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theteasetwrites · 1 year

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 6: Through Life and After Death

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)―missionary, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (do not endorse), loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, sir kink if you squint, "fucked dumb" (lol), language ❧ Word Count: 15k (I am so sorry.)

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: With the threat of Negan and the Saviors' imminent return heavy on your mind, you find solace in one last excursion outside the castle walls, with your knight. A chance discovery, and the knowledge that this may be your last moment alone with him, leads you to the logical conclusion of your longing.

❧ A/N: Babe, wake up. The knight and the princess are about to boink. Btw I wrote most of this while I’m on my period so that might explain a lot.

The night before last had haunted you, tormented you, until you saw Sir Negan’s arrogant face in every shadow in your bedroom, every darkened corner of the castle, and even every forlorn hollow amongst the foliage in the courtyard where you took your afternoon strolls.

Your own home became a house of horrors, and now, you could not stand to be there another minute.

Before that night, the castle was only a place of sadness for you, but now, it was a looming threat, with each rising and setting of the sun marking another day closer to the day he would come back. You couldn’t even bear to speak his name, so you didn’t. You couldn’t, as though somehow even using your voice to acknowledge his existence was giving him more power. And yet, it was impossible to avoid the plague of unease that the man had infected you with.

Afterall, your situation was dire, no matter what transpired in the coming days leading up to his return. If your father decided to appease Negan, the best option for the survival of the kingdom, it would mean you’d be given to him willingly, taken to the Sanctuary to be his wife. If your father refused to give you to him, you’d be taken by force, and there was no way that Alexandria’s now weakened defenses could fight the Saviors from taking you―they were going to take you, no matter what. There was no outcome that would be in your favor. You were going to be Negan’s now, and you had to accept it.

But you didn’t.

Late last night, the king had left Alexandria in the hopes of making alliances with neighboring kingdoms against the Saviors in a last ditch effort to fight them. It was a noble pursuit, but worthless. Even with the help of the other provinces, the Saviors had weakened those kingdoms as well. Their armories were ransacked, and their numbers were increasingly dwindling. Still, you took advantage of your father’s absence―for one last excursion outside the walls before you’d surely be ripped away from your home in a matter of days.

It was the easiest breakout yet, given the lack of guards roaming the corridors of the castle. The journey through the tunnel was quiet, none of the usual talk of knighthood or herbalism or the knight’s stories of his adventures in exotic, faraway lands. It wasn’t until the meadow when you asked Sir Daryl to treat this day just the same as the others―as if nothing had changed, and this wasn’t your last journey with him.

And so, the knight being simply unable to refuse your wishes, he buried his sorrows to speak of things that pleased you, and you continued regaling him with quotes from your favorite tales and poems, all of which he listened to attentively, pulling Phantom’s reins as you both approached the familiar little cottage, its new outer walls now the first thing you saw.

It was only recently that Sir Daryl had commissioned a mason to build the protective border round the little house, an additional safety precaution to keep the walkers out, he said. Sometimes, you wondered if he’d had that built just for you to be safe, but perhaps that was a self-centered thought. The notion still produced a fluttering feeling in your abdomen, one that you became accustomed to since you first felt them with him. It was the most pleasant feeling you’d ever had, and no matter how you experimented to see if any other source of happiness could replicate that feeling, you always failed.

The sun was setting now, the usual ending to the usual day out, only now, the knight had offered to prepare you a real supper, not just the usual loaves of bread and rosemary butter. This eve, he was set on something special―venison he’d hunted himself just days prior, accompanied by vegetables you’d collected from the cottage garden, many of which you’d never even tried before. “Peasants’ grub” the nobles called them, but they were simple potatoes, onions, cabbages, leeks, carrots… Everything you’d need for a good stew.

But Daryl would not let you lift a finger, relegating you to sitting upon one of the straw-filled pillows strewn about on the floor, just a handful of feet from the warm lit hearth, where Daryl stood laboring over a steaming pot.

“Are you sure you do not need any help?” you peeped, though you and he both knew that you had less skill in cooking than him. In fact, you’d never even cut a vegetable before today. That was simply not your responsibility.

He looked at you through curling smoke, his eyebrow raised at the notion. “Told ya I’d do it. Isn’t much left to do, anyway… Just gotta let it cook a bit more.”

With your posture as straight and perfect as ever, you nodded and wrapped the blanket he always gave you tighter around your body. At this point, it smelled distinctly of your sweet perfume. “Thank you again, Daryl. I know… I know this is not the most ideal time to leave the castle, but I could not stand to be there another second. I swear I can still smell that man’s stench.”

Daryl swallowed hard before clearing his throat, disturbed by the very thought of him, the man who he knew he could not stop from taking you, but he’d do anything in his power to prevent it from happening.

He’d thought of many things, in fact. He hadn’t slept in two nights, the time spent instead thinking of ways to stop Negan, but they all had their weaknesses. Of course, his first thought was to hide you, to take you away from the castle and keep you somewhere else, but that wouldn’t stop the Saviors from pillaging Alexandria, from killing more people. The one thing keeping Negan from destroying the kingdom was you, and even then, it was still uncertain.

And killing Negan and enough of the Saviors to render them powerless was next to impossible. Alexandria was a small kingdom anyway, and now it had dwindled down to almost the size of a large village, with hardly any defenses or military-trained citizens to even stand a chance against an army of the Saviors’ size. The situation was hopeless, and he hated that all he could do was wait.

“But it’s nice to be here,” you said. “I like it here… With you.”

He met your sweet smile with a boyishly lopsided one. The man was quite a bit older than you, but he had a youthfulness about him you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was in his eyes, which glimmered just as brightly as you’d imagined they had when he was closer to your own age. His face was weathered, but mostly, he was very handsome to you, with a softness to his features that mesmerized you at times.

Particularly, you’d developed a fascination with his lips, the way they moved. He had a habit of folding in his lower lip and chewing on it, especially when deep in thought. Sometimes he’d purse them to the side when he was frustrated, or the top lip would snarl a bit when he killed a walker. You’d become attuned to the patterns of his smiles, grins, and smirks. Your favorites were the ones like this, uneven and slightly bashful, as though you’d said something that flattered him.

You’d been flattering him a lot more lately, you realized. Perhaps your attraction to him was becoming more and more difficult to hide. Strangely, you did not feel the usual urge to combat it. Maybe it was the particular kind of heat from the hearth that evening or the way his hair was pinned behind his ears to keep it out of his way as he cooked, but the fluttery feeling in your abdomen was more persistent than usual, more continuous. At some point, you knew it would be impossible to hold back, but you had to.

“I like being with you, too,” he replied, sprinkling some freshly ground herbs into the cast iron pot. “I wish I could…” He trailed off, stopping his train of thought before he spoke improperly in front of you.

“Could what?”

Gut Negan ‘fore he lays another finger on you. “Nothin’.”

You huffed in amusement at his shyness. “Keeping secrets from your princess,” you teased with a wiggling brow and a squint of faux offense. “That is not very knightly behavior, sir.”

My princess, he thought. Mine.

He shook his head with a huff, ridding himself of his intrusive thoughts. “Wish I could… do somethin’ for you, s’all.”

“Oh, Daryl,” you said. “You’ve already done so much for me. There’s nothing you could do… It is in my father’s hands. Well, it is in Negan’s hands, really.”

“But it shouldn’t be like that.”

“No, it shouldn’t, but it’s how it is, no matter what. Even if Sir Negan had no interest in me, my father would expect me to marry a noble, or a prince or king from some other kingdom. He’s a good father, but he is still a king. Really, I am quite lucky he has not married me off yet. Many princesses marry men they do not love. My mother, her marriage to my father was arranged. Somehow, it worked. They grew to love each other very much. I do not believe I could ever love Sir Negan, though… Not ever. He is evil.”

I won’t let him take you, he wanted to say, but he knew that would be an empty promise. Tonight, for all he knew, could’ve been one of the last nights he’d ever see you again. One thing was certain, this was going to be the last time he took you outside the castle. The last time he could truly be alone with you. And yet, he could not work up the courage to tell you how he felt, how he cherished you much more than he should’ve, how he believed he loved you.

“Wish I could take you away from here,” he said, his lips moving faster than his brain could process his words. “Wish you could stay here, and Negan would never find you.” When his rationality caught up with him, he cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to take back what he just said, even though he meant every word.

“I do, too,” you said, surprising him a bit. “I wish I could, but then what would Negan do? He’d destroy Alexandria. He’d kill my people… He might even kill my father. I couldn’t let that happen. No, I have to face it. There’s nothing anyone can do, Daryl, though I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”

I love you.

Instead of voicing his thought, he eyed the weakening fire of the hearth, its flame no longer adequately heating the bottom of the pot. “I’m sworn to protect you,” he said. “As your knight.” He felt your soft gaze caressing his face like an invisible hand, though he tried to remain nonchalant as he poked at the fire. “If I let you get taken against your will, I’m not protecting you.”

That was almost amusing to you, as Daryl seemed to rarely care about performing his official knightly duties. When it came to you, though, he took his job quite seriously. In fact, you began to wonder if he cared more about protecting you than his own lord to whom he owed fealty. What he owed to you meant much more than mere feudalism, though. What he owed to you was his mind, body, and soul.

“And I am sworn to protect my kingdom. If I run away, I am endangering my kingdom.”

That all being said, the idea of Daryl taking you far away from all your troubles was dangerously tempting, to the point that you forgot to breathe for a moment, until it came back to you in the form of a heavy swallowing of air.

“I do not want anyone else to die,” you continued. “I… certainly do not want you to die fighting for me, Daryl, though I am so very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. In truth, I don’t think I have ever felt as close to someone as I feel with you.”

There was more you wished to say, and it seemed as though Daryl had something on the tip of his tongue, but once again, he held himself back, despite every cell in his body screaming out to you professions of love and adoration that had only grown stronger with each passing moment he’d known you. With every way he’d begun to see you for who you were, he fell harder in love. With every angle of you he feasted upon with starving eyes that tore themselves away despite their hunger, he grew more desperate, more bereft of your warm, soft, supple body that he dreamed of cherishing and worshipping every waking moment of everyday.

God, he couldn’t keep you from his mind, your presence overwhelming and intoxicating and mesmerizing, even in this moment when your voice spoke so innocently and with the dignity and poise of a princess. That’s what you were, he had to remember—a princess. He was a knight. He needed to know his place… Though it was becoming increasingly harder to do so.

With the heady air of silence meandering between you in the tiny hovel, Daryl concentrated on rousing the flame of the hearth, but there was nothing he could do to build it up again without collecting more firewood to fuel it. It was the perfect moment to excuse himself and go out to gather tinder while he collected himself, before he did or said something… improper.

In fact, he swore that if he opened his mouth now, he’d wax poetic about all the sinful thoughts he’d tried to keep at bay. Only your voice stopped him from heading out without an explanation.

“Where are you going, knight?”

He palmed at his forehead with a huff, remembering that he was in a social situation, with a sacred woman he cared for too tenderly. He couldn’t just leave you without saying what he was doing, after all.

“Hearth needs more tinder,” he spoke over his shoulder as he donned his black wool cloak. “I won’t be far, just at the splitting log right outside.”

“I shall stir the stew,” you said dutifully, rising elegantly from your seat, with delicate handfuls of your dress to lift it as you crossed to the hearth.

“Don’t poison it,” the knight replied, to which you flashed him a smirk.

“Why ever would I do such a thing? That would be foolish, anyway. I am going to eat the stew, too.” He turned to look your way. It was a mistake. He got lost in your face, your cheeks high and full with your smile, and your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dying fire. “Hurry along, now,” you said, your voice low now, almost husky. “You mustn’t keep me waiting.”

You did not intend the phrase to sound… suggestive, but perhaps your emotions were beginning to cloud your better judgment, and now every word you spoke betrayed you.

“I won’t,” he replied, a barely audible crack in his voice, though you chalked it up to his already raspy way of speaking. “Be right back.”

Before leaving, he took up the splitting maul he kept beside the door, a burst of cold from the spring night air chilling you for a moment as the door swung shut. Absent-mindedly, you found yourself studying the stew as you stirred it. You tilted your head in amused curiosity at the simple, yet appetizing, concoction. Whatever mix of herbs Daryl had thrown together had created a pleasant kind of aroma that filled the small one-room cottage with a comforting warmth.

A mischievous grin spread across your face as you thought to taste a bit of the stew before Daryl came back. Afterall, it couldn’t hurt to get a small sampling. Careful to get a little bit of everything in your spoonful, you purposefully sought out a large chunk of perfectly cooked-through venison. Raising the large wooden spoon to your pursed lips, you tasted the warm soup, letting it sit on your tongue for a few thoughtful moments as you attempted to study every flavor and texture.

Though the stew was undoubtedly delicious, it was still missing something. You’d seen Daryl sprinkle several different herbs and spices, but it lacked the savory, peppery taste of one of your favorite herbs: sage.

There was a tall wooden pantry across the room, where Daryl had stored most of his dry ingredients. You quickly crossed to the cabinet, your eyes looking back every few moments to keep an eye on the rolling boil of the stew. The pantry doors opened with a creak, you biting your lip and furrowing your brow as you scanned the dim shelves for the dried herb you sought. Daryl had an impressive selection of both culinary and medicinal ingredients, each jarred in their own glasses with a label of faded paper glued to its side, indicating the ingredients’ names. You’d pushed back several jars, all of which weren’t the dried sage you were looking for.

He had everything—rosemary, saffron, ginger, grains of paradise, cloves, parsley, cinnamon, spikenard, alecost, thyme, southernwood… Everything but sage. “Good heavens, sage cannot be that difficult to come by, can it?” you spoke to yourself. “Sage… Sage…” You began to impatiently rearrange the jars, rereading each one a few times to ensure you weren’t going mad, though it began to feel like it. “How could he not have—”

You’d reached the back of the dusty old shelf, where no more pesky jars of spices and herbs could taunt you. Instead, a lone small chest of plain cedarwood sat undisturbed against the back wall of the cupboard. It wouldn’t have fazed you, as you’d most logically assume it was just another container for some special exotic spice, but what had silenced you and your mumbled self-ramblings was the chain of iridescent white pearls that poured out from the little chest, rendering the lid slightly ajar, but just open enough for your to catch a brief sparkle twinkling in the darkness.

And those pearls… You recognized them.

They weren’t cheap freshwater pearls, the kind you could get from any silver-tongued peddler on the street in Alexandria’s market district. No, they were distinctive… Their luster and nearly perfect roundness betraying their expensive nature. Akoya pearls, you recalled the explorer saying. It was not long before the Scourge broke out, when you were just fifteen. The only jewels you had kept now were those inherited from your mother or family heirlooms. The pearls were beautiful, and they were important to you, but they were sacrifices you had made in the name of gratitude for the knight’s kindness.

You gave them to him, but under the impression that he’d sell them.

Why would he keep this?

But it wasn’t just one necklace, no. The faint glimmer of light from deep within the box enticed you, leading you to lift the lid, despite your high-society etiquette telling you that snooping around in other people’s things was hardly becoming behavior. You believed, though, that you had a right to see. That was once your necklace, after all.

There was more, just as you’d suspected. The box was brimming with a colorful assortment of precious jewels from your collection, all of which you’d had distinct memories of gifting to the knight after each excursion he’d accompanied you on. Pulling the box forward, you stared wide-eyed as you rummaged through, recognizing each and every piece—the pair of pearl and amethyst earrings, the ruby and silver brooch, the gilded ring of jade with an intricate claw setting, the red coral rosary given to you at your first Holy Communion, the repoussé chaplet set with refined diamonds and sapphires… Each trinket was unique, and undeniably yours.

There were a few possible explanations you could think of. The first explanation, and the most logical, was that Sir Daryl was saving your jewels for a rainy day, intent on selling them all together for a larger sum. The second, and the most amusing to you, was that he was wearing the jewelry himself, and he was hiding them to spare himself the embarrassment. The third, and the most worrisome, was that there was a lady he was intent upon giving your jewelry to, or at least that he was keeping the jewels in the event that he would find a lady to woo. This thought made your heart race, but not in the way it usually did when the knight crossed your mind.

But all these explanations were useless to you. There was no way of knowing now exactly why he kept your jewelry. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but you couldn’t let it go. You needed to know, otherwise you’d never think clearly again. Without your sage, you replaced the chest and its contents to close the cupboard and return to the boiling pot, though not without a nervous pitter patter in your chest.

You were startled from your thoughts with a jump and a gasp when the knight kicked open the front door, a pile of freshly cut logs in his arms. He cursed himself for his lack of grace.

“Y’all right?” he asked, keeping a concerned eye on you as he crossed to the hearth to prepare the fire.

“Fine,” you replied with a nod. “Stew’s ready, I think.”

He furrowed his brow at that statement, then responded with a slight chuckle to his voice. “How do you know?”

“I tasted it,” you said. “It’s ready.”

“Yes, your highness,” he replied with a huff, amused by your certainty.

At length, he procured two wooden bowls and two silver spoons, the both of you settling for casual seating in front of the hearth, sitting upon the floor cushions with criss-crossed legs and a strange silence between you. Silences like this were uncommon. Of course, whenever it was quiet between you, there was always this presence of heaviness, as though something needed to be said by one of you, or both, but right now, there was no comfort to it. Now, the weight had become so unbearable that there would be no comfort to this usually pleasant silence until one of you spoke.

And it had to be you. You were the one who had seen the chest, who knew now that Daryl kept all those payments for whatever reason instead of cashing them in. You had to know why, there was no other way around it.

You only hoped he wouldn’t resent you for it.

“Daryl?” You let your spoon clink against the side of the wooden bowl as you relished the recent aftertaste of the savory soup. “May I ask you something?”

He was hoping you would. He’d spent enough time with you, had known all your habits and quirks and idiosyncrasies, that he knew when there was something on your mind. Given the weight of this silence, it must’ve been important.

“Yeah.” He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his off-white chemise. You took extra care not to become distracted by the crop of pale brown, wiry chest hairs just barely visible at his loosely laced up collar.

Without even noticing, you licked your lips as you thought of what to say, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. Afterall, you’d gone snooping about in his pantry. Still, you believed you had a right to know.

To focus on your words, you set your near-empty bowl on the stone edge of the hearth. You straightened to sit up taller, your hands carefully folded in your lap. You looked like the picture of a princess, except in your eyes. They were downturned, as you couldn’t bear to look him in the eye in case your actions were misconstrued as mischief. “When you were out chopping wood,” you began with a small nervous croak in your voice, “I… Well, I tried the stew, as I said, but I thought it could use some sage, you see, and so I—I looked in your pantry.”

It was then that the knight began to choke on a chunk of venison, having swallowed it too soon with the realization that you could’ve seen his jewelry box, the one he hid because of his embarrassment to admit that he kept those jewels because they were yours. No practical reason at all, just the thought of you, something part of you belonging to him. It was silly, he knew that, but to him, there was a comfort in having those trinkets. If he’d sold them, all he’d have would be measly bits of dirty metal that had been in thousands of different hands and would be in a thousand more. Those jewels were worth more than that. They were once yours. As far as he was concerned, they were still yours.

The man turned away from you, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow as he coughed to help the meat pass down his throat. You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled between his coughs. “Just… just…”

“Here,” you said, scooting closer to hand him a tankard of water. He waved you off, but he was still hunched over to the side and refusing to face you, both as a result of his embarrassment and his coughing fit. You huffed and spoke more harshly now. “Daryl.”

He knew that voice well enough now to know you were serious. He turned towards you slowly, taking the cup from your hands as he still sputtered our grunts between coughs. “Th—thanks.”

He choked a bit more on the water now, but only because he felt your hand soothing his back in slow, languid, yet careful, movements. “There…” Your voice was smooth and velvety, like sweet whipped cream. With each pass of your hand, you felt the silk fabric of his shirt pucker against your palm. The heat of his body drew you closer subconsciously, til you felt his strong, hard shoulder nearly digging into your chest. Despite your attempt to pull away, it felt too good to rid yourself of his closeness. “Better?”

With the delicate pressure of your hand caressing him, of course he felt better. He grunted in acknowledgement as he nodded, setting the tankard on the floor beside him. “Yeah… Please forgive me.”

You shook your head and laughed at that. “For what? Swallowing your food too fast?”

He felt like a blubbering fool, wiping his lips and chuckling under his breath to match your contagious giggles. But then, with a diminuendo of laughter, he realized he’d interrupted you, and he needed to know now what you were going to say, just in case you did see his hidden treasure. Well, your hidden treasure.

“For interrupting you,” he said. “You were sayin’ something… D’ya find the sage?”

He knew full well there was no sage in that pantry. He’d run out just a few days prior.

“Oh,” you sighed. “Well, no, I…”

You’d made the grave mistake of lifting your wide eyes to meet his, though the both of you were trying to hide your gaze from one another. It was inevitable that they would meet at some point this evening, but now that they had, you could not bear to look away, neither could he. For several moments, you could not even blink for fear of missing him and his deep, almost dark blue eyes, filled with the mystery of something nearly inscrutable, but not impossible to figure out. In fact, the more you looked, you swore you got closer to finding the answers to all the questions in his eyes.

“Daryl,” you started again, this time holding his gaze with a nervous, fluttering blink of your curled eyelashes. “Why… Why have you not sold the jewelry I paid you with?”

There were many replies he could have made, but the only one that was remotely coherent was the one with the fewest number of words: Because I love you.

Several heavy moments passed in silence, with only the crackling of the now roaring hearthfire filling the space where words might’ve existed if only he had the courage to speak without thinking first in this moment. This, however, was a delicate situation, and he could not face it with the usual impulsivity and carelessness that he might’ve had in other situations.

There was a contradictory sense of both a need to profess his love to you and a need to brush it off with some lie, but how could he lie to you, his sweet princess? You were worth so much more than that to him, so much more than a paltry lie, but you were also worth more than every jewel in that box.

“You, uh… You saw that?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you smiled bashfully. Daryl’s cheeks seemed to heat up, too. “I did. I know I had no right to look, but with the gold those jewels are worth, you could purchase your own manor and petition to become a lord. My father would happily grant you that position, I’m sure. You would not have to be a vassal. Of course, it is your property to do with as you wish, but I cannot help but wonder why.”

Titles and property were of no consequence to Daryl. They never meant much. He grew up with next to nothing, raised by poor merchants who struggled to buy a single loaf of bread. Perhaps one would think that growing up so poor would make him value money, but it was quite the opposite. It made him hate it, how it could make or break a man. No, what you gave to him was worth so much more.

“I—” He paused to think more thoroughly about what he was to say, but there was no way around it. He had to say it. “I couldn’t get rid of them. Couldn’t just give ‘em to somebody else.”

Though his words seemed sentimental, his eyes still strayed from you. Leaning forward, your heart aching with a desperate hope, you tried to coerce his eyes to meet yours. Your hand still traced invisible shapes across the broad expanse of his back.

“Why?” You wondered if perhaps your secret fourth explanation had been correct. The more he stalled, you began to realize that it was. “Daryl…” Your other hand lifted cautiously, its movements foreign to you as your fingers delicately cradled his chin, then brought his head up until those soft, deep blue eyes greeted you. Perhaps you were torturing him, begging him to admit his feelings despite his fear, but you needed his words. That was all you’d need. You smiled to comfort him as you spoke. “Why could you not bear to sell my jewels?”

Your touch was in two places now—his back and his chin. Both points of contact were burning, a fire that spread through him and touched him in places he didn’t dare even think of at this moment. Your touch was innocent, it had to be. He wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise. His task was to keep you safe, to never let harm come your way. Indulging in his desires, no matter how much he wanted to, would only take advantage of the trust you and your father had in him. But, oh… The way your chest heaved against his shoulder. You were so close. So incredibly close. Almost as close as he’d imagined, in his darkened bedroom where his sordid thoughts took root. Even his dreams were full of visions of you, hazy and ethereal, like you were made of clouds. So soft, so warm.

“Daryl?” you pressed again. “Won’t you answer me, please?”

“It’s wrong,” he said quickly. “It’s all wrong.”

“No, it is not.”

“I just couldn’t… Couldn’t give part of you away.”

“Part of me?”

“Part of you,” he repeated. “Someone else, with a part of you… I can’t let anyone else have you. Those things belonged to you, so they’re precious to me. You’re precious to me.”

There. That was enough. Enough for you to know the truth, enough for you to lean even closer, your eyes nearly closed despite a sliver of vision focused on his lips, slightly agape and quivering. With your hand still holding his chin, you pulled him closer, too, his body and mind paralyzed for a moment, rendered helpless by you.

But for a moment, when your lips were just an inch or two from his, you fluttered your eyes open to meet his. “My knight,” you whispered, the soft wind of your breath tickling his aching lips. “Kiss me.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can…” Just like that, you spoke in your most regal tone of authority, the same you’d used to threaten to have Negan executed, though this time, a little more sultry. “I am your princess, and you will do as I say, knight.”

Yes, your highness.

With a burst of desperation rising up in his abdomen, he leaned forward to close the gap between you, not just at your lips, but at every part of you. His hands grasped hard at your waist, pulling you nearly onto his lap. Your chest was pressed so tight against his that you gasped for breath from his mouth as he kissed you, heavy breaths exhaling from his nostrils like a wild animal just freed from its cage.

You felt one hand wildly rise up your back and tangle in your hair, loosening the lone braid at the back of your head, until cascades of hair hung freely over your shoulders and back. Your hands had no choice but to cling tight to his shoulders as his hands explored you to the extent he would allow himself, though it felt so wonderful that you wished he’d unrestrain himself even more. Just when you started to think he was becoming more unhindered, his hand slowly melting down your lower back and inching closer to your bottom, he stopped himself.

His mouth tore away from you, the cold of the night air stinging your moistened lips as they trembled, and you felt your throat already begin to swallow back a lump. “What is it?”

His hands were still on you, but he panted as he looked worryingly at you, his head shaking as if to reprimand himself, though he couldn’t hide his blown out pupils and the increasingly noticeable hardness of his lap. Still, you feared he’d deny you.

“I can’t control myself,” he said. “If we… kept goin’…”

“I want to keep going,” you said. Your hands moved to grasp at his shirt collar, where your fingers began to undo his lace. “I want whatever you would do.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said. “You don’t want me, princess.”

“I do want you, knight.”

“You can’t. I can’t. If your father—”

“I love you.”

He fell silent. Scared. Not of your words, but of himself, of what hearing those words in your voice did to him. They ignited a deeper, inextinguishable fire.

“Don’t say what ya don’t mean, milady.”

A single shiny tear glimmered as it rolled down your soft rouged cheek, settling into the corner of your mouth. You weren’t sure exactly why you began to cry. Perhaps it was the idea of rejection, or the thought of Sir Negan taking you away before promising yourself to the only man you’d ever cared for, but one thing was certain: your love for him was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“I do not say things I do not mean, Sir Daryl. When I say I love you, I am speaking from my heart, and my heart would not lead me astray. I love you, and that is the truth.”

And it was his truth, too. Now, your words were enough to convince him.

He lowered his eyes, his lips turned stern. It was an earnest, serious gaze. He said what he’d been thinking for months, what he would never stop thinking no matter what. He would always love you. He would always do anything for you. It was time he made it known. “I love you.”

It was simple when he said it, but you knew it to be true by the way his hands clung tighter to your waist. Hesitantly, he raised his right hand, allowing the back of it to caress your cheek. His touch was rough, but only because of his worn skin. The way he moved was soft, gentle, sweet. Even in his evident lust, he still touched you with the innocence of a white daisy’s petals brushing against your skin.

Hesitantly, he let his lips ghost your other cheek as you exhaled a heavy breath against his neck. “Daryl,” you whispered. He kissed your skin, his lips spread open and tongue just barely stretching out to tickle you. As he moved his mouth lower, dragging sloppy kisses along your jawline, his arms wrapped fully around you, tugging you against him. Your hands held tight to his shoulder blades, and you felt them flex and jolt with each movement he made as his lips met yours again. This time, his tongue breached the entrance to your mouth, finding yours and almost attacking it. In your inexperience, you only gasped against his lips, then jutted out your own tongue in an attempt to keep up with him.

“Daryl,” you panted between his kisses. He grunted under his breath, still indulging in your taste. With your fingers on his cheeks, you pulled back for a moment, looking into his darkened eyes. You’d never seen his eyes like that before. It almost frightened you, but mostly, it only made you realize exactly what you wanted. “I want you to take my maidenhead.”

Of course, he wanted to. It wasn’t a question of whether or not he wanted to, it was a question of whether or not he should, and he knew he shouldn’t. He knew such a thing was against his code, perhaps the most egregious way to break it. The law of chivalry held all knights to a certain standard, a law that governed their every action. Sleeping with the daughter of the king he served, much less taking her virginity, would certainly be cause for execution.

“I can’t,” he said, though his eyes portrayed another answer. “You know I can’t.” You shook your head, opening your mouth to latch onto his jawline, kissing him as he’d kissed you. He muttered your name, though he could not tear you away, your sweet lips wetting his skin as your hand combed through his hair. “It would…”

Your hand lowered to his chest, grasping at his bare skin underneath his chemise. Your fingers seemed to tremble, your body not knowing what to do without his guidance. He grasped at your hand, though he did not push you away. He kept it there, keeping it steady. He turned to face your lips, and they trembled, too. To steady them, he raised his thumb to your plump bottom lip, moving it gently side to side. It felt like sacrilege to touch you like this, but it also felt like the most holy, sacred kind of worship.

“It would be wrong. I’m not your husband. It would be against… Against my code of chivalry.”

It nearly made you laugh. “You’ve already disobeyed my father and taken me outside the castle walls into walker-infested woods. You’ve done a hundred things that broke your code.”

Leaning ever closer, you pressed your soft chest against his firm one, the heat rising between your bodies almost as strong as the roaring hearthfire that painted his face in rich, warm burnt oranges and browns. The smile on your face curled delicately as you brushed aside the curtains of his hair till they were pinned behind his ears. In this light, his face was both worn yet youthful, like an old painting of a young man.

In a hushed, honeyed voice, you whispered against his cheek, “What’s one more?” Innocent lips coated with that floral musky balm grazed his stubbly cheek. It was not scratchy, though, it was soft and ticklish, like how your fingers felt on his chest.

For a long, torturous moment, he only held you close, his grip still tight on your waist. He leaned into your kiss, though he still was trying to cling to the last thread of chivalrous honor he had within him. That rope was threadbare, though, with only a fiber or two to hold on to, and the more your lips grazed his skin, trailing to his neck in clumsy, inexperienced movements, you felt his hand return to your hair to tangle itself in your now tousled locks.

The low, dulcet moan escaping your lips marked the moment the tether snapped, and no longer could he say he had any respect for a code of conduct that left him bereft of your body and the pleasure he could give you, as your servant, your escort, your knight.

With a throaty grunt, he took your mouth in his, devouring it much more deeply than he had before. There was no cautiousness now in his embrace, his hands lowering to cup both sides of your bottom as he lifted you more fully to his lap, with his legs outstretched underneath you.

Both of you became engulfed in a tangle of limbs, furiously clawing at each other like you were both tearing at your own flesh to escape from its confines. Yourself now made taller than him as you sat upon his lap, you parted from his lips for a moment to look down at him, panting and lips shiny from your saliva, and made plump and red by his impassioned kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking up at you with hazy, dark eyes. Indeed, you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the chance to behold. Sometimes, he did not even think himself worthy to utter your name, or to have his name uttered by you… You in your sweetness and kindness and sensitivity and grace and—

Your small laugh reawakened him. How dare he even begin to wax poetic about you in his own head when you were in his arms now, your hands on his shoulders and your chest heaving with each beautiful breath. To know you were so alive, warm and trembling in his strong arms, safe and protected… That was the greatest pleasure of all.

And yet, the carnal desire for you was quick to overwhelm him. He squeezed you tighter before leaning forward, taking you with him. “Mm!” you laughed against his lips as he kissed you.

How he could be so gentle and yet so strong you did not know. With your back arched and your head cradled by his hands, you felt the support of your floor pillow underneath you, your legs now wrapped around his waist.

Propping himself up by his arms to look at you, he gazed in awe, your hair sprawled out from your head in every which way like an angel’s halo made from a sunburst. Where your gown of sage green silk brocade met your breasts, he let his gaze linger. Finally. Without the worries of being improper, he could admire the gentle, supple curves of your décolletage.

And now your gown sank down to your upper thighs, exposing much more skin than he’d ever seen—or felt. He sat up straight, his hand gently petting your soft bare calf, then moving down slowly, torturously, to touch your thigh.

Never had you been touched like this. Not even by yourself. In fact, you felt rather foolish, stiffening a bit as your eyes widened the more he moved his hand, now lifting up the rest of your skirt.

“Daryl…” you all but whined, a moan somewhere between a begging lust and a nervous embarrassment. “I know nothing,” you said simply. “I—I—”

Your own gasp cut short your stuttering admission. “Oh.”

All you could feel was his hand cupping your mound, now completely exposed without the cover of your gown.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, each fold and crevice and speckling of your dainty hairs that matched perfectly the locks on your head. In fact, he ran his fingers through the little forest above your womanhood. It was soft, warm, untouched until now.

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke again. “Very… royal.”

“Royal?”

He laughed under his breath, biting his lip as he trailed his pointer finger around your lips, tickling you as you writhed a little. “Everything about you,” he said. “Even this… So perfect and clean and royal.”

Flushed with rose-tinted clouds of excitement and shyness, you rolled your shoulders as you watched him lick his pretty pink lips, over and over. “Have you seen many women like this, sir?”

He returned his gaze to yours with a raised, mischievous brow. Sir had never sounded so intoxicating as it did now. “None as sweet and virtuous as you.”

Indeed, he slightly feared his first movements towards intercourse. Never before had he taken a maiden’s virginity, and he was sure he’d hurt you if he was too hasty. He would have to tread carefully, though the subtle glisten of your entrance beckoned him, and those soft, intricate folds of supple flesh sparked a fire in him he’d never felt before. This was the image he’d dreamed of—your untouched womanhood naked before him, just waiting for him to release you from the bonds of chastity forevermore.

And, oh, that moan, of which he had only gotten a sampling of. He needed more, he needed to be drowned in that sound. He needed to be the one who showed you the carnal pleasure of love, and to experience it himself, too. It would be the most potent kind of intimacy, and he wanted the both of you to be consumed by it. Together.

All he could think of, all he wanted to do, was get a mouthful of you. Drink from the fountain that was your body.

“Can I… taste you?”

A genuine expression of innocent confusion spread across your face. “Kiss me?” Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips gently pursed, prepared to receive his sweet kiss.

“Nah, not like that,” he said, a subtle laugh under his low, gruff voice. Two calloused fingertips grazed the top junction of your lips, where an almost overwhelming tingle spread through you. Then, his fingers moved apart as they descended slowly, spreading you open. The reddish, taught flesh seemed to pulse on its own accord as your breath shuddered and your eyes widened at the strange feeling. “Here. I wanna taste you here.”

Finally understanding, and yet not understanding at all, you looked up at him with a furrowed look of concern. “Why? Is that not… unsanitary?”

An amused grin spread across his face. “Looks clean to me… They bathe you good, my princess.”

His princess. Oh, that sent an entirely new shiver through you.

But only with your permission would he do such a thing. Only with your word would he let his common tongue invade your royal maidenhead.

So he’d beg for it, like he knew he should.

“Please,” he said, voice sweeter and softer than you’d ever heard. He even lowered himself, his lips hovering above your navel as he looked up at you with those crystal clear eyes. “Please, your highness… I will be gentle.” His hands held firm to your thighs, rubbing them softly, up and down. When his lips met your abdomen, just below your navel, you sighed unexpectedly, and he could feel your heat.

“I’ll beg for it.” The reverberations of his rough voice tickled your lower stomach. He dragged his lips progressively lower, to where the hairs upon your mound began. A trail of kisses began to form between each mumbled plea.

“I’ll beg to taste you…” Kiss. “Lick you…” Kiss. “I’m beggin’…” Kiss. “Let me taste how perfect my sweet princess is.”

Though you were still puzzled by his desire to kiss you there, you decided to oblige, especially as the strange tickly feeling became more and more intense with each kiss he bestowed upon your mound. Somehow, his begging even excited you.

“Yes,” you sighed. Blindly, you reached for him, your hands tangling in his chestnut colored hair, strands messy and wild. The ends of those locks tickled your skin as they hung around his face, dragging with each movement of his mouth downwards. “You may taste me… Though I do not understand why you want to, sir.” You laughed as you looked down at him, kissing the soft little hairs you always found to be unsightly, but it was not in vogue to shave, of course. At least, not for a lady of your status. He seemed to like it, though. “You are rather strange,” you teased. “Do you think I will taste nice?”

“Know you will,” he said, and you watched as he wetted his fingers with his tongue, then circled them over your now puffy lips.

With a little gasp, you giggled girlishly at his touch. It was all so strange to you, but it felt nice. You’d had no idea this part of you was so sensitive, as you’d never bothered to touch it besides your daily baths. Even then, you hardly touched yourself only to clean, and when you felt an unfamiliar tingle as you’d slide your wet hand between those little folds of sensitive skin, you’d quickly pull away. All you knew of that part of you was that it was for your future husband, and you’d never cared much for trying to find one, especially since the world was the way it was.

Now, you could only dream of a husband like him, the knight who lowered himself once more, slotting his head between your bare thighs. His hands holding them, he coerced your legs to spread wider, allowing that crevice to widen and open the small fleshy hole. He could already tell you’d never even touched yourself, your entrance half-obstructed by a small stretch of skin-colored tissue—your maidenhead.

He’d not touch that for now, instead only focused on slowly licking a stripe up your open slit, marking his first taste of you.

There was a strong reverberation that jolted through you, causing your legs to flinch closed, Daryl’s head now sandwiched between the fat of your thighs. “Oh!” you cried out, back involuntarily arched against the cushion and hands tangled further in his hair until your fingernails clawed at his scalp. There was a muffled growl between your legs in response. At first, you assumed you’d hurt him. “Oh, I—I am sorry, my love…” you sputtered, almost with a nervous laugh at your sensitivity, and massaging his scalp more gently now. “Did I hurt you?”

On the contrary, your scratching and pulling and squeezing only excited him. He did not answer your question, only pressing his face harder against you, smothering his nose and mouth between your folds, wettened by his saliva. If he suffocated between your legs, he’d die happy, as the taste was intoxicating, sweeter than the finest honey wine he’d ever had, and the feeling a more lovely warmth than the hearth that illuminated the dim cottage with that dreamy glow.

With a renewed lust, he moved his head wildly, licking up and down and swirling in tight circles round the bundle of nerves above the entrance. It seemed to elicit the most beautiful moans and gasps and sighs from your pretty mouth, of which he often took a glimpse when he raised his eyes to admire your innocent beauty.

And though he could lick you like this for hours on end, he’d grown desperate to taste you deeper, just a little. So he parted your legs with a jolt. “Keep ‘em open,” he ordered, voice more hoarse and throaty and deep than before. His desire was becoming more urgent, more primitive as the very last of his decency was chiseled away by his need. “I want more of this pretty cunt.”

You nearly gasped at the vulgar word, having only heard it once or twice in your presence—both times from a slightly inebriated Lady Margaret, who used it to pejoratively refer to Lady Caroline behind her back, but now you knew where it came from. It sounded devilishly dulcet on his low, panting voice.

Legs spread further apart, he caught another glimpse of that hole, coated in a sparkling sheen that was damp to the touch. The corner of his lip lifted slightly as he spoke. “You’re gettin’ wet,” he said, much to your confusion. “D’ya like what I’m doin’ to you, princess?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. His fingertip traced the rim of your wet entrance.

Before he dove down once more, he couldn’t help but just admire the beauty of your womanhood with his eyes. He felt a sudden wave of unworthiness well up in him. After all, this sight was never for him. It was forbidden, and yet, you’d decided he was worthy to have you.

You, his lady, his mistress, his princess, his queen. In every sense of the word, you ruled him, and he had no choice but to bask in the glory of your trembling body, every inch perfect and unique and, soon, his.

He’d make you his, but first he had to make him yours.

“Oh!” His lips spread open wide to envelope the hole, where his tongue flattened out to lick at the source of your arousal. All you could feel was his long tongue poking inside you, wiggling to adjust to how small the entrance was.

Meanwhile, the tip of his soft button nose pressed up against your most sensitive spot, where a fresh tingle surged through you. To get a better angle, he slid both hands underneath your bare rump, pulling your body closer and angling your core upwards as your legs found their home upon his shoulders, just the perfect width to accommodate your thighs.

“That’s it,” he spoke against your inner thigh, where he left a series of frantic, desperate little kisses. They weren’t just lustful, but affectionate, as though he was bestowing these kisses to reward you for your obedience. “Sweet royal cunt.”

That word again made you flinch, or perhaps it was the suction of his lips around that bundle of nerves that pleased you so.

“Y-you’re so vulgar,” you sighed with a gentle laugh rolling under your voice. “Where… is my gallant knight?”

“Between your pretty legs, milady.”

His tongue wiggled in spastic movements between his lips, reddening and engorging the sensitive spot as a strange tightening feeling formed in your lower belly. Unbeknownst to you, the walls of your passage squeezed involuntarily around the empty space inside you. In this moment, you never felt more empty, in fact. All you wanted, the longer his mouth devoured you, was to somehow feel whole.

“Please!” you cried out, voice strained and high-pitched with a desperate plea for him to satisfy you, somehow. You did not know how, but you needed it, whatever it was. “Oh, I…”

The knight knew what you needed, and he needed it, too, but you were so close to ultimate pleasure. The wetter you became, the more of his saliva that soaked into your crevices and your increasingly gaping entrance, the more your body would accept his. That much he knew.

But the feeling was so powerful, so overwhelming. Each burst of pleasure erupted within you, like a volcano that had lain dormant for a millenia or two, and only now was that red hot magma spewing forth, until one final eruption would leave you satisfied. It terrified you. Was this normal? Surely a woman should not feel such euphoria. All you’d known of your womb was the pain and shame of that period in which blood would flow from you. You’d been told it was divine punishment for women. Eve’s betrayal, the fall of Eden… Why should you pay for that? Now, there was only pleasure, no pain.

The pleasure, though, was so intense, so frightful, that you panicked, your thighs clenching tight round his head once more as your back arched in agonizing bliss, his tongue now thrusting into you again. “Oh!” you cried out. “I… Wh-what… Daryl, I’m frightened!”

His eyes flashed up to look at you. “What is it?” he asked. He tore himself away from you, while his hand reached up to cradle your trembling cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I…” Gasping for air, you writhed and wriggled underneath him, squeezing your thighs together as if to provide some relief. “I do not know… I feel so strange.”

Tears trickled down your cheek, and the knight’s brows furrowed in concern. He brushed a few away with his fingers. “Why’re ya cryin’, girl?”

And you knew now why, as your hips gyrated and bucked up towards him, as if demanding for him to return to you. The sensation was just so strong, but so lovely. “Please,” you whimpered. “Do not stop.”

Now he knew, too. A laugh forced his mouth into a wide grin. “Oh, I see,” he said, hands moving achingly slowly back down to your thighs. He spread them apart again, a feeling which made your breath hitch for a moment. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My tongue…”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, more.”

And so he gave you more, his mouth quickly returning to that puffy, reddened flesh between your thighs, eliciting from you a visceral moan as your head fell back against the cushion. “Ah!” you cried out.

After the brief period in which he’d separated from you, you now felt the sensation returning, this time even more intense. Sounds of wet flesh being licked and sucked and kissed surrounded you, accompanied by soft, muffled groans from your knight.

How he’d wanted this for so long, to have your taste and to feel your restless, writhing body involuntarily grinding against his tongue. For a moment, he pulled your outer lips further apart, allowing more direct exposure to the now throbbing, swollen protrusion that gave you so much pleasure. He sucked at that flesh again, this time bringing his finger to the hole that begged to be filled.

“Oh, oh!” His finger breached the entrance, just a few centimeters, but enough to stretch you more than you’d been stretched open ever before. “My god!”

“Come,” his voice murmured between furious sucking. “Come, my princess. I want you to come.”

“C-come… Where?”

“On my face,” he laughed.

“Wh-what… are you… talking about?”

The vibration of his laughter tickled your flesh. “You’re too innocent,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

He knew you must be close, so it did not take much more effort to get you to the brink of orgasm. All he needed to do was curl his finger upwards inside you as he swirled his tongue with more pressure, practically digging a brand new hole with the tip of his tongue.

And, with your hands shooting out to claw at his shoulders, the tingling and tightening and tickling finally reached its peak as the feeling of the final, strongest eruption came forth, exploding from the pit of your abdomen and spreading throughout every cell in your hot, squirming body.

Moans of his name were falling softly, repeatedly from your lips, where bite marks had embedded themselves after several minutes of your teeth digging into the skin. He’d never heard his name being spoken so much, so sweetly and with so much bliss. After all, it was the name of the person who’d given you the greatest feeling you’d ever experienced.

You were left jolting, your body gently rocking up against his face, which was still buried between your lips as his tongue gathered every drop of the arousal that slowly dripped from you. His own arousal caught up with him, too, a noticeable feeling of a strain, and a tightening in his chausses.

Panting and moaning under your labored breaths, you felt the pleasure begin to die down as his lips praised you with small kisses all over the outside of your pulsing entrance. Deviously, he stuck his tongue out to deliver short, sweet licks to your still throbbing bundle of nerves.

A soft, delirious giggle erupted from your lips as your fingers tangled in his disheveled hair. All you could see was his head bobbing between your legs, and all you could hear was the crackle of the hearthfire and the sounds of his pursed lips kissing your wet folds. Feeling his finger curling at the shallow part of you, you squeezed on purpose, much to his amusement.

“I feel ya,” he mumbled. “You feel so good.”

“Daryl.” Your hands grasped both sides of his head with some pressure, as if to pull him up. “Come here.”

He let you guide his head until his lips met yours and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, weighing him down. His body weight covered you completely, a sensation which excited him even more.

On your lips, you tasted yourself, his tongue and lips now coated with your arousal. “What did you do to me?” you asked between his kiss. “Your tongue is magical… Some kind of wicked sorcery.”

His laughter tickled your cheek as he kissed you there. “I jus’ made ya come,” he said simply. “S’why you’re so wet down there now. Got you all ready.” His hands raised up to tug on the collar of your dress, as if trying to yank it off you.

“Ready for what?” you laughed, though you had a few ideas of what he could be referring to, as innocent as you were, but you hadn’t heard the word he’d said next before.

“For my cock.”

In genuine confusion, you furrowed your brow. “You have a rooster?”

“Yeah.” The mischievous, lop-sided smirk on his face as his finger traced your jawline told you he was messing with you. “I’ve got a big, red rooster.”

“Oh?” you said, playing along with him despite your ignorance. “Well, won’t you introduce me to your rooster?”

By now, you knew what he meant.

When he dragged your hand down to his clothed erection, a deep blush bloomed upon your cheeks. “Oh,” you sighed. “Hello, rooster.”

To say you hadn’t thought of it before would be a lie. Of course you had. While you did not know much about sex, or that part of the male anatomy, you knew that part of a man was meant for that complimentary part of a woman. You knew that was the part of him that would put a child in your womb, though you knew not the exact details of the whole ordeal.

Interrupting your thoughts of his “rooster,” you were suddenly lifted from the ground and tangled in his arms, with your feet dangling off the ground as he dragged you towards the hay-stuffed mattress you’d rested upon a few times before. You exclaimed a laughing, “Daryl!” before being laid gently, yet almost impatiently, upon the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to see him at the foot of the bed, lifting his shirt above his head as he panted.

Eyes wide, you felt your heart thump in your chest when his broad frame was bare before you, his chest just as bulky and strong and wide as you’d imagined. Your eyes were drawn to the charming smattering of little hairs, and the small pink nipples that hardened against the air.

You couldn’t help but follow the trail of those same hairs that began at his navel and led down to the waistband of his pants, which he began to untie frantically. Meanwhile, your mouth fell agape at the shape of his… cock, you supposed it was called—so big it looked like it could rip through the cotton of his chausses at any second.

Involuntarily, your thighs rubbed themselves together, where you could now feel your own wetness seeping from you. Seeing the size of his cock, now you knew why you’d need to be wet.

Just like that, he was naked, his cock springing up as soon as he pulled his pants down enough. It nearly startled you, almost eliciting a gasp. Never had you seen something so… odd. You couldn’t even wrap your head around the testicles just yet.

But he left you hardly any time to think about the new body parts you were faced with. Instead, he laid himself down on his side next to you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. The motion soothed you, though his dark, lusty stare made you shiver.

“Sit up for me,” he said. You did as he told you, as an unspoken dynamic had appeared: he would lead you, as you were much too inexperienced to know your way around this territory.

And yet, he was not forceful, nor domineering. Indeed, he knew you were still his princess, his ruler. He knew that you held the utmost power over him, and that whatever you’d say, he would have to do it. There was no mistake of who was ultimately in charge, whose body he was compelled to worship and please. Still, he’d lead you physically.

Now sitting up, he scooted back to unlace the back of your gown, each silk knot coming undone with a beautiful cascade of fabric, until your back was nude, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your spine.

He pulled on your sleeves gently, but with a noticeable waning of his patience. “Lay back now,” he said. Like a mindless servant, you obeyed him.

Your surcoat was loose enough to pull off you now, so he did, letting the expensive garment sink to the floor. Now, your kirtle, which he pulled over your head, manipulating your body like a rag doll. With each movement he made, another sweaty, glistening muscle flexed under that tan, workworn skin, stretching across which were many faded scars from battles and jousts and God only knew what else.

Lastly, your chemise kept him from your supple nude body, so he pulled it off with a slight growl under his breath. Now, you laid back fully, your completely divested skin meeting the thick, buttery soft pelt of the fur blanket beneath you.

Your body was a sight to behold, so marvelous that he stood up again, stepping back to let his eyes roam all over you.

It was enough to bring him to knees, literally. He sunk to the floor, where he attached his lips to your ankle, which had caused him some trouble in the past. The many times he’d caught sight of your ankle, he felt perverted, sinful. Then your calf, soft and smooth against his lips. He covered as much skin as he could in his kisses, then he reached your knee, and your thighs, where he spread apart your legs to leave more kisses at your womanhood.

“You’re insatiable,” you laughed, watching as his lips trailed through the hairs on your mound. “You cannot kiss every part of my body, sir.”

“I can try.”

His tongue circled around your navel, then he continued his kisses to the slope of your left breast, where he quickly latched to your nipple, causing you to flinch at the new feeling.

His other hand found your other breast, squeezing it just enough to make you gasp a little. After all, with his lips and hands worshiping your entire body, you weren’t sure how else to react.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against the pillowy surface of your breast. “I’d die for you.”

Even the thought made you shiver and cling to his flexing shoulder blades. “N-no, my love… Do not say such a thing. My… my heart c-could not bear to even think of it.”

“I’d kill for you,” he said now. “I’ll do anythin’ you ask of me… I belong to you.”

As you processed his pledge, you hadn’t even noticed two of his fingers digging into your entrance, spreading you open, little by little. His sweet, raspy voice soothed the pain.

Now, his lips trailed to your collarbones, where he left dozens of kisses and licks across your skin.

“I live to serve you,” he whispered. You gasped, not at his words, but at his two thick fingers going deeper, a sound of flesh upon wet flesh. “Only you… My sweet princess.”

“Oh, my sweet knight… Ah…”

A slight tearing feeling at your entrance made you wince in pain, but the knight paused for a moment, nudging his nose against your cheek to get your attention.

“Am I hurtin’ ya?”

“No, no.” If he stopped, you might die of emptiness. The stretching hurt, but you could not go much longer without him filling the emptiness within you. Once he started, you wouldn’t be able to be without him.

“Need to stretch your cunt a little,” he said. “My cock’s gonna hurt ya more if I don’t.”

Judging by the size, you believed him. Your eyes were transfixed on the thing as you wondered how in the world he’d get it in your tight hole, but you trusted him to take care of you.

And you wanted it. You couldn’t explain it, but your need for that big length of flesh, with engorged veins and a droplet or two of clear liquid beading at its reddened tip, was greater than any pain you might’ve felt.

“I want it, sir,” you practically purred. “Your…”

He smiled against the cheek he was busy kissing. “My rooster?”

“Your cock.”

He tore his lips away to give you a wide-eyed stare as he tried to fake a serious look of shock, but the upturned corner of his snickering lips betrayed him.

“Your highness,” he scolded in jest. “Where’d ya learn such a dirty word?” His fingers inched deeper, so deep that your back arched as you laughed a visceral moan.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Your hand delivered a very weak slap to his chest.

Pulling his fingers out, he laughed as his hands gripped both of your wrists. His face turned serious, yet still soft. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes, but… I mustn’t have your child now.”

You weren’t totally unaware of the true purpose of sex. In fact, it had been drilled into your head by archbishop Gabriel, whose responsibility seemed to be deterring you and all other maidens at court from engaging in premarital sex that was not for the express purpose of procreation, as such an act would brand one “a whore in the eyes of God.” Conveniently, the archbishop’s sermon had overlooked any consequences for men.

“You won’t,” he assured you. Indeed, he had intimate knowledge of one of the world’s most time-honored methods of contraception: coitus interruptus. “I’ll be careful.”

Removing his fingers from you, he rubbed his palm up and down your slit, spreading the wetness of your arousal all over you. He leaned back for a moment, looking down to spread apart your lips and see your hole, which opened quite a bit wider now for him. Redness pooled around the opening, but you couldn’t notice the dull pain, not when his eyes held yours so intently. “Think you’re ready,” he said. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Don’t stop. “All right, my love.”

The hard, spongy surface of his tip grazed over your clit, and slid with his body as he rolled forward over you. “You ready?”

At this point, the suspense was killing you. Each drag of his length through your sodden flesh was agonizing. Your body grew restless, arching your back up to meet his chest and pull him down. “Yes,” you sighed, then ghosted your lips over his. “Make me yours now. I want to be yours.”

He eased himself in as your mouth latched to his, your whimpers of combined pain and pleasure melting into his kiss. The tip was inside you now, just beginning to stretch you further to meet the wide girth of his thick cock. The slow, tearing feeling was enough to make you bite down on his tongue, nearly drawing blood. He only growled into your mouth, digging his cock deeper.

Your suffocating tightness tested his willpower, his ability to keep himself from moving so fast that he’d lose control of his cock, but it felt so good, so warm and snug. As he sank further into you, he tore his lips free to whisper against your ear, “How ya feel?”

With a deep swallow, you held back your tears. “Fine,” you said. “Just… it hurts a little. Does it fit?”

He looked between your bodies, where half his length was inside you, the other half twitching with bulging veins and redness only darkening. He stayed still, brushing back your tears as you sniffled. “Yeah, it’ll fit. You just need stretched, s’all.”

He pushed himself in a little further as his lips caught another tear. Clawing at his back, you let out a sharp gasp. “Oh! Daryl! It’s too big, you’re too big… I can’t…”

His hand reached down to tickle his fingers against your clit, attempting to ease your pain by giving you more pleasure. He knew his cock would hurt you before it felt good. “Sh… sh… D’ya want me to stop, princess?”

“No, no!” you cried out, nearly startling him. He felt your arms tighten round his back, as if to keep him exactly where he was. “Please don’t stop. I—I…” Tears trickled down more now, like a torrential rain over your cheek.

He stopped again, this time pulling himself out a little to prop himself up and look at you with the utmost earnestness. “Why are ya cryin’ now? I don’t wanna make you cry. Am I hurtin’ you too much?”

In truth, the physical pain of being stretched by him was not strong enough to elicit these tears. What made you cry, in fact, was the simple truth that tonight, you’d give yourself to your true love, but in a matter of days, Sir Negan would take you away from him, and you might never see him, or your father, or anyone else you loved, ever again.

To think you may never be here, like this, with him again… It broke your heart, though every cell in your body was demanding for another burst of euphoria. It was all too much emotion, too much stimulation. And yet, you’d never want him to stop. You’d like to be this way forever, if you could. If only you could.

“It’s just… Promise me…”

Furrowed brows contorted his face. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek. “Promise ya what?” He wasn’t sure of the point of asking, as he knew that he would promise you, his lady, anything anyway. A knight’s ultimate test of chivalry, afterall, was his undying, unyielding, uncompromising devotion to his lady.

“Promise you won’t forget me.” When Negan takes me, you wanted to say, but you hesitated to even mention him at this moment, when the only man who really mattered to you was looking at you with his own tears beginning to well in his cunning blue eyes.

“I could never, ever forget you, milady.”

And he knew now what you meant. He knew the fear in your eyes, the same fear from the other night. He could feel this fear inside him, too. The fear of never seeing you again, of you being trapped in a place you could not escape from, not unlike how you’d been trapped in your own castle. Yet, this would be so much worse, for you’d be chained to that wretched, evil man, who would do God knows what to you.

But those thoughts were poisonous. “Don’t think about that now… Just feel me.” So he came into you again, just as far as he’d gotten before. “That’s it… Can you take more?”

That was all you wanted, actually. More. All you needed was him, filling you as deep as possible, taking you over and marking you as his. You’d never be Negan’s now, and that gave you a sense of power, a relief in knowing that there was at least one thing Negan could never take from you—your chastity.

“More, Daryl. Please.”

By now, he was almost all the way inside you, but he could go no further, for his own fear of hurting you too much. He pulled out a bit then, to which you grasped at his shoulders and pulled him back against you. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he laughed. “I’m just movin’. Calm down, you’re all rigid. Ease up.” Taking his words to heart, you let out a deep breath and relaxed your muscles, allowing you to settle more comfortably into the plush fur underneath you. Slowly, he pushed himself back in, your body welcoming him in with the hug of your slick tightness. “There ya go… Look, your cunt’s already gettin’ used to me. You’re takin’ it good.”

So good, in fact, that you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling—the warmth, the hardness, the fullness… The feeling of his cock sliding back and forth, but never completely leaving you. The sensation was beautiful, far more intimate than anything you’d ever imagined. When he lowered himself down again, his chest laid snug against yours, the feeling of his nipples rubbing yours hard and slow the more he thrusted. As if on their own accord, your legs loosened to lift and wrap around his lower back, taking him in just a little further. There was pain again, but not enough to hurt you. It only felt good.

He had to be careful not to move too fast, though the involuntary squeezing of your walls drew him closer to his breaking point. He could feel both your arousal and his, surrounding him inside you. But he had to make you come again, he thought. He needed to know that his cock had pleased his princess just as much as his tongue.

Your soft, whimpering moans made it clear that he was, indeed, pleasing you, your tearing pain having given way to that tingling feeling again, making your writhe and shiver underneath him.

“Daryl,” you panted. Spurred on by your pulsing body, his movements became faster, more sloppy, more passionate. Now you could really feel his size, his length digging into a particular spot that made you roll your head back against his pillow, your lips trembling and gasping for air as you spoke. “Oh, it feels so… Yes, my love, my knight… You’re so big.”

“Princess… I feel your cunt squeezing me.”

“Oh, I—I am s-sorry.”

He huffed a laugh against your cheek. “Feels good,” he said. “Keep squeezin’ me.”

He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek as his hips thrusted non-stop, now molding you to fit his cock perfectly, forever. Well, for however long you had left together.

“God, you’re soakin’ me,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of wet skin on skin.

Your well-trained manners urged you to apologize again, but the sensation of his cock hitting into you was enough to render you speechless, except for the breathless sighs and sultry moans escaping your lips as you clawed at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his scarred flesh to nearly break open new wounds.

He continued on for a while now, though you could not tell how long he’d been thrusting, you only knew you were drowned by his mouth, his lips finding every part of your skin that he could reach in this position and leaving sloppy trails of open-mouthed kisses. That tightening and tingling within you strengthened with each movement he made, each thrust reminding you of how deep inside you he was, and how strong he was, his body weight driving the force of each hard, deep stroke.

Only when your moans had faded into heaving breaths and your body had loosened into jelly did he speak to you again, though not stopping his thrusts, as he couldn’t bring himself to even think about stopping now.

“Hey, sweetheart? You all right?”

You were hardly responsive, only opening half-lidded eyes to gape at his reddened, sweat-dripping face. His chestnut hair hung wildly, tickling your cheeks, though all you could feel was the pounding, the swelling of his cock inside you, the growing sensation of that volcano about to erupt again.

“H-hey.” You felt his hand cup your cheek as he said your name, his own voice shaky and stuttering as he began to lose his ability to keep himself in control. Tears welled up in your eyes once more, only now, they were those same tears of overwhelming, astounding satisfaction.

Stimulated to the point of near-catatonia, you were released by a sudden wave of vibrations that surged through you like electricity, bringing you back to life. Your legs clenched tight around his waist as your head shot back, exposing your strained neck. His lips did not spare you in your moaning, crying state. They attacked your neck as you pulsed all around his cock and grinded up against his pelvis by instinct. He held his hips still now, though, letting you ride the multiple waves of your intense orgasm until you shook like a leaf in a cool autumn wind beneath his strong, stabilizing body which your hands clung to desperately.

“Oh, Jesus!” was all you muster. You’d never said the Lord’s name in vain as many times as you had that night. Granted, you had never said the Lord’s name in vain before. “Christ!” Surely, you would be going to Hell.

“Shit,” the knight muttered into the crook of your neck. “I—I’m…”

Ears pounding with the sound of your heart, you could not process a word he said. You could only allow your glassy eyes to roll back as your lips formed a delirious, open-mouthed smile. “Oh, Daryl.”

He propped himself up on his bulky arms, dripping with sweat and bulging with flexed, aching muscles. As if to soothe them, you ran your hands up towards his biceps, holding onto them for dear life as he began thrusting again, almost completely inside of you.

All you could do now was smile up at him, murmuring his name, interspersed with declarations of your love and breathy moans that tortured him the closer he came to releasing himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he panted. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Yes, yours. Forever.”

“Mine.”

With an almost helpless groan, he pulled himself completely from you, sinking down on his arms to press against you, but with his cock angled to release on your heavy stomach. Though you missed the feeling of him inside you, you moaned at the feeling of warmth near your navel, where he spilled himself onto you.

Curiosity overcame you as you looked between your bodies, watching his strange… attachment release a silky, cloudy white liquid in spurts. For a moment, your eyes widened in slight fear. Truly, you had absolutely no idea what was happening. For all you knew, he’d suddenly contracted some strange disease that caused his cock to leak a new humor.

“Wh-what is… Daryl, are you all right?”

Once again, he laughed at your innocence. “I’m just fine… Better than fine,” he said, sinking down into a deep kiss. He only parted from them for a moment to say, “That’s s’posed to happen. Did they not teach you anythin’ about sex?”

“Th-they said…” You laughed at your lack of breath. “They said my husband would show me.”

He sighed as he lifted himself off you, then rolled over onto his side. With a huff, he yanked the fur-lined blanket from underneath you, then draped it over himself and you, much to your relief, as it was cold without his naked body on top of yours.

“Your father,” he began to say, wrapping an arm around your rather limp, flimsy body to pull you close, “he wanted ya to marry my lord, didn’t he?”

A puzzled look contorted your face. “How did you know?”

“He tells me everythin’.” The touch of his calloused fingers tickled your hairline as he brushed back your bangs. “Told me the king brought us here because he thought Richard would make a good husband for you… Why didn’t you want him?”

Duke Richard hadn’t crossed your mind much since that night he first arrived, though you never thought too much about why exactly he did not attract you as much as Sir Daryl did. Now, it was quite clear.

“Because he isn’t you, my love.” A laugh escaped your lips as you settled your hand upon his chest, twisting your fingers between the hairs that intrigued you so. “The duke is… He is a good man, but you are better. That is all.”

A rosy blush blossomed on his cheeks as his mouth curled with a lopsided smile. You admired the lines in his face, the crows feet and tired bags around his adoring eyes. “He would’ve made a good husband for you.”

“Mm, perhaps.” Your pointer finger traced lines over his sharp collarbone. “Lady Michonne is rather fond of him, though. I think they make a lovely couple. Besides, my heart does not belong to him. It belongs to you.”

Shaking his head, he offered you a somber smile. “You know you can’t marry me, even if Negan didn’t want you. I’d be killed.”

“My father would not kill you.”

“You don’t know that for sure. If he… if he knew that I took you outside the walls, let alone that we—”

“We could go somewhere, someday.”

Your name fell on his lips, but you interrupted him again. “Negan will take me, I know I cannot escape that, but someday, when Alexandria is strong enough, you can find me, and we’ll go away, somewhere you’ve been on your travels. My father would understand. We could be together, we could marry. Someday.”

But you knew it was a pipe dream. You knew that, if it could ever happen, it would happen so long from now, and you could not leave your father without him knowing you were all right. It seemed as though there was nothing to stop the world from caving in. For someone who had so much power by birth, you felt so powerless, the most powerless you’d ever felt in your whole life. That was saying something, as you never truly felt in control of your own destiny. You never thought it could get worse, until now.

“You know I won’t let him take you,” he said. “Maybe we can be together like that someday, but right now, all I care about is you, not me and you.”

“But… I care about you.”

And for the first time in his life, he believed those words.

“I know you do.” Upon your forehead, he placed a chaste kiss. “Ya know, once a knight gives his heart to a lady, he can never give it to anyone else, and he’s bound to her forever.”

Of course you knew that. There wasn’t much about knights you didn’t know. If only you had as much knowledge of human sexuality as you did of knighthood, but alas.

“Does that mean you will marry me one day?”

His eyes narrowed in playful suspicion as he pretended to think it over, mumbling a pensive, “Hm…”

“Sir Daryl,” you teased, “if you do not agree to marry me, I will send you to the stocks.”

“Your highness,” he said, his arms pulling you in closer to his chest, “I promise myself to you.”

“And I, you… My sweet, brave knight.”

That evening, you did not return to the castle until the sun began to rise again. Sleeping on a straw-stuffed bed was quite the adjustment from your feather-stuffed one, but he did not let go of you, not even in his sleep, and that made all the difference to you.

Despite the uncertainty that loomed in the air all around you, the fear that settled in your heart from the moment you realized you might never see Daryl again, you had a strange, persistent sense that, someday, every night could be like this one.

Someday, you repeated in your head, lulling yourself to sleep in his arms.

But that was the future, and this was now. Now, you knew only one thing to be perfectly, virtuously true: you were his, just as he was yours.

Through life, and after death.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

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gong-fourz · 1 month

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Happily Ever After

Pairing: nonidol!Jay x fem!reader Summary: In the heart of the magical kingdom, where dreams come true. Jay had orchestrated a secret adventure. As you strolled the enchanted streets, your heart skipped a beat when you realized the grandeur of his surprise. WC: 744 Genre: fluff

taglist - m.list

I had always dreamed of going to Disneyland, ever since I was a little girl. The magical kingdom, the thrilling rides, and of course, the enchanting castle. But as I grew older, the idea of visiting the happiest place on earth seemed like a distant dream. That is until my boyfriend, Jay, surprised me with a trip to Disneyland. It was a normal Saturday afternoon when Jay showed up at my door, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I could sense that he was up to something, but I had no idea what it could be. He grabbed my hand and led me to his car, blindfolding me before I could even ask any questions. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally arrived at our destination. I could hear the sound of people laughing and the familiar tune of Disney songs. Jay guided me through the park, describing everything we passed by in great detail. I could feel the excitement bubbling inside me, and I couldn't wait to see what he had planned. Finally, Jay stopped and removed the blindfold. I was standing in front of the iconic Disneyland castle, adorned with colorful lights and decorations. Tears welled up in my eyes as I took in the sight, and I turned to Jay, who was beaming with pride. 'Surprise!' he exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. I couldn't believe it. My dream was finally coming true, and I had my amazing boyfriend to thank for it. We spent the whole day exploring the park, going on rides, and indulging in all the delicious treats Disneyland had to offer. It was the most magical day of my life, and I couldn't have asked for a better person to share it with. As the sun began to set, Jay took me to a quiet spot by the lake, where we sat down on a bench and watched the fireworks display. It was the perfect end to a perfect day. But little did I know, Wo had one more surprise up his sleeve. As the last firework burst in the sky, Jay got down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. My heart stopped beating as he opened the box to reveal a stunning diamond ring. 'Y/N, you are my everything. I have loved you since the moment I met you, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me?' Jay asked, his voice trembling with emotion. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I nodded vigorously, unable to find the words to express how I felt. Jay slipped the ring on my finger, and we shared a passionate kiss, surrounded by the magical ambiance of Disneyland. The next few months were a blur of wedding planning and excitement. Jay and I decided to have a small, intimate wedding at Disneyland, as it held a special place in our hearts. We invited our closest friends and family, and they were just as thrilled as we were. On the day of our wedding, I couldn't stop smiling. I couldn't believe that I was getting married to my best friend, my soulmate, my everything. As I walked down the aisle towards Jay, I could see the love and adoration in his eyes, and I knew that I was the luckiest girl in the world. The ceremony was beautiful, and as we exchanged our vows, I couldn't help but think about how far we had come. From our first date to this moment, Jay had been my rock, my support system, and my biggest cheerleader. I couldn't imagine my life without him. As we danced our first dance as husband and wife, I knew that this was just the beginning of our happily ever after. And as we watched the fireworks light up the night sky, I whispered to Jay, 'Thank you for making all my dreams come true.' He smiled and pulled me closer, whispering back, 'No, thank you for making my life a fairytale.' From that day on, we returned to Disneyland every year to celebrate our anniversary. And every time we walked through the gates, we were reminded of the magical day when Jay surprised me with a trip to Disneyland and ended up proposing. It was a moment that I would cherish forever, and I couldn't wait to create more memories with my beloved husband in the happiest place on earth.

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen jay #jay x reader #enhypen imagines #park jongseong #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #enha x reader #enha fluff #enhypen jake #enhypen jungwon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen niki #enhypen

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aquagirl1978 · 4 months

Note

And may I also request touches #2 with Mitsuhide? I love doting on that man so much!!

Thank you for this request - sorry it took me so long to get to 🥺

Blue Christmas - Mitsuhide Akechi x Reader (ikemen Sengoku)

A/N: Day 4 of my Twelve Days of Christmas. Also part of my New Year, New Celebration follower celebration.

Pairing: Mitsuhide Akechi x Reader

Prompt: running fingers through hair

Word Count: 562

Tags: fluff

It was a cold and blustery day in December as you strolled through the streets of Azuchi. Your hands were filled with bags brimming with gifts for all your friends, including an extra special one for Mitsuhide -- a small porcelain mouse.

Christmas was one of your favorite holidays – the lights and the trees and the family dinner of fried chicken were just some of the things that made this holiday so special to you. You had thought this year would be bittersweet, as it was your first away from home, but it had been anything but so far. Christmas might not have come to Japan yet, but there was nothing stopping you from bringing the spirit of the holidays here.

You had planned to sneak out that afternoon under the ruse of needing to go to the markets in search of new fabric – it was the perfect excuse to go shopping alone to get everyone’s gifts.

And then you ran into Mitsuhide.

“Where’s this little mouse running off to this early?”

Close. So close to freedom.

After you informed him that you were going to the market to pick up some new fabrics, you were shocked when he asked if he could join you. Of course you said yes – who would say no to their boyfriend – but now you were in the unenviable position of trying to evade the kitsune somewhere in the market as you purchased the presents.

As it turned out, Mitsuhide was meeting someone in the markets, so it was easy for you to shop in secret. After spending an inordinate amount of time perusing various shops to find the perfect gifts – down to Nobunaga’s favorite konpeito, sorry Hideyoshi – it was finally time to return home to the castle.

One moment you were hurrying through the streets of the markets in Azuchi, and the next, you were lying flat on the ground. Cheeks warm with embarrassment, you sighed, your bags lying scattered on the ground around you. Your only saving grace was that no one you knew witnessed your fall.

Or so you thought.

Your stomach twisted in knots as you looked up into the crowd and spotted a familiar head of silver-white hair, suppressing a groan as he approached.

“Little mouse,” he said, offering you his hand in assistance. You slipped your hand in his; he easily pulled you up to a standing position. His eyes flickered over your figure, assessing any injuries. He reached out a hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, his fingers grazing your still heated cheeks, his touch comforting.

“You really do need to watch yourself,” he chided, his eyes fixed on a patch of ice on the ground. “It certainly would have been a blue Christmas if you had hurt yourself.”

You turned to him, your eyes wide with awe. How did he know about Christmas? You hadn’t said a word about it as you were waiting until the 25th to surprise everyone. So who told him?

He gazed at you knowingly, his golden eyes twinkling like familiar Christmas lights. He huffed a small laugh, and as if he was reading your mind, he pulled you close to him in a warm embrace, his fingers running through your hair as he held your face close to his heart.

“Lucky for you, I was here to help.”

Tagging: @alixennial @redheadkittys @lordsisterxotome @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @lucyw260 @scorchieart @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @judejazza @xbalayage @xenokiryu

#12 days of christmas #new year new celebration #ikemen series #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen mitsuhide #ikesen fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 1 year

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Shark-napped

Summary: Princess Natasha encourages you to become her personal guard, but before your skill can be tested, you have to stage an important rescue.

Word Count: 3080

Warnings: Swearing, sharknapping

A/N: I’m a liiiittle bit late to release day, but I don’t get to play Tears of the Kingdom for another few days, so to get out all my excitement I decided to write a follow up fic to my previous Zelda inspired Jeff fic: The Kingdom of Yerffej. Enjoy!!

“Mrrr…Mrrrr!”

Your senses awoke all at once; you felt the shove, heard the rustling sheets, and opened your eyes just in time to see the ground hurtle towards you. Pain shot through your whole left side. You’d definitely had better mornings.

The culprit soon emerged; his large head obscuring the ceiling as he hovered over you.

“Mrrr,” he said again.

“Good morning, Jeffrey,” you groaned. “What in the kingdom’s name was that about?”

The land shark sighed and raised a stubby leg towards your calendar, where today’s date was circled in a prominent red marker.

“Shit! Wait. Sorry Jeff, you didn’t hear that.”

Jeff rolled his eyes; you overslept frequently enough that he heard you curse most mornings, even if you liked to pretend you censored yourself around your companion.

Jeff left you to scramble off the floor, while he strolled through his shark-flap to do whatever it is that land sharks do in a day… you still weren’t sure what that was.

In the meantime, you’d gotten up and rushed to get dressed, though the complexity of your uniform hindered the speed of that progress. Whoever had decided upon the triple layering of an undershirt, chainmail, and your division’s tunic clearly had not designed it with hasty dressing in mind. Add on the trousers, boots, helmet, and belting, and you’d hardly have any time at all with Natasha before your work duties began. Your feet slid across the hardwood floor as you rushed out of your room, you grabbed your belting with one hand and the door with the other, then shut it behind you. The belts were thankfully still together, only loosened the day before, so you threw it over your chest as you ran and tightened the sword and shield to your body on the way.

“Overslept again?” Natasha teased. She’d opened the door on your knock, and laughed instantly at seeing your hunched and panting figure.

“Yeah,” you nodded breathlessly, “be glad Jeff woke me up when he did.”

“Where is the little guy anyway? He’s usually your shadow.”

You shrugged. “He went out this morning, seemed fed up. I’m sure we’ll see him wandering around later.”

“Well, since you’re late, we’ll need to wander and talk too. I have news that I want you to know, but you have to get to work on time.”

“Excuse me, Princess, I’m always at work on time!”

“Only just,” she laughed.

“That’s all they ask for. But come on, we’re walking now, you need to share your news.”

Natasha nodded, then glanced around, as if looking for spies within the palace walls. “Sir Rogers is retiring.”

"Sir Rogers??" you repeated. His retirement was hardly shocking, but you'd still forgotten the day would come. The guard had been serving the royal family longer than you and Natasha had been alive. He'd been Natasha's personal guard since the day she was born, and you'd built up a solid friendship over the years. He'd loitered outside all your lessons, followed you and Natasha around castle grounds when you played as children, he was even the one to first hand you a sword.

"It's going to be odd having someone replace him," you muttered, "what if they're, you know, strict about us being together?"

"He'll be around for a while more, he offered to stay and train his successor."

"Have you chosen them yet? The successor?"

Natasha stopped walking. You followed her lead, then turned so you could face her fully. "That's…that's what I wanted to talk with you about, Y/N." Her eyes were wide when they met yours. They were pleading.

"I'm a knight," you suddenly realised. Natasha laughed, then nodded. She cupped your face with her hands and smiled again. "You are a knight. The trials are today."

"But…if I got it…would you trust me? Would it even be allowed?"

"Y/N, love, I already trust you with every fibre of my body. I've given you my heart to protect, and I know nobody better suited to protecting the rest of me than you."

"Plus if you make the royal guard, you'd be obligated to spend the nights in the room next door to me. Maybe even stay the night if I'm feeling especially imperilled," she added with a smirk. Natasha moved her hands down to wrap around your neck, then leant forward, meeting you in the middle to kiss softly.

"Promise me you'll try?"

"Trust me, princess, you don't have to ask me twice."

You left the castle side by side and began the gentle stroll towards the barracks. You felt Natasha’s eyes on you from time to time, and always looked back at her, meeting her eyes with a grin on your face. To know her was more than enough, but to be her partner was something else. The way her green eyes paled in the sun, while her red hair shone even brighter; you couldn’t imagine anyone more beautiful.

A yell from the academy cut your appreciation short and you scowled. Suspension from the Knights hadn’t deterred Rumlow and his lackeys one bit; if anything, it had caused them to double down on their intimidation act. They insulted you and your land shark whenever possible, and no longer cared about Natasha’s presence.

“Where’s your little ball of salmon, Y/L/N?” Rumlow yelled, “Odd for him to be away from you so long, hm?” His accomplices sniggered behind him, sharing a look you took instantly to mean conspiracy.

“What did you do with him?!” You surged forward. But then Natasha’s hand was on your wrist and you felt the anger diffuse; where your eyes softened, her own hardened, and then, before you knew it, she was storming towards the Academy and you weren’t stopping her.

She halted at such a distance from you, that you couldn’t hear the words spoken, everything but flailing arms and fearful men was lost to the wind. You dared not go closer – this was Natasha’s strength, and you’d never interrupt it. That left you with only one option: stay put and watch your princess at work.

You jumped back to attention when Natasha turned; and when she smiled, with Rumlow and his companions cowering behind her, pride surged through your veins like jolts of electricity. It was impossible not to beam back at her.

“You have to look for Jeff,” she muttered, taking your hands in yours. “They took him while he was out earlier; sent Rollins to dump him wherever he saw fit.”

“Those fuc-”

“Don’t,” Natasha interrupted, a smirk flashing briefly on her face, “I’m going to send Steve to search with you; you know how he feels about language.”

“They took Jeff, Natasha, and we don’t know where he is. Sir Rogers can fucking live with it.”

“Go.” The Princess commanded, a subtle nod accompanying her word. “Without Steve, we can’t judge the trials. Find Jeff and bring them both back, Father and I will delay it until then. Be safe, Y/N.”

Natasha parted with a kiss, before bolting towards the barracks as fast as her dress would allow. You ran in the other direction into the town. Fear clouded your brain, but your one mission stood clear; you had to find Jeff soon. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. You’d never forgive yourself if it did.

“Y/N, wait up!”

"Sir," you said. Steve tilted his head, standing still even when you tried to move along.

"Y/N," he repeated. The gravitas of his tone made you turn around, and this time, you couldn't hide the tears pricking your eyes. "We'll find him," he promised, "you'll find him. And those dickheads won't know what hit them when I have a word with them"

This time, you paused. A smile slowly crept onto your face as you stopped the royal knight. "Dickheads?" you questioned, "I wouldn't expect that kind of language from you, Sir, you've scolded me for it all my life."

"You were a child and a royal guest, Y/L/N. You think I'd let the Princess and her sister overhear that language?" Steve grinned over his shoulder and began to walk off, while you jogged to catch up with him.

"I'm still friends with the Princess though."

"Something other than friends, no? But you're also a knight, and unless the Academy has changed drastically since my time there, I’m sure you’re used to the swearing by now."

"I've known you almost my whole life, I didn't think there was anything else to learn about you."

"There's still plenty to learn, Y/N, and I hope to be teaching you a lot of it after today's trials. I presume Natasha’s told you I plan to retire"

"She did, just this morning. I can't imagine the palace without you."

"I plan to have a worthy successor take over my role, someone just as devoted to protecting the Princess as I have been." Steve watched you, judging for a reaction, while you stared bashfully at the floor. It wasn't hard to tell he was talking about you, but whether it was earnest or in teasing of your relationship with the Princess, you couldn't tell.

"I mean it genuinely." He confirmed, as if he'd read your mind. "The trial has to be fair and open to everyone, so I cannot be biased in my judging. But you are one of the most promising knights I've seen in recent years, you voluntarily accompany the Princess everywhere she goes, and your readiness to track and protect Jeff just lays it clear. Your skill and fidelity to the crown could never be questioned. Show it off when we get back, and I won't have any choice other than to pick you."

You thanked the knight for his advice; if anyone could provide it, it was him.

Throughout your conversation with Steve, you had both been breaking off to question the townsfolk that you passed, in case they had seen any trace of Jeff. Most hadn't, but finally you got a break.

“That Rollins,” a merchant remembered, “he’s part of the group you’re asking about, isn’t he?”

“He is, sir.”

“I saw him earlier this morning, had a massive sack dragging behind him. I thought something didn’t look right there so I followed him. Saw him go into the caves, I did. Think that’s something fishy, isn’t it?”

The caves. He’d taken Jeff to the caves? You felt the blood rush to your brain as your heart rate picked up so much so that the pulse was almost audible in your ears. The cavernous system snaked through the mountain Yerffej had been founded on; stories of what lay inside were told to frighten children, and tremors from shifting tunnels could occasionally be felt in town. It was dangerous, and blocked for a good reason, but you couldn't let that stop you from getting to Jeff.

"That's exactly what I was looking for. Thank you, sir."

You ran off immediately, drawing Steve’s attention. He left his own conversation and took off in a sprint after you. You could explain on the way.

“The caves?” Steve grimaced, with a reaction very similar to your own. Their danger was infamous. You watched as his face contorted with doubt and jumped in to persuade and plead with him.

“I know they’re dangerous, but Jeff is in there alone and I have to get him out.”

“There’s a reason you need a permit to enter,” he sighed, “but I also know that won’t stop you.” Steve met your eyes, then moved. He gripped the pommel of his sword and took a defensive stance in front of the entrance; if he tried to stop you, you would do what you could to get past, but it wouldn’t be successful.

He noticed your face fall, then spoke. “30 minutes,” he nodded, “I’ll stay here in case you get trapped in a rockslide. But if you’re not back in 30 minutes, I’m coming in and pulling you out, even if you’re kicking and screaming.”

The ‘thank you’ could wait until later. You gave a curt nod and ran in, looking back at the light just once before you plunged into darkness.

You had only a lantern as a guide, and a dim one at that; squinting at the uneven ground forced you to move slowly, but you still went forward. Echoes stopped you in your tracks. For a moment they went silent too, and you feared it had just been your own movement…but then it came again: a haunting, faint splash.

“Jeff?” you shouted. You heard the splash again, louder this time, enough to be heard over your own calls for the land shark.

You shuffled over the rocks, hurrying ahead like you had no fear of falling. It soon opened into a cavern, the lake in the middle rippling at the surface.

"Jeff!" you yelled again, and the ripples oscillated, becoming more and more intense. You didn't wait. You stripped yourself of your armour and set the lantern aside before running and diving straight in.

Through the murk, you saw Jeff’s silhouette sat blankly at the bottom. It was only when he caught sight of you that he began to squirm in his weighted chains.

You held your breath and swam deeper. Jeff whimpered, but when you wrapped an arm around his body and pulled him up, you felt his body slacken and small arms wrap around your chest. With one arm, you propelled yourself and Jeff up until you were gasping for air at the surface. Your muscles burned, but with your last bit of energy, you hauled Jeff to shore. The land shark trembled while you panted. Collapsed on the floor beside him, you finally untied the ropes and weights that bound him.

“Mrrrr,” he whined, pressing himself closer again as you took him in your arms. You were both exhausted, but you were together.

“We need to get back,” you muttered against the land shark, “otherwise Sir Rogers is going to get concerned. Can you walk?”

Jeff gave a little nod, taking clumsy steps forward as evidence; it would have to do for now. You refitted your discarded equipment and picked up the lantern, it was time to head back the way you came, only this time with your loyal companion at your side.

“You got him!” Steve cheered the second he saw you, “I was getting worried. Are you all okay, Jeff?”

"Mrrrr."

“Good, because we need to hurry. The day is slipping away and we still have a trial to run; dash on ahead and prepare, it’ll have to start as soon as I get there.”

Natasha’s face lit up brighter than the gold of her throne when she spotted Jeff by your side. Her questions would have to wait though. While she sat regally in the stands, secondary only to her father beside her, you took your place in the sands, kneeling for the two of them. In those moments, you remember the difference between you and her: in your background, in your role, in your relationship. Insecurities reared their heads.

But then Natasha smiled. A genuine smile that asserted the love she showed for you and you alone to know, and it chased away all your worries. In moments like those, you knew you would be with her for life.

“I’d like to hope I’m a frontrunner,” you joked as the princess reached you. She made the rounds at the start of the trials, wanting to assess each competitor up close.

“It’s an unbiased vote, Y/N, you’ll have to show me you’re better than that, hm?” Natasha averted her gaze and moved to the next competitor, but you still saw a ghost of the smirk on her features. She knew what she was doing, just as you knew what you had to do.

The judges whispered amongst themselves after the trials. The princess, king, and head knight confided in each other, while you and the other knights stood to attention in the field below them.

“We have a decision,” the King finally stated. “Knight Y/L/N is to be the new guard of the princess – the role will be effective immediately, but responsibilities will come after a training period from Sir Rogers. I thank everyone for their time today; Knight Y/L/N and Land Shark Jeff, please stay to the end so we may discuss your duties.”

You stood steadfast as the other knights filtered out, nodding courteously at their congratulations. As the door closed on the last of them, the room snapped out of its formal stupor, starting when Natasha ran towards you in excitement. You caught her with ease and pulled her tight, grinning ear to ear as you hugged your lifelong friend.

"Congratulations, Y/N, you deserve every bit of this," the King said with a smile, while Steve nodded his agreement from behind. "I expect you up bright and early to begin training with Sir Rogers tomorrow, but for now, I'll let you and Natasha have your moment."

“Come on,” she whispered, then took your hand in hers, “let’s go back to my room.”

“I’ll have to get used to that, I suppose I’ll be spending a lot of time there to look after my princess.”

“That is your role, my knight. You’ll have to stick close, I think, especially at night. Some dashing knight might try to sneak into my room, you know. It has happened before.”

“That dashing knight did more than just try, I’ll have you know. I mean… surely nobody would be that bold.”

“Only the most daring would attempt it, I’d say.” Natasha laughed, pulling you into her room. “Though, my daring knight, until Steve moves out of his room next door, you won’t have a proper place to stay.”

Jeff ignored your conversation. You saw him leap onto Natasha’s bed out of the corner of your eye, and heard him snoring within seconds.

“I can’t be protecting my princess from the other side of the castle now, can I?”

"You can't, it's a real conundrum. So I suppose, my knight, that you'll have to stay in my room for the time being, just to keep me safe."

"Well, Princess…I'd suppose you're right."

You smiled and fell giggling on the bed with Natasha. From childhood friends to a Princess and her knight, it has been a long journey together, and you couldn't wait to see where it went next.

Jeff Taglist: @wolferine @unexpected-character (also @secretbackrooms just for this one, since you seemed interested!)

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n #jeff the landshark #jeff the land shark #natasha romanoff #marvel #mcu

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everlastingdreams · 4 months

Text

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 32

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: What Once Was.

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter: 32/40

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When your eyes opened, dim sunlight was entering the room through the window. At some point in the night you must have turned in your sleep, Lancelot was still asleep behind you but had his arm greedily around your waist. It took a few minutes to pry his hand loose so you could slip out of his hold without waking him. If you did not leave his room soon, you might as well have shouted it from the roof that there was something between you and the Ash Man. Your father would murder him if he found you here.

For a blink second you considered borrowing his cloak to get to your room, but it would not make matters better if they saw you in your nightgown strolling around the castle with his cloak on your shoulders…

With regret you got up from the bed and looked back to see him still vast asleep. He was quite a striking vision like this, hair messy and the sheets no higher than his waist. You forced your eyes away from him, or leaving would become an impossible task. Barefooted you left the room, chasing the night before the dawn would make it’s presence known all over the fort. You passed Ciro and Squirrel’s room, hearing how they were clearly awake already, and tiptoed past the door. While turning a corner you collided with something solid quite hard.

“Lady of Dawn. My apologies, I did not see you coming.” Ser Florent caught you by the elbow to help you steady yourself.

Dammit…

By reflex you crossed your arms in front of you, feeling quite bare in just the nightgown.

The knight read your response to his presence well, and had removed his cloak not a moment later to put it over your shoulders, “Where to then?”

He wasn’t even going to ask why you were walking around the fort under dressed like this?

“I was on my way to my room.” You greatly appreciated the gesture.

He saw the way you were looking at him a bit uncertain and said, “I am a knight, I will not ask a lady about her personal affairs.”

“That is very gallant of you.” The other knights were far more nosy.

Ser Florent walked you all the way to your room and even helped prevent others from seeing you like this. At the door, you handed him back his cloak and thanked him again for his chivalry.

He bowed his head a little. “I will speak of this to no one, so do not concern yourself, my lady.”

You were beginning to see him as trustworthy. “Please, just call me ‘y/n’. I am no noble.”

“Perhaps not by blood, but by character you are.” He stated. “Have a good day, y/n. If there is anything you need, the knights of the Fey are at your service.”

This time he bowed his head further and let you go into your room to ready yourself for the day ahead.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Once you were dressed and washed up, you headed out the door for breakfast like nothing had happened. Squirrel and Ciro were in the kitchens, having had the same idea as you. First you greeted the volunteers of the day who were busy baking bread with the sacks of flower that had been acquired again.

“Morning, Little Moons.” You tore a piece of bread from a loaf and walked up to the children.

“We’re not little!” Squirrel piped up.

Ciro greeted you with a wide smile while explaining things to Squirrel. “It’s what they call Dawn Folk children, Squirrel.”

The boy hadn’t realized that it was a term of endearment and not an insult. “Oh…”

You gave Squirrel a hug, he still acted like he didn’t enjoy it.

Ciro on the other hand welcomed your embrace with open arms, “Can we practice with the bow again today?”

Mirena had not come to ask you for help with healing yet, so for now you had no plans.

You hummed pensively. “I’d have to borrow Lancelot’s bow.”

“Please.” Squirrel pleaded. “He won’t mind.”

“I’m not the best with the bow either.” You sheepishly admitted.

Squirrel grinned. “I am.”

It was hard to say ‘no’ to two children who looked so enthusiastic and hopeful. “Alright. I’ll fetch the bow. Eat something and meet me in the courtyard.”

They both began to collect some bread and fruit to eat. By the time you were out of the kitchen, they were chewing. You ate your bread whilst walking towards the stables to get the bow from Goliath’s saddle. At a cross-corridor, the Ash Man joined your side.

“Good morning.” Your grin told the secret between you.

His own matched it, “Good Morning. Where are you headed?” He began to walk beside you.

“To Goliath.” You told him. “To fetch your bow.”

His grin grew, “Should I be concerned?”

You snorted a laugh. “I’m fetching it because Squirrel and Ciro asked to practice.”

The smug oaf decided to ask, “I see. How is your skill in archery?”

Your eyes narrowed at him in warning.

He was clever enough not to single you out. “Some practice benefits everyone.”

You approved of his quick thinking. “Indeed. And some help from others too.”

He could tell that you were asking for some advising on archery. “You have but to ask.”

Of course he’d love to show off his skills…

You warned him. “If I catch you laughing-”

“I will not.” He answered quick. Too quick.

“Fine then.”

“Fine what?”

“You can show me how you use the bow.”

“I did not hear you ask.”

Swiftly you turned to him before he could open the door to the courtyard. It came out a bit arrogant, “Do you want me to say ‘please’?”

There was a lopsided smirk tugging at his mouth now, he looked you up and down with expectation.

You swallowed your pride, “Fine. Will you please show me how to use a bow?”

Every word came out more agitated than the previous.

“Gladly.” The smug twit said, and opened the door for you.

You moved past him closely, brushing against him on purpose.

In part of the courtyard, a group of knights was sparring. Matthew and Florent were among them.

Matthew saw you and Lancelot walk by them and approached, “Ash Man, care do join our spar?”

Lancelot looked at him, then at the knights who looked uncertain about the whole idea. “Perhaps another time.”

You were beginning to walk away when what he said next made both of you halt.

Matthew was still fueled by the spar and showed his true colors, “Wouldn’t it be good to see if we could stand our ground against one of the Church’s weapons?”

The other knights said nothing of the way Matthew still addressed Lancelot as one of the Church.

You saw the Ash Man bite his tongue, but you weren’t going to let that slide, “He’s no longer-”

Ser Florent groaned at his fellow knight, pushing some of his short light golden hair back in irritation, “By the gods, Matthew. Do not act haughty, some of us have seen how well you’d do against the Ash Man.”

Matthew glared back at him, the other knights hid their chuckles by pretending to cough. You looked at Lancelot, feeling like there was something you had missed.

Ser Florent approached you, respectfully tilting his head, then he quietly spoke to Lancelot, “If you want to show us your skill, we would appreciate it. But the choice lies with you.”

From the corner of his eyes Lancelot looked at you, seeking advice on what to decide.

There was a slight shrug of your shoulders, “It could help to see if they can stand their ground against someone with experience.”

He thought about it for a second, then gave Ser Florent a nod.

“I’ll wait here.” You witnessed up close how the look in Lancelot’s eyes changed, the prospect of a challenge had awoken the warrior in him. “Be careful.”

An alluring smirk appeared on his lips. “I will be gentle.”

You shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. He walked towards the knights with Ser Florent.

This knight proved to be one for settling grudges. “Well then, Matthew. Considering you were the one to invite him, I doubt you have any objections to be the first to compare your skill against his?”

He was growing to appreciate this perceptive knight…

Matthew failed to provide an honest smile and beckoned for the Ash Man. “No objections.”

Ser Florent whispered to Lancelot, “I know you two do not get along. Do try not to kill him. We are short on knights.”

He gave a respectful nod and drew his short sword whilst approaching the insolent ‘knight’.

Matthew had his sword ready to spar, “Shouldn’t you draw your other sword?”

Lancelot let some arrogance slip, “I need no weapons to disarm you.”

The other knights took a step back to give them the room to end this strange quarrel. Deep down you understood that there was some rivalry between them. It was as if Matthew believed he had a claim on you because he knew you before Lancelot did. And Lancelot was bothered by the attitude Matthew had displayed. The infatuation had blinded you from seeing the flaws in the honey-eyed knight, it became harder to stand his character day by day. The end of a friendship was painful, but maybe it was necessary if Matthew continued to be hurtful.

Matthew laughed a bit at Lancelot’s claim, “Better keep one in hand. I wouldn’t want you to lose an arm.”

Matthew was the first to lunge.

Lancelot parried the attack and pushed the sword away with his own, turning the blade pointing downwards to try and get Matthew to stumble when he pushed back. Matthew countered the maneuver and managed to get his sword free, attacking with an upward motion. The tip of the sword passed right by Lancelot’s chin, who had tilted his head back just in time. Matthew was acting too careless.

“Have you gone mad?!” You shouted at him.

Lancelot wasn’t amused by the reckless action in the slightest.

“He can handle a Fey.” Matthew sneered, aiming it at Lancelot’s past.

Matthew went to lunge at him again, but Ser Florent grabbed a firm hold on his arm.

Ser Florent seethed at Matthew, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Matthew pulled himself free. “Gods, Florent. I won’t kill him!”

Ser Florent looked at Lancelot to see if he wanted to continue this. To your dismay, the Ash Man nodded. The knight stepped out of the way but kept a close eye on them.

Matthew attacked again.

Lancelot no longer played ‘gentle’ and hooked the crossguard of the short sword into Matthew’s, then elbowed him in the stomach. A boot to Matthew’s toes and a quick strong pull at the locked swords send Matthew face first to the ground.

An ‘oof’ sounded from those who had witnessed it happen.

Lancelot knelt down beside the fallen knight and whispered something to him, then stood again. Matthew took a second before pushing himself up from the ground, he wasn’t happy with the loss but made no attempt to continue the spar. You saw them share a look, filled with matters they seemingly refused to speak out loud to one another.

Ser Florent clapped his hands together once, “Well then, that was… educative. Care to do us the honor too, Lancelot?”

The knight gestured to the others and himself. Matthew stepped aside and let another knight step in his place.

Lancelot seemed quite willing to spar with them. And you were glad to see that others wanted to spend some time with him too. Finally, he was beginning to find his place here.

They matched their skill to his, one by one, and they would have fallen to the steel of the Ash Man had this been a real battle.

Helio had walked up to you, having noticed the spar happening. You kept quiet as your father stood beside you to watch the display, the knights had not noticed his presence yet, they were too busy having fun.

“He has talent.” Helio suddenly said.

“He has.” You agreed.

Helio kept his eyes on the spar. “I can see how he is holding back now. If he wanted to, he could kill them all.”

“He won’t!” You turned to him.

Helio did not look at you. “Those who live by the blade, perish by it. I admire his determination to seek another path in life.”

You watched the spar, it continued amicably. “He did not choose to be picked by Father Carden to become a warrior. Now that he is free from the Church’s hold, his true character comes to light.”

Helio hummed and saw how even when the knights fought with two against the Ash Man, his dual wielding of swords still proved quite the challenge against them. You saw Squirrel and Ciro walk unto the courtyard. They came up to you and the sparring was not sufficient enough to make them forget about their plans.

“Where is the bow?” Squirrel pouted.

The knights began talking for a moment and noticed the children present.

You put their worried minds at ease. “Don’t worry, I’ll go get it and be right back.”

Helio inquired, “Why do they need a bow for?”

“I promised the children to help them practice archery.” You told him.

“You?” Matthew said in disbelief after having heard it.

When the other knights looked at him, Matthew realized he had said something wrong. Lancelot could see your eyes spit fire at Matthew.

Nothing that would have come out of your mouth now would have been nice. How many times did he find it necessary to make a fool of you in front of others?

You walked away to go and collect the bow, and caught yourself thinking of using another target for practice instead of that straw-man.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

A few minutes had passed where Squirrel proved to be quite the stern tutor when it came to archery. He stood close to Ciro, watching over every move your cousin made.

“Now, nock.” Squirrel watched Ciro’s shaking posture.

Poor Ciro barely managed not to drop the arrow to the ground.

You offered some encouragement, “Think of what Lancelot has taught you.”

It appeared that Ciro was more nervous to get Squirrel’s approval…

Ciro dropped the arrow by accident. “Ss…sorry.”

Squirrel picked it up for him and handed it back, “Nothing bad’s going to happen, you know. You’re not going to shoot someone’s eye out.”

It was a poor attempt to comfort Ciro, but it was an attempt. For Squirrel to do so, he must like Ciro.

Ciro held up the arrow for you to take, “Will you try it?”

He clearly needed a moment.

You took the arrow from him with a matching uncertainty, knowing that by doing so Ciro had also transferred Squirrel’s attention over to you. “I’ll try.”

The bow was handed to you next and you felt your own hands start to shake a little.

Dammit…

The Hidden had mercy on you it seems, because the Ash Man returned to you after sparring to his heart’s content. You had seen the knowing grin he had after seeing the bow and arrow in your hands and glared at him for it.

Squirrel looked relieved to see that Lancelot was there to handle the tutoring part in his stead.

Whilst passing by the children, he gave Ciro a pat on the shoulder to give the boy some comfort.

He came to stand behind you and gave the order right away. “Nock.”

You had such a firm hold on the arrow and bow that it would not touch the ground unless you were on it too. It looked so simple, but once it was time to do so it proved that one needed to learn certain methods to send an arrow flying through the air. You looked at Lancelot from the corner of your eyes, seeing how he was clearly waiting for you to ask for help.

That smug…

You forced it through your teeth, “How do I nock properly?”

It was so obvious he had been waiting for the question, his quick reaction gave it away. He brought your arm lower and corrected the way your fingers were on the bow. “Do not grip the bow so tight, it is not going anywhere.”

Was that last comment really necessary? You shot him a warning look, he pretended not to see it.

His hand came to your back. “Do not lean or bend.” It skimmed down to your lower back, “Straighten your back.”

You scanned your surroundings, and quietly told him, “Hands…”

The children were not looking for a moment, nor any other curious eyes. He could not resist.

Before he withdrew his hand, he playfully scratched at the spot in a discreet and quick manner. If it wouldn’t have drawn more attention, you’d have swatted the twit’s hand away. For the rest of his help, he only touched your hands, and even that…

Thank the gods that your father and the knights were busy training. The Ash Man danced on dangerous ice, and enjoyed doing so it seemed.

“Loose.” He ordered once he was content with how you held the bow and arrow.

The arrow flew across the courtyard and hit the straw-man hard in the ‘chest’.

“Good draw strength.” His brow arched at the sight.

“Whoa!” Ciro and Squirrel exclaimed.

It had gotten Ciro excited to try again and you handed him the bow whilst Lancelot retrieved the arrow.

“See. If she can do it, you sure can.” Squirrel continued to offer some encouragement to Ciro, this time it was more effective.

The joy you had felt at successfully firing an arrow was almost spoiled by the blunt comment of the boy. Lancelot returned just in time to hear Squirrel say it and swallowed a laugh. At least the boy had good intentions, just a poor choice of words.

“Percival is right.” Lancelot said to Ciro while grinning in your direction.

You pulled a face at him when the children did not see. Then the Ash Man looked behind you, something had drawn his attention. You looked back to see your mother approaching.

Mirena had crossed the courtyard to come and speak to you, “I need to discuss something with you, do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” You followed her to stand a little further away from the others.

She wasted no time to get to the point of this, “A blacksmith in Madrock has send me a letter. There is something waiting for me to be collected. Will you go for me?”

It was rare for your mother to ask for the help of others on matters like this. “Alright. But why ask me?”

Mirena gestured to you. “I am asking you to go, because whilst you’re there you can get some new clothes on the market.” She touched the damaged, bloodstained sleeve of your jacket. “This is ruined.”

You looked down at your sleeve sheepishly.

“Go tomorrow. Good?” She asked.

You nodded, and saw her calling the Ash Man over. He came closer to hear what this was about.

Mirena gave a quick explanation and a request, “Y/n is going to Madrock tomorrow to retrieve something for me. Accompany my daughter.”

“Of course.” Lancelot tilted his head respectfully.

“That is settled then.” She was content with the positive response from both.

Before she could walk away, you asked, “What exactly is this ‘something’ we have to go and collect?”

“Do not be so nosy, Little Moon.” Mirena said and walked away.

Ah, one was never too old to be scolded by their parents…

You saw the look on Lancelot’s face.

“Don’t say a word.”

He bit his tongue.

Helio spoke to Mirena for a moment as she walked by, then he walked towards you.

“Ash Man.” He called out. “It would be good to have the boys watch the spar. Seeing is learning.”

While Squirrel was excited over it, Ciro let out the deepest sigh and you went to pat his shoulder a little. Lancelot collected the bow from Ciro and walked with the boys towards the sparring knights.

He would have preferred not to teach them the flaws in the sword fighting of some of the knights.

You stood and watched for a while too, sighing quietly when you saw Matthew come towards you. Matthew came to stand next to you and watched his fellow knights continue to spar without him.

You kept quiet, being very aware of the tensing that had happened to Lancelot’s jaw when he had seen Matthew stop beside you.

“Why don’t we speak anymore?” Matthew suddenly asked.

Your reply was quite cold, “Because when we did, you decided to tell everyone of my personal affairs.”

“I told you I was sorry.” He acted a bit defensive, then sighed. “I don’t want us to fight.”

You crossed your arms, feeling uncomfortable. “Then I suggest you are more considerate towards others.”

“Are you still upset I rejected you for so long?” It sounded like a genuine thing he considered possible.

You swiftly faced him, stunned, “I am over it, Matthew.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes for a blink, he fixed his attention on the spar again. “Maybe it’s best then, that we don’t spend as much time together as we used to. We’re not children anymore.”

Ouch…

Now that you were no longer the infatuated woman there to stroke his ego, he saw no point to save the friendship between you. At least he was honest about how he saw things now.

Still, he seemed to mourn the past between you. “I’m sorry, y/n. I think we both know that what was between us once, is gone now.”

It did hurt to accept how things had changed, you had changed… you had grown.

You were understanding. “Some time apart will do us well.”

Matthew gave a respectful inclination of the head and joined the other knights again.

After all these years, you had come to see that Matthew was flawed, just like everyone else. But the things he sometimes said were hurtful, and in time those would have gnawed away any appreciation you had for him if you did not take a step away from each other now.

In that moment you withdrew in your thoughts, feeling the bitter pain of a friend that became no more than an acquaintance. Squirrel had been looking up at your face beyond your knowledge, he came to your side and curled his hand around yours when he saw the sadness. It pulled you back to the present, and seeing the sweet boy hold your hand made you feel a little better.

You saw Lancelot looking at you, and went over to him to take the bow from his hands. “I’ll take the bow back to Goliath.”

He knew you were only offering so you could have some time to yourself, and handed you the bow.

With an excuse to walk towards the stables, you hoped to clear your thoughts of the unpleasant ones. But the feeling would remain for a while…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

In the late afternoon, you found yourself enjoying the little bit of sun there still was left with the children. It was going to be a short walk around the fort’s curtain walls, but once Squirrel laid himself down on the grass with his arms spread open like a bird, soon Ciro followed the example. After hesitating for a little while, you followed suit. Squirrel’s was on your right, Ciro on your left.

Squirrel squinted his eyes as the lowering sun was on them. “I like it here.”

You turned your head to look at him, “Do you?”

He nodded, speaking quietly, “I still miss home, and Nimue. But this feels like home too.”

His hand moved over the grass until it found yours and clasped around it. Squirrel turned his head to Ciro when he felt his friend do the same to him.

Ciro smiled at him, “You’re my best friend.”

“I’m your only friend.” Squirrel said without thinking.

“Squirrel!” You winced at the choice of words.

Ciro didn’t seem to mind and was just glad to have a friend, even a blunt one.

A chill began to set itself on your skin. “It’s getting colder. If we go inside, I can read to you from that book again if you want?”

“Can you read to us about the Snake Folk clan?” Ciro asked.

It would interest you as well. “Of course.”

You got up from the grass and helped them to their feet. Whilst walking back to the fort with them, most of the knights were not sparring anymore, they sat down against the wall to catch their breath. Only Ser Florent and Lancelot were still sharing information and tricks with each other on how to win in a fight. They were getting along quite well, the knight was the amicable and curious kind, he greeted you as you walked by with the children. Lancelot glanced at you and gave a polite nod, like you had not slept in his bed the previous night. With a secret smile of your own, you walked into the fort.

The book you needed was missing in their room for a few minutes.

“I put it on the chair.” Squirrel claimed.

So you found it under Ciro’s bed, still open on a page that spoke of the Faun Folk.

You plopped down on the floor between their beds, putting the book on your lap. “Snake Folk…”

You skimmed through the pages and found the chapter on the Snake Folk, one quick look at the next pages and you knew it would take a while to read all of it for them. Determined to keep your promise, you began to read from the book, it wasn’t long before they sat on the ground beside you to look at the pages as they were read out to them. Again your finger followed the words you read, so Squirrel could learn.

Time past far quicker than you had liked it to, it was nice to spend time with the children and see their young minds travel on the words of a book. At some point they had gotten into bed and you had been sitting with your back against Ciro’s bed, and that is how you woke up an hour later after dozing off with the book in your hands.

Dammit…

The children must have fallen asleep not long after you had. One look at the window told that night had fallen over the lands. You closed the heavy book as quiet as you could, and this time it was placed back on the chair. After tucking in the children, you left the room without waking them.

On the way to your room, you noticed candlelight coming from under the library’s door. You decided to go inside and pick out a book to read for yourself for on those nights where the past kept you from sleep. The Ash Man was in the library, head down over a book while a wall of stacked ones surrounded him. He was not as neat with books as you would have thought him to be it seemed.

You alerted him of your presence with a tease, “Did that book I gave you awake an appetite?”

An appetite for books, or…

It was deliberately ambiguous.

He shared one of his own, not lifting his eyes of the page being read, “I do not need a book for it, I have you.”

It left you flabbergasted, the wish to get him flustered had backfired.

He looked up for less than a second, amused to see your response.“I am curious to see if there is more of my clan hidden in these books.”

You brushed the thick layer of dust off of a book, “Any luck?”

He wasn’t gravely disappointed, like he expected that it was unlikely. “None yet.”

Lancelot closed the book and leaned back on the chair.

You searched one of the shelves for the book you wanted, ultimately finding it in one of the stacks he had on the table with him.

It sounded more like a statement coming from him when he saw what book you had chosen, “Again one on the matters of the heart?”

“What?” You shrugged your shoulders. “I like them.”

He was smirking up at you, “What do you enjoy about them?”

You swallowed the nerves down and tapped your fingers on the book. “I… uhm…”

Lancelot waited patiently for you to form a sentence.

“They were and are a safe way for me to learn what it’s like.” You admitted, “I know it’s not real, and it’s silly-”

“It’s not ‘silly’.” He told. “In books it is not our own heart that is at risk.”

It was nice to hear that he didn’t laugh, but rather understood. You hugged the book to your chest.

His head tilted a little to the side, reminding you of how a pup could look at someone.

When you saw him try to hide a yawn, you scolded him. “You should be resting, we’re traveling tomorrow.”

His quick wit was alert tonight. “Spoken by the one I am accompanying.”

He had a point.

You turned to leave. “Well, I am going to bed now. I don’t want to fall asleep on my horse.”

“Uhm-” Lancelot began but fell quiet.

There had been something he wanted to say…

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

It didn’t feel like it was nothing, but by his expression you could tell that dragging the truth out of him would be difficult.

You offered a sweet smile instead. “Good night then, try not to get lost in the tales in these books.”

While heading to the door, the sound of the chair dragging back made you turn to him. It looked like he wanted to say something but failed to do so again. Upon seeing your inquisitive eyes, he folded his hands behind his back to hide their restlessness.

He could not ask so much of you…

You sighed a little in compassion at seeing how uncertain he looked. “Alright, spit it out. I can’t sleep knowing that there is something that you think you can’t tell me.”

His hands squeezed together tight behind his back whilst he got closer to you.

The hood of his cloak hid the hope in his eyes, his gaze did not lift from the ground.

“Last night was…” He struggled to voice his thoughts, “It…”

It was odd to feel your heart warm at his stammering. You helped him by saying, “I found it lovely.”

Visual relief crossed his face, had he been worried that you regretted it?

His gaze went past your shoulder, before dropping to the ground again, “Worth repeating?”

Your eyes widened slightly, it had been an indirect request to join him again tonight. After having fallen silent for a moment, you tried to string a sentence together. “I am tempted. But if we want to be well-rested to travel tomorrow…”

He gave a slow nod, understanding what you wanted to say, “Not tonight?”

You reached a hand out to lace your fingers in the leather that ran across his chest, pulling him closer. “Another night will come. And if you wish for it too, many more after it.”

It was not often that you saw the Ash Man silent, yet so loud with the look in his eyes he gave. You brushed your lips to his cheek, whispering to him, “Sleep well.”

With a playful shove to his chest, you send him a step back and let go. He looked so tempted to respond to it, but held back. It was half a miracle that he just let you walk out of the library after that.

Maybe he’d make you pay for it tomorrow.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#the weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #cursed #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #lancelot #daniel sharman character #daniel sharman fanfic #daniel sharman

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hellcheer-heaven · 7 months

Text

Precious Pup

Short story from my old Eddie Munson account that’s getting the Hellcheer treatment.

Another quiet night at Castle Munson, Chrissy rested her head on Eddie’s chest while they watched the 7 o’clock news. Same old, same old: Updates regarding the economy, the continuous divide between those with wealth and those that were struggling, and Reagan talking about the state of national security and international affairs. They more or less paid attention, but really the television was kept on as background noise until they decided to shut it off. The two of them would usually spend their evenings listening to music, cooking, and going for a quick evening stroll. Tonight however they preferred to just turn in early and do nothing. They already finished a quick meal of leftover pizza rolls and beer. Well the one beer bottle was for Eddie, Chrissy gave it a sip and opted for juice instead.

“Okay that’s enough tv for tonight,” Eddie noted as he reached out and pressed the button.

Chrissy got up, stretched out her back, and yawned, “What time is it?”

Before Eddie could utter another word, a loud crash came from outside. They stood frozen in place, not even so much as breathing when all was quiet. The silence was broken by the sound of rustling and so they hurried to snatch whatever they could grab within arm’s reach. Chrissy was prepared with the table side lamp and Eddie clutched on to the 10 pound dumbbell. Of all the nights Uncle Wayne didn’t have any bullets, it had to be tonight. Eddie stood in front of Chrissy, hand on the doorknob and ready to pulverize whoever or whatever was out there.

Chrissy stood at his side, she looked at the door and then to him, “On three: One, two, three!”

Nothing. Nothing was out there. The only thing that seemed out of the ordinary was a nearby trash can that had tipped over. Still they had to be cautious. As they slowly approached the knocked over container, they noticed the pile of garbage rustling about. Hopefully it was just a raccoon, at least let it be a raccoon.

The two of them crept closer, stopping when the trash moved again. Suddenly they heard something different. Small, whimpering, and frightened. Eddie hurried to move everything out of the way until he found the source. A little pit bull puppy with the sweetest pair of eyes anybody could ever look into. The poor thing was tired, cold, and hungry. No collar was spotted, the little dear emitted the saddest cries that could make a soldier tear up. Chrissy removed her varsity jacket and wrapped up the lost puppy, sweetly cooing that she was safe.

Chrissy drew a lukewarm bath for the tiny bundle, using whatever was left in her shampoo bottle to scrub her clean. Meanwhile Eddie was searching through the cabinets and fridge to find something for the pup to chow down on. A mixture of sliced lunch meats and a boiled egg would have to do. They sat beside her as she scarfed down the freshest meal that she’s had in hours, probably even days.

“Poor thing. How long do you think she’s been out there?” Chrissy asked as she watched the mini canine eat.

Eddie sighed, “I don’t know. Where do you think she came from?”

She reached her hand out slowly, she felt her heart break as the puppy retreated and cowered in the corner, “She’s so scared.”

He pecked Chrissy’s forehead, “Hey it’s okay, she’s safe now.” He reached out his hand, gently clicking his tongue, “Come here. Come here, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, baby.”

The puppy refused, staying as far away as possible. The two of them would never know her history. All they knew was that she could start again in a family that would cherish her. Care for her. Take her out for walks. And give her the kind of love that was missing in her life.

#hellcheer #munningham #eddissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #hellcheer fic #hellcheer fanfic #hellcheer fan fic #hellcheer fanfiction #pit bull #puppy #pit bull puppy

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you-heard-what-i-meant · 5 months

Text

Merlin - Written in the Scars

[Arthur is king, didn't die at Camlann, and knows about Merlin's magic]

After some visitors arrive at Camelot and Merlin has a bit of a day, Arthur feels the need to check on him. He really should learnt to knock before he barges into Merlin's room (or not).

Notes:

Title taken from The Script's song Written in the Scars.

No specific Merthur, but definitely hints of it if you want to read it that way ;-).

Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own (and I apologise)!

Angst, Whump, Emotional Whump, Mentions of Injuries (no detail), Mentions of Torture (no detail), Beginnings of Merthur.

Available on AO3 HERE!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The hour is late and Arthur is moving fast through the corridors of the castle. Druids had arrived earlier in the day asking for Merlin’s help - Emrys’s help. They had a young girl with them who they discovered bound and gagged in a cave - she was refusing to speak, and what little information they’d managed to gather through telepathic communication wasn’t helping. She was clearly in possession of magical abilities, and it would seem she was abandoned to die by magic-fearing parents. Merlin had spent all day working with her and had reported back to Arthur and the Druids, but the king had sensed all the things Merlin wasn’t saying, and now he felt the need to check in with him.

The king doesn’t think twice as he strolls into Merlin’s chambers, heading for the dressing area where the man is likely preparing for bed. He’s just about to call out when he catches a glimpse of the man in question. Completely unaware of his friend’s presence, Merlin’s back is to Arthur as he pulls his undershirt over his head and drops it on the bed. The sight of the exposed skin of Merlin’s back causes Arthur’s words to die in his throat.

Arthur is expecting to see perfect, unmarred skin - maybe the odd mark from their many misdemeanours over the years. What he’s presented with is a collage of scars - some deep-set, some raised, large, small, stretching and criss-crossing and twisting. They come into stark relief and almost glitter in the candlelight as Merlin moves, stretching his arms above his head to work the stiffness out of his muscles and drawing Arthur’s eyes along the slender limbs.

There he finds more scarring. What looks like an old burn covers the whole of one shoulder, clearly continuing over the front of his body. Marks that look very much like rope burn twist around both of Merlin’s slim arms, culminating in a mess of ligature marks around his wrists. Arthur has a moment of sick recognition as he looks to Merlin’s back again - he can place the weapons that caused most of the marks. Whips, blades, fire, arrows… The rest he can only assume are courtesy of falling on something, restraints, and magical wounds.

He follows one scar - almost black in colour - from just above his bony shoulder blades, up his neck along the line of his spine, disappearing into his hairline. Arthur’s gaze catches Merlin’s face in the window, and finds himself locking eyes with him in the reflection.

Merlin whips around, the flash of gold in his eyes just dissipating as his arms instinctively move to cover his chest before he has the wherewithal to snatch his shirt up from his bed and vaguely hold it against his body. His startled voice comes out higher in pitch than normal.

“Don’t you know how to knock?!”

Arthur’s eyes are drawn to his friend’s shoulder, seeking that horrific burn that he’d seen a moment ago. He just catches sight of it before it finishes quietly fading into perfect, pale flesh. His response is instant.

“Stop it.”

“What-?”

“Drop the spell.”

Arthur’s words come out a mixture of commanding king and heartbroken confidante. Merlin freezes, and it occurs to Arthur that given the long history of prejudice against magic in Camelot, his words could have an unintended threatening undertone. He should have tempered his reaction. He deliberately softens his voice.

“I just mean… You don’t have to hide from me.”

Merlin’s searching gaze is anxious. Arthur fights to keep his face somewhere between neutral and softly encouraging.

Neither of them speak for a long moment.

Finally, the king’s quiet words fill the space between them.

“Your - What happened to you, Merlin?”

Merlin shifts, his blue eyes darting to the floor as they flash gold, his hands fidgeting with the screwed up shirt that he’s barely covering his torso with. Slowly, the scars fade back into existence. He clearly tries to be flippant but his voice comes out more sad than jovial.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

After a moment of indecision Arthur steps forward, gently liberating the shirt from Merlin’s grasp and tossing it back onto the bed. He stands for a moment appraising the man, who shuffles uncomfortably in his exposure to Arthur’s scrutinising gaze even as he raises his head almost defiantly.

Arthur’s eyes catch on the gruesome ligature marks around Merlin’s wrists. He finds himself reaching for Merlin’s forearm and softly holds it as he appraises the marred skin, the fingertips of his free hand tracing over the scars so tenderly it makes Merlin shudder. It occurs to Arthur that this is a somewhat intimate gesture, but the bond he and Merlin have makes them far more tactile with each other than people would normally expect.

Arthur looks up to meet Merlin’s eyes, a mixture of fear and pain in his own.

“I don’t recognise most of these wounds.”

Uncertainty twists Merlin’s face.

“No, you… You didn’t see how most of them happened.”

Arthur’s eyes close in regret. He takes a deep breath before he meets Merlin’s gaze again.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

Surprise crosses Merlin’s face.

“No, Arthur, that’s not - none of it was your fault.“

“Either way, I’m sorry.”

Merlin doesn’t know how to respond. Silence reigns again.

“Tell me about them.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Arthur pours every ounce of sincerity into his voice that he can muster. “Please tell me. I need to understand - there have been so many times I wasn’t there to help you. After everything we’ve been through, I just want to know you.”

Merlin’s crystal blue eyes are wide, and there’s hesitation in his features.

“I’m not sure you want to know, Arthur.”

Arthur’s heart aches and the pain of distrust burns in his stomach.

“Why, because some of them are from magic?”

Merlin’s eyes widen even further.

“No! Well… I know you’re still getting used to the magic thing, but it’s mostly that -”

Merlin cut’s himself off, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as his eyes search Arthur’s face for something.

“What?”

Compassion floods Merlin’s features. His voice is gentle when he speaks.

“... Because I don’t want you beating yourself up about them.”

Arthur stares, dumbfounded. He eventually regains his composure enough to respond.

“Well there’s not much you can do about that. I already feel a world of guilt just from seeing them. I just really want - no, I need to understand everything that’s happened to you - to us. We’ve never actually spoken about everything, never really taken the time to process all the things we’ve been through.”

Merlin is quiet, doubt lining his features. Arthur realises what he’s truly asking.

“I’m sorry, I have no right to ask. But please, if you can ever bring yourself to tell me, I will sit and listen through every pain you’ve been forced to bear. I owe you the respect of at least knowing everything that you’ve been through, even if there’s nothing I can do to make up for it.”

The unshed tears in Merlin’s eyes almost make Arthur drag him into an embrace, but he knows that right now it would be more to comfort himself than Merlin. Instead he squeezes the forearm in his grasp and grips the man’s shoulder with his other hand - a gesture he has always used to indicate his support and respect.

Merlin studies him for a moment. Arthur prepares himself for another rejection when the man raises his head decisively.

“It doesn’t bother me. To talk about them, I mean. I just want to be sure it’s not going to push you into a bad place. You’ve got enough going on.”

Arthur’s heart clenches at the consideration Merlin is showing him. Always. Merlin is always about others - particularly Arthur - first and himself last. He raises his head to match his friend’s.

“Merlin, I promise you that this isn’t about self-punishment or whatever else. I want to know you. If you are willing to tell me, I’d be honoured to listen.”

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

Arthur wants to curl up in a ball. Both seated on the bed, Merlin had started small - “Arrowhead - you were there for that one.” and “No you didn’t know about those ones. I got the stuffing kicked out of me by some of your father’s fan club. Gaius patched me up.”

It soon progressed to “That was Aulfric and Sophia, the Sidhe? You were actually standing right beside me and watched it happen but you were too enchanted to notice anything. That took a really long time to heal. It sometimes still burns, even now. All the scars caused by magic do.”

And eventually they arrived at “I’ve lost count of the number of people who have tried to strangle me or cut my throat” and “Uhhh.. yeah. Those ones… I got taken by some of Morgause’s followers and, um, they didn’t just use normal weapons to make me feel their anger. Wasn’t sure I was going to survive that one, actually.”

Finally they reached the worst of the scars, still vaguely pink and fresh looking. At first, Merlin just shakes his head - “oh a lot’s happened recently” - until finally Arthur’s gentle-but-insistent prodding gets Merlin to release a resigned sigh.

“Do you remember when… um… When I -” Merlin's utter discomfort tells Arthur exactly the event he’s thinking of.

“When Morgana enchanted you to try and kill me?”

“Yeah.”

“You were missing for days.”

“Yeah… well…” Merlin’s distress comes out in his fidgeting. Arthur suddenly feels sick. Still gently holding Merlin’s arm, he runs his fingers along the scars on his wrist again.

“She tortured you.”

It isn’t a question, but Merlin’s eyes betray his answer. For a moment Arthur can’t find his breath. Eventually his voice cracks on a question he’s not sure he wants the answer to.

“How long?”

Merlin tilts his head, a sorrowful look on his face. “Arthur…”

Arthur speaks through gritted teeth. “How. Long.”

Merlin’s eyes dart away. “Not sure. I lost track of night and day in the end.”

Arthur slams his eyes closed against the storm of emotions twisting in his stomach. Anger. Sympathy. Regret. Grief. He swallows hard and allows himself a moment to breathe - but something is itching at the front of his mind and as much as he knows he has no right to make his friend relive these horrors, he has to know. He snaps his head up, eyes instantly connecting with Merlin’s when he opens them.

“How many times has it happened?”

“- What -?”

Arthur grinds his teeth as pain lances through his chest. He falters for a moment, then his voice comes out almost a whisper. “How many times have you been tortured, Merlin?”

Merlin’s broken look tells him everything he needs to know. Grief and pain tear a hole in Arthur’s chest. He chokes out his words. “I’m so sorry -”

Merlin cuts him off “- Don’t. Please don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault, and without all these scars you wouldn’t be here now. So…”

“I should have done better. I was supposed to protect you.”

“No, the prophecy was for me to protect you.”

Arthur glowers at the other man. “I should have done better. You mean more to me than you could ever know, Merlin. I should have done better.”

Merlin’s bright blue eyes are sad, yet there’s a hint of defiance there. His voice is strong when he speaks.

“No matter what they did to me, I always knew it was worth the pain. Because even though I couldn’t tell you, even though I hoped one day you could know the real me… Everything that happened to me meant that you got a step nearer to who you needed to become. And while they were busy hurting me, they weren’t hurting you.”

Arthur makes a choked sound, blinking rapidly as he looks away. He flounders for an embarrassingly long time before finding his words.

“Merlin, I… You’ve been all alone with it, all this time. I… I abandoned you. Somewhere inside myself I knew, but I still did nothing about it. I’m so sorry Merlin.”

Merlin knows there’s no response that would appease his friend, so instead he places his free hand on Arthur’s forearm and squeezes.

They lapse into silence. Arthur is almost unaware of the way he’s running his thumb over a deep scar on Merlin’s forearm, still in his grasp after all this time. He marvels that the man doesn’t shy away from touch after all he’s suffered, and after a moment’s thought it occurs to him that no-one else does touch Merlin. The only person Merlin is at all tactile with is him.

Something dawns on Arthur. He meets Merlin’s soft gaze. “That spell you were doing earlier - do you keep that going all day just so no-one sees?”

Merlin’s already shaking his head before Arthur’s finished speaking, his dark curls bouncing and a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Not entirely, just my hands and wrists. Why do you think I’m always wearing tunics and neckerchiefs?”

It gets Arthur thinking. He’s only seen Merlin in any state of undress once. Maybe twice. Both times when they were on long journeys and stopped to bathe in rivers. Merlin practically hid from Arthur the whole time - keeping the water up to his neck. Arthur had only glimpsed Merlin’s bare torso for seconds as he entered and left the water. And his skin had been -

“When we’ve bathed in the rivers, you’ve always managed to avoid me seeing you properly. And the few glances I got, I thought your skin was too perfect for someone who’d been in as many scuffles and accidents as you had. I should have known.”

Merlin gives an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, I was only just learning about mirage spells at the time, so I tried to make sure you didn’t see anything. I could make myself look like a totally different person, but I was struggling with how to look like me, only better.”

Arthur’s heart cracks.

“There’s nothing about you that needs to be ‘better’, Merlin. There never has been.”

Merlin’s eyes are soft and sad. “Arthur, I’ve been hiding who I really am for my whole life. If people saw all this-” he wiggles his scarred arm slightly in Arthur’s gentle grip to demonstrate his meaning “- they would have questions. And people would fear me. A horrifically-scarred sorcerer doesn’t exactly scream ‘trust me’, does it? I mean, look what happened with Edwin -”

Arthur blanches as Merlin’s words. “- Don’t compare yourself to him -”

Merlin sighs good naturedly. “I’m not saying I’m like him, I’m saying that people were scared of him because of how he looked. We’re trying to build a new world here, Arthur, I’ve got to do everything I can to make people like me.”

“People love you, Merlin. You saw the reaction when you became court sorcerer -”

“- Arthur -”

“- Merlin.”

They lock stares, reading a multitude of unspoken words in each other’s faces. Merlin breaks the impasse first. He speaks quietly, his eyes so full of something that Arthur feels the need to gently squeeze the forearm in his grasp again.

“I’m sorry for not telling you - for not being honest with you again. I just -”

“- Merlin.” The way Arthur speaks his name makes the other man go still. Arthur suddenly feels the weight of what he’s put Merlin through this evening.

“I understand. It’s personal. I’m truly sorry I’ve intruded on something so private. I had no right to demand that you showed me any of this, and I especially had no right to ask you to relive it. ”

Merlin just shakes his head, waving off the notion that Arthur has somehow violated his privacy. Arthur takes it as an indication to continue, speaking just in time to cut off whatever Merlin was about to say.

“But I want you to know that you should be proud of your battle scars. They’re proof that you’ve survived unthinkable pain, that you’ve risked your life time and again to save myself and countless others. You’re the greatest warrior Camelot has ever seen -” Merlin scoffs, about to refute the statement until Arthur barrels over him “- you are. Please promise me you’ll at least never hide these things from me again?”

Merlin’s eyes search the king’s face. He finds nothing but sincerity.

“I promise.”

Arthur inclines his head in acknowledgement. After a pause, he voices one of the many things that are still bothering him. “You said the magic scars still hurt sometimes - is there anything I can do to help? Is there a salve I can help you put on or something?”

Merlin smiles softly. “No, it’s not… It’s not the scars on the outside, if that makes sense?”

Arthur nods slowly. He often still feels the burn of the Questing Beast’s bite. “Well, I want to help in any way I can. Anytime there’s anything I can do, whether it’s to listen as you rage against the discomfort, apply a salve, or help you to bathe - anything, you come to me. Agreed?”

A cheeky smile lights up Merlin’s features and Arthur’s heart glows. “Do you want to give me a bath Arthur?”

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur’s answer is completely serious. “Yes. Anything you need.”

Seeing the stunned expression on Merlin’s face, Arthur continues. “Look, I’ve never had to deal with anything on my own. How many times have you tended my wounds, stayed by my side through the night so I could sleep safely, helped me to bathe when I’m hurt?”

Merlin goes to speak, but Arthur cuts him off. “ - Don’t you dare say it was your duty. You’ve always been so much more than a servant. And it works both ways. I’m always here for you, understand?”

Merlin’s smile is soft but so full of affection it almost hurts. “I know.”

Arthur grins back at him, the tension melting away as he snatches up Merlin’s shirt and throws it in his face.

“Now for love of the gods, put your shirt back on before someone walks in and gets the wrong idea.”

Merlin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Wouldn’t want people getting jealous, would we?”

Merlin’s delighted laugh when the well-aimed pillow hits him in the face puts Arthur’s world back on its axis, even as he ducks the barrage of soft furnishings that magically hurl themselves at him.

#Beginnings of Merthur #Merlin Scar Reveal #Arthur knows about Merlin's Magic #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #Merlin #arthur pendragon #arthur and merlin #bbc merthur #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fan fic #merlin fanfiction #merlin fan fiction #merthur fanfic #merthur fan fic #merthur fanfiction #merthur fan fiction

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kendsleyauthor · 1 year

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Silver Ash: Chapter 3

~3600 words

Warnings: Human sacrifice, captivity

Summary: While Mariana struggles to come to terms with Raiden's unwilling sacrifice, Raiden awakens in confinement--but a chance at escape may be within reach.

🌲 Silver Ash Masterpost 🌲

Thank you @marydublinauthor for beta-reading! 🌸

The Council is doing everything they can to distract her—all while trying to maintain that nothing of note had happened. Ever since she became the Lady of Shadewick just shy of a year ago, her days had been packed with lessons and meetings, but there had always been time in between to collect her thoughts.

The day after the Offering, Mariana is kept so busy that she has little time to wonder about Raiden. To wonder if he’s still breathing. To wonder if he is still fighting to survive. To wonder if he is now at peace with the mysterious knowledge of what becomes of the forest’s Offerings. But any time she tries to think, she is pulled into a new task.

Councilor Harlan wasn’t to quiz her on history. Councilor Sierra wants her to sit in on meetings with Shadewick’s farmers. Councilor Gabrielle wants to study her etiquette. Councilor Koan wants to review her self-defense training—he claims she is in the most danger from civilians after an Offering.

Mariana had woken up that morning with tears in her eyes and an itinerary by her breakfast tray. The Council means well. They know Raiden meant something to her, but in all their efforts to make her avoid thoughts of him, she cannot mourn properly. She knows better than to attempt to discuss the matter directly with them. She had argued with them for hours when he was chosen, to no avail.

In a rare act of defiance, she takes a detour on the way to Gabrielle’s study. Mariana’s etiquette is impeccable, anyway. But being late to a meeting isn’t very proper at all, is it, my lady? She pauses, gripping the stair railway while she chokes back tears. Although she hasn’t thought about Raiden properly, his voice still whispers in her ear, like he is strolling right behind her. She sets her lips in a hard line and makes her way through the castle courtyard.

Blessedly, no one sees her. She had told Eloise, her lady-in-waiting, to meet her on the other side of the castle—where Mariana had no intention of going. That’s not very proper either, my lady. I should start keeping a tally.

Exactly what he would say.

Yes, Raiden could be flippant about important matters, and he had the gall to tease her ruthlessly, but at least he never put up an act around her. He was always himself, for better or worse. Unapologetically himself. It made him one of the few people she could truly talk to, especially after her mother died. Everyone else behaved as though they’d be the next Offering if they insulted her in any way.

Considering Raiden’s sacrifice, perhaps they were right.

She reaches the bridge to the Silver Ash and cranes her neck to take in the sight. Its highest branches stretch even taller than the castle itself. It can be seen from just about anywhere in Shadewick—a permanent fixture that either brought a sense of peace or foreboding, depending on who was looking at it. The tree is surrounded on all sides by a lake filled with lily pads and koi fish, some of which gather near the bridge to follow Mariana as she crosses it.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “No food today.” It is the sort of thing Raiden would be more likely to remember.

As she steps off the bridge and onto the island that is home to the Silver Ash, it is as though she is walking into a new environment entirely. The thick roots weave in and out of the earth, sturdy as regular trees. The impressive width of the trunk could hold several rooms within if it were hollow. Vibrant green leaves blot out the sun, casting the island in pleasant shade. Mariana takes a familiar path to the other side of the tree, ducking below and around the roots, her heart heavy with loss.

Her mother would bring her here when they wanted a quiet moment. Even after her passing, Mariana returned almost daily to speak with her. She had died shortly after last year’s offering. The illness had been sudden—so sudden and violent that Mariana was certain there had been some mistake with the Offering, and Shadewick was being punished for it. Her mother had suffered for a few short days, unable to draw a full breath. And then she was gone, leaving Mariana with her title.

Thankfully, the Council has guided her. From the moment of her birth, they have been her second family, but now, she works more closely with them. She still has much to learn.

“Hello, Mama.” Mariana takes her usual seat on one of the arching roots at the base of the Silver Ash. She smoothes her dress on her lap and gazes at the spot across from her, where her mother had once lounged. “I… I don’t understand why it had to happen this way.” Her voice breaks off in a pitiful whine. “Was it a random selection? Was it punishment for what we did? Oh, Mama. It isn’t as if Raiden wants to marry me. We aren’t like that. It was one night. One night without rules before the Council begins to line up well-bred suitors for me.”

Not even a breeze stirs the leaves in answer. She always hopes her mother is listening. But she has never heard an answer.

She thinks about speaking aloud to Raiden instead, but her heart shatters at the thought of receiving no sign from him as well. Yesterday, she visited him in the dungeon. She wants to curl into herself at the thought of their final conversation.

The guard had given her ten minutes to speak with him. Her heart broke at the sight of Raiden behind bars. It seemed cruel to cage someone so full of life. It hurt especially to see how his eyes lit up at her approach as if she might tell him there had been a mistake and he was free to go back to living his life.

She took his hands and squeezed them, praying he would understand. “I’m sorry. The forest wants you. The Council insists.”

His expression twisted with disgust. “The forest. The forest doesn’t know I exist.”

A little sob shook through her. “Raiden…”

“Mari,” he said, viciously mimicking her miserable tone. “The forest isn’t a creature or god or anything other than trees and dirt. You hear me? Trees and dirt and monsters, Mari. It cares about me as much as your potted plants do.”

Her mouth went dry. He easily read the horror in her expression and scoffed.

“Oh, what?” Raiden rolled his eyes. “Blasphemy is a completely unreasonable reaction.”

“You can’t speak in such a way,” she whispered. “The forest—”

“Already claimed my blood, according to you and the Council. So what does it matter what I say about it? What will it do? Kill me a second time?”

“It might make you suffer.” She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t have the answers, Raiden. No one does. If you accept your choosing as an honor, the maybe—”

“What if I fought back instead? What if there was a way to survive?”

“What?”

“Why does it have to be a guarantee that I die in there?” When she gaped at him wordlessly, he pressed on. “I didn’t want to tell you this. I knew it would freak you out, but… Do you remember Tove?”

“The hunter?” Trove had been an Offering some years ago when Mariana and Raiden were no more than ten. “What does he have to do with this?”

“She,” Raiden said pointedly. “She has everything to do with this, if you’d listen.”

“She,” Mariana said. “She was a huntress, wasn’t she? She got into trouble for hunting in the Havenwood more than once. The Council says the Silver Ash chose her for her disrespect. That the forest wanted her in return for the blood she had spilled illegally. Why are you bringing her up?”

He clenched her jaw and gave her a hard look—the kind of look that pleaded for understanding. “I saw her at the Silver Ash a few months ago, in the dead of night. She was collecting leaves from it. I followed her. She went into Havenwood and slipped past a breach in the wall, back into the forest.”

“That’s… impossible.”

“It’s not. It was her, I know it. She looked… different. I swear, Mari, I saw her. She had flowers in her hair—so big that they covered half her face. She saw me right before she went through the wall. She took one look at me, then ran off.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” Mariana said. “You know that no Offering has ever been seen again.”

“It wasn’t a dream. Am I mad, then?”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the bars. This was already hard enough without Raiden’s desperate hope thrown into the situation. “I… I don’t know what you saw,” she said gently. “But if you did see her—”

“And I did.”

“Maybe the forest uses her body as a vessel.”

“Great,” he muttered. “So even if I survive, I’ll be the forest’s puppet. Is that what you believe? Is that what I should be so honored about?”

“I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “I wish there was another way. Believe me, I tried with the Council, but they—”

“Oh, please. You know exactly why this is happening.” He was the one clutching her tightly now. “We were seen, Mari. I told you we were. I swore I saw a guard peeking into your bedchamber. You didn’t listen to me then, either. He went and spread the news, and now the Council has a perfect target to get rid of without fuss. I sullied the perfect Lady of Shadewick.”

“That’s not true! We… Even if we were seen, the Council has nothing to do with your choosing. The Silver Ash may be displeased by what we did.”

He gave her a thoroughly exhausted and disgusted look. It made her feel childish. He had never looked at her in such a way, through all his years of teasing. “Mari. Listen to yourself. Why would a tree care if we fucked?”

She shushed him. “We don’t know the intricate nature of the Silver Ash. It is beyond our comprehension, and we don’t need to understand its choices. We simply must obey, or the walls of Shadewick will no longer protect us.”

“Okay. So let’s say the Silver Ash abhors what we did. Why was my name chosen? Why not yours? What would you do if your name was whispered to the Council instead?”

Mariana yanked her hands away sharply and took a step back. “I would walk into the forest with my head held high,” she snapped, but her eyes filled with more tears. “I would die happy knowing that my sacrifice is protecting my people. I would take the sleeping draught without fuss.”

Strangely, his expression softened with pity. “You’re one of the brightest people I know,” he said. “You excel at every subject, you’re quick as a whip in so many things. How can you be stupid enough to believe these lies?”

“Raiden—”

“No. Fuck the Council. And fuck you.”

He refused to speak to her at all after that, and she had no choice but to leave when the guard said her ten minutes were up.

Fuck the Council. And fuck you.

She squeezed her eyes shut. His words echo in her ears, taunting her. She should be furious that he would speak to her in such a way, but all she feels is hollow. She looks up at the Silver Ash and runs her fingers along the thick grooves of the bark.

Collecting leaves. Raiden claimed the Offered huntress had been collecting leaves. Why?

Her gaze trails further, to the castle, to the surrounding buildings that lead into the main city. And beyond that, there are fields and homes. All of it, surrounded by the forest that is being kept at bay with a yearly Offering.

This is her home. Her people.

All her life, her mother taught her that sacrifices are necessary to keep their home protected. There have been a few breaches in the walls over the years, but nothing compared to what would happen if they angered the Silver Ash and allowed the beasts in. She recalls seeing the aftermath of a man torn apart by monsters following a breach. In her mind’s eye, she sees a massacre—and it would be all her fault.

She wasn’t lying when she said she would accept her fate if she was the Offering.

And yet, it pained her so deeply to watch Raiden as he was led out of the dungeon and into the carriage, bound for death. Per custom, Mariana was the one to administer the sleeping draught that would knock him out before he reached the ritual ground. It would leave him prone to whatever the forest had planned for him.

But something snapped in her—something she can’t explain even now. When no one was looking, she switched the draught for water. She whispered for him to pretend to sleep until he was left alone.

And she isn’t sure if she can ever forgive herself.

“Why did you let him run off in the first place?” The first voice is unfamiliar and unsettlingly close. “It shouldn’t have been hard for you to collect him.”

“I don’t know. He was annoying.” The second voice is more distant and unsettlingly familiar. “I found him in the end, didn’t I?”

Raiden fades in and out to the sound of the conversation. His mind is being held firmly underwater, and no matter how he tries to surface, he can’t find the strength to become fully aware.

“He would have been less annoying if he was asleep,” the first voice scoffs. “How did he wake up so soon? Did those dolts brew the sleeping draught wrong?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions.”

The second voice is undoubtedly the giant. His rumbling tone comes closer, drastically overpowering the other’s voice. Raiden is aware he is being touched, moved, and tugged at, but he can’t resist or murmur a word of protest. His injury prickles at times, but he isn’t awake enough to feel more than a dull ache.

Finally, the touches stop, and he hears no more of the conversation.

He dreams of the river lady and yearns to dive with her under the rushing current. He never wants to wake up, knowing he’ll find a world where she left him behind.

But he does wake up, whether he likes it or not. The voices have fallen silent. When he squints his eyes open, there is no sky, no trees overhead. Somehow, he’s indoors. The faint rustle of branches and leaves permeates through the walls. A steady wind is blowing somewhere.

He is laying on his good side—the one that wasn’t torn by a boar’s tusk. Through bleary vision and shaking fingers, he surmises that he’s laying on a roughspun blanket. His injury smarts as he pushes himself to sit, and he locks up in pain.

After braving the ordeal of moving to hands and knees, he notices that his shirt has mysteriously vanished. His abdomen is wrapped in cloth bandages. He brushes his fingers over the wrappings, disturbed by the thought of someone maneuvering him while he was unconscious. The phantom sensation of large fingers trapping him in their grip makes him snap to sharper attention.

He expects to find the giant looming straight over him, but the reality of his surroundings makes his mouth go dry.

Bars. Wooden bars, thicker than his arm, surround him. He freezes, staring straight ahead at one side of his cage.

It’s alright, he tells himself hurriedly. Wood. It’s wood. He can manipulate it and free himself, so long as the giant doesn’t catch him in the act.

Crawling to the nearest wall of his enclosure, he peers out.

The room is massive—a structure made of stone and wood that has doors leading off to who-knew-where. There’s no telling how big this place is, and it’s all the more difficult to get a read on anything when it all appears to be sized for a leshy. The walls themselves are a mixture of bark and rock, as if the building itself was grown and shaped from the ground up to create a refined dwelling fit for a giant.

This space appears to be a parlor of sorts. His cage is high off the ground, situated on what must be a table. On the other side of the room, there is one seat in front of a roaring fireplace. It’s somewhat comforting to see that lone seat—a sign that there is only a single giant tenant to deal with.

There is no question to whom this dwelling belongs when he spots the deer mask propped on the mantle. The empty sockets seem to spy on his every move even now.

Tenderly pushing himself to his feet, Raiden winces. He’s been treated and bandaged, but he still feels like he was trampled by a horse. His earthen abilities will not come so easily in this state.

He circles the cage to find the largest gap to make his escape. There is no time to wonder how he will get down from the table—not when he finally looks directly behind him and realizes that it isn’t wind that he’s been hearing.

The giant has been at the table all along, right behind him. A small noise chokes in Raiden’s throat, but he clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise.

There is silence, save for the leshy’s steady breathing. His arms are folded on the table, head down. Sleeping.

Eyes wide, Raiden slowly lowers his hand and struggles to get a hold of himself. It hadn’t even occurred to him that a monster so archaic could sleep. In this state, the leshy looks almost harmless. Handsome, even, with that peaceful look on his face. Those imposing eyes are shut, and without the deer antlers to give him extra height, he appears more human than ever before.

If there is ever going to be a time to get away, it is now. The moment the giant opens his eyes, there is no telling if he’ll get another opportunity.

Raiden white-knuckles two bars of the cage and lowers his head in concentration. Dead wood is harder to influence than live, but impossibly, it appears that this wood is very much alive. He snaps his hands away from it and looks down. The bars were grown straight up from the table itself—which must also be a piece of living wood.

The leshy has utterly manipulated the forest to do his bidding, going so far as to craft an entire home, furniture, and a makeshift Offering cage to keep Raiden contained while he naps.

He counts it lucky that the bars respond to his call. They curve apart, allowing him space to pass between. He keeps his eyes on the giant as he steps through, half-certain that tampering with the leshy’s creation will jolt him awake. But the giant goes on sleeping, entirely unaware that his newest captive is free.

Traveling with the softest steps he can manage, Raiden jogs to the edge of the table farthest from the leshy and looks over the side. The floor seems miles away, he notes with frustration. He wracks his mind to think how he can manipulate the ground or table to get him down, but he can’t influence the wood any further without risking unconsciousness. He may be able to jump to a chair, but much like seating by the fireplace, this table only has one—and the giant is occupying it.

“Your reclusiveness is incredibly inconvenient,” Raiden hisses, throwing the leshy a scowl.

He explores the perimeter of the table, but it’s all useless until he reaches the giant. As Raiden glares at the monster, a horrifically stupid plan takes form. He tries to push it away, but the longer he stands there, the surer he is that there is only one possible way to the floor without immediately dooming himself.

And he hates it.

Part of him wishes that the leshy will wake up right that instant and make his plan dissolve before he can even attempt. As Raiden inches closer, there is no change.

Up close, he feels the faint stir of the giant’s breath through his slightly parted lips. The tiny leafed vines appear in sharper detail on his face. The vegetation seems to weave in and out of his skin—it’s hard to tell where hair ends and leaves begin. Raiden vaguely wonders if it hurts to have vines torn away from his skin, not that he has any intention to sate that particular curiosity

Holding his breath, Raiden stretches out a trembling hand and rests it on the giant’s sleeve. He pulls back sharply and takes a peek at the too-close face. No movement. Not even a twitch or stutter in breathing. Nothing more than a deceptively peaceful expression.

Perhaps he really can get away with this.

Urgency surges through him. If he doesn’t move now, he will lose his chance. He grips the fabric near the giant’s elbow with more confidence. His wound aches sharply, but he stuffs the pain down. Gritting his teeth, he pulls himself up and begins inching his way toward the giant’s side.

Did you think climbing down a sleeping giant would be one of the great honors of being an Offering, Mari?

((Author's note: The story's still going! There may be long stretches between posts, but I really want to see this one through! Having our hero climb down a sleeping giant is one way to keep me invested 👀))

Taglist: @tales-of-aestus @sleeplessinthesmokies @waitisthatgt @stormtheskyelf @solarmooon @connormurphysimp

Lemme know if you’d like to be on the taglist for this story! 💕

#gt #g/t #gt writing #g/t writing #giant tiny #size difference #gt community #g/t community #fearplay #g/t fearplay #gt story #g/t story #my writing #silver ash #silver ash story #oc: raiden #oc: mariana #oc: jakob

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countrymusiclover · 1 year

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Ch 38 - The Lannister Heirs

Part 39

Fire OF A Stark

@dragonixfrye

Jaime and I had been living at the rock for awhile now. Strolling the hallways of the vast castle I was on my own for entertainment since he was now in charge of the Lannister army. They were needing to get a new sense of the new lord of the Rock. There was a thought that wouldn't stop crossing my mind and it was Sansa. She was forced to remain in King's Landing. I desperately wanted her here by my side and away from Cersei and Joffrey. Footsteps came down the hallway where someone put their hand over my eyes. "Jaime, what are you doing?" Seeing it was the golden hand I gently pushed it down turning to face him.

"Looking for my dragon wife. My war meeting ended early at my request. Since I would rather be spending time with you." He explained wrapping his arms around my tugging me into his warm embrace.

He was wearing a golden tunic and trousers that almost matched what he wore the day he fought my father Ned in the streets of the city. He had even left his hair to grow out a little longer after I had told him I preferred it a little longer. "Well I am glad because I am not permitted by the Maester to do anything really. It gets rather boring just roaming the hallways all day."

"I aim to change that, Lynesse. Come with me." He offers his hand, staring down at my choices of clothing. I hadn’t worn many of the Lannister dresses unless we were meeting with the members of his household. Otherwise he would find me wearing his tunics and other things. Even with my growing belly I still managed to have my sword with me.

He tugged me by the arm leading me down a section of stairs I wasn't familiar with. We had to go up quite a few more large staircases before we came to a stop outside a large red door. He pushed it open revealing a large tower room with multiple open windows to gaze out from. Walking forward I could recall the rumors that they said about the Rock. One late Lannister that had died years before our time had said that on a good day you could see all the way across and see nothing but clear waters before you. "So the tales were true about this tower. It's beautiful, like our own little island away from the rest of the Seven kingdoms."

"I thought you would like it. I have also been talking with the castle builders to see if we can make a platform for Joanna since she can't very well fit in the walls." He responded back wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.

Turning around in his arms I leaned up on my toes kissing him softly. "I always thought I would dislike my new home that I would be forced into. Yet I was wrong I love it here with you."

"There's nowhere else I would have rather heard you say that, Lynesse. You will always be my Lady Lannister regardless of you being a dragon-wolf." Jaime leaned down, capturing my lips with his, making me grin.

A few months after Battle of White Walkers

"Seven hells…Jaime!" I screamed clutching the bedsheets in my fingers making my knuckles turn white almost. He was standing beside me with my handmaiden on the other side. I bared my teeth down pushing longer than I cared for. We were finally having our second child after the battle at Winterfell.

My white hair was sticking to my forehead where I threw my head back crying. My sister Sansa was now to be declared Queen in the North and she was talking with me about what should be done. Rhaenyra was tended to by another lady in waiting and Maxon since we both trusted they would look out for her. Blinking through tears of my own I could still make out that Jaime was terrified for me because he was crying himself. "Lynesse, you…you can do this…"

"Oh geez…argh!" I cried hearing the midwife instructing me.

"Just a few more big pushes, Lady Lannister."

Clutching my hands into fists as tightly as possible I closed my eyes shut. Pushing as much as I could two or three times we finally heard a baby cry. The midwife caught the baby while I collapsed back onto the pillows. "You did good, Lynesse." The handmaiden Bridget wiped away sweat from my forehead with a cloth.

Jaime had convinced me to take on a lady to help me since he was rather busy when we returned from Winterfell. She became a very close friend when I learned that we were to have our second child. "My lord. My lady, congratulations it is a boy. You have an heir." The older woman declared wrapping the little babe in a red and golden blanket.

"Oh sweet boy.." I whispered when she placed the babe in my lap once I had shifted into a sitting upright position in the bed.

Jaime sat on the edge of the bed pushing hair behind my face, dropping his gaze downward onto his firstborn son. I didn't have a preference of what our next child would be. Jaime and I had agreed that no matter what Rhaenyra would be heir to Casterly Rock. "I have a son…I have a son." He muttered repeatedly for a few seconds. He could never claim that Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella were his. He told me that Cersei had claimed them as only hers alone.

"Have you chosen a name, Lady Lynesse?" Bridget was standing beside the window watching us while the other attendees were fixing the room trying to make it more presentable.

Turning my head in the direction of my husband we locked eyes letting silence fill the room. His blonde hair had grown longer but he didn't have it as long as when we first met in Winterfell. He placed his left hand on mine, staring closely at the baby. "You choose, little dragon."

"I think he should be…Eddard Lannister." The baby boy had bright blonde hair like his father but he has my eye color. The baby lifted his hands so I gave him my finger where he attempted to grip it as tightly as he could making me grin brightly.

The chamber door opened with the handmaiden carrying Rhaenyra in her arms and a sealed letter appeared also. She curtsied to the two of us handing the scroll over to my husband. "My lord my lady, a raven from King's Landing. It appears to be from Jon Snow."

"I'll take the lioness from you Chloe." Bridget walked over, sending the other girl off.

Jaime tears open the letter unfolding the piece of paper. "Dear sister, I am writing to inform you and your lord husband that we have defeated Cersei. But we also had to remove Daenerys from power, she has burned the city just like her father. I am here to say I won't be placing myself on the Iron Throne. It is yours if you wish. I am just informing you that there is a small council meeting in a few days with the remaining lords and ladies of Westeros."

"Jaime I…I'm sorry." I attempted to say knowing that it would be hard for him to accept that his twin sister was dead. She was his first love and meant everything to him.

He crumpled the letter in his left hand a little, dropping it on the ground. His green eyes were welling with heavy tears. I had never seen him cry except for the night we reunited after the battle against the army of the dead. "Bridget, could you watch the children for a while…" He muttered under his breath.

"Of course, my lord." She bowed her head picking up Eddard and carrying him in one arm and Rhaenyra in the other.

Shifting in the bed I reached forward grabbing his hand making him meet my gaze. "Jaime…" I was only able to say his name before he climbed in the bed beside me. He laid his head in my lap crying heavily.

"She…she’s gone. I…I'm sorry I shouldn't be crying to you…" He started to apologize until I tilted his chin up so he would look me in the eye.

“Jaime, you don’t have to apologize for crying over her. She was your sister and your twin. I don’t expect you to act tough about this. Just cry if you need to. You don’t have to be a strong soldier all the time, not around me.” I declare wiping away the tears that were falling down his face. Running one hand through his hair he buried his face into my chest.

He sniffed and gripped onto my tunic shirt just crying for a few hours. I may not like Cersei but she was his sister after all. It would be like when I learned that Robb, Rickon and my adopted parents were dead. “Thank you…Lynesse.”

It took us a few hours to get ready and the trip back to King's Landing was very long. Jaime was wearing his tan leather tunics and trousers with his sword clipped to his side. I had my white hair completely loose wearing a red dress and some black combat riding boots. I also had attached my sword back to my belt carrying Eddard in my arms. Jaime did his best to carry Rhaenyra until we entered the castle being greeted by Tyrion. “Jaime. Lynesse, I hope the trip wasn’t too bad. Oh and I see we finally have a boy dragon infant.”

“Yes. My brother in law Tyrion, I'd like you to meet your nephew Eddard Lannister.” I held the infant boy up with a bright smile before I noticed one of Danny’s men walking up and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why is he here?”

The soldier responded sternly, leading us into a small set of chairs outside of the castle. “He is our prisoner after he told Jon Snow to excite our queen. Follow me now.” Everyone was sitting around in a circle where I saw that they had two open chairs that were meant for Jaime and I.

“Jon committed his crime here. His fate is for our king to decide. Or our queen.” Tyrion glanced around at all of us with me and Jaime each holding a baby in our laps.

A random lord I didn’t remember responded back. “We don't have a king or queen.”

“You're the most powerful people in Westeros. Choose one.” Tyrion points out meeting my gaze softly as if he was trying to tell me to step up.

“My lords and ladies... I suppose this is the most important moment of our lives. What we decide today will reverberate through the annals of history. I stand before you as one of the senior lords in the country. A veteran of two wars. And I like to think my experience has led to some small skill in statecraft and underst--“

Sansa cut her uncle off, clearly not agreeing that it should be him. “Uncle? Please sit.”

“Well, we have to choose someone.” An older lord declares where I leaned back in my chair. I had no real intention of putting the idea of me on the throne out there. I may have dragon blood but I wasn’t raised to be a queen.

Baby Eddard started fussing where Jaime let him suck on his thumb making me smile before I noticed Arya reach into her pocket drawing the crown of Rhaenyra that I had accidentally forgotten back in Winterfell. “Cadence - uh sorry Lynesse. You left this back home.”

“Thank you, sis.” I take it from her hand’s holding it with my freehand.

Sansa suddenly spoke up, making me whip my head around in shock at her. “Lynesse, you should wear the crown. You are after all the last living Targaryen and raised as an honorable Stark child.”

“Sansa I…” I couldn’t finish my thoughts, unsure of what to say.

Tyrion and Jaime both declared together making me get a little embarrassed. I valued their opinions but it wasn’t theirs that scared me the most. “Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister for queen.”

Whipping my head to the youngest Stark girl she got to her feet standing before me and her brother Bran sitting in his wheelchair since Jaime was on my right side. “Lynesse, I say aye.”

“Will you wear the crown, Lynesse. If we were to choose you…or even if we choose someone else, would you stand by their side and sit on your rightful place on the Iron Throne?” Tyrion slowly walked up to me making his handcuffs squeak. His green eyes shifting from his brother and over our two children.

Comments really appreciated ❤️ Hopefully I can write two more chapters like I hope before I complete this story

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giggle-bee · 11 months

Note

Hihi, may I request Solomon & Barbatos hcs for if you tell them you’re part of the tk community? (preferably as a lee but up to you ^^ ) I love your hcs dhshjsbssksm

If you’re not interested though I totally get it ^^ have a nice day :DD

YESSSSS OF COURSE

and you might be aware of this but I also did hcs for the seven brothers for this on my previous blog (linked here and here)

I’m going to expand your request to do the rest of the dateables :3

How the Dateables would React to you Being in the Community

Solomon

you already know he is going to be so smug

I have a fic planned out for this sorcerer along the lines of this heheheeee

Now that he knows he can test potions out on you? He will add more tickle ones to the mix

And of course, he has to teach you tickle spells as his apprentice in nightbringer

He will totally embarrass you in front of the brothers and during class

Loves to hold it over your head

“I’ll tickle you if you don’t. Oh wait! You wouldn’t mind that, would you? Treat it as an incentive, hm?”

will make you ask

Hes not one to give gentle or soft tickles unless you ask for them

Prefers to wreck you

I can see him being a lee? But not for long

if you want to tickle him you have to catch him in a good mood

You’re getting got either way but he will be less mean

Barbatos

ohohoho

now this one is interesting :)

you see barbatos has an interesting little power that allows him to see and transport himself into different timelines

Which I think is very interesting hmmm yes

And through extensive talking with a certain someone I love to bully (you know who you are)

I think he would use this to his advantage

you see

He sees many outcomes of situations

One day when diavolo and you get in a tickle fight at the castle and he is quietly observing

he sees avenues of the future, many of which include you not telling him to stop, and one where you tell him that you don’t mind the tickles, you actually like them

this puts a smile on his face, the sweet human just got even sweeter

but he’ll keep this to himself for now

Until you two are alone, perhaps strolling through the gardens or having afternoon tea

he won’t talk to you about it, just teasingly poke you or run his tail up your spine while you’re sitting next to him

And when you finally tell him

“I already know, MC, no need to be embarrased”

also there is definitely some freaking dungeon in the castle, if ever you are in the mood for intense tks (but you won’t have to tell him, he’ll just know :3)

and so the rest of the devildom won’t hear you cackling

because barbatos loves to keep you all to himself, his precious little human <3

Diavolo

“Oh my god, you too?”

listen

he’s so touch starved okay

Everyone is always either intimidated, afraid, or think they aren’t on the same level as him

And he didn’t have the most caring childhood

his closest friends are barbatos and lucifer, and he practically has to force lucifer to call him by his first name

so when you come around? All smiles and hugs and affection

He can’t get enough

And one day you are having a sleepover and a tickle fight turns one sided and you aren’t fighting back

he’s just tickling your favorite spot with one hand and you’re dying and melting on the floor

and he lets up, but you don’t exactly want him to

and his heart breaks because you are just the cutest little thing in the universe and he’s so lucky you were the one that he picked for the exchange program and-

he gives you the biggest hug and gives you gentle tickles, right before you pinch his hips and get him back

and he loves it just as much as you do

Simeon

SWITCH CODED

OML

personally I see lee leaning switch

But he is a surprisingly good ler

Has had lots of practice with his brothers

and you cannot tell me

His little outfit

with his hips exposed

solomon and luke take advantage of that so much

also writing a fic ab him because he’s so CUTE

he is LITERALLY an angel his laugh is so pretty

when you get ler moods

and he sees that little look in your eye and your fingers twitch

he gets the dumbest grin on his face and bolts

he is so fun to tickle you cannot change my mind and he lets you do it because you love it so much

sorry brainrot ahem

as a ler he finds it absolutely adorable that you love being tickled

so teasy

but in the kindest way possible

sooooooooooo many compliments

“You’re doing so good! Can you handle it if I get youuuuuu here? What sweet sounds! You must be having so much fun, Angel!”

and also he gives you lots of cuddles and hugs after of course

#bee writes #honey #buzz #sfw tickles #sfw tickle community #obey me fluff #obey me tickles #ler!simeon #lee!simeon #ler!diavolo #lee!diavolo #ler!barbatos #ler!solomon #anon ask

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hinatastinygiant · 4 months

Text

20 | Green Ice

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Serpents and Roses

At precisely six that evening, you stroll through the enchanting rose gardens and find yourself rather drawn to the vibrant colors of the blossoms. You reach your fingers out to pick a flower, but before you do, Ominis' voice rings out. As you turn to face him, he waves his wand elegantly and conjures a delicate blossom. A smile graces your lips as you accept it from him.

"Thank you. Nobody has ever conjured a flower for me before, or grew one," you remark.

"It's not too difficult," he answers with a shrug. "And I thought it would be better than picking one."

"Oh, right. Because you never know what kind of beast will imprison you for stealing one," you laugh softly.

"That's right," he nods. "Now, come. There's a place here where we can sit and talk."

He leads you deeper into the gardens and towards the center, where a quaint little bench sits surrounded by bushes of bright red roses. As the two of you sit down, Ominis pulls something out from within his robes and hands you a letter.

"What's this?" you ask, looking over the envelope that has your name written on it.

"It's a letter, Y/N," he tells you.

"I can see that. I meant what is it for?"

"For you, of course."

With a slight raise of your eyebrow, you carefully tear the envelope open and unfold the letter. It's quite a beautifully crafted invitation adorned with magical illustrations of roses and dancing figures. You then read the elegant script aloud.

"Y/N. You are cordially invited to a magical evening under the enchanted skies. Join me in the hidden depths of Hogwarts, where the Undercroft transforms into a realm of timeless beauty. Your presence is requested at our very own 'Beauty and the Beast' ball. Wear something enchanting, for our dance will rival the stars themselves."

"Ominis," you grin as you look at him. "I'm so glad you asked. This is beautiful."

Ominis lets out a sigh of relief. "I'm happy you think so."

"Back home I didn't think I would ever get to go to a ball," you admit, folding the invitation back up.

"And why's that?"

"Because for regular muggles, it's not common," you chuckle. "When is this dance going to be, exactly? I can see it'll be in the Undercroft."

"Next Saturday," he tells you.

"Next Saturday? But that's the day of the Yule Ball," you reply curiously.

"Well, to be honest with you, Y/N, I'm not too fond of the Yule Ball," he admits. "I've grown up with extravagant parties packed with strangers, and they can get old quickly. With this, it will be just us."

You smile at how thoughtful his gesture is. "Just us," you repeat.

"As long as it is what you want, too," he then adds.

"Of course it is," you assure him. "Anything to be with you."

"Great," he smiles, his eyes shining with hope. "Then it's a date."

"It's a date."

"I'm glad," he says as the two of you stand back up and walk side-by-side towards the castle.

"I'm surprised you've never told me much about your family," you then say, glancing over at him. "You said they were always hosting parties."

"There's not much to tell," he replies, but his words have an edge that you can't quite place. "But yes, they did. They still do."

"Do you miss them?"

"Sometimes," he answers, and you can't help but notice the sadness that flickers in his eyes. "But I can't wait to be finished with this place and start my life elsewhere. Somewhere far away from all of the pretentious socialites and their stupid parties. But enough about that. What do you want to do after graduation?"

"Honestly?"

"Always."

"I'm not sure."

***

In the afternoon of the next day, you and Luna walk through the corridors of Hogwarts, listening to the castle buzz with the anticipation of the upcoming ball. As you make your way through the halls, Luna decides to share with you her plans for the night.

"There's a girl from Hufflepuff that I've had my eye on for a while. She's in my Beasts class, actually."

"Do I know her?" you ask, intrigued by her confession.

"Maybe. Her name's Poppy," she answers, her cheeks turning pink. "She's very kind. And smart, too."

"That's great," you smile. "So you're going to ask her then?"

Luna stays quiet for a moment as the two of you walk outside and approach the summoner's court board. "Well, the thing is, I don't really know how she feels about me so I figured maybe I'll just wait until we're there and casually ask her to dance. Is that stupid?"

"No," you shake your head as you approach the opposite side of the board. Since you don't have a wand, you're going to have to play the game the muggle way- by rolling the balls. "I think it's a great idea. But if you do like her, then you should talk to her eventually."

"Yeah, I know you're right. Do you think I'd be missing out by not asking her?" she sighs as she pulls out her wand from her robe and taps the summoning board, making the balls jump up and down.

"Maybe a bit," you reply as you grab a ball.

"Then let's see who wins," she grins as she readies her wand. "If you win then I'll ask her. If I win then I'll go with my plan."

"What if neither of us wins?"

"Then we'll have to play again, I guess," she answers.

"Alright," you nod, and roll the first ball.

"Thirty points. Nice," Luna nods before casting her spell to land the ball right beside yours. "Oh, by the way, has Ominis said anything to you about going to the ball?"

The smile on your face is all the answer Luna needs. "Well, sort of," you respond vaguely before taking your turn. "He asked me to meet him in the rose garden yesterday and I didn't really know what to expect but then he gave me this beautiful letter that he conjured with magic and..."

"And?" Luna repeats, her eyes lighting up as she takes her turn.

"He wants me to be his date to a dance that he's planning. He said he's not one for a big party so I think we're going to spend the evening together."

"That's really romantic," she smiles.

"Right? It is," you grin.

"Well, if the two of you do end up going to the dance together, then perhaps I'll see the both of you there," she then giggles. "If not then I hope you have fun in doing whatever the two of you are planning to do alone."

"Luna!"

"What?" she shrugs. "I'm just saying."

You shake your head as you toss the next ball. "Fifty points! I'm kicking your ass," you laugh.

"Don't get too cocky," she smirks, casting her wand to the last ball. "You're not the only one with skills."

"We'll see about that," you reply as you watch her.

"Ha! One hundred points," she beams. "Told you."

"You must be bad at math. I have none in the orange zone. One ten points," you grin, crossing your arms. "I guess that means you'll be asking Poppy out then?"

Luna's face immediately falls. "Oh no."

"You should be excited!"

"But I'm nervous," she sighs, and for a second, it looks like her eyes begin to water.

"Hey, it's okay. If it doesn't work out then it's no big deal. Besides, I can always go with you if you don't feel like going alone."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Of course. But make sure you tell me if it works out 'cause I'll have to give Ominis a rain check."

"Thank you, Y/N," she smiles, her expression softening. "You're a good friend."

"You're welcome," you beam.

"Now, come on," she continues, nodding her head to the left. "Let's get to lunch. I'm starving."

"Alright," you agree as you follow her lead.

Serpents and Roses

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

Text

A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 50

Chapter title: Always Changing, Always Flowing

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

Surprise!!! All my love and gratitutde to @noirshadow for being my beta and staying so patient and supportive <33 Thank you for all of your help!

Read on AO3 ⟡ A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist

Her sisters did not come up.

Feyre stared at the flat surface of that black, inky water, willing their heads to surface. Searching for even a bubble to rise over the too still waterline, if only to let her know that they were still under there. That the Cauldron hadn’t swallowed them whole and left nothing to mourn.

She surged towards the Cauldron, prepared to wade through the liquid herself if it meant finding her sisters. But a strong hand caught Feyre around the wrist and tugged, reversing her momentum with little effort. Feyre stumbled into a warm, broad chest, and her knees finally collapsed, buckling beneath the weight of everything she had carried. Everything she had worked so hard to avoid, crumbling to pieces before her eyes.

Rhysand held her close, half-carrying Feyre as she sobbed into his chest.

“What’s going to happen to them?” His cold, hard question was directed towards Jurian.

“I don’t know,” the human general answered, sounding shell-shocked himself. “I don’t…”

“Get away from her,” Mor hissed. Feyre raised her head from Rhysand’s chest to see that Jurian had stepped towards Miryam, dark eyes fixed on the blood that still trickled from her nose. Alive, at least for now.

Rage twisted his otherwise handsome face. “Are you planning to leave her on the floor, then?”

“If you let us go, we can take her to a healer,” Mor said, sword raised as she stood protectively between Miryam and Jurian.

“He’s already worked his spell,” Jurian spat. “You can’t leave this castle unless the King wills it.”

Azriel crouched into a fighting stance, prepared to slaughter the human—ally or not—if he made so much as a move against Mor.

“And even if I could let you leave,” Jurian went on, that rage turning sharper. He tipped his chin towards the Cauldron, where Nesta and Elain had been under far longer than any human could hold their breath. “Would you choose to leave them behind?”

Those footsteps were louder, now, nearly to the chamber. Jurian bared his teeth. “Think quickly, Morrigan. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Feyre darling.” Rhys tucked his lips against her temple in a gesture that mimicked soothing, so that no one would notice as he whispered, “The second your sisters come out of the Cauldron, you’re going to cleave the wards, and we’re going to winnow everyone out. Just like you told me you did last time. Okay?”

If they came out of the Cauldron, she wanted to say. But she didn’t let herself give merit to that voice.

They had to come out. They had to.

So instead she nodded, stifling another sob against her mate’s chest, pulling strength from him as she began to thrash against the ancient chains that coiled around her magic.

“The tides have certainly changed for you, Rhysand,” Jurian called. “A mated male. Last I saw you, Amar—”

“Finish that sentence, and you’ll lose your tongue,” Azriel warned, voice whetted with quiet, lethal rage.

Jurian gave a hollow laugh. “Just as perky as I remember, Azriel.”

Heavy, strolling steps echoed down the chamber. Feyre didn’t dare turn her face towards the entrance, already knowing who those steps belonged to from the way Rhysand tensed. The cruel, hateful face of the King of Hybern was one already etched into her nightmares.

“Treating our guests well, Jurian?” The King asked in place of announcing his arrival. “And—oh? What’s this?”

The stone beneath them began to tremble. Rhys tugged Feyre closer, prepared to use his own physical body as a shield to protect her. That thought made her push harder against the spell that bound their magic, desperately clawing her way towards its source.

Then—it was as though the entire room erupted.

If not for Rhys holding her steady, Feyre would have stumbled from the burst of wind that fled the chamber, the accompanying boom so deafening that she could not discern when it had faded. Was it still reverberating off the walls, or was that just the trembling of her bones? Was it still echoing off the stone, or was that ringing a silent song only for her ears?

Numbly, she whipped her head to see that the Cauldron had been tipped over by some invisible force. Water came pouring out in a cascade, spilling over the chamber floor. Black, smoke-coated water.

Elain and Nesta, as though they’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. They were soaking wet, what little of their skin revealed by the Illyrian leathers they bore had turned a deathly pale color. But Elain sucked in a breath, and Nesta began coughing up air and water as she pushed onto her elbows. Alive, alive, alive—and… as they raised their faces, the faelight caught on their soft glowing skin and their delicately pointed ears. Fae.

“Incredible,” the King of Hybern murmured.

Knowing they were alive—that was all Feyre needed for her power to finally explode. She pushed past those hands that were clamped down on her power, unleashing it into the room in a flash of pure white light, all that could escape with the damper from the King’s spell.

It burst into the chamber, sending the King and Jurian hissing as they shielded their faces away. And Rhysand was instantly moving, darting towards her sisters as Feyre reached deep within Day’s light until she found that purifying, clear power. She used that light to wipe through every physical trapping, let it show her the snarls of spells and glamorous, guiding her through the King’s spell as she burned brighter, looking, looking—

And there, buried deep inside the bone-walls of the castle, were the tightly woven wards. Feyre sent that blinding light flaring once more, blinding the room as she severed the wards at their ancient arteries.

She shouted, and as the light died she could see Rhysand and her sisters had disappeared. The King began snapping orders, and Feyre could feel his magic already scrambling to reseal the wards. There was a blur of movement in the corner of her eye, and Feyre turned to see Azriel moving protectively in front of Mor as she gathered Miryam into her arms. With a flick of his wrist, a knife sliced through the air, headed straight towards the King as Mor and Miryam vanished into smoke. Feyre willed the world to fold around herself, trusting Azriel to use his momentary distraction to do the same.

Those hazel eyes found hers. Go, they screamed, his lips curled back into a snarl. Feyre knew he wouldn’t leave until she was safe. On the vow that he had made to Rhysand this morning, but also on the vow that he had made to Feyre on the night she had been sworn in as High Lady. I will serve and protect.

Shadows closed around her, and just as the world had nearly slipped away entirely, Jurian fired an ashbolt straight through Azriel’s chest.

Wind and shadow carried Feyre only as far as her magic could withstand. She estimated she must have covered half the distance between Hybern and Velaris before she stumbled out of the sky somewhere in the middle of the Western sea. Too drained to summon anything that could slow her descent, she hurdled through the air and crashed into the dark, awaiting ocean.

Deep, deep below the surface, the world was quieter. She could still hear the ringing in her ears, but it was subdued beneath layers of ocean water and the rush of air bubbles surfacing around her. Feyre drifted, unconvinced she would even have the strength to kick herself up let alone swim to land. This was how it would end, she thought miserably. Not by Hybern, not by War, or Fate, or Time. But by slowly sinking into the quiet abyss that grew deeper and darker beneath her.

Feyre, Rhys called desperately through the bond. Feyre, where are you? Did you make it out?

Those mental talons brushed against her mental walls, begging to be let in. As she continued to sink down, she felt Rhysand tug at the bond, gently at first and then with increasing vigor. Feyre, he whispered, yanking so hard that more air bubbles fled her lips. Feyre, please.

She opened her eyes and angled her head up towards that dying, ever distant light. It was like being back Under the Mountain, she thought distantly. Feeling that tug toward the light, knowing if she let herself drift towards that darkness there would be peace at last.

But not for Rhysand. Not for her mate, who would have lost Feyre and Azriel in the same failed mission. Not for her sisters, who would have traded their humanity in vain. Not for Azriel, who sacrificed himself so she could escape.

Sometimes it’s just about having resilience after you’ve been beaten down.

For them, Feyre willed her feet to kick. Again and again, even as her lungs blistered with need, even as her vision went spotty and every motion in her body became agonizing, Feyre kept clawing towards that light.

Just as she was about to break the surface, something heavy slammed into her. Whatever precious air she was conserving punched out of her lungs, replaced instead with a flood of seawater that had her choking. The last thing she registered was a hand wrapping around her shoulders before everything went dark.

She awoke to a burning heat on her face. Feyre blinked against the too-bright light, raising a stiff arm over her face in an attempt to spare herself from its intensity. She was laying on top of sun-bathed wooden boards, below a cloudless blue sky. She was on a ship—if the sound of the crashing ocean waves and cawing seabirds were anything to go by.

Slowly, Feyre sat up, wincing against her throbbing headache and aching bones to search her surroundings, looking for Rhys. Had he found her? Taken her aboard a ship and…

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” chirped a lovely, lilted voice. A female walked across the deck, holding a canteen that Feyre prayed was full of water. Her throat felt like she had swallowed sandpaper.

But more importantly—Rhys. Feyre couldn’t feel their bond. And if he was on board, he would have been here. Especially after the way he had been reaching for her, begging for her.

“Rhysand,” Feyre rasped, feeling nothing as she reached inside for that familiar golden thread that interwove their souls. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” the faerie said sympathetically.

And it wasn’t just the bond that refused to answer. The well of power, once as deep and vast as the ocean they rocked over, was gone. Sealed behind a pane of glass she couldn’t break, no matter how she banged against its surface. “My magic—Why can’t I feel my magic?”

“We had our healer look at you, but we were limited in supplies. She said the biggest thing you needed was rest, and faebane is an effective sedative in a pinch—we’d just stolen a cache off one of Hybern’s ships.”

All Feyre could think of was Rhysand, feeling their bond go mute and fearing the worst.

“How long have I been asleep?” she rasped.

“Over an entire day,” the female answered. She plopped onto the deck beside Feyre and handed her the canteen. Feyre began drinking greedily as the female continued, “We’re almost to the harbor now. Normally we don’t patrol that far North, but the Captain said he had a ‘feeling’. Then low and behold, as close to Hybern as the High Lord would sanction, we saw Feyre Cursebreaker fall out of the sky.”

With the canteen emptied, Feyre screwed the cap on and handed it back to the female. “Which High Lord?”

“Tarquin,” she answered proudly, and Feyre was instantly flooded with relief. “We’ll be returning to the War Camp on the border of Winter and Summer.”

The one that Cassian was likely stationed at. Did he know what had happened, or would she be the one to deliver the news? Feyre turned, prepared to ask if it was the very same War Camp Cassian was leading, but she looked at the female and, for the first time, properly registered her face.

Warm bronze eyes were staring at her, crinkled with a happiness that made Feyre feel as though she were choking on seawater once more. Her gold-brown hair was braided back off her round face—A face that had once been pale and sallow. Feyre remembered staring into those warm eyes as the light drained from them. And now that faerie was sitting next to her beneath a warm, sun-lit sky, head tipped with gratitude as though Feyre hadn’t once driven a blade through her heart.

“Were you the one that jumped into the water?” Feyre whispered.

The female shrugged. “You fell in pretty deep. We were all trying to find where you had landed. I just happened to be the first one to see you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Oriana,” she said pleasantly.

Feyre swallowed. “Thank you, Oriana.”

Oriana’s eyes turned solemn. “No, Cursebreaker. The debt was mine to pay. In your third task—“

“Don’t.” The word was little more than a garbled syllable in the back of her throat. Feyre tore her eyes away from Oriana’s face, blinking at the crashing waves over the starboard in an attempt to banish her lingering ghost. “I wasn’t motivated by debt, or incurring favor.” Nor goodness, she wanted to add. Instead, she whispered as a confession to the sea, “Who’s to say in different circumstances, I would have chosen the same path?”

“Circumstances inform all our choices,” Oriana said, following Feyre’s gaze toward the open sea—where it stretched for miles and miles in every direction. “The winds and currents of the water are always changing, and the quickest route to shore today may not be the same tomorrow.” Her brown eyes were so wide, the entire horizon reflected in their light. “All we can do is brave the tides as they come, and act accordingly.”

It sounded so similar to the lesson Azriel had been trying to impart. Azriel, who had taken a bolt to his chest… who might still be in that castle in Hybern. Who might be dead.

Feyre’s eyes began to sting, but she told herself it was only the seawater.

“What matters to me, Cursebreaker, is what you chose on this path. Whatever your motivations, because of you I was able to return home to my mate.”

“Your… mate?”

Oriana’s lower lip trembled, but she kept her chin tilted towards the sea. “The grief you spared her… for that alone, I will always feel indebted to you.”

The boat rocked over a wave, jostling Feyre as the nose tipped up then back down, cutting through every opponent that challenged the ship. But even once the deck had righted, Feyre still felt off balance.

In another life, Oriana’s mate had felt that same soul-ripping grief that haunted the High Lord and Lady of the Night. And in this life, in this time… Oriana’s mate had never touched that pain at all.

“Are you… crying, my Lady?”

Feyre quickly wiped at the rogue tears that had escaped. “I’m just relieved that I was able to make a positive difference.”

“More than you could understand, Lady.” Oriana reached for her hand, and Feyre might have been startled at the sudden forwardness if not for the conviction on the female’s face. “Look around the crew. You have not been fae for long, so it may not be obvious to you, but there are sailors from nearly every court stationed on this ship. Prythian hasn’t been united like this in… perhaps since its inception.”

“Prythian would have banded together regardless—”

“Not without its savior,” Oriana interrupted fiercely. “Spring and Night in alliance? Any faerie would be laughed out of the room for suggesting it was possible.”

Oriana stood up, stretching her arms above her head as though this were all casual conversation to her. “I suppose I can understand why the leaders, with their eyes turned towards the carnage, might miss what’s been happening. But I’ve been in the taverns, drinking with the soldiers of every court in the alliance. And hope is so thick in the air you can taste it. Maybe have a drink while you’re in the harbor, see if you can feel it too.”

The crew let Feyre be for the short remainder of the journey. Oriana had vanished in the commotion of the ship preparing for land. Feyre felt the strangest mixture of relief and despair tangle in her chest as she watched the Summer Court climb in the horizon. It meant that soon, she would be able to reunite with her mate and assure him that she was safe. Alive. But if Azriel hadn’t made it out… she would have to look Rhys and Cassian in the eyes to tell them that she had left their brother behind.

That thought made it difficult to bask in the glory of the approaching inlet. Feyre had never seen an ocean so bright—under the glistening sun, it was almost turquoise, and so clear she could see through to the sand deep below. The bay was flush with ships, each bearing a proud sail of the six courts in the alliance. Gathered together, in one place. Oriana had told Feyre that more soldiers arrived each day, and by the sheer quantity of battleships, Feyre could believe it.

Tall buildings rose over the docks as the boat came closer. Unlike Adriata, which was marked by Tarquin’s large palace, homes and businesses laid central to the harbor, so colorful in variety it was as though a coral reef had come to life above the water. A small, dormant part of Feyre itched to paint it. She pushed that instinct down, knowing she was not here to sightsee, or drink with soldiers at the tavern. She needed to find Cassian, and get back to the Night Court. Find out how her sisters were coping with the change, and create a plan to get Azriel back.

More than anything, she needed to figure out how to get Azriel back.

That singular purpose propelled her off the ship when it docked. Filing onto land with the rest of the crew, she let the flow of the crowd carry her to the edge of the harbor. A pair of sailors was carrying a large crate between them, headed towards the outskirts of the docks. Feyre started to follow, before a hand found her arm.

“Are you looking for the Illyrians?” It was Oriana, pulling her in the opposite direction of the traffic. “They’re camped away from the city center. The General moved them after a small skirmish.” At Feyre’s expression, she laughed. “Nothing he couldn’t handle. He keeps his troops in line, your General.”

Feyre expected nothing less of Cassian. Pride flickered in her chest, a small candle against the icy dread that gripped her. She followed Oriana up the hills above the city, where a cluster of tents nestled in a small, grassy vale overlooking the harbor. On top of a hill, she could recognize Lord Devlon leading a group of soldiers through a late afternoon training session. Light caught the tips of their talons, gleaming against the sweat coating their faces—and in many cases, their naked chests. It was a sight she may have appreciated on any other occasion, but now Feyre was solemnly scanning through the faces of each of the soldiers, searching for her friend among them.

They continued to the tent that laid in the center of the camp, larger than the others. Feyre was grateful to have Oriana at her side, if only because the female was willing to brush aside the tent flaps with none of her reservations. Gravity felt heavier once they’d stepped inside, met with the makeshift war table fashioned from supply crates in the center of the room. A map laid across it with pieces strategically placed over the uneven surface, and several dark heads of hair whipped up from the map as they entered.

Her eyes immediately went to the male in the center, commanding an easy authority. When he straightened, the other soldiers did too. Despite how they may have loathed his leadership, it was clear they submitted to Cassian’s superior rank—his right by the sweat and blood he’d paid. When he bowed to Feyre, the others did too.

“High Lady,” Cassian greeted, with so much warmth and excitement in his voice that Feyre’s heart shriveled. He didn’t know. Casian flicked his eyes up, a slow smile blooming on his lips. Until he properly glimpsed her expression. He froze, then barked, “Out.”

The Illyrians disappeared with no further prompting. Even Oriana, with a small smile, squeezed Feyre’s hand and wished her farewell.

Cassian waited until the flaps of the tent fluttered shut. He took a breath, the rigidity flowing out of him on the exhale, until he was looking at her with a face full of concern. “Something went wrong on your mission in Hybern,” he said.

Not a question.

Cassian leaned back against the makeshift table, grip so tight the wood threatened to splinter beneath the force of his siphoned hands. “Did Rhys and Azriel…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Feyre couldn’t find it in herself to answer.

“Rhys made it out,” she said, so weak a condolence that it was barely a whisper. “So did Mor. And Nesta.”

Cassian wiped a hand across his jaw. “Nesta was there?”

Feyre winced, then nodded. “She and Mor hatched some plan together. Nesta’s fae now.”

He slumped back against the crates, pushing his hands up, across his face, to shield whatever his expression gave away. It was not the celebration she had wanted for him, or for Nesta. Not when the cost of her becoming fae was…

Cassian was shaking his head. “Just say it, Feyre.”

It was her responsibility. As High Lady. As the one Azriel had risked his life to protect.

“Azriel didn’t make it.” The words were bitter. More than any metal or blood or powdered faebane. Some foreign toxin her tongue rejected. “We were the last to winnow out. The last thing I saw…” she swallowed, forcing strength into her voice. “The last thing I saw was Jurian firing an ashbolt into his chest.”

The silence that answered her was excruciating. Cassian’s face remained buried between his hands, the air between them stagnant for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.

At last, Cassian raised his head, schooling his features until he was the commanding General she had seen when she first walked into the tent. There was not an ounce of pain in his expression—unless she looked too closely at his eyes.

“Where’s Rhysand?”

“I don’t know. The Night Court, I’m assuming.” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself. “My magic was drained, I ended up falling into the Western sea and getting fished out of the waters by a passing ship. They took me here.”

“Shit, Feyre.” Cassian glanced towards the map, studying the open waters between Hybern and the Night Court. “He’s probably losing his mind.”

She flinched, imagining her mate scouring the oceans. Would he do something rash, if he thought the King of Hybern had both his mate and his brother? A warm hand found her shoulder, drawing Feyre’s attention from the details on the map that had suddenly become so very interesting.

“You got out,” Cassian said. His fingers tightened, and then he pulled her against his chest, banding his large arms around her shoulders in a hug that expelled the air from her lungs. “That’s what matters, Feyre. To me, to Az, to Rhys. You're our High Lady. We swore to protect, and we live and die by that oath.”

“We’re going to get him back,” Feyre swore. She grit her teeth to contain the sob building in her throat. This was not the time for wallowing in her sorrow. She was the High Lady of the Night Court. It was time to regroup. To retaliate. To get back in the ring after being beaten down. She bared her teeth, hugging Cassian back fiercely as she repeated, “We’re going to get him back.”

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