade through the water as quickly as you can. Reaching his side while he continues to expel blood. “What happened?”

“Powdered silver.” He sputters again spraying your drenched trousers and ground with scarlet. “The bastard asked for some of my drink. I obliged to maintain my cover, but I didn’t notice he poisoned it in the process, and then took a sip myself.” Despite his state he proceeds to hastily shove the body of the vampire into the river, where it starts to burn and disintegrate in the current. “Don’t worry, much like this one, he is far worse off than I.” Yoongi chuckles darkly before doubling over in another fit.

“We need to get you somewhere safe to heal.” You take his shoulder and help him on to the stolen horse.

“Seokjin, he's waiting for my return. I left everything with him. Down the road,” he whispers as another clot of blood leaves his mouth. “You’ll find a stone house.”

Once he is mounted you take the spot behind him this time, in an attempt to keep him in the saddle. “Yes, I remember it now...”

...

- 9 years ago -

You’ve fallen into a routine, where every morning an hour before sunrise you wait in the underground passage to see if Yoongi will show. It’s been over a week since he’s visited last. In the year you’ve known him he has never stuck to a schedule, his visits are random but frequent. You pass the time waiting with a travel log of a famous explorer, and an atlas for reference, studying the map and marking his trek as you pass through the pages. Cartography has long become a hobby of yours, much to the disappointment of your mother, she deemed such interests as unladylike forcing you to hide your activities. Though your hands stained with ink from your nightly studies, have betrayed you on more than one occasion.

The trap door to the outside opens, revealing your long awaited friend. “Yoongi!” You run and pull him into a hug. When you allowed him to rest here and tend to your brother as needed, you never thought that he would become your salvation too, your craved glimpse into the outside world which you have long since been denied. “You said you’d only be gone a few days!”

“I know forgive me princess, something came up. The travel back was slower than expected.”

“Were you able to do what I requested?”

“I was.” He pulls out several pages you had torn from your atlas marking them with details important to those of his kind. “Excuse my penmanship. It’s not as practiced as it once was.”

Dismissing his concerns with a wave of your hand you peer down at the sheets eager to see the world from his eyes, starting with the details closest to your own home. “Who is Seokjin?” You ask pointing to a dark spot labelled ‘Seokjin’s Post’ less than a day's ride away.

“I see you waste no time.” Yoongi smiles at your enthusiasm. “A member of my clan, a keeper, one who is stationed at a waypoint for ease of travel.”

“A keeper?” You ask unfamiliar with the vampiric title.

“One who has a claim to our land, and can give permission to other vampires to enter. It’s an honour to be trusted with such a responsibility.”

“Are you a keeper?”

“A form of keeper, yes, I share claim to the main stronghold with our clan’s lord. It took me near a quarter century as a clan hunter to be given permission to even enter, and three times as long to gain my current status. It is a prestigious role, but also a double edged sword, for it also is what keeps me away.”

“I should like to see it.”

“My clan’s fortress? No, I will never take you there, your scent could plunge the whole estate into chaos.”

You frown at the inability to visit his station, but continue to search the map. Finding another castle marked much like his own out to the west. “What of this one? ‘Lord Taehyung’s Fortress,’ you have never spoken of him.”

Yoongi goes rigid as he hovers over the mapped sheets with you. “I have not, for he is of a different clan, with far darker ambitions than our own. I choose to mark it as a warning and a place to avoid. If you should ever hear of or be near someone in his service, run. Run as far and fast as you can.”

You swallow any further questions regarding the rival clan, uneased by Yoongi’s words. Changing the subject again to learn more of your confidant and friend. “Where did you come from if you have not always resided with your clan.”

Yoongi forgoes the sheets you have given him of the surrounding area, taking the atlas out of your hands, he flips the pages to a wider view of the land. “I come from out here.” Pointing to an area not on the page, but to the right of the book, far more east than the last recorded city.

“Off map? Could we visit your old home instead?” You ask, your excitement bubbling to the surface.

“No it is far more than a night’s journey away, making it too long of a trek for you. It would take months on foot, and even if we were to make it, I doubt there would be much left, for the hearth kept by my family grew cold long ago.”

“I would like to see the area at the very least. We could get a horse. Money is no object, I have-”

“Princess, even still, your absence would be noticed. You cannot just disappear for weeks on end and return when you please. You would lose your home, your own station.”

“What if I told you that I don’t want to be a princess. That my dream is to leave this castle, and find an adventure with you.”

...

- 5 ½ years ago -

For years this disagreement raged between you both, with you desiring to leave, and him insisting you must stay. His return is always a bright moment, but your partings always cast a dark shadow when he once again embarks alone. Existence without him in the kingdom is so cold and rigid, to the point where you’ve come to rely on his visits to breathe life back into you, needing his company to live as much as your brother needs his blood. To your dismay the length between each of his appearances grows longer. Though his apologies still accompany him each time you must wait beyond his promised return.

“I told you, you should invest in a horse.” You mutter as you cling to him, greeting him with your usual hug the second he slips into the underground tunnel.

His hand draws across your back soothing you with his presence. “And I’ve told you I don’t need one for myself alone.”

“Then you will get one when we leave together?” You ask, pulling away looking up with hopeful eyes.

“Princess...” He growls as you once again bring up the dreaded topic.

“We need to talk about this Yoongi. We can’t go on like this forever.”

“No, but how is your brother? What would happen if you left?” Yoongi asks, setting up his bed roll for you both to sit on. He never leaves anything behind out of concern that someone in your family will find it while he’s away. Requiring him to get re-situated upon every return.

“He is well...” Your statement trails off unable to make a further valid argument regarding his situation.

“But that could change in an instant. And if you’re not here-”

“I might not be here much longer anyway!” Your statement hangs in the air between you both.

His face reads only of confusion, with his mouth hanging open as he attempts several false starts to respond. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You take your seat next to Yoongi determined to make him see it your way this time. There has been something weighing on you, feelings that you’ve found difficult to approach, but if you don’t say it now you worry you’ll never get to. “I am eighteen Yoongi, and well of age to marry. There have been suggestions of prospects and matches. I’ve tried delaying them but I know I will not stay in this castle much longer either way.”

His eyes darken and brows furrow. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.” His words in no way match his expression.

“No, they are not! I don’t want that life, I’ve told you this before. I have no wish to leave this castle only to become locked in another. You know that is what will happen! Any union made will be to benefit the kingdom in an alliance, they will have their own expectations, their own walls I cannot cross.”

“Maybe that is for the best though. You will live the life you were intended, saving you from a life with a monst-”

“You are not a monster Yoongi, I do not need saving from you!”

“If not from me, then at least from my kind. I cannot give you the life nor the safety which lies here, or in another castle with your own kind. A life alongside a vampire will not have a happy end.”

“And what of a life without living one’s dream? Without the one you’ve come to admire and befriend. Can that have a happy end? Would it not bother you to yield me to another who is not as kind, nor caring as you? Yoongi, I lo-”

Yoongi emits a low growl halting your argument and paramount confession. “I profess I would loathe to lose you too, but dreams and desires change. I do not wish for you to regret your path with me as I once regretted choosing this life too. If it weren’t for you... ” His voice trails off as he hangs his head in shame. “I could not bear to see you suffer knowing I brought you the pain which haunted me for years. The loss of a family, of a home, I do not wish for you to endure the same.”

“Then what would convince you? What will show you I am truly earnest in my desire?” You ask hoping to find the answer to not only show your determination to leave, but your true feelings for him too.

He pauses the discussion, getting up to pace the room. His fingers run through his hair as he ponders your query. “I don’t want you forced into this because of circumstances beyond your control...” He stops his stride mid thought, and glances to you.“I can still supply your brother with blood if you choose to marry, and leave my side. Now in having that safety I need to know that you’ve given this consideration more time. Without the weight of your brother's life hanging over you.”

“It has been all I’ve wanted these past few years, to leave this place with you.”

“But first I need you to give this life the honest chance without my presence. I will leave you with enough of my blood for the time I’m gone. Though we should discuss who you will entrust to take care of him if you are in another castle, or with me.”

“My lady’s maid.” You suggest, for you know she loves him as much as you, though she tries to keep it concealed. “I would trust his life to her, but how long do you plan to stay away?”

“My clan intends to launch a wave of hunters into rival territory, it’s the best chance we have to take down Taehyung’s stronghold.” Yoongi explains while returning to the seat next to you. “If we can do this before you wish to leave then I will be as far greater ease to take you from here, but knowing that they are out there now worries me when it comes to your safety.”

“How long Yoongi?” You reiterate, scared by his avoidance of your question.

“Six months.”

“But that’s such a long time!”

“If you want to leave with me you will have to endure it, but I wish for you to take this time and consider your options. Don’t close every door yet, simply because of how you feel now.”

You inch closer to him, “My answer will be the same half a year from now. I want you to take me will you.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to wait, and hear it again upon my return.”

“I will do as you ask, but after that wait, I expect you to be ready for me to leave alongside you. We’ll need a travel plan, supplies, and a decent horse too.”

“Whatever you require, I will have. I’ll even let you name the stead.” Yoongi promises with a smirk. Taking the glass vial of blood he uses on his patients from his coat, he gives it to you. Cupping your hands as you take it from him, he leans in, putting his lips enticingly close to your own. “I’ll be back for your final answer, just please think it over. I will bear you no ill will if you decide...” He pauses, a grimace weighing heavy on his expression. “If you decide, you would be better off if you forgot me entirely, and moved on with your life.”

“I would never wish to forget you.” You give another thought to confessing further, telling him how much you’ve grown to love him. How you crave more than just to leave with him. Wishing to close the gap between you and seal your deal with a kiss. But despite your determination to confess to him earlier, you hold your tongue and lips in place. Suspecting that he will dismiss those desires too. When he returns, you reason with yourself, putting it off for a little longer. Yes, then you will express it all to him.

...

Just as Yoongi said, further down the road and nestled between the trees, there resides a small stone house. Had you not been looking for it, you might have missed it entirely. You stop with a pull of the reins, sliding down from the saddle you tie the horse to an outdoor post, and proceed to help the increasingly catatonic vampire with his own dismount. Propping one of his arms over your shoulder you approach the dwelling and hammer on the door.

A booming voice responds from the other side. “It damn well took you long enough!” It opens to reveal a tall man draped in a spattering of blood, extending from his broad shoulders to the small of his waist. He curses upon the sight of you and the barely conscious Yoongi on your shoulder. “I told him he wasn’t well enough to return to you alone.”

He looks human at first glance but a small chuckle reveals pointed teeth hidden by his set of full lips. “‘I must do this Seokjin,’” The vampire utters in his imitative tone of Yoongi. “‘Just look after this one’s body for me.’ That is the last time I do you a favour. I swear I’ve never seen a vampire’s corpse so saturated with blood.... even ruined my favourite shirt.”

Seokjin takes Yoongi from you and calls out to another. “Namjoon? Come help me with this determined fool and his human princess.”

You cringe from the unexpected use of your title, but the vampire pays you no mind. Looking to his human partner who descends the stairs. Namjoon ushers you into their residence, looking troubled by the state of your soggy clothes.

Just as with the abandoned house from the night the windows have heavy shutters that close from the inside, most of which are currently open, letting in the night air. But this dwelling is thankfully well lit, with several lanterns bolted to the walls, a fire roaring off to the side, and an iron candelabra at the centre of a massive wooden table.

The vampires take the lead up the narrow wooden stairs, with you and Namjoon trailing behind. Gliding through an open door in the upper hall, Seokjin places your now fully unconscious companion on the bed of a well furnished room. He takes Yoongi’s tunic and tears it open, exposing a trail of burns down his throat and chest.

“I’ve never witnessed a silver poisoning to this extent. It’s a miracle he was able to still retrieve you.” Seokjin mutters.

Namjoon grabs a blanket from the cupboard, and wraps it around your damp shoulders, before attempting to take you from the room. “Come let's get you some dry clothes.”

But you stand firm and refuse to be parted from Yoongi. Concern grows within you over Seokjin’s statement. “Will he- will he recover?”

“Yes, but it’ll take time. Though if he feeds soon, his injuries will heal far quicker.”

“Do you have any blood on hand?” You ask on his behalf. “With his supply poisoned he has nothing else to drink.”

Seokjin’s eyes bore into you expectantly, a smile coming to the corner of his lips. “Am I not looking at his blood consort now? Has he not fed from you?”

You shake your head, backing away from Yoongi’s supposed ally.

He takes in your reaction with a tilt to his head. “That must have been a struggle for him, considered I’m using all my power to not feed from you now.”

Namjoon steps in between. “Let her be Seokjin, you know who she is, and where she’s been kept. She’s clearly scared to do so, I can spare-”

The smirk on the vampire’s face dies with the offer of his human. “You will do no such thing! Your blood is mine, and mine is yours is it not?”

“It is, however-”

“Then that is the end of this discussion. If she wishes to help him then she must make that sacrifice, not you.” The vampire pushes his human out of the room before he turns back to you. “If I were in your position I would heal him, and do so quickly... for he has given up far more for you than a few drops of blood.” Seokjin then shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone with Yoongi.

You pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, hugging your blanket close in comfort. When you consider feeding him, your anxiety starts to rise to an undesirable peak, with the feeling of your heart rising to your throat and pounding in your ears. Your mind can’t help but draw on the memories of Taehyung's feeding, but this instance is different, with you in control, and the one who requires blood is not a monster but your past saviour, and love.

You empty his bags on the desk provided in the room. Making one last effort to look for any additional store of blood that might have remained unpolluted. Finding nothing but clothes, and basic supplies, until the roll of surgical instruments hits the wooden surface with a dull thud. Left with no other option but the tools before you, you grow more determined to push down the horrors of your past. Doing it for the sake of Yoongi, and the returning portion of you who adores him so adamantly.

Freeing one of the knives, you take a deep breath, and slice along the partially opened scar on your hand. The pain takes control for a moment, forcing your jaw to clench and your breath to seethe between your teeth, as the sight of scarlet turns your stomach. But seeing Yoongi suffering brings your mind back to focus as the blood wells to the surface, creating a thick pool in your palm. You go to him and straddle his form taking his chin in one hand to open his mouth. You clench your ruby drenched fist and tilt it over him. The first drip hits Yoongi’s lip, the second entering his mouth. His eyes fly open, and a snarl leaves his throat. Reaching out he grabs your hand, not to draw it closer but to push it back towards you.

“You’ve spilled enough of your blood for my kind.” He whispers, his ache evident in the hoarseness of his tone.

“Seokjin said you needed it. Will you just take it.”

“No! I have no wish to become the next monster who haunts your dreams.”

“You won’t, I remember now. From my first time meeting you, all the way up to our parting. You did so much for me and my family. You were right in saying those you feed off of were not your victims, I saw how they suffered from illness and injury.” Your voice starts to quake as you force it all out, confining his depth of importance to you to a few small statements is no easy task. “I understand why you feared your influence over me in the past. But please, know now, I do not consider myself a casualty of yours. I give you my blood of my own free will.”

You offer your hand once again but Yoongi doesn’t move his narrow gaze giving the impression that his decision is final. “Very well.” You counter, as you cup your hand with your own, pressing down on the wound as you consider the already escaped blood. “It seems a shame to waste it though. Maybe your friend Seokjin will take it, he appeared to be interested.” You play your bluff, hoping to gain a rise out of him the way Seokjin claimed Namjoon.

Shifting your weight, you ready to leave, but Yoongi moves faster, pulling you down to lay beneath him. “Why must you be so stubborn?” He mutters as he places one hand gently over your eyes obstructing your view of him. “Please, if I am to do this don’t look. I don’t want you to remember me by this act.” His other hand takes your blood soaked palm in his grip before he finally presses his lips to the dripping wound.

The tug of his mouth on your skin is gentle lasting only for a few seconds. His tongue then starts to drift down the scarlet trails that lead across your fingers, licking every inch of your skin clean. His touch is soft and attentive, you find yourself enjoying his caress, forgetting entirely the purpose of his actions. But it’s soon brought to an end when a soft scrape of his fangs crosses your knuckles, with your immediate instinct to flinch, it incites him to draw back and apologize.

He removes himself from your hand, and turns to draw his own blood. When he goes to press it to your laceration he hesitates and gives you his assurance. “This will only heal it. Do you trust me to do that?”

You nod with a deep breath and clenched teeth, dreading this part most, you look away until the tingling sensation of the skin's repair stops. When your gaze returns to the spot you find it without flaw, for his blood had also erased the scar of Taehyung. Tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes .

Yoongi wipes at the edge of his mouth taking away the dark remnants of your blood. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, quite the opposite. Thank you for taking it away.”

“I’m sorry you had to bear his marks for so long.” His lips kiss the newly healed skin of your hand before he lays down on the bed next to you. As much as he tries to hide it you can see that he’s still weary from the silver. Your fingers trace down the slowly fading burn of his throat, a rumble of contentment flowing from it as his eyes close.

Embracing the softness of the bed you were promised earlier, and far too weary to change out of your damp clothes you join him in sleep.

...

You rest for only a few hours with the sun starting to break across the horizon, shocked but grateful that no appearance of Taehyung brought halt to your peaceful slumber. Rising to close the shutters to the light, you leave Yoongi to his sleep.

You open the door a slight amount, checking to see if anyone else is about, when you find a form of kindness you had not expected on the floor in front of your room. It would seem that Namjoon must have brought food while you slept, a small collection of bread, cured meat, and fruit awaits you along with the clothes he promised. Though your current outfit is now dry, you take the fresh garments inside for a later change before you depart in the evening. The food however, barely lasts a few minutes in your presence. For you indulge hastily on the wonderful meal as you sit at the rather cluttered desk.

Naturally, the mess you made earlier in the night still remains, the contents of Yoongi bags strewn over the desk and floor. Once finished with your plate, you start to pack the clothes and supplies all away again until there are only a few items left, including a piece of folded parchment lying in the corner. You flatten it out across the surface of the workspace, reuniting yourself with Yoongi’s map.

Of course, it wasn’t always his. No, this was the map that you had made from the fragments and pages he recorded. It was intended to be a gift for him upon his return after those long six months apart. Every stroke of the pen, every hour, and every drop of ink which bled into this creation brought you so much joy. But you also remember the sorrow that led to the error, the blotch left while trying to conceal the map before the ink had set.

...

-5 years ago-

It has been seven months since Yoongi’s departure, with no whisper or hint to his whereabouts. The blood supply he had given you was fully consumed in the past fortnight. You assure your lady’s maid, whom you imparted with the knowledge of the cure, that your friend will return soon. But still you wait for him, while putting the finishing touches to the map in the form of an ornate compass rose.

With the final mark of ink in place, your mother bursts into your room, consumed by a wealth of tears. You fold the map in haste, and tuck it under a book. Thankful that she is too distraught to realize that you should be in bed and not at your desk, but the news she shares gives grave reason to her oversight. Your brother had fallen from his own earlier in the night, causing a lesion to the back of his head. Without the aid of your vampire, you know it to be a likely death sentence.

Come near dawn, you wait in the hidden passage, praying for Yoongi to show. But when the sun comes to rise without his presence, you can only hope that your brother will survive this day without the medicine he’s grown so dependent on. However, as night falls, his health worsens, and the physicians resort to bleeding him again. You try to stop them, but that only results in you being banished from his room.

With no other options left, in the late hours of night, you don another of your maid’s old dresses, tugging it out from your hiding spot, and replacing it with the finished map which now bears an unfortunate scar. Taking your usual path you escape to the town of your kingdom. Your plan, to pace every street until you find him, or another who might know of his whereabouts.

...

Your memory fails to pass the darkened cobblestone roads which frame your search. Leaving you to conclude that was when you were found by your capture of these past five years. Yoongi was right, the open night is dangerous for one such as yourself, even so he left you with little choice, he broke his promise first.

There’s a creak from the bed behind you, but you keep your focus forward on the map, still trying to piece it all together. Until two hands wrap around your waist and Yoongi’s chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

“You said you would come back.” You remain still in his arms, scolding the vampire with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Why didn’t you return to me as promised.”

Yoongi turns you around to face him, raising your chin with his finger. “You remember our arrangement?” You nod your response, refusing to meet his gaze, until he lowers his own head in disappointment. “There were... difficulties. I know it does not excuse my broken oath in full, but I was prevented from going to you.” He sits you back down in the desk chair and kneels before you, taking your hand in his. “Taehyung had found the hunters we were attempting to embed in his ranks. He dealt us a swift blow with their deaths, and then sent his men east, towards our fortress, and your kingdom. The keepers, such as myself, were ordered by our own lord to remain within the walls of our residences, out of concern that we might be captured and lured into giving Taehyung's clan access.”

“Then you should have sent word of your delay!” You cut in, had you known this you never would have left to find him.

“I did. I wrote a letter and sent it by raven, telling you to stay within the castle walls no matter what. That it was far too dangerous for you on the outside, and my return would be a longer wait. But I received no reply. I thought then that you did not want to hear from me, that you had chosen a different path. It was weeks before my raven returned badly injured. I feared then that my warning might have gone astray.” He sighs, as continues to recount the dark narrative. “I couldn’t remain a willing captive of my own home when I know you might be in danger. So I renounced my title, I gave away my claim and access to the stronghold. Lowering myself to the status of clan hunter so I could leave and find you. But I was too late, you were already gone and well beyond my reach. I searched your room looking for any clues as to how you ended up in his hands. I found no dress, and only that in your drawer.” He nods over to the map.

“I have spent the past five years trying to correct my mistake of not going to you sooner, for not leaving with you when you asked. But when I found you again, without your memories, I had no way of knowing the choices you made or any feelings you had previous to your captivity. I kept our past from you so as to not impact your previous decisions with my own desires. If you thought me to be a monster who groomed you for my own needs, I would back away. If you were just catering to me to save the life of your brother, I wanted you to be free of that.” His hand comes to the side of your face, with a finger dotting at a tear that had fallen from the corner of your eye. “I’m aware I don't deserve it, but please I must know. What was your decision before I let you down so horrifically, what was it that led you to be in his custody?”

“I never felt pushed to stay by you because of my brother's condition. I had no wish to marry nor leave with another, it was never simply about journeying outside the castle for an adventure. I wanted to be with you. Those six months we spent apart only confirmed what I did not wish to tell you out of worry you might dismiss those feelings too. I loved you, and still do.”

Yoongi chokes out a wavering sigh of relief, lowering your head by his hand, he presses his forehead to yours. “And I you, your highness. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I just didn’t want to unknowingly imprison you by my side with-without-”

“I know.” You whisper back. “You were right to be concerned, I was young and sheltered. I do not blame you for what happened. When the blood ran out, I could wait no longer. I had to find you. I went into the town but that is the last I remember.”

“And there you were taken.” Yoongi pulls back pausing as he bites his lip. “Now that you remember. Has your desire to return home changed?”

“I-I don’t think it can Yoongi. I still have so many gaps in my past. I hope that my return will mend that, as my time with you has brought light to our own history. Despite that, even if I was whole, the loss of my brother, it-it complicates things.”

“Your kingdom needs you to have an heir, a son to maintain the line of the crown.” He swallows glumly, as you reach out to clutch his hand. “Something that I cannot give you.”

“When my duty was just for the sake of pleasantries between kingdoms I could find it within reason to leave, but now, the kingdom’s people, the ones you’ve helped to save are at stake.”

Yoongi gives you a solemn nod. “At least now you can be certain you will not be sent away.”

“Once I return home...” You pull back, folding your hands on your lap, fidgeting while you ask the next important question of him. “Will you plan to stay nearby like before? You will not leave me alone again will you?”

“I must. With my lower position now, I will likely be sent back into Taehyung’s land again. Though I will be glad of it, for I can not stay still while he is still hunting, and risk you falling prey to him again. And for the sake of our attachment I feel that our parting would be easier on the both of us. Especially since it will not be long before you are asked to-”

“Marry?” You let out a deep breath of air in an attempt to dispel the building weight in your chest. Is he right to think that upon your return you’ll be bound to another so soon? You hope that there would be time to find yourself again, to re-educate your mind into what it was before. But how long will that take and how patient will your parents be without the line of succession secured. You can only hope any man who is chosen will be... will be, “Though I wish it to be you who remains by my side, if my future husband has half the character of you I should be so lucky.”

“Do not say that.” His voice cracks with his hushed plea.

“Why not?”

He stands up before you, pulling you from your seat, and tucking you into his chest. He holds you there while with one hand to your back, and the fingers of the other rooting amongst your hair. He breathes in deeply, whispering the challenges to his choice. “Because it’ll make leaving you so much harder. You made my cursed existence not only bearable, but desirable. When I consider the possibility of spending my life, with the one who gave me purpose, who saw me not as a monster but as a salvation, who I came to love more than I thought possible.�� Yoongi lifts your head again, directing you to look up at him. “An eternity with you, is the greatest temptation of all.”

You reach up to take his face in your hands, delivering a solemn kiss to his lips before pulling away.“If we can not have eternity, what of one moment within it? One final memory together to help us through the time we must spend apart. Can you give me that? Can you give me yourself?”

Yoongi’s mouth comes down to you in search of another, the wave of passion in his approach is so much stronger and forceful than your own. His tongue, endeavouring to taste you in a far different manner than hours ago. “You already have me, my blood, my life, my love, it’s all yours.”

He picks you up and returns you to the bed with him, tugging off his oversized shirt, while you remove your own. His mouth seeks out your neck, your collarbone, and downward soon finding the peaks of your chest. He’s soft and careful not to leave a mark as his lips tug gently on your skin. With each graze of his tongue he insights an inadvertent reaction from you, in the form of a moan or twitch. As your fingers tangle in his locks, his eyes gazing up to look for your expression. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

You lower your hand to his face, dragging your fingers across his cheek and lips. “Yes, I can’t tell you how much I desire a memory like this.”

He stands to remove your pants before lowering back down to hover over you on his hands and knees, straddling you as you lay on the feathered mattress. His fingers trail down the side of your chest, your waist, you hip, before moving inward to reach between your folds. You inhale with the first touch of his fingers to your slit. As his index starts to stroke from the inside, his thumb circles your clit. Forcing you to groan into his mouth which comes down again to cover yours.

Once he appears satisfied with the wetness pooling around his digits. He pulls out and takes his finger to his mouth with a hungry moan. Cursing as it slips out from his lips.

Your face heats up, embarrassed by his reaction. “Surely you are making too much fuss over it.”

“You think I don’t find you enjoyable? That I can’t see, feel or taste how divine you are?”

You grin, taking pleasure words despite their boastful nature. “Divine? No, you are just too kind to say otherwise.”

“Then allow me to prove you wrong.” Yoongi smirks, adjusting to take his place between your legs.

“What do you intend to-” He answers your question before you can finish, his mouth latching firmly onto your cunt. Your words lost as he takes in a long draft, his tongue playing along darts inside of you before shifting up to tease your most sensitive spot. When paired with his fingers, which once again come to stretch your inside, you do not stand more than a minute before biting the pillow to muffle your scream. Drenching his mouth and hands with your cum.

“As I said divine.” Yoongi grins as he looks up at you, his lips glistening with your fluids. After leaving you with no energy to debate his notion you can only nod and accept his truth. He cleans his fingers once again with his tongue, before sending them to undo the laces of his trousers.

When his cock slips free he takes your hand, guiding it along to stroke his shaft. His head falls back in pleasure, giving you the confidence to grow bolder. You sit up to meet him pulling his length down to glide along the outside of your folds and become wet with your slick.

You find to his mouth again with a kiss as he throbs against the inside of your legs and mound. “You are sure of this then?” He asks one last time.

“I am.” You promise looking into his eyes as he leans you back and guides his cock past your folds. The air in your throat catches, and your eyes flutter as you adapt to the sensation of him inside you.

The back of his fingers brushing at your cheek before folding out to cup your face. “Still with me?”

You nod back, pushing your lips to his upper chest and shoulder as you adjust to him. Yoongi lowers you back down to the bed, cradling your form as you descend. Finally cocooning you in a close embrace, with his nose buried in the nape of your neck.

His cock swells, and you arch your back in response, meeting his chest with yours. With his arm tucked around, he keeps you in that position. Dragging his hips away and towards, his thrusts come slow as your arousal coats his shaft. Every push becomes easier for you to take, but it would seem it’s harder for him to hold on. His forehead comes to rest on your shoulder a rasping grunt, as he remains inside. He changes tactics and turns to tend to your neck instead, slowing his pace to a halt, as he kisses the marked spot.

You take note of a low growl emitting from him as he continues to lavish the spot. He must hate it as much as you, his failure to come to you in time on display before him. But you know no amount of simple affection will remove the spot from view.

“Yoongi?” You ask in concern as his disdainful rumbles grow louder. Adjusting your head to get a glimpse of his pained face, you find a dampness forming in the duct of his eye. “Yoongi, is it-”

“I hate how he continues to mark you. It shouldn’t be here between us.”

“Then take it.” You suggest, for you like him are unable to tolerate it any longer.

He looks fearful of what you ask, his eyes wide as he explains, “I’ll need to break the skin.”

“Then do it. Please, help rid me of this too.” You tuck his head back down so his lips come to rest against your neck. No longer fearing such an act with him, not after the gentleness he showed you before.

His mouth opens with his teeth dragging across the scar. There’s a brief prick of pain before the spot is soothed by his lips. Yoongi’s groans of satisfaction start to encourage and blend with your own, his arms continuing to embrace you and coddle you.

With his still mouth fixed to your neck, you feel as his tongue turns beneath his teeth, and with a swift bite he laps his own blood on to the fresh wound. The lingering pain soon falls away as the skin heals. Your head swims in a state between dizziness and pleasure, a sense of euphoria takes over.

You place your hands on his hips wanting him to resume, craving more of his pleasure. And so the thrusts return with Yoongi’s hand pressed to the small of your back, ensuring that your clit grinds against him as he pushes deeper. He dives into you to the point where you can hear the dull thump of the bed frame against the wall. You wish you could hold on longer, you wish you didn’t have to let go, you find yourself whispering Yoongi’s name repeatedly as if it might change that. Only to be left stuttering between breaths as you claim your last climax.

He pulls out after his own release, hovering as he smiles down on the sight of you, and your legs wrapped around his thighs. After taking a moment to collect himself he goes to grab the washing dish and jug of water, dipping the supplied towel he proceeds to take care of what he left behind. You attempt to claim the cloth from him, as he lingers between your thighs, but he insists on being though. With a grin tugging at his lip each time the towel passes over your sensitive flesh and causes you to twitch.

“I will not forget this, not ever.” Yoongi whispers once finished, as he takes to your side covering you over with the blanket.

You nod in agreement, brushing the hair from his face. “When it is all done, I want you to come back to me. I don’t care how long, I have to see you again.”

“I-I will try, but I cannot promise I will survive this task. If my demise will allow me to stand between you and him then I will gladly become that barrier.” You gasp ready to argue against such a sacrifice, but one tap of his finger to your lip stops your conflict in its place, allowing him to finish. “Rest now. Think not of what we can’t change.”

You curl into Yoongi trying to do as he suggests. Though just as you get comfortable there’s an unexpected tap on the shutters of your room, a circumstance made even more surprising when you remember yourself to be on the second floor of the house. Your vampire rises, careful to open the window so no light shines on him. Allowing a raven to make its way inside.

Yoongi is quick to free it of a rolled letter attached to its foot before releasing the bird and blocking out the window behind it. As his eyes scan the paper, his brow furrows and his hand clenches the parchment to the point where it starts to crackle in his grip. He proceeds to throw back on his clothes, not even bothering to change out his torn shirt, while keeping the letter clutched in his hand.

“Yoongi, is something-”

“I need to talk to Seokjin. Stay here.” He growls bursting out the door in a formidable rage, slamming it behind him. You give time for him to descend the steps before crawling from your bed wrapped in the sheet and leaning your ear to the solid wood that bars you from the hall, but nothing can be heard through the thick barrier.

You can not help but fear what might be wrong for Yoongi to react in such a way. Going against his command you throw the clothes Namjoon left you and ready to exit your room. Carefully pulling on the latch of the door so as to not make a sound. You ease through the smallest crack you can muster before settling at top of the stairs, hidden from the view of the floor below. The voice of the vampires trailing up from the main room.

“You have her smell all over you, lucky bastard,” Seokjin groans. “How did she taste?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer the question, posing his own instead, with a rustle of parchment and a loud thump on the table. “How long, how long have you known of this?”

“Yoongi-” Seokjin responds, the uncertainty of his tone is a jarring contrast from your own previous interaction with him.

“Answer me Seokjin!”

“I couldn’t tell you, you gave up your position, because of her. You know there is information we must keep from the hunters in case it falls into the wrong hands. I’ve known this to be the truth since you first went to recover her from Taehyung. We all knew it was your primary goal to retrieve her, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything that might cause a change in course from you. If you had known you would not have led her this way.”

“So you kept me in the dark? All these years?” Yoongi seethes. “I promised I would take her home! And you're just now sharing with me that I can’t? You didn’t care if I knew the whole truth, just as long as in the end I brought her closer to the clan’s reach?”

“We can keep her safe.”

“No, she deserves her life away from us. She has been tortured enough Seokjin. How am I supposed to tell her this? She was just starting to recover, to remember her past, and to trust me again, but this... it will break her. She won’t accept this new fate if this is your only solution.”

“Then don’t tell her, don’t give her a chance to refuse. She accepted your blood, did she not? Use it to send her off to sleep and don’t wake her again until she’s resting comfortably behind the clan’s walls. You can return to your old life, Hoseok will grant you your title back if you do this, I’m sure of it. You can be the high keeper again, with your princess safe by your side.”

There’s a loud clamour and groan, prompting you to peak just around the edge to witness the struggle. There on the table, Yoongi has pinned Seokjin, his fingers wrapped around the vampire's neck.

Seokjin doesn’t appear to be too put off despite his situation, choosing instead to give advice to the one who has him by the throat. “You’re immortal Yoongi, she is not, you need to remember that. Her sadness will be only temporary if she chooses to hold it against you, but if you go against us now you will be alone, without a clan for eternity.”

Yoongi stands there in silence, no more refusals, no more rebuttals. Instead of continuing to argue on your behalf, he nods and lets Seokjin up from the table. His fellow vampire claps him on the shoulder and mutters, “You’ve made the right choice old friend. Hoseok will be pleased to have you back in the clan’s coven.”

While they embrace every part of you is lit ablaze with pain and anger. You both had been played, but he... he acquiesced to his puppeteer, and plans to string you up too. There’s nothing that could willingly compel you to take shelter in a castle full of vampires again... with Yoongi by your side though? You consider the notion for a fraction of a second before a resounding ‘no’ takes hold. Your younger self might have gone, and willingly so, but now the cost to you and your people is far too great.

With the growing list of broken promises, how long before the vow of safety fractures for the sake of his clan too? What is there to stop the situation from evolving into your own past with Taehyung? You can not, you will not endure that kind of life again.

With your only option being to run, your head concocts a plan to flee. Creeping back to the bedroom you crack the window open, and glance over the edge, thankful to see that there are several crates stacked close enough for you to reach with your feet. If you’re lucky Yoongi will stay downstairs for some time and have no reason to believe you’ve flown from his side. Fitting a spare cloak you escape out the window taking the map with you. Climbing down you flee towards the stables out back.

There you find the horse without a proper name, another painful reminder of Yoongi’s promises, and inability to return. Forcing you to recognize the constant pull between you and his clan. Your heart is left broken down the line of betrayal and understanding, for how can you entirely fault him when you yourself are determined to return to your own kingdom at the expense of his happiness. In the end the both of you are left to suffer the pain of duty over love.

Not wanting to journey with such a bitter token of the past, you choose the other smaller stead stolen from the hunters instead. Mounting the horse, you ride off into the noonday sun, eager to make it home before he or his kind have the ability to alter your course.

#bts smut #yoongi smut #yandere bts #yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts thriller au #bts vampire au #yandere taehyung #min yoongi #kim taehyung #bts blood bounty #suga x reader

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 04 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (03)

Next part (05) ->

{Vikings Masterlist}

Fit For a Princess

You're listening to the chattering between Aslaug and Helga, looking at pieces of jewelry at the market place. You say something every now and then, but you can't shake away Ivar's stare. On the last days, two weeks or so, he's right there, sitting across from you on every meal, eyes burning through you. Hvitserk said he's studying you, still expecting you to snap, to decide you had enough of all this and want to go back home. To Wessex, where your older brother now rules. And Ragnar already said he'd take you back if you wanted, so there's that.

But leaving Kattegat hasn't even crossed your mind, not before and not now. How could you trade all you have here, and slide back into the invisible chains you had on? It wouldn't be just stupid, it would be the death of you. You're finally understanding who you are, the things you like, the kind of people you like. In England, you had to play a specific role, because everything was political. Here, you're just who you are. And you do what you want to do. This is true freedom.

“I really like this one,” Helga says, as your eyes wander through the many rings, earrings, and necklaces. “I'd like those two as well.” She continues as you pace around, further away from both women, turning the corner and then walking to another store. The pieces they have here are all made of metal, delicately bent into beautiful shapes. You caress a bracelet with the tip of your fingers, wondering if it'd look good on you.

“Don't waste your time with these cheap things.” The voice, that you now recognize immediately, makes you turn around. Ivar comes from among the people, only stopping when he's standing next to you.

But despite his attention being on the jewelry, your eyes are on him. “You're tall.” It comes out suddenly, because he never stood beside you like this, so you couldn't have noticed.

“Well, you're tiny.” Ivar glances at you, playing with one of the rings. “Anyway, you shouldn't be looking at these things. They won't suit you very well.”

Giving the old man an apologetic look, you randomly pick a bracelet. You don't get why Ivar is being rude, but, judging by what Hvitserk had told you, his brother isn't one to hold back. He says what he thinks, it doesn't matter how mean it may sound to others. You're still trying to figure out if this level of brutal honesty is good or bad. “I really like this one.” Searching on the small bag attached to your dress, you take four coins, way more than what the bracelet is worth, handing it over to the man and putting the bracelet on. The silver color is beautiful, and the drawings carved on it remind you of the pattern you saw on one of the boats that brought you here.

Ivar rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, sighing. “You are such a kind princess.” Dropping the ring, he starts walking side by side with you when you set in motion through the market. You weren't expecting that.

“King Ecbert was king of Wessex. This isn't Wessex.”

“(Y/N)! Wait for us.” Aslaug calls and you stop, giving her a look and a nod before turning to face Ivar, who towers over you.

“Therefore, I'm not a princess anymore.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a small smile.

“That's a shame, isn't it?” He lowers his voice, leaning closer.

“Not really.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give a little step back, putting a strand of hair behind your ears before giving him a little wave, walking back to where both women are.

After they're done shopping, as you walk back home, the clouds push themselves apart just enough for the sunlight to appear. That makes you stop, taking in the warmth on your skin, but it soon disappears.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hvitserk calls, coming from the beach with his father, Ubbe and Bjorn, who's walking behind them. “We're going to meet some traders. Wanna come?”

“Why not?” You mumble, elbowing Hvitserk when he's close enough.

“Go put on some pants then. We're riding there.”

“Oh.” It's so absurd it's stupid, how you can't seem to do the simple things people know by heart here. “I'm not very good at riding.” Whispering, you tell him, not wanting anyone else to listen.

“I'll help you out.” He nods, tilting his head to where Bjorn is. “Without cracking your head open in the process.”

Smiling you nod before heading inside to change out of the dress. You're just about to head out when Aslaug tells you to grab a cloak in case it rains later, so you have to make another trip to your room. But soon enough you meet Hvitserk and the others again, reading the horses.

“Which one is mine?”

“Over here.” Hviserk guides to a beautiful white horse. “Give me your leg.” He says, and for a moment you furrow your eyebrows, but soon enough you understand what he means. Raising your leg, Hvitserk grabs your calf and you push yourself up, successfully mounting on the horse with his help. It feels funny to be this tall. You have ridden before, but most of the time you used a carriage. There was no need for a princess to ride on the back of a horse at Wessex. It's wild though, and you've grown to love wild things. “Keep your feet like this on the stirrups at all times. Don't put of your feet all the way in or it might get stuck if you fall. If you touch her with your ankles, she'll move forward. Pull the halters and she'll stop. The same thing goes to pull her left or right, but since we'll ride together she'll just follow the other horses.”

“Got it.”

“Your ass might hurt at the end of the day, so be prepared.” He warns before jumping to the back of his horse. “If it'll help you feel more steady, you can hold on the saddle, but trust me, you'll get the hang of it once you lose the fear of falling.”

“Have you ever fallen from a horse before?” As you speak, the small group starts moving, and your mare does the same, keeping their pace, slow at first until everyone starts galloping, and all air leaves your lungs. You hold tightly to the saddle, scared at first, but you remember what Hvitserk just told you. If you let the fear of falling win, you'll never learn to ride properly, and you'll never enjoy it. Slowly, you let go of the saddle, holding only on the halters, making sure it's loose so she'll feel free to run.

And the sensation is amazing. The wind makes your hair whip your face over and over, and you lightly shake your head to get rid of it. Glancing at Hvitserk, you mirror his position, a smile creeping over your lips. The landscape, green, blue, and gray, passes by in a blur, and you try to take it all in. It's beautiful, breathtaking. Almost literally, because when you finally stop, you're struggling to catch your breath.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” You answer, and Hvitserk nods before moving to stand next to his father and brother. You see a small troop approaching, riding up the hill.

“You're quite good at this,” Bjorn says, guiding his horse away from his siblings and near you. “A few more lessons you'll be riding like a true Viking.”

“I really like it. Its... Thrilling.” You're finally calming down, and your thighs ache a little bit.

“Wanna see the traders coming?” Turning his horse around, he gestures at a cliff, not too many miles away. “We could go up there, it'll give us a nice view.”

“Isn't it a little high?”

“The horses are used to it. C'mon.” Without waiting for your answer, he starts galloping away.

Glancing at Hvitserk, you hold the halter tightly to keep the mare from moving. “You think I should?”

“Sure, it has a nice view. But if you feel like the trail there is too much you come back here, alright? The horses are used to it but you're not.”

“Alright.” Touching the mare with your ankles, you loose the halter and she immediately moves, following Bjorn's horse. It doesn't take much until you're deep inside the woods, the horses now trotting. Bjorn keeps silent, giving you a few glances since you're slightly behind him.

“That way.” He says, and you just let your ride follow his. The smooth ground soon starts changing, with more rocks, and becomes unravel. When you see a steep slope, with apparently nothing to hold on to, you pull the halters, making the mare stop.

“I think it's too craggy.” You speak up, getting Bjorn's attention. “I don't want to fall on my first try.”

“She's used to this kind of inclination. You'll be fine.”

Considering it and also what Hvitserk said, you decide to leave the cliff viewing for another day, when you feel more secure on the horse. “I think I'll pass, Bjorn. Maybe another cliff where I can go on foot.”

“Don't be a pussy. It's not that craggy.” Then, he kicks his horse hard and it sets in motion. It doesn't surprise you, but when the mare moves as well, following him, you're startled, and in the sudden change, you let the halter fall.

Holding on the sell, you can only watch as Bjorn's horse easily climbs the slope, at a fast pace, and yours do the same. But when it suddenly turns left, around a huge rock, you lose your balance, and since there's nothing to hold on to, both your feet escape the stirrups, and you're pulled to the ground hard. Losing your breath, a sting on your ankle makes you yelp as you roll down the slope, only stopping once the ground is flat again. Rolling on your back, you take deep breaths, trying not to move the left leg since the pain is spreading through your foot and calf. “Damn it!” You exclaim, removing the hair from your face.

“(Y/N)!” It takes only a few seconds until you see Bjorn kneeling by your side. “Are you alright?”

“I just fell from a horse and rolled down a hill!” You speak fast, the pain on your back making itself aware. “Of course I'm not fine!”

“Let me take you–” He says as he starts to pull you up.

“No.” You cut him off, slapping his hands away. Bjorn has done enough for today. If he wasn't trying to be a freaking show-off, this wouldn't have happened. “Go get–”

“(Y/N)?” You hear his voice and breathes out relief. “I heard a yell.”

“Over here. Lying on the ground.” Annoyed, you cover your eyes with both hands. “Can you please see if my ankle is broken?”

“What happened?” He asks in a low voice, and you uncover your eyes to see him jumping to the ground, kneeling next to your stretched out leg.

“Bjorn made his horse bolt up the slope and mine followed.” You explain, giving him a hard glance, groaning when Hvitserk lifts your leg to remove your boot. “Easy there!”

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “But calm down, it's not broken, just sprained.”

“Shit.” Taking a deep breath, you sit up taking off the other boot as well and throwing it at Bjorn. “You can't keep yourself from getting me hurt, can you?”

“Me? Everything you had to do was hold on. The horse–”

“I'm not a Viking!” Bursting out, you look up at him. “I'm not some shieldmaiden, I'm still trying to fit in here and learn things. You can't expect me to follow your pace.”

“I just–”

“Bjorn, you should get back. Help father with the traders, I'll take her back to Kattegat.” Hvitserk interrupts him, and Bjorn leaves after a grunt, saying something you couldn't understand.

“And he thinks he has the right to be pissed!” Lying back down, you groan. “I think this is a sign to stay away from him. Every time he's in the situation, I get hurt.”

“Alright, c'mon.” Hvitserk pulls your arm until you're seated again. “You need to put some ice on this ankle, let's go.” Hvitserk takes your mare first, tying her up with his horse before mounting and pulling you up to ride with him.

Despite the slow pace he keeps, your back still hurts. Resting your head on his back, you sigh. “Why are you so quiet?” You ask after a while.

“I'm thinking about the right words to tell this to mother. She won't be happy.” He answers, a hand resting on his thigh as the other holds the halter. “She's not very fond of Bjorn already.”

“It was partially my fault too, I think. I let the halter slip and had nothing to hold on to.”

“You're know Bjorn likes you, right?” Hvitserk suddenly says, and you pinch your eyebrows together. This thought hasn't crossed your mind. “That's probably why he did that. That's how he... Gets a woman's attention.”

“Would you do the kindness of telling him it's not working?” Muttering, you rest both your arms on his back folding them as if his shoulders were a table. “Actually, I've been meaning to tell you... I met Ivar at the market place today.”

“...And?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Nothing, just... It was nothing, really.” It's hard to understand exactly what you want to tell Hvitserk. You just can't seem to put your feelings or thoughts together. “I was looking at these things and he said they wouldn't suit me.” Stretching out your arm, you show him the bracelet. “I bought this there.”

“That's nice. But cheap.” Rolling your eyes, you remember Ivar said pretty much the same thing.

“He also said I'm kind. But that was probably in a mocking tone, so...” You get into Kattegat, and Hvitserk greets some people. “I don't know.”

“I believe it's safe to assume Ivar doesn't hate you.” Hvitserk slows down the horse when a group of kids run by. “If he did, he wouldn't put himself on your way like that... Or look at you the way he does.”

“And how does he look at me?” The words come out slowly because you're not sure if you want to know.

“The only thing I can say for sure is that he never looked at a woman like that.” You finally get to Ragnar's house, and Hvitserk asks a man to help you down. Once you're safe on the ground, he jumps off, telling the man to take the horses. “And I mean it in a good way.”

He puts a hand around your waist, helping as you jump on the right foot until the table in the main hall. “Do you think he–”

“What happened this time?” Aslaug asks, her voice already giving out that she's not happy.

“Twisted ankle. She fell from the horse.”

“Take her to her room, Hvitserk.” The Queen mutters, saying something to the girls who were following her. “And carry her this time if that isn't too much to ask.”

“Alright.” He replies, picking you up with a hand on the small of your back and another under your legs, quickly finding the way to your chambers.

Giggling, you give him a look “I love when your mother–”

“Careful with the teasing this time. I might just drop you to the floor and I don't care if your a princess who fell off a horse.” The fake angry tone makes you laugh again.

“My bad, Prince Hvitserk.” You snap back, rolling your eyes.

Aslaug has her maids help you bathe first, cleaning the dirt that is attached to your face and hair before lying you on the bed again and applying a piece of fabric with cold water on your ankle, keeping it elevated with some pillows. She isn't happy to know the whole story, despite you assuring her it's alright now. You could've died, she said, breaking your neck. But it's useless to worry about what could've happened. The best thing to do now is to focus on the ankle, which she said will be better in a few days, and let the whole incident go.

Later that night, you give little jumps to the main hall to eat something. It's just Ubbe and Bjorn, seated on a table at the corner. Nodding at them, not wanting to chat with Bjorn at the moment, you sit at the edge of the table in the middle, your back turned at both men, taking the jar and pouring yourself something to drink.

“How's your ankle?” Ubbe asks, and you look over your shoulder.

“It's fine. I'll be able to walk normally in a few days. But my back still hurts.” Completely ignoring Bjorn's existence, you turn away from them again.

Drumming your fingers on the table, you wait for the Queen's maids to bring your meal. When you feel someone moving behind your back, you assume it's them, and place your cup further away to open some space. But instead of the bowl with rabbit stew, a necklace is put down before you. And it's absolutely beautiful, with three blue stones surrounded by a golden metal, delicately molded around it. It's different from anything you've ever seen in Wessex. Taking it in your hands, you see Ivar dropping to the seat next to you, and you turn to look at him.

“What is it?” You ask, unable to hide the smile that comes to your lips.

“A necklace.” He simply says, and you roll your eyes at his tone. What a way to ruin the mood.

“Yeah, I noticed.” The smile slowly drops as your eyes go back to the piece, fingertips caressing one of the stones.

“This was made for a princess. Not those cheap things.” He gestures at your bracelet, and you giggle.

“Well, this is absolutely beautiful.” Glancing at him, you find he was already staring. “Is it for me?” You inquire in a lower voice, not wanting to make any assumptions that might embarrass you.

Ivar nods, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Turn around. Let me put it on.”

Doing as he says, you turn your back at him. Ivar takes the necklace and places it around your neck, and you hold your hair up so he can close it on the back. Once he's done, you let the hair fall before turning to face him, folding your left leg and carefully laying the wounded ankle on the bench between you and Ivar. “How does it look?”

You wait for an answer, but it doesn't come. Ivar's eyes were fixed on the necklace, but slowly, they come to meet yours. Tilting your head to the side a little, you feel heat spreading through your cheeks.

Shaking your head lightly and looking down, you take a deep breath. “Have you heard that I fell from a horse this afternoon?” You're glad you got your brain to function, changing the subject. “Twisted my ankle.”

Ivar's stare falls to your bare feet on the bench, the skirt of your dress pulled up to your knee. “Mother told me it was someone else's doing.” As he speaks, Ivar gives an angry stare at where his two brothers are, and it's obvious who he's looking at. “But I think you'll survive.” You feel his fingers caressing your skin, from your knee and down through your calf, so softly you wonder if he's really touching you.

“I will.” You assure him, biting back a smile.

“Ivar,” Ragnar calls, and it does take a while until you both look at where he's standing, near the thrones. “Your mother wants to speak with you.”

“What now?” He asks, annoyed.

“I don't know. Go ask her.” And he disappears.

“Guess I'll have to go.” He glances at you, grabbing the clutch.

But before he can push himself up, you grab his arm. Perhaps you shouldn't do it. Perhaps this whole thing is just some kind of joke he's pulling on you, but still, the necklace is beautiful and he was... Kind. So you lean closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for the gift. It's very beautiful.”

Ivar is frozen, even after you let go of his arm. He stands there, blue eyes locked on yours. Slowly, painfully slow, a smile comes to his lips. And it feels different. True, genuine. “You're welcome, princess.” He whispers before pushing himself up to his feet and walking away.

You're still a little dazed when the rabbit stew comes, and you can do nothing but play with the spoon. But heavy footsteps get your attention, and when you look at your side, you catch a glimpse of a very angry Bjorn disappearing inside.

He saw everything. And it takes you by surprise to notice that, the moment you laid eyes on Ivar, you immediately forgot Bjorn and Ubbe were here. Everything just... Faded away, and there was nothing else, just you and him. And this is not the first time it happens.

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07

#ivar imagine #imagine ivar #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #imagine ivar the boneless #viking imagine #imagine vikings #ivar vikings x reader #vikings x reader

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male winged Fae x reader (nsfw)

Some of you may not have noticed the new addition for the higher tiers of my Patreon, but if you're on the Elves tier or above, you are automatically entered once a month into a prize draw for a 3k word story of your choosing.

This month, the lovely Jackal of Hearts won, and asked for our boy Ahrin from Winter Solstice (currently undergoing a re-edit) with a neutral reader, and added that nsfw is always fun. We had a discussion about Ahrin's story because dear Jackal didn't want to spoil anything for Winter Solstice, and knew that I had plans to reveal what happened to him and his once-lovely wings during the course of the story. We decided to go for a 'pre-Winter-Solstice' setting, when Ahrin is still with the Court of Shadows, and meets his reader at the Court of Fire during a diplomatic visit.

There are a few crumbs dropped in here for Winter Solstice too, and a cameo or two, but mostly it's the story of two people connecting in an unlikely situation and making the best of it.

Hope you enjoy! It’s been up on Patreon for about a week now, so it’s time to share it here.

Winter Solstice (undergoing re-edit, but story remains the same) can be found here: Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw) (All Tumblr links)

(reminder that in March, existing patrons will not be charged, and I do not plan to put out any new content for that month, but new patrons will still be charged for that month because that’s how Patreon works. Access to all my existing content will not be affected though!)

Enough waffle; more story! Wordcount: 5248

The Court of Fire turned out to be almost the opposite to what you’d expected. You’d imagined flame-blasted heaths with twisted stumps of heather curling like blackened fingers towards a sky choked with smoke, ash falling like tainted snow, basalt-dark rock and rivers of burning oil, with a cruel, volatile, fickle court of Fae to rule over the desolate kingdom. So when, at a mere eighteen years old, you had been led through a tear in the Veil between the worlds, quivering and trembling, with tears stinging on your cheeks, you had been surprised to discover a rich, verdant landscape, with fertile black soil as far as the eye could see.

Your second shock had come when a small party had crested the blustery promontory where the way through Veil was marked by two colossal standing stones, and you’d seen a group of riders approaching. The creatures they sat were nothing like horses. The lizards were as big as oxen, with wide, muscular bodies, slung low to the ground and with wicked, sickle-shaped claws and a spined tail.

Three of them drew to a halt at a short distance from where you stood beside the older woman who had been sent to fetch you as payment for a bargain made years ago by your parents. You had known about their bargain and had been prepared for this moment your entire life, and yet fear still coursed through you now that you were actually here in the Fae Realm.

Your guide leaned to speak in your ear, her ash grey hair whipping in the strong breeze, and whispered, “The High Prince himself has come to welcome you. Kneel as I do, and do not speak unless asked a direct question.”

Trembling, you sank to one knee and bowed your head as she did. The prince did not get down from his mount, but someone else did. Striding towards you, they addressed the woman beside you. “Is this the human that was promised to Lord Rhaziel?” The voice that spoke sounded male, and immensely frustrated.

“Yes, m’lord,” the woman said, nodding.

“Can you ride?” the Fae barked, and you realised that the question was directed at you. Risking a glance up, you took in the sight of the tall Fae and swallowed thickly. You’d heard that the Fae were enchantingly beautiful, but now that you had the opportunity to prove that theory in person, it was infinitely more intimidating than you’d realised. His skin was a deep, warm brown, and his long hair was tied back off his face and hung down his back in thick ropes, studded here and there with gold and amber beads. His eyes burned a bright gold, and you looked away almost instantly, afraid that he would take offence at your boldness.

You shook your head. You’d never been on a horse - let alone a giant lizard - a day in your life.

He sighed in frustration and said, “You will ride with me. Come.”

And with that he turned on his heel, the black and red robes of his courtly garb swirling slightly with the motion, and strode back towards a dark grey lizard who was eyeing him carefully. The older woman did not follow, but she did rise to her feet again. She, apparently, would walk with the rest of the guards surrounding the party.

As you passed him, you risked a glance at the Fae who sat at the head of the small group of reptilian mounts, and again saw nothing but beauty. He was talking with another rider who looked almost exactly like him, perhaps a little taller. The two of them were clearly related; probably brothers. With long, thick, red hair half tied back off porcelain faces, and bright gold eyes, they laughed jovially as if sharing a private joke, and even when the leader - who wore a golden crown of dancing flames studded with rubies - looked towards you, the laughter did not die in his face.

He bowed his head ever so slightly at you in acknowledgement, and his smile broadened a touch more. Above the high collar of his red and gold tunic you glimpsed a dark sigil etched into his skin and wondered what the tattoo meant. You offered him a shy smile, averted your eyes, and hurried to join the first Fae as he stood beside his lizard, looking impatient and thunderous. He said nothing as you joined him, but when you made no move to get on the frankly terrifying, constantly rumbling beast, he rolled his eyes and snapped, “Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up. I will sit behind you.”

“Oh…” you croaked. “Alright…”

The journey seemed interminable through the dense jungle that surrounded the base of the basalt outcrop where the portal between the realms sat. Your mount was third in the line, behind the High Prince and his brother, and the movement of the thing was enough to make you feel slightly seasick. Eventually the landscape dropped away to one side and you gasped as you saw a rocky ledge plunge down into an apparently unending sea of golden sand. At the foot of the dark cliffs was a wide, winding river, but beyond that, it seemed as though all life just… ended.

On the edge of the cliff ahead, with the wing which had some of the highest spires partly extending out into the empty air, a huge castle had been built. Even in the light of the midday sun you could see that the windows were glazed with red, gold and orange glass so that it looked almost as if the buildings were all aflame inside. The sight of it made you shudder, but the rider behind you gave no words of encouragement, and by the time the party drew to a halt in the colossal bailey of the castle, you were almost dizzy with fear.

At the party’s arrival, a small slew of attendants immediately scuttled out like ants from a kicked nest, and you noticed what looked like a wheeled throne being pushed easily towards the High Prince. You tried not to stare as you slid to the ground and turned to watch as his winged bodyguard stepped forwards, not to lift him down but merely to offer his shoulder for the Prince to brace against. He lowered his body down into the chair from his saddle with what had to be immense upper body strength while his legs dangled unmoving below. Once settled, he adjusted his weight and then caught you looking. You flushed, embarrassed by your curiosity, but instead of being reprimanded, you found that all he offered you was a wide, toothy - almost cheeky - grin before he pushed away towards the castle doors.

The Fae whose mount you’d shared was named Narrawaed, or Narra for short, and he turned out to be the personal bodyguard and attendant of the Fae two whom you had been promised in service, Lord Rhaziel. Despite your fears, you soon discovered that all you were required to do was assist the elderly Fae with his reading and academic studies, and after a year in his service, you came to regard him almost more like an uncle than a master.

Lord Rhaziel was the High Prince’s own uncle, and a trusted adviser at the court, so you ended up being able to attend a lot of the gatherings and events that the Court of Fire held at various times of the year. On one such occasion, the impending visit from a noble from the Court of Shadows prompted preparations for a lavish party, although the primary reason for their visit was diplomatic.

Rhaziel broke off from his research on the effects of lava-gnat venom on nerve pain one afternoon and looked up at you, blinking softly. For a Fae to look old, they must really be extremely elderly you knew by now. Rhaziel’s hair was white and a little wispy, tied back in the current courtly fashion and secured with a comb adorned with flames to mark his royal blood. His eyes had faded to a delicate pale gold now as his own magic faded. Apparently - if the extensive tattooing all over his neck and down to his hands was anything to go by (though the rest was hidden by his thick, silk robes and high collar) - he had been extremely powerful in his day. The tattoos helped to contain a Fae’s magic to prevent those with potent power from losing control. The High Prince, Jaehrin, was apparently the only person ever to have had more tattoos than Rhaziel did.

“Come, child,” Rhaziel croaked, pushing his chair back from his paper-strewn desk and easing himself to his feet. “Let us go and see how the preparations for tonight’s festivities are going.”

You nodded, not minding any longer that he still called you ‘child’. To him, you really must have seemed very young, you supposed, although you had been there for over a year now and were an adult by human standards. He meant it affectionately, and his eyes always twinkled kindly when he met your gaze.

You extended your arm to him and he took it willingly, using his silver-tipped walking stick in his other hand. His papery skin was flecked with age spots but his grip was firm, and the two of you made your way with familiar ease through the shadowy passages of the castle from his study towards the great hall.

The doors stood open and you gasped as you regarded the hangings that had been draped from the centre of the ceiling to railings on the walls and then allowed to fall in a waterfall of red and gold silk to the floor. It reminded you so viscerally of the maypole decorations in the village back home that it stole your breath away as you stared. You had been so transfixed by the sight of them that you hadn’t noticed that there was a small group of Fae in the centre of the room, and that their conversation had sputtered to a halt at your arrival. More likely it was at the arrival of the distinguished royal elder than you, of course, you realised as you turned to find them all staring.

“Shall we introduce ourselves then?” Rhaziel asked with a slight wink. “They look a bit star struck. I wonder if they’ve ever met a human before?”

You rolled your eyes, used to his teasing manners, and accompanied him closer to the strange group who were, you now saw, talking with the High Prince and his younger brother and sister.

Not all of them looked like the more ‘human’ High Fae; one was simply a writhing mass of shadows that constantly shifted and changed shape like ink in a stirred glass of water, and their voice was nothing more than a rasping of claws on stone as they spoke. Standing beside them was the High Prince’s bodyguard - and, some said, his lover - Garrad. The huge, hulking fae bore the sigil of an Ember Warrior, emblazoned across his otherwise unadorned tunic, and he stood on avian feet with enormous, black wings outstretched behind him.

A figure who looked a little like him - if only for the enormous pair of bat-like wings - was unfamiliar to you. His skin gleamed, warm and richly brown as if he spent a lot of time in the sun, and his face was sharply handsome and bore a rough-hewn kind of strength to his features. As his whisky coloured eyes landed on your face, they sharpened with interest, and his full lips murmured, “A human?”

Jaehrin laughed from his position in his wheelchair and said, “Yes. I have one or two in my court, Lord Ahrin.”

Ahrin flushed and bowed his head. “Forgive me for staring, Your Highness.” In apology, he tucked his heavy wings in tight and bowed his head. As he did so, his shoulder-length, brown hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back with a strong-looking hand. For some reason the sight of that simple gesture awoke something that had been dormant in you since coming to the Fae Realm, but you hid your reaction well while Lord Rhaziel was introduced to the remainder of the party from the Court of Shadows.

“I shan’t keep you,” the elderly Fae chuckled once everyone had been introduced. “I just wanted to come and see what was going on.” He turned to you and hissed in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “I do still love a good party, even after all these years.”

His smile was infectious, and you laughed softly. The sound appeared to attract Ahrin’s attention again, but when you looked over at him, he had turned his head away and was speaking to one of the dignitaries from this court, a creature made seemingly of living rock who had always made you a little uneasy, like a statue come to life.

It wasn’t until the ball that evening that you saw Ahrin again.

You and Rhaziel were sitting at the side of the room on a deep, comfortable sofa, watching the nobility from both courts - and from one or two others, if Rhaziel’s comments were accurate. “That young lady is from the Court of Winter,” he said, indicating a beautiful blonde who was currently swirling around the dance floor in the arms of one of Jaehrin’s brothers. “Her adoptive brother is a terrible snob,” he added with a scoff. “Awful young man. Reserved to the point of rudeness, and a spoilt little brat if you ask me. The younger twins are delightful though… Finwe and Caedwyn…” his eyes misted over a little as he clearly thought fondly of the two younger princes of the Court of Winter.

“When did you last see them?” you asked politely.

“What? Oh… must be twenty years ago now. Oh look!” he exclaimed, suddenly digging you playfully in the ribs with a sharp elbow, and he nodded in the direction of the dance floor. “I thought someone was rather interested in you before.”

“What?” you chirped, confused, turning your head to see Ahrin smiling at you as he approached.

With what could only be described as a gleeful little cackle, Rhaziel dug you in the ribs once more and hissed, “If he asks you to dance, I expect you to say yes…”

You meddling old man, you thought amusedly. “Alright.”

Courteously greeting Lord Rhaziel first, Ahrin bowed low from the waist, glorious wings tucked as neatly out of the way as he could manage. Around the hook-like talons, the ‘thumbs’ of his bat-like wings, he wore an engraved, golden cuff, and his shoulder-length hair was half tied back and studded with small, spherical gold beads that picked up the colour of his eyes perfectly.

“My Lord,” he purred quietly to Rhaziel. “I hope you are enjoying the evening.”

Rhaziel shot you a sidelong look and snorted. “Not as much as I think you’d enjoy yourself if you were to ask my assistant to dance…”

Ahrin’s cheeks flushed attractively and he laughed. “Indeed.”

He turned to you and you swallowed nervously. Humans were not particularly numerous in the Court of Fire, and while you’d been treated with respect, as both the subject of an honoured bargain and the servant of one of the most powerful Fae in the Court, you weren’t exactly of any social standing.

“Would you me the honour of sharing this dance with me?” he asked, voice deep and gravelly. Ahrin bowed low again, and a dark, swirling mist began to coil around his polished boots and his wings, like morning frost evaporating in the sunlight.

Rhaziel leaned across and hissed in your ear, “I think he’s nervous. Put the poor boy out of his misery, eh?”

Unable to keep from chuckling, you nodded. “I’d love that. Thank you, Lord Ahrin.”

“Please,” he said as he straightened. “It’s just Ahrin.”

You took his hand and tried not to go weak at the knees when you felt the rough strength of his callused fingers. Gently, he drew you towards the dance floor as a new tune started from the minstrels’ gallery, and he began to lead you in the quick, energetic dance that followed. He held you firmly but not uncomfortably, one hand on your waist and one gripping your hand, as the two of you practically galloped along the length of the room. His wings didn’t seem to get in the way at all, and he must have been extremely fit because where the exertion left you flushed and breathing hard, he was barely winded.

Ahrin’s handsome face split into a broad, beaming grin and his eyes laughed too as he spun you around at the end and finally came to a halt in one corner as the rest of the room paused to catch their breath and applaud the musicians. “That was a tricky one!” he exclaimed. “I should have known they’d play that here! You did well though; did you learn our dances here?”

You nodded. “Lord Rhaziel insisted that I learn in case he fancied a turn on the dance floor, apparently, though he’s never expressed any interest himself in all the time I’ve been here.”

“Well,” Ahrin smiled, “I’m certainly glad he had you taught.” A moment later his expression turned a little thoughtful and he asked, “How long have you been here?”

You shrugged, following him as he led you towards the colonnade at the edge of the great hall which looked out over a balcony on the edge of the cliff. Cool breezes wafted in, making the oil lamps gutter and flare, but the air was welcome after the perfume and closeness of the dance floor. “A little over a year.”

“You’ve adapted well. Prince Jaehrin’s court seems generally fair though,” he added, almost wistfully.

Feeling a little emboldened, mostly by the fact that he still held your hand as you walked side by side into the cool night, leaving the music and laughter behind, you decided to ask him a question in return. “You’re originally from the Court of Shadows yourself, right?” You eyed his dark wings pointedly, though you were curious because he didn’t appear to have the avian legs of a Shadowborne like Garrad.

He nodded, gaze turning distant as he stared out over the empty desert that stretched out below the castle on this side. “Mmm.” Offering you a cheeky wink, he added, “Royal bastard though, so I’m no one very important…”

“You must have been quite important to be asked to come along to this?”

“Touché,” he said. “I have some standing because of my blood, but no authority really. I’m more of an ambassador when Naeryn is busy.”

“Naeryn?”

“Prince of the Court of Shadows,” he said. “I’ve always liked it here though. Jaehrin’s…” he sighed. “He’s good.” The way he imbued the word with real significance made you nod in agreement. From what you knew of the High Prince of the Court of Fire, he was indeed good. Quick to laugh and quick to forget his anger, strong with his magic and generous with his friends, he seemed quite unlike anything you’d been led to believe was possible from the Fae. You had, of course, had some run-ins with one or two nastier Fae folk, but Rhaziel’s influence largely kept them at bay.

You looked up to find that Ahrin had gone from watching the view to staring at you, eyes dark as honey now. “What?”

He smiled. “I can see you weren’t expecting us to be like this when you first heard about the Fae…”

Shaking your head, you said, “No. And I’m sure that if I wasn’t attached to Rhaziel in some way, my experience might have been a bit different. I’ve seen the other humans here who prepare the food in the kitchens and work the gardens. Their life is harder than mine by far.”

“But they’re still paid for their work, and treated fairly,” he said bitterly. The sour note took you off guard and he elaborated. “In the Court of Shadows, it’s not so pleasant. What humans there are find themselves treated like livestock. Many of the creatures there feed their magic, their essence, on fear and darkness, and humans are so… emotional. They don’t last long.”

You shuddered, a thrill running down your spine and making your hair stand on end.

“I’m sorry,” Ahrin said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No,” you countered firmly. “I’d rather know how things are than be deluded…”

His attractive lips quirked into a soft smile. “I’ve not met a human like you,” he admitted. A refrain of music floated out on the air and he held out his hands again. “Another dance?”

Smiling, you accepted.

“How long are you here for?” you asked, somewhat breathless, half an hour or so later as the two of you still danced in private on the balcony.

His eyes were locked on your lips and for a moment he didn’t respond. “Hmm? Oh… a week. There’s the Equinox Ball coming up, and we leave after that.”

You’d almost forgotten about the significance of the Equinox Ball, which marked the turning point of the year where the Seelie and Unseelie Royals - who ruled over all of the Courts - exchanged their power. They wouldn’t attend this ball themselves, of course, but it was still held to honour their leadership and to wish them good fortune and wise rulership for the next six months of the year. The Courts would each take their turn to host a ball, and this year it was the turn of the Court of Fire. The Shadow Court’s visit had been tied into that to discuss business between the two courts which, apparently, were not on the greatest terms despite Ahrin’s opinion of Jaehrin.

Ahrin stopped dancing and leaned a little closer to you, blinking slowly as if in a daze. He swallowed and you watched his Adam’s apple bob. “May… May I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Yes,” you smiled and he returned the gesture.

He brought his fingertips to your chin and tilted it up so that he could look at you properly first. Sliding his palm up your jawline, savouring the shape of you beneath his touch, he smiled and whispered, “You’re stunning…”

Before you could respond, he kissed you.

His fingers tightened and he tangled them in your hair, heedless of the mess he might make of it by scrunching it all up. He tugged you into the kiss, deepening it with a groan and you watched his wings slowly flex open, as if trying to shut out all the world around you.

Breathless, he pulled back a moment or two later and you saw how his golden eyes glowed, bright and glassy. His throat worked again as he swallowed and he blinked. “Save a dance for me at the Equinox Ball?” he murmured, thumbing a line across your cheekbone.

“As many as you like,” you laughed.

Ahrin’s answering deep, earthy laugh made the warmth inside you bloom to something fierce, but before he could kiss you again, someone called his name and he winced, wings tucking. “I… I have to go,” he said. “It’s one of the Prince’s advisers. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said, still feeling like you were floating. “Go.”

“At the Equinox Ball,” he promised, kissing your knuckles as he left.

You watched him go and turned back to the balcony and the desert below, heart pounding. Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere beyond the ball, but you could enjoy it while it lasted, surely. Perhaps when Rhaziel decided he no longer needed you, you could go to the Court of Shadows and… Shaking your head, you instantly recalled what he’d said about how humans were treated there. No, that wasn’t something you could endure.

The sadness that pervaded your thoughts that week - even when you saw Ahrin around the palace from time to time - seeped deep into your bones. You played it off as just tiredness to Rhaziel, but when Ahrin swirled you round the dance floor for the second time at the Equinox Ball, he frowned, his thick, sculpted brows knitting, his eyes dark. “What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately sweeping you out of the dance and onto the balcony again. This time you didn’t have it to yourselves, but as he led you to the far end, you might as well have been alone.

“What’s troubling you so much?” he pressed, lifting your chin the way he had done the week before. This time, no kiss followed, only kindness.

You tried to put on a brave face, but his eyes were so earnest that you had to tell him the truth. “It’s so childish,” you hissed, half turning away.

Ahrin caught your hand up in his as you moved and squeezed. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Taking a steadying breath, you said, “I think I’m enjoying this too much.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” he asked, confused.

You nodded. “You’re going back tomorrow, and I’m staying here. I can’t go with you.”

Ahrin’s expression shattered, and you realised that he hadn’t even thought of that. “I… I can… I could come and visit you,” he ventured, though even as he said it, you both knew it couldn’t happen.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you said gently. “It’s alright… You’re probably destined for more than me anyway.”

He growled, low and deep as a wolf, and you jumped in surprise. His wings flexed behind him, like a swan preparing to beat the absolute crap out of someone, and you began to giggle at the thought. “What?” he snarled.

“Easy,” you said, still chuckling. “Let’s just make the most of tonight then.”

His warm eyes went wide and he leaned forward, seizing your face and drawing you into a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. “Yes,” he said. “Come with me.”

Ahrin led you through the castle towards the guest wing, and none of the guards stopped you as you followed him into his private apartments. A fire was blazing in the grate, and spherical glass lamps had been lit all around the room, each one glowing like rubies in the sun. His quarters were lavish, but you had eyes only for him.

His jerkin was laced up the back to accommodate his wings, and he spread them wide for you to undo it in a gesture that struck you as incredibly intimate. He shivered as you brushed your fingertips against the ‘shoulders’ of his wings where they melted from dark, leathery brown into the smooth skin of his tanned, muscular back. There wasn’t a mark or scar on his body, save for the odd freckle here and there, and as you let his jerkin fall to the ground, he turned carefully and you saw that the hunger in his eyes had grown.

Ahrin took his time undressing you, and when you stepped out of the last of your clothes, he let out a shaky breath, jaw slack, eyes glassy, his pupils blown wide. “Stunning,” he murmured, repeating his compliments from the last time as if in a kind of prayer. “You’re stunning,” he breathed.

He lingered, kissing down your neck and letting his fingers caress your hard nipples and his hands wander until you felt lax and pliant in his arms. Leading you to his bed, he laid you down and began to worship every exposed inch of you with his mouth and his hands, leaving you a gasping, shaking mess.

“You’re still… still wearing too much,” you managed to whimper when he’d brought you close to orgasm twice in a row.

With a wry grin, he nodded and shucked off the rest of his clothes, freeing his impressive, erect cock. Pre-come wept and beaded at the head and he took himself in his hand as he leaned over you on the bed, one knee on either side of your legs. Lowering himself down, he ground his body slowly against yours until you were both groaning and trembling.

“I want to mark you,” he growled, mouthing at your neck and collarbones as he picked up his speed. His wings stretched back behind him, occasionally twitching. His cock was slick against your hip as he rutted against you, covering you in his pre-come. “You’re already going to smell of me, but… can I…?” he asked, nipping you more forcefully.

You nodded, and he instantly closed his mouth to your collarbone, sucking a deep, dark bruise there. The moment he leaned back and admired his work, his wings extended wider than the width of his huge bed, and he moaned, “You look so good like that…”

“I’m yours, Ahrin,” you whimpered, shudderingly close to your own peak as he ground himself repeatedly against you. Your hands clutched at the sheets beneath you and you begged him to come as you bucked up against his weight. “Please… come over me…”

His eyes flared bright with magic and shadows began to coil around your legs as he lost his tight control on his powers. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, and as the gentle, velvety darkness wrapped around your senses, it felt like another caress. “I’m so close,” he whimpered as he worked himself rough and fast. “Fuck… I’m…” and a moment later his hips spasmed and he emptied himself all over your stomach.

Ahrin’s wings flared impossibly wide, the membrane becoming almost translucent as it stretched to its limits as he came with a bellow, mouth open, eyes rammed shut, head tipped back in ecstasy.

A moment later as you finally came as well, his strength failed him and his muscular supporting arm buckled. He toppled down on top of you and the two of you lay panting and twitching together for a long time.

When he finally caught his breath, he pushed himself up off you, groaning at the mess he’d made of both of you. He drew carefully back and got to his feet. From where you lay, dazed and spent on the bed, you watched as his wings sagged, as though the weight of them was finally too much for him after his earlier exertions, and observed how the tips dragged on the floor as he paced unsteadily over to an adjacent room and disappeared.

The sound of running water reached your ears not long afterwards, and he reemerged again, still naked, but a little cleaner, and carried your limp body towards the bath. Steam billowed into the air, fogging the mirror and condensing on his long, thick eyelashes like morning dew on blades of grass. He lowered you into the water of the enormous, black stone bath - which was more like a pool - and stepped in after you. With care and gentle attention, he washed you clean, lingering where you were still sensitive until you were arching up into his touch and hissing his name.

“Ahrin…”

“Mmm?”

“Make me come again?”

He kissed you and adjusted the movement of his hand a little, making you cry out, though the sound was muffled by his lips against yours.

“And again,” he said, kissing your neck and leaving another bruise not long after.

You moaned.

“And again,” he added, biting gently at your collarbone. “And… again…”

Other Fae Realm Stories

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)

Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

—

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#winged fae #fae #fae x reader #gender neutral reader #male fae x reader #exophilia #fae realm #wings

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

Salt & Snow - Chapter 4

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: All Lord Caspian’s daughter wants to do is write letters to Ned and enjoy her time with the Starks, although her days aren’t always going to be so carefree. Meanwhile Ned is up on the Eyrie, looking forward to her letters, even if he has to read about a frightening situation weeks after the fact.

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✨🐺Chapter 1🐺✨Chapter 2🐺✨Chapter 3🐺✨

She’d spent a good month or two avoiding it, but now there was no escape. Lyanna had cornered Y/N and all but dragged her to the stables. Lyanna was more amused than offended about her resistance. “You have to learn sometime, Y/N!”

“I already know how to ride!” Her friend protested. Lyanna had such a strong grip for a young lady. “And I can’t today, I’m wearing —”

“Your old dress that doesn’t fit well anymore, so today’s perfect, isn’t it?” Lyanna grinned, and Y/N realized she had been played. It was Lyanna who suggested she wear it today, because it was a pretty color in spite of how short it was becoming. Come to think of it, Lyanna had insisted on doing her hair too, and styled it in a practical way.

Y/N was defeated. She sulked as she waited for the stablemaster to saddle up their horses. Lyanna had a beautiful black palfrey that she’d had since before she could remember. Her name was simply “Rose”, and she was the most animated palfrey Y/N had ever met. Y/N had been with her own mount for three years, and she’d yet to truly master riding him. Horses were just so … big. And scary.

“Might I help you, milady?” The stablemaster asked her. Lyanna was already on Rose. Y/N accepted the man’s hand and he hoisted her up. She struggled to climb atop the horse on her own, so she was grateful for any help offered. At first it was Brandon or Lord Stark himself who assisted her, but she was getting older and the thought of their help was embarrassing now. She stroked her horse’s neck and took hold of the reins, trying to steady her hands. To keep her mind off the ride ahead, she thought of something more pleasant. It was easy to do that, because before Lyanna had kidnapped her, she was writing back to Ned.

They’d been corresponding for a year now, and Y/N made a point to respond as quickly as she could, since letters to and from the Vale were so slow. A letter to Dorne might be faster, she’d think with irritation, and sometimes in her impatience she sent two. Ned’s letters were amusing at first. He had simple handwriting that was perfectly serviceable, and if he was finished with what he had to say, he’d stop even if there was plenty of room on the paper. Y/N wasn’t one to write pages either, but it still tickled her. She filled in her own blank spaces with drawings.

She drew direwolves and manta rays, the godswood, Lyanna’s horse, little portraits of the wolf siblings. Sometimes she worried they weren’t any good, but it was a waste of paper to start again, so she made do. Charcoal smeared and paints made the letters hard to bend, so she used ink. If she was careful, she could make very pretty pictures.

There was a letter sitting at her desk now, but it couldn’t be sent until the ink tried. It certainly took a long time. Now she thought about the letter Ned sent before that, and it made her smile.

“Y/N!” Lyanna called her. “Your horse!”

“Sorry,” Y/N said quickly, gently pulling the reins to settle the beast. She just noticed how far they were from Winterfell. Had she been lost in her thoughts all that time? More importantly, her bronze palfry was shaking his head with annoyance. His ears twitched and Y/N had to pull on the reins again. She gently shooshed the horse and pet his neck, but something must have spooked him. Y/N sighed and brought him to a stop.

“There, there,” Lyanna rode up beside the palfry and took its reins. “Maybe he heard the hunting dogs. Brandon and father are around here somewhere, they spotted a big stag yesterday.”

Y/N thought it was a poor horse that got scared of some distant hunting dogs, but she was glad to stop so she could regain control. Its black mane shook and its ears flicked sharply. Lyanna waited until he was still to give the reins back.

Their fingers brushed for just a moment before a terrible squealing echoed from the other part of the forest. It was like a wounded animal, screaming with all its might. The next moment, the black palfrey took off, and it was Lyanna screaming as she was yanked from her saddle. She fell in the dirt and the horse raced off, kicking up dust in its scramble to get away.

Y/N’s gloved hands flew to its mane but she couldn’t get a good grip. Her whole body tightened and she held to the beast, her teeth clattering as it ran with all its strength. Her body rattled on top of the horse, trying desperately to hold on and not be thrown. It was impossible to see what was around her. She was so sure if she raised her head, she’d be thrown right off, so she clenched her eyes and prayed to the gods that something would stop it.

Nothing did. The palfrey turned sharply to avoid a rock and Y/N cried out as she grasped for anything: the mane, the neck, the reins that were hanging uselessly to the side. She could feel herself sliding off the saddle, but she held fast and desperately tried to straighten herself. Her face was wet with tears, but it was impossible to cry out. She ought to scream for help, but speaking would interfere with holding on for dear life.

The horse was leading her into a heavily forested area, and her heart seized with new panic. At this speed, it would hit a ditch or a tree, and she’d tossed around like a sack. Y/N almost wished she could just roll off, surely that was better than being thrown. She considered it, willing herself to open her eyes and look around.

Something caught her vision, a large shape that was getting close, and panic caught in her throat. She thought it was a huge tree, but trees didn’t move, then she worried it was some wild animal. Instead, something extended from the shape and reached for her. Y/N forced her eyes to open properly, trying to see through the tears, and she saw it was a hand.

The hand was trying to grab the reins, but it gave up, and pulled at her wrist instead. She heard a voice. “Y/N, take my hand! Let go!”

Her whole body was shaking, and it took all of her effort to unclasp her sweaty hand from the horse’s mane. Letting go in that instant shot terror through her, and she was ready to snap back to the mane, but the hand grabbed her wrist before she could. She couldn’t turn her head to look.

“Let go!” The voice yelled again.

Y/N sobbed as her other hand released the mane. Then she was tilting to the side, like the world itself was turning over. She couldn’t make sense of it, and the sensation of falling came to her. Her ankle grounded her: it was caught in a stirrup, and hot pain shot up from her foot to her leg. She thrashed it and it untangled.

Then her legs were jelly and dangling for only a second. She was pulled to another horse, one that was far slower.

Y/N blinked her tears away, staring out into the forest, where the palfrey disappeared. He was galloping so hard she was sure he’d fall and break a leg. Y/N lost sight of it, her own tears and shaking ruining her vision. An arm wrapped around her, and she was pressed against a comfortable fur cloak. Y/N’s arms instantly wrapped around the solid body, and her fingers dug in the cloak like they did the mane. Her stomach was rolling, but her chattering teeth would never allow her to lose her breakfast.

It occurred to her that it was Brandon who she was riding with. He may have been talking, but she couldn’t hear anything over her own heart. It sounded like a war drum. She rode with him for a time, and when his horse stopped, she finally pulled away from the cloak and looked around.

They were inside Winterfell’s gates, by the stables. Y/N couldn’t believe she didn’t notice them passing through the gates. Right away she found Lyanna, whose face and clothes were covered in dirt. Lyanna brushed away tears and ran to them. “Y/N, you’re alright! I was so afraid!”

“Did you call the maester?” Brandon asked his sister with some impatience. Y/N was so occupied with her own fear, she hadn’t realized his heart was beating like a drum, too. She could hear it even through the leather and wool he wore. Lyanna shook her head, and he sighed and ordered a stableboy to find him.

Brandon was about to dismount, but Y/N almost faltered and fell when he did. He set his warm hands on her shoulders. “Hold onto the saddle horn. I’ll help you.”

It was the gentlest she ever heard him, even if his voice sounded strange, like he was upset. Y/N held onto the saddle like he said, the tremble coming back to her as he easily dismounted. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her up as though she weighed nothing. If it strained him, he didn’t show it, playing the gallant lord very well. Y/N was too dizzy to appreciate it.

When he set her down, she instantly winced and held onto him. Brandon asked, “Your leg?”

“My ankle, I think,” Y/N lifted her skirt to look, but she couldn’t tell anything with her riding boots on. Lyanna was instantly, holding her so tight it hurt.

“I’m so, so sorry, Y/N, it’s my fault, I should’ve had a better grip, or calmed the horse better,” Lyanna babbled. The tears were coming back to her.

“Y-you couldn’t help it.” The embrace was a relief. Y/N easily held her back to calm her shakes. “And if you held tighter, it would have dragged you. That would’ve been terrible.”

“Any more terrible than being in your position?” Brandon said. “I’m glad I was there. The horse would’ve thrown you at the treeline — Lyanna, let her breathe, would you?”

Y/N had a feeling he was right. She wanted to disentangle herself from Lyanna, to thank Brandon, to get off her aching leg and go lie down - all she wanted to do this morning was send a letter. She felt sick. Maester Walys into their sight, his chains swaying and clinking from his brisk pace.

“Lady Y/N!” He said. “Are you well, child?”

“My leg hurts.” It was all she could say. Her ribs and hands were aching, too, and her jaw felt awful from all the clenching and teeth chattering. Brandon scolded his sister again, and she reluctantly let go so Y/N could lean on him.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Brandon said. His dark grey eyes were worried, another thing she hadn’t seen before. As much as she liked Lyanna’s affection, it was too much right now. Brandon’s uncharacteristic steadiness was more comforting right now.

“Let us hope not. Can you help her walk, my lord?” The maester asked.

Y/N wasn’t expecting to be lifted in his arms. She seemed to be getting moved around all over today, and not when she wanted. Still, it lifted the pressure from her leg, and instantly her whole body relaxed. All her energy was gone. If he put her down now, she wasn’t sure she could move, bad leg or no.

“Tell your mother what transpired, my lady, and I’ll tend to Y/N.” Maester Walys said to Lyanna. She hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave Y/N’s side, so she broke into a run to deliver the message faster. As usual, she’d be coming to her mother while covered in head to toe with dirt.

Ned glanced at the large doors of the feast hall for the third time. Lord Arryn hadn’t noticed, too absorbed several ledgers he had laid out on the table. Often while he arranged taxes and business, he’d have the boys take supper with him. It warmed the old man’s heart to listen to them chatter, even better when he had a rare guest to join them. It was often just a knight or minor lord, but Ned and Robert spoke well, and he was proud of them.

Usually it was Robert doing the talking, as he was now, and Ned would give his input now and again. He was too distracted to do so tonight, it was around this time that he’d expect a letter from Y/N. He hadn’t thought the mail would be so slow to and from the Eyrie; even ravens disliked flying up so high. Mail had to come up the mountain on a meandering goat or in a turnip basket, and the quiet, steady young man was finally experiencing some impatience in his life. Usually he preferred the letter to come when he was in his room so Robert couldn’t see, but it had been more than two weeks late, and at this point he didn’t care if Robert read it first. He wanted to hear from Y/N.

Robert caught his attention and made Ned listen as he told a randy joke to the visiting knight. The knight laughed so hard he almost coughed up his ale, and Ned smiled, but distractedly. Robert hadn’t noticed. He had another joke, but Ned noticed the door slowly open and a servant calmly walked in. All his attention was gone.

The servant went to Lord Arryn first, giving him a small bundle of mail. Ned’s heart raced. Then he went to the maester, who was often quiet during these dinners, and the maester stayed quiet as he received a letter with a nod. The Stark boy was almost squirming in his seat when the servant came to him, and handed him a letter covered in a protective brown paper, tied with a rough string. That was the only way it could make it from Winterfell to the Eyrie in one piece, and there was still some water damage on the corners.

“Something from your girl?” Robert whispered, never as quiet as he thought he was. Ned usually dismissed him but he couldn’t help from smiling. He opened it carefully, and Robert was excited too, if only to snoop since Ned always kept to himself with these things. “Well? Confessed her love yet?”

Ned sighed. “She’s thirteen, and Lyanna’s companion, besides.”

“What do either of those have to do with anything?” Robert asked incredulously, and Ned ignored him as he unfolded the letter. Right away he noticed it was different from her usual ones - she usually wrote so neatly, like she planned exactly what to say and fit it on the paper perfectly. With that handwriting and her pictures, it was like the whole letter was a piece of art, and he wanted to handle it carefully. This one was different, though. She had hastily added something to the back of it.

Ned should’ve started at the beginning, but he had to know what this addition was. He skimmed it quickly, and his heart instantly raced in his chest. Robert was trying to get a better view. He elbowed Ned’s side. “What’s the matter?”

Lord Arryn watched them carefully. He was worried about the expression on Ned’s face. The knew the boy took great joy in letters from home, though he never asked who they were from. It wasn’t his way to pry into his ward’s lives that much, but Ned’s grey eyes were racing across the page.

Finally, the Stark boy sighed and deflated a little in his seat.

“What in the seven hells is it?” Robert asked impatiently. Rather than scold Robert for his indelicate speech, Lord Arryn asked, “Is it very bad news, Eddard?”

“No, not anymore, I don’t think,” Ned shook his head, his dark hair was getting longer. He didn’t want to cut it like the Southern lords did. “Lady Y/N had an incident with her horse, but she’s alright. She only sprained an ankle.”

When he read the words “accident” and “horse”, Ned assumed the worst, even if she was the one who had written it. Both men and women falling from horses and meeting terrible injuries or deaths was the whole reason his lord father was worried about Lyanna riding as much as she did. He felt sick at the thought of Y/N falling from her saddle - not that she did, the horse took off in a mad run, but if Brandon hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have stayed on much longer.

“Thank the Maiden she’s well,” Lord Arryn said. “It’s a dangerous thing for ladies, young ones in particular, to ride. Their constitutions can’t handle it. I hope she learns from this.”

Robert looked at the letter again. “I’m glad she’s safe too, Ned,” He said, a rare moment of solemnity for him. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Robert hadn’t even met Y/N, but her letters and pictures made Ned happy, and that was all he needed to know. Robert pictured her as a modest little thing who had a silly crush. Why Ned preferred some distant girl over the women they saw every day, he didn’t know, but he liked his friend’s odd peculiarities. Several times he asked Ned to describe her, but it was always vague things, like how she smiled or how sweet she was. Robert’s imagination couldn’t do anything with that.

Ned waited until the end of dinner to read the rest of it, wanting the privacy. Robert would stay up training with the knights, squirreling his way into a serving girl’s bed, or both. Before he left to do either, he walked Ned to his room, wanting to talk a little more. Ned was only half-listening.

Suddenly, Robert said, “I don’t think you would have let it happen.”

Ned was confused. “What do you mean?”

“The horse. If you were there, it never would have had a chance to run off,” Robert was already a little drunk, so he leaned on the cool wall, trying to make his words clearer and his head cooler. “You would’ve been right at her side, and controlled that damn thing. Brandon wouldn’t have needed to be around.”

It was a strange thing to say, Ned thought, but Robert often said strange things when he was full of ale. He just nodded. “Eat something if you’re going to fight, and get the ale stink off before you see Daisy.”

Robert laughed, his loud voice echoing off the halls. He gave Ned rough pat on the back and staggered off.

In his room, Ned dressed down and got comfortable by the hearth. It wasn’t as cold as Winterfell here, but it was close. The howling wind hitting his windows was something else entirely, though. He was pleased to have the letter for a distraction. Reading through it was more warming than the fire, and he admired the way the dried ink gleamed against the light. This time she drew the kitchen cat she’d been feeding, and the kittens it recently had. One of the kittens was drawn a little misshapen, and Y/N went ahead and gave it a silly expression, which made him smile.

He flipped the letter over, looking at her messy paragraph and thinking about how lucky Y/N was. He read it again, still feeling discomfort even if it must’ve happened weeks ago. His eyes stopped on “…but Brandon pulled me from the saddle. Once the ordeal was over, the maester…”

Thank the gods Brandon was there, although he wondered why his proud brother was riding with the girls. Robert’s voice echoed in his head. If you were there…

Ned wasn’t one to fancy imaginary scenarios, nor did he overestimate his abilities. He never pictured himself as a brave hero in the songs, as Robert did. Still, he wondered what if he were there. The thought of Y/N holding onto a panicked horse was not a pleasant one. He imagined pulling the reins or catching her as she fell. He didn’t think he was strong enough to outright pull her from it, not like Brandon was.

Catching her seemed safer, since she twisted her ankle when Brandon pulled her. Ned wasn’t sure why he’d be there at the foot of the horse when she fell, but in his sleepy imagination, it made sense. The room was cozy and warm, like back at Winterfell when they first thought up the plan to write letters. The fire was a relief after the chill he had, looking for the pearl. It still pleased him that he found it, if he hadn’t, Y/N may have never asked to write.

The sound of paper softly touching the floor went unnoticed. Ned adjusted himself in the chair and his mind wandered further. You would’ve been right at her side, a distant voice said. Catching Y/N turned into carrying her, both through the woods and then the yard of Winterfell, and then he wasn’t carrying her anymore. They were just sitting side by side, looking at drawings by the fire.

Y/N enjoyed recovering from her ankle, simply because she got to stay inside and read and painted as she pleased. Lyanna was restless after a few hours of sitting, and she’d eventually run out to play outside. Lady Stark had refused to let her to ride her horse until who knows when, and her best friend was laid up, so it had been an exhausting few weeks for anyone trying to keep up with her, Benjen included.

As much as Y/N liked the rest, she was more than happy to be healed by the next feast, where she saw her parents, Willam and little Rickard. He was a temperamental toddler now, but that didn’t bother her parents as they happily hugged and kissed their only daughter. Even Willam was willing to give her a big hug in front of the other boys.

“Where’s Uncle Cole?” She asked, although she felt she knew the answer. Her father confirmed it.

“That storm hit the coast hard. Our ships were scattered, and Lord Manderly’s didn’t fare better. Your uncle is helping oversee the mess, but that’s not business you should worry about. How is your ankle, sweetling?” He patted her on the head, and while Y/N normally welcomed the gesture, it bothered her this time. She wanted to know all about the business of their ships, their family depended on it.

Her mother began fussing with her hair and clothes, ruining any chance of Y/N trying to ask more. “Are you well, dear? How is that ankle? Should you be going to the feast? You can stay seated, you shouldn’t dance tonight. You shouldn’t go near a horse again, either.”

“Yes, mother,” Y/N said, knowing neither parent was really listening. They were already guiding her toward the feast hall, her father calling to Lord Stark and her mother shushing baby Rickard. The feast hall was loud and bright as it always was during celebrations, and Y/N resolved to enjoy it, even if she was absently thinking of her uncle, the ships, and Ned. Often she thought of Ned. While recovering, she wasn’t doing anything worth writing about, so she drew him several landscapes she saw from her window, and one from memory: the beach that was closest to her family’s keep. She felt that one was the best.

It was too soon to hope for a reply, but Y/N wanted one. It would have been so nice for Ned to be here, but she had to stop the wishful thinking. Y/N didn’t fully understand it, but it felt like something she had to stop before it got too far. She touched her hair, making sure her pearl was secure, and took in the room. She wiggled her way into Lyanna’s circle, seeing the Ryswell girls once again. They looked more or less the same, except Barbrey was even taller, making it easier for Bethany to hide behind her.

Lyanna was talking at Barbrey, Y/N observed, as the older girl was distracted. She kept looking toward the dais, where the Starks were meant to sit. When she noticed Y/N, she snapped her eyes back to attention. “Well, Lady Y/N. Come to join our gossip? We’re as bad as spinsters tonight.”

“Only because you make it so interesting,” Lyanna said. That had to be true, because Lyanna had little tolerance for idle gossip. Y/N was curious about what they were talking about. She smiled at Bethany in greeting, and the girl shlyly nodded her head back. She inched out from behind Barbrey a little.

“You’ve heard about the strange circumstances surrounding the late Lord Bolton, haven’t you?” Barbrey said to Y/N. The girl thought of it. She heard he had passed, though she never met the man personally, nor did her father mention him much.

At the same time she realized it, she said, “That means Roose Bolton is the lord now. Isn’t he young?”

“There are younger lords,” Barbrey said, “But nevermind that. It’s a strange set of circumstances, and on another point, now he’ll be in want of a wife. The late lord Bolton had no brothers, nor does Roose have brothers, so I expect he’ll be looking at this feast.”

Lyanna didn’t care at all for this marital talk. She was excited at the thought of a mystery, and tried to steer the conversation that way. “What do you mean, strange? They said the late lord died in his sleep.”

“Many things are said about Roose Bolton and his father, you know,” Barbrey’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief, and Y/N wondered if she was just telling them stories. She didn’t like assuming unkind things about someone, even if it was the Boltons. She was hoping she could say something to Bethany, recalling their last conversation, but the girl widened her pretty eyes as she added, “Our father told us many terrible things happen at the Dreadfort.”

“What things? You ought to tell me,” Lyanna urged and stepped closer, now fully interested again, but Bethany said no more. Y/N was losing her patience, because Barbrey had again turned her attention to the dais - and for what?

Y/N followed her eyes to the dais, trying to see what was interesting. It was only Lord Stark, her father and Brandon up there, and her father smiled once he noticed. Y/N smiled back, not noticing that Brandon was also looking. Suddenly, Barbrey said, “We should talk more, Lyanna. We’ll be staying for several days.”

This surprised Y/N, and she noticed that she was left out of that comment. Lyanna hadn’t noticed. “My mother said I won’t ride anymore, but I know I can convince her. You’ll have to tell me what sort of horses your herd has now.”

“You’ll learn shortly,” Was all Barbrey said, glancing toward the dais again. Why didn’t Y/N like that look? She chalked up her feeling to jealousy, because truthfully, it was a little annoying how Lyanna could be single-minded. First the Boltons, now horses. It was the only reason she was talking to the Ryswells, and Y/N would rather have her friend to herself.

“I’m going to look for my mother,” Y/N said suddenly, moreso to Lyanna than the Ryswells. It was a decent excuse. Before she could leave, Barbrey’s sharp eyes met her’s.

“Careful where you wander off, sweetling,” She said, her tone notably insolent. Again, Y/N didn’t know why, and that bothered her more. Barbrey Ryswell was an older girl, so maybe she was simply teasing for no reason. She could be enjoying the superiority of age because she didn’t have it in rank, even though Lyanna was too honorable to hold her station above the daughters of her father’s bannermen.

Now that Y/N was up and about, seeing her family felt like a good idea. They’d only be staying for a fortnight, maybe a little more, and little Rickard had grown so much. Her father was still up on the dais, but the rest were scattered, so she went looking. She spotted Willam across the great hall, up to possible mischief with Benjen and the Umber boys. She was so focused on watching him that she hadn’t noticed who she ran into. It was a man, and while she was too small to budge him, it was still rude.

“Apologies, my lord,” Y/N said quickly, giving him a bow. Her embarrassment made her look down, so she didn’t see his face right away. “I was not watching where I was…”

She balked. Two very cold, almost colorless eyes were looking at her.

“Lady Y/N.” The new Lord Bolton said. He spoke so quietly, she almost didn’t hear her name on his lips.

Her first thought was to offer a courtesy, specifically condolences about the passing of his father, but a combination of Barbrey’s words about strange circumstances and Roose’s chilling presence stopped that thought dead in its tracks. He looked like a man now, and though he already had some years before, now he was a lord. She had to mind herself, even if all she wanted to do was scurry away.

“You’ll forgive me again, my lord,” She said. “A feast can take one’s mind away. Are you finding it to your liking?”

Y/N recited the words well, she knew, her mother would be proud, yet it was the wrong thing to say. Lord Bolton’s face seemed impassive, but his eyes looked different. She felt smaller, and she already had to look up at him. His silence was irksome. Just like Barbrey, he was doing it on purpose because she was younger.

She willed herself to keep her eyes on his, unnerving as they were. She didn’t want to give him any more courtesies or her presence, lord or no. There was a ghost of a smile on Lord Bolton’s lips, and he said, “I see you’ve minded your lessons, Lady Y/N. You’ve learned to speak.”

She could feel her ears burning and her face heat up. She was ready to fiercely retort, but music and dancing had started up. If Lord Bolton was going to attempt a dance, she had an excuse ready. “I hope your evening remains well, my lord,” She said, trying to keep her politeness in her tone. Her eyes were already darting for an exit.

The lord wouldn’t let her squirrel away so easily. Being much taller, Lord Bolton was able to step closer so Y/N couldn’t leave without pushing apart several dancing pairs. They were noticeably the only ones standing still. Y/N froze, but it was already happening. He was taking her hands and leading her into a dance. She could have stayed still in an attempt to discourage him, but the couples swaying around them were close to pushing them around. She’d rather not be pressed against the man, so she danced, but kept a more than modest space between them. Roose didn’t give any indication that he cared about her coldness.

“It’s surprising to see you still in Winterfell,” He said. She almost missed his words from how quiet they were.

“I’m Lady Lyanna’s companion,” Y/N said, not understanding his comment. “I suppose I will leave when I’m to marry, or when she is.”

He didn’t respond right away. They followed the music, albeit slower than some of the other dancers, who were full of ale and cheer and spinning each other around. Y/N was wishing she was dancing with jolly Lord Manderly, or with one of his round sons — even Lord Karstark and his iron grip would be better.

“Do you think that’s the only reason you’re here? To be a wolf girl’s playmate?”

“Lyanna is my closest friend,” Y/N said, and she knew she spoke wrong. She hated that almost smile that crossed his lips.

“That’s not why you were sent to Winterfell, Lady Y/N, but I do understand your confusion. You must be unhappy that Brandon will be sent to the Rills.”

Y/N almost tripped over his feet. She didn’t care that she was being pulled into the pale eyes and poison words. “What? No, he is not. Brandon is Winterfell’s heir, he —”

“—Should marry soon, and rather than consider the pearl at home, they send him around the North to choose who he pleases.”

“That isn’t … ” Y/N started, but her mind was reeling. Brandon was being sent away as well? Around the North — perhaps he was just traveling? Lyanna would hate to see another brother go. Yes, he was the heir, and there was no way he was being sent away to foster, he was too old… and still too young to marry.

Lord Bolton was speaking in riddles, probably just to agitate her. Y/N couldn’t step away fast enough when the music stopped. Before he could speak another ridiculous word, she said, “I’m feeling most tired, Lord Bolton. I hope your evening is pleasant.”

He ignored her. “You would make a fine bride, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N tried to pretend she didn’t hear. The word bride sent a shiver down her spine, and instead of Roose’s frightening eyes, she saw Bethany’s sly smile in her mind. It’s a strange set of circumstances … now he’ll be in want of a wife.

I only flowered three months ago. Can it happen so soon? Y/N thought in despair. Her parents wouldn’t make an arrangement without telling her, she knew they wouldn’t, but it was well within their rights. If Brandon was already sent looking, it was only a matter of time before she and Lyanna would be put on the market, even if Lyanna hadn’t had her moonblood. Y/N felt her stomach churn, and she stepped inside one of the cold hallways to catch her breath.

Lord Bolton was young, but he was still a man, and she remembered his hands on her’s. She wiped them on her dress. She hated thinking of dancing with even older men, having to stay close and smile while they tried to be charming and funny while stinking of drink. Northern men weren’t always like her father and uncle and Lord Stark, they were mostly rough and rude.

She sunk down and sat on the floor. The feast was too loud, but if it all quieted she’d be left alone with her ringing thoughts. She wanted to talk to Lyanna, to get her opinion, but her friend was more often than not thinking of horses and playing and running. She couldn’t trouble Lady Stark, and her own mother may tell her she was being silly for being upset about a fate that was inevitable.

Ned. Y/N was surprised how quickly the name came to her. She could write to him. He wouldn’t call her silly or brush off her anxiety. He always wrote back kind things, even if she worried she was boring him. Y/N touched her hair nervously, running her hands down the braid until she touched the pearl. Her most prized possession, and he trudged through goodness knows what to retrieve it.

This would be yet another party she was making an excuse to leave, but Y/N didn’t care. She retreated to her room, not bothering to change into cozier clothes as she sat at her writing desk. There was a problem of where to start, and after thinking on it, Y/N decided to not bother with all the gossip and strange conversations. She’d just express what she was feeling.

Dear Ned,

I avoided another feast. I know I told you to enjoy the tourneys and galas in the Eyrie, but I had to go to my room and hide again … I hope you won’t think poorly of me, but …

“I never could,” Ned muttered, reading the line again. The sounds of swords echoed off the tall walls of the Eyrie’s training yard, but they were far in his mind. He glanced at the training and again, but for the most part, he was occupied. He didn’t even wait to go to his room.

Ned hadn’t finished reading, but he was frowning, feeling for Y/N’s troubles even if they were weeks and thousands of miles away. He hated the gnawing that was growing in his stomach as he read. It spread to his throat, chewing irritably when she mentioned Brandon. It wasn’t much, but it was there — she was gloomy he was going to begin traveling around the North. Ned tried to tuck that feeling away and kept reading.

He was interrupted by the sight of Lord Arryn hurrying toward him. Ned sat up straight at once and folded the letter neatly, tidying it away in his tunic. Lord Arryn wasn’t looking at him, however — in fact, his drawn face was trying to look away. He didn’t seem well.

“Lord Arryn, what’s happened?” Ned asked. The older man placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it with a strength Ned didn’t know he had.

Lord Arryn struggled to respond, opening his mouth, then quickly closing it. Ned had never seen the man at such a loss. Finally, he said, “I need to speak with you. Something terrible has happened at Storm’s End.”

Ned’s heart instantly squeezed in his chest, so hard he felt the breath leave him entirely. “Robert is —?”

“He will need us in the coming weeks,” Lord Arryn said. Ned tried to take another breath, but relief wasn’t coming. He didn’t understand. Robert had left to see his parents return from Essos, and to see his brothers. He tried to ask for details, but Lord Arryn simply shook his head and sighed so deeply, he looked like he might collapse.

Ned touched his tunic where the letter was hidden. His breathing was still off, but he kept his expression stony as he followed Lord Arryn into a gloomy Great Hall. In the coming week he’d keep it there, anxiously touching his chest as the gloom deepened in the Eyrie. He did his best to answer Y/N, and to be there for her, because soon he’d have to be there for Robert.

#ned stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #ned stark #salt & snow #libra fics

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 9: Coronation

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 9. Takes place somewhere after Httyd 1. Now fully recovered and the Outcasts and Berserkers taken care off, the dragons think it's time for Hiccup to claim his rightful place.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless

Pairing: None

Words: 2 670

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Ritual sacrifice”

Whumpee: Hiccup (+a little bit of Astrid)

Author’s Notes: At first I wanted to write something for the prompt "Ritual Sacrifice", but since the prompts are only suggestions and we are allowed full creative freedom, I decided to drop the "sacrifice" part of the prompt.

Not too certain about this one, I'm a little nervous it's too confusing. But I decided to go with it anyway.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

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It is after a whole week of searching that Astrid finally comes upon Hiccup and Toothless, who had both been missing ever since dinner seven days earlier.

She finds them sitting in the cove, a place that had already been thoroughly checked once by her and the other Dragon Riders and then again and again by Chief Stoick. Because as Hiccup's father, he is understandably worried about his son and his dragon.

Barely having slept or eaten this past week, the man searched all over Berk and in the surrounding ocean, having only a longship and a rescue party to rely on. With Thornado having moved on to begin a new chapter in his life for the sake of three orphaned Thunderdrum hatchlings, Stoick has little choice.

Gobber, too, had been out of his mind with worry. Though knowing that Hiccup is a clever lad and Toothless would never allow harm to befall him, he still fretted for hours into the night. He has accompanied his friend on every search.

And after all their trouble, after all the worrying all of them have done, the entirety of Berk has done, Hiccup and Toothless are both just there in the cove, sitting by the lake and in no apparent hurry to go home.

"Hiccup! Toothless!" Astrid sternly calls their names as Stormfly touches down. There is a twinge of anger igniting a fire in her chest. Okay, maybe it's more than a simple twinge. They've been gone for days!

The Nadder chirps their way as Toothless looks over to watch them land.

They both appear to be unharmed from what she can see and that's all the reassurance Astrid needs. They aren't harmed, so surely they can take an angry rant about what these two have put their village and loved ones through.

Hiccup may not believe it, but everyone has been in an uproar over their disappearance.

As she dismounts, Astrid quickly wipes at her eyes as she approaches, having been maddened by concern, herself. She is ready to begin her tirade and ask the two runaways what the deal was with them disappearing like that for so long, especially with their shaky peace with the Outcasts.

But then she notices something off about Hiccup and her rant is quickly forgotten.

He hasn't turned to her at all as she jumped out of the saddle and came stomping over. It is at least a little bit odd and it's enough to make her wonder if something is wrong. So her stomping slows into a cautious walk before she halts and observes the two.

Toothless is looking her way. He rumbles a greeting and looks rightfully guilty, having some idea of what the two of them must've put their loved ones through.

But Hiccup, he's not even taking a single glance. He's just sitting there with his knees drawn up to his chest and drawing in the dirt, or that is what it appears to her.

"Hiccup," This time she speaks his name in a more worried tone and she manages to run over.

The closer she gets, the more concerned she is.

It's in the middle of the night and maybe she's seeing things, but it's almost like he's covered in blood. His face and the front of his tunic seem to be. Is he hurt?

"Are you... okay?" Astrid comes to stand next to him and struggles to find the right words to use. Her concern is enough to choke her, but she knows better than to force herself into his personal space and be too overbearing. Even if it's to check up on him, Hiccup will not respond well to that.

But she kneels by him and that's when he finally looks up to her.

Astrid's next words, whatever they may have been, end up stuck in her throat when Hiccup's gaze throws her off.

There is something off about his eyes.

She can't quite explain what exactly. Is it the shape? The shape of his pupils seems slightly off. Or maybe she's imagining things. It's so late and she, like everyone else, has barely slept as of late. Her mind must be playing tricks on her.

But then there is also a certain glow to the green of his eyes, like they're reflecting the moonlight just like Toothless' do during the night. As a normally nocturnal dragon, his eyes are adapted to work at the darkest hours of the day, when his exceptional hearing and echoing calls aren't needed.

But Hiccup isn't a dragon, he's a human. And that means she's just seeing things. So she shakes her head to rid herself of these thoughts and focusses on what's more important right now.

"Hiccup, can you talk? Can you tell me if you're okay?" Astrid asks and dares to reach out a hand. First to touch his shoulder and then to run a hand through his blood-crusted bangs, hoping to detangle them and get rid of some of that crust. It's all dried, it's been there for a while.

Toothless watches, his gaze moving from Astrid to Hiccup and back.

Hiccup isn't as responsive. He, too, watches her hand, but ends up not answering her question. Instead, he simply goes back to what he's been doing, drawing in the dirt using a stick.

Astrid isn't mad, finding this to be quite a concerning thing as Hiccup, by nature, is someone who can't stay this quiet and still for this long.

Toothless coos and nudges his Rider's shoulder. It is ineffective as even he can't seem to get Hiccup to respond.

Adjusting slightly to sit in front of him, Toothless presses their foreheads together and Hiccup backs up with a shock, holding his head as if it hurts.

"Hiccup, are you hurt?! Your head, is that where the blood is coming from?" Astrid asks while Toothless lowers himself, crooning his apologies.

If all of this is coming from a head wound she can't see, then Astrid needs to find it and get him to Gothi. Or better yet, take him to Gothi and let her find it.

But then finally, he speaks.

"No, it's just... Too much information... I think?" His voice is quiet, but whatever Toothless just did, it startled him out of this stupor he was in. Like he woke him up from a trance.

"Hiccup,"

"There's too much... going on... in my head?... I don't know what to do with... all... this... Sounds, voices." Hiccup tells her, taking so many pauses as if he's struggling to form his words. What he's saying makes no sense to her, but she's certain it makes sense to him somehow either.

Hiccup leans against Toothless, head resting on his scales. He stares at the water and the reflection of the moon.

His eyes, she tries not to think of them, but they are even more evident with all that blood covering his face. His vest is quite stained and crusted beyond saving. With no injury brought up, it's almost like someone or something has just thrown blood on him. But she can't imagine the kind of situation that would require such a thing and where it may come from sickens her.

Forcing her nausea back down, Astrid wills a hand out and rubs his upper back. Whatever he's seen, whatever he's been through the past week, she can't even begin to imagine. Especially when it affects him, of all people, to this extent.

And yet, Toothless seems strangely unaffected, if a little bit careful with his human. Hiccup's current mental and physical state probably has something to do with it.

As she rubs his back in comfort, his face contorts, his eyes become watery, and his lip trembles. He wants to cry, but he doesn't.

"They all trust me, you know? And... and... and they'll all do exactly as I tell them to... Just like She did." His sentences come out easier, though they still make very little sense to her. And his voice is still too soft.

Astrid waits for him to continue. She can't know for sure without asking, but she has a feeling "She" may be the Red Death. She's at least sure that "they" are the dragons.

"They count on me and I need to deliver as their new... But I don't know... I don't know if I can." He states and she decides to make a guess.

"Who are they? Berk? The dragons?" She asks, knowing no one else who would expect such things from Hiccup besides their tribe.

"My head hurts." He simply says, once again not answering her question and Astrid still isn't mad at him for that. He doesn't even look like he can hear her. Is it because "his head is too full"? Whatever that means? Is it the "sounds" or "voices"?

She comes to kneel in front of him and places her hands on his arms. Toothless did it to get his attention, maybe she can get his this way, too.

"Hey, how about we take you home? Back to your dad? And your bed? Does that sound good?" She hopes she isn't making her sentences too complex, wanting him to understand her in this state he's in.

Gazing up at her with haunted eyes, he nods.

Rumbling, Toothless gets up when Hiccup sits up straight to let him. Astrid helps him to his feet. She smiles at him, hoping to alleviate his spirits a little.

Hiccup tries to return it, but he can't. His heart is too heavy with what he's gone through.

She wants to know what it is, what weighs on him so much, but there is a part of her that doesn't want to know.

Toothless comes to stand next to Hiccup and he gets on, climbing in the saddle with Astrid's help. It's not that he necessarily needs it, it's just that she feels like she needs to help him. He seems almost frail, though Astrid knows he's far from that. He's walked off enough crashes from high altitudes and beaten too many foes to be called fragile in any way.

And yet...

His prosthetic can't find its stirrup. He's too confused.

"Wait, let me..." Astrid takes the initiative and helps the metal leg into it, with no complaint from Hiccup, though he's usually so set in his autonomy. Another strange thing, another reason to worry.

"Bud, can we go home? Oh, I mean..." Though his sentence ends that way, he doesn't continue. His face contorts again, brows furrow, like he's trying to think really hard or like his headache is growing worse. Or she thinks what he's suffering from is similar to a headache.

Still, Toothless rumbles, even though Hiccup hasn't said anything that warranted an answer.

Astrid watches them take off, playing with a sidebang, a habit she has when she's troubled.

"Come on, girl." She says eventually and climbs back into the saddle to follow the two home.

"Say, you don't know what's going on, do you?" She asks her dragon this question and this time it's Stormfly she's not receiving an answer from, although her Nadder usually makes sure to always respond to her in some shape or form.

So she does know something and Toothless clearly knows something, the dragons know something. This whole situation is getting stranger and stranger by the second and the lack of answers is killing her.

When the two of them reach the village, they find Hiccup already in the arms of his father, who is kneeling before him and trying to wipe his face clean of the dried blood.

She can hear his voice all the way up here, but though his voice is loud, he's not mad. He wants to know what has happened, where all of that blood has come from, if he's hurt or if anyone has hurt him, but he's not getting any responses either.

"Come on, inside you go. I'll have Gothi come by later." As Astrid and Stormfly land, Stoick decides to bring his son inside once he realizes the same thing. He believes him to be in shock and maybe that's what's going on here. A hand on his upper back, he guides him into their home and away from the growing crowd.

The other Dragon Riders are there as well and stare at Astrid as they figure she might've been the one to bring him back. But though they stare, with varying expressions of confusion, she can only shrug and shake her head. What can she say to them? She's just as confused as they are.

The next day there's just more of the same. Hiccup distancing himself from everyone but Toothless and even staying cooped-up inside his room, barely leaving his bed. They couldn't even get him to stay inside when he was recovering from his amputation. Hiccup is barely able to speak of his experiences and Toothless is simply unable to because he's a dragon and cannot speak the human tongue.

And Gothi, she can't quite figure out what's wrong as, physically, Hiccup is perfectly fine. So she says that she doesn't know what may be wrong, that everything is okay, and Astrid doesn't have any actual reason to be suspicious of her. Although, she has always been under the impression that Gothi always knows more than she's letting on. Just like the time she chose Hiccup over her as champion for dragon killing training, knowing how he was truly "defeating" the training dragons.

In the end, after days of silence, Hiccup suddenly goes back to the way he was before that week, like nothing's ever happened.

It's a startling change that happens overnight. He just comes down the stairs one morning, as cheery as can be, and talks to his father about some future projects of his.

It's good to see him back to his old self again, but Astrid isn't as relieved as she hoped she'd be. All it does is give her more questions than there are answers.

Maybe time will tell what happened during those seven days or maybe one day Hiccup will confide in her. Until then, she's just going to have to live with not knowing.

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On the evening he disappears, Hiccup thinks Toothless has been acting a little strange as of late. As a matter of fact, all the dragons have been acting strangely.

He can't quite put his finger on why he thinks so, there's just something off about the way they behave around him. It's like they're excited about something and they want to tell him all about it, but can't.

So when Toothless pulls him outside of the house one evening shortly after dinner for a flight and it becomes clear that a regular flight around Berk isn't what he's looking for, Hiccup let's him take him to wherever he wants him to be.

Dragon Island is where he takes him and along the way, other dragons of Berk join them on their flight. It's reminiscent of the time he, Toothless, and Astrid got caught in a raiding pack as they returned to the Red Death's nest, their former queen, except this time there is less hostility and fear.

Instead, there is the excitement that he's been seeing in the dragons grown tenfold. They are filled with glee and it's almost contagious as Hiccup feels himself getting a little worked up as well.

Whatever it is that the dragons want to show him, or what it is he thinks they want to show him, he can hardly wait.

He won't get it until it's already been done, but he has recovered from the loss of his leg. And Berk's biggest enemies at the time, the Outcasts and the Berserkers, they have been taken care of. Berk will face a period of stability now, a period of peace. The time for change is now.

It is the perfect time for a human to have his coronation as a dragon and become one of them.

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elesianne · 4 years

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A Silmarillion fanfic – Aredhel and Celegorm

Summary: AU where Celegorm and Curufin meet Aredhel and Maeglin when they're escaping Nan Elmoth. They come to Himlad, and Celegorm and Aredhel have a late-night conversation by firelight about how things have been between them and how they perhaps will be.

Wordcount: ~3,000 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords: alternate universe – canon divergence, fix-it of sorts, reunions, renegotiating a relationship, ambiguous relationship, mentions of sex

A/N: This is a treat fic for this beautiful TRSB artwork by @houndsofvalinor-art. I use Quenya names in dialogue because Celegorm and Aredhel speak Quenya here.

AO3 link

In another world

Investigating the leg and hoof of her horse that had suddenly started limping, Aredhel curses colourfully first in Sindarin and then in Quenya. 'She is lame', she says, straightening up and patting the mare soothingly on the shoulder. 'Shouldn't be ridden, and certainly not at the speed we were planning on keeping.' Maeglin scowls as ferociously as she must be. 'Damned rabbits, they must be plentiful here for the number of holes they've dug. No wonder one of our horses eventually stepped into one.' Aredhel cannot help but let out a crazed laugh. 'Indeed. And it has managed to cripple our journey-making.' A rabbit. 'I did tell you that we should take a third horse –' 'And I told you that that would made the servants suspicious that we were leaving to go further than to visit my cousins in Himlad.' Yet Himlad is as far as they've made it, across most of Himlad, close to the Fords of Aros. They are not that far from Celegorm and Curufin's fort in the Pass of Aglon.

Aredhel asks her son for silence to think and come to the inevitable conclusion that to continue their journey with some semblance of safety, they must go to the Pass and ask Celegorm and Curufin for a horse, or to wait for Aredhel's to heal.

She'd wanted to avoid that. Riding straight to Gondolin would be easier and safer. Eöl cannot follow them there. Just as she's opening her mouth to tell Maeglin that they must set their course north, those of her dogs that have wandered a little way away begin barking – the loud, rapid kind of warning bark – and soon the ones that remained at Maeglin's feet while Aredhel dealt with her horse join in, too. Then they are all barking and howling and making an unholy racket that makes it impossible for Aredhel and Maeglin to determine what it is the dogs are warning about.

Aredhel quietens them with a sharp command and draws her blade. Maeglin has already drawn his. There is no way to hide, not on this grass plain, so they stand and look around and listen and wait. 'We are in the land of my cousins', she reminds her son. 'And they keep it under tight guard. It is unlikely to be orcs.' And indeed, in a moment they hear noises, and they are those of dogs, not wolves or orcs. Aredhel cocks her head and listens closely to the deepest bark. 'Huan', she says, smiling widely. 'Lómion, it is my cousins. Or Celegorm, at least.' She whistles, long and loud, the signal that she and Celegorm long ago used on their hunts to summon the other. At once there is the sound of galloping hooves. Soon another pack of dogs led by Huan rushes to greet Aredhel's, and Celegorm and Curufin and a group of scouts in leather armour rides to surround Aredhel and Maeglin. It is very loud again, all of the dogs greeting and sniffing each other. 'Sheathe your sword', Aredhel tells Maeglin. 'These are my cousins.' 'Írissë! You look well. Pale, though.' With a wide grin, Celegorm brings his horse to a stop right next to her and swings down from the saddle, bending down to scratch the ears of every dog that crowds around him and Huan. 'What brings you to this part of our land?' he asks Aredhel. 'Running back to your brothers, are you, without even coming to say greet us along the way?' It is said more amiably than she'd have expected; as if hundreds of years have not passed since they last saw each other. He was not home when she did try to visit him. 'Írissë.' Here is Curufin too, with his calculating eyes on Maeglin. 'Who is this? Your son?' 'He is.' Aredhel takes Maeglin's arm and speaks proudly. 'Maeglin Lómion is his name, and he is coming with me. Lómion, these are my cousins, Celegorm whom I used to call Tyelko and Curufin who was Curvo, lords of Himlad.' Celegorm and Curufin nod at Maeglin, and all three look at each other warily. Aredhel could hardly have expected more at the first meeting, she supposes. She stifles a sigh of impatience. 'Why did you stop here?' Celegorm asks. 'Though it is good that you did, I must say. I think we'd have ridden past each other without ever knowing it if you hadn't.' Aredhel explains how her horse tripped and became lame, and says, 'We were downwind of you and my dogs smelled yours on the wind, I think. Maeglin and I certainly didn't hear you.' 'And we you', Curufin agrees. 'We were too far.' 'Good thing that it is a windy day.' Aredhel raises her eyes to Celegorm's. He is the one she was always closer to, and the one who she feels she has more to explain to. 'We find ourselves in need of assistance. A fresh horse, or time at your house to let mine recover.' 'It is always windy in Himlad', Celegorm says, a spark of something in his pale eyes. 'Come to the Pass with us, stay while your horse recovers', Curufin invites. 'Our master of horses will have her well soon again.' 'Or stay longer', says Celegorm. Aredhel turns to pat her horse. 'Thank you.' 'Is she well enough to ride?' Celegorm approaches her and her horse. Aredhel swats away his hand when he reaches down to examine the mare's leg. 'No need for that. I can tell that she shouldn't if it can be avoided.' 'That is easy enough. Ride with me.' Easy as anything, Celegorm turns back to his own horse. 'You can ride with me, mother.' Maeglin barely covers his scowling at Celegorm. 'My horse is larger', says Celegorm, and it is, another in a line of massive stallions that Aredhel used to teasingly call brutes even though any horse Celegorm chose and trained was always smarter and better-trained than most horses in Valinor or Beleriand. 'Írissë?' Celegorm prompts. 'Let me run up my stirrups', she says, and to Maeglin, 'It is alright. I am used to riding with him.' Stirrups safely pulled up and fastened in place on her mare's saddle, Aredhel takes Celegorm's hand and swings herself up on his big horse. Behind him – though she found herself in need of 'saving', she is no maiden in distress and does not need to be held by him. Still. She never rode like this with Eöl, chest to his back, trusting him to guide the horse. Oh, Valar, she thinks as they begin their slow journey north to the fortress in the Pass while Curvo and the scouts continue on their planned route. She'd missed Celegorm much more than she has realised. * The two of them sit before the fire in Celegorm's hall late into the night, long after Maeglin and Celebrimbor have gone to bed, Aredhel's dogs dozing at her feet and Huan at Celegorm's. They talk of many things without quite touching on the most hurtful ones, their tongues more careful than perhaps ever before. Aredhel tells Celegorm of her marriage in sparse words that conceal as much as they reveal, though by the look on Celegorm's face he hears many things she does not say. He bites his lip and says little. It must be nearing midnight when Celegorm rises, as abrupt in his moves as he always was, saying only, 'I'll be back soon.' 'I'll be here', Aredhel says. The Quenya words are still a delight on her tongue. She had to keep Quenya buried deep within herself for so long. Here there is no need for it, and indeed Celegorm had told her to speak the language of their shared youth. She settles back in her chair to wait, petting the ears of her most watchful dog who awoke and stood up as soon as Celegorm did. He is a faithful friend. He does come back soon, with a sword in its scabbard in his hand. He drops it in her lap unceremoniously. 'Curvo was experimenting on making more resilient blades – damn, it must be well over two centuries ago now. We hadn't given up hope on seeing you again yet so he made a sword for you too.' Aredhel draws the sword from its scabbard, careful of her curious dog's sniffing nose. The blade glitters even in the low light, reflecting the dying flames in the hearth, as she examines it. 'My weight and length', she remarks. 'A fine weapon, and the size of sword I always liked.' 'In all ways, the sword you always liked. Only the technique by which the blade was forged is different.' Aredhel raises her eyes to meet Celegorm's. He seems uncharacteristically serious, with a hint of that cold fury that took over him when he found out why she and her son were riding their horses ragged as they headed away from Nan Elmoth. 'You kept this for a long time', she says. 'Though you did not know if you could ever give it to me.' 'Things here, with me and Curvo, are the same as ever; you are welcome here with us', he says, echoing his words from when they were riding together on his horse. 'And with you and me?' Aredhel asks, still running her finger down the smooth, sharp blade. 'Am I still your friend? Still welcome in your bed?' He shouldn't be surprised at her forthrightness, but he seems to be. 'Yes, and yes', he says as soon as he recovers, as if both of those things are as simple as that. And they aren't to her, not really though she asked so baldly. Their old friendship that occasionally included falling into bed together feels changed now, however much she wishes it were the same. She stares at the fire, feeling herself slipping from flippant to as serious as he is.

Dear, dear Tyelko.

She says, 'You are…. a constant friend me, Tyelko, when you are not burning ships to keep me from following.' That is an old hurt and an old insult whose edge time and previous confrontations and their enduring mutual affection have worn dull, and without dwelling on it more Aredhel continues, 'Perhaps one day I will knock on your door again, if you are serious; I married, and had a son, and left my husband. And still you say that things are the same between us.' 'Your child has nothing to do with me and is a man grown anyway, and you left your husband, and you are the same as you ever were, Írissë. Your hair windswept and your white hems mud-splattered, running from one thing to another with your howling pack of dogs at your heels. Beautiful and free-hearted and strong-armed.' She can barely look at him when he talks like that. He has always had these moments when he strips himself bare for her: short, fleeting moments when his sincerity is more disarming than his flirting ever could be. 'I have felt a stranger to myself sometimes, this last century', she says. 'Or longer.' 'Perhaps you can rediscover yourself here. Stay and do that', he coaxes. 'Your son will be happy to stay, I know. He seemed to have an infinite number of things to talk about with Tyelpë. I'm sure he and Tyelpë and Curvo will enjoy showing and teaching each other things. They have the same kind of curious, crafty souls.' Aredhel cannot help but smile. 'Lómion does have that. His father claimed it to be all his doing but I always knew he inherited much from the Noldor. We will stay. For a time, at least. Until the spring, perhaps.' They are safe here, both she and her son. 'I am glad', Celegorm replies. 'You are free here, Írissë. Unlike your brother and husband, I know that you are not the kind of bird that can be caged. You will either escape or beat yourself to death against the bars of your prison trying to. Here you are free to come and go as you please, as far afield as you want. I only hope that you eventually come back here. To me.' His sincerity is not yet over for the night, then. Aredhel swallows hard and says, 'I always have so far, have I not?' He smiles with all his teeth but without bite, unless perhaps the kind she always enjoyed receiving and giving. 'Indeed you have', he says, and changes the subject, nodding at the sword still in her lap. 'Since you have no husband to warm your bed here and until you perhaps invite me to there, that will keep you company.' Aredhel snorts. 'No matter where I am, my husband will never again be welcome in my bed, and my dogs make for warmer company than a blade.' 'All the more reason to keep that close, then, though steel makes for a cold bedpartner. More seriously, Írissë, do you want me to deal with him if he comes here?' Celegorm watches her face closely. She shifts in her chair, uncomfortable with the subject though she has been joking about Eöl. 'I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Tyelko, in words or by blade.' 'I know.' His pale eyes are intent on her as he lounges in his chair. 'I asked me whether you want me to. We all have… weaker spots where doing things is more painful or difficult for us than it would be for someone else. I do not mind talking to your husband.' 'By talking, you mean driving him away from Himlad, do you not?' He nods. 'Telling him to leave, and leave you and your son in peace, and never again cross the border to my realm unless he wants to find an arrow in his throat. Every good bird and beast in Himlad knows me and reports to me, not to mention Curvo's scouts and my hunters that are always roaming the land.' He sits there, leaning back in his chair in that indolent, insolent manner that he always had that might mask just about any mood, but she knows that he means what he says and that he could do it: he could shoot her husband without an ounce of remorse. He is already a kinslayer, already Doomed, and always was flint-hearted with those that he did not count as his to protect and yet more so with those he saw as a threat to those he does count as his. He still counts her as his. Aredhel minds it less than she should. She says, 'I know what you mean about weak spots.' Sighing, she allows, 'You may threaten him on my behalf if I do not happen to be with you. If I am, let us do it together.' 'Curvo will be more than happy to lend his support, too, and Tyelpë if you say the least word to him about how Eöl treated you.' Celegorm stands up and stretches, then picks up the poker and pokes at the dying fire. 'It is very late indeed.' He sounds almost surprised. Aredhel is weighed down with exhaustion. From the ride and from the relief of stress and from tearing up both old wounds and new, barely-scabbed ones. She rouses her dogs and stands up. 'I had best go to bed. Let us talk more tomorrow.' Celegorm says, 'Of less serious things, I hope. For example, we have a wolf hunt to plan – you can help with that and come along, and your son, too. I think we covered everything tonight that needed to be cleared between the two of us.' Aredhel hesitates, rubbing the ears of Huan who is again patiently enduring some enthusiastic attention from Aredhel's much smaller hounds. She says, 'Tyelko, I – I asked you very flippantly whether I am welcome to your bed, but the truth of it is that I have slept alone for years now, and I think it will be some time before I want that to change.' 'You were right when you said that I am constant to you.' He scratches Huan's neck, and fleetingly touches her hand. It is the first time he has touched her since they dismounted from his horse. 'And I never wanted anyone half as much as you', he adds. 'I can wait. Any time you want, knock on my door. Leave your hounds in your room, though.' His smile to her feels as much like freedom as the sunlight on her face and the wind in her hair on her way here. Perhaps here in the windswept plain of Himlad she will not need to run away like she did from white-walled Gondolin and tree-shadowed Nan Elmoth. 'I will', she promises. 'Not yet. But someday perhaps.' He walks her to the guest room she's been given, pointing out his own room along the way. It is not far, and neither is Lómion's room. At the door of her room, Aredhel says to Celegorm quietly, 'In another world, a happier one perhaps, you and I would have realised how well we fit together long, long ago. But then I would not have my Lómion; and he is dearer to me than the air I breathe, so perhaps things went as they should.' 'There is no 'should'', Celegorm argues. 'Only our choices. You know', he tilts his head and smiles at her with his eyes only, 'I used not to believe in second marriages. I disapproved of them quite firmly, you know that.' She is very curious about the implications of that sudden statement. 'When did you change your mind?' she asks. His smile grows crooked. 'Today.'

A/N: Who knows how things will go from here – how much this changes how things go in Beleriand? I don't really know, but at least in this moment Aredhel and Celegorm are happier than they would have been had they not met again.

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you thought of this story. And reblogs are always dearly welcome.

#I loved writing this #huge bursts of inspiration #trsb2020 #aredhel #celegorm #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #in another world #my fics #elesianne's fics

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440mxs-wife · 3 years

Text

The Hunter’s Princess - Chapter 7: Leaps of Faith

Pairing: Dean x OFC Kira (eventual), Prince!Dean x OFC Lady Kira. Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Prince!Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, Gabriel, King!John, Queen!Mary, Lucifer and assorted minor characters.

Chapter 7 Word Count: 3280+

Warnings: More Feelings. Otherwise, none really.

A/N: This is from some material that’s been rattling around in my head from another project that changed direction. Couldn’t let all this content go to waste, though, so here it is. It’s a work-in-progress, and I will try and update as regularly as I can. If you want to be tagged in this series, send me a message!

A/N2: I would like to thank everyone for your support and your comments so far. I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am having fun writing it.

Thank you and happy reading!

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"There you are!" a voice cried out. Kira shrieked in surprise to find that Sarah was sitting in a chair in the corner waiting. Her eyes were wide with relief, and Kira could see she'd been crying.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I woke up a little after midnight and felt much better. I couldn't sleep, so I wandered down to the stables, where Prince Dean found me. We sat in the garden and talked for awhile, then he walked me back here," Kira explained. "When I left, you looked so relaxed, sleeping in your chair. I didn't want to wake you, so I tiptoed past you and out the door. Is Lady Rowena in her room?" Kira finished.

"Yes, Miss. I believe that she is. I told her how sorry I was that I lost track of you, but she told me not to worry, that you know how to take care of yourself. Still, I was responsible for you, and I failed in my duties. I'll just go now," she said.

Kira put her hand on Sarah's arm. "Sarah, you have done no such thing!" Kira gently admonished. "There is no need for you to go. Please stay. I appreciate your dedication, but Lady Rowena's right. I do know how to take care of myself. Now, let's get some sleep, because we have a big day ahead of us. It's the equestrian event, and I found which horse I want to ride. That's what I was doing in the stables tonight, evaluating my options for a mount for the competition," Kira explained.

"As you wish, Miss. Goodnight," Sarah replied. "And....thank you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning was much like the previous day, crisp and cool, but not cold, with bright blue skies as far as the eye could see. Kira got dressed in her riding gear and walked to the stables to meet with Collins.

"Good morning, Lady Kira," he greeted her with a bow.

"Good morning, Collins. Lovely day for a ride, hmm?" she replied.

"Absolutely, Lady Kira. One of my stable hands, Logan, told me you visited the stables last night," Collins remarked.

Kira froze. Did Logan see or hear anything that went on between Prince Dean and me? Quickly recovering, Kira explained that she did come out to the stables to see which horse would be the best for her today.

"And have you chosen? Which horse shall you compete with today?" Collins asked.

"I would like Midnight to be my mount for today's competition," Kira announced.

Collins grinned. "I thought you might, Lady Kira. His Majesty, Prince Dean, stopped by this morning to let me know. Midnight is all saddled up and ready to go for you," he replied with a wink.

"Thank you, Collins. I'll be back for him when it's my turn at the course," she promised, a blush crossing her cheeks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kira approached the stable area, which was full of horses and their lady riders. She felt a tapping on her shoulder, which caused her to turn around. Collins bowed and handed her a set of reins leading to Midnight. "Good morning, old friend. How are you today?" Kira cooed as she rubbed his head.

Collins cleared his throat behind me. "Beggin' your pardon, Lady Kira, but it's your turn at the course. Good luck, Miss. We're all cheering for ye," he said with a nudge.

Kira smiled as she climbed up into the saddle for Midnight and got comfortable. One of the stable hands adjusted the stirrups until they were the right length. Suddenly there was a loud noise nearby, like a small explosion. Midnight reared backward, threatening to throw his rider, but Kira pulled back on the reins tightly and gripped with her knees.

Logan and one of the other stable hands noticed what was happening and rushed over to help. "Whoa, boy. Shh, it's okay, Midnight," Kira soothed as she rubbed his neck. He seemed to calm down after that and she was able to keep her seat in the saddle.

"Ready to go, boy? Let's do this," Kira whispered to him with a grin. Since she placed first in yesterday's competition, she was the last competitor in today's event. Kira nudged Midnight in the direction of the field to start the course. All she had to do was hit every jump and do so in a shorter time than the person currently in first place.

The first couple of jumps were low, so they helped to get Midnight warmed up for the higher ones. As Kira got farther into the course, it felt like she and Midnight had never spent all that time apart. It was just as she remembered when she used to ride with him all over Aunt Brenda's farm, when they were so in tune with each other. Kira swore he knew what she was thinking and could tell which direction he had to go next.

Kira finished the course to a standing ovation from the crowd, including a polite reaction from the royal family. She locked eyes with Prince Dean, who had a look of utter admiration on his face. Kira bowed her head in the direction of the royal box in deference to the king, queen and two princes. Then she pulled on Midnight's reins so that he reared up and Kira raised her hand in victory.

Kira left the competition field and headed back to the stables. She handed the reins to Logan, who assisted her with her dismount. Prince Dean was the first one to her side. "Absolutely stunning performance, Lady Kira!" he shouted, picking her up and spinning her around in his arms. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," he remarked softly in Kira's ear, his breath hot against her skin. "I'll see you tonight at dinner," he mumbled against her neck.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean walked into the library to see Sam and Lady Kira with their noses firmly planted within the lore books. "You two find anything yet?" he asked.

Lady Kira looked up to meet his steady emerald gaze. His palm was resting flat on the table, so she reached over and covered his hand with hers. She gently squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile, which Dean briefly returned. "Next lunar eclipse is in five days. Right now we're trying to find the ingredients we need to activate the powers of the locket," she explained.

"And the symbols we need to draw--" Sam started to say as he scrambled to find the right book. "--look like this. (Picture is the symbol Surgat, who opens all locks)

“So it's this sigil, the candles, ingredients and the locket. And it has to be done when the lunar eclipse is at its fullest. Now, we need to find the words to the spell we need to say," Sam mentioned.

Dean studied the page Sam gave him. "This doesn't look too difficult to draw. I'll start setting things up so when you know the ingredients, we won't be wasting any time," Dean remarked.

"Actually, Dean, I could use a break, stretch my legs a little. I'll go set up the altar, draw the symbols and place the candles. Maybe you could help Lady Kira find the list of ingredients. Please?" Sam said as he gave his brother the dreaded puppy-eyes look.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. "Oh, get out of here with that, Sam. Go, take your study break if you need one," he muttered. Dean turned to Lady Kira. "Why don't you take one too? I'll start scanning through these books. As unlikely as it is, maybe the two of you missed something in these books," he said.

"What about contacting Gabriel? He brought back a message from my world, and we have information that will be needed on that end so all can return here. Should we try and summon him?" Lady Kira asked.

"Let's see what we can find in the books before we do that. I want to make sure we have all of the information we need, in case we only get one chance to contact him," Dean replied.

Lady Kira took a moment to study Dean as his eyes went back to scanning the pages. He must have felt her eyes upon him, because he stopped reading and turned to her. "What is it?" he asked.

"I don't mean to stare, sorry. I have a feeling that being around me makes you uncomfortable," Lady Kira observed.

Dean's eyes softened. "I should apologize. You don't make me uncomfortable, it's this whole situation that's making me crazy. I-I don't know where she--my Kira--is, if she's okay, or hurt, or scared....she was taken away from me before I could tell her...." he trailed off. She could see his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

Lady Kira reached over and took his hand again in hers. "If she was here, what would you tell her?"

Dean took a deep breath and let it out before answering. "I'd take her hands in mine, and I'd say....'Sweetheart, we've known each other almost our whole lives. Been the best of friends for so long. My strong, beautiful, brave Kira--I love you. You're my first thought as soon as my eyes open in the morning and my last thought before my head hits the pillow at night. And no day is complete without one of your magnificent smiles, my love. You're my everything, and if you'll let me, I want to be yours'," he finished softly.

"Wow," Lady Kira whispered. "You should definitely tell her that. I mean, ALL of that. Your Kira is a most fortunate woman to have someone love her as much as you do. When I get back, I hope I can find that 'once-in-a-lifetime' kind of love that you have with her," she remarked.

A soft smile crossed Dean's lips. "You will. I can tell that the two of you are so much alike. Not just in looks, but you care about people the way she does. You would do anything for family, and when you love someone, it's with your whole heart," he replied.

All of a sudden, Dean jumped up from his chair and snapped his fingers. "I just remembered something. There were two boxes of lore books among Kira's parents' belongings. I'll bet the secret to that locket is somewhere in those books," he said as he called for Sam down the hall.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lady Serena quickly dismounted her horse and stomped over to where Kira was standing. "How did you do that?? My run was nearly perfect, then you just happen to edge me out of winning? Not only that, but I was told that the horse you rode was new. To everyone's knowledge, he's never been ridden by anyone here at the castle," she charged at Kira, eyes blazing.

"As you said, your run was 'nearly perfect'. Mine was spot on perfect. That's the difference," Kira shot back. "Besides, Midnight knows me from before he arrived here. A family member of mine owned him first, and I never missed a chance to ride. Not that I should have to justify or explain myself to you about anything," Kira retorted.

Lady Serena advanced on Kira until there was little distance between them. "See, I'm wondering if you have some other kind of....advantage. Magic, maybe? From that locket of yours??" she reached to grab the locket from around Kira's neck, but Kira ducked out of the way just in time. The courtyard had started to fill up with people wanting to congratulate Kira, so the two women separated. "This isn't over yet, Lady Kira," she muttered under her breath.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The crowd of well-wishers after the equestrian competition grew around Kira. Fortunately, they served to increase the distance between her and Lady Serena. Kira turned her head and saw Rowena standing next to the stairway and the two women locked eyes. Rowena silently indicated that there was something to discuss up in their quarters. Kira fought her way through the crowd and up the stairs to her room, with Rowena right behind her.

When they got up to Kira's room, she relayed what had happened between her and Lady Serena in the courtyard. Rowena shared her concerns about how close Lady Serena came to getting the locket and about Lucifer still being a threat. Kira sat down on the bed, staring at the floor and tried to figure out what to do next.

"What do you propose we do, Rowena? I can handle Lady Serena, but I'm no match for Lucifer, and he knows that," she remarked.

"I've been thinking about this. What if I work up a spell to produce an exact copy of your locket, Kira, and we leave it in your room? Of course, we'll make sure the real one is in a safe place. Meanwhile, it will seem to Lucifer that you've let your guard down in all the excitement with the Princes' Challenge," she began.

"So, if he doesn't see it on me, he'll search my room, only to find the copy. But, won't he be able to tell right away that it's fake?" Kira asked.

Rowena shook her head. "I'll have to embed some charms in it, so that when he touches it, he'll recognize it has some magical ability, but won't know what kind of magic. By the time he figures out that it's not the real one, we'll be back home, with timelines restored," she explained triumphantly.

"That could work. Okay, Rowena, get to work on making the copy and let me know if there's anything you need," Kira said. "Sarah, will you please arrange for a bath for me? I need to get cleaned up before dinner," she asked.

"Of course, Miss," she replied as she hurried off to make the arrangements.

"After this, there's the round of interviews with the king and queen. Lastly, there's the royal ball, where the princes will announce their choice for a bride. I'll need Gabriel's help with the dancing, but that can wait till tomorrow," Kira remarked tiredly.

"I checked my book, and I have all of the ingredients for the duplication spell. I'll get to work right away after dinner," Rowena promised.

Sarah came back in to let Kira know that her bath was ready, so she went in to freshen up. For dinner, she dressed in a pale peach satin gown with a tulle overlay on the skirt. Kira stepped into a pair of pale peach ballet flats. The finishing touch was to pin her hair up on one side with a butterfly clip. Satisfied with her appearance, Kira and Rowena went down the stairs to the dining room.

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Sam and Dean each deposited a box of books on top of the table in the library. "Whatever we need has got to be in one of these books, I'm almost positive," Dean remarked.

"Well, let's get cracking then," Sam replied. "Hey, where's Lady Kira?" he asked as he looked around the library.

Dean looked around as well, but didn't see her. "We weren't gone that long, so she couldn't have gone far. You check the bedroom, I'll check the kitchen," he said as they went their separate ways.

As Dean walked towards the kitchen, he heard another voice in addition to that of Lady Kira. He carefully tiptoed closer until he recognized Lady Kira's companion as Gabriel. Dean relaxed and paused in the doorway to the kitchen and caught the most heavenly aroma. "There you are, I wondered where you'd disappeared to. What's cooking?" he asked as he sniffed the air.

Lady Kira's eyes brightened and her face broke into a smile at seeing the elder Winchester. "Oh, hi! I thought you guys might be hungry, so I came in here to see what I had to work with to make some dinner," she explained.

"Really? So what did you find?" Dean asked.

"I found enough components to make a beef stew, with potatoes, carrots and onions," Lady Kira answered with a smile.

Dean turned his attention to Gabriel and said, "We need to talk."

"I would hope so. I was starting to miss your sparkling conversation, so I popped in to see what you and Samsquatch have found. I'm all ears, Dean-o," Gabriel smirked.

"We need to get a message to Kira and Rowena in the other world. We figured out how to return everyone to their rightful plane of existence," Dean replied. "According to Lady Kira here, the locket operates on a lunar cycle. It's only activated during the height of a lunar eclipse, which is scheduled to occur within the next five days," he explained.

"I'll assume that there's more than just Kira having the locket in her possession and being in the right place at the right time," Gabriel muttered.

Dean nodded. "There's a sigil associated with this, plus some other ingredients. We found some old lore books that Kira's parents kept, that Sam and I put in the library. We're pretty sure that at least one of those books will have the list of ingredients we'll need. Hopefully they're not too exotic," Dean mumbled.

"So, what did you want me to tell Kira?" Gabriel asked with a smirk.

"Tell Kira and Rowena what we found out about the locket and how to activate it. Also about how much time we have and everything else I told you," Dean retorted.

"Anything else? Special message made only for Kira's ears, perhaps?" Gabriel grinned.

Lady Kira caught Dean's eyes and silently pleaded with him to give Gabriel a message that was about more than just spells and the lore. Dean cleared his throat before speaking. "Um, yeah. Tell her that I love her and that Sam and I won't stop until she's back safe in my arms," he finished.

Dean winked at Lady Kira, then looked defiantly at Gabriel. It was almost as if he was daring Gabriel to torment him for revealing the feelings the archangel knew were there all the time. At this point, Dean didn't care. All he wanted was for his Kira to return home, safe and sound.

"All righty then. I'll let them know about the locket, and I'll make sure Kira gets your message," Gabriel replied. He caught Dean's eye, gave him a knowing smile and a quick nod, then clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder. A flapping of wings and Gabriel disappeared.

Lady Kira walked over to stand in front of Dean and put her hands on his shoulders. She laid one hand aside his cheek and smiled. "I'm proud of you, Dean. That couldn't have been easy, taking a leap of faith like that," she remarked.

"Yeah, you got that right," he grinned sheepishly. He looked into Lady Kira's eyes and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. As if on instinct, their faces inched ever closer to each other, only for Dean to look away at the last second. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I shouldn't have done that. It's just....you're here, and you are so like her. But my heart beats only for my Kira," he affirmed.

Lady Kira's thumb stroked his cheek as she gave him a small smile. "It's okay, Dean. I understand, really. You're an honorable man, and Kira's lucky to have you," she replied then turned her focus back to the stove. "Dinner should be ready soon, would you please tell Sam?" she asked.

Dean nodded, then left the room in search of his brother. Lady Kira let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. As much as Lady Kira wanted to feel Dean's lips on hers, she knew he didn't belong to her, and never would.

Part 8 here!

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Tags: @janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @babygurltt @flamencodiva @ejlovespie

The Hunter’s Princess Series Tags: @supernatural-love14

#dean x ofc #dean winchester x ofc #au!dean winchester x ofc #au!dean winchester #spn #au!supernatural #The Hunter's Princess Series

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the-stoked-flame · 4 years

Text

Prompt #2 - Sway

Dappled light danced along the forest floor as a blue-haired Highlander man found respite beneath the bough of a tree. Snoozing beside him was a chocobo with plumage equally azure, if not a couple shades darker.The pair had been in the Twelveswood for a couple moons now and it was as he rested that he began to contemplate his time there and the string of events that drove him from his home. However, before his thoughts could turn to him, his eyes snapped up suddenly and focused on something unseen northwest of him, as if compelled by an unnatural force. There was something in the wind, yet it remained imperceptible even to his keen ears.

Leaves, nothing more.

After a couple minutes, he settled back against the mottled bark and sought rumination once more. He wouldn’t be allowed to return, however, for the sound came again.

More leaves rustled in the wind, right in his ear and as clear as the day itself, yet all around him, the wood was unshaken. Still, it tugged at him and bade him look to the northwest once more. With the flare of his nostrils and a single grunt, he made his decision.

Adhamh roused his slumbering companion with a gentle pat and rose from the ground, collecting his sword and shield from his chocobo’s saddle. He didn’t know why, but felt he might need them. Made of titanium, they appeared worn from age and poor upkeep. The shield was coated in a myriad of scratches that covered up an insignia beneath, while the sword hilt was notably Ishgardian. Without delay, he set a foot in a stirrup and hauled himself onto the bird.

It didn’t take him long to make it back onto the forest path, a sign he was growing accustomed to the winding ways of the wood. He rode at a lightly casual pace until he arrived at a fork, eyes that reflected the colors of the forest itself turned to each direction, attempting to discern whither he was meant to wander. As he jerked the reins in one direction, he heard the sound of crumbling rock, despite naught being amiss with the earth itself. It was accompanied by a warmth in his gut; an instinctive urge to ride in the other direction.

And so, Adhamh obeyed; in the sway of whatever called to him, he rode forth. Birds fluttered betwixt the canopies as the sensation that overtook him led him off the forest path and into the base of a roaring waterfall. Yet, beneath its thunder, he could discern something further: an ethereal, tinny voice. Faint words were woven amidst the sound and only in closing his eyes, could he make something out:

“Please.” The voice pleaded urgently.

Adhamh’s attention was drawn to a small strip of land in front of him, barely wide enough for one chocobo. It seemed to stretch into a cavern hidden behind the cascade. With little deliberation, they ventured behind the fall and found themselves in not a cavern, but a short tunnel. He didn’t stop to investigate, though, for he could feel that they were running out of time. For what, he did not know. He just felt it in every thick cord of muscle that formed his broad build.

The tunnel opened out to a verdant glade where the wood roamed unburdened. Across from where they stood, he could make out a large stump where a once-mighty tree might have grown. Something about it sought out to him, but before he could heed, a high-pitched howl rang through the meadow, followed by the raucous voices of man. In one corner of the field were a group of poachers, five in total, who had something surrounded.

“Begone, hunters!” He thundered from across the glade, sliding right off of his chocobo and brandishing his sword. Adhamh knew not what he was risking life and limb for, but something within him demanded he did. Deep within, he knew it was what he had to do.

The hunters turned from their quarry at the bellow and eyed the Highlander, weapons raised.

“Turn back, friend, and we won’t gut ya.” One threatened. Their shifting revealed their quarry, though: a small pack of dire wolves—all but the smallest slaughtered.

Adhamh’s lips settled into a firm, unbendable line beneath eyes as wild as the wood itself. “No.” The word was resounding and struck doubt into his foes. Pulling the aged shield off his back and flourishing his sword, the ex-knight charged in.

The poachers met him half-way, eager to overwhelm him with their number alone, but Adhamh wove through them with the dexterity and skill of a trained swordsman, raising his shield to fend off one’s arrows and slicing at another with his blade. In short work, he’d managed to disable and disarm two of them, leaving them still, yet breathing, on the forest floor. In that time, though, the remaining three had found their edge, keeping Adhamh on his toes as he attempted to fend the three off at the same time. Two of them wielded blades, while the third bore a heavy axe that was giving him particular trouble. Moreover, he was growing tired from this continued clash of steel on titanium. They’d succeeded in driving Adhamh further and further back until his back was to the tree stump he’d seen before. A lucky sword-blow from a Wildwood left him disarmed, but the same man was suddenly charged into by a flurry of feathers. Adhamh’s trusted steed had decided it was now that his partner needed assistance and succeeded in turning the fight into two on two.

“Airleas, back!” He called, not wanting to see the hunters harm his oldest friend. In his distraction, though, a murderous glint of steel hung over him before descending like a guillotine. With quick reflexes, his shield was between him and the horrendous weapon. The steel carved through the aegis, but it just barely saved him. The force behind the swing, however, was enough to bring Adhamh to a knee, where he would surely meet his demise.

He deserved it, anyway—A grisly death.

Just like his.

Yet, no blade stung his throat.

“What in the seven hells?” One of them muttered. “Did you see that?” Another responded. In looking up, Adhamh saw all three of them transfixed on something behind him.

Daring a look as well, he saw a ravel of moss-ridden vines had crawled onto the stump and spiraled inwards. From its center, a wooden hilt now rested, and he felt the call once again.

“Take it.” The rustling of leaves returned with deafening fervor.

The former knight climbed up onto the stump and gripped the offered hilt. With a magnificent heave, the hilt became unbound by the tangle and from it came a stupendous sword unlike any other. Its hilt was made of gnarled roots, woven tightly round and round a viridescent blade that looked as if forged from leaves themselves, yet as resilient as metal. It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight as he held it aloft, the warmth of day coursing through it and into him, renewing him.

I know what I must do.

He turned to the group who’d remained stupefied of what they’d just witnessed. With Adhamh’s movements, though, the trance upon them was broken. Raising their weapons once more,they charged at the knight. Flipping the sword in a hand so that the blade pointed downward, the Highlander leapt from the tree stump and drove the weapon into the loam. The earth rumbled and split below all the hunters, conscious and otherwise, and suddenly, thick vines sprouted from beneath that wound around each of them, suspending them fulms above the ground.

The hunters struggled and swore, weapons clattering to the ground, and tried to wrest themselves free of their binds. Finding they could not, they called down to Adhamh,

“Please! Mercy! Let us go!”

Adhamh kneeled eerily still, verdant eyes unmoving as they remained trained on the grass and dirt.

“The wood wills no mercy today.” The voice that came from Adhamh’s mouth was not the same that called to them before. This voice was preternaturally deep; a primordial rumble that echoed through the boughs and into the hearts of the hunters. Adhamh straightened and rose, drawing his blade from the earth. In doing so, the vines retreated into the ground, taking their victims with them, never to be seen again.

The battle was over and Adhamh staggered as whatever had taken him no longer held his body up. Airleas was by his side in an instant, propping his weary companion up and keeping him upright.

“Thank you, old friend.” He smiled warmly and pet the bird’s side. The knight lifted his new blade up and inspected it, furrowed eyes scanning it warily. Before he could inspect it any deeper, though, a small yowl nearby reminded him of why he’d been summoned here. Adhamh walked over to the remains of the slaughter, with Airleas’ assistance, and eyed the scene sorrowfully.

“I’m so sorry I was not swifter, little one.” He kneeled down by the pup that remained, extending a tentative hand before it. Perhaps it was his defeat of those who’d sought its pelt or perhaps it was the monster buried deep within him, but the small creature leaned into him without hesitation. Carefully, Adhamh lifted the thing into his arms and eyed Airleas, who seemed to eye him in return.

“...Come, champion.” The leaves were gentle once more and the wispy voice was as audible as ever.

Adhamh turned his head and saw that the stump that had produced the sword was now bathed in glittering sunlight. Slowly, he approached, keeping the wolf cub in the crook of his arm while his other hand remained on his chocobo. He approached until the light engulfed him as well and he felt the soreness in his body ebb and fade away like warm water on a wintery day.

“Who...who are you?” Adhamh wondered aloud with reverence.

“We are the boughs above you and the roots underneath; the stone, the rivers, and the wind on your cheek. Time has taken our strength and our form, yet everlong we remain. We are the Will of the Wood, the elementals of the olden day.” There were multiple voices that spoke out at him in unison and all around him, then.

“Will of the Wood...I remember saying that, although not with my own voice. Was that you, then?”

“Yes. We can no longer intercede upon the injustices of the forest as directly as we once would. Yet, the dark of men’s hearts remains. Avarice and gluttony for that which is not theirs runs rampant. To hunt is to survive, but balance must be kept. Those which you fought did not respect this and so we called for a champion—a guardian of the wood.”

“A champion…? But...why me? I’m no guardian. I’m a monster. A beast best cast aside.” Adhamh turned from the light as grief dampened his cheeks.

“We’ve seen your deeds since stepping foot in our wood. The kindness spared to man and creature alike; your strength for those without strength of their own, despite what weighs deep within you now. There is good within you, in spite of what has befallen you. This is the light we seek. The light we enkindle in you. The light you must kindle in others. We cannot act on our own any longer, but through you the will of the wood will be done, o’ Knight of the Green.” The ethereal sunlight soon faded away and the glade returned to its solemn state once more.

Adhamh was rendered speechless as he stood there and for the first time in moons, he felt a shred of peace within him alongside the powerful tug that burnt through him as it did before. It was a familiar energy he’d long but forgotten. Only now he recognized what it was:

A Paladin’s duty not yet finished.

#ffxivwrite2020 #[Drabbles | Adhamh]

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merakiaes · 5 years

Text

Come Back To Me - Sandor Clegane

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Stark!reader

Requested: Pretty sure by like 40 people in my inbox, but I wanted to write it myself as well. It probably sucks, because I’m a mess, but I’m going to write maaany more to give him a better ending

Warnings/notes: Spoilers

Wordcount: 2840

Summary: An alternate ending for Sandor Clegane because I’m dead inside.

“Come back to me.” You had pleaded to Sandor Clegane years ago when he had been readying himself for the Battle of the Blackwater, having sneaked into his chambers to see him before you would be whisked away by Cersei.

He had looked at you, brows furrowed and scowl resting on his face as he had still been his usual angry self back then. But you had seen the flicker of emotion in his eyes as they scanned over your worried face.

He had marched over to you the second he had put on his last piece of armor, grabbing you by the head and leaning down to press a kiss to your soft forehead.

His hand was about the same size as your head, completely swallowing the side of it as he put it against your cheek, letting a rough thumb run over the wet skin.

You had looked up at him, still as innocent as ever back then, eyes terrified as the war going on outside your window rocked the floor.

He had looked down at you, taking in every little detail of your face so that he would remember what he was fighting for, being silent for a minute before finally answering. “I’ll always come back for you, Little Bird.”

True to his word, the Hound had come back for his Little Bird in the middle of the battle, and wasted no time in getting you out of there, leaving Sansa behind in the claws of Cersei.

You had been separated many times, but he had not once broken his promise. Every time you had been separated, he had never stopped looking for you.

And he always found his way back to you.

You had fought side by side in the war against the Night King, you having picked up quite the skill with swords over the past years, and you had won.

He was still a very grumpy man, like he always had been and probably always would, but anyone could see the look of endearment on his face when he looked at you.

It was a shocking sight to see, to say the least. But even the people who had before everything hated him with their every bone, couldn’t help but feel warm at the sight.

The only people he cared about in this world were you and your two sisters, you the most. He would die for you in a heartbeat, give his life and soul just so that you could live.

But there was one thing he cared more about, and you had given your all during the time of your relationship to see that you came out on top.

But as it seemed, there was nothing that would change his mind about getting revenge on his brother.

And it hurt.

It broke your heart.

In any other situation, you would have understood. Because he would always come back to you.

But this time was different. Unlike everyone else, you saw the Dragon Queen for what she was: mad.

You were sure she had been a fair ruler once upon a time, that she had reigned justly over the sea. But she had lost everything by this point; she was alone. And there was no thing more dangerous than a Targaryen alone in the world.

You understood why she had become what she was. You truly did. But it didn’t change the fact that she would be the destruction of King’s Landing, and everyone who dared step a foot in it.

And it was this little detail that broke you. Not the fact that Sandor wanted revenge on his brother, but the fact that he had just up and left when you had been sleeping, knowing fully well he wasn’t going to survive.

When waking up to see his side of the bed empty and cold, your heart had dropped and your breathing gotten shallow, but you had wasted no time in getting dressed and saddling a horse despite your trembling hands.

Your whole body was shaking as you rode, partly because of the cold that came with your bad choice of clothing and the wind pulling at your hair and furs as you sped down the road, but most of all the fear that you wouldn’t be able to catch up to him.

You were a heavy sleeper, you always had been. So you couldn’t know how long he had been gone.

After everything you had been through, he just up and left. No explanation. No goodbye. Nothing.

But you couldn’t even think of that. All you could think of was the panic burning through your whole body and sending you into a fit of trembling and shaking that there seemed to be no stopping.

But as you then caught sight of the lone horse in the distance, the big, stupid man you had come to love and hate sitting in the saddle, drinking his wine like he hadn’t just left you behind, you found a big part of the panic you had only moments before been consumed with turning into anger.

You called for your horse to speed up, whipping the reins and standing up in the stirrups for the sake of your tailbone.

Sandor froze in his saddle for a second as the sound of the clapping hooves finally reached his ears, and he found himself not daring to turn around as he knew who it was.

You were out of bed earlier than you usually were, of course you would choose this particular day to wake up early.

He had left you alone in bed with a heavy heart because he had, despite being a murderer his whole life, found himself to be too much of a coward to actually say goodbye.

Because he knew you would try to get him to stay, and he didn’t want to see the look on your face when you would realize he wouldn’t.

You reached him in no time, steering your horse to come to a stop in front of him, forcing the horse of his own to stop, as well.

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath as the horse came to a halt, feeling your heavy stare burning into his face even though he wasn’t looking at you.

“Yes, shit is right.” You answered, voice shaking slightly, but still holding a cold edge to it.

You looked at him, adjusting the reins in your grip as the horse shifted under you, swallowing the tears when you noticed he wouldn’t even look at you.

“Where are you going?” You asked him, and watched as he closed his eyes in regret.

“King’s Landing.”

“No.” You protested. “I mean, where are you going?”

You knew where he was going, of course. But you wanted to hear it. You wanted to hear what great explanation he had for leaving years worth of struggles and love behind just to get revenge on someone who probably didn’t even remember what he had done to him.

Even though you knew there would be no explanation, seeing as he never had one. It just was. He just needed to do it, he said every time. This wasn’t the first time he had tried to run away like this.

He finally looked up at you. “I’m going to go kill that big fucker." He snapped, eyes hard. “There, are you happy now?”

Your eyes softened, a sorrowful look taking over your features. “No, not really...” You whispered slowly, chewing on the inside of your bottom lip.

Sandor opened his mouth, face falling but you spoke first. “Are you really going to throw away all of the good things you’ve done, just for revenge?”

He scoffed. “I’m not good. I’ve never been good.” He told you with a hard tone, but you could see in his face he knew he was in the wrong.

“Do you love me?” You asked him, ignoring his previous statement.

He glared. “You know I do.”

You nodded, and you could feel tears starting to build in the corners of your eyes. “You made me the person I am today. The person you claim to love. You saved me, in more ways than one, and you put yourself to the side to take care of me. If that doesn’t make you a good person, I don’t know what does.”

“You’ve always been the person you are now.” He protested. “I didn’t do shit. I loved you as a little bird, just like I love you now.”

You yelled out. “Then stay! You can’t fix yourself by breaking someone else!”

“You know I can.” He scoffed. “I planned on killing him long before I met you. The fact that we met don’t change a thing.”

“And then what?” You asked. “You kill Gregor, you redeem yourself. Then you’ll be left with the fact that you left me behind to do so.”

His eyes flared up. “I have to do this! You know I do!”

“No!” You protested. “I only know that the best revenge is to have enough self-worth not to seek it! All the shit someone puts you through, sooner or later finds its way back to them. You no longer belong to him and that is his greatest punishment!”

You paused, finding yourself losing your voice again after the words had spilled from your mouth.

Sandor watched as your eyes glazed over, turning in and out of focus as you started at the ground, and he noticed how you squeezed your hands like you always did when trying not to cry, the leather of your gloves rubbing against the reins with a croaking sound.

“You promised me you would always come back to me.” You whispered then, voice barely noticeable. But it was enough to pull Sandor out of his thoughts.

He turned his eyes back from your hands to your face, half expecting you to be looking at him, but found you with your gaze still glued to the gravel under his horse’s hooves.

He looked at you, not knowing what to say as his heart sank further and further into his chest.

As if feeling his eyes on you, you looked up, meeting his gaze before he could look away, drawing him in. “If you go to King’s Landing you’ll die.” You continued. “You’d break your promise. Would it be worth it?”

“You knew this would happen sooner or later.” Was the only thing he could get out and he had to keep himself from flinching at his own words.

He had expected you to scream at him when he had first heard you approaching. He wanted you to scream at him. But he realized in that moment that he had really underestimated the amount of care and love you held for him.

He never would’ve thought someone would love him, especially not someone like you. But the look you were giving him in that very moment told him everything.

And it had him feeling regret for the second time in his life, the first being the moment right before Gregor had pushed his face into the coals for playing with his toy.

“Fine.” You spoke after a moment, clearing your throat as it had thickened to the point where you almost felt unable to breath.

You nodded your head slowly, as if you were trying to convince yourself of your own thoughts.

“It’s your choice. At least then I will know what’s more important, and I’ll know I lost someone who didn’t care. And you lost someone who did.” You continued. “But before you embark on your journey of revenge, be sure to dig two graves. Because you know just as well as I do that you’re not coming back to me this time.”

And with that you felt the first tear finally tumble over your waterline, rolling down your cheek.

You didn’t want Sandor to see you cry and stay just out of pity. You wanted him to stay because he chose to, and as of this moment, it didn’t seem like you would be the one he would choose.

So you pulled on the reins without sparing him another look, turned the horse around and left him behind.

He stared at the ground until the sound of hooves could no longer be heard, only then kicking his horse to keep walking, taking a long drink of wine to drown the heartbreak caused by the one he had caused you.

The moment you were sure you were out of hearing range, you couldn’t keep the tears at bay any longer, the salty drops coming to wet your face in only a few seconds, having you full on sobbing in no time.

Broken heart? No, no one knows how it feels. You had never in your life experienced a feeling like this before.

It was like something was cutting through your chest, a heavy feeling repeatedly stabbing you with the sharp shards of your heart.

The pain was flowing down to your abdomen through your veins, and your arm flew down to hold your stomach in an attempt to soothe the ache, but all it did was to make it worse.

Your ribs felt like they were being broken, beaten in, taking away your ability to breath.

Your eyes had gone far past crying by the time you rode through the gates of Winterfell; they were bleeding tears.

Sansa and Brienne had spotted you at once, having been walking through the courtyard when you came back, and not once before had they seen you like this. You had more or less launched yourself off the horse and completely brushed past them, running to your chambers.

It was the most painful thing you had ever felt. Your heart screamed for Sandor to hold you, your whole body yelled after the feeling of his rough fingers caressing your skin in the softest of ways. The way he always did; always touching you.

You were still together. He was still yours, and you were still his. He hadn’t found someone else, he hadn’t called it quits with you. But this was worse.

You saw Daenerys Targaryen. You saw her. She would burn that city to the ground if it was the last thing she did. And Sandor would die, because nothing would ever stop him from getting his revenge.

Not even if it meant he died in the process.

He had promised you. And he went back on it. He broke it. He left you. You couldn’t do this alone. All this time, you had survived thanks to him. You had never been able to process war as well as the rest of your family, you didn’t want to live in a world like this.

You couldn’t stand the death, the loss. The only thing keeping you from total self-destruction was him.

Your heart was broken, more than broken. It felt like it was shattered into a million pieces, like someone had stomped mercilessly to death, shredded it to pieces, cut it up, and thrown it in the trash. Left to rot.

But you couldn’t blame Sandor. You shouldn’t have been so stupid to think you could change something he had wanted his whole life, in just a few years.

It wasn’t logical. You weren’t that powerful.

You fell into your bed the moment the door closed behind you, not even bothering to remove your clothes, just pulling the furs over your head as you lied there and cried until you finally fell asleep.

You didn’t know how long you had lied in bed for, but by the time you woke up it was dark outside.

You didn’t move as your eyes opened, just blinking the dried tears and sleep out of your eyes as you stared out the window.

Sansa had come to check on you once, but having found you asleep with dried tears covering your face, she had left you to rest.

Your eyes ached and stung as you blinked, breathing slowly through your nose. You felt numb as you just laid there, hand tucked under you head while your other arm laid still on your side.

And that’s when you felt it.

That shiver you knew so well running down your spine at the feeling of the familiar, rough skin gently running over the back of your hand.

Your eyes fluttered closed as a fresh set of tears immediately stung your eyes, and you took a shaky breath as the thumb continued to run over your skin, caressing it softly.

“You came back.” You whispered, and only then did Sandor grab a hold of your hand fully, his warm one wrapping around your cold one, swallowing it whole.

“I promised didn’t I?” He mumbled back, and at the sound of his voice, you didn’t waste another second before jumping into his arms, tears running down your face as you took in his scent and felt the tickle of his beard on your neck.

He always found his way back to you.

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years

Text

the fairy fountain

[jaime lannister x reader]

author’s note: inspired by botw, which i have been playing a lot recently (and might write for?? hmmMMM). enjoy, lovelies((:

word count: 6,028

He finds it on accident.

Dusk begins to settle when Jaime slows his horse to a stop just off the Kingsroad, at a small inn next to a similarly small farm. A couple of children play in the tall grass, but pause to observe the newcomers. The other soldiers traveling with Jaime follow his lead, sliding off their horses before tethering them to the hitching rail. Though no one says anything, the atmosphere is slow and tired, for the day had been long, and they still had, at the very least, a day and a half more of much the same until they arrived back in King’s Landing.

Jaime lingers, fatigue getting the best of him as he takes his time dismounting. He waves his men to go on ahead; he’d join them shortly. The reins are wrapped around his hand but before he can even come close to the rail, his horse neighs and bucks, attempting to tug itself away. He’s only barely able to keep his grip on the reins, fingers curled tight, and he’s scrambling to soothe his horse but it isn’t effective. It doesn’t seem to hear his low murmurs, and he can’t reach up to stroke the side of its face when it’s moving around as much as it is.

And he realizes something is wrong. His horse doesn’t just do these things, doesn’t act out. Anger momentarily rises within him for this reason, his patience thin for a royal steed who’d been disciplined to be better than this. For after all, what could be thought of a knight who could nary control his own horse? Nothing very good, that’s for certain. But it’s also because he understands how unusual this is that he is able to placate his irritation, instead doubling down on his efforts to calm the restless animal.

It still pulls hard on its restraints, and Jaime knows it’s holding back. If it wanted, it was more than capable of knocking him off his feet and dragging him along. Nonetheless, the determination that seems to sprout from nowhere confuses him. What did it want?

“What do you want?” he questions aloud, enough to be heard over the horse’s whinnies but quiet enough that those inside the inn and the kids running by the farm don’t hear. His horse snorts, digs its hoof into the ground once, twice, shakes its head so that its mane and its ears flop. All at once it stops its fighting, like it understands what Jaime’s saying, and Jaime repeats himself, quieter now, as he watches his steed closely and strokes the fur of its neck, for it can’t speak but maybe like humans it can speak through its eyes and they have trained together, so Jaime knows it better than anyone else.

That’s why, when he deduces that perhaps his horse wants to go somewhere, he gives no second thoughts to slipping his foot through the stirrup and getting back into the saddle. While he has no destination in mind, his horse apparently does, and he can’t help chuckling at the ridiculousness of it, that now the horse is leading the man. If his soldiers were out here, they’d ask him what he was doing, and then, he might ignore whatever it is his horse is wanting to say, wanting to show, because the man leads the horse and of course the horse isn’t wanting to show anything because it’s not intelligent in that way. Yes, of course and Jaime would force it to calm down so that he can join his men inside.

But his feeling are different when he’s alone with his horse, the absence of other voices making it difficult to ignore that feeling in his gut, to entertain the animal’s curiosity because maybe they are more intelligent than people think.

The horse follows Jaime’s commands to back away from the rail and turn around, but after that, Jaime allows it to do as it will. They’re facing the Kingsroad, but rather than get back onto it, they cross, delving into the thicket on the other side. Here, the trees are so densely packed that what little light is left of the day is blocked out, but had it been midday, it would still be dark. Jaime brings a hand up to the pommel of his sword, wary of any danger and continuing to wonder where they could possibly be going. Was he wrong to assume his horse was walking somewhere specific? Maybe he’d been seeing things in the bleariness of fatigue, and now the two of them are merely wandering.

He’s not stuck debating with himself for long, for a spot of light grabs his attention in the dimness—multiple spots of lights do. They’re small but incredibly bright, flittering about but never straying far from the peculiar formation they surround. Jaime’s eyes narrow as he tries to figure out what that formation is, because he’s not quite prepared to believe that it is what he thinks it is. He wants to get closer, but there’s no need for directing his horse to go in that direction because it’s walking towards the mysterious cluster of trees all on its own.

The fireflies surround what Jaime can no longer deny is a giant flower, petals splayed out to welcome a sun it can’t see. A trail of stones forms a walkway to the center, where a small pond sparkles with the reflection of the fireflies’ light. Mushrooms of varying color sprout in a circle around the flower, and the moment Jaime’s horse steps within those boundaries, it slows to a stop.

For a moment, Jaime hesitates to dismount, unsure of what he might find. Remaining in the saddle would ensure a quicker getaway. A part of him considers that it shouldn’t be suspicious given that he stands now before a large flower, which hardly seems threatening, but the other part of him, the part that makes him cautious, is making note of how unusual a sight like this is, and flower or not, he’s never come across anything like it.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring at the scene in front of him, expecting something to move or to change, but the pond is still and the fireflies continue their patternless paths, some of them coming close to his horse’s snout, circling around as if wanting to play before floating back. Jaime doesn’t know what he should do. Should he leave? Should he attempt to explore? He says that he’s found this place on accident but he understands deep down that isn’t the case because his horse had walked here with no instruction on Jaime’s part, had walked with purpose, like it’s always known what’s been hiding in this forest. And it had led Jaime right to it.

Movement in his peripherals breaks Jaime from his internal conflict, a small shifting of grass and a swaying of a petal, like something had just run by it—or behind.

“Hello?” Jaime calls out, his eyes narrowing. The hand which has remained on his sword pommel all the while tightens its grip. “Is anyone there?” All that follows is silence and he second guesses whether or not he had actually spotted anything to begin with. He’s got sharp eyes but maybe in the dark they are only playing tricks.

Beneath him, he feels his horse shake its head with a short snort and dig its hooves into the dirt, displacing pebbles. And that’s when he notices you there, just behind the far petals, peeking over timidly, head visible only halfway so that he meets your gaze almost entirely obscured by shadow but for the gentle glitter of the fireflies passing over and across it, and perhaps even within because eyes are windows and all these lightning bugs are your suns.

You watch him, and he watches you, but then your attention strays, switching to the horse whose head is held high. Jaime notices it’s looking right at you, thoroughly enraptured, like it knows who you are.

“Will you come out from there?” Jaime speaks again, and luckily, you don’t hide as soon as you hear his voice. You don’t answer but you’re clearly hesitant to reveal yourself. He understands. This may well be your home (though he can’t fathom why or how anyone could live here, tucked away in the darkness of the woods) and a strange man has just wandered in, but as said strange man, Jaime is inclined to think that everything else about this—the giant flower that somehow no one has stumbled across before, the abundance of fireflies, his horse’s enchantment by you—is stranger. He ponders briefly if perhaps he’s dreaming, but if so, he’d like to see more, as much as he can before he wakes.

His question gets him nowhere, so to ease the nerves he assumes you feel, his hand leaves his sword and he dismounts, his horse’s reins held loosely in his hand as he stands next to it. “I won’t hurt you.” He doesn’t miss the way your eyes slide back to his steed, and he uses that curiosity to his advantage. “You can pet him, if you’d like.”

For the second time, his horse is what draws you from your hiding place, and now you fully reveal yourself, stepping to the side so you can round the large petals that had done well to conceal you. Your white dress is simple, thin and featuring dirtied, tattered edges from being dragged along the dirt. With every slow, steady step, your feet peek out and he finds them bare. Long hair cascades down your back, un-styled and disheveled. If this were King’s Landing, you would warrant no extra glance. When compared to the refinement of those in the capital, you are hardly extraordinary, and there, you’d fit in best with the smallfolk, and he might never see your face. But out here with the little lightning bugs trailing on your heels, Jaime knows you are far from ordinary.

You stop several paces away, the final bit of uncertainty keeping you from covering the gap. He exhales silently, observing you carefully and nodding in reassurance that it’s okay to come closer and you are a deer in the wild. Any sudden movements would frighten and scare you off, so he stays rooted to this spot, the boots of his heavy armor sinking into the moist soil. Your footfalls are silent, your lack of any shoes meaning your feet don’t press into the dirt with each step. Rather, they stay right at the surface, like you’re weightless.

Finally, you are near, near enough that your outstretched hand reaches the horse’s snout and Jaime can hear your little sigh as your lips curve into a small smile. You’re so enamored by the animal that it’s like you’ve forgotten he’s there, but he doesn’t mind. It gives him a chance to study you in better detail, surveying you from head to toe and wondering what you’re doing here, deep in the woods.

“Do you live here?” he inquires, breaking the quiet. His eyes scan the surrounding area for any sign of a cottage, but sees none.

Never pausing in your gentle stroking of the horse’s fur, you turn to Jaime, neither nodding nor shaking your head. He’s unsure if you understood him, and concludes that if this is the case, his conversation with you is going to be a lot more difficult than he thought. But thankfully, you know the common tongue, for you nod once.

His next question was to specify where, exactly, though he can’t shake the suspicion that the answer would be, well, here: with a flower whose size is more fit for whimsical children’s stories than reality, and with the lightning bugs, and with the small pond. This is your home, and maybe in a few hours, when he truly begins to tire and runs the risk of hallucinations, he’ll think about the scene which he has stumbled across and reason that this is all from a book and he’s stepped into the pages to join you. Though what had caused this strange turn of events, that he should find himself crossing over from his plane of existence into another, into yours, he can’t say.

A quiet snort draws Jaime’s attention to his horse, who looks thoroughly contented by your ministrations. The smile is still on your face, tender and fond despite the fact you’ve never met it until now. Perhaps it speaks for a connection that had always been there. After all, it was Jaime’s horse that had found this place, had walked a line straight to it. The longer he watches the two of you interact, like old friends, he comes to realize you’re what his horse was searching for.

The more he thinks, the more confused he becomes. With furrowed brows, he presents another question. “Who are you?”

Once more, you’re slow to respond, gaze sliding over to him. It’s your turn to study him, the expression on his face and the overwhelming curiosity etched into every line. His concern now shifts to the idea that while you know the common tongue, you might not be able to speak, and his query can’t be answered with any movement of your head. But your striking eyes seem to pierce not just into but through his soul and he understands that’s not a concern at all. Maybe the sense of myth and mystery which saturates this nook of the forest is a hint, one that you wait for him to grasp before you should grace him with any sort of reply.

He’s asking the wrong question.

“What are you?” he rephrases, and with bated breath he waits, scrutinizing the muted glow behind your eyes like burning embers, the deathbed of a fire as the sun peeks over the horizon.

And you smile just a tiny bit and it’s amused and Jaime is caught off guard because it makes you seem so human and the sentiment is no longer strange to state because he knows you aren’t—aren’t human, aren’t like him—and you open your mouth to utter your first words in what has thus far been a one-sided conversation.

“You’ve met me before.”

Jaime is only more confused. Perhaps you’d meant to do it, phrase your sentence the way you did, having been given a soft voice by the gods upon your creation to give softly spoken riddles. If this is a game, he has no desire to play. He just wants answers. Surely you sense his frustration, but you don’t give him a direct response because you know Jaime is at your mercy. This is a game, and it’s yours, and he has no other choice but to play if wants to learn anything.

So he takes a deep breath and plays your game, wracking his brain for where he could have possibly met you in the past. Had his claim that you’d fit in with the smallfolk at King’s Landing hit the nail on the head more than he’d first assumed? Maybe you live in the capital and he had quickly passed over your face, barely registering it before it was out of his mind completely. But then why are you all the way out here? Kings Landing is still about two days’ journey south, and there’s no other horse in sight. You couldn’t possibly have walked the entire stretch.

Evidently, to see him focusing this hard has caused you to pity him enough that you grant him another hint. “You’ve met me in the lines of old books and in the voices of the ones who keep them.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow and he does his best to interpret the still vague sentence. The only line of thought this new piece of information is leading him down is so silly it’s absurd, but with one quick glance at the large flower behind you, he throws caution to the wind and follows the path, right down the rabbit hole.

There’s a large library in the Red Keep housing tomes thousands of years old. Jaime had delved into a fair few when he was younger, tutored by the elders who oversaw the care of those books. They knew every story in the finest detail, and imparted their knowledge both of the concrete and the abstract, of the history of this land and the mythos and magics which sprouted throughout that timeline. He’d met you somewhere there…

His eyes lift from the ground to meet your gaze, and the embers have rekindled so that the haze of the heat dances and he is pulled in, tumbling through time until he is just a boy and he’s reading those books and hearing those stories and there are no pictures and there are no pictures. The previous claims of feeling like he has stepped into the pages of an ancient leather-bound had not been unfounded because his subconscious knew all along and there are no pictures because there had been nothing to draw. Of course.

“You’re a fairy,” he says finally. This gives you pause as you stop petting the horse, your hands dropping down to your sides as you look at him. He glimpses over your shoulder at the flower and the water and the fireflies and it’s beginning to make sense, the pieces falling into place.

Incredible. He lets out a breath steadily and it’s the slightest bit shaky. How many others had seen this sight? And why hadn’t any of them made record of it on paper? He takes in his surroundings with a renewed understanding, and as he returns his gaze back to you, where you still stand before him, by his horse, waiting patiently for him to come to terms with what he has learned, he speculates that perhaps it wasn’t that those who’d come before couldn’t do it, but that they wouldn’t. The shroud of mystery kept the fountain safe, kept you safe, because now that Jaime knows where he’s heard of you, he also knows what you’re capable of, and it bode well for you to remain as nothing but a bedtime story.

To bear witness to a scene like this is to call his perception of reality into question. You had always been here, tucked into these woods, called the animals who roam and wander in this place your friends. You should be nothing but a rumor, but Jaime, despite his earlier fatigue, is wide awake now, and this is no figment of his imagination. And suddenly anything seems possible and he can’t help it, the way his heart squeezes as he thinks that, because it’s a breath of fresh air which fills his lungs and the crystal lens through which he’s seeing life and life is beautiful and so are you and the fountain you call home and it’s truly no wonder the ones who have discovered your hideaway would want to keep you concealed from anyone that might seek to disrupt all of this.

A sense of calm washes over him, and you notice this, apparent by the little upturn of the corner of your lips, and maybe that’s why he needed to figure it out by himself. Coming to his own conclusion is where that power came from.

There’s no hesitation in his resolution to keep you a secret. He doesn’t voice it, but he doesn’t need to; you could discern his decision just by looking at him. Once night fully falls, he returns not to a waking world, for he had never fallen asleep, but to one distinctly absent of you, and none of it feels right, not anymore. The encounter with you hadn’t lasted long, even if it had felt like it, felt like time had slowed to a near halt, and when he arrives at the inn, the soldiers barely notice he’d been missing. They’re consumed in conversation, laughs loud and exaggerated due to the alcohol, but Jaime doesn’t care about the ruckus. He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t join them for dinner and goes straight to his room.

The noises are muffled behind the door once it shuts, and a series of thuds bounces off the walls as Jaime sets his sword aside and sheds his armor. He sits on the edge of his bed with a quiet groan, his body more than ready for sleep. He blows out the candle on the nightstand, lays down, and stares at the dying light of the wick thinking about your eyes until his own are too heavy to keep open. And he dreams of a closed flower alone in an empty field but it’s not lonely, for the fireflies keep it company and their light peels the petals back, a full bloom at midnight.

Two days later, he rides into King’s Landing, but he’s already yearning to return to that special patch of the forest. As he hands off his horse to the stable master, there’s a glint in the animal’s eye, as if it has that same longing to go back, and Jaime can’t say out loud that yes, we’ll go back, I promise, for there are other ears listening now, but he gives it an extra pat on the neck, a motion he hopes can speak for him instead.

When he has the chance, he pays a visit to the library, and tries not to sound too eager as he asks about the location of a specific book. He finds the appropriate corner, runs his index finger along the spines, murmurs the titles to himself. The tome is fourth from the end of the shelf, and he pulls it out carefully, for the bindings are weak and too hard a tug would tear it. He takes a seat at the nearby table and flips through it, waving away the mustiness that’s gathered within the pages over the years.

He almost skips over the passage. Since there are no pictures, he has to skim the paragraphs closely to check if he’s at the right chapter. And then he comes across the writings about creatures called the fae, with their rings and their attachment to animals and then, at the very end, a brief discussion on the existence of fairy fountains—mostly speculations, sprinkled with theories of location and appearance, but ultimately brushed off as nothing more than rumor. The section ends here, no picture to complement the words, not even an artist’s interpretation.

You’re a well-kept secret, possibly the best in the entirety of Westeros, and Jaime plans to ensure it stays that way. The last line of the page states that a fairy is only found when it want to be, and actively searching for one would prove to be a fruitless expedition. At this, he tilts his head. Had you known Jaime was the one who would find you? Or had you simply emerged from your fountain after a thousand years of slumber and waited for the first person who should cross your path? Regardless of which situation it was, he considers himself very lucky to have been that one.

The more days pass that he’s away from you, the more he comes to understand the extent of your power. He can’t travel out on his own without raising some suspicion, so he’s simply stuck attending to his duties until the next opportunity he has to ride along that particular stretch of the Kingsroad. All the while his chest aches for that hiding spot shadowed by the thick clustering of trees and for that sensation your presence offers, of feeling lighter than air, like he might grow wings and fly. He wants to be close to you, and with every hour, minute, second when he’s not, he thinks he could reach in and grab at his heart just to pull it out and discover a chunk of it missing, and the hole growing larger still.

Fireflies have been making their way to King’s Landing (Jaime wishes he could make his way back to you). At sunset, when the sky morphs into oranges and reds then into dark blues and purples, the yellow spots of light blink among the trees and in the streets, and little kids chase them around to catch and put in jars, where they might watch that steady glow from their rooms, the last thing they see before they sleep. And Jaime would like to keep you in a jar of his own so you could always be with him.

An eternity seems to pass before he’s finally on the Kingsroad again, traveling to another hold on business for the king. All of it passes in a blur, the journey there, the matters discussed with the ruler who presides over the region. Then on the ride back, the clock resumes its normal speed, the tick-tock an echo counting off every step his horse takes.

The inn is unchanged, as is the small farm next to it, and Jaime observes them fondly now, given what they signal to him. He doesn’t dismount even as the other soldiers do, and they ask if he’s coming inside. He tells them he’ll head inside in a bit and to go in without him. They don’t question it. Once the last man has entered the humble little rest stop, Jaime turns his horse around, and they cross into the woods.

Jaime has no need to call out to you when he gets to the fountain, for you aren’t hiding. Rather, you’re perched on the edge of the pond, knees drawn to your chest and arms wrapped around them. You’re staring into the water, watching the reflection of the lightning bugs, but look up at the sound of the jingling reins. You spot Jaime and smile warmly, and it reaches your eyes, and he can almost swear that it’s like you’ve been waiting for him all this time. Do you dream of him too?

You stand but remain at the pond’s edge, hands clasped in front of you. Welcome back you greet quietly, and yes, he’s certain you’ve been waiting for this day, judging by the twinkle in your gaze. You’ve no doubt been more patient about the time gone by, but that’s no surprise because though you don’t look the part, you are thousands of years old, and what are a few weeks more for someone like you to wait?

Jaime grins the moment he hears your voice, and he dismounts, walking his horse the rest of the way to you. You scratch the animal’s head in greeting, taking the time, as you had before, to meet its large black eyes and communicate silently, a hello and a nice to cross paths again and other things too, maybe.

As you pet it, Jaime lets the reins slip from his fingers. There are no hitching rails here, but they’re not needed. His horse doesn’t stray far from this spot, remaining in the light of the fireflies and what bit of the sun pierces the canopy above. So he allows his horse to wander where it will, and it settles on a spot to eat some grass moist from dew.

You have never ventured far from these woods, have never walked a distance great enough that this large flower is out of sight. Jaime says he’d like to show you all of Westeros and he’s imagining now what that might be like, because for him, the novelty of the kingdoms has faded. He has traversed them over and over, and the only part that seems to change is the seasons. But to have you around would be that new experience that he may not have necessarily been looking for but one that is nonetheless welcome, as he watches the awe light up your face and he’ll wish he could feel that again for himself but the next best option was to feel them through you, and that would be plenty. And perhaps he’d procure a boat to sail the Narrow Sea, if that’s what you wanted.

“I would like that,” you murmur, not wanting to disrupt the peace. You don’t go beyond conditionals because it’s all those reveries will ever be, for you can’t leave the fountain. Jaime knows this, of course; he’d read about it, and the reality leaves him crestfallen, but that doesn’t last long because you ask him instead to describe it to you, the far reaches of this land you’ll never see, and he does so. He spares you of the boring technical details and puts his storytelling skills to use for he has told many stories of his adventures and he recounts them now to you, and you hang on his every word, and you’re the only audience he cares about.

By the end of it, at least of the current string of tales, he lapses into a brief silence, and then glances at you, where you sit next to him by the pond whose water ripples when a leaf floats down and lands on the surface. “You’ve really never tried to leave?” he asks, still unable to comprehend how long you’ve been alive and how not once has the urge gripped you to even attempt to explore, and see what might happen.

The question requires no context and you shake your head but you don’t look sad about it. He learns why with the next words flowing from your mouth like water in the desert. I’m content to be here you remark, holding out your hand for the fireflies to flitter around, and one rests its wings and settles atop the pad of your finger. You let it stay there as long as it likes, and then you look at Jaime and it’s at this point because you are so close to him that he starts to think it’s not the fireflies that make your eyes glitter but something else, something from within and maybe that’s all the light this flower needs, perpetually open, like an offer of a warm embrace. When someone like you brings the world to me, I can’t be left in want of much else, can I?

Your sweet smile warms Jaime from the inside out, and he wonders if this is how you feel, with that eternal sunshine burning in your chest. He wouldn’t mind feeling this way forever. “I guess not, no,” he responds, chuckling and turning to watch the firefly in your hand take off. The air is filled with the buzzing and chirping of insects who have come out now that it’s cooler, and Jaime spots his horse shaking its head, swatting away the fireflies who get too close and tickle at its ears.

The peacefulness overwhelms him, enough that he forgets himself, his mind and spirit melding with his surroundings until it’s impossible to distinguish what is what in the swirling mist which manifests as the slow breath you let out in the increasingly chilly night. In this patch of forest, there are no names, no titles. There’s just him and you and that’s all that seems to matter and everything past the edges of the forest seem so inconsequential in comparison. How could Jaime hope to return to the drudge of all that?

In the months since the last visit his heart has squeezed and fought to escape the confines of its cage, on a search for the place it feels most at home. He had always been so convinced that he was meant for the Kingsguard, meant to be most comfortable with a sword in his hand and the name of Kingslayer following wherever he should go. But he watches while you run your fingertips through the water and his convictions grow shaky, his chest squeezing so tightly now it hurts, as if it were telling him it is so close to the object it’s been looking for all this time and Jaime need just reach out to touch you to set it at ease. And perhaps his prior ambitions had been sorely misplaced because he has never been more comfortable and sure of himself than he has right here.

“You look like you’re thinking very hard about something.”

Jaime blinks and sees your grin, barely illuminated by the lightning bugs and the moonlight. He smiles and nods—You caught me—but he doesn’t brush it off, taking the opportunity to state aloud some of his thoughts for you to hear.

“The people that find you, did they feel like this too? Like…” A beat of contemplation, and then a deep sigh. “Like they’re home.”

He watches you closely, studying your expression, and it takes you a second to reply, for you’re considering his question. And then you take in a lungful of air, staring out into the darkness, where the nocturnal animals roam.

“Those who have found this place find what they want to find,” you explain slowly, wanting to choose your words carefully. “A spring of knowledge, a fountain of healing, simply a place to rest for a while. And now, as it seems with you, a home.”

The way you phrase your response implies this is the first instance anyone has felt this way upon discovering the fountain. But Jaime knows it’s not the fountain itself that’s the reason for why he feels like this, it’s you, and it never could’ve been anything else, and he wonders if he’s foolish to fall in love with a fairy, but the softness of your smile and the embers in your gaze tell him otherwise. He is no fool at all.

Jaime has no idea what time it is when you must part. If he had his way, he’d stay with you until sunrise, prolonging the moment as much as he’s able because truthfully, he doesn’t know when he’ll next be able to visit. You walk with him to his horse, but before he gets on, he turns to you and slowly lifts a hand to set on your cheek. Your large eyes remind him of a deer's, but you’re not skittish anymore. You lean into the warmth of his skin as his thumb strokes the slope your cheekbone.

“You’ll be here when I return, won’t you?” He’s not sure why he asks this; you’d been here waiting expectantly for him after your first encounter, so why would it be different? He supposes it’s because now that he’s acknowledged what he feels, what it means for him to be at the fairy fountain and with you (and it means everything), he’s nervous it might be ripped away from him. To hear your reassurance would quell those worries.

You grin, bright and beautiful, and set your smaller hand atop his own. “A home always waits with welcoming arms.”

You’re a fairy of few words, but they’re always the right ones. Jaime smiles and his soul is melting. He leans down to set a gentle kiss on your head, and he lingers, lips brushing against your hair, memorizing this instance so that he can dream of it, play it on repeat in his mind’s eye, a way to keep you near him no matter the distance in between.

The fireflies guide him back to the Kingsroad, and they’re quickly replaced by the fires burning in the sconces of the inn. He glances over his shoulder, at the silhouette of towering trees, but the small spots of light have disappeared. He hardly pays attention as he goes through the motions of dismounting and tethering his horse to the rail. His movements are sluggish, like he’s just woken from a long nap. With one final pat on the animal’s back, Jaime heads inside, where no one but the innkeeper is up.

In his room, he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling barely lit by the moon and stars and waiting for sleep to claim him. In the hazy line separating consciousness and unconsciousness, he comes to the conclusion that he’s not falling in love; he’s already fallen. And he would gladly do it again and again and again—

#jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #jaime lannister #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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hattywatch · 5 years

Text

T. Seguin - Back Road Part 2

Author’s Note: This fic has been in the works since JULY, it is now January of 2019. Just so you guys know how slow and hard this has been (that’s what she said). It would not have been possible without various drunken nights on my part and encouraging text messages on @hockeyandtaylorswift ‘s part- and all of the lovely tags that people created when they reblogged the first part. I read every single one of the tags that anyone makes when they reblog any of my fics and they keep the content coming (PSA I’m sure all fic writers will tell you the same thing. Tags, comments etc spark the muse for real), so thank everyone who ever wrote anything nice about it, I love you. As a caveat, this one is 20 pages long. Go to the bathroom, grab a snack and a blanket, and settle in for the long haul. It’s also smutty. Are we back to using the term *LEMONS* now to fight the Tumblr bots? Am I showing my age? Yes, to both.

Part 1

He really takes your teasing in stride, which is awesome, since that's the kind of person you are.

He almost seems to revel in it.

After you sprung that kiss on him and all but slammed your door in his face, he was quick to text you when he got back to his place:

Tyler: Well, my ego is in shreds, but aside from that I'm home safe

was the exact text you got, but close enough.

If you were worried that his chase would be over the second you showed any interest, that text certainly helped calm your nerves.

It turns out that where previous guys all maintained a cool indifference and responded only when you initiated, Tyler was the opposite. He text you almost daily after your movie date. A picture of a dog here, his breakfast there, and best of all there was no shortage of selfies, a truly amazing perk. What a face on that man, honestly.

You never stopped teasing though, because, quite frankly it was nice to be pursued and you were more than a little gun-shy of getting in too deep.

___________

After constant texts back and forth for a week following your date, your nerves had calmed considerably. The chemistry was always there and he even started teasing back a little.

Tyler: You never send me any pictures. This is so one-sided.

You sorely hoped he wasn't asking for what you thought he was. You weren't sure you'd have the willpower to cut him out of your life if he was trying to solicit nudes.

Opting to be cheeky and hoping for the best, you sidle up to your fish’s tank and pucker your lips together, before taking a selfie with Brendan, the goldfish.

You: May all of your fishes come true.

When the tell-tale bubble appears to denote Tyler forming his reply, your heart patters double time in anticipation.

Tyler: That's the stuff I'm looking for 😁

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you're delighted that he's a gentleman and you're morally justified to continue this infatuation.

___________

It's been well over a week, closing in on two, and Tyler has texted lots. He even called once, from the grocery store to ask your opinion on cheez-its vs cheese-nips (cheez-its > cheese-nips, obviously).

He hasn't however, attempted to schedule another date. You're not sure why. He initiates texting and responds pretty quickly usually, aside from the odd early morning or late night text.

You're starting to get a little down on yourself about it until he sends you a picture of him in what is obviously the first-class area of a plane, followed by the message:

Tyler: I'll be home soon, what are you doing Thurs?

You nearly knock Brendan off the end table when you flail your legs in excitement that's decidedly uncool.

Tyler suggests a few date ideas before saying that you’re no help and telling you to wear jeans and closed toe shoes.

___________

When Thursday finally comes you slide back into those lived in jeans you love so much. In full honesty, you did go out and buy a new shirt and some cool slide on sneakers, so you're feeling pretty good about yourself when you're adjusting your hair in the mirror and there's a knock on your door.

You sprinkle a little food into Brendan's bowl as you pass through the living room and grab your keys to meet Tyler at the door.

“Trent! Good to see you,” you lock the door behind you and turn around and meet Tyler's eye with a big grin. He dips down, leaning in for a hug and a respectful peck on the cheek.

“Tear my heart out why don't you? A guy's liable to develop a complex.” The complex is short lived, you can tell since he snakes his arm around your waist and leads you to the flashy sports car that sits in front of your house.

“Where's your Jeep?” He smiles at you as he opens the car door and closes it, walking around the car getting into the driver's seat.

“You know how it is,” he buckles his seat belt and finishes, “boys and their toys.”

“Apparently,” you answer coolly, refusing to be charmed by a shiny, expensive car. What type of girl does he think you are?

Whatever type of girl he thinks you are is quickly what you're becoming as he parks outside of a ranch.

“Are we being real Texans today?” you ask, letting yourself out of the car before he can come around and open the door. He walks around anyway, grabbing your hand and continuing up the dirt road to the ranch.

“Yee-haw,” he says seriously, looking straight into your eyes, but his eyebrows rise to belie his voice.

You can't hold back the giggles that brings out, and let him half drag you the rest of the way through the dusty parking lot to the instructor, who's waiting in the stables.

___________

Overall you are a much better rider than Tyler.

You can see the instructor getting frazzled as she tries to get him to loosen his grip on the reins and to stop inadvertently signaling for the horse to start a trot with the way he's squeezing his calves around the animal’s sides.

After a small lesson in the paddock which easily takes twice the time it should, you're given the okay to take the trail. The horses seem to know the trail so you and Tyler are free to chat, side by side as your horses gently lead the way. Tyler's horse mostly ignoring the inexperienced rider on his back.

“I was worried you wouldn't say yes to me again,” Tyler looks over at you grinning and you can't tell if he's kidding or not; after all, it was you and not him who initiated physical intimacy on your last date.

“Why is that? I thought I made it pretty clear on my porch that I would be open to another date,” you will your cheeks to cool down, it seems just the memory of your mouth on his has you a little warm.

He smiles warmly at you, a little blush appearing high on his cheeks, “Oh, I remember,” he takes a breath before continuing, “but I've been pretty busy with work, ya know, out of town a lot. I wasn't sure if you were sick of waiting for me to be around. Barely got you to agree to the first date.” He must signal the horse to speed up in some way, which Buttercup does with ease. Tyler's face looks stricken for a second until the horse seems to remember who is sitting in the saddle. She slows down to allow you and Spirit to catch back up.

You're laughing, hunched forward on Spirit, Tyler's panicked face burned into your brain.

“ 's not funny,” he's visibly trying to relax, since Buttercup is feeding off of his nerves.

“It so is,” you make out between giant gulping breaths while wiping the tears from your eyes. Spirit has finally caught up with Buttercup and Tyler's pout has subsided.

“Why couldn't you pick something that I'm better at. Let me impress you and feel manly?” You laugh again before reminding him that he's to blame for today's activity.

“Yeah, but I only picked this because you said that you like horses and haven't been riding since you moved here,” he gets a little line between his eyebrows as he scrunches them up and mock anger.

“Well, at the very least, I am impressed by your listening abilities,” you nod primly and he gives you a cheesy grin, before he agrees that he'll take whatever win he can get.

You can see the ranch through the trees and it seems like your ride is coming to a close. The sun is beginning to lay lower in the sky and overall it's been a really peaceful few hours.

You don't want it to end.

Hopping off of Buttercup is much easier for Tyler than disembarking off of Spirit is for you. It probably has something to do with him being 6 foot plus and incredibly fit, not that you like, noticed or anything. He smiles at you from below as he sees you struggling with the stirrups.

“C'mon cowgirl, time to go,” he extends his hand up to you and you obviously accept it. Any excuse to get closer to the man in front of you.

He grips your hips tightly from behind to steady you, as you swing your leg over and try to gently lower yourself back to solid ground. If you were watching the scene play out, instead of being a part of it, you'd surely roll your eyes. But that’s not the case, and his hands are strong and warm and you can feel them through your jeans. It sends warmth radiating through your body and you bite your lip to keep yourself from saying anything foolish.

Normally, you’d be a bit more than a bit self-conscious about him grabbing your hips. They’re wide and thick since that’s where most of your extra weight seems to congregate, but Tyler isn't shying away, and it isn’t necessarily hidden in these snug pants.

You're both silent on the walk back to his car.

___________

He drives back in the direction of your house, but is going well under the speed limit, which is odd for the ostentatious sports car you're in.

He hits a red light and finally looks over at you, “Did you have other plans tonight… or?”

His sentence tapers off and you stare at him with your lips pursed.

“Did you have something else planned?” It comes out a little too high pitched and excited to be passed off as cool, but you sort of hope he does, because you really don't want to go home and wait for him to contact you again, especially if his work schedule is as erratic as he's claimed. Who knows how long you two could draw this thing out for.

He stares at you now, seemingly mulling something silently. “Light's green,” you nudge him with your elbow.

He focuses on the road again but eyes you subtly, “I could make us dinner, if you wanted to come to my place?” He's tentative, like he's not sure what you're going to say- like he hasn't taken you on the best dates of your life, hasn't been unabashedly pursuing you and making you hot under the collar with every look he sends in your direction. Like you could ever say no to that face of his.

“Yeah we can do that, Tony” a grin splits his face and you just couldn’t help yourself.

He hunches over towards the steering wheel in what can only be described as giggles.

“You'll remember my name one day,” he warns as he makes a u-turn, driving the opposite direction of your home.

He'd be hard to forget, all his weirdness and sweetness and playful tenacity. You sit quietly, hoping his invitation to dinner is a little less innocent than face value.

___________

It seems Tyler is absolutely full of surprises, because the driveway he pulls into belongs to a veritable mansion and you're instantly uncomfortable.

Before you can help yourself a small, “oh,” drops out of your mouth. You hope he doesn't hear you, because that's embarrassing. You just feel a little out of place, since you're a waitress and he's picked you up at your house before, which is really just the first floor of a house in the suburbs that you rent and definitely could not afford to own.

He hits a button on his phone and the garage door opens and it's literally like you're sitting next to James- fucking-Bond. Once he's pulled in you see the Jeep sitting in the garage as well, along with a few other cars you wouldn't be able to identify as anything other than wildly expensive. He doesn’t seem to catch the noise you make, but he does catch you surreptitiously looking around. He parks and starts getting out, walking over to the door and unlocking it as you trail behind him.

“I told you, I like my toys.” He lets you into the house before him and you kick off your shoes at the door, afraid to track dirt all over the pristine floors.You follow him through the hallway and into the kitchen. It’s bright and beautiful, with marble floors and countertops and what are surely restaurant quality appliances, and if he told you his personal chef would be preparing dinner for you tonight it honestly wouldn't surprise you in the least.

But he doesn't.

He gets out pans and bread and butter and cheese and starts the stove before glancing at your shocked face, “Grilled cheese okay? I haven't really gone grocery shopping since I got back. Ya know, too busy trying to plan dates with girls who can't remember my name and getting shown up by rowdy horses.” You nod and he turns back to the pan, buttering it up as it heats over the open flame.

He motions over to the island stools and you hop up, watching him cook. “Can I help at all?” You don't really know where anything is, but your momma raised you right, so you ask anyway.

“There’s some wine in the fridge, if you’re interested,” he tells you, and you pour out two glasses as he pops the grilled cheeses onto two plates, placing one in front of you and scooting onto the stool next to you with his own.

“Wine doesn't really go with grilled cheese, huh?” He makes a face, but it doesn't stop him from washing down his second bite in the exact same fashion.

“Excuse you, grilled cheese goes with everything.” Sure it's just grilled cheese and all, but it's really actually pretty good and it's made even better by how sweet Tyler was to do it himself and not take the easy way out and order something in. It feels cozy and private sitting in his kitchen, drinking wine and eating the food he made. You eat mostly in silence, sipping your wine and looking around at the grand kitchen.

___________

It's hard to imagine what Tyler does for a living that he could afford a place like this. He doesn’t give off a businessman vibe and he doesn’t seem like the kind who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so you’re at a loss thinking of a position for him to work. Mostly you just don't want to be seen as a gold digger, even though you couldn’t have possibly known about this in advance; if you had known, you would have been even more reluctant to agree to a date than you already were.

“You okay? Kinda quiet, usually you're making jokes at my expense, I'm a little worried,” he nudges your knee with his under the table as you finish up your food. You pick up the wine glass and stand, filling both of your glasses again. “Yeah. I'm good. Gimme a tour?” You open your eyes wide, tilt your head, and give him a genuine smile, it's not his fault that your uncomfortable about him being loaded. He obviously wasn't turned off by you not being rich, so you do your best to put it out of your mind in the effort of having a good time.

He smiles and stands dropping both dishes in the sink before he heads off into another room motioning for you to follow.

The two of you must make a decent amount of noise, because as you leave the kitchen, you can hear the tell-tale sound of paws on hardwood and before you know it, you're surrounded in labs. Before you get pummeled, Tyler grabs your wine glass from your hand before they could pounce you with love.

The dogs are wonderful.

He makes a fuss of trying to get the yellow one to stop jumping, but the brown and black ones are a little more well behaved, a little older and calmer. They hear his stern voice and sit and allow you to ruffle their ears, while the yellow one dances around happily, in between you and Tyler.

“It's fine,” you tell him. “If this is how I die, it's worth it,” you're fully sat on the floor now, giving pets and staving off sloppy kisses. He lets the dogs attack you with love for another minute before he helps you up from the floor.

“You'll spoil them.” He hands you back your wine and tells the dogs to go lay down, which they surprisingly do as they head off into an adjacent room. Tyler follows behind them.

“This is the living room,” he pauses, eyeing the dogs who look up at the sound of his voice from their position on the couch. “No,” he stares them down sternly and they plop their heads back onto the couch cushions and ignore you as you walk though.

“This is the dining room, I never use this. I don't even know why I have this room. I only use it when my mom's here.” It's amazing how the house is beautifully furnished and decorated, without looking like a 20 something male threw it all together or looking too overly pretentious, like it was done by a pricey designer.

He drags you into the game room, through the media room, and he ducks his head into a room that he calls his office. “I probably use this room less than the dining room.” He doesn’t even cross over the threshold, and keeps on his way to the stairs.

Letting the curiosity get the better of you, you step in and see stacked hockey pucks and gloves on the desk and jerseys on the wall. It starts to click. It would make sense for him to work in sports; it would afford him the money to own a house like this, and would probably require travel. He’s in great shape and Texas is wrought with professional trainers. You make a mental note to ask him about it later when you get the chance.

Suddenly though, you feel a little uncomfortable in your tight jeans, thinking about all of the hard bodies he probably comes into contact with daily.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Tyler calls from outside of the room, and decide you should probably stop snooping around without his consent; it’s not nice.

___________

The tour continues upstairs.

He shows you where his mom likes to stay, and then drags you into the room his sisters fight over for when they visit.

You know where this is going. Normally, you'd be delighted a guy like him was interested in getting into your pants, but you're not really in the mood to take them off anymore, considering how self conscious you're feeling. You feel a little claustrophobic in your own clothes, your shirt feels constricting around your arms and chest and you can feel where the waist of you jeans is digging into your flesh.

It's an honest shame, because his bedroom is awesome. Everything is a soft neutral. It's decorated minimally but tastefully. There are floor to ceiling windows that light the room up in warm reds and oranges with the dusky sky and the bed looks huge and warm.

You end up not having to deny him, because he doesn't even spare the bed a second glance before he's dragging you into his closet, which is like, wow.

“Hooooooooly,” you're almost reverent looking at the amount of clothes and shoes and, quite frankly the solid organizational skills that were put to practice here.

“Yeah, it's okay.” He looks almost sheepish. Like he doesn't want to be showing off, but you did ask for a tour, so he’s just giving the people what they want. .

“I think your closet is bigger than my entire bedroom.” You're backing out into his bedroom again and see another door.

“Do you have two closets you absolute diva?” You gently slap his chest, unable to stop teasing him as his face gets that distinct pink tinge again. Your face heats up as well at the hard muscle you feel under your hands. That smirk makes its way back to his face as he catches your hand lingering on his pecs. His eyebrows approach his hairline, so you turn away from him, pushing the door open, nosy once more.

“Okay, your bathroom is definitely bigger than my bedroom,” you do a little spin to take in the whole thing. Looking up at the skylight and out the window at the view. He laughs it off before grabbing your hand and tugging you.

“C'mon, I'm going to kick your ass at pool... unless you have to go?” He looks at you, waiting for approval.

You think about leaving for about a second, overwhelmed by- well, by everything. This house, and the cars, and his general… overwhelmingly handsome, charming self. But then you think about it again, and really, you do honestly like him, so you decide to throw caution to the wind. You’ve gotten this far with false bravado and flirtatious teasing,

“You don't even stand a chance, Tommy,” you smile before ducking under his arm and out of his room, hurrying down the stairs.

He chases you, right on your heels until he catches you at the game room, pressed against your back, all warm and big. He puts his hands on your hips and whispers low in you ear, “Let's see what you got, tough guy.”

___________

Once you're away from the bedroom you start to feel a little better. He keeps making sure you're comfortable and wanting to stay, he doesn't seem to be less attracted to you because you're not wealthy or shaped like a runway model. You can't seem to find a fault with him; normally that would be annoying, but you're just happy the only issue you have now is whether or not you want to make a move on him, since it seems he's letting you control all things carnal.

There's not as much pressure down in the game room, far away from the expectations of the bedroom.

Scratch that. There's a lot of pressure, but it's a different type of pressure. Because you were definitely shit talking before and you've lost 3 games of pool in a row. Not just lost; lost would be underselling it.

You were absolutely eviscerated- sinking only 1 of your own balls before Tyler cleared the table, then calls the 8 ball's pocket and smoothly shoots it in without a problem.

Pouting, you turn around and poke Tyler in the chest, “I don't want to play with you anymore. This isn't any fun!”

He grabs your wrist and tugs you towards him. He's laughing, a full loud thing that makes his eyes scrunch up and shows all of his straight white teeth. Your competitive side is still feeling pouty, but your red-blooded-female side is hot under the collar for this idiot.

He wraps his arms around you. “Now you know how I felt when you were showing me and Buttercup up. Sucks doesn't it?”

You let him wrap you up in his arms, it's a nice consolation prize for getting your ass handed to you over and over and over. “Yeah, yeah. I've never played before so… you should be a lot less proud.”

He looks down at you a little affronted. “Let me show you proper technique. I can't keep beating you mercilessly when you're such a rookie. It's not even a challenge.”

___________

You'd like to say that your heart rate and body temperature remained steady as he oh-so-innocently bent you over the table to show you how to properly line up a shot, but you make it a habit to not lie through your teeth.

It feels incredible. He's all angular, hard lines against your curves. It makes you feel distinctly feminine and small, something no other man has ever really accomplished.

Tyler is keeping it strictly business. No funny stuff at all. His left hand on your left elbow helping you stay steady against the felt of the table, while his right hand covers yours, far back on the pool cue.

He shows you a few times, slowly pulling your arm back and smoothly sliding it forward to make contact with the cue ball. You'd never assign the term “erotic” to billiards, but now you'd be hard pressed to ever look at a pool table again without thinking of this moment.

“Go easy. Gentle hands. You don't need a lot of force. It's more about finesse,” he's so close the words drop out of his mouth and settle onto the column of your neck.

Odds are really high you might jump him. It's absolutely terrible.

When he finally stands up and lets you have a go at it alone, you're practically vibrating out of your skin. You hit the cue ball all wrong since your hands are shaking, and it hops right over the ball you're aiming for and off of the table.

“You okay there hot shot?” He's stood up behind you as you drop your face onto the table in embarrassment. You can hear the laugh in his voice.

“It's going great, Trevor,” you manage, raising your head and scowling at him over your shoulder. ‘Great’ may be embellishing, but then he runs a finger over the sliver of skin that's exposed from where your shirt has rucked up, and all of a sudden you need to reassess your choice in adjectives.

The moment can easily be upgraded from “great” to transcendental.

You're not sure if you should stand up and turn around, since that would be prime position to get your mouth on his again. Or maybe you could stay bent over the table and see where he plans on going with this. Or maybe you just let your body turn into a pile of goo here on the table under his hands. They all seem like pretty solid options as far as you're concerned.

Tyler's hand shimmies your shirt up a few more inches and you entertain a flash of insecurity at the thought of your love handles existing, but you're happy to report that you forget about it pretty quickly as Tyler stretches his front over your back once more, clearly undeterred.

He pushes your hair to the side and tucks his chin into your neck, murmuring directly into your ear.

“This good? You want me to stop?” He's grabbing both sides of your waist and there's not a single gap between your bodies.

You're not quite sure you can fully formulate a coherent sentence with his lips running wild on the nape of your neck, so you press your ass back into him so he knows to continue.

“That's a yes then? Use your words, babe” you feel his smile against your jaw before he gently lets his teeth scrape over a particularly sensitive spot under your ear.

All the air in your lungs leaves you in a breathy moan, “Yeah. Yes. You're good.”

His hands drop lower and squeeze your hips, “I'm ‘good,’ what?” He presses his hips closer to yours before pulling away. The friction, while short lived, is sorely missed and leaves you wishing he'd do it again.

The short circuit in your brain isn't making the connection he's trying to lead you towards, and you turn your head towards him, eyes half-lidded while letting out an extremely intelligent, “huh?”

He repeats the motion again, pulling you back harder against him this time. “I'm good- what, (y/n).” He puts emphasis on your name, growling it into your ear.

This time he backs away entirely and pulls you to stand up and turn to face him, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to give him what he's looking for.

“You're good…” you swing your eyes skyward and pretend to consider it while wrapping your arms around his neck, eyebrows furrowed and nose wrinkled, “Todd?”

Tyler's jaw sets, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “You wound me.” His hand is over his heart. “Maybe I can jog your memory.”

He's got your ass in his hands before you can blink, and you're suddenly sat on the edge of the table. His hands rise to the waist of your pants while his mouth is fixed against yours, playfully dragging his tongue over the roof of your mouth. It tickles and is sharply contrasted with the stinging bite he leaves on your bottom lip.

“Can I take these off?” He's still tugging at the top of your jeans, so you stand and nod rapidly, shedding your pants before he has the chance to do it himself.

“Thanks,” he kisses the word into your mouth as he puts you back onto the edge of the table and gently pushes you back. “I'm going to do these too, if you don't mind,” his index finger slips in between your lacy thong and your hip. He succeeds in tugging it down off of your ankles when you nod your approval.

His hands grip your thighs just above your knees as he settles himself onto the floor between them.

You know what's coming and are so keyed up you're not sure you can even watch. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but the alternative is missing it, and you definitely don't want that to happen.

He goes slowly, licking gently up your right leg, but not breaking eye contact. “You know that's not my name,” he shakes his head gently.

Even now, he's such a little shit that you don't want to give into him. So, you press your cheek to your shoulder and lean back on your forearms, your eyes staying on his, “Tyson?”

He moves onto your left leg, licking from your knee into the crease of your hip. “Not quite. But I'm sure it will come to you.”

His hands push you over the lip of the table and onto the playing surface. A small shriek leaves your mouth because you hadn't been expecting it. He takes the opportunity of you being momentarily stunned to press his tongue against your pussy.

It's been more than a while since you've been privy to such lovely treatment, and you can't help it when your thighs tighten and your hand digs into his hair, while your head tips all the way back in bliss.

“Oh my God. Oh my God; I'm so sorry!” You pull your thighs apart, embarrassed that you'd boxed his ears so firmly between them, but he doesn't stop or even seem all that phased by it. Instead he responds by digging his fingertips into your flesh, pulling your legs wider so he can wedge his shoulders between them while moving closer into you.

Everything feels too good. His hands on your flesh burn in the best possible way and his mouth moving against you is making you lightheaded. You can't control it when your breath starts coming in quick pants as he starts running a finger up your slit while focusing his tongue on your clit.

It's stupid, but you open your eyes and chance a peek down at him. Tyler must be able to feel your gaze, because he opens his eyes then and halts all his movements.

The needy whine that makes its way out of your mouth is ten different kinds of embarrassing, but you need him back on you. Your nerves are on fire, waiting to be sated, but Tyler just looks up at you, inches from where he was, haughty.

“Please don't stop.” Your hand finds its way back into his hair and you tug him forward a little. It's his turn to moan out, and he puts his mouth to you again with renewed fervor.

You can't help yourself when his tongue pushes into you and his nose nudges your clit and he lets loose a growl. No one could blame you for pressing further against him as you beg-

“Tyler, please. Please don't stop,” breathlessly while staring down at him.

You don't realize what you said until he pauses and looks up at you. You can't see the smirk, but you can feel the sweet kiss he places on your clit before he buries his face against you again. He contains multitudes.

It almost makes you wish you kept your mouth shut, because you know you gave him exactly what he'd been after. But you can't be bothered to care as the pressure in your belly becomes too much to bear. He focuses his mouth on your clit, relentlessly circling his tongue around it, and slips two fingers into you, stretching you, and the pressure explodes. Your vision spots as you try to keep your eyes on what Tyler is doing between your legs, but you have to close them when he reaches up to grab your breast over your shirt, too overstimulated by the way he's still sucking at your clit to need any more.

He rises up when you start to whine and wiggle against his licks, his face is wet with you and he looks so painfully sexy, lips swollen and red.

“That's it, baby. That's all I wanted. I knew you’d remember me.” He leans over you and kisses you gently on your lips. Tasting the combination of his mouth and your cunt is only serving to make you wetter.

He grabs your hand and pulls you up, “C’mon, baby, let's go upstairs.” He drags you behind him as he heads up towards his bedroom.

___________

When you get to his room you're magnetized to him. Up until now, you really haven't gotten your hands on him much. So you kissed him, and let your hands slide up his shirt and straight to his chest, you can tell before you've even gotten him undressed that you grossly underestimated how fit he is.

It's so unfair. Everywhere you're soft and curved he's hard, unyielding edges.

The moan slips out before you can close your lips over it, with your face pressed against his neck and your hands running up and down his firm stomach. You shake your head against him, disbelief at how hot he is and how he’s encouraging you to touch him like this.

If you thought he was unbearably smug before, you clearly hadn't seen anything yet. Tyler reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt off and you literally feel like you're in Magic Mike. He's too perfect. The black ink swirling over tanned skin, all pulled tight over his thick muscles.

Your hands go to his shoulders sliding down his triceps and his forearms, before linking your hands with his. You coax his tongue out of his mouth and into yours before sucking gently on it.

The hand holding doesn't last, he pulls your hands back up to his chest, “No, don’t stop. I like that. Do that again (y/n).” He presses your hands flat against him and rests his on top, dragging you up and down his chest and abs. His eyes drop closed and his head is tipped back just a little, savoring the feel of your hands all over him. Tyler clearly wants you to enjoy his body, and you can't say it will be a hardship to give him what he wants; he looks like he stepped out of your wildest fantasies. A tattooed bad boy with a secret heart of gold, the cliches write themselves.

You desperately want to make him feel good, he gave you what was surely the best orgasm of your life down in the game room. But, you just can't help the teasing; it's how you flirt, after all.

“What's that, Tyler?” Speaking soft and low into the shell of his ear, you keep your left hand where he's positioned it on his chest, but slowly slide the right one down his chest, down his impossibly defined stomach, and down to the drooped waistband of his jeans as you tuck a finger into them, hoping he gets the hint. “Tell me what you want, Tyler.”

His eyes look wild as he steps back and reaches down to unbutton and drop his pants. He's so hard already, you can feel it as you get your hand around him through his boxer briefs. Continuing to palm him, you feel a little drunk with power. He's letting out these little huffs and whines that fall into your neck and he's wrapped one arm around you and is grabbing at your ass so hard you're sure to have bruises.

He seems content to let you have your way with his body for the time being, almost egging you on with all his noises and gripping you harder when you give him something he likes. Currently it's the fact that you've pushed down his underwear and are continuing to pull his dick in long, smooth strokes, rolling your thumb over the head, that has him gasping in your ear.

“Yes, like that- wanna be inside you, please,” he's tugging at your shirt trying to pull it off, but you're having so much fun turning him to putty you're not sure if you want to give into him.

You've never had a man like him before. He seems content to let you set the pace of everything. To be in control of this huge man and how he'll get his pleasure, it- it knocks the wind out of you a bit to be honest.

Shortening your strokes, you pull your hand away from his cock, and lift your shirt over your head. Tyler's opened his eyes and looks over at you, groaning when he takes in your breasts. Your bra is pulled down over them, nipples peeking out, since he's been feeling you up over your shirt for the past few minutes. There's really no point in having it on, so you unclasp it and shimmy it off of your shoulders.

He's reaching out to touch you, but before he can, you're on your knees in front of him, sat fully nude, ready to make him feel good.

Dropping his head, he looks down at you and lets out a whine, “That's not fair I can't touch you from up here.”

Bless him, you're going to wreck him.

You take just the tip of his cock into your mouth and he stops complaining.

“You can so,” you tell him, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your head. You wrap your own hands around his thighs. They're firm and muscular like the rest of him, and you can't help yourself, so you lean over and lick up his inner thigh, back to his cock.

He's being so gentle, not using any of the leverage you gave him. So, you use your grip on his legs to force yourself down on him and hope he'll take the hint. After a few bobs of your head, it seems he understands and softly pulls you down over and over onto his cock with the hands that are wrapped up in your hair.

You love the way he's falling apart above you, breathy and begging for more, but you really don't want him to finish in your mouth tonight. Mostly in case you never get this opportunity with him again; you want the memory him inside of you at the very least.

He has the same idea because he tugs gently at your hair. “(Y/n), you gotta stop.” The pride swells up inside you as you feel his legs shaking. “I can't- just get up here.”

You stand, your thighs are a little a shaky themselves from being on your knees for so long, but he grabs you by your upper arms and helps you up.

“Lay down,” you barely recognize the gravelly voice that commands Tyler to the bed, but you know it's your own. He's so good, horizontal before you can blink, lying there waiting for you.

“Please, (y/n). Wanted this for so long, since the first time I saw you. You're so sexy.” You roll your eyes, mostly to stop them from watering at the heart wrenching sincerity that he speaks with. You straddle him and kiss his lips,

“You're awfully sappy for someone who was just fucking my face.” It's his turn to roll his eyes, but they're forced closed as you sink down on him.

He winds his arms around your waist and sits up just enough to watch your ass bounce on him from over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” he tears his eyes away from the image and looks up at you, “I want to make you come.” You stop bouncing on him and slowly roll your hips until his head knocks back against the pillows. He isn't looking up at you, eyes wrenched shut, so you assume you're on the right track.

“Such a good boy. Waited so long for me, Tyler,” he's breathing is labored at best but he manages to slow it enough to answer.

“Love when you say my name. I want you to come, can you do it again?” He's flushed from his face down to his chest and he's practically art, slick with sweat, muscles straining.

All it really takes is him leaning up a little and licking at one breast before sucking a hickey into it for you to lose it around him once more. It's overwhelming this time too.

Tyler is relentless. He takes over this time too, pressing up into you as you try to clamp your legs down around his hips to slow him, used to him letting you be in control, but it seems it's his turn now. He manages to get you onto your back without pulling out, and you haven't stopped coming around him yet.

“No, no. You had your fun. My turn, trust me.” You push up at his chest without any real intent of removing him from you. Your overstimulation quickly turning into another orgasm under his unrelenting hips. He can see the second you're falling apart, the legs that were wrapped around him twitching and squeezing at him.

“Yes, good girl,” he's cupping each breast roughly and you think if he makes you come again you may just pass out.

“Tyler please, I think you're going to kill me,” you scramble underneath him, grabbing at any skin of his you can find. He does that laugh again, with his head back and mouth open wide, nose scrunched. He's honestly a blast and if this is the last time you get to see him like this you will be sincerely disappointed.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he looks down at you all soft, eyes glinting, “that'll make me come.” He fucks into you three times, quickly, almost snarky, before returning to long smooth strokes. Pulling all the way out so only the very tip of the head remains inside of you before pushing all the way back inside, and shuddering each time.

“Is that all it takes?” You kid with him, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “You just want me to tell me how good you are, Tyler?” You feel him pulse inside of you and pause for a brief second before he picks his rhythm back up. “Yes, that's what you want. Tyler, you're so good, baby. I love your dick, Tyler. Fuck.”

Honestly, the way he's staring down at you like you're the one who hung the moon and the way your voice sounds wrecked and breathless is enough to have to clenching around him again, and it isn't even for his benefit when you cry out, “Tyler! Fuck like that Ty, don't stop, please, please, please, Tyler!”

The combine of his voice and you clamping down around him must finally send him over the edge and as soon as you feel him pulse inside of you, you open your eyes. He's absolutely gorgeous, face screwed up in pleasure, breathing hard through his teeth before he's spent and pulls out of you, rolling onto his side.

You scamper out of his bed to clean up and pee. The whole time trying to delay the rough thought of him kicking you out or calling and Uber to send you home in. Just the idea grates against your brain and has you nervous to leave the bathroom.

When you finally build up the courage, he's lying there, still gloriously naked, one foot tucked under the blanket. You search around for your underwear and remember that you left them down in the game room before sighing. Tyler's eye peeks open.

“What are you doing? Get in bed. It's late.” You're stunned and tilt your head blubbering out before you can stop yourself, “You want me to stay?”

“Yeah of course, I'll take you home in the morning after breakfast. I think I have some eggs downstairs?” he scratches at his hair before rolling to face your side of the bed, patting the pillow welcomingly.

Huffing out a surprised laugh, you pull the blankets up the bed and slide underneath them, so grateful that you finally gave into him all those weeks ago.

#tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin imagine #back road part 2 #writing #dallas stars imagine #dallas stars fic #nhl fic #nhl imagines #nhl rpf #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey rpf #LONG POST #20 PAGES #DIRTY DEEDS #TEH SEX #he has a little bit of a praise kink #plus sized hockey fics

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imagining-sio · 5 years

Text

Adventure Awaits I

Medieval!Bucky AU

A/N: loved this movie as a kid among many others and I kinda wanna do my own version of it, hope you like it!

Chapter i

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The gulls cruise over the shoreline, the thermal wind lifting them up with grace and fluidity. The tides themselves crash upon the wet sand with a rhythmic sound, a beat that, if standing upon the right cliff-face, it stems for miles. The very same winds that drive the gulls upward hit the cliff-face with the force of a stampede, and can knock one off its balance if not careful. Most stay clear from the edge, as the rocks are known to crumble at the faintest step.

Though, there is one who run toward the danger, or worse yet, dance upon it’s edge. It would be heresy for one to do it routinely. Such as it is today, a heretic to the sensible, responsible, and reasonable; in other, more plain words, an adventurous teenager.

With her sword and shield in either hand she slashes at her imaginary foes. Her grace and stamina are matched to few, more so that there are none left on this field but her and her horse who is grazing a few feet away, completely oblivious to this imaginary war. The female, ducks down to block a fictional wave of arrows, lifting the circular shield over her head. Her sword wushes in the blustering wind, her grip firm or else the metal knightly sword would fly from grip, as it had when she was a naive beginner with the weapon.

The Knightly sword itself looks out of place in her hand. It looks like a far wealthier object than the stature she would come from. Her clothing is muddy and worn, showing much use over the years. A stark contrast from the intricacy of the shield and the weapon that lie in her firm grip. The shield is of the same make, it’s light blue inlay of the circular design show a royal craftsmanship.

“King stark! Behind you!” The female, Y/n, shouts at her to the imaginary ally, protecting him from the even more imaginary and faceless foe. The great ruler of the Kingdom, in reality resides in his great towered castle, which itself sits firmly set in stone in the great Capitol. Y/n smites the fell creature with three staggering blows, finally finishing it off by stabbing the Knightly sword into the grassy knoll of earth.

There was a quick surrender of the foul troops, and they dissipated into the winds, like a wave of ashes, stemming her back to reality. The thrumming of hooves draws her out of her battle, and back to the land of Midgard. Her black horse lifts her head, the noise finally drawing her attention. Y/n readies herself for her approaching enemy, the sweat pouring from her brow. Her stance lowers, her shield in front of her, enough for her to see over it and sword pointing to the approaching figure.

“Y/n!” the shout makes her instantly relax, the sword practically plummeting to the ground again, while still in her grip. As she stands, the figure is finally spotted riding her speckled work horse over the beach grass covered hills of the cliff-face. The winds whisk her bright cherry red hair, and the flaps of the apron she wears as she rides side saddle. The young woman hops off the horse with the grace of a dancer, her hand coming to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“You mother is looking for you!” The redhead shouts over the winds, in case she cannot be heard from that distance. Y/n rolls her eyes so hard her head begins to follow. She tucks the shield over her back, trudging to the black horse that has lazily resumed her grazing.

“Of course she is!” Y/n grabbed the leather sheath for the sword itself, and tucked it away within it. Grabbing the saddle, Y/n hauled herself up to horseback, her feet easily finding the stirrups. Her horse raises its head in attention, and trots over to the redhead and her speckled horse.

“You know that you should be out here. Be lucky I found you before she did.” The redhead mounted her horse once more, riding side saddle as to protect her skirt and apron. The two girls stared at each other, only to begin laughing seconds later.

“You should’ve joined me. You would have made good practice.” Y/n giggles as the two trot their way back to their village. The gusting winds soon become a lulling breeze, one completely harmless, as it barely manages to move the braches of the wheat grass starts to overtake that of the beach grass on the cliff-face.

“Oh yes, because we have enough swords and shield for one single person in the village and you keep stealing them.” The redhead, Natasha as she was known, scoffed, throwing her head back in laughter.

“I could still teach you!” Y/n rebutted defiantly.

“You forget I am better with a stick that I am a sword.” Natasha eyed her, a knowing smirk grew across her face. The two rode from grassy undergrowth to a paved stone road, a showcase that civilization drew near. Soon, you could hear the hustle and bustle of the small village. Small plumes of make were starting to come into view, as did the thatch made roofs atop the stone houses that slowly and surely became more and more closer in proximity. Soon the market came into view, and People were running about for setting up decorations, as they did every year around this time.

The end of summer brought the celebration of the foundation of the Midgardian alliance, when the multiple city states finally sanctioned itself as a single country when it came under attack from foreigners of a dark and mysterious country merely twenty-two years prior. For the founding of the kingdom, they appointed their catalyst for their alliance, as he risked life and limb for the people of Midgard to be protected. The great King Stark then appointed a host of knights to join him in the Capitol as not only representatives of the city states, but to be his advisors and his men at arms. The Iron Knights as they are known throughout Midgard, the fiercest warriors of the kingdom.

Y/n’s own father was a great warrior, and the leader of the Iron Knights. As leader, he was practically the King’s right hand, hence the reason for the intricacy of the shield and sword Y/n covets so precious to her.

“You seem to be making progress on your wild goose chase.” Natasha stated, hopping off her horse, tying the bridle to the horse post beside Y/n.

“Very funny,” Y/n gave a empty glare. With their horses tied up accordingly, they set out into the village center, where the decorations were being tied up.

“Are you still on the hunt for your bird brain?” Y/n shot a knowingly look toward the red head, her smile only growing wider as Natasha’s cheeks were beginning to become as red as her locks.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” she muttered, shoving the woman lightly, enough to move her a step to the side as she laughed.

“Hello, Y/n, hello Natasha!” the villagers greeted the two women as they passed. the two women would respond accordingly, as the custom in the village. Everyone knew everyone here, and they most likely watched the younger generation grow up to their current age.

“Y/n you mother’s been looking for you. What did you do this time?”

“Nothing much, I’m sure.” the woman grinned.

“Y/n you know better than to run off like that! You mother has been worried sick!”

“I didn’t go far.”

“Y/n L/n!” her mother’s voice pierced the air. The young women easily spotted the elder woman, and angry expression on her face as she stormed toward the two who sat on horseback.

“How many times have I told you, don’t run off like that!” she pulled the young woman by the sleeve toward their home.

“Thank you for finding her Natasha, Clint has been looking for your help in the bakery.” she quickly diffused any attempt of help from the red head by merely mentioning the boy’s name. Y/n watched in horror as her friend ran off in the direction of the bakery, where her little bird was working. The remainder of the walk to the house was silent, Y/n’s guilt mounting with every step.

With the slam of the wooden door, Y/n could feel the eyes of her mother glare towards the back of her head.

“Y/n, I understand you miss father greatly. But this running off has got to stop. I don’t need to worry about the village and you running around somewhere. Souls forbid, the cliffs.” Her mother ran a hand over her face, the exhaustion prevalent in her tone.

“How am I supposed to be a good knight if I can’t go anywhere!” Y/n protested.

“Knights don’t go running off into battle or for seeking adventure! Your father never ran into a fight, he only fought to protect us. Y/n Knights protect their people, more so, Ladies don’t become knights! So please, stop this impossible dream!”

“What if I don’t want to be a lady? I want to be a knight! And if I can’t do that than what am I?” Y/n flung her arms in frustration, the palpable silence the fell over the house was enough to hear a pin drop.

“Y/n, you will always be my daughter, no matter what life you choose.” Her mother sighed, bringing her child into an embrace, only pulling away to placer her within arms’ reach.

“I know how much you want this, no matter how hard I try to understand it. But you need to know there are other aspects to being a knight than fighting. Your father was an example of what a knight is supposed to be. He protects his people, he supports his people, as if they were his own family. The village is our family, Y/n, and we as the lairds of the land, must protect them should they need it. They’re other ways to protect people, please, let me teach you.”

Y/n’s lips formed a tight line, her brow furrowing. A sigh fell through her nostrils, her shoulders sagging at the weight of her decision.

“Okay.” She nodded her head weakly.

A great sigh passed through her mother’s lips. The elder woman happily embracing the younger with renewed vigor.

“Oh, thank you, Y/n. I need you to get ready for the festival tonight. Wear your Sunday best! The clothes are in your bedroom. For now, I need to help Mrs. Atkins, I’ll be back before evening.”

“If only you were here papa, maybe you could try to help me get to the Capitol for training, like you always promised.”

————————————————————————————————————

The night had proved good reason for the decorations, the whole village was in attendance. The people were alight with joy, sharing drinks and food with one another. Y/n’s mother was conversing with the successful owners of the village, as she was making her rounds with her constiuents. Y/n stood in full sunday best, her long dress in a pristine white cream color, the thick fabric concealing the fact that she still wore similar clothing that she wore earlier that day, only this pair was much cleaner.

“And how are we this evening,” Clint, the son of the local baker approached her.

“Well, Barton, though I am surprised that our mutual friend is not beside you.”

“I was wondering the same thing.” He mulled over his drink, taking a sip before speaking again; “I was wondering if you had seen her yet?”

Y/n’s head tilted to the side, her brow furrowing. It was not unlike Natasha to not show up somewhere. More so when it involved Clint. She always showed up at the agreed upon time, if she didn’t there was something wrong.

“I haven’t Clint.”

“Then we are in agreement.” he set his mug down upon the table Y/n sat. Y/n herself stood up, walking with her friend to find the missing redhead.

“Mother have you seen Natasha?” our protagonist asked her mother. The elder woman, shook her head, her brow also furrowing, having so much experience with the young girl and her habits.

“I have not, when was she last seen?” she asked her fellow townleaders.

“Last I saw she was over by the entrace facing the sea.” one member spoke.

“I thought she was over by the barn?” Another chorused.

“Alright, Y/n, you go to the sea road; clint and I will check the barn; you two go see if she is anywhere in the fields. Come back in ten minutes, here.” Her mother spoke with a level headedness that helped quell the young baker’s nerves.

Y/n hiked up the road toward the sea for a solid five minutes, the dress was definitely a hindrance on her progress.

“Tahsa!” she shouted as she struggled not to trip over her feet. Y/n cursed the dress under her breath as she nearly fell to the road for the umpteenth time.

A rustling in the bushes caused the young woman’s body to shoot upward. The darkening raod made it as if everything moved, that anything had a face to it, this was nothing like her imaginary foes from earlier that day. Of course, that was in the afternoon sun, this was in the covent of night, where the imagination may come back to haunt you.

“Natasha?” Y/n leaned toward the noise, which led to the cliff where she was that afternoon. A low drumming sound began to thrum through the air. Y/n, following the noise, quelled the uneaase in her stomach, nor did she care that the hem of her dress was bound to turn brown from the sand and dirt.

A shirll cry stuck the air as thunder from behind. Y/n whirled around in time to spot the flying figure. It was much larger than a bird, and was far to fast to be a seagull. Y/n was able to duck from the creature in time, with enough room to remain undetected as it descended down the cliff-face. Our protagonist followed the beast until she reached the cliff’s edge, to be met with a horrible sight.

Ships were beginning to dock upon the beach, with mass amounts of troops debarkig upon the same sands that she often rode upon her horse. Shouts and orders were being barked around as supplies were also being dumped as for the troops. The large beast that almost hit Y/n landed next to a figure whom stood directly beneath her. The large looming figure stood surveying his infantry, not even giving the flying beast the time of day.

“Do you have it?” he asked, his gravelly voice was enough to send chills up Y/n’s spine.

“N-no master.” The beast, whom now could apprently talk, spoke with a serpentine cadence, it’s head ducking low.

The figure backhanded the creature without a second thought.

“You were to steal the Iron sword. How hard could that have possibly been you imbocile!” the man boomed, his rage boiling over.

“They will never find it, master.” the creature defended.

“Oh, do explain, while you still breathe.”

“It fell in the Darkened Wood. No one dares go in there.”

Y/n processed the information with fever pitch. The Iron sword of the King had not only been stolen, but lost in the Darkened Wood. The sword itself was forged by the king, and it is said to have fabled abilities. Without it, the Midgardian would have never won their independence. The king has never parted with it, and it is said that without it he would perish. The king himself could very well be dead as we speak, and without this fabled sword, there is no hope of victory.

Invaders now line the beaches of her home, and without the fabled sword of the king, no one would be able to mass the amount of hope needed to defend themselves.

The Darkened Wood was what stood in the way for these people. It stood directly in the way for the path to the capitol, the road around it would take another week to get to the capitol, which was why it was presumably more used than the overgrown and dangerous road that ended within the confines of the Darkened Wood. The Sword lay within the confines of that forrest. That certainly narrowed down the playing field.

A faint touch upon her shoulder sent Y/n to jump out of her skin. A hand clasped over her mouth, silencing her from any noise she would have presumably made. Natasha held a finger to her mouth as to continue the silence, the same finger then pointing doward as to reference to the figures beneath them. The redhead tugged on Y/n’s arm, carefully guiding her to her feet. The two women crept backwards until they were at a safe distance, to which they turned and ran at full sprint.

Y/n’s dress tore as it came in contact with a thron bush, the ripping sound emanating throughout the fields. The two didn’t stop to think if it was heard or not, they simply kept running back into town.

As soon as the town came into view, they began shouting with great frivor. Their sout drew the attention of the entire town. Soon Y/n’s mother, and even Clint came to meet them.

“What’s happened?” Y/n’s mother noted her daughter’s dress and it’s dissaray. Clint rushed to Natasha, whom was in a worse condition. He quickly snatched a strewn tablecloth, draping it over the red head with great care.

“Ivaders, they arrived on the shore, they’ll be here shortly.” Natasha spoke between pants.

“Y/n?” Her mother probed for an answer. The young girl nodded her head.

“We need to get word to the Capitol, Mrs Atkins! Get my husband’s sword and shield!” her mother began to order towspeople to bring up barricades. The tailor, Mr Hilberg, handed Natasha an overcoat in place of her tablecloth.

“What do you need me to do?” Y/n asked her mother.

“No, I have something more important for the three of you. Clint go get their horses. Hurry!”

“Torches up ahead!” a man shouted from atop the roof.

Mrs Atkins returned with the sword and shield, handing it off to Y/n mother, who promptly handed the items to her daughter. Clint had arrived back with tow horses, his own, and Y/n’s, whose was the fastest in the village, but not necessarily the fastest on earth, it was a slim margin. Clint was already armed with a bow and quiver, as he was a prolific hunter in the village.

“I need you three to get word to the capitol as soon as possible, the sooner the king knows, the better the chance we have. Do you understand?”

“We do.” Clint set Natasha atop his horse, a large belgium workhorse big enough to fit the both of them. He then mounted, making sure Natasha was situated comfortably in front of him, despite the bright red tint on both teenagers’ cheeks. Y/n mounted her horse, looking to her mother, grasping her hand, at silent sense of peace in the midst of the fray.

“Go, hurry!” her mother slapped the bottom of Y/n’s horse, sending it into a gallop out of the town. Clint was quick to follow, the horse easily catching up to Y/n as they headed toward the Capitol as fast as possible. The three dared not look back, in case if anyone actually had seen them escape.

It wasn’t unitl daybreak that they had slowed down. The long grassy knolls were soon replaced with large evergreens of vibrant color. Birds sang throughout the woodland, to the point it was tough to say what bird was singing due to the amount of overlay.

Soon a giant fork in the road appeared. the one on the left retained its bright cheery image, it’s sign was well kept, and was inscribed with a newly painted ‘Captiol’. The other, which pointed to the opposite direction, was unkempt, and riddle with dark thorney vines. As Clint and Natasha rode forward upon the well worn road to the capitol, Y/n remained at the fork, mulling over a great decision.

“Y/N?” Clint asked puzzled, turning his horse with the bridle.

“The Iron Sword is somewhere in the Darkened Wood. The Ivaders are after it.”

“Y/n I don’t like where this is going.” Clint said with a warning tone.

“You shouldn’t.” Natasha voiced for the first time since they had been dispatched.

“They will most likely be after it just as much as they want to invade the Capitol. You go, I’ll go this way.” Y/n dismounted her horse, offering her to Clint and Natasha.

“You know no one comes out of their, right.”

“What choice do we have?” Y/n ripped her dress apart, revealing her clothing that she held under it. She attatched the sword to her belt, and placed the circular shield upon her back. Natasha disounted from Clint in order to mount Y/n’s horse. Before she did, she pulled Y/n into a warm embrace, one filled with a layer on morbid sadness.

“Be safe.”

“You too,”

A loud shout drew the three from the tender moment. The three turned toward the direction of the shout, which was the exact direction they had spent all night and morning running from.

“Go!” Y/n urged the two, watching them gallop away upon the safe road toward the capitol. Gathering the remnants of her dress, she hoped to buy her friends a few moments of time, by trailing the torn fabric behind her toward the more dangerous road. Y/n turned toward the road she had travelled, the sound of running footsteps growing louder, before finally turning toward the unkempt road filled with thorns and fog, running full speed into the Darkened Wood.

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#bucky barnes x reader #James buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #bucky imagine #medieval!bucky #medieval!au #Adventure Awaits #natasha romanoff #clint barton #ima let you wait to see who the villain is

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