#shouldn’t you be at least a little concerned if a magical prince vanishes?

[mimdecisive]

does anyone else find it kinda weird that SPOP just casually dropped in the fact that there’s a Prince who can see ANYWHERE in the world magically, aka the perfect spy, and Glimmer just… didn’t think of recruiting him?

Why wasn’t Peekablue already part of the Rebellion??? What is he using his powers for that’s soooo important? He could literally see all of the Horde’s plans and warn the Rebellion and give them a HUGE leg up on them, and he wasn’t even mentioned until S5.

I know he was a hermit almost never seen but are you telling me Glimmer wouldn’t even TRY to find him and convince him to join?That’s a mystery in itself; where IS Peekablue, and why does no one care? Is he literally missing? Because if he’s literally missing, maybe someone should help him.

#Spop #she ra #spop critical #peekablue was a plot device and nothing more— but a poorly conceived one #a glaringly obvious last-minute addition/excuse for them to add filler #and I’m //assuming// peekablue probably came up in the writers room sometime before S5 so they had time to work that in #I think they didn’t want to give the Rebellion such a big advantage but they were extremely lazy in their justification #For why they didn’t have Peekablue— ‘he’s a hermit he’s missing’ so fucking find him?? #shouldn’t you be at least a little concerned if a magical prince vanishes? #at best he’s MIA at worst the Horde has him and is using him to spy on you. Which if that was a possibility— why not bring that up in S4? #that’s me giving them the benefit of the doubt. peekablue might not have come up in the writers room at all before the 5th season. 🤷🏻‍♀️ #I mean Magicats didn’t and Catra was the main antagonist/love interest. #I think the SPOP writers— or maybe just ND— are just not very good at their jobs

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Ask me: FANDOM EDITION- S, W and Z!

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon

From Out of nine lives I spent seven (Oh you don't know the shape I'm in); Loki & Clint Barton. It's a long example, but I couldn't decide where best to cut it.

An hour passed before Clint returned with a large bowl of soup, some bread, and a pot of tea with a cup.  He inched his way into the room to keep the tray he carried from tipping over, and once in, he nudged the door closed with his foot.  The bed, so far, was untouched, and as he set the tray onto the desk, his stomach gave a lurch at the silence coming from the bathroom. 

“Loki?” he called out and went right to the doorway, peeking in cautiously.  Clint didn’t want to embarrass him, but he worried that he was either hurt or sick. 

Or vanished. 

“I’m here, Barton,” a groggy voice rasped back, and Loki stepped into view.  He’d wrapped a towel just barely big enough around his waist and tucked it together and maybe even held it closed with a little magic.  Wet black hair brushed the tops of his naked shoulders, and he reached up to push it out of his face.  “I might’ve...drifted a little in the tub, but I’m here.” 

As Loki advanced toward the bedroom, Clint stepped back out of the way to give him room.  Once that tall form stepped past him, he caught sight of Loki’s back – the map of scars that were still healing, many of them appearing to be burns among the jagged lines left by various blades, some even appearing as if they were fighting off infection.  Something about Loki’s spine and shoulders didn’t look right to Clint.  He’d seen enough in the field to know that a spine shouldn’t be out of place like that, as if it was trying to settle back into alignment through whatever healing ability the Asgardian prince had. 

Clint must have hissed or made some sound because Loki cut his eyes toward him on the way to the bed. 

“Shit, Loki.  What...happened?” the archer asked, the all-business, all the time tone gone in favor of soft concern and undying compassion. When met with only Loki’s icy determined silence, Clint told him, gently, softly, “It will be easier if you just talk to me.” 

“It matters none, Barton.  I’m healing, albeit slowly.  It bears no importance on our mission,” Loki answered as he studied the clothes he’d removed earlier by hand, preferring to save his seiðr for more important business.  At least, while he was in the compound and safe, he shouldn’t use it until it was needed. 

Clint shook his head.  Were all aliens this stubborn and prideful?  He moved around Loki to the bed and tugged down the covers.  Then he walked back around and tugged open the drawers of the small bureau and found some sweat pants and a t-shirt, which he tossed over to the bed.  Catching the way Loki’s nose wrinkled at the garments, the archer affected his best patient look. 

“Just to sleep in, sir.  Your other clothes won’t be comfortable for you to rest,” Clint explained.  He turned so that his back was to Loki again, giving him the privacy to drop the towel and put on the comfortable gray and white clothes. 

“And for the record, Loki, it does matter,” he went on.  His mind swirled around the signs of torture and abuse he saw marking this new strange leader; his exhaustion was evident, and it had been obvious that he was feverish and ill from the moment he came through the portal.  The marks, though, and the bones out of line, those would haunt Clint forever.  Thoughts of those he cared about leaked through the bond formed by the scepter – if he had to witness her in this condition or even the little one, Clint would go insane with rage. 

Loki almost pulled the scepter from the pocket dimension he’d hidden it in for the time being, fearing that the influence had worn off of the S.H.I.E.L.D. archer, and that was why this...true nature caring coming out.  However, in the reflection of the mirror, he could see the supernatural glow in Clint’s eyes that matched his own – that matched the glow of the scepter’s stone.  The connection had held, and Clint – Norns bless him – was just that person who’s heart was bigger than he often let on. 

Once more, Loki picked up on the archer’s concern for two people in his life, and as he felt the tendrils of interest from the Other, he used his illusory abilities to misdirect him while he braided other protections around Clint’s thoughts and memories.  The Other could hurt Loki all he chose, but he would be damned if he allowed that barbarian the knowledge of his agent’s innocents to use against him. 

“I assure you, Barton, that I will heal.  It’s just...taking more time than usual, but that cannot sway us from the mission at hand,” the space mage insisted while he tugged on the bland Midgardian clothes that surprised him in how soft and comfortable they were. 

Turning when Loki finished putting on the borrowed clothes, Clint studied the dark circles under the boss’ eyes, the red streaks out from the blue like his.  The slowly fading bruises that no one else had commented on, not even Fury back at the base. 

Clint tilted his chin toward the bed when Loki caught him staring. 

“Get into bed, sir.  I made you some soup.  Just some basic chicken and rice ‘cause that’s what was on hand, but it’ll be enough for now.  And there’s some bread and butter and tea,” he told him and started toward the tray.  He curled his fingers around it and lifted it, waiting for Loki to slide under the covers before he’d bring it over. 

“You...made me soup?” Loki asked, the look of surprise nearly wiping away the exhaustion as being touched by the gesture left him feeling as if humans weren’t so insignificant as he’d been led to believe. 

He only climbed into the bed because he was tired and it looked more inviting taking what little rests he could in chairs or leaning against a wall, just so that he couldn’t be caught unaware.  Loki wasn’t even sure that he could sleep, what with the Other always at the ready to summon him telepathically or even poke around in his mind, searching for treasures to use. 

“We can’t afford to send any of our own for take-out, Loki, or else, you’d have had a feast.  Even a dim sum feast.  This was all I could scrape together for you.  For now,” Clint replied as he finally carried the tray over and set it carefully onto Loki’s lap.  He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and held the tray steady while the boss adjusted to it. 

Loki magicked his hair back into a loose braid to keep it out of his face while he ate, and he leaned close to breathe in the sage and thyme from the rich broth.  Unable to hold onto his manners, he grasped the spoon and ladled several bites in a row into his eager mouth, not caring if it was still too hot.  Memories of what he’d believed to be home flooded his senses, and stinging tears pooled at the corners of his eyes.  He blinked them away, and just barely kept from undignified sniffling like a child while he devoured half the bowl of soup before he could stop himself. 

“Hey now, careful, Loki.  Don’t make yourself sick.  I...I think you probably haven’t eaten anything for a few days, so...just easy does it, okay?” Clint warned as another pang of concern pinched at his chest. 

He paused with the spoon in his mouth.  Swallowing that last bite, he returned the utensil to the bowl and made himself sit back against the pillows.  In Asgard, his bed could easily fit five or six people to sleep with a mattress filled with the finest feathers that were spelled to never break down.  It was covered with the softest sheets, handwoven blankets, an eiderdown duvet, and furs in the winter, leaving the prince to feel as if he slept in the tightest, warmest embrace even when he was woefully alone.  After the last year of torture and fitful sleep on a hard floor that smelled of the worst bodily functions, which couldn’t even be magicked away with the pitiful trickle of his seiðr, this small bed felt like paradise to his healing bones and muscles.  

“Days...it’s been longer than that, my archer friend.  Thank you for this repast.  You might think it simple, but I promise you that it is a feast,” Loki spoke softly, for the moment letting down his guard to allow Clint that window into his suffering.  After a slow exhale, he sat back up and reached for the buttered bread that was still warm and tore a piece off to eat, anticipating the soothing comfort of sleep not long after.  Then he sipped the hot tea, letting the honeyed jasmine soothe something broken in him.

Even under the influence of the scepter, Clint’s heart felt broken for this stranger.  Rage and distrust would come later when he was broken free of it, when he would no longer remember this moment or the extension of safety Loki wrapped around the secret he and one other person kept far away from the dangers that could touch it.  Clint would only remember the control exerted over his freedom, his autonomy, and he would vow to kill this one person who was doing more to ruin the plans they were scrambling to put into place than S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers combined without him. 

W - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

Emma Frost (X-Men)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Mr. Nancy (American Gods)

Hannibal Lecter (Hannibal TV series)

Floki (Vikings)

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go

A bit on the petty bitchy side, but I am so entirely amused by the fact that Taika Waititi fucked up the Thor franchise so badly that MCU doesn't want him to make anymore Thor movies, the Star Trek franchise doesn't want him making the Star Wars movie he wanted to make (and apparently proudly said he'd fuck up), and Disney in general doesn't appear to want him anywhere near any of their franchises at all. Everyone's golden boy director has proven that he's not fit to helm any damned thing, to the point that even Chris "I'm a butthurt little crybaby fratboy" Hemsworth is shunning the idea of playing Thor in another Taika disaster and that now he appears to be groveling back to wanting to play Thor as he was meant to be played. It makes me giddy on such an "I told you so" level that I'm not even sorry for being this petty about it.

Ask me: Fandom Edition.

#Ask me: Fandom Edition #chaoticgardenbread #Thank you for the asks!

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 10)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296 , @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7)

Warnings: adorable jerks.

As the sun finally came up (for what it felt like an eternity, a night with seven nights inside of it), you rubbed your eyes and greeted your teammates, who somehow were both already up and having breakfast.

“I was wondering when would you join us”, said Loki, covering his mouth with the manners of a Prince while eating a piece of something. “Barnes made dessert for breakfast”, pointed out more amazed than reproachful.

“Desert?”, you laughed. “A cake?”.

“Yes”, said Loki, very sure of himself, and Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled, correcting him.

“It’s a pancake, Loki. It’s a normal breakfast in Midgard”.

“Actually, probably just in this country”, you added. “What do you normally have in Asgard?”. As you chattered, you started getting ready and fixing your hair, stealing a piece of pancake from Bucky’s plate. “Wow, I didn’t know you could cook. It’s actually great”, you said, tasting a mouthful.

“Well, as in Midgard’s nordic areas, back home it’s often fruit and bread, or porridge with dried fruits” he recalled distracted, and immediately interrupted himself with “are we not supposed to alert the rest of this?”.

“About Buck knowing how to cook? Yeah, I’m impressed, we should tell everyone”.

“I guess we should’ve told them yesterday, instead of going to sleep”, said Bucky, ignoring you. “Only God knows where that supersoldier is now”.

“I don’t, actually”.

“I didn’t mean... nevermind”, he sighed. “I'm calling Stark and let’s hope we don’t get too yelled at”.

You recalled yesterday’s events. You had so many dreams, you could barely remember being awake at all. First, the bearded man’s nightmare. Then, something about… the compound? Then, you remembered distinctly, Loki speaking Old Norse begging Thor about something. You remembered the phonetic of the words, but they were all gibberish now. Then, a last dream, something about buying rotten apples and being forced to eat them by Thanos. Your imagination surely was active on the nights.

Loki seemed paler than usual as he stared at you, without even blinking.

“What?”, you snapped him out of your head.

“You dreamt with me?”, he muttered, getting up and cleaning his plate with a snap.

"I also dreamt with Thanos".

“Don’t get too attached, I’ll be back to Asgard soon”, he promised, or alerted. Intentions unclear.

“I’m not attached”, you protested. You thought he’d smirk or be the smug idiot he usually was. He didn’t. Instead, he looked unsettled; disturbed even. “I didn’t dream with you on purpose, it was probably because of yesterday’s thing”.

“What thing?”, peeped in Bucky. “Oh no, did you two fuck?”.

“I didn’t let them die, big deal. I was just saving myself the amount of annoyance it would be to have Stank on my neck all week long if your blood was sort of in my hands”.

“Sounds like a lot of deflecting emotions to me, buddy”, said Bucky, and you chuckled.

“He’s just embarrassed he saw himself cry in one of my dreams from last night”, you mocked. He got up and you didn’t get to see his face, but presumed it would hold something near a death threat.

“You two have an intense bonding experience and decide to concentrate on it with more insults? You know, this is why you’re single”, added Bucky.

“It wasn’t a bonding experience”, you said, cutting-glass sharpness in your gaze.

“I’m not single”, corrected Loki at the same time, with an equally whetted voice.

Both Bucky and you looked at him with plate-wide eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Neither of you asked, but surely shared a fair amount of desire to gossip about it. Oh, how much you wished to be able to tell Bucky about Loki re-reading Hamlet to reminisce about his beloved. But there was a line you wouldn’t cross in there; you knew where to stop.

“Mr. Stark”, you called through the earbud, “you there, sir?”.

“Painfully”, he answered. You connected the earbud to your phone and held it on speaker, so the rest of the team could join. “Tell me more about what I’m gonna yell at you three about”.

As you walked him through (almost) every event in the past twenty four hours, you could feel how his hands traveled all the way up to his face, and had to hold in a few sighs of disgust and utter hate towards… Well, you weren’t sure towards what, exactly.

“Are we grounded, dad?”, spat Loki with sarcasm.

“Listen, Rock Of Ages, if I could, I’d have you in a prison cell still to this day. Don’t push any buttons”.

“Come on, it’s been, what, nine years since he last fucked up something in here?” you defended him, not quite sure why. Loki grew nervous as Tony laughed obnoxiously at him.

“Sure. He didn’t keep fucking things up in here after that”.

“I can assure you I didn’t. How Odin manages his deals with Midgard does not concern me”, explained Loki, and you frowned at the mention of that name. Of course, Loki Odinson. That was where that name resonated from. Besides the Mythology. Though you weren't sure until where those stories were true or not; in there, Loki wasn't even Thor's brother.

“Going back to your current screw up, what happened to the civilians you frightened in the process? I imagine they didn’t realize about the new supersoldiers”.

“They should be extremely blind or idiotic to not have noticed, since the soldier jumped out of nine floors and survived”, answered Loki, looked at you up and down, and kept going “so, no. They have probably slept on it”.

“Wait, what?”.

“What?”.

“Nine floors? Pretty sure Capsicle and Barnes wouldn’t survive that either”.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”, you asked, concerned.

“I’m afraid so. Loki and Bucks won’t cut it, especially when we don’t know the number of new super-supersoldiers out there. And you’re coming back to the compound, directing the mission from the distance”.

“Are you kidding? I’m fine here. I’m all levels of mean, you said it yourself”.

“You’re too young and inexperienced in combat for these kinds of things, and they have special genetic advantages in their bodies, you know, the serum”, explained Tony as you rolled your eyes. But you understood exactly what he meant, and in fact, you agreed. “Do you understand?”.

“Yes; supersoldiers and Gods only”.

“Good kid. Now, Teleporting Popsicle, would you mind taking there with you the rest?”.

With an overly dramatic sigh, Loki vanished behind a party of green lights and reappeared in a matter of seconds in the same spot, holding carelessly Thor and Steve’s arms. Thor, for obvious reasons, was unfazed by the trip. Rogers, on the other hand, seemed about to throw up. There wasn’t anything balance would help with when your cells are reconfigurated inside and out in a fraction of a second. How the hell did he do all of that? You knew it was magic, but it still wouldn’t stop you from being absolutely astonished by it.

Loki arranged his hair behind his ears and locked eyes with you, followed by his typical smugly smile and a “thank you”, as if you were praising him in your thoughts. Oh, wait.

“I didn’t say anything”, you retorted, hoping to maintain at least a drop of pride left.

“You thought I was impressive”. You were going to correct him but realized that absolutely astonished was even worse.

“And since when do you offer gratitude?”.

“In case you wonder, yes, they’ve been like this the whole mission. You’ll get used to it”, said Bucky to Steve and Thor.

They started arranging their things and got updated as thoroughly as they could. Meanwhile, you stood exactly where you were the following ten minutes, absorbed in your own thoughts. Once you snapped out of them, Loki was still staring at you, standing in the same place too.

“What?”.

“I hate to break it to you, but…”.

“What?”.

“I’m your best option”.

“You’re my what?”.

“Your best option”.

“You’re not giving much context”.

“You’re going back to the compound. I figured you’d think about the mission or something about it for the past ten minutes you were zoned out, but apparently you only have room to think about how terrified you’re of that quinjet”.

Your palms got sweaty and a shiver ran through your spine by the only thought of remembering how heights felt under your feet, and how a simple machine wouldn’t stop you from landing on water and drowning, or crushing against a building and being burned to the bones until all you become is dust and…

“Hello? You’re spiraling again”, he snapped you back. “It’ll be just a blink. You won’t even notice”.

“Uh-uh. No, I’m not doing that. I’m waiting for whatever Tony sends to come and get me”.

“You’ll feel terrible”, he said, and he was right. For a moment, you considered accepting his offer. “And I’m the best”. His humble offer.

“I’m sure you are, but it’s not my best option”.

He sighed.

“Will you allow me to teleport you or not?”.

“Heavens, no”.

“Alright, you little stubborn human mortal”.

“Long nickname, you better come up with a shorter one”.

“Like what?”.

“I don’t know, something that bothers you. I’m not the one supposed to make your insults towards me”.

“Let me think”, he said, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the still unwashed plate of Bucky’s breakfast. “Pancake”.

“Not... that’s not an insult”.

“Why? They’re too sugary. They rot your teeth”.

“Yeah, but it’s not derogatory”.

“Fucking pancake”.

“It doesn’t cut it”.

“But what’s wrong with my pancake?”.

“It’s actually a pet name. You know, like the ones we said when we were in...”, but apparently that was all a distraction (of course, he was the God of Lies, after all), and when you were already thinking about how to explain to him why he shouldn’t call you pancake, he stood in front of you and held you by both sides of the arms, surrounding you almost completely, holding you still.

And just as he said, a blink later you were in the compound, perfectly fine. Peter and Tony greeted you as he pulled out and you stood there in shock. So, you really just needed some stabilization to not die in the intricate process of teleportation. Just before stepping away from you, he leaned over your shoulder and his whisper made your ear ticklish, saying “you’re welcome” with a grin. You didn’t look at him.

You started to gather all your stuff; papers, maps, laptops, and getting ready for the planning of the following steps of the mission as fast as you could, until you realized Loki was still there, and Tony and Peter were waiting for you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Aren’t you going?”, you asked Loki.

“No, I’m staying, apparently”.

“Why?”.

“That’s what Stark was thinking, I don’t know”.

“Hey, Elsa, don’t read my mind, would you?”, snapped Tony. He was about to explain himself, but you kept talking to Loki, cutting his words.

“What’s wrong with you that you read everyone’s thoughts all the time? You know how unethical that is? It’s invasive”.

“You say that because you think slow”.

“Untrue, I’m actually a very fast thinker”.

“How would you know? You’ve never read anyone’s minds so, how could you possibly…?”.

You stopped dead on your tracks, and didn’t listen to what he was saying. That phrase. That exact phrase you dreamt with. The darkness. It was the exact same voice of the darkness, you remembered. It wasn’t darkness, it was his voice. Were you just imagining things? Too suggestionated? Definitely. How could you dream with something you’ve never heard before?

“Sorry to interrupt, you two seem to be having a long, unnecessary and avoidant conversation that could be resumed in three tiny words, as you did all mission long” interfered Tony, sick of listening to you two. Loki was observing you as heedful as he could; your thoughts had caught his attention. You couldn’t read his face. “So, I’m gonna cut it shortly”.

“What?”, you went back to reality. You needed to actively ignore Loki’s gaze on you to actually pay any mind to Tony’s words.

“The rest of the team has another mission, and both Peter and you are technically still kids…” and as soon as you opened your mouth to argue, he shut it “no, don’t interrupt me. You know I’m right. So, I can’t leave you two alone for the entire week”.

“Oh”, you understood. Peter’s innocent eyes shone at the idea. Yours, not so much. “So, Loki is our babysitter”.

“Yes”, said Loki, while Tony answered “No” at the same time.

"What about Happy?", asked Peter.

“I think we can manage perfectly on our own. Besides, what makes you think he���s more responsible than me?”.

“He’s an adult”.

“He’s seventeen in human years, and fucked a horse”.

“Wow, someone has been stalking my mythology”.

“If you two quarrel too much, Peter will tell me and I’ll be back with Clint Barton in charge of you three. So you better behave. Alright, I’m leaving”.

“Wait! What are the rules?”, asked Peter. You grabbed your face and Loki muttered what a damn nerd.

“Eh, don’t burn down the compound, I don’t know, kid”, said Tony getting inside his bright red suit.

“The bar is on the floor. Let’s play macarena”, you whispered.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki headcanon #loki fic #fanfic mcu #loki masterlist #laufeyson #loki friggason #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x avenger!reader #loki x y/n #mcu loki #marvel #marvel loki #avengers #tom hiddleston

[pet-genius]

Excerpt from an old fic - "The Snapes' Last Christmas"

Hogwarts, December, before the Christmas break, before the Courtyard scene, Severus’s 5th year

“Why do I hear rumours that you’re going to stay here over Christmas?” Lily asked Severus in mock-outrage.

“That depends, Lil. Is Potter leaving for Christmas?” He answered her with an earnest question.

“’Course he is,” she told him.

“Then I am staying. I’ll finally get some actual studying done in this place.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Sev!” Lily pleaded with him. “Who wants to be at school over Christmas break? It’s time to be with family!”

Good one, Severus thought to himself. “You haven’t been to Christmas at our house, though, have you?”

Lily looked down. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… Come home for me!”

For a change, refusing her came easy. “Why don’t you stay here?” He asked his friend.

“No way. My parents will kill me. And I miss the little Muggle town! Come on!”

Lily might have had something to miss over there; Severus did not. The only place worse than school was home, and with Potter gone, school wouldn't be that bad.

“Drop it, Lily, I’m not spending another Christmas with Tobias asking why I didn’t bring him anything from that good-for-nothing wanker wizarding town when he doesn’t send me any money. You have fun though.”

She looked hurt. “So that’s it? You’re leaving me alone with Petunia?” It was not a welcoming prospect.

“What about all your Muggle friends?” He asked her, not without a note of bitterness. “Why don’t you spend your break with them?”

That’s great, Lily thought to herself. He was just trying to make her beg him to come, and she knew it.

“Well, I can’t tell them about magic, for one. Two, my parents told everyone I’m going to some posh private boarding school, and we don’t learn any Muggle subjects here and all my friends will expect me to be clever and I will feel like an idiot. Three, they’ll all want to talk about movies and records, and I haven’t seen a movie or heard a record in ages. Don’t you miss it at all? The movies?”

She doesn’t get it, does she? “Hey Tobias, can I get some money to go to the movies with my freak witch friend, please? How do you expect this to work out, Lil?” She forgot, sometimes, how awful he was. Good for her, Severus thought. Then she suggested he use magic, as if he was stupid to not have thought of it before.

“You can try Summoning his wallet, the last time I tried that I was limping for a week.”

Lily started to look exasperated, or maybe Severus imagined it. “Then I’ll get my mum to buy you tickets. Come on, is this what this is about? Money? Because we can study at my house, you know, mum and dad will be pleased.”

Severus did not need her charity. He wasn’t the one so desperate to go to the movies.

“Just ask Potter to spend Christmas with you. He’ll fly his stupid Nimbus 1000 across the entire United Kingdom for you twice, I reckon.”

Why does he have to tease me about James? It’s not my fault he fancies me. It’s not like I like his stupid stunts.

“Maybe Malfoy will give you a couple of Sickles, if you don’t tell him it’s so that you can go to the movies with a big Mudblood!”

Why are we fighting? She is the one who came to me!

“I don’t think you’re a mudblood, Lily, stop it,” he told her. Besides, Lucius had been busy. The last time Lucius had written him was weeks ago, and even that letter was really short. Lucius had been learning fascinating magic, though, so who could blame him? Much more useful than the rubbish they were teaching Severus at Hogwarts, he reckoned. There was magic out there he could really use, and he could not wait to use it all on Tobias… on the glorified trolls that made it their job to make his life as miserable as possible…

Lily noticed he was no longer in the same conversation as her. “A knut for your thoughts?”

“Nothing, honest.”

“So you’ll come?” She asked him. “Please? Pretty please? We don’t have to go to the movies. We don’t have to do anything. I just want you home with me.” She looked at him with a devilish spark in her eyes and almost sung: “and it will drive Petunia crazy.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yes!” Lily exclaimed, and kissed him on the cheek. “I knew I could count on you!”

She ran off to join a group of giggling girls. Shocked, Severus remained where he was and touched his hot cheek. Currents ran up and down his body. Now he had to go. You’re good, Evans, he thought.

Spinner’s End, Christmas Eve, Severus’s fifth year

Of course, Tobias did not let Severus go to the Evanses for Christmas dinner. It'd been like that every year - a Christmas dinner with no decorations, with no guests, with his mother looking especially miserable (of course, this year he knew why). Every year, it was only the three Snapes sitting there while Tobias angrily barked at them to look happy. Not that he ever looked happy - he looked drunk. And mean.

“My own son wants to spend Christmas Eve with the redhead freak uptown and my own wife can’t be cheerful on this holy day to save her life.” Great, Tobias has something to say. He never shuts up.

“You know, they invited us. All of us. Even you. It was very nice of them, and it was very rude of us not to come,” Severus said. He knew his cheek would cost him, but he didn’t care.

“Rude, am I? They only invited us to show off their posh house, again, you idiot.” Just because they are not dirt poor does not make them “posh”, Severus thought. His father did not even know what posh was. But Severus did - he’d been to the Malfoy Manor.

“They invited us because Lily is my friend, Tobias!” Severus shouted - better go down for the dragon than for the egg.

“I am your father, Severus, your only father, and I certainly don’t want to spend Christmas with yet another abomination!” He waved his knife and fork ominously. “You and your useless mother are bad enough without that little pest running around my house, eating my food, stealing my belt. Don’t think I didn’t know about that, you wanker.”

Now he made Severus angry - well, angrier. “You don’t know anything, Tobias, she is a witch, not a common Muggle thief, she Vanished it!”

Tobias saw weakness, and he pounced. Even when drunk, he was good. An understanding smile spread across his revolting face. He looked like he just got his Christmas present. “She is too pretty for you, you know. She will outgrow you. I’ll bet the house she won’t know who you are by this time next year. She’ll vanish your knob before she comes near it. Pretty girls like her don’t go for gormless, ugly gits like you.”

Right where it hurts. He was that transparent, was he? And who was Tobias to call anyone else ugly? I hate you so much, Tobias.

“Do you ever shut up, Tobias? Or will you actually drop dead if you don’t shout at us? Can you not be a perfect arsehole for once in your life?”

They were nearly hook nose to hook nose, and there was nothing in either of their pairs of black eyes but hatred.

Tobias started undoing his new belt.

“Dinner is over,” he said with one of his special heinous smiles he saved just for his family, and as far as Severus was concerned, dinner could not end soon enough. Eileen hid her face behind her hands. “Don’t, Toby, please, I beg you. Let’s just eat,” she said. But since when did asking nicely get you anywhere in this house?

Severus was getting too big to kick around, but Eileen was getting smaller every year, if anything. Severus managed to run away with minimal damage, but his mother did not. She never even tried.

Moments later, Severus was in his mildewy room, listening to a symphony of plates breaking, Tobias shouting profanities, and the belt cracking.

Not one of your best ideas, Lily, he thought miserably, wondering if she was thinking about him at all.

He stayed awake, because he knew what was about to happen. Tobias would fall asleep and then he and his mother would finally have a moment of peace together. Since he was home, he figured he might as well ask her a few questions.

Sure enough, she quietly made her way to her son’s room as soon as Tobias started to snore.

“He’s a right bastard, you know that, right?” He asked her, as soon as she came in.

“You shouldn’t provoke him, Severus.” She struggled to make her way to his bed and sat with a wince. “I can’t help it, Mum. How can you let him treat you like that?”

“Never mind that now, love. Help your mum. You remember the healing spells you used last year, don’t you?” Severus nodded. “My clever boy. You’re a natural, you know.”

“Hmmm,” Severus grunted as he focused on performing the healing spells on his mother. He watched the swelling go down and the bruises melt away. There was a limit to what he could do with charms alone. If only he had some dittany or murtlap on him… Then you should have thought of that before you let Lily drag you into this miserable holiday.

Then his mother said, “All better. I’m glad you came home, Severus.”

“I ought to have fought him off you.”

“Don’t. I’m glad you didn’t. I’m proud of you. It hurts me more when he does it to you, you know that.”

She got up with effort; the bastard must have got her in places she didn’t want to let her son see.

“Are you going to go to a Muggle hospital, at least?”

“I don’t think so, no. I don’t like hospitals. I’ll be fine.”

He knew, he just knew, she was hiding something from him, and he’s had it. “Mum, I know why you can’t do magic.”

If she had any colour left in her face, she would have lost it there and then. “How?” She asked him, mortified.

“They have old Prophets at Hogwarts, you know.” She gulped. She remembered how the Prophet had told the story, and it was not good - ‘St. Mungo’s experimentalist Eileen Prince kills entire family on Christmas’, she believed, was the exact subtle wording they'd used.

“I’m sorry.” She said, choked up. “I should have told you sooner, Sevy, I’m sorry.”

There was only one thing Severus wanted to know. Well, two.

“If you did this, they deserved it. It’s just… how much worse can they be than him.” His head jerked in the direction of the snoring. “And why won’t you kill him, mum, I mean it.”

Her eyes were wet. Severus hadn’t seen her cry in years.

“They did not deserve it. They were wonderful. It was all my fault, Severus. I didn’t mean it.” She drew a laboured breath and wiped her eyes dry.

“Have you learned about Felix Felicis yet?” She asked him. The official curriculum hadn’t covered the lucky potion yet, but Severus knew what it was.

When she was done with her tale, her son understood everything.

*****

Sitting in the Headmaster’s office, Professor Severus Snape figured since it was almost Christmas, after all, he might as well use a Christmas memory to produce his Patronus. In his mind, he carefully avoided stepping on the landmines of memory that could extinguish even the strongest Patronus, and focused on Lily’s singing voice telling him that “it will drive Petunia crazy” and how she had kissed him on the cheek, and he sent the Doe Patronus to lead her son to the Sword.

#snape fic #snape #snape content #snape fanfiction #severus snape #young snape #snape love #let me know what you think? #i keep saying i'll republish this fic when I've fixed some issues but I never do #since i realized i could write AUs where he lives or something instead #sigh #but it always comes out angsty in the end :( #why #but please tell me what you think?

[suoyou]

[wip] 一日三秋; one day, three autumns

1633 words, rated t.

a complete chapter 2 in an incomplete series of oneshots titled 一日三秋; one day, three autumns, in which wwx is the autumn king and lwj is the winter prince.

ch 1.

they say that missing someone is the most powerful force of pain a person will know. a pain that can wilt the heart. a pain to carry. a pain that can turn one day into three autumns.

In the middle of Lan Wangji’s left thigh is a scar, round and hollow in the center, like a coin. It had been a burn once, angry blisters deadening into a purple keloid into, now, a little white moon on his skin. 

Of the five floors of the castle, Lan Wangji is only allowed in three. Evidently, little does it matter that he is the only other heir to the Winter Throne should his brother ever be incapable of holding it; he’s often pictured how woefully unprepared he would be should the Kingdom of Summer ever revolt again, or, as the Defectress Luo Qingyang had promised, if the Autumn King showed up seeking revenge. 

For what, Lan Wangji doesn’t know. 

“You don’t need to know,” has always been his uncle’s reply. 

“You won’t need to know if I have any say in it,” is what his brother says, kind, still double-edged.

“You should know,” said the Defectress Luo Qingyang, over her teacup, and jade has never looked so threatening, “that your kingdom is still carrying out the crimes of war right under your nose, and if your family does not wake up, the Autumn Kingdom will leave the decade-long peace treaty in the dust the same way you have.” She said it all like she was simply commenting on the races. The Jin Imperial Family was winning. 

“How do you know? What kind of war crimes?” asked Lan Wangji. He’d spoken too brusquely, but Luo Qingyang hadn’t been fazed. All around them, the Dragon Boat Festival surged on, air humid and painted green-red-blue, an overfull tea kettle of a day. “Why is it your concern?”

“That you think it shouldn’t be my concern is the same line of thinking that got your Kingdom into this mess,” she said, and her words have been ringing in Lan Wangji’s ears ever since, an unwelcome jabber of sparrow song and raven squawks that won’t leave him hours later. The telltale signs of spring. She holds her position well. 

“What kind of war crimes?” he repeated.

She’d taken her time sipping the rest of her tea before placing her empty cup on the table to be taken away. “Do you recall, when the Wen Imperial Family went rogue and the Snowfire Wars tore the lands apart,” she said, “there was a division of mages known as the Core Reapers?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t really believe, do you, that they simply vanished after those wars?”

Lan Wangji had stared at her. 

The Core Reapers had vanished after the Snowfire Wars. They’d ridden through the war-torn battlegrounds after blood had been spilled like red ghosts, gathering the dying bodies of civilians and mages alike to, as Lan Wangji had heard, harvest their cores. Word was that the Wen Imperial Family was creating elixirs, weapons, medicines out of them. Hearsay had it that they were creating monsters. 

He stares at his scar now, where his jade pendant had burned him through three layers of clothing thirteen years ago, and had never lit up again. In the dusk of the evening, it’s almost invisible, as if it had  never existed—vanished, like the Reapers, after the war. 

Lan Wangji stands up and shrugs his outer robe back on. Unthinkingly, he opens the drawer where he keeps that pendant, like it’ll have answers for him. It doesn’t. Jade does not dull with age, but in the red velvet of the drawer it could be leached bone. A small one—a skull bone. 

Lying beside it is its bonded match. Once they had been identical, though Lan Wangji’s pendant was wrapped in blue ribbon. The other is broken on one side and missing a segment, red knotting and tassels unraveled, the jade circle incomplete like a horseshoe. When the Snowfire Wars raged around him, Lan Wangji wore his half of the pair with more attention and care than when he carried his sword.

“Wangye,” his attendant inclines her head when he opens his pavilion doors. 

“I have some personal work to attend to. Can you see to it that, if any of my family seeks me, to let them know I will greet them accordingly when I return?”

“Yes, Wangye.”

So he goes. 

Three of the Kingdom’s floors are aboveground. Two are below. He’s been to three in the middle—never the topmost, never the bottomost, and he’s not sure what he’s looking for. He has to look, to be sure, or else it will be another evening of Luo Qingyang’s voice in his head, jerking him awake long before dawn.

Strange dreams have been plaguing him since the Dragon Boat festival, the sorts of dreams that someone would tell themselves didn’t mean anything. The night of the festival Lan Wangji had gone to bed and found himself in a place where the sun never set, simply bobbing up and down in the sky, turning from green to gold and back again as the days and nights passed. Then, the next night, the scar on his thigh had opened up and begun bleeding afresh, and no matter what magic he used, it would not stop. The more magic he used, the more blood poured down his leg. 

Last night, he dreamed of Wei Ying. Not in the way he’d been in life, so bright that Lan Wangji couldn’t bear to look at him sometimes. 

The Kingdom of Winter had been blanketed in snow for their cycle, and Lan Wangji was in the woods outside the royal walls alone. A dark sweep of Core Reapers had passed by. Their hoods had been drawn over their heads. It looked as if the entire forest was bleeding. 

One of them in the center of their tight pool of red had paused and turned their heads, and under the scarlet, mink-lined hood had been Wei Ying’s face. 

Lan Wangji shakes himself as he greets the guards that stand outside the gates into the Kingdom’s undergrounds. A question floats through their expressions but they open the gates for him without question, bowing again as he passes. 

He picks his way through the first underground level without wasting his time. Here they keep their forbidden texts, their spoils of war, here they hold sensitive political meetings. A damp, sweet smell of soil clutches fat little hands at his robes, happy for visitors, and he raises his hand to upright some of the overgrown vines and planters that line the walls. His hand glows a dim blue, and the drooping foliage picks its flower heads up again. Blooms are coming. 

Even if he’s never made the descent into the lowest floor of the Kingdom, Lan Wangji knows there are two ways to get there—the prisoners’ entrance in the Pavilion of Discord, and the one he faces now. The jailers’ entrance, through the Hall of Justice. 

He doesn’t feel particularly just, facing the round door that he knows will take him down the staircase into the Kingdom’s dungeons.  

Blue fires light his way. 

In times of peace, there aren’t many prisoners to speak of. The few that the Kingdom of Winter persecutes are petty thieves, suspected spies, and the occasional revolutionist, all of which are bent into fearful submission before they ever even make it to the dungeons. Lan Wangji knows it. He’s seen it. 

And he’s right, almost, for at least part of the dungeon. It’s bright and clean, with mainly empty cells, but the blue fires end abruptly in the middle of the long walkway between the rows. There are scuffles, noises of things living, hushed in the gloom. He pauses and strains his eyes. Then he lifts his hand, summoning some of the fires in the torches to his palm to light his way. 

He doesn’t know what he expects to see. Prisoners, perhaps, curled up like hungry mice. 

The icy sheen of his fire falls over the bodies in the cells, and Lan Wangji frowns before he steps back, breath stuttering in his chest. 

They are prisoners. It’s the most human thing left about them. Some of them have lost all their hair, ragged clumps gathering in rolls thick as dead cats beside them. Others have clawed their own backs bloody, as if they’d been trying to dig their own spines out of their bodies, and still others were covered in a thick, tarry ooze, as if blood and lymph had leaked out of them and gained its own sentience. One of them lay in silence with a stained white strip of cloth over his eyes, a line at his neck like his head had been stitched back on. 

Lan Wangji’s stomach writhes, hot and sick, in his belly. 

The end of the walkway widens into a larger chamber where no one is kept, but as he passes his fire over the space he can make out the outlines of odd contraptions—long rods with fluted holes, boards with three holes in them—one larger, two smaller, for a neck and hands. A splintered wooden gurney like a rotting log. Old blades sprout off of it like oyster mushrooms. They blink sleepily back at him, eyes in the night. A bizarre device like a chair, outfitted with two horns on both sides. Anyone sitting in it would have their head position between the mouths of both. 

He frowns. A long skein of red fabric has been tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, wrinkles rounded and warm. A cloak. Someone’s just taken it off. 

“Wangji,” a voice comes from behind him, “what are you doing down here?”

#fic wip #wx #incomplete

[raisedbyfandomwolves]

prompt: write something bad :)

YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD ME WITH THIS.

BUT YOU WERE WRONG.

I TRIUMPHED.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

...

(clears throat)

Anyway, enjoy.

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom called Cryptun and it was ruled by the kind and beautiful Princess Ka-rah. Princess Ka-rah was as kind as she was beautiful and everyone in her kingdom loved her because she was the best princess ever and she made sure they were always happy.

One day, Princess Ka-rah was travelling to a village on the border of her kingdom when she found a handsome young man lying on the side of the road. He looked hurt so Princess Ka-rah decided to bring him back to her castle and help him get better.

When the handsome young man finally woke up, he told Princess Ka-rah that his name was Mi-key and he had been attacked by evil pirates who had stolen everything he had. Princess Ka-rah felt bad for him so she told him that he could stay with her until he was all better and could go home.

While Mi-key was getting better in Princess Ka-rah's castle, he caused a lot of trouble like a naughty stray puppy. Mi-key played a lot of pranks and made Princess Ka-rah very angry a lot of times but the pranks were actually really funny and no one ever got hurt and also he would say the funniest jokes ever and she would laugh until she forgot why she was angry at him.

After another one of Mi-key's pranks one morning, Princess Ka-rah was chasing him through the palace garden to scold him when suddenly a giant robot T-Rex appeared and attacked her. Just as it was going to really hurt her, Mi-key flew into the air and used his magic cape to defeat the giant robot T-Rex.

Princess Ka-rah was very happy he had saved her and actually she secretly like-liked him a lot so she asked him if he wanted to stay with her forever. Mi-key was also very happy because he secretly like-liked her a lot too so he said yes and the giant robot T-Rex became their pet.

While they were having a party to celebrate Mi-key staying, however, a dark cloud of evil magic appeared in the room and two ugly evil-looking women came out of it. The older ugly evil-looking woman turned out to be Queen Le-xe of the nearby kingdom of Daxxim and the other one was her daughter Princess Lee-na. Queen Le-xe was actually the evil stepmother of Mi-key who was actually the prince of Daxxim and she was there to kill him so that her daughter Princess Lee-na could rule Daxxim instead.

Princess Ka-rah was very angry at Prince Mi-key for not telling her that he was actually a prince but Prince Mi-key told her that he had been hurt that day by evil pirates that Queen Le-xe had sent to kill him. He told her that he had been scared to tell her the truth because he didn't want to go home and get killed but also because he like-liked her a lot the moment he saw her and wanted to stay with her instead.

Even though she was still a little angry at Prince Mi-key, Princess Ka-rah decided to forgive him because she was super kind and because she still like-liked him a lot too so she told Queen Le-xe that she wasn't going to let the ugly evil stepmother queen or her ugly evil daughter hurt him.

Queen Le-xe and Princess Lee-na were very angry so they decided to try and kill Princess Kara too but Princess Kara and Prince Mi-key used their magic capes to fight the evil queen and princess and they won. Then the giant robot T-Rex which had also been sent by the evil Queen Le-xe to kill Prince Mikey chomp-chomp-chomped the evil queen and princess because they were really really mean to him last time.

Now that Queen Le-xe and Princess Lee-na were dead, Prince Mi-key was safe and he could go home to become the king of Daxxim. Even though she was very happy for him, Princess Ka-rah was also very sad because she didn't want to say goodbye to Prince Mi-key.

Then Prince Mi-key said he didn't want to leave her so he asked her to marry him and bring their kingdoms together. Princess Ka-rah was really really happy to hear that so of course she said yes and they had a big beautiful wedding and lived happily ever after and had lots of beautiful babies.

---xXx---

“The end,” Abigail finished reading with a proud smile on her face before looking up at her parents who were sitting on the couch in front of her. “What do you think of my story, Mommy, Daddy?”

Both Kara and Mike could only blink, stupefied, as they tried to find the words to answer their daughter. “Well... it's, um... it's very... unique,” Kara ventured hesitantly. “Just, um... I just have a few questions?”

Mike covertly pinched her thigh with just enough strength to get her attention. “Kara, are you seriously going to critique our six-year-old daughter's writing assignment?”

“I'm not critiquing! I just want to clarify a few things!” Kara hissed angrily before plastering a smile on her face and turning back towards an earnest and oblivious Abigail. “So, um... Why is... Shouldn't Princess Ka-rah be a queen if she's ruling her kingdom?”

“But princesses are cooler than queens, Mommy!” Abigail protested with a frown.

“I... I see...” It was only then that Kara remembered they'd had a Disney Princesses movie marathon during Abigail's sleepover party just a week ago. “Okay, um... So how was it Princess Ka-rah didn't recognise... um, Prince Mi-key if he was from a kingdom so close to hers? I mean, she had to have seen him at least once before, right?”

“Oh, she's just silly like that,” Abigail giggled.

Mike made a shoddy attempt at disguising his snicker with a cough that turned into a pained wheeze when Kara ground her heel into his foot.

“A-And... why a giant robot T-Rex?” Kara asked next, knowing that her husband would be even more insufferable if she asked more questions about Princess Ka-rah's 'silliness'.

Abigail beamed. “Because robots are cool and dinosaurs are cool so robot dinosaurs are twice as cool!”

“...I see.” It struck Kara then that 'because it's cool' was probably going to be the reason for all the random elements in her daughter's story. “Is that... Is that why Prince Mi-key suddenly has a magic cape too?”

“That's because he's a superhero!” Abigail cheerfully corrected her mother as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mike instantly sat up straight. “Wait, he's a prince and a superhero?”

“Uh huh!”

Kara glared at her husband and the stupid self-satisfied grin growing on his face, all too sure exactly what he was thinking. “Well then, that means Princess Ka-rah is a superhero too since she also has a magic cape, right?” A magic cape she didn't have until that last moment out of the blue, she added mentally.

Abigail nodded vigorously, too caught up in her enthusiasm to notice the looks her parents were giving each other. “That's another reason they're perfect together!”

“...Okay...” Deciding that she was probably going to get even stranger answers if she asked any more questions about this particular aspect of the story, Kara moved on but not before throwing one last glare in Mike's direction. “So... um, one last question: Was it really necessary for, uh, Queen Le-xe and Princess Lee-na to be, um... eaten by the... giant robot T-Rex?”

“But they're evil, Mommy!” Abigail insisted in a way that only a six year old could. “Evil people should get eaten by giant robot T-Rexes! Then there would be less evil people in the world and the robot T-Rexes won't go hungry!”

It was at that point that Kara finally gave up and decided to let things be... until she heard Mike let out another poorly disguised snicker. That was it. If she had to suffer – okay, so maybe she had brought it on herself but that was not the point – then so did he. “So what did you think of the story, honey?” she asked in a voice that dripped with false sweetness.

Mike predictably choked once he realised both his wife and daughter were now looking at him very intensely for different reasons. “Uh... I've, uh... never heard anything like it before,” he floundered for a bit at first before inspiration struck and he beamed. “It's very avant-garde for sure.”

Abigail's eager expression turned into one of adorable confusion. “Evan... card...?” she tried and failed to repeat what her father had said. “What does that mean, Daddy?”

The smile on Mike's face instantly vanished. “Uhhh... It means rich people will pay a lot of money for it!” he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

Just like that, Abigail's smile returned in full force. “So it's good?”

Once again, Mike was rendered speechless and even Kara had to blink at their daughter's conclusion. “Uhhh... yes...?” he offered uncertainly.

“Yay! Thanks, Mommy, Daddy!” With a great big cheer, Abigail ran over to hug both her parents in turn. “I'm going to go draw pictures to go with my story now!”

For several long minutes after Abigail had run off to her room, both Kara and Mike could do nothing more than stare blankly at the spot where their daughter had been standing.

Unsurprisingly, Kara was the first to speak. “She's not going to... draw us, is she?”

Mike levelled a flat look at her. “Considering the names of her characters are nearly identical to ours, what do you think?”

“Oh god...” she groaned in embarrassment as she buried her face in her hands. “Her teachers are going to think- I don't even know what they're going to think about us now.”

“You're overreacting,” he brushed off her fretting breezily. “At most, they'll probably chalk it up to how much she loves us or something. Which, you know, is pretty true since she clearly thinks we're cool enough to be royalty and superheroes at the same time.”

“Of course you'd focus on that part...” she muttered accusingly. “I bet you didn't even notice that our daughter seems to have forgotten the 'stranger danger' talk we had with her if she's writing about bringing home random guys lying on the side of the road as a good thing...”

“Kara, it's a story that didn't even make sense most of the time! I mean, pirates on land? A giant robot T-Rex? Magic capes appearing out of nowhere? You're really taking it way too seriously.”

“Am not! I-I'm just... concerned about what it might mean! Mike, our daughter is writing about... about people getting essentially murdered in a very gruesome manner!”

“Evil people, Kara. And they're just characters.”

“Characters very obviously based on two people we know!”

“Two people we know and really don't like, I might add. Which is probably where she got the inspiration. Although I'm not sure how to feel about the idea of a fictional Lex Luthor in drag being my evil stepmother...”

“Mike, would you please focus?! Our daughter's apparently in favour of some kind of... extreme vigilante justice!”

“Again, it's just a story. Besides, if you can fantasise about throwing your sadistic boss into the sun with powers you don't have to blow off steam, I think we can let our daughter imagine obviously evil people getting eaten by giant robot T-Rexes that don't exist.”

“I should've known you'd react like this. Or should I say I should've expected nothing less especially since she probably got this from you?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You! You're such a... a... weirdo sometimes! Like how you insist that orange juice should go well on cereal just because it's normal to have them both in a single breakfast!”

“Yeah, well, you married and had a kid with this weirdo so what does that say about you?”

Abigail paid no attention to the sound of her parents bickering in the living room. After all, she already knew that this fight would end the same way all the others had in the past: They would get all kissy-kissy, lock themselves in their bedroom, make a lot of funny noises and then be really happy for the rest of the day.

Sure enough, the sound of their bedroom door clicking shut followed not long after but by then Abigail was too engrossed drawing the wedding of Princess Ka-rah and Prince Mi-key to notice.

#prompt fic #zrnas

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

Harry flipped unenthusiastically to the start of his chapter. He couldn't say this was the worst start to his term, but things weren't going so well either. At least he had the ability to hope, considering his company. No matter how long he was in their presence, he knew that would never go away.

Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning.

"She didn't wait up for you after escorting the first years up there?" Lily asked in surprise.

"Obviously not," Sirius snorted.

Hoping for some support in his theory, Harry lost no time in telling Hermione what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

Ron interjected on the same breath Harry finished obviously Malfoy was just showing off for Parkinson.

"Why?" James rolled his eyes. Ron trying so hard to play this off was just a tad insulting.

"Don't know," Harry shrugged, that grumpy look lingering in place. "Suppose he didn't want Hermione to think he was encouraging me."

Hermione agreed both were likely, though it was a big lie to tell.

"She's not wrong on any of that," Sirius said fairly. Remus huffed so quietly only Sirius had heard, and he supposed both he and Prongs might still be a little sore about the last time Hermione hadn't believed Harry.

Harry wanted to press his point, but all around them were students whispering behind their hands and still pointing at him.

"Subtle," Lily drew the word out pointedly, her hand twitching for her wand while she fought back a shout for them all to mind their own business.

  Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole how rude it was to point. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend,

"Why do people bother with that hand thing?" James snapped of no one. "It does no good!"

"They like to pretend they're being subtle, not everyone can pull off our magnificence Prongs," Sirius stated.

promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm.

Ron sniggered, saying he was going to love being a sixth year, whole periods used to just sit around and relax.

"If he chooses to never do any homework, then sure," Remus said with pity.

Hermione corrected they were going to need that extra time to study.

Ron insisted not today, it was going to be a real doss!

"Well it's the first day back-" Sirius began to agree, before the start to Harry's last year held his tongue from saying anything else.

Hermione suddenly threw her arm out, halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. She scolded Fanged Frisbees were banned and confiscated it. The boy scowled before complying and running back off.

Ron waited just long enough for him to vanish before snatching it next.

Sirius threw Remus a fond smile, who in turn shook his head indulgently. Lily rolled her eyes and Harry chuckled lightly, he didn't need to ask, the reminiscent air between all three of them for that exchange didn't need words.

Hermione's remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron highly amusing.

"Wasn't she the one that giggled along at everything?" Lily asked, wondering why that had been mentioned at all.

"Except in Trelawney's class, then she believed every morbid word," Harry agreed without concern even if he did feel a flicker of annoyance far heavier than this should have called for.

She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

"Can't even blame him, that kind of attention's always valued," Sirius agreed.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron told Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

Hermione was distressed even as she defended he couldn't be surprised. It wasn't as if they'd ever showed any real enthusiasm.

Ron pointed out they'd shown more than most, and Hagrid wouldn't realize that was because they liked him, not the subject.

"I guess I can kind of see why he'd think that," Remus scrunched up his face in thought, "but outside of class you've never made it clear that's what it was. I'm sure Hagrid will be an adult about this and just understand you didn't need it."

Then Ron wondered if anyone would continue to NEWT.

"Now he's being ridiculous," Sirius couldn't help but scoff at that idea. "There's any number of reasons you'd continue that class, careers for one thing that involve the grade."

"Liking of the class as well," Remus insisted, knowing he'd have been one.

Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures.

"Oh come now, not everyone could hate it," Remus insisted. "I've admitted some of Hagrid's ideas were," he faltered, not able to come up with the right word for testing out a new species on a bunch of fourth years, but gallantly continued, "but I'd certainly happily have continued with the class! He's got a unique way of teaching."

Harry gave Remus a sideways look, but was surprised to find he honestly seemed to mean that. Harry supposed then there could have been others outside of his class who may fancy it, just none that he'd known.

They avoided Hagrid's eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

"That still won't be a fun conversation no matter what," Lily sighed, hoping Hagrid would understand, he'd always been good about that in the past.

After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado.

"Don't even know why she waited around," James smirked. "No teacher would question why she walked into class."

Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L results. Herbology was perfect, Professor Sprout would be glad to see him again with his O grade.

Lily beamed, remembering her worry from the train how Neville could only focus on his least good grades. She did wish Harry had heard him say this, or that he'd even said it.

He also qualified for DA with his E.

"Really? I thought Snape only allowed O's," Harry heavily rolled his eyes, despite his pride Neville had done so good in that exam.

"Maybe a stipulation from Dumbledore was he had to accept that grade as well, it's a class a large majority of people do need still," Sirius speculated, though his preference would have been if Snape had just never gotten the bloody job.

The problem was his desire for Transfiguration, an A just wasn't an acceptable enough grade to be carrying on, he wouldn't cope with the course work.

Neville hung his head in shame, and McGonagall asked why the desire?

"I'm surprised Augusta never made him retake the exam," James said bitingly.

"Probably enjoying the attention he got too much and realized too late," Remus snipped.

Neville looked miserable and muttered something about what his grandmother wanted.

Lily scowled and bite her tongue to convince herself not to snap about that again.

McGonagall snorted, stating it was high time his grandmother accepted the grandson she had, rather than what she wished, especially after what happened at the Ministry.

Sirius let out a deep bark of triumphant laughter that was echoed throughout the room. Augusta shouldn't have to be told that, but what they would give to make her hear it.

Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.

"Tis a genuine rarity," Remus agreed with a sad little smile, wishing Neville heard them far more often. Harry still didn't seem any more used to it either.

She still denied him access to Transfiguration, but suggested he continue with Charms, with his E.

Neville again mumbled his grandmother for answer, she found it a soft option.

"He still on about her?" James demanded shrewdly. "By this point Neville should be aware speaking her opinions isn't getting him anywhere."

"Seems it's all he knows, her opinions," Harry sighed quietly. He'd certainly been that way through his young life at the Dursleys before Hagrid.

McGonagall wouldn't hear of it, insisting he take Charms, and she'd be dropping Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.

Lily didn't bother to contain her triumphant laugh any more than Sirius had, all but beaming for this child finally hearing something like that.

Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.

"I must confess just one slight disappointment to this," Sirius' lighthearted tone held nothing of the sort. "She gave him an extra class! To prove a point mind you, but the homework!"

"Worth it," Remus stated, knowing he'd have done exactly the same.

Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.

McGonagall explained, with a shrewd voice showing her disapproval, that Trelawney and Firenze were splitting the students between them. Trelawney had the sixth years.

Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.

James scoffed heavily, good to know where her priorities were.

Harry went next and was approved for all subjects, including Potions to his surprise. McGonagall prompted this, his desire to be an Auror required it and Slughorn was perfectly happy to take him on with an E.

Then she finished he already had a list of twenty hopefuls looking to make the team, and was waiting for him to set a date for trials at his leisure.

James had been absently listening to the part of the conversation he'd been well aware of, but now beamed all over again at the news. He couldn't wait to hear how Harry handled those! It would be as good as any game he'd played! Probably better, since it should be hard for even his son's life to be at risk at something like tryouts.

A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together.

Ron was delightedly going over his schedule, finding a free period now, and after their break, and lunch!

"Savor the idea of them while they last," Sirius sighed in agreement.

They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

"It all happens so fast," James agreed with a wistful smile at his son, his own age, and Harry felt a guilty flash as he realized his dad wasn't all talking about Quidditch in that moment.

She congratulated him on the badge.

"What happens if all the old team had graduated?" Harry asked quickly in hopes of changing the subject.

"Never happened," James easily shrugged like his mind had never been anywhere else except the pitch. "Seems a tad ridiculous, a whole team made up of nothing but seventh years. Some years there wouldn't even be enough to form a team."

She was waiting eagerly for trials.

Harry told her she didn't need that, he'd already seen her play for five years.

"He's got her there," Sirius nodded easily, this having been exactly what Prongs had said when someone had made the snide comment about Sirius not having to try out at their team.

She warned it wasn't good to start like that, there had been many a bad teams because Captains just kept replaying old faces or letting all their friends in.

"Maybe she should have been made Captain," Harry muttered for himself, having no confidence in himself as he at once felt like giving his own best mate a guilty look.

"Don't be ridiculous Harry!" James was clearly scandalized at the comment. "You're going to have a blast with this, you'll see!"

His absolutely assured tone meant Harry couldn't possibly do anything but smile back.

Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks's yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon. She already had a fifteen inch essay, two translations, and the books she was carrying all due Wednesday for her Runes.

"I feel like Hermione's being her usual self," Lily's brows crept up in worry. "There's just no way possible all that was assigned for two days from then."

Ron yawned.

Hermione resentfully snapped Snape would be giving them just as much.

"There's an argument they actually never had," Harry mock laughed.

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair.

Lily clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes, trying hard not to direct that at Harry. Was such a nasty description really needed three times in one book? She wasn't particularly fond of him of late either, but there were limits of what was needed.

Silence fell over the queue immediately.

Harry looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already;

"Dark and heartless?" Sirius offered.

it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight.

"Don't be ridiculous Padfoot, you turn into a dog, not a parrot," James smirked over at him, while Sirius didn't at all look upset about mimicking the book.

New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts.

Remus made a snide comment under his breath, causing Sirius to snicker. James grumbled he was too far away to be in on the joke, while one look at their expressions had Lily thankful for the same.

Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures. He told them to put those books away, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk;

"Remember when he used to yell at us for not taking the initiative to copy down every bloody word he said," Harry groused.

Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair as he continued he was going to speak to them first and they were to give their fullest attention.

"When have you ever been denied that?" James asked innocently enough, though both Harry and Lily gave him a frown for that reminder they didn't need.

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's than anyone else's.

All five of them made a face right back for this.

They'd had five teachers in this subject so far, he began,

"Why on Earth did he only recount the ones from my years," Harry rolled his eyes.

"Didn't want to say the number seven thousand I suppose," Sirius shrugged without concern. "Every year it had to get more grating to him," he finished with a satisfied smirk.

"How old do you think this curse is?" Remus asked more curious than anything for Sirius' exaggeration.

Sirius shrugged without concern, his point still stood.

naturally all those teachers methods and priorities had shifted with each. Given this, he was astounded so many had scraped by with any decent grade.

"All thanks to Harry," James primly boasted.

"Dad," Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, sure he really hadn't done more than help them all along than what they all thought. He was ignored, James' proud smile not dimming more than anyone else's.

He would be even more surprised if all of them managed to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which would be more advanced.

"I still find it a miracle anyone passed their Potions OWL's," Remus huffed, knowing that threat was going to be as literal as it could get.

James and Sirius were just surprised Snape hadn't made yet another snide comment about Moony, yet.

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view as he continued the Dark Arts were varied, ever-changing, and eternal. To cut of the neck of one would sprout the head of two more, fiercer and cleverer than the last.

"Just call it a hydra you blithering monotone!" Sirius sneered.

"Honestly, he does have to make everything sound oh so important," Remus huffed in agreement.

Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?

There was an ugly twist to the lips of the Marauders, Harry uneasily noticed, and his mum nibbling at her lip with a distant look in her eye. Harry wondered how many times they'd all seen this developing in Snape's youth, how this speech probably wasn't at all unfamiliar to those growing up with future Death Eaters.

He continued at normal volume their defenses for this then must be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo.

Lily couldn't help a small smile for that though, knowing she was the only one but grateful all the same he'd moved on to the importance of this class.

The pictures around them were to show instances of what they may be facing, waving at the Cruciatus Curse,

Harry shivered uneasily, not meeting anyone's eyes. Snape just had to put that one up there, to constantly remind him for the next year what he'd once lived through.

A Dementor's Kiss,

Sirius' skin went sallow. Even now that the threat had been taken from his future life, the reminder it had once had lingered so long over him would not pass soon.

and an Inferius.

Parvati Patil asked if it had been confirmed he was using those?

Snape returned the Dark Lord had used Inferi in the past, which meant it was well-advised to assume he was doing so again.

"He actually managed to answer her without an insult thrown in!" James brows flew up into his hairline. "Glory, he must be in a good mood!"

"I give it another five minutes to last, he'll throw some tripe at Harry soon," Sirius huffed.

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. He spoke of the fact that they were complete novices in nonverbal spells, and asked of them what the advantage of those were.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice,

"Mildly better than calling her a know-it-all again," Harry grumbled.

before curtly calling upon her.

She gave a text for word answer from the Standard Book of Spells grade 6; the adversary had no warning of what you were fixing to do.

Snape briefly mocked her for that, but agreed in essence it was correct.

Not a skill all could utilize, as some wizards lacked the concentration and mind power for it, his eyes resting on Harry at the end.

"Whew, I was starting to worry about another teacher being replaced," James mock wiped his brow in relief at the renewed insults to his son.

"Not yet sure if I wouldn't prefer Fake-Eye," Remus grumbled, mostly kidding, but at least he'd still been more helpful to Harry's survival before trying to kill him.

Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. He refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape until Snape looked away.

He instructed them to divide into pairs and practice this.

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word,

Sirius let out a surprised whistle, they all looked rather impressed with this except Harry, who thought by now that would have worn off on them.

a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Harry bitterly, but which Snape ignored.

"I'm sure she'll get it from every other teacher in the following classes," James assured with a chuckle.

He swept between them as they practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task.

Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"You could still be practicing while waiting," Remus offered helpfully. "Even helps yourself to hold onto the spell, build up resilience."

Harry gave him a light smile, once again wishing for the dozenth time Professor Lupin had never left.

When Snape saw this he called Weasley pathetic, and offered to show how to properly do it.

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled Protego!

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk.

All three boys burst out laughing with surprise for that, while Lily's teeth sank into her lip again, knowing that wasn't going to go over well.

The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling. He demanded of Potter if he recalled the use of nonverbal spells being used.

Harry said yes.

Snape corrected yes sir.

Harry told there was no need to call him sir, Professor.

James snorted so violently he was sure his own nose had been broken, Sirius dissolved into mirthless laughter at once and would not be upright without the support of the sofa, and Remus gave Harry an appreciative nod, "you tell 'em Harry."

To Harry's greatest surprise though, his mother laughed hardest of all, holding her sides for several moments before beaming with pride at her sharp tongued boy. She couldn't have done better herself in giving such a reply to a teacher who deserved it.

It took Harry a moment to even remember he was supposed to keep going. He rarely felt he deserved their praise, but in this instance of his sassing a teacher, he actually just wanted to linger as long as he could on that smirk in place.

Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

Snape issued a detention at once on Saturday.

"Smarmy bloke," Remus sighed, fighting back the impulse to do the opposite and award Harry house points he deserved as much as Hermione.

"Never could take a joke," Sirius agreed, still in between mirthless laughter. He'd never enjoyed Harry's snark as much as he was in this moment.

Lily brushed her hair out of her face, her laughter finally subsiding enough to frown at them. Snape had laughed at plenty of her jokes, and it saddened her to once again realize just how much he'd changed, where once he would have been laughing as hard as them if she'd done such a thing.

Ron congratulated him as they stepped out of the class, while Hermione scolded that had been a terrible idea!

Harry defended he'd been fixing to be jinxed! He was sick of Snape using him as a guinea pig! What had Dumbledore been thinking, putting him in this class? Did they hear all that stuff he was going on about the Dark Arts, he was in love with them!

Hermione interrupted to say she'd thought he sounded like Harry had last year.

The outrage bursting out of Harry was clear enough even before he'd finished, he didn't need to hear the others shock to continue in hopes she had a very good explanation for this that still wouldn't justify comparing him to that bat!

When he'd first given his speech to the DA, he'd said it was about more than memorizing spells. It took action and cunning, that's exactly what Snape had been saying.

"Many people have said the same thing in a new way," Remus contradicted, though it was in a more kindly tone than either of his friends could have managed, sounding more like he wanted to gently debate the subject with Hermione. "That does not necessarily mean those two are of the same mind, a very simple thought could be taken over a dozen different ways."

"So, don't insult Harry again," Sirius concluded.

Lily huffed and glared at all four of them, was it really such a terrible thing? There had been a time where she would have beamed if her boy turned into anything like her old friend. Not so much now, she'd admit, but it didn't have to be a blanket insult.

Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words as well worth memorizing as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.

Lily giggled in surprise as Harry's faint blush appeared in here as well.

Then Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him holding a roll of parchment. He handed it off before asking when Quidditch trials were?

Harry said he wasn't sure yet, thinking to himself Sloper would be lucky to make the team again.

"Wasn't he the one that knocked himself out with is own bat?" Sirius said in remembered disgust.

"How he even got on in the first place is still a mystery," James sighed.

Sloper began hoping it was going to be this weekend-

but Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence,

"Can't even blame you, I wouldn't care what he wanted the schedule to be either," James muttered, only marginally more invested in whatever this was Dumbledore was up to.

he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.

Dear Harry,

I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8.

P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.

"Oh yes, got to watch McGonagall put a shrew in place, and then I in turn did the same," Sirius agreed enthusiastically.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

Harry laughed Snape wasn't going to be pleased his detention was being put off.

"As if he won't demand it be rearranged," James rolled his eyes.

He, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic.

"Because that's so much better," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Remus stayed quite, not really thinking it was any of that, but baffled what it could be nonetheless.

After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room where they grudgingly started Snape's homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period,

"What was the essay over?" Remus asked with far to much curiosity as far as Sirius and James were concerned. They could never sound so caring about something labeled as homework.

"The Theory of Nonverbal Spells and Their Impractical Uses," Harry huffed, his brain still getting a little sore at trying to read through texts about that.

Sirius couldn't help it, Snape's essay or not, the topic did light his intrigue and he opened his mouth to offer up something, but Harry hadn't noticed and kept going.

(though she considerably sped up the process). They had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

He greeted Harry by offering his hand, again congratulating him for his show in DA, and then greeted Ron and Hermione.

Before they could say more than fine, the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door.

James couldn't help but snort at all the flashbacks that caused, they'd said many a same thing about him.

As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

Remus clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes, some things never changed, while Lily giggled just a bit at thinking the exact same.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow.

"Amortentia," Lily said at once, though only Harry had looked to her for an answer.

James in particular had an unnaturally grumpy look on his face, still remembering the sting of his son thinking he'd used a love potion on his wife, or some other way for them to be together. He wasn't fond of them at the moment at any rate.

He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.

Slughorn asked that they all have their scales and kits out, and turn their copies of Advanced Potion-Making to page-

Harry politely cut in to say he didn't have any things for this class, nor did Ron, explaining they'd thought they couldn't take the class.

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

Harry couldn't properly explain it, but he felt a sharp tingling tracing up his spine for this. It was ridiculous of course, he'd just been given some old things, nothing was going to come of that.

Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off,

"You learn to duck fast in that class," Sirius smirked, and Harry wasn't entirely sure if he was kidding or speaking from experience.

and began he'd prepared some potions they'd all come to recognize by the end of this class, and they ought to have at least heard of them by now. He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

"Veritaserum," Lily sighed, not appreciating the reminder of what Snape had once threatened to use on Harry, and in turn used to interrogate someone still that same year.

Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her. She quoted the properties of Veritaserum verbatim.

Slughorn happily congratulated her before pointing to the next at the Ravenclaws table, giving them a hint this one had been mentioned by the Ministry's pamphlets of late.

Hermione's hand was fastest once more, stating it as Polyjuice Potion.

Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron,

"Can't hardly forget that one," Harry's nose again crinkled in remembered disgust.

but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year.

Lily sighed in exasperation, that one still blew her mind.

Slughorn had barely gestured to the one at their table before, now looking slightly bemused, called Hermione's hand punching the air again. She identified this one as Amortentia, the strongest Love Potion in the world. The details of which were that it gave off an aroma unique to each person. She smelled freshly mown grass, new parchment, and-

But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.

"Wonder why," Sirius said with honest interest, it's not as if it was really that revealing.

Slughorn asked for her name, and once given, speculated if she was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?

"Would make his day to find another pureblood he could kiss up to," James sniffed.

"Instead he gets to meet another Lily," Sirius rolled his eyes while she flushed and glared at the pair.

She corrected she doubted this, as she was Muggle-born.

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

He quoted Harry from the summer saying one of his best friends was the best in his year and Muggle-born, this must be that very friend.

Harry agreed, and Slughorn awarded her twenty house points for correctly identifying them all.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face.

'Ah, good memories,' all of the boys were smirking again at once, thinking something similar.

Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered if he'd really said that?

Ron grumbled what was the big deal, for some reason looking annoyed.

"That, Harry gave the compliment and not him?" Remus asked in confusion. Harry shrugged, he had no clue of that reaction either.

He'd have said the same thing if anyone had asked him.

Slughorn continued on Amortentia, calling it the most powerful potion in this room, emphasizing this at the sceptical looks on some faces like Malfoy. When they'd lived as long as he had, they'd know how powerful and obsessive something like love could be.

"Sounds like he's speaking from experience," Harry said in surprise. He didn't often think about a teachers home life, but did suddenly wonder if Slughorn had been leaving more than old students in his trail of houses.

"I can't say for sure," Lily said with a bit of dignity, she didn't like to pry into her teachers lives.

Slughorn then tried to call attention to today's work, but Ernie cut in to ask about the potion still on his desk, which was full of bright gold potion that was all but leaping out of its very surface.

Harry shifted with that feeling all over again, he really didn't like he had one for all four of those potions, though all for varying reasons. He glanced hopefully at his mum, seeing at once she recognized it, and wasn't disappointed. "Felix Felicis. Highly dangerous if brewed just a tiny bit incorrectly, poisonous if taken regularly, but Merlin does it have some effect on the world."

The faint blush she ended with had all of the boys turning to look at her in the end though, James asked slowly, "Lily, did you happen to ever use some?"

She feigned as if she hadn't heard, giggling in a girlish way Harry hadn't really seen quite yet. However, she refused to elaborate, and waved her son on. He only grudgingly did so when a solid ten minutes of her husbands pestering proved futile.

Harry at once knew Slughorn had forgotten no such thing, but had saved it for dramatic affect. Slughorn wasn't at all surprised when Hermione told it was Felix Felicis, and that it made the drinker lucky.

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Is that all it took," James grumbled, huffier than usual with one eye still on his wife, who still kept breaking out into snickers.

He mentioned all the good of the potion, but once Terry asked why people didn't just drink it all the time, Slughorn explained all it's dangers as well.*

He'd had it twice, both perfect days. He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.

"Nah, I'm confident that one's real," Sirius rolled his eyes.

He concluded it would be a prize for today's lesson. There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold. He pulled a tiny vile out of his pocket of the very same potion, enough for twelve hours.

"Hope Hermione uses it for something good," James grumbled, still giving his wife a pouting look she wouldn't acknowledge.

He first warned it was banned from sporting events, examinations, or elections, so be sure to only use it on an ordinary day, and watch it become extraordinary!

Then he told them to flip to their book on the Draught of Living Death.

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible.

"A phrase you'll never hear Snape accomplish," Remus smirked.

Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day.

"Least we know he can't bribe his way into it," James finally stopped eyeing the red head to sneer at the book.

"His will probably be the worst attempt, he never had to try in that class," Sirius agreed.

Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him.

To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Malfoy cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.

Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing;

Lily tisked, she'd found by the end of the first year what an advantage and disadvantage that could be. It truly was sad Harry was still picking up on such things years too late.

this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written in the alternative instruction:

Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.

"Oh," Lily blinked at that.

"What?" James asked curiously, hoping she'd at least answer one question today.

"That'll work extremely well, seems this book gives very good advice, instead of just nonsense like Harry was thinking," Lily said, but there was a curious look on her face. There weren't many people who knew that trick.

Harry glanced up when Malfoy called for the Professor's attention, pointing out Slughorn had known his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy.

Slughorn indifferently agreed, though he had been saddened at his death, but dragon pox at that age...

Then he walked away. Harry bent back over his cauldron, smirking. He could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Malfoy would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.

The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. Harry turned to Hermione, asking to borrow her knife.

She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.

Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all.

Harry's surprised little smile about made Lily's day. It was high time he finally saw the good this class could offer.

Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook.

His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the addition the previous owner made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir.

Lily's brows disappeared right into her hairline now. How many students would have spent the time to figure that out, and wrote them down in an old potions textbook?

Could the old owner be right twice?

Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned pale pink.

Hermione demanded how he'd done that, red faced with frustration her own was still purple.

He began to explain the trick of a clockwise stir, but she snappily said the book said counterclockwise!

"Why'd she snap if she didn't want to hear the answer?" Sirius laughed hard at Hermione's temper showing like that.

"What do you lot make of this?" Harry demanded, the eagerness in his voice far more than the Marauders understood.

"Some barmy kid was actually good at potions and took notes," Remus shrugged without concern.

"Probably blew a potion or two in their face trying," Sirius added with a smirk.

"Likely dumped the thing when they realized no one cared," James finished with an eye roll.

Lily pressed her lips together to stop herself laughing again. She still wasn't quite convinced yet, but those boys had just described a large amount of time in her youth, with her best friend, except that last part.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing.

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.

Lily couldn't help it now, her buoyant mood wouldn't keep the laugh contained, but the boys gave it no thought. Of course she'd be happy Harry was finally enjoying her favorite class.

Slughorn finally called for times up. He moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod.

"I don't get it," Harry said, glancing from the book in his lap to his mum. "Why would mine be better than Hermione's, if she's following all the instructions?"

"Hermione's about to learn a hard lesson about Potioneering," Lily happily explained. "Of course if you follow the instructions you'll get your desired Potion, Hermione's drought would have caused the same endless sleep as yours. However, because the previous owner spent the time to ruminate, perfect, tweak the potion even, your affects will be longer lasting, and much stronger. Potions are the only magic meant to be tampered with, carefully of course," she finished with a rueful hand down her bright hair.

Harry wondered how many times she'd singed it off by tweaking a potion. She certainly seemed very keen on the idea, and while Harry knew she'd liked the subject before, he'd never seen her so serious on it as she was now.

Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face. Announcing his as the clear winner! He'd certainly inherited his mother's talents!

Lily laughed harder than she meant to, really getting the boys attention now, but still she shook her head, not willing to admit yet what was on her mind. She really wasn't even sure what their reaction would be, and for now they just looked bemused, so she'd take that as long as she could.

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

Ron asked what he'd done, and Harry said he'd gotten lucky while Malfoy was still in ear shot.

Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered. He huffed if she really thought he'd cheated?

"It's not cheating," James rolled his eyes at once. Of course Hermione would be ticked her way hadn't worked.

"So Harry got a better instruction manual, according to Lily, that means someone out there could still do the Potion even better the next time," Sirius agreed.

She stiffly responded it hadn't exactly been his own work.

Ron just waved off he got different instructions. Slughorn could have just as easily given that book to him, but he'd only gotten one that someone puked on page fifty-two.

"Why was he looking that far ahead?" Remus chuckled in surprise, but answered his own question in his head. At the point Ron realized he wasn't winning, he supposed he would have started flipping through pages out of boredom.

A voice close by Harry's left ear cut in, and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picked up in Slughorn's dungeon. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them.

Sirius burst out laughing in surprise at that. "I suppose Ginny spends a lot of time out in the gardens?"

Harry didn't really answer, just a muttered agreement, his mind felt suddenly loose from his body at her sudden appearance and he tried to shake that off, unsuccessfully.

Her voice was sharp, concerned, as she demanded if he'd really been taking instructions from a book.

"Oh," James murmured, all the humor vanishing almost at once from the room. That wasn't something nearly as fond to be remembered, the poor girl probably still had nightmares about that.

She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once. He promised it was nothing like Riddle's diary, just some notes someone had scribbled down.

Hermione was excited Ginny could have a point.

"Yes, if the book's evil, that makes it okay it outsmarted you," Remus rolled his eyes.

She snatched it away from him and did a Specialis Revelio spell, but nothing happened.

Harry snatched it back, asking if she wanted to see it do backflips.

"Can it?" Sirius asked with only mild sarcasm. "That would have made reading them some actual fun sometimes."

"Bit more a challenge, couldn't hurt," James agreed.

As he tried to put it away into his bag, it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor. Harry bent low to retrieve the book, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs.

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.

Harry's eyes flipped wide in surprise, a harsh thump like before pressing in on him leaving no doubt he should know that name, recognize it to see it meant something.

He was distracted at once though by his mother throwing her head back laughing.

HPHPHPHP

I know, I know, you all hate me for again cutting off the good reaction. Promise everything you're wanting to ask will come up in the next chapter!

*This potion is one of the more common complaints I've seen of the HP world, and I think people forget this line in particular. It's not common, would take Hermione ages to make, and would be extremely dangerous to use consecutively to get a job done. I like that magic clearly has limits and downsides in this world, it makes it more real to me, instead of everything just having an easy solution if you take one bit of the answer and ignore the rest.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #The Life That Never Lived #HP #HBP #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

[wicked-cupcake]

Her Favourite

Pairing: Lucifer/Cadence (oc)

Word Count: 4206

Rating: G

Summary: Jealousy is a bitter pill to swallow, and it's not one he has to take often. But as the weeks leading up to his birthday pass, Lucifer finds himself at the mercy of his brothers’ sins as her attention moves away from him. Instead, they look to someone he can’t contest.He has his pride and refuses to grovel - but who knew a single human could stir so many emotions within him?

A/N: This idea has been on my brain for weeks and I'm glad I started it early so I could finish it on time for the birthday boy! Even if they just put out an event and now I want to tweak this to reflect it.... There will eventually be a semi-sequel to this where they stop beating around the bush but that one is just taking a while to finish. And a small note that my character has angel blood but she isn't a descendant of Lilith.

-

Month 10, Day 6

The gentle knock on the bookshelf told him exactly who was on the other side.

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, pen still hovering over paper. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she had found him, but he was pleased she’d sought him out. Even if it was late and she should be sleeping more than anyone. Today had been filled with enough excitement to exhaust her, angel heritage or not. He’d fully assumed she’d passed out with how fast she’d disappeared after they’d returned home, yet here she was.

Another knock. “Lucifer? Are you in there?”

And he left her on the other side of the door like a fool. A sharp word had the door opening for her, the bookcase sliding away silently. It had barely stopped moving before she was stepping into view.

His gaze moved over her as the door closed. She’d changed out of the little red dress she’d worn at the party, but the hem of her sweater seemed even shorter. Or perhaps her stockings didn’t climb as high as usual. There was no time to consider that as he focused on what was in her hands. “What is that?”

Cadence gave him a smile, soft but amused. “A princess poison apple cake.”

“We had cake earlier.”

“We did,” she agreed, “you didn’t.”

So she had noticed. He’d thought she’d been too distracted by-Lucifer cut off those thoughts swiftly to stay on topic. The cake had been impossible not to balk at. If that five tiered, red frosted sweet monstrosity could be called a cake. He’d taken one look at it and immediately gotten heartburn. The plate Diavolo had given him had mysteriously vanished shortly after.

“More importantly,” she said, voice sharp and tart, “what is that?”

Only a fool would miss what she meant and for the faintest moment he wanted to be that fool. But there was no point. “My work.”

“It’s your birthday.”

How did she manage to sound both cross and cute at the same time? He didn’t linger on those thoughts as he felt the flickers of a gnawing emotion he’d been fighting for weeks to ignore come to life. He wasn’t going to lose to them now. “The work doesn’t magically disappear because it’s my birthday,” he said dryly.

She huffed. “You could take one night off. No one would fault you that.”

No one meaning Diavolo but he was the one who’d assigned him these tasks. “I took the day off because someone insisted,” he said, giving her a pointed look that didn’t faze her. “But if I leave this I’ll fall behind.”

She didn’t like that answer any better. When she’d first arrived, she’d been so much harder to read. Polite and curious, but standoffish and private. She was still polite and curious to be sure yet whatever walls kept her emotions back had fallen. At least they had for him and his brothers. Her expressions gave her away more readily, made her much easier to read and understand.

“Take a break with me.”

But she still managed to surprise him. “We took a break all day.” Which was no doubt her doing; his brothers wouldn’t have gone to half of the effort he’d seen without her encouragement. Even Diavolo couldn’t get that kind of party together for him and-

The jealousy surged to life again but all that he let show was his grip tightening on his pen. No. He’d told himself he wasn’t going down that road. It was a waste of time and energy.

“Lucifer?”

Concern on her face now and he wanted to curse. As easy as she was becoming to read, the reverse seemed to hold true. She seemed to be wildly in tune with him, able to gauge his moods with ease. Not that it stopped her pushing when she shouldn’t. 

Cadence set the cake on the desk and gave him another smile but it wasn’t the same as before and he didn’t like it. This was sad and withdrawn, reminiscent of the ones she’d first given when she’d arrived in the Devildom. “You can have a piece later,” she said. “But please take a break.”

She was going to leave. Something clawed past the jealousy inside him, something he refused to put a name to just yet. “Stay.”

Rocking on her heels as her weight shifted, she stopped but she still didn’t look convinced, didn’t look like she wanted to stay anymore. Which did not help his stew of emotions.

He’d tried to ignore them, but as the weeks since Asmo’s birthday had passed he’d seen her change. She’d grown skittish and shy around him, avoiding being alone with him. He had thought it merely a human mood until Diavolo had happily mentioned how much time Cadence had been spending with him. It hadn’t been difficult to put together that the time she’d given Lucifer before was going to Diavolo now. The jealousy had swiftly followed that realisation.

It was impossible to miss how she smiled at the prince, smiles that had bloomed and grown in this very room the more time they’d spent together. His damned pride had stung but he refused to let her see it, to let her see how much she affected him. So he had left her alone to choose her fool’s path and wondered if all of the signs, all of the signals, all of her had been a ruse to use him as a stepping stone to her true goal. And if he had been a bigger fool to read her so wrong.

But she’d been the one to take his hand to lead him into his birthday celebration today. Her smiles had been bright and directed at him again. Only him. She’d reminded him of the eternal sun in the Celestial Realm, but she had spread a warmth in him that it never had. She’d acted like the last weeks hadn’t happened at all.

He pulled back when warm fingers brushed his shoulder. How distracted was he that he hadn’t registered her getting closer?

“If you don’t want me to stay or want the cake, it’s okay, Lucifer.”

No. It wasn’t okay. This was the first time she’d sought him out in weeks and he didn’t want her to leave. He needed to know why. He set his pen down and twisted toward her. “We’ve seen each other all day and most of the night. But you want more?”

The faintest hint of pink dusted her cheeks and momentarily stunned him. “We didn’t really get to spend much time together today,” she corrected. “And I’ve been busy lately so I haven’t seen you.”

Busy chasing Diavolo, his pride hissed. Did he turn you away and now you come back to me? As a second option?

“I thought it would be nice to have a bit of quiet, but you weren’t in your room when I checked.”

She’d gone to his room dressed like this? It was more personal than the little number she’d had on before, reminded him of the nights they’d shared late dinners and watched movies. Made him realise how much he had missed having those moments with her.

“And I wanted to give you your present privately.”

Lucifer pushed out of his chair, the legs scraping on the floor. Her eyes widened at the sudden move, but she didn’t falter as he stood over her. Did she even understand what she did to him and now she was offering him what he craved?

Wrath licked at the edges of his jealousy to turn it into an even messier stew. To offer this gift to him after, to think of him second? To admit he’d been fool enough to fall for her so many months ago and leave the decision to her only to be spurned? To know so much of him still wanted her and would accept this offer?

He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at her or himself.

Warmth bloomed suddenly in his chest, spreading as a gentle pressure pushed on him. “Lucifer.”

His gaze focused on her, all of her, and he finally noticed the small red bag looped over one arm. He mentally pulled back as he realised that was his present, not her, but it wasn’t as easy to rein in his emotions. They were still a mess, feeding into each other in a horrible storm. But Cadence still didn’t move, watching him and keeping her hand on his chest.

Did she know how close to breaking he’d come? Did she know how she twisted him up inside? How had he let it come to this? How had he let himself fall so hard for her?

He stared at her as he breathed evenly, shoving emotions into their boxes while she gazed back at him. “You should have run,” he said when he finally felt confident his voice wouldn’t give him away. He could still hear the edges to it but she didn’t seem to.

“Running wouldn’t do me any good.”

No, it wouldn’t but every time she stood in his path, every time she refused to back down to him, he loved her a little more. And he was bringing about his own doom by doing it. Reaching up, he covered her hand with his and soaked in the warmth she freely offered. He didn’t miss how her eyes widened at the skin contact, but he pulled her away. “How many times am I going to have to tell you to have some self-preservation?” he said, letting go of her.

Cadence pulled her hand to her, curling it against her chest. But she gave him a better smile. “Maybe you should stop wasting your breath since it hasn’t caught yet,” she teased.

The emotional storm eased a little at her usual response. “What did you get me?”

“Nuh uh. Cake first and then present.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“It’s my present.”

“It’s my present.”

There. The smile she gave him was the one he was used to, the one that was lit up so beautifully. “It’s for you,” she countered, “but it’s still mine until I give it.”

This felt enough like their usual for him to relax further. She was smiling again, teasing him again, and he...was a fool for letting her affect him this way. “And you’ll give it?”

“I’m not going to keep your present away from you; just let me choose when to give it.”

Those emotions nipped at him, reminding him he had waited, had let her choose and she-Was here now, he told himself. Lingering gave her more power over him. “If I eat the cake, will you give it?”

Still that smile but he took it as a yes.

Moving around her, Lucifer made a point not to touch her even accidentally. He lifted the plate off his desk and gestured at one of the couches. “Shall we?”

She was moving before he fully finished, excitement hanging heavily around her again.

As they settled on the couch, he didn’t miss how there was barely any distance between them. Exactly like it had been before. “Is there a reason why you waited so late?”

She hummed and set the bag on her far side, even though they both knew he could get it before she could stop him. “I needed to finish this,” she said, taking the plate from him and passing him a fork. “And I didn’t want to have an audience.”

Why not, Cadence? “Was that in your pocket?”

“It’s clean.”

“Is it?”

“I will take my cake and present and leave if you keep that up.”

She wouldn’t or she would have already. He took the fork and gave her the benefit of the doubt. When she held the cake out to him, he dutifully reached out with his fork. It almost seemed a shame to mar it, she’d done a wonderful job of replicating the apples. But he was curious to know how it tasted.

A flash of sour hit his tongue as he slid the bite into his mouth, exactly like the apples. Had she used them in making it? Or was it in the icing, which barely had any sweetness to it?

“How’s it taste?”

“Perfect, Cadence.” His brothers were tolerable cooks but she was so far beyond them. She had spoiled them over the course of the last year and not having her cooking anymore would be a blow.

He paused as he took a second piece. Barely two months left before she would return to the human world. So little time and she- “Open up,” he said, holding the fork to her lips.

Her eyes danced a little but she did as he said and dutifully took the bite.

“I expected more fight from you,” Lucifer said, taking his own bite.

“Mm, it’s your birthday. I can behave a little.”

Did she know how much he enjoyed it when she didn’t? He gave her another bite, wondering how she could be so content letting him feed her. “Did you bring another fork?”

“Nope.”

He gave her a measuring look, not missing the sparkle in her eyes. She was lying but he could let her get away with this one. His pride still stung, demanded to be appeased, but who was he to deny himself this simple pleasure with the woman he-

Don’t, he told himself, focusing on feeding them both bites. 

They’d made it through half of the cake when she sighed, a sigh he knew well. His little human was full for now. He ate one more bite of his own, savouring the tartness of the apples on his tongue before he took the plate from her. Setting it and the fork on a side table, he glanced at the demonus bottles lining one wall and started to push himself up. A drink or two wouldn’t hurt anything, would go well after the cake, and-He paused, looking at her when she pressed her hand to his arm.

“Happy birthday, Lucifer,” Cadence said, holding out the bag.

Forget the demonus and the present, he was more interested in the smile she was giving him. This one was new, completely soft around the edges. This smile was a present. But he took the proffered bag. Black tissue paper was sticking out of the top of it, masking the proper present inside.

He glanced at her when she rolled against him, nudging him with her entire body. “Are you going to open it? It’s only your birthday for so much longer and it loses its meaning if you don’t have it today.”

“Are you telling me what to do?”

“Like you’d listen to me,” she laughed.

Leaning back, he turned the bag in his hands, wondering if there was a front to it. He didn’t see a card so he plucked at the paper. He glanced at Cadence when the couch shifted and saw her watching him expectantly. She was adorable as she waited, fingers curling around the hem of her sweater, lower lip caught between her teeth, and...was she flushing? The urge to draw this out flickered to life, to draw out her anticipation, but he quietly gave in.

Removing the rest of the paper, he reached into the bag. He frowned faintly as his fingers brushed against smooth glass, but it wasn’t cool to the touch. It was warm. He curled his hand around it and pulled it from the bag as well.

It fit perfectly in his palm, like it had been made to sit there, curved, clear glass letting him see inside. Lucifer stared at the dome in his hand, not missing the warmth settling into his skin. But he was caught by the flowers inside. They were distinctly human, not something that would ever have any hope of growing in the Devildom. “What is this, Cadence?”

“Your present,” she said and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at how she said it.

He knew devil flowers, grew so many of them himself, and knew the names of many human ones as well, including this one. But why would she give him this?

“I wanted to give you something no one else would,” she said softly, her voice quiet.

“Flowers?”

“Yes and no.”

Turning the globe, he didn’t miss how the light inside it seemed to shift, letting him see the flowers unhindered no matter which direction he looked. But he turned his focus back to her. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, her gaze on her fingers as she plucked at threads in her sweater. The flush was still on her cheeks and he had to wonder why. “What is this, Cadence?” he repeated.

She was quiet for a long moment, still playing with her sweater, until she took a deep breath. “I’m going to be leaving soon,” she said and he didn’t miss the way her voice caught. “At the end of next month. I thought about it for a long time, what I could get you that would actually mean something. I asked Diavolo and he said anything that meant something to me would mean something to you.”

She’d gone to Diavolo...to ask what gift to give him, not because she was interested in him? Lucifer studied her, wanting to see her full face. They had made the deal after Belphie’s return to them, that she wouldn’t lie to him anymore, but sometimes she didn’t tell him everything. It was easier to tell when she was hiding something when she was looking at him. But she kept looking at her hands.

“So I thought about that and I thought about how I’d be able to do that. Almost everything that mattered to me was in the human world but…. I wanted it to be something you liked as well. I thought about the gardens and how much of what little free time you have you spend there. So I got you flowers from the human world.”

Lucifer set the bag aside and shifted the gift to the other hand. “Human flowers won’t last in the Devildom.”

“I know. Which took a lot of time to figure out. More time to figure out than I expected,” she added in a mutter. “I saw more of that coven of witches than I ever wanted.”

Witches?

“I told them what I wanted, flowers for the Devildom that would last, and they gave me a solution.”

He stopped waiting. Reaching out, he caught her chin to make her look at him. Golden eyes skittered away but came back on the low noise he made. “You dealt with witches,” he said lowly. “Did you make a deal with them? What did you offer them?”

Cadence blinked at him. “I didn’t make a deal and I didn’t offer them anything beyond the materials needed to make it. I promise,” she added when he frowned at her.

“Witches don’t do anything for free.”

“They did it in return for clearing a favour,” she said. “That’s all I know.”

Had Diavolo called in the favour because it was a gift for him? Or had he done it because it was Cadence wanting to do it?

“But they gave me what I wanted,” she continued, gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. “A flower for you, from the human world that won’t wilt.”

Lucifer studied her face for another moment, taking in the happiness and pride there. 

She looked back at him and gave him a smile. “A little piece of my home for your home.”

He wavered; she was so close, so warm, his personal sun in the dark of the Devildom. She was giving him a gift, a gift she had spent so long on, but would she give him the gift he actually wanted? He tipped her face up a little, making her look at him fully. “And it’s important to you?”

“It’s my favourite flower.”

She had gone to Diavolo for this, for him, to give him her favourite flower in a way that he could keep. To have a piece of her after she left. She’d given his brothers gifts but this was personal. Her favourite flower. That something pushed past the other emotions, demanding he pay attention to it. “Carnations are your favourite?”

She hummed, nodding. “I’ve planted them every year except this one. But these will last better than anything I could have grown you.”

Her skin was so warm against his, something he had noticed the first time she had touched him. She ran hot, her blood burning in her veins to the point he’d almost thought her part demon. Which only made him wonder more about whatever angel had sired her line. But that was for another night. “Perhaps I should see if I can breed something that would grow.”

Oh the smiles she gave him! “You’ll have to send me pictures if you do. I’d love to see them.”

He’d bring her back to the Devildom to show her. He stroked his thumb over her chin and didn’t miss the way she licked her lips. Would she want a more personal thank you for the gift? Would she accept his kiss as a thank you?

His body swayed toward her, that something-that love-seizing him and wanting something in return. Her favourite flower...for her favourite demon? Was it too much to read between the lines and find that answer? The words circled in his head, narrowing down only to her favourite, and he knew he was well and truly lost to her. 

She watched him with wide, golden eyes, waiting for him to do something. Was she waiting for him to make a move for her and he’d wasted so much time waiting for her? 

The clock loudly chimed the hour, announcing it was midnight and shattering the mood between them. The flush on her cheeks suddenly had nothing to do with arousal or want and he let her go.

But she was slow to lean back, golden gaze darting over his face as if she hadn’t expected him to stop. He watched her as she sorted herself out and quickly looked away from him.

He wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear as it shielded her face from him, wanted to see what she was hiding from him. “Thank you for the present, Cadence.”

She took a deep breath before looking back at him, a fragile smile on her lips. It quivered as he looked at it but it didn’t fall. “You’re welcome, Lucifer.”

He knew it was going to happen but he still didn’t like it as she pushed off the couch, tugging her sweater down. He wanted to tell her she could stay, to help him finish the cake, but what moment they had had was gone.

“Try not to stay up all night,” she told him. “It’s not healthy.”

Ever the concern. “Cadence.”

She turned at the door, a curious look on her face.

“Humans give flowers meanings,” he said, holding up the present. “Do you know what these mean?”

It was hard to tell from his spot on the couch and the lighting in his study wasn’t the best, but he thought he saw her cheeks colour again. “No. Good night, Lucifer, and happy birthday.”

Little liar. He watched her leave, the two words floating through his mind. Had she lied again because he let her have the one about the fork? She said it was her favourite flower; surely she had looked it up and knew.

Setting the flower globe on the table in front of him, he pulled out his DDD as he leaned back. It took hardly any time at all to find the flower and his mouth turned down. How did one flower have so many meanings? He scrolled through the history of carnations before he stopped as the colours were finally listed.

Lucifer stared at the words written by dark red. Deep love? His gaze jerked up to the door even though he knew she’d made a hasty retreat after her lie. Everything she had done over the last handful of weeks had been to give this to him? She hadn’t been chasing Diavolo but enlisting his help to get her this present that symbolised her feelings for him? She’d been shy because she knew what this meant and that he wouldn’t wait to search up the meaning? She felt the same as he did?

He let out a slow breath and stared at the flowers. The light inside the glass was shining gently, glistening on the dew drops on the petals. She loved him. She wasn’t using him to get anywhere. She was coming to him in her own ways.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes as he let his head rest on the back of the couch. “You’re running out of time, Cadence,” he said quietly to the empty room. “I’ll wait for you, but don’t make me wait too long.”

A lie of his own. He’d wait as long as he had to if it meant she gave herself to him fully and without reservation. 

#obey me #obey me lucifer #lucifer/oc #obey me fanfic #obey me oc #cadence rusu #birthday story #a little bit of angst and a WHOLE lot of misunderstanding

[veliseraptor]

i was wondering if you’ve written about thor accidentally came across loki’s self-harm scares and what’d be thor’s reaction if he never knew loki hurt himself

we suffer mornings most of all, 5.6k, after I wrote over 5k of this I realized that I kind of misread your prompt so this went, like, a little off the rails but I decided to just go with it?? feels like it’s in the spirit of things. big ol content warning for self harm, obviously, and mentions of canonical suicide attempt

Once - only once, when they were young - Thor came across Loki in his room bandaging his arm. He caught a glimpse of a nasty burn, red and oozing, before it vanished under white, Loki looking up sharply and shaking his sleeve down. Based on the bandage, it must have covered most of his forearm.

“Ah,” he said. “Thor.” He didn’t look entirely pleased to see him.

“What happened?” Thor said, gesturing at his arm. “That looked terrible.”

“An accident,” Loki said smoothly.

“Some accident,” Thor said, alarmed. “You should see Eir. You know how easily burns take infection.” He reached for his brother’s arm, and Loki shied away, though his face was still almost eerily calm. Alarm bells jangled in the back of Thor’s mind, but he could not identify their source.

“I don’t need to see anyone,” Loki said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “I can handle myself, Thor. I don’t need your minding.”

Thor stiffened. “Forgive me for caring,” he said. Loki cocked his head to the side, and abruptly his face softened.

“I will, of course, being so gracious,” he said loftily, but then smiled. “I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s simply embarrassing. A mishap with a spell. It isn’t nearly so bad as you think.”

Thor wavered. There was still that faint thrumming sense of unease, but no obvious source, and Loki seemed calm enough. Calmer than he had lately, if anything, a tension gone out of him that Thor hadn’t been consciously aware of until he saw its absence.

He didn’t want to jeopardize that by arguing.

“Very well,” he said. “As you will. Though I still think it’s stupid.”

“Duly noted,” Loki said, without concern. “Now. What did you actually come here to talk about?”

Thor let himself be redirected. He had some vague idea of telling their mother, just so she could check on him, but never did.

The next day, he discovered that Loki had locked his doors with magic. But he didn’t connect the two things until much, much later.

**

The first few days on the Statesman were easy; everyone was too shocked to do very much. Busy with grief and loss and comforting each other, and dazed amazement over the events of the past week.

The problems started after.

Thor had never expected ruling to be easy - all right, perhaps for a period in his youth, he had expected just that. But not anymore. Even so, he was caught off guard by the cascade of responsibilities and troubles and urgent questions that suddenly caught him up. In the midst of it all, Heimdall was an invaluable help.

So, to Thor’s surprise, was Loki.

He was present, active, and honestly useful, not just for being another pair of hands, but because he thought of things Thor didn’t. Thor watched him at first, closely, out of the corner of his eye, but there was nothing he could detect that gave him any reason to suspect he was planning anything malicious, or even that he was planning on leaving.

He seemed, rather, more like himself than he had been at any point since Thor’s disastrous coronation. Not the same, certainly - neither of them was the same. But not so sharp, or brittle, or - well, still tense, but not like he was going to snap.

“I’m proud of you,” Thor said one day, without preamble. Loki’s head whipped around so fast it was almost comedic.

“Beg pardon?”

“I said, I’m proud of you,” Thor said. “I wasn’t sure you would come. And then I wasn’t sure you would stay. But you have. I’m grateful, and glad to have you.”

Loki blinked at him like Thor had struck him over the head. “Norns, Thor,” he said. “Are you becoming more sentimental in your old age?”

Thor frowned at him. “Take the compliment,” he said. “You deserve it.”

Loki gave an odd twitch, though Thor couldn’t tell why. “Thank you,” he said, distinctly awkward. “I suppose.”

Thor nudged him with an elbow. “You suppose.”

“Mm,” Loki said. “That is what I said.”

Shortly thereafter, he made a weak excuse and disappeared. Thor frowned after him, but decided to let it go. Loki had always been odd; he might well worry more the day Loki started behaving normally.

**

The next day, Thor was startled out of writing a lengthy to-do list by a brisk rap on his door, followed by it simply opening despite the fact that Thor was certain he’d locked it.

“What is the point of knocking if you’re just going to let yourself in anyway,” Thor said, setting down his pen and turning toward Loki.

“It gives you a moment’s notice, doesn’t it?”

“If that.” Thor scrutinized his brother’s face, trying to read his expression without much success. “Did you want something?”

“Yes,” Loki said, and then stopped. Thor cocked his head to the side.

“Are you going to make me guess what it is?”

Loki exhaled slowly, pressing his lips together. “I need your help.”

Thor raised his eyebrows. “An unexpected sentence,” he said, but when Loki didn’t make a face he sobered. “What is it?”

Loki exhaled, chewed the inside of his cheek, and then silently held out his left hand.

Thor’s remaining eye almost bugged out of his head. All four fingers looked like they’d been struck by a hammer. More than once. Loki’s slender hand had swollen grotesquely to near twice its size, the bruising black and purple.

“I thought I could manage it on my own,” Loki said, “but when I tried resetting the bones I’m afraid I…fainted.” He sounded a bit embarrassed. Thor stared at him, incredulous.

“You thought,” he started, and then choked on the words. “What happened? We need to get you to a healer-”

“Thor,” Loki said, “there are no healers, only medicine women and hedge witches. And if there were I wouldn’t waste their time. The bones just need to be brought back into alignment, and I can fix the rest.”

“You can,” Thor started again, but he couldn’t even echo the words. “You must be joking,” he said. Loki seemed so calm, and Thor scanned his face for signs of shock, but though he was pale and sweating, tension around his eyes and mouth, his gaze was steady.

Wrong wrong wrong, said Thor’s instincts, and he had to agree.

“What happened,” he repeated, because it was occurring to him that this didn’t look like an accident, and there might be other reasons than obstinacy that Loki didn’t want to go to a healer.

Loki made a bit of a face. “I was attempting some repairs, and, well…clearly I should leave that work to handier folk. Ha. ‘Handier.’”

Thor didn’t laugh. He reached to catch Loki’s wrist, and Loki didn’t pull away quickly enough; he was careful not to jostle his hand. “An accidental injury shouldn’t look like this,” he said lowly.

Loki made an attempt to pull away. “You think I am lying? About this?”

Thor didn’t let him go. “Why would you?” he asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Loki shot back. “You tell me.” He’d stopped pulling, though. It must hurt. All of him must hurt, and yet Loki wasn’t…Thor remembered his brother moaning over bruises, over headaches and minor wounds that healed in hours. Much lesser injuries.

“Loki,” Thor said, and then paused. “If there is someone causing you…trouble, I would know about it.” Loki’s eyebrows drew together like he didn’t understand, and Thor decided to be more direct. “If anyone on this ship hurt you - you know I would not let it stand. Right?”

It occurred to him with sudden terror that maybe Loki didn’t know that. They were still brothers, so far as Thor was concerned, and now that they were united once again…but perhaps Loki didn’t realize, or believed he was on his own to deal with any threat to him that arose. He wouldn’t expect anyone to harbor Loki hatred, but that didn’t mean no one did.

Loki blinked at him. And then laughed. Really laughed, like Thor had said something funny. “Thor,” he said, “you really give your people too little credit.”

“Our people,” Thor corrected absently. He scanned Loki’s face. He looked sincere, but then he always looked sincere.

“Brother,” Loki said, his amusement falling away, “no Asgardian on this ship hurt me. Nor any from Sakaar, either. I swear it.”

Loki didn’t swear anything idly; if he said that, he meant it. Thor pressed his lips together, but something still felt wrong.

“Now,” Loki said. “Would you please help me fix my hand before I have to rebreak anything?”

Thor couldn’t have said, exactly, what it was that made him think it. Loki’s lack of concern, maybe. The fact that no one else seemed to have noticed that their prince had been injured in an accident that must have been severe to do this kind of damage. The phrase before I have to rebreak anything and Loki’s carefully chosen words. No Asgardian. Nor any from Sakaar.

He swallowed hard, twice, and told himself that he was jumping to conclusions. That there was no reason to believe…

“Yes,” Thor said faintly, because Loki was starting to frown. “Come in. Please. You should probably sit down. This is going to hurt.”

“I imagine so,” Loki said, though he looked wary now. He came in anyway and sat down on Thor’s bed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Thor was almost relieved that Loki passed out after he set the second break.

His hand was a mess. There was something savage about the damage, a vicious but targeted rage. Not random: thumb and pointer finger had both been spared.

Or maybe the assailant just hadn’t finished.

I thought I could manage it on my own, but when I tried resetting the bones I’m afraid I fainted.

How many times had Loki managed on his own?

When Thor finished, he improvised a splint, binding the three fingers carefully together to hold them while they healed. Then he sat back and looked at his brother, stomach churning. Hoping he was wrong.

But knowing he had to at least ask.

Loki, did you do this to yourself?

**

Loki came around with a groan, rubbing his good hand down his face and then dropping it to his side. “Ugh,” he said eloquently, and Thor was almost relieved to see the way his body tensed, face tightening. Like he was actually feeling it, now.

“I got you something for the pain,” Thor said, keeping his voice carefully calm and holding out the tablets he’d nicked from the stores. “Hopefully it will at least take the edge off.”

Loki took them and swallowed them dry without question. “Thank you,” he said. He raised his hand and studied his splinted fingers. “Much better. You haven’t been sitting here watching my unconscious body this entire time, have you?”

“More or less,” Thor said. Loki stilled, and then sat up, frowning. He looked shaky, and Thor bit back a command to tell him to lie down.

“I’ve missed something,” he said.

No, Thor thought. I have. He didn’t say anything immediately, considering how best to begin. Loki’s frown deepened, turning wary. “Thor,” he said lowly. “I don’t know what I might have done to provoke that look while I was unconscious, but I would very much appreciate-”

“Why did you break your own fingers,” Thor interrupted.

Loki’s face went utterly blank. “Beg pardon?” he said.

“I said-”

“I heard what you said,” Loki said. “I suppose a more accurate question would be ‘what in the Nine do you mean?’”

He hadn’t denied it, Thor noticed. “What I asked,” he said. “I meant exactly what I asked.”

Loki’s expression flickered. “What gives you the idea that I did any such thing?”

He was turning it back on Thor, Thor thought abstractly. Trying to put Thor on the defensive. Deter him from questioning, or redirect him into a different argument. He’d seen Loki do it before, only he hadn’t usually been able to push past it. “It doesn’t matter,” Thor said. “I asked you a question. You still haven’t answered it.”

Loki was beginning to have the look of a cornered animal, even if he was still clearly striving to maintain control. “No,” he said, “I haven’t. I don’t see the need to, when it’s a preposterous question to begin with.”

“Because you didn’t do it,” Thor said.

“Of course not.”

“Liar.” Thor breathed out. “Please, Loki…tell me the truth. Have we not had enough of falsehoods between us?”

Loki’s mouth tightened, then relaxed. He opened his mouth and Thor could almost see him crafting the lie - and that was a sign of how off balance his brother was, that it was so obvious. Then all the expression bled away again, and Loki turned his face to look at the wall.

“I shouldn’t have involved you,” he said, though it sounded like it was meant more for himself than anything. Thor stiffened.

“Of course you should have,” he said. “Why would you say otherwise?”

Loki’s mouth twisted. “Because now you are upset, and you needn’t be.”

Thor choked on that, and Loki ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair, the other held gingerly in his lap. “It is just a part of who I am,” he said. “An ugly part, perhaps, but nonetheless. Truthfully, it helps.”

Stomach twisting, Thor forced out, “how can breaking your own fingers possibly help.”

Loki shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try,” Thor said. “Or I will - will-” He couldn’t think of anything. There was no way he had of caging Loki that he would not, sooner or later, escape; no way of keeping Loki safe from himself.

Loki slumped back onto the bed. “You know I am mad,” he said, after a lengthy pause.

“Were,” Thor said. Loki huffed.

“Am,” he said. “It isn’t a new beast, Thor. To one degree or another…I cannot remember a time when there wasn’t something wrong with me. It is just how well I controlled it. Or disguised it.”

Thor’s sense of things lurched sideways. Loki’s strangenesses, his mercurial moods, his fickle temper and black melancholy. That had always been a part of who Loki was, not…a sickness. Not madness. He shook his head, but Loki didn’t see it.

“There are times,” he was saying, “when it is all too much. When I feel as though I will burn up, or explode, for trying to contain the beast that lives in me. You have seen what it looks like when I lose control.”

Loki’s eyes on the Bifrost, nearly feral with rage, unrecognizable. Frantic and vicious and desperate, and when it was over…

And then on Earth, the same. Or worse. The feeling like everything that he knew of his brother had been shaved away, leaving a blade of a man with his brother’s face.

“There are other means,” Loki said. “Better means. I am careful. I avoid permanent damage. And no one else has to manage the consequences of my insanity.”

Thor couldn’t speak. He felt ill, and it seemed like there were things he should say but they weren’t coming to him. Loki turned his head to look at him, and exhaled. “You don’t understand. I knew you wouldn’t.”

Finally, a little of Thor’s voice broke free. “That doesn’t look like careful.”

Loki twitched minutely. “This morning was…bad.”

Morning. It was early in the night, now, and Loki had come to him in the late afternoon. At least part of that time he’d been unconscious. All of it alone, hurt, suffering, and Thor might never have known.

He hadn’t known. The way Loki was talking, this wasn’t the first time. He spoke as though it was a long-standing habit, something ordinary or at least unremarkable. Reasonable. “Bad how,” he managed.

Loki seemed to be hesitating, and Thor fixed him with a glare. He sighed again. “Poor dreams and petty frustrations, that is all. Sometimes it just…happens.” He laughed, strangely. “I don’t even really remember doing it.”

“You don’t remember,” Thor said flatly. His stomach rolled. Loki raised one shoulder and let it fall.

“It’s like that, sometimes. Like…” the corners of his lips turned up. “Like a bolt of lightning.”

“Don’t,” Thor said. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“Who is laughing?” Loki still remained lying back, but his eyes on Thor were direct. “Truly, Thor,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ve been handling this, off and on, for centuries.”

Centuries. Centuries. He was going to be sick. A formless fear thrummed in his chest, filling his lungs, making it hard to breathe, to think. “No,” he choked. “No. This isn’t acceptable.”

“Be reasonable,” Loki started.

“Me? You are telling me to be reasonable? You are the one hurting yourself and you want me to be reasonable?” His voice rose to a shout. Thor knew he should be trying to stay calm, but he couldn’t find the means, and that Loki seemed genuinely taken aback didn’t help.

He saw, clear as day, Loki’s fingers uncurling from the shaft of Gungnir. How easily could this, this habit of Loki’s tip over the edge from self-harm to self-annihilation?

How easily could Loki slip through Thor’s fingers, again, into an oblivion where Thor couldn’t follow, and from which this time he might not return?

“Please,” he said, nearly gasping. “Don’t do this.”

“Thor,” Loki said carefully. “I need…”

“I beg you,” Thor said. “I can’t…’careful’ isn’t good enough. All it takes is - all it takes is once. And whether the damage is permanent or not - your pain is not an acceptable price.”

Loki looked frustrated. “I know what I’m doing, Thor.”

“That’s what concerns me,” Thor said. “That you think you are being reasonable. That you think this is handling anything.”

“It is,” Loki said.

“It is not,” Thor said. “Not at all.”

“What else would you have me do?” The tension was coming back. “Turn my poison on you?”

“Do you have to turn it on anyone?” Thor asked. “Might there not be another way?”

Loki stared at him so blankly it made Thor’s heart ache.

“You could,” he said, more quietly, “come to me.”

Loki’s laugh grated. “I am trying not to hurt you anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Thor said. “You could just try talking to me. Or - or if not me, someone else?” Though it occurred to him that Loki did not really have friends on the Statesman. He wasn’t sure Bruce or Valkyrie counted. “Say whatever it is that is overwhelming you, rather than marking it on your body.”

Loki was holding very still and it looked like he was breathing hard.

“And if you can’t speak,” Thor said, fumbling onwards, “at least…at least you needn’t be alone.”

Loki’s jaw tensed and then relaxed, his eyes pulling away from Thor’s to stare straight ahead. “You don’t understand,” he said.

“You’re right,” Thor said, trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice and not entirely succeeding. “I don’t. I don’t understand why this seems like a solution to you, why you don’t seem to see anything wrong with the idea of hurting yourself-”

“Why not?” Loki asked. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Loki had a gift, Thor thought, of saying things that felt like they were cutting him off at the knees, because the answers should be so obvious and yet - Loki called it madness, but to Thor it seemed more like a missing limb that Loki had grown so used to that he no longer noticed its absence.

“Why should you?” Thor asked, trying one of Loki’s own favorite tactics in answering a question with a question. Loki stared at him, but Thor pressed on. “Give me one good reason,” he said, “and I will let this go.”

“I told you,” Loki said. “It prevents - unfortunate outbursts-”

“There are other ways of managing your temper,” Thor said. “Try again.”

Loki’s nostrils flared. “I enjoy it,” he said, the words flung at Thor like a challenge. He planted his feet.

“That contradicts what you said before. And I struggle to believe that the pain of a broken hand is enjoyable.” He knew he was risking Loki’s wrath, but he refused to back down now.

“It is none of your business what I do-”

“You are my brother,” Thor said. “It is my business. Just as what I do is yours.”

Loki looked like he was about to start snarling. “Will no answer be good enough for you?”

“Are you punishing yourself?”

Again, Loki seemed knocked off balance, like he’d expected Thor to feint one way and instead he’d gone the other. “What?” He said blankly, but not like he was offended, or thought the idea was ridiculous; more like he just hadn’t expected Thor to voice it.

He probably hadn’t. It wasn’t the kind of thing that he would have, or at least that he would have bothered to ask, even a few years before.

He’d grown. If only it hadn’t cost so much.

“Are you?” Thor asked again. Loki blinked at him several times, eyes a little too wide.

“It isn’t like that,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Thor asked. There was an ache lodged in his chest. He’d thought, Thor realized, that Loki was - well, better. That the poison in him had been drawn out, at last, that his return here meant the last terrible years were behind them, that everything was going to be fine, now.

He should have known better.

Loki grimaced and pinched his nose with his good hand. “Thor, can this conversation at least wait until the drugs take effect?”

“For you to come up with better answers?” Thor asked. “No. Loki-”

“It isn’t about punishment,” Loki said, though he sounded as though the words were being dragged out of him. “It is - oh, Norns. That’s not the point.”

“But you think it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Why not?” Thor asked doggedly. “It would matter if it was me, wouldn’t it? If I were hurting myself, deliberately?”

“You are being melodramatic.”

“I’m being-” Thor cut himself off again and took a deep breath to keep his temper. It wouldn’t do any good to shout. Losing his temper now would mean losing control of the conversation, and if he did that he would never get it back. “Why. Doesn’t it matter.”

“You are a dog with a bone,” Loki said, aggrieved. Thor said nothing, just waited, his jaw set, and Loki rolled to his back and covered his eyes and said, “I am not going to play this game.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It is,” Loki said, something dark and dangerous creeping into his voice. “For you. A game where you play the loving and attentive brother, simply trying to care for his poor, mad, sibling. Well, Thor, let me tell you-”

��Tell me what,” Thor said harshly. Loki’s hand pressed down harder over his eyes, still keeping much of his expression invisible.

“It is,” Loki said, and his voice was low and vicious, “exactly what I deserve.”

Thor’s body seemed to lurch, even though he hadn’t moved. He stood still a moment, trying to absorb that. “No,” he said finally, hoarsely. “It isn’t.”

“You ought to know better than that.”

“I do not.” Thor was faintly startled by how even his voice was. He thought he saw Loki’s shoulders shake, very slightly.

“After a few moments of clarity,” Loki said, his voice clear and exacting, “it seems you have rediscovered your large blind spot when it comes to me.”

“You said yourself,” Thor said, “you have been doing this for centuries. Why would you have deserved to suffer then?”

Thor was glad he could not see the whole of Loki’s smile. He thought it would be terrible. “Why not?”

Throat closing, an undeniable part of Thor wished that he hadn’t opened this conversation. That he hadn’t asked, that he’d let it go and pretended to have noticed nothing, or believed Loki’s first lies. But he would not be that much a coward.

“You are wrong,” he said finally, hoarsely.

“Yes,” Loki said, almost a sigh. “Exactly.”

And Thor didn’t have a single Norns-damned response to that.

**

Loki dozed off again, presumably as the drugs took effect and eased the pain. Thor paced back and forth, wishing he knew what to say. Wishing he knew what to do. He wanted to shake Loki, shout at him until he saw sense, but that was about as likely to work as would trussing him up and handcuffing him to a chair (also tempting). The harder Thor pushed, the more Loki would dig in his heels. But if Thor didn’t push…

I am careful. I avoid permanent damage.

Oh, yes. Other than the time you tried to kill yourself, that is.

Thor ground the heel of his hand into his eye. Dammit, Loki.

He dropped his hand and looked back at Loki, whose mouth was set in a tiny frown as he slept, eyebrows drawn worriedly together even in repose. Fix this, Thor’s heart kept screaming, but he didn’t know how. These days, Thor thought, it seemed like there was nothing he could fix.

A part of him wanted to go and find Valkyrie, or the Hulk, and exorcise the ache in him with violence. At the same time, he didn’t want to leave Loki here alone out of some vague fear that he would return and find him gone.

The savagery of it. The rage. Thor knew Loki’s temper, knew that it could be vicious, but seeing it directed inward that way, at himself…was different, somehow. Wrong, in a way that made him feel slightly ill.

It was perhaps an hour later that there was a knock on his door. Thor jerked out of a reverie where he was trying to imagine how it would feel, how Loki had possibly stayed conscious through doing that to himself, and stood up. “Who is it?”

“Heimdall,” said the Watchman’s familiar voice, and Thor scrubbed his fingers through his hair before going over to open the door.

“Is aught amiss?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Heimdall said. “Only that you were expected at a meeting, and weren’t there.”

Thor swore, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d entirely forgotten. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“I can only assume you were distracted,” Heimdall said, not quite a question.

“I was,” Thor said, stepping back so Heimdall could see Loki passed out on the bed. Heimdall frowned slightly.

“Is he unwell?”

Thor wavered, for a moment, on the point of telling Heimdall, maybe asking for advice. “Injured,” he said, finally. “In an accident.”

Heimdall’s eyebrows rose further. “I’d expect him to be with the healers.”

Thor shrugged. “You know how he is,” he said, and there was that very slight, brief, smile.

“Somewhat.” Heimdall regarded him. “Are you well? You look…strained.”

“It has been a straining time. I think we all are.” Thor paused, and then said, carefully, “have you ever known someone to…cause themselves harm? Deliberately?”

Heimdall’s eyes flicked toward Loki, quick and brief, and it occurred to Thor that had not been in the least subtle and he probably should not have asked. But whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say, only, “not personally. But I’ve heard of it happening.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of what is done to help.”

“I think that would depend on the why. A…redirection of the impulse, perhaps. In another direction.”

“Like at another person?” Thor said. Heimdall’s golden eyes sharpened.

“That would seem both inadvisable and ultimately unhelpful.”

Thor sighed. “I suppose it would.” He kept himself from looking toward Loki. “Thank you, Heimdall. And I am sorry, once again, for…allowing my duty to slip my mind.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Heimdall said, but not sternly. He glanced once more toward the bed where Loki lay and then added, “tell your brother to be careful. We cannot afford more losses.”

Thor smiled, though it felt strained. “I will tell him.”

He closed the door, quietly, and leaned his head against it, closing his eye and trying to think. There must be something he could do. If he could only figure out what it was.

**

Thor did not approach Loki immediately. He let him leave without further conversation, though he could feel Loki’s wary eyes waiting for him to speak, and let Loki avoid him for the next day, though he heard Val ask him what had happened to his hand.

“I broke my fingers,” Loki said, his voice tense and caustic. “Obviously.”

“I figured out that much. How?”

“Hoping to congratulate the perpetrator?”

“Why do you have to be such an ass,” Val said irritably, and retreated. Loki must have felt him looking, then, because he turned his head, saw Thor, and froze a moment before turning to walk swiftly away.

And Thor…considered.

He gave it three days before he went knocking on Loki’s door, in the evening, when he was fairly certain Loki would be there. Indeed, he was greeted by a flat, “yes, Thor,” through the door. He paused.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Because no one else drops by,” Loki said.

“Must I speak to you through steel?”

He imagined he could hear Loki’s heave of a sigh, but he opened the door.

“May I come in?”

“If you must.” Loki stepped back, and Thor entered, glancing around. There was little to mark this space as Loki’s other than the daggers on the table. Nothing out of the ordinary, though Thor wasn’t certain what he had expected.

“How is your hand?” he asked. Loki’s mouth twisted.

“Mending,” he said, his voice a little short. “I haven’t caused any fresh damage, if that is what you were trying to ask.”

He hadn’t, really, though a part of him had wondered. Thor winced. “It wasn’t,” he said. Loki eyed him, expression pinched, and eventually sighed.

“What do you want, Thor?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I am going to ask you for a promise,” Thor said.

“No.”

“You do not know what I am going to ask.”

“I can guess.”

Thor pressed his lips together, then relaxed them. “If you will not,” he said slowly, “I will - be forced to adopt other measures.” He leveled his gaze on Loki. “I am Asgard’s king, now. That means I am responsible for the safety of her people. All of them.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. “I am not of Asgard.”

“You are her savior,” Thor said firmly. “If nothing else - and there is plenty else - that would entitle you to honorary status.” There was a slight twitch by Loki’s eye, but he didn’t argue. Good.

“What is it, then,” he asked, voice clipped and brittle, “that you want me to promise?”

“I want you to promise that when you feel what you described - what it is that drives you to injure yourself - you come to me, first. And I will keep everyone else, and you, safe until it passes.”

Loki’s nostrils flared. “How very self-sacrificial of you.”

“I am confident that it will be less dangerous than you think,” Thor said evenly. “And if not…well. We both know which of us is stronger.”

Loki’s lips compressed but he didn’t argue. That point, anyway. “I can’t promise that,” he said. “Sometimes it isn’t something that builds gradually.”

“Like a bolt of lightning,” Thor said. “I know. In that case, I only ask that you find me after.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “How is that beneficial?”

Thor kept his gaze steady. “Trust that it is, for me.”

Loki stayed quiet, his jaw clenched, breathing through his nose. Thor tried not to tense. He didn’t want to have to turn to his backup plan, but he’d meant what he said: he would.

“Why must you be like this,” Loki said after a long silence, but Thor could have cheered. Loki was wavering. Even if only barely.

“Like what?” Thor asked. “Attempting to keep my own brother from harm?”

Loki looked away from him. “You aren’t going to let this go.”

“No,” Thor said. “I am not.”

“I should never have come to you,” Loki muttered, and Thor reached out without thinking to grasp his shoulders.

“No,” he said, with feeling. “You should have come to me a long time ago.”

Loki stared at him as though Thor had said something deeply affecting but also a little mad. Or he did for a moment, only to look away again. “Fine,” he said eventually, subdued. “You leave me very little choice.”

“Promise me,” Thor said. “Swear.”

“I swear,” Loki said, after a long pause. Thor exhaled loudly and bowed his head in relief.

“Thank you.”

“As I said,” Loki said, “you didn’t give me much choice.”

“Nonetheless. Thank you.” He paused, and said, “you’re wrong. It isn’t what you deserve.”

Loki’s sidelong glance was shuttered, impossible to read. “Certain of that, are you?”

“Yes,” Thor said. “I am. And even if you did, I don’t think I’d care.”

Loki’s expression did something odd. “No,” he said, “I suppose you wouldn’t,” but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than anything.

Thor considered him, for several long moments, before saying quietly, “We’re the only ones left. I can’t lose you, too. And no matter how ‘careful’ you say you are…it frightens me.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Loki said.

“I know,” Thor said. “I still wish you would have.” He gave Loki a pained smile. “Honesty, brother.”

“Always my strength,” Loki murmured.

“Practice is the only road to mastery,” Thor said, imitating the tones of their old weapons master, and won a very faint laugh.

They would, Thor told himself, be all right.

They had to be.

#anonymous #a wild fic appeared #tragic siblings #this is entirely unedited and i'm just throwing it up here before running off to cosplay #thor is my favorite puppy #loki's a goddamn mess #self harm cw

[lailannajacobs]

Push My Luck

Pairing: Loki x Reader 

Prompt: “Is that mistletoe?” 

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: Fluff!!! 

A/N: My submission for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan Merry Kismet writing challenge, thanks for letting me join!! I had been hoping to get this out before the new year but, as always, life’s a little crazy! This is a drabble in the Just Dumb Luck series, but no need to have read the rest! Hope you enjoy! <3 

The cold had seeped through your coat and to your core, and even the apartment building’s blast of hot air in the lobby hadn’t done enough to stop your shivering. Loki’s apartment was a spacious 4 1/2 on the 15th floor of a beautiful building on central park west. Yet, you had only ever been a handful of times in the months you had been dating. It wasn’t that you didn’t like his apartment, it was just that…you didn’t like his apartment.

Yours might be small, old, and falling apart, with all of its quirks that had taken you over a year to figure out, but at least it felt like a home. It had personality. It was a place you wanted to be. Loki’s felt like a realtor was about to bring in a new couple for showing at any given moment. You understood that, being gone as often as he was and that Earth wasn’t his actual home, it didn’t make sense to spend time making it a home. Which was why, although he had strangely insisted you meet him in his apartment tonight, you were having dinner at your place.

The elevator dinged, the doors opening to the cool grey of the hallway. Despite the fact that you were still cold, your shivering had ceased, and your breathing had evened out enough for you to wish you had grabbed a snack on your way out of work to appease your growling stomach. Reaching the end of the hallway, you got to the corner apartment and knocked on the door even if you were pretty sure he had left the door unlocked. Having someone break in wasn’t much of a concern for the god of mischief.

“Come in!” His muffled voice barely sounded through the door.

You pushed the door open, about to ask him why he had been so insistent on having you meet him here, but the words died in your mouth. His usually cold and impersonal apartment was decked out in holiday decorations - a mishmash of colours with no obvious pattern in mind - covering the cool greys and blacks. Holiday music drifted from speakers you had no idea he even had, and the smell of ginger and something else you couldn’t name, but that smelled delicious wafted through the air.

“Loki?” You took a tentative step forward, unsure if you had walked into the right apartment.

“In the kitchen.” He called.

You slipped off your boots but didn’t bother with your coat, walking around the corner to his kitchen, gobsmacked. He stood with his back to you, stirring something in a large pot on the stove. His black dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, messily tucked into his dark pants as if he had physically fount in an attempt to get dinner started. You didn’t even know he could cook. Bard, the black, short haired cat, weaved around his legs, rubbing up against his owner happily. Loki glanced back, his messy hair half in his eyes and he shot you a sly grin that never failed to send your heart racing.

Approaching cautiously, you swiped a figurine of a moose wearing a Santa hat off the top ledge of the nearby windowsill, rolling it between your fingers and staring at it as if it might have the answers.

“Loki,” you mumbled again, still not sure what to do with all this information, “This isn’t an illusion.”

He raised a brow, “Really? I wasn’t aware.”

His familiar sass snapped you out of your daze somewhat and you closed the distance between the two of you to check what was in the pot, “Glad to know that despite everything here, you’re still the same sassy prince.”

With a final stir, he turned to lean back against the counter beside the stove and pulled you close so that you were standing between his legs. He pressed a kiss to your lips, his long fingers playing along your lower back.

“Hi,” You murmured when you pulled away, unable to hide the smile that still seemed to appear whenever his lips met yours.

“Hi,” He searched your face, green eyes bright, “How was your day?”

You smiled, “Good, but better now. How was yours? What brought all this about?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He drawled, leaning back in.

You leaned back, playfully avoiding his kiss, “So many secrets.”

His lips curled upward into that dangerous grin, “Oh but love, secrets are the best part.”

“So you say,” Before his charm could lure you back in, you noticed something above you, “Is that mistletoe?”

“It is.” He pulled you in a little closer. “And I believe it means we should kiss again.”

You laughed, “Do you now?”

“I do, and I should know.” He said, a thoughtful look on his face.

You leaned back, but he kept his fingers laced behind your back so that you couldn’t get too far. “How much of that myth is true?”

“Whatever do you mean?” The corner of his lips twitched upward into a coy smirk.

“You know…” You paused for a moment, trying to find the words that wouldn’t shatter the moment, “The fact that that we now kiss under mistletoe because…”

“I tricked someone into killing someone else?” His brow was raised in that deadpanned look of his.

You turned your attention to the moose Santa you had laid on the counter instead, “yeah…exactly.”

“None of it. There may have been an incident with Thor, mistletoe and a small, magical explosive but there was nothing the mighty god of thunder couldn’t handle. The myth was an embellishment I thought would be fun to make Midgardian’s believe.” There was a fond smile on his face that reminded you that there was so much you didn’t know about him. You wished, not for the first time, that his life wasn’t so distant from yours. His brows furrowed, “What’s bothering you?”

You shook your head and forced a smile back to your lips, “Nothing. Everything’s perfect. This is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so, I wasn’t exactly…” For the first time since you had met him, he looked almost sheepish and unsure, lost for words.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re perfect.”

His brows furrowed, his eyes filling with an emotion you couldn’t recognize but that pulled on your heartstrings. You pulled him close, burying your face in his neck, neither of you saying anything for a long time.

Not quite understanding at first, it took you a moment to realize you couldn’t smell the usual citrus and pine that always seemed to cling to him, “Loki, what’s that smell?”

His whole body stiffened.

He pulled back, about to let go, but pressed a kiss to the top of your head before whirling around to his cooking. His back was too you as he stirred furiously, muttering words you couldn’t quite understand but knew from the general tone that he wasn’t in the least bit pleased. Experience told you that there wasn’t much he could do about the burnt taste now and you were going to have to find something else to replace it. Not wanting to be there when he figured it out, you went to take off your coat and to unpack your work bag.

When you came back into the kitchen, there was an uneasy look on his face and you tried to reassure him, “We’ll figure something else out as a replacement. I’m sure the rest of the meal is fine.” He still hadn’t told you what you were eating but you didn’t want him to believe that his efforts would go to waste, “We can go to the convenient store downstairs and pick up a readymade can of sauce or something and eat the rest.”

“Oh, uh, yes.” He nodded, “I’m sure we can do just that.”

“I can go now while you keep everything under control here,” You were halfway out of the kitchen when you heard his voice.

“Actually (y/n), I was hoping I could give you something first.”

Normally, you would have asked him if it could wait until you got back - the delicious smell in the apartment when you had walked in had reminded you of how hungry you were - but that same nervous look still hadn’t left his face.

You nodded, “Sure, what is it?”

He took in a long, deep breath, then a small black box with a sparkling emerald bow appeared in his open palm, “I was told presents were a holiday thing.”

Neither of you had said anything about presents but you had his wrapped under your bed in your apartment. You were pretty sure he hadn’t found out about his present, so the small, jewelry sized box took you by surprise. Stunned by everything he had done tonight, you couldn’t seem to move toward it.

“It’s yours.” He supplied as if you hadn’t understood that by the fact that he had it outstretched to you.

“You shouldn’t have.” You murmured, taking the box from him.

With his hand free, he ran it through his already messy hair, as if he had been doing that the entire time you had taken to put your work things away. Your heart began to beat a little faster in anticipation, partially mirroring his nerves as well.

When you popped the lid off, a silver, ordinary key sat in the centre of the plush white pillow. You stared up at him, “Loki? Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Not exactly.”

Your smile fell and you realized just how much you had been hoping he’d ask you to move in with him, “Oh…then what exactly?”

“Not here… I know you don’t like this place. I know you think it’s cold and it isn’t your home, but your apartment is barely big enough for the both of us” He looked like he was going to run his hands though his hair again but instead stuffed them into his pockets instead, “The key doesn’t unlock any place in particular, but I was hoping we could get a place that it could, somewhere we both like…if that’s something you would like?”

“Really?” You asked, breathless. A part of you thought you might be dreaming.

“Only if it is something you would like.” He repeated as if he wanted to make sure you knew you could say no.

“Loki?” You waited until you had all of his attention, “Yes. Yes, I want to move in with you.”

He looked hopeful for a second, but the look vanished as quickly as it had come, “Truly?”

You cupped his face gently with both hands, “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Although the relief in his face was clear, you pressed your lips fiercely to his, trying to erase any remaining doubt he might have.

When he pulled away he said, “But you must know, there is one condition.”

“What is that?” You asked.

“Bard is coming with us. I’ve found that I’ve grown somewhat attached to it.”

You chuckled, feeling Bard brush up against your leg in response, “I think I can handle it.”

His lips curled into a teasing smile and he leaned in for a kiss, but you leaned past him and turned off all the burners on the stove instead.

He cocked his head, a silent question on his fcae.

“Whatever’s in the oven has another 40 minutes to cook, right?”

He nodded.

“Good. I was just making sure the rest didn’t overcook while we were distracted.”

His devilish grin grew, revealing a row of pearly whites, “I thought you were starving. Wouldn’t you rather eat?”

You laughed at his mocking tone, “I’ve found something else to tide me over in the meantime.”

“Then who am I to stop you?” He pulled you closer, lips pressed firmly to yours, backing you up into the opposite wall.

#idmkwc #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #Loki Laufeyson #MCU fic #MCU fanfiction #holiday fic #fan fiction #fanfic

[ends-of-the-wayward-storm]

Frozen--Book 1--Chances

Chapter 8--New and a Bit Alarming

_________

Summary

Hans is granted a second chance by a criminal known as the Mystery, someone people have only heard rumors about. How and why the Mystery decided to go out of his way to do this was beyond Hans, and frankly it bothered him. But once the Mystery’s plan goes into action, it’s only a matter of time before something bigger begins to develop.

(AO3 version) (Prologue)

[And here we have cameos galore. ;)]

_________

The library once again was occupied by not only Anna, but Elsa as well. Both of them had tea cups, and Elsa was engrossed in History of Corona. And she couldn’t believe she had forgotten how interesting it was.

Anna had mentioned something about an incomplete part of a passage when she had read it. Of course, Elsa hadn’t come across it yet, but she was looking forward to it. It was probably removed information about the Mystery. Or something else entirely. Then again if it was anything on the Mystery, Anna would've said so by now.

Anna finished the book she was reading with a sigh. “Well, he wasn’t in this one. Not one sentence.”

“He has to be mentioned in at least one of these books,” Elsa said. She turned a page and took a sip of her tea.

“Maybe I should ask the guards and see if they’ve heard anything.”

“We’re not allowed to leave the castle, remember?”

“I know,” Anna groaned.

Elsa looked over to her. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but the sooner we gather information on him the sooner we’ll be able to open the gates. And keep Arendelle safe.”

A few moments after she returned to her book, she gasped. “Anna look!”

“You found something?”

“Not quite. It’s the passage you mentioned.”

Anna scurried over to Elsa.

“ ‘Ma . . . gol . . . er . . . with . . . gni . . . ent . . . he. . . .’ Hmm. . . .”

“Weird, right?”

“Very. I wonder why the author removed that.”

“I tried for hours to figure it out, but everything I came up with didn’t really make any sense.”

Elsa thought for a few moments. “What if what healed the queen was magic?”

“I mean . . . we have magic here so it can’t be that farfetched.”

“Maybe. . . .”

Anna went back to her seat and placed her book in the “finished” pile. The next book up was—

Oh, she thought. “Deadliest Criminals Known and Unknown to Man. Oh boy.”

Taking in a breath, she opened the book and carefully ran her finger down the Index. Some names were normal—for a criminal. Others were . . . a bit weird. And other names were just gruesome.

Well the book has “Deadliest” in its name for a reason.

It was a long couple of minutes before she finally came across the Mystery’s name.

“Ah ha! Yes!” Anna cheered.

“You found him?” Elsa asked.

“Yup!”

Elsa set her book down as Anna flipped to the Mystery’s first mentioning.

~~The Mystery made his first move in Old Corona stealing knives from an armory in the night. Several witnesses tried to stop him only to lose him in the woods. The next week, food was stolen, and the leader of the village at the time as well as some other brave men pursued him. But the Mystery slipped from their fingers after he lashed out, gravely injuring three men and killing one in the process. And of course, the tale was quick to spread to the rest of the kingdom.

After that, however, it seemed as though he vanished without a trace. But he himself was never forgotten.

Some say he ruthlessly killed more than one man that night, each with a single strike. Others say he was more discrete with his methods, branding him a silent killer.

But one thing was clear—the Mystery was a deadly criminal who murdered and stole with no remorse.

“He . . . really made an impression,” Anna said.

“All the more reason to get rid of him,” Elsa stated. A quizzical expression slowly came across her features. “Something’s not right.”

“Like what?”

Elsa grabbed History of Corona. “That passage is talking about Quirin. He’s mentioned in here doing the same thing. Look.”

Anna looked to the paragraph her sister was pointing to. And sure enough, Elsa was right, despite it being a brief overview. “Guess I must’ve missed that part.”

“There’s something else. But . . . maybe I’m overthinking things.”

“What is it?”

“How can the Mystery be back then and here at the same time?”

“Maybe he took the name from there and used it for himself?”

Elsa thought about it. “Maybe you’re right.”

~~*~~

Metal scraping against stone accompanied the quiet rustling of the leaves, and Hans sat up against a tree with his arm resting on his knee. Not much conversation had been made between him and the Mystery, mainly because neither of them bothered to converse with each other. And Hans was content with analyzing his surroundings since this “realm” was going to be his new home now.

Rather it be here than the Isles.

His eyes briefly glanced over to the Mystery busying himself with a knife before turning his gaze to deeper into the forest.

“Where does that lead?” Hans asked.

The Mystery followed his gaze. Finding the notebook, he wrote for a short time before handing the book to Hans. ~Nothing but a river.

Hans studied the area for a few minutes. The Mystery had stated that this realm connected to the Southern Isles, Arendelle, and another kingdom that he refused to name. Who’s to say that the river couldn’t lead to other kingdoms? After all, rivers always went somewhere.

With a contemplative frown, he rose from his position and began to walk. Just as his back was to the Mystery, a pebble was thrown at his head, making him abruptly turn around. The Mystery waved his fingers under his chin repeatedly.

“You said there was nothing but a river,” Hans quoted. “So you shouldn’t mind me seeing where it leads.”

The Mystery merely stared at the prince, who noticed the Mystery’s grip on his knife flex. A short but tense period of silence was followed by the Mystery’s small sigh through the nose, leading him to write in the notebook.

~Then I’m going with you so you don’t get yourself killed.

“I appreciate your concern, but I think I can handle myself,” Hans replied matter-of-factly.

The Mystery's eyes challenged him, and Hans mirrored his gaze. This prince was being a mirror again. The Mystery had witnessed this being done before, but having the Mirror set on him . . . unnerved him.

A few more moments passed before the Mystery broke from his gaze, busying himself instead with putting away his knife and hiding the notebook behind a tree.

He knows something, Hans thought.

When the Mystery faced him again, his eyes were set behind the prince. Nonetheless, Hans continued on his way with the Mystery a little more than a respectable distance beside him.

Underneath his scarf, the Mystery was biting his lip, willing his nerves to calm themselves. He didn’t want to go back. He swore to himself he wouldn’t go back for anything. Yet here he was actually going along with Prince Hans of the Southern Isles right back to that place. He should’ve known the prince would want to see every inch of this place. Maybe he was planning to escape to somewhere else to start a new life instead of getting that second chance.

Of course, he wouldn’t blame Hans. There were very few things left for the prince in the Isles, and Arendelle was a trap waiting to ensnare him should he ever show his face.

But Hans wasn’t always cruel and manipulative.

That’s why he wanted to give the prince that second chance.

But if Hans didn’t want it, the Mystery couldn’t force anything onto him. It was his choice as to whether or not he would let the Mystery help. And it was the Mystery’s choice as to whether or not he would open up or not.

Hans came to a stop. Before the duo laid different paths going in different directions, the river seeming to branch out into the same amount of paths there were. He snuck a suspicious sideways glance at the Mystery, who was as stiff as a board.

Only a river? Hans thought accusingly.

He hopped across some stones in the river and took the leftmost path. The Mystery’s light footsteps didn’t follow until Hans was well onto the other side.

Maybe this is the kingdom he refuses to name. “You knew about this.”

The Mystery pointed to the ground and shook his head.

“So you’ve never been down this path.”

The Mystery shook his head again. But Hans still remained suspicious of him even though the Mystery didn’t appear as tense as moments before.

The gentle babbles of the river quickly faded away, and the duo came across a shore similar to the one that lead to the Southern Isles. The only difference was that instead of bleeding into sand, the shore was dirt and grass, and the roots of the trees were clearly visible and coming close to the shore.

Both of them studied the area, and Hans cast a quick glance at the Mystery. The tension that had been radiating off of him was gone now, but judging by how stiff he looked, Hans didn’t seem to think he was completely relaxed.

The Mystery felt Hans’s gaze, and he forcibly shed his unease in favor of gesturing to the water. After briefly holding eye contact, Hans made for the water. The two of them sucked in some air before submerging themselves underwater. The salt stung Hans’s eyes, forcing him squint.

But he was used to physical pain, anyway.

It was a good handful of minutes before the vegetation began to change. The Mystery was the first to make for the surface, and Hans wasn’t too far behind him. The sky above was beginning to don its orange garbs, a few clouds scattered about. Ancient-looking ships were stationed by the docks they had arrived at with peculiar sails and stemposts. But what stood out to them were the shields decorating the sides. . . .

“These are Viking ships,” Hans realized. “What could they be doing here?”

The Mystery shrugged. I have no idea.

“They must’ve been rebuilt, restored somehow.”

The Mystery shrugged again.

Curiosity beckoning them, the duo climbed out of the water and squeezed their clothes dry. Everything about the area screamed “rugged,” and it seemed . . . ancient. The wooden walkway built into the rock continued from the docks and all the way up until it reached the top, where something that looked like a large doorway could barely be seen. The Mystery was sure he had never been here before, but something was telling him he had. And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

“We’ll have to explain how we came here,” Hans pointed out.

The Mystery pointed to himself and then his head.

“You have an idea.”

The Mystery pointed to the sky and rested his hands against his head as if he was sleeping.

“You want to wait until night.”

A nod.

“If we’re caught we’ll be seen as intruders. I’m sure you don’t want to be seen as a criminal here also.”

There was a moment of silence before the Mystery pointed to the water.

“That’s your solution?”

The Mystery hesitated before nodding, and Hans glanced to the top of the walkway.

To the people here it would seem as though they had appeared out of nowhere. They had no ship, and he was sure both of them could agree that saying they came out of the water from a magical realm would sound ludicrous. And although Hans was curious about where they had ended up and why the people had seemingly remade Viking ships, he wanted to avoid problems. And he was sure the Mystery would agree.

“We’ll turn back,” Hans finally said.

“Hey!”

The duo looked up to see some sort of oversized flying blue lizard with plenty of spikes on its tail. And someone was riding it.

Within a heartbeat the Mystery jumped back into the water, and Hans was quick to follow.

The rider hummed in thought, eyeing the docks. Who were those two?

Meanwhile underwater, the Mystery was swimming as fast as he could. He’d never sensed that person—girl—before. Her presence was both feisty and confident, but it held a sort of understanding to it. Either way, he had been seen.

Correction—they had been seen.

Not going back there again, the Mystery thought. And what was she riding, anyway?

Hans had never seen a creature like that before, not even in books. And judging by the ships, its rider could’ve been a Viking, which would mean that the Mystery and he had gone back to the time of Vikings.

Who apparently rode giant winged creatures.

Hans shook his head. No. Impossible. That was the kind of stuff found in fiction. He’d have to settle on the theory that the citizens were not Vikings and had remade those ships. And that they rode strange beasts.

The vegetation changed, and it was a few moments before the duo broke the surface. And there they were, back at the shore they had found.

After swimming to it, they once again squeezed the water out of their clothes.

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to see to the others paths,” Hans quipped.

The thief's reply was obviously going to be a coin flip. The Mystery had been here for years, yet he hardly ventured out to these other pathways. Either it was because he didn’t care to or he was scared. He doubted it was because of fear, but then again the Mystery had said he was afraid of getting captured. But weren’t all criminals like that?

The Mystery looked to the ground in thought before leading the way, going against his better judgment of staying put. He once again felt that redhead’s eyes on him, and footsteps jogging after him brought his attention to the prince catching up to him.

Maybe this won’t be completely terrible, the Mystery thought.

_________

(Prologue) (Next chapter) (Previous chapter)

#Cameos. #Cameos everywhere. #Frozen #Questions are welcomed! #Anna #Elsa #Hans #Hans Westergaard #The Mystery #Frozen OCs #Quirin is mentioned. #A certain blonde Nadder rider makes a cameo. #Frozen--Book 1--Chances

[bae-leth]

This is definitely not how things are gonna turn out but I’m kind of a sucker for doomed timeline AUs and my Blue Lions bias is calling to me after E3, so I hope you enjoy! I am so so SO sorry it’s soooo long, I got carried away. But yeah, hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~

Ingrid, soft-spoken and unwavering, was the first of them to fall.

Dimitri knew he should’ve never sent her on a mission so far away, practically skirting the volatile border between Faerghus and Adrestia. It didn’t matter that it was a simple escort mission, that Ingrid had been on more than handful of them before, that she’d travelled even farther than that for some missions. At the very least, he shouldn’t have sent her alone.

“Milord, you can’t spare any of the others with how tense things are right now. I’m capable.”

“Can’t you wait for another mission? I’ve been receiving troubling reports about the border.”

“My family doesn’t have the luxury of waiting anymore, milord. I…We need the money.”

The money. A noble house near ruin, desperately in need of money to the point that Ingrid would repeatedly throw herself into dangerous situations. He understood why she was so desperate, having heard the rumors of an earlier incident with the Black Eagles’ Dorothea Arnold.

But he should have refused. Then he wouldn’t have to be in his room, dawn quickly approaching, with the letter he needs to send to Ingrid’s family to inform them of their daughter’s death not done.

A powerful Bolganone spell, burning her Pegasus to nothing and leaving barely anything of Ingrid to find. Adrestia’s known for their mages the messenger who delivered the news stated, not even bothering to wait for Dimitri to stop shaking, to overpower the need to throw up, to make his comment.

He snapped at the man, sending him off with an uncharacteristic glare. He had informed the Empire well in advance that Ingrid would be in the area. Edelgard had responded promptly. Adrestia wouldn’t threaten to break years of peace, uneasy as it may be at times. No, they wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

But Ingrid was still dead, her body laying in the morgue, waiting to go home. She would’ve been devastated to hear of the fate of her dear Pegasus. Devastated to know there was no body to bury with her, as she had once mentioned offhandedly back in their school days.

The letter still wasn’t started when a maid came to inform him that breakfast was ready.

~~~~~~~~~

Ashe, eager to please and wearing his heart on his sleeve, never truly recovered from his adoptive father’s death.

Dimitri was an idiot to ever think otherwise, to not pay closer attention. After all, Ashe was a master of hiding his grief and frustration, a trick of the trade from a childhood spent in the slums. But Ashe had become more open after Sir Ronato took him in, gave him a home, an education, a family. The old lord had become everything to Ashe, his world. His idolization of the man was no secret to anyone.

Of course, it would stand to reason that Sir Ronato’s death would cause the young boy to lapse into old habits. But Dimitri didn’t see it, didn’t search for it. But he was worried, particularly due to reports of more hostile remnants of Sir Ronato’s rebellion feeling furious at Ashe for “betraying” Sir Ronato, for biting the hand that fed him. This is what happens when you show pity for street rats, they said. It was a dangerous situation. And so, after graduation, he invited Ashe to spend some time at the castle, under the guise of training with the famous knights of Faerghus.

“Heh, you’re such a worrywart, Your Highness. I’m alright on my own! Besides I’ve got…Gaspard Castle to look after now.”

“Are you truly fine, Ashe?”

“…Yes, I am…But fine, if it’ll ease your mind, I’ll stay at the castle for a little while.”

A week later, Dimitri messed up. He let Ashe stay in the room when updated reports of the remaining members of Sir Ronato’s rebellion came in, about how they seemed to be lingering around Gaspard Castle. He underestimated Ashe’s abilities to sneak out of the castle, despite the number of guards stationed all over, despite the extra guards he assigned outside Ashe’s room on the off chance something would happen.

Gaspard Castle was eerily quiet once he and Dedue reached it, the pair having raced ahead of the rest of the soldiers. Yet there were telltale signs of fighting all over. Cracked windows, dislodged stones, cuts deep in the door…blood…so much blood…

Dedue was the one to speak to the remaining soldiers once they caught up. Leaving Dimitri in the room that could belong to none but Ashe. Staring at the still, bruised, and bloody figure of the young boy curled up in bed, looking for all the world asleep.

They never find enough evidence to charge anyone, no matter how much Dimitri searches.

~~~~~~~~~

Sylvain, friendly and passionate, disappears without a trace.

It’s terrifying how similar it is to a case from their days in the academy, which also happened to involve a member of the Gautier family, Sylvain’s disinherited older brother if he remembered correctly. Despite it occurring with Faerghus, the Church dispatched the Black Eagles to take care of the matter. Without giving him much information, even though it’s his homeland they’re in, Church orders or not. Not even Sylvain received the full story. All they were told was a mysterious beast appeared and that the Adrestian students had taken care of it. Not even a day later, Sylvain received word his brother had vanished, although he should have been at the castle where the beast was, the castle being all his brother had left to his name after being born with a crest.

Dimitri tried to speak with Edelgard, or even Professor Byleth who oversaw the Black Eagles, but he never got more information. Not even his attempts to get an audience with Lady Rhea made any progress…It was suspicious…

But he trusted Edelgard, truly he did. They may have different ideals in many categories, but Edelgard wouldn’t…couldn’t…

Without any more information, nothing could be done. As far as the records knew, Sylvain’s brother went missing and was presumed killed during the beast’s attack. Sylvain was frustrated but begrudgingly accepted the flimsy story…And then, just a few weeks earlier, Sylvain had said something strange.

“Milord, do you believe in the crests? That they’re a treasure and something we should hold with pride?”

“Sylvain? Where is this coming from? …Are you feeling alright? You’ve been looking sickly for a while now.”

“…I didn’t run off…No matter what anyone says, I didn’t run…And neither did my brother…”

Sylvain left soon after that, practically in a trance, never giving Dimitri a chance to ask him to explain. But the pieces started to fall into place once he received the news of another mysterious beast attacking near Gautier territory. Which was once again dealt with by the Adrestians, on the Church’s orders, without so much as informing Dimitri of the situation until it was already “taken care of”. And a few days later came the news that Sylvain Jose Gautier was missing…He had always known that no matter how high one was ranked, all followed the Church…And yet…And yet…Sylvain…

Dimitri didn’t sleep that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. If Dedue noticed how dark the bags under his eyes were getting, he never said so aloud. Dedue just left various types of tea and herbal remedies by his table each night. Felix wasn’t nearly as considerate, telling him constantly to his face that he “looked like shit”. But his grip was unusually gentle when he grabbed Dimitri’s arm and dragged him to his room after Dimitri nearly collapses during a light sparring session.

He stopped responding to Edelgard’s letters.

~~~~~~~

Annette, clumsy but the hardest worker you could meet, died a month later, and Dimitri had no one to blame but himself.

Medicinal teas didn’t work. No known potions worked. Spells were 50/50, but overusing magic like that could have adverse effects on his body in the long run. But sleep was elusive. Once in a while it’d come, and he would get four, five, even six hours of much needed rest. But then the cycle would start again. One day, two days, three days, four…If this kept up, he wouldn’t be able to finish his work…

He had been having tea with Annette, listening to the young girl’s words about her latest studies in magic, about how she’d been taking a try at making potions, but the results constantly blew up in her face, sometimes to somewhat dangerous extents. Potion making was a very tricky art, she had said, explaining that the most careful person and the clumsiest still run the same risks. Suddenly, his vision went black. What seemed like mere seconds later, he opened his eyes, noticing that he was slumped over the small table, the teapot and cups shattered on the ground, and Annette hovering over him, teary eyed and looking ready to bolt for help. Dimitri quickly, but unsteadily, set himself to rights, trying to calm Annette’s concerns, assure her that he just hadn’t been sleeping right.

Annette didn’t believe his claims that a sudden blackout could occur after missing one night of sleep. She puffed out her cheeks and constantly darted in front of him whenever he tried to escape the room. Eventually, he gave up and told her the whole story, of his terrible insomnia that had started with Sylvain and refused to bow to any treatment.

“So, nothing has been working, huh Prince Dimitri? Well, maybe no one’s made the right potion for you yet!”

“Right potion…Right…The right potion…Forgive me, Annette, I swear I’m not normally like this- “

“No, no, say no more! Please hang in there a little longer! I’ll double my efforts, just for you! Oh, but I better be quick about it, you really don’t look good at all…”

He should’ve understood her words. If it had been before, before things started going to hell, before his friends started dropping one after the other, he would’ve noticed, he’s sure of it. But the tea with Annette came after five nights without sleep. It was nothing but a miracle that he had been able to make passable conversation with the young girl until he passed out. And so, he sent her off without a word, without remembering the stories she had been telling him just minutes earlier.

Damn him. Damn him for actually being shocked when he got the noticeably tear stained letter from Mercedes a week later, telling her that Annette had been mortally wounded during an accident while making potions. Damn him for having the gall to go to Annette, dear little Annette, to say his goodbyes because nothing could be done, as if he had any right. Damn him for running like a coward when Annette spoke her last words, apologizing for not getting the potion right.

Damn him, damn him, damn him…

That night, when Dedue came to Dimitri’s room with a new blend of tea that would hopefully bring the prince some rest, a desperately made concoction of every plant in his garden that produces drowsiness, he opened the door to find the young prince of Faerghus crumpled in his bed, muffling sobs into his arms. Dimitri met Dedue’s shock gaze with tear filled eyes, and yet he couldn’t compose himself.

He couldn’t…How could he take this anymore? Ingrid…Ashe…Sylvain…Annette…

Dedue sat beside Dimitri for the rest of the night, forgoing all propriety for the sake of gently running his fingers through Dimitri’s hair, trying to bring some peace.

~~~~~~~~~

Mercedes, the sweetest girl and finest surrogate sister anyone could find, fell in battle and Dimitri, worthless prince he is, wasn’t aware of any of it.

Brigands…? Enemy soldiers…? Ah, no, that’s right, it was another group of rebels this time around. Dimitri shouldn’t have been on the battlefield. He hadn’t slept in three days. He couldn’t eat anything the previous night, or that morning either. His advisors had pleaded with him. Dedue had bowed on his hands and knees, begging over and over for him to rest. Felix had tried locking him in his room, only to be thwarted when Dimitri threatened and then actually attempted to escape through the window, despite the death-defying fall awaiting him should he slip. But no, stupid, stupid, stupid. He had to come. On his honor as Faerghus’ prince, as the one his people counted on to protect them. The one who had to protect others…Even if he’s nothing but a failure…

Mercedes hadn’t said anything to him, even though they were to set out to the battle soon. He couldn’t blame her. She knew why Annette died, he told her as much after the funeral. She despised him, a weak-willed coward who claimed to be a reliable leader. Leader of what though? Dedue, Felix, and Mercedes were all that was left. But he was still the prince, he had to lead the soldiers, lead his kingdom. But…

Mercedes had turned to him at that moment. Dimitri could only watch dumbly as she gently cupped his face in her warm hands, a soft, broken smile on her face.

“Will you push yourself forever, Prince Dimitri? Will you work and fight until you break? Is this truly what you should be doing?”

“They need me…You all need me…I won’t…can’t…I need this, Mercedes. If I lose this too, then…”

“No, you don’t need this. But you won’t listen anymore…Very well, rely on us. Rely on me. You will return home alive, my prince.”

He wouldn’t listen anymore. Yes, that was true. If he had listened for once, if he had thought things through…The battle was fierce. And he hadn’t realized how much he relied on Ingrid’s distractions, Ashe’s sharp eye, Annette’s magical prowess, and Sylvain’s tenacity…or how lacking their team was without them. Maybe that was why that arrow flew true, jamming right into his eye without any warning.

As he fell to the ground, screaming as he covered his face, blood seeping through his fingers, exhaustion seemingly intensifying everything to unbearable levels, part of him couldn’t help but think about the archer who got him. What skilled archery, what incredible aim. So much like Claude…Too much like-

No, no, no, no, no…They weren’t anywhere near Leicester. Claude wasn’t in Faerghus, he’d know. He wouldn’t risk war, he was too clever for that, Dimitri knew that! Just like he knew with Adrestia, like with Edelgard. He’d know, he’d know…He’d know! He would! They wouldn’t…They…wouldn’t…?

Selfish fool he is, too lost in himself, he never realized there was a woman ferociously protecting him from incoming soldiers until back up could reach them. He didn’t notice when she fell, one arrow to many, one sword too many…He wakes up a day later in the medical wing. He can’t see out of one of his eyes. Even in his dazed state, he knows it’s gone…He should be angrier about that, shouldn’t he…?

Felix, despite Dedue warning him against it from the bed he is confined to, tells him Mercedes is dead. He never was the type to mince words, huh?

Dimitri doesn’t know what the others see in that moment. All he knows is that Felix lunges at him, Dedue trying to scramble from his bed, several healers rushing towards him, staffs raised.

He doesn’t wake up again until two weeks have passed.

~~~~~~~

Dedue. Ever gentle and ever loyal. They were…supposed to visit Daska together…

Dimitri hadn’t adjusted to his new eyepatch yet. As he had suspected, the eye couldn’t be saved. He would have to learn how to battle with one eye, relearn how to handle everything, relearn how to judge distances, both in battle and in life. And yet he wasn’t trying. There he was, lazily lying on his bed for the third week in a row. The doctors had said that, other than the eye and severe exhaustion, he was alright. But he confined himself to his room since that stupid battle. Unopened letters from Claude were piling up on his table. He didn’t answer anymore, but Claude was refusing to back down. At least Edelgard had stopped trying months ago. If either of them ever came to visit him personally…He truly hoped it wouldn’t happen…

Dedue had tried to get him to eat more, but he only ate a few mouthfuls of most meals before the nausea overwhelmed him, making him push the plates away and crawl back under the covers of his bed. Dedue had tried to cut Dimitri’s hair, noticing that it had been steadily growing over his weeks of confinement. But Dimitri had slapped the scissors out of Dedue’s hands, so the matter was left alone for now. Instead Dedue increased his efforts to get food into Dimitri, to find ways to help him sleep, to take care of his eye so that the wound would heal properly, to make him wash himself because even that much had become exhausting to the prince. It was pathetic how Dimitri was forcing his dear friend and retainer to become his personal caretaker.

Felix, who had always been a constant visitor over the years, was now a daily presence at the castle. Surprisingly, he never tried to drag him down to the training grounds. Instead, he’d push him over and lay down next to him on the bed, not saying a thing no matter what Dimitri did. Not when Dimitri stubbornly ignored him, not when Dimitri growled at him to leave, not when he screamed so loudly and fiercely that the soldiers would run in with weapons drawn, not when he actually got into a fist fight with the other man…Not even when he was too tired to do anything but press his face against Felix’s shoulder and cry…

The nobles of Faerghus were growing immensely dissatisfied with their weak-willed prince. Some of the more ambitious, and black hearted, had resorted to assassination attempts. Not that Dimitri was ever aware, to lost in himself and his own pity to pay attention. But Dedue…Always protective, always on guard…Always ready to give everything for Dimitri, even though he never deserved someone so incredible.

“Your Highness, please stop saying those things about yourself. I follow you because I have the utmost faith in you. Nothing has changed that.”

“…There’s only three of us left, Dedue…Go home to Daska…Please…Leave me.”

“That is one order I can never follow, Your Highness.”

And yet he did follow that order in the end. Dimitri’s latest assassination attempt came in the form of a band of highly trained assassins, who snuck into the castle late at night, through one of the few blind spots the castle guard had. When Dimitri, sleepless as ever, spotted the group, he laid quiet and still. His peace would finally come to him…Finally…Finally…

But Dedue, ever vigilant, had figured it out. Had burst into the room and fought off every one of them, even as they all stabbed wildly. One of them got a lucky shot, a blade slicing at the right spot on his neck. Dedue collapsed gracelessly, motionless in seconds. The sole survivor of the assassin group had turned to Dimitri to quickly finish the job.

A minute later, guards alerted to the sound of chaos entered Dimitri’s room to a grisly sight. Dedue, the prince’s retainer, lying in a pool of blood. Bodies of assassins scattered around the room among broken furniture. And Dimitri himself, screaming wildly, stabbing the broken leg of a table into the unmoving body of an assassin over and over and over…

It was only Felix’s diligence that kept Dimitri from following Dedue to the grave in the weeks to follow.

~~~~~~~

Felix…Combative and rude…Always ready to challenge him, to yell at him…Always by his side, for years and years…His most cherished childhood friend…

The bastard deserved it.

Felix effectively moved into the castle following Dedue’s death. Which suited Dimitri just fine. The prince started training again and he could use a skilled sparring partner like Felix. He would never be caught off guard again. He wouldn’t let another be forced to make up for his uselessness again. He. Would. Protect. Others.

But no, Felix suddenly decided that sparring was too good for him. As if that didn’t make up so much of their friendship. From the time they were young, pretending sticks were swords and boulders were fortresses. Felix now decided that talking was all he wanted. Talking about the others, about Dimitri, about the unrest among the Faerghus nobility, about the unanswered messages from Edelgard, Claude, and even Professor Byleth.

He didn’t want to talk. He needed to train! He had become used to the eyepatch at long last.

He needed to sleep, to eat, Felix would respond. To cut that mop of hair of his.

That would come later. He needed to become stronger.

Physically, he was plenty strong, Felix said. Mentally though…Emotionally…

Since when did that matter though? It’s strength on the battlefield that brings in results in the end. Shouldn’t Felix understand that? Dimitri thought they were supposed to be best friends.

But Felix said they were best friends, and that’s precisely why he was tired of Dimitri’s crap. The Dimitri of now, Felix said, was on the verge of shattering, of breaking beyond repair. Felix wanted to do all he could to stop that. Sparring, as much as he loved it, wouldn’t do anything for Dimitri. Not if his heart and mind weren’t there.

Dimitri scoffed and left him at that moment. How dare that asshole…Since when was Felix so sentimental? Did he think he was better than Dimitri? Is that why he was trying to act all mature now? Why doesn’t he leave that kind of garbage to someone like Dedue-?

…He wondered how much longer things would last…

A week later, he learned of a nasty skirmish between the kingdom’s soldiers and some mages. Adrestian mages…? And there were some skilled archers there too. From…Leicester…perhaps…? Whatever, they were there, and his soldiers needed help. But Dimitri was running on nothing. On two hours of sleep in a week and five meals in just as much time. And after…that battle…he wouldn’t, couldn’t go to battle like he is again. But they needed support, so he ordered more soldiers on their way. But they could use more skilled help.

Felix said he’d go. Dimitri snapped.

“They need help. They need leadership, and you’re in no state to go there, so I’m the next best thing. It’s an emergency, so quit your griping, you damn boar!”

“You could never lead to save your damn life! …Please, please, please…I’ll talk, is that what you want? Whatever you want, whenever you want. I’ll stop training, I’ll talk, I’ll eat, sleep, I’ll…I swear, I’ll-”

“Breathe, Dimitri…Okay, fine…Let’s go to your room then…”

Damn bastard…He always turned into a filthy liar whenever he was stubborn about something. The second they entered the room, a splitting pain hit the back of his head and he passed out. He woke hours later in the medical wing, the doctors explaining he’d taken a blow to the head but that he’d recover just fine.

…Faerghus won the battle…He was taken to the field, which had been in chaos while he was out cold. Bodies of his land’s soldiers and the enemy lay everywhere.

…Felix had been a demon on the battlefield. His skills were what saved the day, grateful soldier after grateful soldier told Dimitri. But that damn man…magic was always his weakness…Being grazed by a Thoron spell could paralyze most people…Being struck dead-on by one though…

The soldiers walked away as Dimitri stared at Felix’s burned, still body…Surrounded by fallen soldiers, his prized sword broken in two beside him.

Nearby soldiers flinched and turned in shock when Dimitri let out a practically primal yell and threw himself at Felix’s body, punching it over and over again. The men scrambled to him and grabbed the wild prince, tearing him away, struggling as the man desperately reached out at Felix, fingers clawing in the direction of the fallen man. They didn’t understand…Wasn’t Felix their prince’s childhood friend? He was a savior. How could the prince treat a fallen friend’s body like this?

But Dimitri no longer cared. Animalistic screams tore out of his throat, tears cascaded down his face. Damn Felix! Damn that lying ass! Damn him, damn him, damn him!

He would never forgive him.

~~~~~~~

“We are the future of Faerghus, the knights who will lead the kingdom.”

No one left…No one but him…Worthless, useless him…

“I…I may be your prince, but please remember I’m also your friend. You can speak to me about whatever you wish!”

He should’ve taken a page from Edelgard’s book, remained aloof and aware. Or perhaps be more like Claude, always on guard, hiding behind a pleasant smile. He wouldn’t be suffering like this then…

“Remember to get along with the students from Adrestia and Leicester. It’s important that we maintain strong bonds between our lands, so war will never curse us again.”

The reports were coming in. The Adrestian Empire…The Leicester Alliance…There was something brewing under the surface…And the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus itself…The nobility was furious, the commoners uneasy…Fragile peace would shatter soon. Fodlan was going to die.

“I swear I will do my utmost to lead Faerghus. And I will be relying on you all as well. We are a team; it is our honor to work together for the sake of those who needs us!”

Who was left for him to lead…? Who still needed him now…?

“It is the duty of those in power to protect the weak, the ones who don’t have the strength to fight for themselves!”

To protect…the weak…Yes, the weak. The weak who were constantly being abused by the strong. By Adrestia’s military might…By Leicester’s unparalleled spy network…By Faerghus’ selfish nobles, who would throw the innocent to the wolves for their own needs…

“The Blue Lions are honor bound to defend the innocent, for Fodlan’s future.”

For…the ones who can’t fight back…Who can no longer fight back, no matter how much he dreams of it. No matter how often the wonderful, painful memories plague his mind.

“We must do whatever we can! But remember, we are knights. We won’t shame our homeland by acting without reason, without chivalry.”

Even if he had to raze Adrestia and Leicester to the ground…Even if he had to bring ruin to Faerghus itself…

“We can help Fodlan grow stronger and more united.”

Fodlan could rebuild…They must start again, from zero.

“I’m depending on you all. The eight of us are strong together. There’s nothing we can’t accomplish.”

…Felix, Dedue, Ingrid, Mercedes, Ashe, Sylvain, Annette…

“We’re counting on you, Leader!”

And he would never fail them again.

#submission #OOOHHHHH MY GOD ANON WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS IS TOO LONG??? THIS IS LITERALLY THE BEST THING THAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME TODAY #IM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #dimitri #blue lions #NO ID ONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS??? #DIMITRI'S MENTAL DETERIORATION IS SO NUANCED AND BELIEVABLE IM IN TEARS #EVERYONE IS SO IN CHARACTER AND THEIR DESCRIPTIONS MADE ME WANT TO SOB #EVERYONE BELIEVING IN DIMITRI UNTIL THE VERY END IS FUCKING ME UP #DIMITRI SLOWLY NOT BOTHERING TO CARE ANYMORE IS ALSO FUCKING ME UP #IM JUST #IM JUST SO HAPPY YOU SENT THIS #I IMPLORE YOU TO PUT THIS ON AO3 OR SOMETHING SO I CAN YELL THERE TOO #JUST SO MUCH TALENT #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #fave

[bazzledazzled]

Lost With You

Summary: Nymphs are strange and interesting creatures. They usually don’t talk to humans, but most find them quite pleasant to be around. Well, except when they’re cursing your vampire roommate with a rare disease that makes him cough up flower petals. 

Word Count: about 7k

Warnings: Swearing, blood mention, self deprecation (cause Baz)

read it on ao3

SIMON

“Aleister Crowley I’m living a charmed life. Dying in the Wavering Wood with none other than an imbecile of a Chosen One.”

“Hey!” I say, whirling around on Baz, my sword waving dangerously. Baz doesn’t even seem the slightest bit unnerved, the bloody prick.

The last thing I wanted to do on a Wednesday night was trample through the Wavering Wood with my sworn enemy. I should be in bed. I should be sleeping and dreaming about scones and worrying about the test I have tomorrow. I shouldn’t be going at it with Baz because he got us lost.

“What? It’s extremely poetic, don’t you think, Snow? You finally delivering the final blow by tripping over your own two feet but tragically killing yourself in the process. Shakespeare would be proud of this fine mess that you’ve made.” I roll my eyes, slashing away some more trees to clear a path.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Baz. You’re the one who got us lost.” Baz scoffs.

“No I didn’t. You’re the one who tackled me and did some freaky magic thing.”

“Because you were plotting something! I had to stop you.”

“I wasn’t plotting anything!” I flash him a suspicious glare.

“Does anything look familiar? There has to be some way for us to get out of here. Maybe a spell?” Baz rolls his eyes in that condescending way that he does, taking out his wand.

“Leave a trail of breadcrumbs!” His words fall strong and sure, full of confidence. His magic shimmers around us, hot like fire. The smell makes me think he set the forest on fire, but the spell simply lands on the ground, illuminating a path in a hazy golden glow. Baz turns to me with a satisfied smile and I’m so happy that I could hug him. Except I don’t. I grumble and follow the path.

As soon as I step on the path, it crumbles away and the trees actually move to block the way out. Baz furrows his brow, taking a step forward so he’s next to me.

“That… shouldn’t happen.”

“Baz… what does that mean?”

“Hold on let me try again.” He furrows his brow, this time his face seeming more concentrated.

“Leave a trail of breadcrumbs!” He shouts. Another path illuminates a little ways over. We both scramble for it, but as soon as we get there, the path vanished and trees block our exit. Baz groans, lifting his wand up again.

“I wouldn’t waste the magic, blood-sucker.” Both our eyes widen as we whirl around to see who it is. I draw my sword up, letting my magic sizzle just beneath my skin, subconsciously pushing Baz behind me.

A woman steps out of the trees. She has earthy greenish-brown skin and hair that looks like moss braided back and adorned with flowers. She’s wearing a puffy little flower skirt that almost made her look like a little kid, but her face made me squirm as it settled on us, full of a kind of malice that seemed out of place.

“Nymph,” Baz breathes, his grey eyes trained on her.

“How do we get out of here?” I say, trying to stand tall and sound confident. Nymphs always put me on edge for some reason. Some of them are fine and actually really friendly (at least according to Agatha). But others… they always seem to have bad intentions, and this one is no different.

She leans against a tree, as if debating this, a playful grin on her face.

“You don’t.”

“We don’t?” Baz sputters, sending a vicious glare her way. The nymph smiles. Her teeth are wickedly sharp and I start to wonder if nymphs eat humans.

“The Wood doesn’t seem to want you to leave,” she says, cocking an eyebrow. Baz’s expression looks pained.

“Why wouldn’t it want us to leave?” She makes a tsk sound, shaking her head.

“Because the Chosen One needs to chose a path.”

“Excuse me?” I say, bewildered. In a flash, the nymph is in front of me, eyes wide.

“Tell me, Chosen One, have you decided your path?” I gulp.

“What path?” She laughs and I feel like I’m missing out on some sort of joke.

“You see, Chosen, this is where your tree of life branches off. You’re at a crossroads, and the wood wants you to make a decision. It’s tired of seeing your lovers squabble.”

“Excuse me?” The nymph wanders away and I hope that she’s just going to leave us alone. She walks across the clearing in the wood, bending over by a log covered in moss. She picks something up, twirling it in her hands and looking it over before nodding curtly to herself. She turns back to us, holding a bright blue flower in her delicate fingers.

“There are two options for you, Chosen. Chose one, and you’ll both make it out of here. Chose the other, and he’ll be dead before you even reach the White Chapel,” she says, turning to Baz. His face pales and I get this ache in my chest that something is about to go very, very wrong. I shout out, trying to stop the nymph, but she’s already blown on the flower. The petals fall away like dandelion fluff, glowing as they float their way over to Baz. Baz sucks in a breath, his grey eyes wide. Then, he’s on the ground in a coughing fit. I rush over to him, placing a hand on his back. I look up for the nymph to yell at her or curse her, but she’s gone with a gust of wind.

I turn to Baz, and my gut wrenches. Oh no.

BAZ

That bloody nymph could burn in Hell and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Crowley, I’d set the fire. Because now Simon is holding on to me, standing so close that I could kiss him (or bite him), and I can’t even take a moment to appreciate how warm he makes my chest feel or how plain of a blue his eyes are, because my chest hurts.

It feels like someone put knives in my lungs and tied them together with a coarse rope that’s tickling the back of my throat. And I keep coughing and hacking, trying to get the feeling to go away, but it doesn’t.

“Baz?” Simon’s voice sounds small. And scared. Crowley, when’s the last time I’ve seen him scared. I should be flattered, but the stabbing feeling presses in tighter and I feel like I’ll never breathe again.

“Jesus Christ Baz come on uhh—“ Snow is far from prepared for emergency situations. I grunt, trying to sit upright and fighting the urge to go back into a coughing fit.

“C’mon Snow.” My voice is hoarse. “Let’s keep moving.”

I manage to stand and then we’re back to wandering around, Simon slashing away tree branches. Except he keeps looking at me like I’m a kicked puppy. The idiot is so caught up with staring at me that he trips on a tree root. I catch him.

“Crowley Snow can you go one second without thinking about my devilishly good looks and walk like an actually human being rather than the blubbering idiot you are?” Simon’s face gets red and angry, but before I can take a moment to fully appreciate it, I’m coughing again. After the fit ends, I pull my hand away from my face. It comes back bright red.

“Baz what is it?” I go to wipe my hands on my pants, but Simon Snow has to bloody catch my hand because he’s impulsive and doesn’t give a damn about my feelings.

“Baz!” He says, dropping my hand so quickly I almost wonder if I accidentally set fires in his hands.

“What?” I sneer. There’s that concerned puppy face again. Crowley I hate it, but I also want him to keep doing it. I really would do anything for Snow’s attention.

“Are you ok?”

“Just peachy Snow, how about you?” There’s no hiding the sarcasm that drips into my voice.

“Baz your hand is bloody.”

“You’re point is?”

“That nymph hurt you!”

“Brilliant observation Snow. We can always count on you to point out the obvious.” Simon groans, running his hands through his hair.

“Jesus Christ Baz can you just not?”

“Not—“ But I’m cut off by a series of hacking. I lean against a tree for support, closing my eyes. This is how I die, in the woods, all alone, with no one but Snow.

Then, it comes out. It passes through my lips, fluttering up into the air like a butterfly and falling down between the two of us. We bend down, looking at the vibrant flower petal speckled with blood.

Well shit.

BAZ- 1 WEEK EARLIER

I’m 17 years old and we’re learning about bloody fairy tales. Ms. Posibeif is droning on and on at the front of the classroom about true loves kiss and sleeping princesses and I want to barf.

I’m fully aware of how powerful fairy tales can be for spell work. Spells from stories like Hansel and Gretel can be powerful location spells. But I don’t really see the point in learning about the magical diseases of fairy tales and what to do if we just so happen to come across it in our own lifetime. Which is idiotic because there hasn’t been a reported case of these illnesses in centuries.

But still, I listen intently and take notes as Ms. Posibeif tells us about the rarest magical disease of all. She holds a big book in front of her, her small glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose, letting the story speak for itself as she tells it.

“Once upon a time there was a gorgeous princess. She had long curly hair that she braided back elegantly, adorning it with flowers. She had rosy cheeks and a smile that could make any prince swoon. She was the loveliest maiden of all, and had a line of suitors that followed her every move.

“The princess, however, did not have an interest in any of these suitors. She found herself more concerned with the palace guard, who slaved away day and night at her door, protecting her from harm.

“The princess was wholeheartedly enamored by the knight, her beautiful knight in shining armor who’s lips tilted up the faintest bit when the princess told her a joke, a wicked grin on her face.

“Then, one night, the princess convinced the guard to forget her duties for just a single night. She invited her to sit next to her and talk to her and laugh with her. The knight begrudgingly obliged, telling the princess over and over that she ought to get back into her position, but her smile told the princess everything she needed to know. The knight wouldn’t leave her side. At least not now.

“The night grew darker and colder. The princess leaned back on the knight, humming softly to herself as the knight braided her curls. Both were in their own bubbles of serenity, but they were soon shattered as the oak door to the princesses bedroom flew open.

“Immediately, the knight jumped in front of the princess, raising a sword to the beast in front of her. It was a woman, with green skin and moss for hair. She was completely out of place in the castle, but both girls immediately recognized the nymph.

“The nymphs eyes searched the room, settling on the princess, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“‘My lady, you sure seemed to have wormed your way into a problem, haven’t you?’ In an instant, the nymph was in front of the princess, pulling her away from the knight, who shouted out.

“‘Let me go,’ the princess demanded, a low growl starting in her throat. The nymph tsked.

“‘You should know better than to play around with feelings you don’t understand, princess.’

“‘Let go of her,’ the knight shouts, finding her voice. And the nymph listens. She steps away from the princess, making her way towards the door with her head held high. Just before she reaches the exit, however, she bends down and plucks something that’s growing in between the floorboards. She turns, holding a flower in between her fingers.

“‘Love is a dangerous game, princess. Let’s hope it doesn’t kill you by the end of the week.’ The nymph blew on the flower and the petals floated through the room, heading directly towards the princess. The princess sucks in a breath, and the petals enter her mouth, retreating into her lungs, where they begin to blossom.

“The knight goes to chase down the nymph, shouting out angrily, but the nymph is already gone. She throws her sword against the wall in anguish, upset with everything and everyone, including herself. How could she let her guard down?

“The nights terrors we’re far from over. The princess began to double over, coughing and coughing with no end in sight. Immediately, the knight ran to her side, her hands hovering over the princess's back. She didn’t know what to do, nor what was going on. Then, the princess started hacking up flower petals.”

It was at this point that I stopped taking this bloody class seriously. Sleep spells I could understand. Cursed apples and true love’s kiss seemed like a stretch, but coughing up flower petals? That was downright stupid and childish. If it wasn’t Ms. Posibeif teaching the class, I might’ve begun to question the teacher having any real authority at all. I huff, leaning back in my chair and watching as Ms. Posibeif continued the rest of the story, occasionally letting my eyes wander to Snow, who was chewing his pencil thoughtfully, completely raveled in the story.

“The princess spent three days in the infirmary, but she still didn’t get any better. The knight slaved away day and night, watching over the princess’s bed, a grimm expression on her face. Some people began to wonder if she was nothing more than a ghost. She hardly ate and was always the quietest person in the room. Every once in a while, she would stand by the princess’s bed, clutching her hand tightly as tears streaked down her cheeks. This was her fault, and she needed a way to fix it.

“By the third day, the knight was sick of waiting. She packed her things, holding her sword in a tight grip as she snuck out of the castle. She headed into the wood. She hacked at trees and trees and screamed over an over to the nymph. She screamed until her voice was hoarse and only then did she crumple on the ground and sob for her best friend, for the one person that felt like everything to her.

“‘You’ve caused lots of destruction in these woods, knight,’ a voice said. The knight recognized it immediately and she whirled around, holding her sword out in front of her. The nymph squints, studying the knights face.

“‘You are suffering,’ she observes. The knight barks out a harsh laugh.

“‘What did you do to my friend?’ The knight says through gritted teeth. The nymph walks around her slowly in an exaggerated fashion.

“‘Nothing she wasn’t doing to herself.’

“‘She’s dying.’

“‘I’m well aware.’

“‘Then tell me how to to fix it! You must have a remedy or-or something!’ The nymph shakes her head.

“‘Silly girl. You have the remedy.’ The knight is taken aback, her sword dipping the slightest bit.

“‘No I don’t.’ The nymph rolls her eyes.

“‘The princess is suffering. She has been for quite a bit.’

“‘Then fix her.’

“‘You really are thick, aren’t you?’ The knight growls. ‘The princess suffers from the painful heartbreak of unrequited love. The spell simply makes this love a tangible thing.’

“‘Who could she possibly love that doesn’t love her back? She’s the princess! Everyone’s mooning over her.’ The nymph purses her lips.

“‘Well…’

“‘Well what?’

“‘There is someone. Someone who’s never chased after her, but has always been the person closest to her heart.’ The knight furrowed her brow, trying to understand. She looks up at the nymph.

“‘You are the answer to the princess’s problems, knight.’ The knight furrows her brow.

“‘How can I help her?’ Her voice is full of sadness and underlying helplessness that makes the knight feel almost ashamed.

“‘You must show her that you love her.’”

The story goes on and on, talking about the knights internal conflict as she sorts through her feelings for the princess and how she ultimately confesses her undying love right as the princess is about to fade off into nothing. They kiss and get happily married and it’s cheesy and romantic and takes up the entire block. When the bell rings, I’m grateful as I bolt out of the class, forgetting about the story almost completely. Some people seem completely engrossed in the beautiful fairytale, but not me. There was no such thing as people returning unrequited love, so why should I even bother to let some story give me hope?

SIMON- Present

“Baz,” I say, reaching for him, then pulling my hand back. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what’s going on or how to fix it, but what the nymph said keeps thrumming in my ears. He’ll be dead before you reach the White Chapel.

“I’m fine Snow, keep walking.”

“Baz you’re not fine! You look like death.”

“Thanks Snow but that’s how I always look.” I growl.

“C’mon. I just want to get out of here.” Baz pushes himself up, trying to stand upright, but he immediately starts to sway, looking like he’s about to puke or go into another coughing fit. I jump forward, putting an arm around him and pulling him up. He groans, leaning against me and throwing an arm over my shoulder.

“You’re not fine, Baz. Can you just admit that?” Baz grits his teeth.

“Fine, Snow. I’m dying and it’s all your fault can we just get moving?” I huff, but start walking. It’s slow progress. I’m clumsy when I’m not carrying half of Baz’s weight and Baz can’t seem to go longer than ten minutes without having coughing up more flower petals. Each time he looks paler and I start to worry about how much blood he’s losing. That can’t be good for a vampire, right?

Then, Baz begins to shiver in my arms. I turn to him. His teeth are chattering and he looks visibly upset. I bite my lip before pulling away from him.

“Hey!” Baz says as he loses his balance for a second. I begin shrugging off my coat.

“What are you doing?” Baz says suspiciously. I huff, holding my coat out to him. Baz just raises an eyebrow.

“Just take it, you bloody git. You’re freezing.”

“Am not.”

“Baz,” I say, touching his arm. “You feel like a bloody ice cube.” Baz huffs, but takes my jacket anyways. It fits him pretty well and I try not to think about how good he would look in some of my other hoodies. I put my arm around his shoulders again, and we trudge on.

BAZ

I don’t know what game Snow is playing at, but just wearing his jacket makes the flowers in my lungs press painfully as they claw their way up my throat. It almost makes me want to take it off and burn it, but the jacket is warm and smells like Snow and I’ll be damned if I don’t take advantage of this opportunity.

I don’t know how long we’ve been walking. It could be hours or minutes or days. Time always seems to work differently in the Wavering Wood. I never really understood why, but right now it just seems to want to torture me.

Eventually Snow’s streak of not kicking and smashing stuff lets up and he kicks a tree.

“We’re never going to get out of here,” he says with a sour expression on his face.

“I hate to agree with you, Snow, but I believe you’re right.” He looks up at me, blinking with an odd expression on his face. Before I can come up with something snarky to say about it, I start hacking again, this time coughing up a flower. Snow’s at my side in an instant.

“Jesus Christ Baz, maybe you should sit down,” he says, pushing me to the ground. I push him back.

“I’m fine, Snow.”

“We’re taking a break,” he says, sitting across from me warily. I huff, rolling my eyes. Snow furrows his brows.

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“You have that look you get when you want to kill something.” Snow huffs, picking at the grass.

“I just… I don’t understand. What did the nymph do to you?” I stare at him for a moment. Surely he can’t be that dense. We learned about this a week ago.

“You don’t remember the fairytale Ms. Posibef told us? The one with the princesses?” Snow’s nostrils flare.

“They all have princesses, Baz.”

“The one with the princess who was in love with the knight,” I say, exasperated. Simon’s brows scrunch further and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. I can feel it too. His magic always puts off an anxious energy when he’s thinking.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Simon says. It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes again.

“What do you think? It’s the same spell obviously.” Snow’s eyes move up to meet mine for a minute and I feel my heart stutter in my chest. Curse his beautiful boring blue eyes. I want to kiss him.

“No it’s not,” he says.

“Of course it is!” I say, getting to my feet only to immediately get pulled back down as I start coughing.

“The coughing, the flower petals, the ominous nymph. It’s actually sad how on point this is.” Snow looks like I’ve just given him an impossible math problem and something doesn’t add up. I stare at him impatiently, waiting for his mouth to catch up to his thoughts.

“But that would mean you love someone. And it’s unrequited.” I scoff. I can’t help it.

“Brilliant observation, Snow.” Then the bloody cough comes back. Honestly, just let the bloody disease take me now it’s better than suffering through a conversation with Snow about feelings when I’m so obviously attracted to him and he has no idea. Crowley he’s thick but I would give him the entire universe because he is the universe. I want to hold his hand under the moonlight when flowers aren’t growing in my lungs and talk to him about mundane things and count his moles. I want to run my fingers through his coarse hair and kiss his nose softly and forget about the Families and the Mage and the Humdrum. I want soft nights with Simon Snow, where it’s just the two of us with a light breeze, our laughter mixing with the calming sounds of the forest.

Snow is looking at me odd and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“What, I’m not human enough to have an adolescent crush?” I say, thankfully maintaining every bit of my usual bite and snark. Snow’s nostrils flare in frustration and my stomach flutters as his blue eyes meet mine, full of intense and unreadable emotions.

“I just don’t understand how it’s unrequited,” Snow mumbles softly. I fix him with a stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Crowley Baz I don’t know! You’re— you! You’re smart and posh and every girl in Watford is practically mooning over you because you’re— well— fit! Who could you possibly have a crush on that wouldn’t… like you?” You, Snow. Always you.

“Maybe it’s not a girl, Snow.” It slips out before I even realize it. I stiffen, looking anywhere but him as my eyes focus on the ground. I don’t know what look he’s giving me, but his silence puts me on edge. Then…

“Oh. Then who’s the guy?”

SIMON

Baz is gay. I mean, obviously it makes sense in a way and it’s not really a big deal, but for some reason I feel like it is. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because Baz is finally starting to open up to me and trust me. I mean, this is the most I’ve ever heard him say about himself and his personal life. It feels noteworthy. It feels significant in a way that makes my heart pound and my stomach do somersaults, but I don’t think about that. Because I asked him who he likes, and he surprises me by sighing and surrendering.

“It’s a boy in our year. He’s absolutely the most idiotic person I have ever met but he does it in a way that’s somehow charming and adorable. He’s painfully clumsy and the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.” Baz has this soft look on his face that makes my heart do more weird things. Maybe I have a health condition. I should ask Penny about it if we ever get out of here.

“Hmm…”

“What?” Baz snaps, his walls going back up almost immediately. I want to tear them down brick by brick.

“I dunno. I just always assumed your type would be someone posh and rich like you.” And then… Baz laughs. At first I wonder if he’s having another coughing fit because I’ve never heard him make that sound before, but then I realize that this is Baz’s laugh. It’s so unlike him. It’s kind of messy and his nose scrunches up and when his mouth opens I can see a glint of his fangs. His grey eyes shine and it’s a whole scene. Everything about it is imperfect in a way that Baz isn’t, but that somehow just makes it even more perfect. I want him to laugh more.

“Crowley, Snow, you just think I’m shallow.” I snort.

“Well yeah, you kind of are. I couldn’t imagine you ever falling for someone who isn’t put together and bloody handsome.” Baz rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t leave his face. I sigh, a grin spreading across mine as I stare at his smile, specifically his lips. Baz is… I don’t know. But I want him to keep talking like this. I want him to keep talking with that soft smile on his face about clumsy boys that I wish were me.

Wait…..

BAZ

Simon stands up suddenly as if he’s just been shocked. His magic is almost immediately floating around us and I wonder if somethings come to attack us as I get to my feet as well. Simon coughs, not meeting my eyes.

“We should um… keep moving. We uh… we should try to get out of here.” Crowley I haven’t seen him stutter this much since first year. Maybe I broke him by acting like an actual human being. Or maybe he became aware about how weird it is to sit in the forest with your enemy and talk about crushes.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Something about this trek through the woods seems ten times more awkward than the first time. Snow cuts away bushes and branches with his sword, a small frown on his face. I can practically see his brain short circuiting and I just want to know what he’s thinking.

SIMON

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

BAZ

I don’t know how long we’ve been walking, but I do know I’m getting worse. I can feel the pain in my chest as my lungs ache, and it only gets worse every time I flash Simon a concerned look. I need to sit down. My legs feel heavy and I feel light headed from all the blood loss. I can also smell the blood of every goddamn creature in the Wavering Wood and it’s driving me completely mad. I’m starving and if Snow ends up cutting himself on his bloody sword I don’t know if I can stop my fangs from making an entrance.

The night gets colder. I pull Simon’s jacket closer around myself, shivering. I could fix this with a heat spell, but I don’t have the energy. It begins to dawn on me that I might actually die because of the stupid curse the nymph put on me. I definitely won’t make it out of this forest.

“Hey Baz. You ok?” Simon says, grabbing both of my shoulders. His hair shines in the pale moonlight and his eyes are blue, blue, blue. I feel like I’m drowning in them.

He touches my cheek and hisses.

“Christ Baz, you’re ice cold.” I grunt. He studies my face, his eyes searching for something.

“Baz! The blood!” he says, letting go of my shoulders. I’ve only realized how much I’ve begun to rely on his firm grip when I start to fall forward towards him. His arms loop around me, holding me up and I’m too weak to swoon.

“Baz you’ve lost too much blood. You need to feed.”

“I’m fine, Snow.” I’m so tired. I cough and more flower petals come out and I feel completely and utterly hopeless. I’m in the arms of the boy I love, but it isn’t enough. Of course it isn’t.

“No Baz. You’re not.” His voice is firm. “I know you’re a vampire, alright? And I know you need blood. You’re losing more than you have in your body.” I grunt, but don’t confirm or deny any of it. “You need to feed Baz.”

“No I don’t, Snow. C’mon let’s keep going.” I push away from him, starting to trudge through the forest again. He doesn’t follow. Instead, he grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop in front of him. Flower petals escape my lips.

“Baz I will hunt down a bloody deer for you and force it’s blood down your throat if you don’t fucking take care of yourself.” I flash him a hopeless look that was far from intentional.

“What’s the use of taking another life if I’ll be dead in the next hour, Snow?” Simon’s jaw sets in the way it does when he’s gearing up for a fight. His eyes flash and I want to kiss him so much it hurts. Literally. I can barely breath. This conversation is already too much.

“You’re not going to die!”

“Bloody well seems like it, Snow,” I say between coughs. His hand tightens on mine. It’s almost painful, but it’s also the one thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re not going to die,” he says through gritted teeth. “You… can’t.”

“And why not, Snow? It was going to happen eventually better sooner rather than later, right Snow?” He drops my hand to run his through his hair and I feel myself sway on my feet. I think I’m going to fall, but suddenly he’s there in an instant, holding me against him tightly and keeping me upright. I can feel his heart pound a million beats per minute and I can barely think of what that means.

“No. You’re not supposed to die, Baz.”

“Yes I am!” I’m laughing hysterically now. Our whole lives the only constant has been that one of us, if not both, will die, and now he’s trying to change it because he thinks he’s a god and nothing can touch him. Crowley I love him. “I was always supposed to die. You’re the fucking hero of this story, Snow. You were going to have to kill me because it was your fucking hero’s destiny or some shit.” Simon’s eyes are wide and piercing into my own and I can’t find it in me to look away. His cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing heavily and I’m lucid from the blood loss. He’s so close and all I want to do is kiss him and his stupid moles until I forget my name.

“Or not,” Simon says, with the fierceness of a raging fire. I can feel his magic in the air around us. It’s thick and anxious and he looks full of worry.

“You can’t change destiny, Snow. That’s not how it works.”

“My destiny doesn’t end with you dying.”

“It bloody well does, Snow.” His hands are fisted in my shirt and he has that look in his eyes that makes me think he’s going to punch me.

He jerks me towards him so fast that I don’t realize what’s going on until his lips start moving against mine and I stop breathing.

Simon.

SIMON

Baz isn’t allowed to die. I decided that a while ago. Down the line, the Humdrum or some other monster might get to me, but Baz doesn’t get to die. He has to be the one that makes it through all this, I just know it.

I don’t want him to die. He might be a vampire and a snob, but he’s absolutely perfect and beautiful and so much more. I can’t even describe this warm feeling in my chest as I push his back against the tree, snogging him like my life depended on it, because I don’t hate him. The way I feel about him is like a fire that has been burning for eons, and it’s not going out anytime soon.

He doesn’t react at all and, for a moment I think I’ve done something wrong. He told me that he liked someone else. He definitely doesn’t want to be snogging his enemy in the forest on a Wednesday night where he could die at any moment.

But then, Baz fists his hands in my hair and pulls me up towards him, gasping like he’s just found out how to breathe again.

BAZ

I couldn’t breath. The flowers were blocking my throat and I knew then and there that I would die.

But maybe the universe didn’t want that today. Maybe there is such thing as miracles. After all, Simon’s hands are on my cheeks and he’s kissing me softly and slowly, desperation leaving him as he sighs, his fingers winding through my hair.

The itching feeling in the back of my throat receded entirely and as I pull back for a moment, gasping for air, I remember how good it feels to breathe. I close my eyes, savoring this moment to keep for forever.

Simon’s standing in front of me, breathing heavily, his blue eyes wide with curiosity and fear. My heart flutters at the blush that spreads across his face and I make it my life goal to spend every breathing hour kissing Simon Snow as I bring him back up to me.

SIMON

I don’t know how long we’ve been kissing, but it doesn’t feel like enough when Baz finally stops. We’ve somehow made it to the ground, Baz’s back still to the tree. I’m sure I look like a disaster.

“Sorry,” I say, breathlessly. Baz gives me a look.

“Why?”

“I kissed you,” I mumble sheepishly. I wish I could stop the blush that comes to my cheeks. Crowley, I kissed Baz. And I want to do it again.

Baz’s is still looking at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out.

“Yes. Yes you did,” he says curtly, shifting away from me slightly. My chest pangs slightly.

We’re silent for a few minutes. Then….

“Why did you kiss me?” His expression is unreadable. I look at the ground, tracing my fingers through the dirt and shrugging.

“I wanted to.” The silence between us stretches on for an eternity.

“I’m sorry I know you like someone else and I shouldn’t have kissed you—“ it all comes out in a rush, my feelings, my regrets, everything. “—you’re just so… ugh. You drive me crazy Baz and I know you would never feel the same, Crowley I don’t know what I’d do if you did, but I like you and I’m sorry I know you hate me—“ but then he’s kissing me again and I can’t really complain. He’s so cold, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I just want to keep him here, under my thumb where he isn’t hurting and isn’t off plotting something.

“It’s you,” Baz whispers, our foreheads pressed together. I wrinkle my brow, trying to figure out what he means. He kisses my forehead.

“Crowley Snow, I’ve only ever loved you.” I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this much in my life.

BAZ

Simon Snow is going to be the death of me. I always knew he would, but somehow I pictured something bloody with tears and pain and maybe, maybe a sorrowful kiss. If I was lucky.

Never would I have ever even dreamed that Simon might kill me like this, with soft kisses, his hands weaving their way through my hair and making it a complete disaster.

This is more than I could’ve ever hoped for, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

——

The sun is beginning to rise when we finally make it out of the forest. I fed, which was one of the most awkward things I have ever done and I hope I never have to suffer through that again, and Snow took my hand in his a while ago and it makes me feel like I’m walking on sunshine.

The nymph awaits us outside the forest and I almost lunge at her, but Simon’s hand tightens in mine. Although he isn’t doing much better himself. His jaw is clenched so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t broken any teeth.

The curse lifted as soon as Simon kissed me. The bloody idiot didn’t even realized that was all it took. I almost felt bad when he snapped out of his euphoria after kissing me (I can’t believe it) and started panicking about me dying. It was quite sweet, but also very amusing to watch. He’s never going to live it down.

“I see you two worked it out.”

“Next time you decide to put some death curse on one of my friends, don’t,” Simon growls. The nymph just smiles and retreats back into the forest, humming a happy little tune to herself as if she didn’t almost kill me a few hours ago.

“Friend hmm?” Simon bites his lip, taking my other hand.

“I mean, I don’t know what this all means..” I frown at him. He frowns back.

“I mean.. ugh.” He runs his hands through his hair, looking exasperated. “I’m really bad at this. You know… the whole boyfriend thing. Agatha thought I was rubbish at it which is probably why she dumped me I just…” He takes a deep breath, his cheeks tinged pink.

“I don’t know what you want Baz. You’re so infiltrating and I can never understand what the hell you want. I want to be your friend, and I definitely want to be something more, if you’ll have me.” He says the last part in a voice so timid it makes me want to pull him to me and kiss every single one of his moles. I hardly have any self control around him, but I’m not losing all of my dignity.

“But the families, and the Mage… they won’t like this.” I internally curse myself that that’s the first thing I say. Maybe I’m more self destructive than I thought.

Simon huffs, jutting his chin out defiantly. “Screw them. I never wanted to be part of their stupid war.” I don’t know why, but that makes me laugh. It’s gross and I hate the way it sounds, but the smile on Snow’s face makes me melt. I take a deep breath, putting a hand on his cheek.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll be yours, Snow.” And Crowley the way his eyes light up, I can already feel myself burning from the inside out. But I like this burn. I like it a lot.

“No.” I raise an eyebrow.

“No?”

“If we‘ re doing this boyfriend thing, you have to call me by my name.”

“Snow is your name, Snow.” He shakes his head, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Call me Simon.” I scoff, pulling away and crossing my arms.

“I will not.” I pause for a moment. “...Simon.” Then, we’re both giggling like little school-girls and I feel like everything in my body became lighter. I like this feeling. I like it a lot.

“We should uh… head back.” Simon purses his lips and nods.

We walk back up to our room, hands linked, the entire world turned upside down, and all because of that stupid nymph.

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #rainbow rowell #fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fanfic #fanfic #hanahakia disease au #angst #fluff #snowbaz fluff #snowbaz angst #candy writes #slowburn #enemies to loversa

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 4/?)

In which two human princes enjoy water, and Rayla is Not Amused.

(Chapter length: 11k. Ao3 link)

 Rayla did not sleep well that night.

She discovered, probably no more than an hour after she had finally managed to fall asleep, that Ezran had been half-right about Prince Callum: he did not kick too badly in his sleep. But he did sprawl, which was almost as bad, and did occasionally lead to its fair share of kicking. Every time one of his legs pushed its way obliviously into her side of the tent, or he ended up on his back with one arm landing on his brother and one on her, she awoke instantly, on-alert and hands going instinctively for weapons she wasn’t wearing. But it wasn’t an attacker in the night. It was just…humans. Humans who didn’t keep their limbs to themselves while they slept. Ugh.

The first few times, she kicked or elfhandled him back into his rightful place, becoming more and more bad-tempered about it as the night went on; especially given he didn’t even have the decency to wake up and be ashamed of commandeering everyone’s space. When it had grown late enough that the pull of the moon on her bones was starting to ebb, she gave serious thought to the idea of just getting up and sleeping outside, where no one was likely to put legs over hers or deposit arms over her side. In the end, she gave a loud and very grumpy sigh to the night air, and just…resolved to ignore it. So what if the human was taking up three times his designated space in the tent? She could just…ignore it. Maybe. With practice.

She did have a moment of somewhat vindictive satisfaction when, not far from dawn, Callum’s arm made the mistake of sprawling not only onto her, but onto her head. Which was facing away from him. And, therefore, was presenting him with the pointy end of her horns. He jolted awake with a yelp, mumbled something surprised and incoherent, and then promptly rolled over and fell back asleep again. Honestly.

Rayla gave up on the whole sleep thing sometime after dawn came, peeling herself quietly from the tent and extracting smooshed daisies from her hair as she went.

At the very least, a full night of disturbed sleep had served her better than a two-hour power nap. She felt tired, and ill-tempered, but slightly more like a functional elf than she had the day before.

She sat quietly in front of the extinguished campfire, watching the dawn colours spreading in the sky, trees rustling in what was shaping up to be quite a breezy day. She took the time to, very carefully, stretch and rotate the wrist and fingers of her bound hand, which was starting to swell unhappily, and was going a purplish colour around the bind. It hurt when she pressed her fingers against it, sore like a bruise, and went white and pale under the pressure of her fingertips. When she took the fingers away, the purplish colour swiftly returned. Uncertain whether it would help or not, she tried to massage some feeling into it, but it didn’t really seem to do anything except momentarily blanche its colour.

Rayla stared down at her hand, and wondered how long it would still be there.

She wondered how long she could hide it from the boys. It would probably be hard to avoid noticing if your travelling companion’s hand went purple and stopped working, right? The hand falling off – that would be impossible to conceal. She should…probably talk about it. That would be a sensible thing to do. They had a long journey ahead of them and she likely shouldn’t expect to have two hands for more than a couple weeks of it, if this kept up. They should know about that. They should know she had a limited time left to be fully effective.

But…

She’d have to tell them what the binding was for. She’d have to tell them that she remained, even now, bound by oath and magic to kill Ezran. And while she knew full well she’d much rather lose a hand than kill him…would they know that? Ezran had an unusual amount of faith in her, maybe, but Callum was less trusting. Would he doubt her?

…Would he ask about the second bind?

If he remembered that she’d had two ribbons, when they met – if Ezran remembered – she shivered, dread curling in her throat at that, more than anything else. Callum very obviously had an excellent memory for things he saw; expecting him to overlook the second one was foolish at absolute best.

How could she possibly tell them that their father was dead? That he was dead, and her people had been responsible for it? She’d hardly known them a few days, but even so – how was she supposed to find the words for something like this? It would hurt them so badly. She knew it would. Stars, but she didn’t want to do it.

She exhaled, heavily, and allowed herself a minute or so more to wallow in dread and uncertainty. But no more than that. There was work to be done, after all.

  Callum woke up before Ezran did, about an hour after Rayla had got herself up. It was good timing on his part, as she’d been considering going to wake them up soon, since she’d finished dismantling the campfire and clearing up after their dinner, and pretty much all that was left to do in the camp either involved her leaving to find food or waking the princes up so the tent could be packed.

She listened, half-attentive, to the sounds of shifting inside the tent, the elder prince yawning and muttering something that she couldn’t hear from this range. She wondered if he’d wake up his brother. In the end, all he did was stumble out of the tent, half tripping over the bags he’d apparently forgotten were there.

He had also fallen asleep in his flower crown, and had bits of it streaked through his hair. She huffed at him in amusement, and he finally seemed to notice her, half-way through pulling his boots on.

“Oh, morning, Rayla.” He greeted cheerfully, if a little awkwardly, and walked up to where she’d been sitting, settling onto the grass beside her. “Didn’t see you there for a second.”

She refrained from making a comment on his situational awareness and nodded back to him in greeting. “I’ve been up a while.” She said, in sort-of explanation, and then side-eyed him a little narrowly. “…Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, actually, being in a tent really helped.” He answered, apparently entirely oblivious to his own night-time restlessness, and didn’t seem to notice her half-glare at all. “How about you?”

She snorted. “Oh, yeah, I slept great.”

“So…you didn’t sleep well?” he squinted at her.

Rayla crossed her arms. “Whatever would give you that impression, Callum?” She wasn’t actually annoyed with him, really, just a bit…grumpy. Just a wee bit ornery. She felt it was only right that he be aware of it.

He huffed, half-amused, half-concerned. “You realise that I speak Sarcasm, right?”

“How wonderful for you!” She said, clasping her hands as if duly impressed.

“Yes, actually, it is. So?” He prodded, raising his eyebrows at her. “Did something wake you up?”

“You could say that.” Rayla agreed, and he just waited, staring her down expectantly, until she elaborated: “You move a lot in your sleep.” It was satisfying to watch his composure immediately vanish, a light flush rising in his cheeks, a stammer blooming in his voice.

“O-oh really?” He squeaked, suddenly looking every part the teenage boy who’d been reminded he’d been sleeping next to a teenage…elf. “Er. Sorry?”

His reaction easily alleviated the prickle of her temper, and Rayla felt her good humour returning to her. He was funny to fluster and surprise, this one. She snickered, and reached out to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure you hit yourself on my horns at one point, so I think I probably got even.”

Callum’s brows furrowed, and he raised a hand to press thoughtfully at two points on his arm, close to the elbow, one on the upper arm and one on the forearm. “I did wonder where these bruises came from.” He said ruefully, still a little pink. “Uh, we can try putting Ez in the middle tonight, maybe? Maybe he’s not as bad a kicker as he used to be.”

“You two are such stupidly heavy sleepers.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I’ll see how I get on tonight, and then consider changing things up. For now, we need to work on getting going for the day. I was going to go find some food, but wanted to wait for one of you to wake up first.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Callum looked glad enough to leave the uncomfortable subject of his sleeper’s conduct behind, and chuckled nervously. “I am pretty hungry. Er, should I wake Ez?”

She considered him for a second. Considered talking to him. Considered talking about…difficult things. Things she really didn’t want to talk about. In the end, she couldn’t even think of making the words pass her lips, so she sighed, and looked away.

But there was something else to talk about. Something that had been nagging at her. Something that was easier than life and death and the binds that tied her to their taking. “I wanted to talk to you about food.” She announced, abruptly, because they were days into this journey now and the closest thing to a varied diet they’d had was a bit of greenery.

He blinked, startled. “Oh. Okay?”

She turned more fully to face him, leaning back on one hand. The non-swelling, non-bound one, of course. “Look. We’ve been eating nothing but fruit for days – and a couple of leaves last night, I guess. I don’t know much about humans. Are you meant to only eat fruit? Is that….healthy for you? I got the impression – from what you said – that it’s not, but….what do I know?” Her face settled into something that felt like a confused frown, which was an accurate enough picture of her feelings on the matter.

“Uh….no. No, we’re definitely meant to eat more than fruit.” Callum admitted, after a few more seconds of being surprised at the subject. His shoulders settled a little as he, almost visibly, got himself into thinking-mode. “Normally, at the castle? We eat – bread. Vegetables. Fruit, too. Sweet things.” He sat for a second, clearly thinking through a list. “Eggs? Yeah, eggs. Milk and cheese. Meat, for most of us. Ez doesn’t eat meat a lot.”

Rayla nodded slowly at him, a little concerned. “And…do you need all of that? Or just some of it? Because that sounds pretty much like the things elves eat, but for us, some of it’s more important than other parts.”

“I’m pretty sure some of it’s more important for humans too, but I don’t know a lot about that.” Callum admitted, and leaned forwards, concentrating. “Uh…parents always tell their kids to eat their vegetables? So that’s probably important. Bread is filling? And people always seem to say you should be eating meat when you’re exercising?”

Rayla, who had been raised on fairly strict dietary regimens to accompany her training, thought this sounded quite elf-like, on the whole, although they naturally didn’t have such a fixation with bread. “Meat is good if you’re building muscle or just being active.” She informed him, feeling a little better about the conversation now she’d been reassured that meat was a regular and normal thing that humans ate, and she wouldn’t get accused of being unusually bloodthirsty for endorsing it. She considered how to continue, and in the end just went for it. “I can hunt, and prepare meat. I’m used to it – I’ve been helping with it for months – so it’s easy. We can forage for berries and edible plants, but I’d feel a lot better about things if we were eating meat as well.”

Callum watched her for several seconds, brows lowering into a troubled frown. “Honestly, so would I. And not just because it tastes better than random forest green-stuff.” he said, after a second. “But – I mean, he doesn’t completely refuse it, especially if it’s a special occasion…but Ezran prefers not to eat meat. He…gets along well with animals, I guess. Doesn’t want to eat them.” He fidgeted with the tail of his scarf. “I think he’d be alright with you hunting for us, and eating meat, but I’m not sure. He’s never had to eat it if he doesn’t want to.”

She hummed, pensive. “Well, I’m not going to force him either, duh. But it would be better for him. There’s things you can replace meat with, but not much we can forage from random wilderness as we go.” She shrugged, and raised her hands outwards, in a sort of helpless what can you do sort of gesture. “Maybe you can talk to him over the next couple days? Living on a berry-and-leaves diet is okay if it’s only for a week or two, but we’ve got a lot longer than that to go. I don’t want anyone getting sick.”

He rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf, as if it itched. “Yeah, I definitely can’t let my little brother get all…malnourished. Aunt Amaya would kill me. Dad would kill me.”

Rayla winced a little at that. “…Yeah, let’s avoid that.” She agreed, and stood, stretching out her shoulders. “On that note, I’d best go looking for some breakfast. Maybe you should wake up Ez.” She picked up the food jars and the cooking pot, painstakingly rinsed in the detestable water of the river, and waited for Callum to get up.

“Should we try putting away the tent while you’re gone?” he asked, coming to a stand next to her. He still had squished daisies in his hair.

She considered him for a second, and shook her head. “Not the first time. You’d probably make a mess of it alone. Wait for me to get back and I’ll walk you through it.” After brief hesitation, she reached out and plucked one of the flowers from his hair, presenting it to him. “You should maybe use the hairbrush while I’m gone, though.” She offered a teasing smile.

He returned it, charmingly sheepish, but only for a second. Then he frowned. “Rayla, why is your hand going purple?”

She snatched it back in a hurry, posture going stiff. “….Slept on it funny,” She lied, badly, shuffling some of the jars over to it to help conceal its condition. “Don’t you worry, it’s – normal.” She turned tail and strode for the tent, heart beating with mild panic at the idea he might call her on her highly transparent excuse.

He didn’t, in the end, but she could practically feel the scepticism radiating off of him in waves. “…If you say so.” He said, at last, easy-going, and walked over with her.

She bent to shove the cooking pot into her bag, retrieving the hairbrush for Callum while she was at it, while he crawled into the inner tent with his boots held carefully outside, and shook his brother by the foot. Bait grumbled at them as Ezran stirred, and Rayla considered if there was anything else she should take to go foraging. Should she take a bag, just in case she found something bigger that was worth taking, like a patch of mushrooms?

“Morning, Ez.” Callum said, from next to her, a smile in his voice. “You doing okay?”

“Mm, yeah.” She heard a yawn, and a vaguely intelligible murmur. “Slept good.” Well, Rayla was the odd one out, then. What a surprise.

She poked her head in to greet him, wearing a smile of her own. “Morning, Ez.” She echoed his brother, and he smiled sleepily at her.

“Hi, Rayla.” He said, and yawned again. “I had another weird dream.” He expressed, rubbing his eyes. He shifted the dragon egg more solidly into his lap and yawned.

“Was it the hippo with taffy ears again?” Callum asked, grinning a little as Rayla withdrew to prepare to leave.

“No. It was different this time.” He answered, eyes oddly faraway. “I was somewhere....small. And dark. And safe. And there was a voice whispering something to me. My name? Except it wasn’t my name, it was....” he frowned. “I can’t remember.” He raised this hands to rub at his eyes, still squinting, as if trying to uncover the detail of his dream from the edges of the tent.

“I’m off to get breakfast.” Rayla informed them both, and nodded at their farewells as she turned off.

First camps always took a while; both to set up and to take down. But this was really an uncomfortable amount of delay, so she’d have to do her best to be quick.

  Callum was honestly feeling pretty good that morning. He’d slept well – even if, apparently, he’d been a difficult tent-mate in the process – hadn’t walked enough the previous day to be achy, and today was probably going to just be some more easy boat-riding. Sure, Rayla probably wouldn’t enjoy the boat part at all, which was unfortunate, and she was hiding something about her hand – but he felt fairly optimistic as he and Ez packed up their stuff and waited for Rayla to get back. And then got bored waiting for Rayla to get back. And then – well, look, maybe it hadn’t been an entirely smart idea to try using the one half of Claudia’s lightning spell he remembered when he didn’t know how spells worked, but-

The point was, he’d been optimistic enough on waking that it really just figured he’d have a magic mishap before they’d even left the campsite. Because the universe just loved to punish optimism, apparently.

The next few hours didn’t really get any more fortunate. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Having called Rayla back from gathering early with his lightning-related difficulties, breakfast was decidedly light that day, and Rayla herself seemed pretty cranky as she directed he and Ez through the procedure of packing the tent away. It was late morning by the time they were ready to leave, piling their things into the boat, and Rayla staring at the boat like she’d rather swallow a live spider than go anywhere near it.

She did, though. As soon as she noticed him watching, in fact.

He and Ez teamed up to try to distract her from the water. Callum regaled her with the origins of Bait’s name. Ezran cajoled her into a word-association game. She didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about any of it, too occupied with trying not to lose her meagre breakfast, but, well. Any enthusiasm she had mustered was promptly extinguished when Callum put his foot in what had been a perfectly pleasant round of questions…by accidentally bringing up dead parents. So that was awkward. And she was unwilling enough to engage after that that he just sort of…left her to it, and went to paddle a bit at the front of the boat.

A couple hours down the river, Callum realised that, perhaps, the maps he’d partially-memorised in his lessons were not designed for people travelling along them in rowboats. Namely, because the river had transformed into rapids, and looked to be approaching at least one waterfall, and-

Needless to say, the two waterfalls, a capsized boat, a lake monster, a thoroughly terrifying dip in the same water that the lake monster occupied, and a narrow-escape from the lake monster…all added up to a less-than-pleasant experience. Even if it did conclude in a surprisingly illuminating heartfelt conversation about fear, and bravery, and the weight that Rayla’s parents had put on her shoulders when they fled their duty.

By mutual decision, they stopped by the shore of Lake Kalsa for a break after that, as everything they owned had been doused in lakewater. Rayla went off to look for lunch, with Callum and Ezran deputised to help get their stuff a bit less waterlogged. So they pulled the boat over, thankful that they’d stored the bags under the seats where they’d been prevented from falling out, and pulled everything onto shore.

“The tent is completely soaked.” Ezran said, making a face, as he opened the pack they’d meticulously stored just a few hours ago. “No way is this going to be dry in time for tonight.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to sleep out in the open for a night.” Callum shrugged, raising his hand briefly. “At least it’s windy today. Maybe if we hang it all up wherever we camp, it’ll be dry by morning.”

“Yeah, but it being windy means we’ll be cold tonight.” He sighed, putting the tent aside. “Let’s just try to dry off the other stuff. Like the towel. It seems weird for a thing that’s meant to dry things to be full of water.”

“We should at least try to squeeze out the tent a bit. So it’s not completely soaking.” He countered, and waved his brother over. “I’ll work on the tent, okay? You get all the other stuff out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ezran agreed, and they set themselves to work.

Rayla returned probably half an hour later, with jars absolutely packed full of Moonberries and…some other sort of berry he wasn’t completely familiar with. Looked sort of like miniature blackberries. Ezran abandoned his bag immediately to make a beeline for one jar, Bait hopping eagerly at his heels. “How’s it going?” She asked, setting the jars down, and holding a hand – the going-purple one – up to feel at the inner-tent he’d hung on a tree branch. She grimaced. “…Well, that’s not going to dry for a while.”

“We’ve got everything laid out now….though maybe we went a bit overboard.” Callum said, eyeing her hand for a few seconds. She caught his eye, followed his gaze, and quickly snatched her hand back, breaking eye contact in a second. Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. He didn’t say anything, but made a face at her. “…It’ll take a while to pack everything up again.” He elaborated, after a second, and went over to investigate the lunch possibilities, sitting down next to Ezran.

“I was thinking about that, actually.” Rayla said, a little too-brightly, as if trying to brush past the issue of whatever it was she was hiding. “You said the lake town sits on a major road, right? How long do you suppose it would take us to get to that road?”

“Er.” Callum stopped, reached for his mercifully-waterproof book, and flipped through the wet pages carefully to the map. “If we try to go along the Lune a bit longer, and then get off the boat and walk…probably around three to six hours ish?” He made an uncertain noise. “I’m not great at judging the distances yet. If we left from here and walked to the road, we could probably get there in…four hours? I think? Maybe?”

“Hmm.” Rayla inspected his map, weird hand tucked somewhat conspicuously behind her back.

“What are you thinking?” Ez asked, words a bit mushy and slurred around his mouthful of mystery berries.

“I’m thinking…” She sat back, thoughtful. “…that if we keep going today, we’ll have to camp close to the road, since we need to cross over that road a safe distance from any towns. And I really don’t want to camp close to that road.”

Ezran blinked curiously at her. “Because Aunt Amaya might be coming through?”

“Or any other humans going close to the roads.” Rayla pointed out. “But…yes. Mostly your Aunt Amaya.” She clearly hadn’t gotten over the General Aunt Amaya thing yet. “I don’t like the delay, but after all that mess with the lake monster – I was thinking we could just stop here for the day. Unless you think there’ll be people here later?”

“Nah, Lake Kalsa is up-river from Kalsanis, and too far to walk to in less than half a day, I think.” Callum put his book aside, left open, to allow it to dry a little. “I guess it’s possible people could show up, but it would be kinda weird.”

Rayla considered it for a good while, eyes narrowed. She considered it for long enough, in fact, that Callum decided to get started on lunch, picking out one of the mystery berries to sniff at it. It did not smell like a blackberry, but smelled good enough.

“What are these called, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh, the fruit. Mulberries.” She answered, half on automatic, and looked up, sighing. “Yeah, I think we’ll risk staying here. See if we can get some stuff done, if we’re going to waste an afternoon.”

Callum, his mouth full of berries, waved at her with a sort of circular motion to continue. For a half-second he wished she knew sign, to make this very brief second of his life easier to communicate in.

She squinted dubiously at him but seemed to pick up his meaning. “We need to get the stuff dry, to start with.” She said, waving her hands at the many things currently hanging on trees. “You could try using your wind breath spell on them, maybe. Get the magic out of your system so you don’t electrocute anything else today.”

He swallowed his mouthful, holding up a finger to maintain a pause, then said “today’s second electrocution went very well, in my opinion. But yes! Magic sounds good!” Any excuse to practice magic was a good one, as far as he was concerned. “Anything else?”

Rayla hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough to make him tilt his head, curious and a little more alert. “…Well, that big lake monster wasn’t the only thing you shocked. Have you looked at the water lately?”

Ez turned to look first, Callum not far behind him. “Uh.”

“Are those fish?” Ezran asked, squinting at the same small floating shapes on the lake’s surface that Callum was staring at. “Callum, did you zap the whole lake?”

“It’s lightning! In water! It kind of – does that!” he defended, crossing his arms. “It was necessary!”

“And, it might have got us dinner.” Rayla pointed out. “I wouldn’t want to try eating the lake monster, maybe, but there’s got to be some dead fish out there worth eating.” She hesitated again, and this time Callum understood why. “…if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to be the one who fetches those dead fish, if you catch my drift.”

“Ohhh, yeah, I guess you probably don’t like water any more than before, after all that.” Ez said wisely, nodding, and turned his head to the lake again, a hint of his planning-things look coming onto his face. Callum watched it warily. Sometimes, when Ezran looked like that, it was something perfectly benign. Other times, it ended with innocent older brothers having to pick crumbs out of their bed and clothing for weeks.

“That would be an understatement.” Rayla said, while Callum was still waiting for Ezran to do something, since he was clearly thinking of something.

“…Good job it’s not too cold today!” Ez declared, after a second, the spark in his eye turned into solid cheer. “Callum, we should go for a swim!”

Oh. Well, that was a whole lot less mischief than Callum had worried about. He’d been half-concerned that Ezran was going to challenge him to a fish-fight, or something. He inspected the water, trying to recall the temperature of it. It had been a shock to fall in after being in the boat for hours, but…it was spring, and these were the Katolis lowlands. The temperature was pretty mild. “Sounds good.” He decided, rising to his feet. “C’mon Ez, we should go now, so we’ll dry off faster.” He pulled off his scarf, still-drying, and laid it out next to the rest of the still-drying things.

Rayla rose up next to him, both hands up as if to forestall his movement, looking suddenly very alarmed. “Wait, you’re going to swim? I just meant – you should go out with the boat!” Had her hand been that purple this morning?

“…That would get us less soaked, true.” Callum allowed, after a moment, feeling vaguely put-out. Rayla’s shoulders relaxed a little with relief, hands dropping.

Ezran, however, was unmoved. “Well, you can take the boat if you want, Callum, but I wanna swim. It’s a nice day and a nice lake.” Rayla’s borderline-panic instantly returned.

“You want to go swimming in a lake that had a giant fish monster in it?” She demanded, incredulous, rearing back as if she thought his brother’s insanity might be contagious. “That seems like a good way to get eaten!”

“No way a lake this small has more than one giant monster in it. Giant monsters like their space, you know.” Ezran told her, not even remotely concerned, and stood, sweeping grass from his pants. “Callum, are you taking the boat? If you are, I can just throw you fish.”

He hesitated. “You can rest if you get tired, too, I guess, if the boat is there.” He allowed, after a second. He, too, didn’t think it was likely they’d find another lake monster in residence. Kalsa wasn’t especially big, after all. “I might like to go for a swim though, if we’re going to be here all day. It’s not like we’ll have much time for that sort of thing once we start walking.”

Rayla stared at them, a little open-mouthed, as if in complete disbelief. She couldn’t seem to find the words to object for several seconds, then finally managed it. “So you’re going to go swimming. Because you think it’s fun. On the off-chance that giant lake monsters don’t come in groups.” She summarised, her eyes wide with apprehension, and voice a little higher than was usual for her.

“Sounds about right.” Callum agreed, after a moment, offering a smile. “Relax. It’ll be fine. We’re both decent swimmers, and we’ll have the boat there in case any more monsters show up.”

“And I am very confident that there’s no more lake monsters.” Ezran added.

Callum blinked, but decided to go with it. “See, he’s very confident that there’s no more monsters.”

“And you’re an expert on giant lake monsters now, are you?” Rayla demanded, folding her arms, the initial panic and disbelief now steadily giving way to an expression that…actually looked kind of worried. Aw, he didn’t want to actually worry or scare her, that wasn’t good.

“Pretty much.” Ez said cheerfully, glancing up at a nearby tree. Callum followed his gaze, but all he saw was a squirrel.

Callum hesitated, and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Rayla, if it makes you feel better – how about me and Ezran both go out in the boat to start with? And if nothing attacks us, we’ll swim later.”

She eyed him mulishly. He tried to look as earnest and reasonable as possible, and beside him, Ezran put on his best pleading-face, well-honed by years of sneaking jelly tarts past the town baker. She stared at them for several long seconds, visibly reluctant, then finally relented. “…Alright. But you take your magic cube with you.” She said, begrudgingly, darting to the side to pick up the cube in question from the ground. “And keep a close eye on it. Deal?”

“Deal!” Both of them chorused, sharing a discreet low-five, and Ezran shot off like an arrow towards the boat they’d dragged onto the lakeshore. Callum followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to pull off his gloves and jacket and toss them on the grass. He would rather not get his clothes all fishy, all things considered.

Together, they pushed the boat out and then climbed into it, paddling companionably towards the hulking island of the dead lake monster, surrounded by smaller bobbing fish corpses. After a fair bit of trial-and-error, they discovered that it was actually not all that easy to reach all the way to the water level from the side of the boat, so Ezran went partially over the side while Callum held him by the legs, his brother throwing fish over his shoulder and occasionally hitting him in the face with them. Some of the fish were smaller, some larger, but there were in general quite a lot of them. Apparently, a lightning spell channelled directly into water caused a lot of damage. He should probably keep that in mind. It seemed like the sort of thing that could come back to bite him if he didn’t.

“This is way too many fish.” Ez said, after he finally tired of hanging over the edge and grabbing dinner. “We’ll never eat it all.”

“We can probably eat some tomorrow?” He suggested, stepping carefully around the new floor of fish to return to the oars. “I mean, they shouldn’t go bad overnight, right?”

“I have no idea how fast fish goes bad.” His brother shrugged, and peered over at the shore. “…I think we should go back now. Rayla looks worried.”

Callum looked over and saw that she was, indeed, watching from the shore, shoulders slightly hunched, holding Bait under one arm and her other hand resting within grabbing-range of a weapon. He hummed agreeably, and together they set about returning to shore.

“We have so much dinner,” Ezran announced to her once they hit the silty beach, watching her posture loosen a bit as they arrived back.

She peered warily into the boat. “…I can see that.”

“No lake monsters either, as you may have noticed.”

“…Yes, in fact, I did notice.”

“So, it should be perfectly safe to go swimming, right?”

Rayla stared at them, plainly both unimpressed and uncomfortably, but also very obviously not immune to begging and wheedling. “…Fine, whatever, if you want to go splash about in a lake, be my guest,” She huffed, waving both arms towards the water. “But don’t take too long! There’s a lot to get done today, and if you think I’m doing it all alone, think again.”

“That sounds fair.” Callum said immediately, Ezran nodding rapidly beside him.

“Ugh.” Rayla offered, as her final opinion on the matter, and turned to storm up the shore.

Callum’s attention was pulled away when, abruptly, his brother slapped him on the forearm and declared “last one in the lake has to eat dirt!” and dashed to the water’s edge to start rapidly disrobing.

“Wha- hey!” he protested, and chased after him, shedding clothing as he went. After all, Callum had done worse things as challenge-forfeits with his brother than eating dirt, but that didn’t mean he was going to stand by and lose. It was the principle of the thing.

They scrambled along the lakeshore, leaving a trail of boots and assorted vestments in their wake.

  Rayla wasn’t sure what she’d done to get stuck with a couple of humans who thought water was fun, but it was really annoying.

She picked through all the drying belongings of the camp until she found the washrag, and took that and one of her weapons back down the lakeshore to the boat, shaking her head at the clothes that the princes had strewn haphazardly all over the place. They were going to be covered in dirt and silt when they tried to put them on again, but did they care? No, they just wanted to go swimming. She could hear them splashing about and cheering at each other and it was just – irritating. Very irritating. That was all, it was just annoying.

She hadn’t been lying when she said there was a lot to do. For one thing – who did they think was going to clean and prepare all those fish? Fish didn’t come magically gutted and ready to cook, and she suspected that was yet another thing that pampered human princes might not have quite realised.

A little vengefully, Rayla resolved to leave enough fish left over to make Callum learn how to clean them. Partially so she wouldn’t have to do it all, partially just to gross him out a bit. If he had time to waste swimming, he had time to spend doing gross necessary things. Like gutting fish.

She stiffened at the sound of some particularly vigorous splashing and a high-pitched shriek. They’re just messing about, she told herself, firmly, eyes on the boat full of fish she was meant to be working on. They’re having fun. They’re fine. She didn’t need to watch them. She didn’t need to supervise them. There weren’t any lake monsters and they knew how to swim and they were fine. They weren’t going to drown. She didn’t need to guard them. She had a job to do.

Teeth gritted, she climbed into the boat and started tossing fish overboard onto the lakeshore, one by one. She tensed and flinched at every water-sound the princes made – every splash, every shriek and yell the two of them made as they did whatever-it-was people who liked water did when they swam. She did not like water and didn’t like them being in it out of her eyesight but they were fine, it was fine, she should just…go deal with fish, somewhere up the shore where she didn’t have to be close to water, or to people messing about in water.

But…there wasn’t really any reason why she couldn’t just clean out the fish next to the boat. That way she didn’t have to carry fish up the shore, and she could wash away the guts easily. It would be more convenient. Supervising the humans could just be…a convenient side effect.

She took a deep breath, easing into a controlled rhythm of inhalation and exhalation like Runaan had tried so hard to teach her. She’d never been much for meditation. But the breathing tricks were handy sometimes. She ignored the way her stomach tightened at the sight of the deep water of the lake, so close by, and settled next to the pile of fish she’d made to start working.

Her blades weren’t exactly filleting knives, but they worked perfectly well if she held them right. She grabbed a lake trout with her bad hand and sliced carefully down its belly with the sword held in the other, excising a blob of gloopy viscera with a deft flick of the sword-tip. She worked at it for a minute, carefully not looking at the lake, and set it aside when it was done. Then, finally, she allowed herself to glance upwards to check on the princes. Just to satisfy the anxiety that the thought of them in the water provoked.

They were having a splash-fight. Of course they were. That would explain all the annoyingly-cheerful yelling.

She sighed, deeply, and reached for a second fish.

Rayla cleaned and set aside ten trout and one toothy pike before she decided enough was enough, and stood to cup her hands around her mouth and yell. “Oi! You lot! You’ve had your fun, now get out of there and dry off!” She watched impatiently as Callum, previously vanished beneath the surface of the water, re-appeared at her call, floating beside Ezran.

The noises she received back sounded like “aww,” but they were sort of cheerful and agreeable-sounding, rather than actually disappointed. Evidently, the crazy blighters had enjoyed their brief stint in the water. They must be mad. Absolutely mad. Completely bonkers. But at least they were swimming up to shore to be crazy on solid land, now. She rolled her eyes and rinsed fish guts from her hands, shaking off the droplets of water as she rose to wait for them to arrive.

Ezran, evidently a more enthusiastic swimmer, came ashore first, stepping gradually out of the shallows with Callum a couple of metres behind him.

“You didn’t exactly leave your clothes in a good place, you know.” She greeted the littlest prince with, hands on her hips as he emerged from the shallows, hair dribbling lakewater down his back.

“What do you – oh.” Ezran, who had stripped down to underpants to go swimming, lifted up the trousers he’d abandoned at the lakeshore, now gratuitously coated in silt. “Um, you might have a point.”

“A point about what?” Callum asked, stepping up beside him in a similar state of undress. Rayla blinked, then jerked her chin in the direction of all the abandoned clothing, a sort of flustered heat prickling insistently at her face.

“You’ve got grit all over your stuff. You might as well go back into the water and rinse it off before you dry off.” She informed him, pointing.

“…Ah. Hah.” Callum’s eyes followed her gesture to where his own clothes were, and he laughed sheepishly. “I guess it’s laundry day, then. C’mon Ez, let’s get this done quickly, alright?” He stepped over to pick up his things, and after a moment, Ezran followed his lead.

“What are we going to wear while this all dries, though?”

“Our slightly less-wet stuff up by the bags, I guess?”

And so they splashed back into the lake less than a few minutes after they’d left it, dragging their clothing through the water. They hadn’t even thought to consider going to look for the bar of soap (which had, in fact, reduced somewhat in size through its immersion in water). They really didn’t have a practical bone in their bodies.

Rayla sighed, shaking her head ruefully. She had a lot to teach these dumb humans.

She headed up the shore to grab the soap and returned to the water’s edge with it, waving it in the air. “You might want to use soap, if you’re doing your laundry.” She called to them, and waited for them to look over. Callum came tromping through the shallows to retrieve it from her, his various pieces of clothing slung over his bare arms and shoulders. “Don’t drop it. Or you’ll never find it again, and then we won’t have any soap all the way to Xadia.”

It nearly slid from his grasp that very second, slippery with the water on his hands, and he giggled nervously. “….I’ll do my best?” He offered, and turned to run back into the water, nearly falling over in the process. Honestly.

It might have been sensible for her to join in with the laundering, but frankly she was so very, very done with water today. If she never had to look at a water source again, it would be too soon. She sighed, gathering the cleaned fish into the washrag, and headed up the shore with a half-hearted hope that the boys wouldn’t lose their only bar of soap. She poked at the inner-tent, on her way past, and found it still really quite damp. Hopefully some sky magic would help it along. She set the fish down on a patch of grass around where she was planning to put the campfire, and then returned to shore again, waiting for the princes to finish.

They had not, she noted, lost the soap. They did speed up, seeing her waiting there watchfully, and shortly were stomping out of the lake with soaking-wet clothes. She rolled her eyes and took the soap back, telling them “Wring out your stuff and set it drying somewhere. We’ve got work to do.” She waved them off to follow her bidding and, five minutes later, they reported for duty. Still dripping from the hair and almost entirely unclothed, but they’d dry off soon enough. “Right then. Ezran, you’re on firewood. Get sticks, fallen branches, leaves – the drier the better. Make a pile nearby, alright? We’ve got lots to cook today.”

He grinned, looking far more excited than menial camp chores should warrant. Clearly the shine hadn’t worn off yet. “Yes, ma’am!” he chirped, and scampered off to inspect the roots of the nearest tree.

“Don’t go too far, alright?” She called after him, then turned to Callum, who was starting to look like he regretted being largely unclothed in the brisk breeze. “And you,” She pronounced, reaching to her side to hand him her other blade, “are going to learn how to clean fish.”

He took it, blinking at it with a singularly befuddled expression for a second, turning it over in his hand. “I am? Great!” He said, distractedly, as if he’d not actually heard her. He inspected her sheathed weapon, turning it this way and that, and looked about two seconds away from cutting his fingers off whenever he figured out how to open it, so she snatched it back to demonstrate, slowly, how it was meant to be done.

“Like this.” She showed him, smirking a little. It was kind of funny, really, how clueless he and his brother were about things she’d pretty much been raised on. Well, they’d learn. She closed the weapon again and handed it back to him to try.

Cautiously, he mimicked her, and successfully unsheathed one of her weapons by himself, albeit clumsily. A delighted grin spread over his face, as if something as small as opening a weapon were enough to please him. “Cool.” He pronounced, now turning the blade every which way to inspect it. “Magic weapons, huh?”

“Yep. And all we have for preparing food with, incidentally.” She said, and reached out to shove him gently by the shoulder towards the pile of fish. His skin was still slippery with lakewater. “Come on, you. It’s about time you learned something useful.”

“What, and my half-a-lightning-spell doesn’t count?” He demanded, still grinning, as he allowed himself to be led over.

“Something useful that’s less likely to electrocute bystanders.” She rolled her eyes, smiling tolerantly back at him, and sat him down by the fish. “Right then. Watch how I do it, alright?” She took a fish and walked him through the process. He made faces at the guts, but didn’t look away or have to take a vomit break, and stayed attentive and interested. She wondered if he’d have the same alacrity the first time he saw a bird or mammal being gutted. She sort of doubted it. That sort of viscera took more getting used to.

“That was somehow simpler than I was expecting.” He said, after she’d finished, holding her blade gingerly in his lap.

“Fish are easy. Much easier than animals.” She said, and tilted her head. “Ready to try? Or do you want to see it again?”

He considered it for a second, inspecting her and then the pile of fish. He reached out to take one and inspected it, fingers of his other hand twitching on the handle of her blade. “I’ll try.” He decided, suddenly determined, and leaned forwards to make his attempt. She sat back on her heels and watched, steadfastly ignoring his state of undress.

Most of his awkwardness seemed to come from not quite knowing how to hold the blade, which was fair enough. But he clearly remembered what to do well enough. His first attempt was a bit messy, and he grimaced at the fish guts, but he did a perfectly serviceable job of it. He glanced up at her. “That okay?”

She offered him a smile. “Not bad at all.” She said, and nodded to the pile. “I’ll stick around to watch you do a couple more, but I think you’ve got this.”

He looked pleased enough at that, just that small praise, that his entire face seemed to brighten. Rayla found herself drawing back a little, as if to put space between them, and wasn’t sure why. They weren’t sitting that close, after all. Callum didn’t seem to notice – he was already reaching for his next fish – but Rayla…she shook herself out of the momentary strangeness and supervised her companion’s progress, as she was meant to.

He was neater on the second attempt, and approaching quick on the third. At that point she nodded approvingly, said “Well, seems you’re doing fine. I’ll leave you to finish the rest, alright?”

He blinked at her, his previous mask of concentration lapsing under his lopsided smile. “Sure. I’ll try not to take too long.”

She reached out and patted him encouragingly on the arm. His skin felt fairly cold, and mostly dry – he should probably look to getting dressed once he was done, or he’d catch a chill. “Take your time. Try not to cut off any fingers.”

Callum laughed, only a little nervously. “I will...try not to do that, yeah.” he agreed, turning after a moment to reach for the next fish. Rayla gathered up the ones he’d done and took them over to where she’d piled the rest. Ezran had, throughout her observation of Callum’s fish-gutting, been doing his job; there was now a modest pile of firewood on the shore, and she could see the kid scampering about the treeline about fifteen metres along the lake, still happily at work.

Both princes seemed perfectly happy to help and learn, at least, even if they had no useful experience whatsoever. It was a hopeful sign.

Rayla gathered up a pile of branches and set about building the fire. There was a lot of fish to cook.

  All things told, Callum’s day seemed to be making a turn for the better, now that they’d stopped to do camp-things. His memory served him well in following Rayla’s tuition, and although he made a misstep here or there with the rest of the fish, all that meant was that some intestines spilled and he had to do a bit more cleaning of gross stuff before he finished.

Rayla was already situated at a cheerful campfire and arranging fish speared on sticks all around it when he carried the rest of the catch over to her. Once he was upright the wind was a lot harder to ignore, and he shivered, crouching to deposit the fish where she’d put the others, and putting her sheathed blade carefully at her side. “That should be all of it.” he said, settling for a moment beside her to observe the cooking. It already smelled good – really good. After days of berries and a couple of leaves, the savoury smell of the cooking fish made his mouth start watering pretty much at the first whiff.

“Thanks.” She said, a little distractedly, as she was currently trying to spear a fish-bearing stick into the ground, but the stick was giving way instead of the ground. She huffed, stabbed the ground with one of her blades, and put the stick into the furrow it left. She looked at him, nodding approvingly as she observed the fish he’d deposited at her side. “Any problems?”

“Eh, I made something nasty spill out a couple of times, but that’s it.” He smiled crookedly. “Managed not to cut off any fingers.” he waggled them at her.

She huffed a laugh, and reached out to take her blade back, hanging it back near the underside of her jacket-thing. “Well done.” She congratulated him, amused, and waggled her own fingers back at him, two fewer than his own. He tried not to frown at the increasingly-purple left hand. “Ready for another job?”

He straightened, as much as he could when half-kneeling next to a campfire. Its warmth was welcome, given the increasing chill of the breeze. “Sure?”

Rayla pointed to the various belongings hanging on trees, swaying in the breeze. “See if you can dry the tent. And try not to blow the camp away while you’re doing it.”

“Oh yeah! He remembered. “Right, I was meant to be doing that. I'll just-” He stood, and had stepped half towards the hanging inner-tent before a fresh gust of wind reminded him that he was still wearing almost nothing. “...Maybe I’ll get dressed first.”

  Somewhat more than an hour later, Callum had increased his number of spells cast by pretty much a factor of twenty, and had only slightly blown the camp away in the process, and only put the campfire out once. His own still-damp clothes became steadily drier in the process, and his hair more profoundly windblown. After a while Ezran finished making his firewood pile and sat nearby to watch his brother blow magic air around, dragon egg in his lap and Bait atop the dragon egg. By the twelfth iteration of the spell he’d started making silly suggestions, like asking Callum to belch out the spell’s air instead of exhaling it. As yet, Callum had declined to try any of these suggestions.

It was, maybe, pretty repetitive, casting aspiro over and over and over again, while standing on or weighing down whatever he was trying to dry, lest he blow their stuff halfway through the forest again. But Callum could not, in the least, ever imagine being bored with it.

He drew the rune over and over again, each time feeling that prickle of energy in his finger just before he tapped his finger forwards to draw magic into the air. He could never grow tired of it – of reaching out and drawing light into the sky, watching it pulse with energy and the first eager trickles of wind before he spoke to release it, feeling his breath taken and amplified by the magic into something so much more powerful. The primal stone tingled against his skin, heavy in his hand, almost as if the brimming energy inside approved of the outlet he was opening for it.

Aspiro. There was something really interesting, about that moment that his finger went from simply moving to drawing, shaping his will into the magic of the air. It was a maddeningly evasive thing – so hard to put words to – like a tiny, transient tickle of sensation. Like when he moved his finger forwards to draw the rune, he touched something. Just the faintest, strangest flicker of something...like the slightest hint of colder air, maybe. Or the feeling of touching metal in the day before a storm, but so much gentler. Or, really, he could compare it in feeling to the second of potential that separated his charcoal from the paper he drew upon. It was similar.

Aspiro. He cast it, again and again, never tiring of it. Never failing to find something else to notice. It was his breath that went into the spell – not his power, maybe, because that all came from the primal stone, but – it was his breath, his air, that he exhaled out into the magic. It needed him to take form. He tried holding that breath in, once, and felt the magic build into a gusty agitation that started spiralling out of the unfulfilled rune, almost like the sparks from the unfinished lightning spell. Even though he’d already said the word that should have finished the spell – it needed his breath. There was something really cool about that. All the power of a storm, and it needed him to take form.

That time, when he exhaled, the air left him almost too-fast, like the spell leapt down his throat to cling to the back of his breath. The windstorm that gusted out of him was more violent, after that, and not quite as neatly funnel-shaped.

He reached out to draw the rune again, and wondered what would happen if he drew it smaller. Would it make any difference? Would drawing it bigger make any difference? If he changed the shape, just a tiny bit, what would it do to the spell?

He drew it smaller, just to test that. The spell came out just as strong as the other dozen or so times. Huh.

He drew it bigger. Still, basically the same. Size didn’t matter, apparently.

He hesitated at trying to change the shape, though. That seemed like something that would have to make a difference, and he probably shouldn’t experiment with that when the camp was at stake if something went wrong. One magical accident was more than enough for one day, thank you very much.

Instead, he set about finding out if the volume he said aspiro at made any difference.

(It didn’t. But it did bring up the very interesting question of whether it was possible to cast a spell without actually saying anything.)

He was down to whispering the spell, which still seemed to be working fine, and raising his hand to draw the rune again for another, quieter try, when-

“Have you actually stopped to feel the cloak for the last five spells?” Rayla said, from directly behind him, and he jumped badly enough that he nearly dropped the primal stone, fumbling with it for several seconds before managing to catch and secure it properly. She didn’t quite manage to hide her tiny smirk before he turned around, armed with a primal stone and a half-hearted glare.

“You do that on purpose.” He complained, Ezran snickering at him from the side. Ezran, who had not warned him that she was sneaking up on him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rayla lied brightly, leaning over to pat at the cloak-bedroll he’d been drying for…possibly more spells than necessary. “And, I think you’ve overdone this one a bit. It’s dry as paper.”

“…Good for you, I guess, since I think that one’s yours.” He said ruefully, and took his boot off the edge of it to allow her to scoop it up. She felt along its length, humming approvingly, and rolled it up while she inspected the rest of the stuff.

She eyed the inner and outer layers of the tent, now dry and folded nearby. “Well, you didn’t lose the tent again, at least.” She commented.

“That was one time.”

“At least the tent is dry now, so we don’t need to sleep outside.” Ezran put in, leaning back. “And the egg likes all this sky magic. Look at it glow!”

They all collectively took a moment to inspect the egg. It was, indeed, glowing more brightly than typical, casting a large portion of Ezran’s clothes in bluish light.

“…Do you suppose sky dragon eggs are supposed to be near sky magic?” Callum wondered, stepping over to linger near his brother, staring down at the enormous egg. “I mean, maybe it always used to be this bright, but then it was locked up in our castle for months.”

Ezran peered at the egg’s shell with sudden concentration. “…I bet his parents gave him all the magic he needed.” He said, with that odd certainty he had sometimes. “And now Callum can give him magic until we get him back to Xadia.”

Rayla muffled a snicker, and patted Callum on the back. “Well, congratulations on becoming a dragon-parent, Callum. “ She told him, and then nodded her head back towards the hanging tent bits. “Anyway. I originally came over here to check on how you were doing, but if the tent is dry – mind coming over to set it up? The sun will be going down soon.”

“What, already?” He looked up, and…yeah, the sky was looking late-afternoon-ish. “Huh.”

“Can I help?” Ezran asked eagerly, standing up at once, Bait falling off the egg as soon as he moved, and landing with a soft thump and a displeased croak.

“The more the merrier.” She answered decisively, and led them all off to help with this vaguely-familiar element of camp-craft.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Asked Ezran, at one point when they were pitching the tent, and…well, Rayla had sort of been waiting for him to notice. Callum had certainly noticed, after all, and had been sending her looks about it all day. He’d not asked again after the first time, though, even though he clearly wanted to. She’d appreciated that, even though every look made her stomach churn – but Ez was bound to notice it eventually, too. Of course he’d ask.

She stilled, half way through feeding the tent poles through, and forced a smile. “…Not important right now.” She prevaricated, eventually, and kept on at her task. Even though the stiffness of her increasingly sore hand made it harder. Everything she’d done with her hand today hurt, really, even if it wasn’t really bad yet. ‘Yet’ being the operative word here.

Ezran didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, and Callum was watching interestedly from his position feeding his own tent pole through, waiting to see what she’d say. “Rayla, your hand is purple.” The younger prince pointed out, brow furrowing at her, and the two sets of eyes prickled at her.

Discomfort, with an edge of panic, flared in her chest. She bristled, and ducked her head down, eyes fixed stubbornly on the tent. “Not important right now.” She repeated, with a harder edge to the words. She pushed the pole through perhaps more violently than necessary, and reached for the next one.

“But, Rayla-“

“Leave it, Ezran.” She snapped, and then immediately felt guilty. Still, though, she didn’t raise her head or attempt to capitulate; she hunched her shoulders and kept working. She could almost feel Callum’s unimpressed stare on her.

The sound of rustling from where Ezran sat. “O-kay. Fine.” He said, in the somewhat transparent tones of someone who was a little upset but pretending to be annoyed instead. “…I’m going to go top up the campfire.” He announced, and did exactly that, the sounds of his footsteps stomping away.

The silence when he’d gone felt distinctly accusative. Rayla’s shoulders hunched higher.

After a few more seconds, she couldn’t even keep up the pretence of continuing to work. She chanced a glance upwards, at where Callum sat on the opposite side of the outer-tent, and flinched slightly at the look he was giving her. Not quite properly annoyed, maybe, but definitely miffed.

“…You didn’t have to snap at him, you know.” He said to her, the slightest edge in his voice.

She looked away, feeling worse by the second. “…I know.” She admitted, right hand settling over her left, as if to hide it from view.

“You could just say you don’t want to talk about it. He’d understand that.”

“I know.” She bit back the ire in the words as best she could, not wanting to end up snapping at him too. She exhaled. “I just…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. The bind was tight around her wrist. The skin of her swollen hand prickled and tingled and ached. She looked up again, hesitant, and found him still staring, arms folded, expression somewhat stony. “…I’ll apologise. When he’s back.” She said, eyes returning determinedly to the tent fabric. She set back to the task at hand, half-watching Callum’s reaction from the corners of her vision.

He settled, somewhat, from the mild protective tension she’d unwittingly provoked in him. “Well, good.” He said lamely, as if not knowing quite what else to say, and allowed his arms to loosen. “Let’s just get this tent done, alright?”

“…Yeah.”

The quiet as they finished up the necessarily two-person part of the tent-pitching was not entirely comfortable, but not tense either. He’d apparently taken her promise of apology at face value, and was as agreeable as ever to her directives on what to do with the tent. They had it up in short order, now needing only the inner-tent and the tent pegs to be fully assembled. Ezran, meanwhile, had returned to the campfire with an armful of twigs, and was sullenly tossing them on, one-by-one.

“I’ll try to sort out the inner tent.” Callum suggested, in a fairly transparent effort to get her to go over to his brother. She gave him a look, but didn’t argue, waving him in the direction of the hanging fabric in wordless agreement. She needed to check on the latest batch of fish, anyway.

She crossed the relatively short distance to the fire in five brisk strides, ignoring the temptation to delay it by walking slower. She was not great at apologies. She was not great at difficult conversations, in general. But Ez was a good kid and she didn’t want to upset him.

Ezran, for his part, clearly noticed her approach, but nonchalantly kept poking at his firewood pile as if completely unconcerned. “Hi, Rayla.” He said, almost airily, as if nothing had happened, but he didn’t so much as look her way.

She crouched beside him, and took a deep breath. “Look, Ez, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” She said, and his eyes flickered upwards to hers for a second. He held the gaze for a second before looking back at the fire, tossing in another stick.

He was quiet for a few seconds, long enough that Rayla was about to try to elaborate, but then he spoke. “Are you going to say what’s wrong with your hand?”

She winced, and curled it towards her chest in a quick, reflexive attempt to hide it. The speed of the movement pulled a little painfully against the swelling fingers. “…Not yet?” She answered, almost pleadingly. He did turn to look back at her then, eyes fixing seriously on hers. She’d not quite noticed how piercing that shade of blue could be, before now.

“I can tell it’s important.” He told her, plainly. “But it’s your hand. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. Or Callum. It’s not our business.”

Rayla grimaced a little, and reached out to pull one of the fish-on-a-stick from the edge of the fire. “…It sort of is, actually. It’s complicated.” She exhaled a long breath, feeling the first inklings of a stress headache sprouting at the sides of her face. “But…not now? Let’s just…eat fish and relax for a while. After today it’s going to be pretty hard going, after all.” She attempted a smile.

He blinked at her, curious and not trying to hide it, but nodded without making any further moves to ask questions. “Okay. Sounds good.” He said after a moment, and finished putting the last of the sticks onto the fire. “….is there anything left to do on the tent?”

Her smile loosened into something more genuine at the hope in those words. She wondered how long it would be until Ezran no longer found the tent so intriguing. “Callum’s probably sorting out the inside of the tent. I bet you can help him with that if you hurry.”

Predictably, this led to the littler human of the party scurrying across to his brother. She watched him go, and watched him duck into the main tent to investigate, and then smothered a laugh as she heard: “Uh, Callum? Why is the door facing that way?”

There was a pause, then a muttered rude word from the older prince. Evidently, he’d started hanging the inner-tent the wrong way round. Rayla, who had done the exact same thing the first time she’d been left on tent duty alone, found herself feeling sympathetically amused about it.

She shook her head ruefully and eased a smaller river-fish from a stick and onto an increasingly large pile. They’d have plenty to eat tonight, and plenty of leftovers to spare, which was just as well. This interlude by the lake was probably the most rest they’d get for a while. In a day or three, the terrain would get decidedly harsher, and no one would be having fun.

Least of all her, with the hand she didn’t expect she’d be able to keep.

She flexed the stiffening fingers of her left hand, and sighed. Well, in any case…She’d best enjoy the calm while she could.

 End chapter.

 This chapter takes place on 15.05, day 5 since start of canon.

True story: I have put the inner-tent up the wrong way round before, early on in my hiking experience. This leads to the doorway to the inside of the tent being inaccessible, and is not advised.  Generally you don’t make that mistake twice, but it’s an easy one to make the first time.

Medical note: I am treating Rayla’s hand as a limb ischemia. Damage and symptoms will follow ischemic trends, with one notable exception: I am ignoring the worst effects of reperfusion injury. There’s some reasons for this. 1) canon does it. Rayla’s hand returns to normal in about five seconds with no apparent pain or consequence or, indeed, reperfusion. 2) I’m not going to let her off as lightly as canon, but I also don’t want to have to rearrange my plot to make room for fighting Rayla’s major organ failure, so. I’m just plain not going to.

The risk here is to Rayla’s hand and its assorted anatomical constituents, not to Rayla’s kidneys and heart; and there might be some inflammatory damage, but not the horrifying cascades of cell death you often see in reperfusion.

For the purposes of this story, let’s just say elves are, for whatever reason, highly resistant to reperfusion damage. Maybe not completely immune, but very very resistant. Feel free to imagine whatever explanation you like for that.

Afterword: thanks for the support everyone has given with comments and kudos and so on. I actually didn’t have an anxiety crash after last chapter because there was so much nice response, which was a pleasant change. Thanks again to Jelly who keeps offering enthusiasm and encouragement, and to Noip who has followed me through like three fandoms now and is always my best analyst.

I’ve now written about a total of like…83k of piaj? But ch6 is still unfinished because I’ve mainly been writing future scenes, rip. At least when we get to like, chapter 20ish, I’ll have a heck of a lot of content pre-written. Also I have all of the major currently-planned events on a rough timeline now, and it’s Fun. The latest major event currently in the timeline is currently loosely plotted around Day 50, and coincidentally, it’s the event that I (and Jelly) am most desperate to get to. (note: this is not when the story would end.)

I only have one complete chapter left to post, so....wish me luck on finishing 6.

#tdp #tdp fic #rayllum #tdp fanfic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #piaj #piaj chapters

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero and @magic713m

Chapter Six Draco’s Detour

Malfoy Manor had become a busy place this summer, but Draco did his best not to participate. He kept to himself as often as he could. His bedroom, with its high ceilings and gold and silver leaf decor over white marble, was a relative safe-haven, even though being alone with his thoughts was not ideal.

He spent most of his time attending to one of two mental tasks: either Occlumency or, as Draco had begun thinking of it, “The Plan.”

Occlumency was easy, at least in concept. He had to practice not thinking, and hope that when Aunt Bella tried to read his mind at breakfast the next morning, he could conceal his thoughts from her. It had been difficult at first, and he’d seethed as she teased him about Pansy Parkinson or his struggles in Care of Magical Creatures. The worst breakfast had been the one where she’d uncovered a memory of a letter he’d nearly sent to Remus Lupin last year — he’d thrown it away, it was nothing, really — but it didn’t stop Bella from going into one of her worst tirades. She’d suggested if Draco wanted to learn something from a vicious creature, he could spend an evening with Fenrir Greyback.

Draco shivered just from the memory of it and tried to clear his mind in the way Occlumency required, but it was hard to get Bella’s shrill, furious voice out of his head.

So instead he turned his attention to the Plan. It wasn’t a great plan, not yet, and he would need to have reserve plans, just in case one of them failed. So far, he only had the outline of the first one.

Draco paced his bedroom slowly. By now, he was familiar with exactly how many steps it took him to circle the room, as familiar as if it were a prison. Ten from bed to window, where he could look out at the pure white peacocks that strutted around the yard and shrieked as shrilly as Aunt Bellatrix. The sun was just beginning to rise and Draco rubbed his eyes. He did not realize he had been up all night.

It was five more steps to his desk, where old textbooks were stacked and blank parchment laid out. Draco had initially sat down to write out his ideas, but he’d found himself afraid to put anything to paper. Instead, he kept all his thoughts in his head, which, while allowing him some measure of secrecy, certainly made it more difficult to review details.

But secrecy was a necessary measure. His mother had tried, fervently, to make him reveal his Plan, but he knew he didn’t need her help. She probably thought his silence a sign of incompetence, and it only made him angrier. He resented each time she asked to help or offered advice. He had a plan, and the sum of it was rather good; it would just require some very difficult magic Draco wasn’t sure he could perform.

But there was magic he was certainly good at — the Imperius Curse, for one. While Draco had been unable to resist the Imperius Curse in Moody’s class, he’d become adept at performing it under Aunt Bella’s tutelage. Macnair and Yaxley could have done with a lesson from Moody.

The Imperius Curse, however, was only a backup plan. Draco knew it could be unreliable. The victim could be discovered or they could lose their mind resisting and his entire plan would unravel. And, he would somehow need to communicate with the Imperiused person without being detected. It was too risky. Useful, but on its own it would not suffice.

It was only three steps from his bedroom to the door, which opened up into his own private receiving area. It had been something of a nursery when Draco was younger, and as he grew, it turned into his own private parlor. When his parents guests brought their children to dinner parties, their children would spend time up here, with Draco. Occasionally that meant Crabbe and Goyle, who were as thick as they were wide and did little other than eat the snacks the house-elf had provided. More often, it was Leonardo and Theodore Nott who visited. While Leo was a few years older than them, Theo was Draco’s age, and they’d been close as children. The books on the shelves were ones they held a common interest in — books about dark creatures, diagrams of mysterious artefacts, or mysterious, unexplained phenomena in wizarding history. In addition to the books, the shelves were full of dark artefacts and preservation jars of dark creatures, not unlike Snape’s dungeon back at Hogwarts.

Beneath the window was a tea table, where the house-elf was carefully setting out tea. Though her hands shook so badly the silver clattered loud enough to give Draco a headache, he felt relief. If Winky was setting tea up in his room, there would be no formal breakfast downstairs. That meant the Dark Lord was away on business.

Worse than Occlumency lessons, worse than Unforgivable Curse lessons, worse than mulling over the Plan, was dining with the Dark Lord. Draco had met him for the first time last Christmas, when he’d come home from Hogwarts for the holiday. While the Malfoys had never been exuberant celebrators, the Dark Lord’s presence had made for an exceptionally damp and dreary holiday, especially since the Dark Lord had been furious with his recent failure in seeking out the prophecy about Harry Potter. This summer, since the prophecy had been destroyed and Lucius Malfoy arrested, had been far worse.

The door opened without warning and Draco immediately steeled both his mind and nerves, prepared for a Legilimency attack from Aunt Bella, or something worse, but it was only his mother in the doorway. Usually she knocked, but she appeared to be in quite the hurry.

“Good, you are awake. And you’re dressed — are those yesterday’s robes? — never mind, Draco, we need to leave quickly.”

Draco noted the wide-brimmed hat on her head and the purse in her hand. “Where are we going?”

“Diagon Alley,” she said impatiently. “You need your school things.”

Draco flushed. He had told his mother he’d be going to Diagon Alley today, but he’d meant it more as a polite way of informing her he’d be out of the house. He had not meant it as a request for escort. He had other things to take care of, things he couldn’t do under her watch. “I don’t need you to take me, Mother. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Hurry up, eat your breakfast. It will take us quite some time to get through the security at Gringotts — and you —” Narcissa Malfoy’s mouth curled in disgust as she turned to the house-elf, “— that racket is entirely unacceptable. If you can’t even serve a meal without banging dents in the silver, what are you good for?”

Winky the house-elf bowed quickly, stammering out a flurry of apologies and promising to appropriately punish herself. She wasn’t so different from Dobby, though she burned meals less often, which Draco appreciated. Winky had joined the Malfoy family after the Triwizard Tournament. She’d needed employment after Barty Crouch, Jr. had been killed, and the Malfoys had been suffering with a small wizard staff for two years. It was a drain on comfort and finances, as far as Draco was concerned. Winky had been an excellent solution, until the Dark Lord had borrowed her shortly after the winter holidays. He hadn’t said why, only that he needed to “check on something important.” Winky hadn’t been the same since she’d returned.

But his mother had a point. House-elves were not meant to make a scene, so Draco had little sympathy as she vanished from the sitting room, presumably to punish herself.

There was little Draco could do to get out of going to Diagon Alley with his mother, so, with as much sulk as possible, Draco ate his breakfast and followed her down to the entrance. Her heels clicked against the white tile flooring, which had the unfortunate effect of alerting Aunt Bella to their departure.

She appeared in front of the door almost as quickly as if she had Apparated there, though it was impossible to Apparate within Malfoy Manor.

“Where are you two off to?” Aunt Bella asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Draco did his best to empty his mind as his mother answered.

“Just getting Draco’s school things, Bella. It’s a shame you can’t join us.” Narcissa tried to step past her but Bella grabbed her arm.

“Oh, come now, little sister. It wouldn’t be terribly hard — I could just take a lock of your hair and put it in a little potion. Draco and I could have a lovely shopping day together.”

If Narcissa was at all terrified of the idea of her sister stealing her identity, Draco couldn’t see it on her face. She was as polite and impassive as ever. “If it would please you, Bella, by all means, take Draco to Gringotts. He’ll need new robes from Madam Malkin’s, and his N.E.W.T-level textbooks from Flourish and Blotts, and fresh potion supplies from —”

Bella let go of Narcissa with a roll of her eyes. “You can’t even indulge me in a little joke?” She stepped aside and let Narcissa open the door. “Have a good time with mummy, Draco.” She blew him a kiss. “Do let me know if she takes any detours she shouldn’t.”

This last statement sacrificed her falsely sweet voice for a terrifyingly honest snarl. Draco hurried after his mother without even a good-bye.

Bella had watched Narcissa like a hawk this last month. Draco didn’t know the details of it, but he knew his mother had gone to Snape for help and Bella had been displeased. Draco had been displeased, too. He resented the way his mother bent so easily under the Dark Lord, under Bella, and he resented the way his mother didn’t believe he was capable of fulfilling the Dark Lord’s order. She didn’t believe he could do it, and she’d gone to Snape — Snape of all people — for help.

True, Snape had been Draco’s favorite teacher for years. Snape was head of Slytherin and had always been helpful to Draco in both Defense class and Potions class. Snape had a deep knowledge of the Dark Arts that Draco respected and admired. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Since then, Draco had lost his father and he knew it was Snape’s fault. Snape was the one who had told the Dark Lord that the prophecy was stored in the Department of Mysteries. Snape was the one who told the Dark Lord that there might be more he hadn’t initially overheard, and that the Dark Lord should find a way to claim it, perhaps finding the secret to killing Potter. Snape was the one who had been the bait to lure Potter to the Ministry and — worst of all — all the Death Eaters knew Snape was still fond of Lily Potter.

Draco didn’t know which disgusted him more. That Snape loved a Mudblood or that Snape was responsible for his father’s sentence in Azkaban. Or, worse than that, Snape was still on Voldemort’s arm, at least as close as Bella was. Draco was going to change that. He may have feared Bella, but he was eager to make her proud, to make the Dark Lord proud, and to avenge what was done to his father. Failure was not an option.

Narcissa Apparated them to London, which Draco supposed was one benefit of going with his mother. He had another year before he would be seventeen and could even take his Apparition exam. They entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, as most wizards did. Draco was used to Tom, the barman, greeting them with a certain amount of grace. Today, Tom hardly looked up from the glass he was polishing.

The unusually empty bar should have been a clue to Draco, but he was still stunned to see how much Diagon Alley had changed in the few short months since the Dark Lord’s return was made public.

Every shop window had been covered in Ministry of Magic leaflets and posters. It was impossible to window shop; all someone would get out of it would be a sense of paranoia, terrible advice on defending oneself from Dark Wizard attacks, and maybe a sneer from an Azkaban wanted poster. The ice cream shop next to the Leaky Cauldron was boarded up and a notice had been posted saying, “Please owl Auror Marcy Longfellow with any information on the whereabouts of Florean Fortescue.” It was marked with the gold Ministry of Magic seal. The windows of the shop next door were plastered in Death Eaters. Aunt Bella’s face looked strange to Draco. She was laughing maniacally, and her eyes were crazed. She was so haughty at home. Perhaps not as poised as his mother, but she’d shown a measure of control, and even the photographs of her and Narcissa from their youth showed her arrogance. That wasn’t to say Draco had never seen her madness, he’d just only seen it in her rage, not her laughter. He shivered, unsure which was worse.

Narcissa and Draco hurried on to Gringotts at the end of Diagon Alley. They passed several stalls that had cropped up over the summer, advertising defense against werewolves, Inferi, dementors, and even Dark Wizards themselves. Draco wondered how some magical broach could possibly determine who was or wasn’t a “Dark Wizard,” but he gave the booth as wide a berth as possible.

The most interesting shop and most noticeable, by far, was the brand new “Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” Everything in the windows flew, flipped, or flashed. A bright purple poster with gold lettering heralded their latest product: “U-No-Poo.” It was an excellent parody of the Ministry of Magic posters plastered in Diagon Alley and just for that, Draco almost found it funny. He had little interest in supporting a Weasley business, but there were a few things advertised in that shop window that caught his eye. Their advertisement for their recently imported Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, for one, looked particularly useful. Draco made a note to pick up a catalog when they passed by it again.

As his mother had predicted, it took them quite a while to get their money from Gringotts. Draco wasn’t fond of goblins, but at least they didn’t throw the Malfoys distrustful looks, no more than they did any other wizards. The only thing that the goblins had an interest in was keeping their clients’ gold safe and ready for use. The Malfoys were still important clients. That didn’t protect them from all the wand-waving, probity-probing, and sight-scanning all clients had to go through before being allowed to access their vault.

Once they’d secured enough gold to last them a fair while, they made their first stop at Flourish and Blotts. Draco had received an Outstanding on his Potions O.W.L., so he picked up Advanced Potion-Making. He also got the new Defense textbook, Confronting the Faceless. Draco didn’t know who the new Defense teacher would be, but the book certainly looked more interesting than the one Umbridge had assigned. He also guessed by the title that they would do something they’d never done in her class: actually cast defensive spells.

Draco was also taking Charms and Transfiguration at N.E.W.T. level so he picked up those textbooks as well. He’d achieved O.W.L.s in a few other subjects, like Astronomy and Herbology, but he didn’t have much interest in taking those classes.

Truthfully, Draco didn’t have much interest in any of his classes. Potions and Defense had always been interesting subjects to him, but even those didn’t matter much in the face of the task he’d been given. If he’d come to Diagon Alley without his mother, Draco might not have even stopped for his school books or the potions supplies they picked up next. He had interest in one thing, and it was around the corner in Knockturn Alley.

But Draco certainly wasn’t going to take his mother with him for that task. He’d have to find a way to slip out of her sight.

Draco was just considering telling his mother he needed to run back for a bag of gnarl quills he’d forgotten to grab from the potions shop, and surely she could go along without him, when she pulled him into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

The shop bell jingled as they entered, and the bustle of Diagon Alley vanished, replaced by the click of a sewing machine and the gentle sound of a harp. Madam Malkin stood from her desk as they entered and the clicking noise stopped. She took off her glasses to get a better look at them.

“My, Mister Malfoy, how you’ve grown. I imagine your school robes hardly fit anymore. Come, come, let’s get you fitted.”

“He’s outgrown his dress robes as well,” Narcissa said, as they walked to the full-length mirrors and the fitting stool. Draco ignored her hand and stepped onto it without assistance. “Have you anything new in stock?”

“I have a fresh design set from Berlin, arrived just last week. We can look over the patterns and see if there’s anything to Mister Malfoy’s taste, perhaps even something for yourself, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Thank you, but I’m just here for Draco today.”

“You didn’t need to be here,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t let you go about Diagon Alley by yourself, Draco.”

She reached out to stroke his hair, but Draco ducked away from her. He held his arms out and let Madam Malkin pin the robes on and tried to look serious. The face looking back at him in the mirror just looked petulant.

“I’m not a child, in case you hadn’t noticed, Mother.” He stared at himself as he spoke, watched how his brow furrowed like a child’s might before a tantrum and tried to compose his features. It only served to make him look tired. He’d always been pale, but he thought he looked lighter than usual. Maybe the lighting in here was just awful. He tried again to sound grown up. “I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

Madame Malkin clicked her tongue at him as she pinned the sleeve of his new robe to the shoulder. His pale skin turned pink as she chided him, like he was a toddler instead of sixteen.

“Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering on our own anymore. It’s nothing to do with being a child —”

One of the pins caught in Draco’s shoulder and he flinched. His exhaustion and his frustration overwhelmed him. “Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

Madam Malkin huffed irritably as Draco stalked from the single full-length mirror to the three-fold mirror that would show the robes from all sides. He caught sight of four people standing at the door and he did not think his mood could get worse, but it did.

“If you’re wondering what that smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in.”

Madam Malkin hurried over with her tape measure as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom each drew their wands. Hermione Granger stood behind them, trying to pull them back, insisting it wasn’t worth the fight, but she only had two hands.

“I don’t think there is any need for language like that!” said Madam Malkin. “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop, either.”

“Yeah, like you lot would dare do magic outside of school,” Malfoy snapped. “Really, Longbottom, what curse do you think you’re going to get off on me? You’re not even pointing your wand the right way.”

To Draco’s delight, Longbottom did in fact check to make sure he was holding his wand correctly.

“That is quite enough!” Madam Malkin said. “Madam — Please —” She looked back at Narcissa for help, as if Draco would somehow listen to her more than Madam Malkin.

Narcissa strode over and the disgust she’d shown at Winky’s poor service was visible once again as she looked over Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom. “Put those away.” There was no anger in her voice, only hard, cold, immovable steel. “If you ever attack my family, I shall ensure it is the last thing you ever do.”

Potter stepped forward. He seemed to wear the white scar marring his dark forehead like a proud badge. His green eyes flashed with arrogance. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Madam Malkin looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Her hands flew to her chest and all the color drained from her face. “Really — you shouldn’t accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!”

But Potter did not stow his wand.

“I see,” Narcissa said in a low voice, “that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.”

Draco’s heart raced. His ears grew hot, but his face seemed cold. It was not a confession, barely even a warning, but Draco knew she meant those words, more seriously than Potter could even fathom.

Potter looked around the store, mock surprise fueling his arrogance. “Wow, look at that. He’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband.”

Rage burned in Draco, hot, white, eating at his exhaustion. He stepped forward, forgetting Madam Malkin had not finished pinning the hem. He stumbled over the excess fabric.

The shop bell rang as the door opened one more time. Draco’s mother caught his shoulder, holding him steady and holding him back. Then her hands tightened and her nails dug into his skin. Draco looked up and saw why.

“… won’t be long.” Sirius Black turned from whoever he’d been talking to in the doorway and surveyed the scene in Madam Malkin’s shop: the boys’ wands drawn, Hermione trying to talk them down, Narcissa composed and Draco furious, and poor Madam Malkin, who decided it might be best just to ignore it all together, and began fixing Draco’s hem.

Sirius didn’t look too well himself. Half of his face was washed in purple, the yellow edges of a bruise fading into his pale skin. He adjusted his leather jacket and Draco saw his hands, too, were marked with red and purple blotches. Draco thought he’d offer a bag of galleons to whatever Dark Wizard had cursed Sirius Black so completely.

But once Draco got past the injuries, he was struck by just how much Sirius looked like his mother and his aunt. He’d only seen Sirius Black at a handful of Hogwarts Quidditch games, but here, as Sirius and Narcissa stared each other down, it was impossible to deny just how alike they looked. Draco had never, not for a minute, considered that Sirius Black was related to him,. Now he could not see how he had missed it.

Before Draco could decide what to do with this information, Madam Malkin, determined to carry on as if nothing was wrong, started to roll up his left sleeve. “I think this left sleeve should come up just a bit more, dear, let me just —”

“Ouch!” he slapped her hand away, though she had not pricked him. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman!” Mother — I don’t think I want these anymore.” Draco yanked the robes off, pins and all, and tossed them to the floor.

“You’re right, Draco.” His mother kept her eyes on Sirius, like she hadn’t decided if she knew him or not. “Now that I know the kind of scum that shops here, I think we’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

Draco pushed past them, knocking against Ron as he did so. He pulled the door of the shop open to the street and was startled to find a very large shape in his way. Carefully, he edged around Hagrid, and without looking back to see if his mother was following, walked up the street to Twilfitt and Tatting’s.

This time, Draco and his mother did not fight over whether Draco should or shouldn’t be able to do his shopping alone. They maintained a tense silence, commenting only on the fit of the school robes and the design of the custom dress robes they ordered. Narcissa ordered a set of dress robes for herself, as well.

Narcissa slipped the box of robes into the bag of books. “Why don’t we take care of Quidditch supplies next?”

It was a thoughtful peace offering. She knew Draco liked Quidditch, and he would be able to make decisions about the purchases she could not, since she didn’t know very much about the sport. But Draco only bristled. He hadn’t thought once about Quidditch since his last match against Hufflepuff. That was before O.W.L.s, before his father had been arrested, before he’d been given his monumental task.

Narcissa noticed his displeasure and suggested an alternative. “If you don’t need Quidditch supplies this year, then our last stop is getting owl pellets for Ulysses, and I believe he might need a new traveling cage. That old one’s gotten a bit tarnished, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t need to buy pellets for a stupid hand-me-down owl,” Draco snapped.

Draco had seen his mother angry plenty of times, but he’d never seen her angry at something he’d said.

“Ulysses is a family owl, not a hand-me-down. You should be proud to own him — I thought you were proud of him!”

“Finish the shopping yourself. I’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“No —” She reached for him, but Draco had already slipped out of her reach. He did not head straight for Knockturn Alley. Instead, he slipped through the crowd and right into the Quidditch shop. He could hear his mother calling for him, and he waited until she had entered the shop to slip out without her noticing. Draco was content to let her search among the broom racks and practice robes. He had more important business.

His first stop was Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. He knew better than to go inside. He did not think Fred and George Weasley would give him any business, not if they knew it was him. But he snatched one of the catalogs from the stand outside the shop and hastily flipped through it. The description of the Instant Darkness Powder he’d seen demonstrated in the shop window certainly sounded useful. The Decoy Detonators weren’t bad either. He didn’t see much use for the section titled, “WonderWitch,” and the Muggle tricks looked utterly ridiculous. The fireworks, while flashy, probably wouldn’t help him. But some of the prank products seemed practical for Draco’s needs. Even the Skiving Snackbox might be helpful if he needed to make an inconspicuous getaway.

Draco glanced over his shoulder one more time to make sure that his mother hadn’t followed him then hurried back to Knockturn Alley.

Draco had been to Knockturn Alley a few times before with his father, and most often, they stopped at Borgin and Burkes. There were other pawn shops on the street, but none staffed by respectable wizards who were willing to make discrete purchases. The Ministry had tightened rules on Dark Artefacts in recent years and the Malfoys had needed to pass along certain items. At the time, Draco hadn’t realized the half of what the objects could do. Now, he wished he had them. They might make his job much easier.

But the Plan didn’t involve dark objects. It involved one specific object, and a strange event that had occurred last spring. Fred and George Weasley had shoved Graham Montague into a Vanishing Cabinet located somewhere within Hogwarts. Montague had, as the cabinet’s name suggested, Vanished. Draco hadn’t cared too much about Vanishing Cabinets, even after Montague’s disappearance. It wasn’t until Montague came back that Draco’s interest was piqued.

Montague had talked at length about his experience, to anyone who would listen. He would moan and complain about the Weasley twins, and say that while he was trapped inside the cabinet, he’d heard bits of conversation from Borgin and Burkes. That had intrigued Draco, who was well aware one could not Apparate nor Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds. And when Draco had been set his task by the Dark Lord, he had begun further research on Vanishing Cabinets.

Sure enough, when Draco entered Borgin and Burkes, the large cabinet he’d recalled from his childhood visits was still there.

Mr. Borgin sat at his shop counter, examining a glass box that appeared to be empty. Draco wondered if it housed an invisible object or a curse, but he didn’t dwell on it long. He had a more pressing task ahead of him.

“Ah, good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” Borgin did not smile. He set the box aside. “Are we selling today? I must say, I’d be very impressed if your family had managed to hold onto anything of interest in the wake of the ah… events of the summer.”

Draco stiffened. His upper lip curled, much like his might have were she here. “Actually, I’m interested in this Vanishing Cabinet.”

Borgin’s eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly. “A useful object in these troubling times. You know how it works then? You simply step inside, Disappear, and Reappear when you are ready.”

“I’m well aware of how most Vanishing Cabinets work. Are you aware that this cabinet has a twin?”

Borgin stroked his chin. “Twin cabinets are quite rare. If it does indeed have a twin, its price is double.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not paying for this cabinet.”

Borgins eyes grew very cold. “Then, Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid our business is concluded.”

“No, it isn’t. You see, this cabinet has a twin, but the twin doesn’t work. I’m going to fix it. You’re going to tell me how. See, a friend of mine got stuffed into the twin, and kept hearing conversations in this shop. I’d like to repair it, to restore the passage between the cabinets, allowing them to be used for travel. So tell me: would you know how to fix it?”

The shopowner’s lips twitched. He clearly did not like Draco’s business dealings as much as he’d enjoyed his father’s. “Possibly. I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”

“I can’t. It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

Borgin licked his lips. He seemed almost grateful to have a way out. “Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

Draco had expected resistance, and he felt a bit of thrill as he began to roll up his left sleeve. “No?” He stepped closer and revealed the blood red mark on his arm: an image of a human skull, with a snake winding around the jawbone, and extending from the teeth like a tongue. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

Borgin’s face paled. This — this was what Draco wanted. He wanted the power that came with serving the Dark Lord. He wanted the power to command, to control. He wanted people to listen to him, to follow his orders.

“Tell anyone,” Draco said, “and there will be retribution.” He added the only threat he could think of that might be worse than the Dark Lord himself. “You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

“There will be no need for —”

“I’ll decide that.” Draco rolled down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe.” He gestured to the cabinet. “I’ll need it.”

Borgin’s voice still shook. “Perhaps you’d like to take it now?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man. How would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course not, sir.” Borgin bowed, as deeply as he had when Lucius Malfoy had demanded secrecy on some of his sales, or asked things to be held for a time, until the Ministry reduced their raids.

“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother. Understand?”

“Naturally, naturally,” and Borgin bowed once more.

Draco left in a hurry. He hoped his mother would be waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t want to spend another minute in Diagon Alley. The thrill of intimidating Borgin faded not long after stepping out of the shop. The pounding in his ears was slowly turning into a pounding in his head. The success of step one was washed over by the pressure of what was still to come. He tried to have confidence in his Plan, but he knew there were many parts that could go wrong.

It did not take him long to reconnect with his mother. She was in the Leaky Cauldron, anxiety barely visible in the tight lines around her mouth. For a moment, Draco felt guilty. Not for making her worry about him — he could handle himself — but for leaving her alone in Diagon Alley. What if she had run into Sirius Black again, and he hadn’t been there to defend her?

But neither said a word as they left and Apparated home.

Draco went straight to his room, determined to avoid Aunt Bella. His mind was buzzing so loudly he knew he would not succeed in an Occlumency test right now. He distracted himself with his new school things, and flipped through his Charms textbook.

Right there, in the course introduction, tucked into the list of standard charms was the Protean Charm. Draco had heard that before…. Yes, that Mudblood Granger had used it to communicate with her stupid group of Dumbledore loyalists.

Draco slipped a galleon out of his pocket and flipped to the page detailing the Protean Charm. He had the beginnings of a Backup Plan, just in case the Plan went poorly. If the Vanishing Cabinet was not enough, if he needed help from outside Hogwarts, he could use a charmed galleon for communication, just as Potter had. Someday, he’d have to thank Potter, Weasley, and Granger for all their help.

#draco malfoy #harry potter #harry potter and the half-blood prince #harry potter everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #hbp

[fanesavin]

The festivities ahead of the Coronation begin with Lords and Ladies settling in for the night ahead of an exciting and much anticipated day.

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 ] 

Curiously, Iann remained where he was as the crowed departed, watching the man who tried to attack Lady Faye of Lacroy. He wanted to speak to either Lady Faye or Inquisitor Savin, but then suddenly there was his little brother as well, being a bother. Iann made a snorting noise. “The honey makes the mead, you silly thing.” He looked a little closer at Miguel. “You looked…piqued. Did you enjoy that display of magic? Or - whatever it was?” Iann said, unwilling to just brand everything he didn’t understand as 'magic’.

“I would love a walk,” the priestess said to Bella. “Would you like to come along, Maya?” she asked her companion. “Unless you have pressing matters to attend to for your Lord?” It was her way of giving the other woman an out. “I’m a priestess /for/ the Lord of Light. I do His bidding. Go where he commands.”

Fane watched the man be dragged away and exhaled short and sharp. He turned to survey those lingering behind dragging his fingers back through his hair. Seeing Iann and Miguel he trailed over to them. “That was no magic.”

“I will also be going, specifically for that very reason. May I accompany you on your way?” She asked. “I am Octavia.” She said introducing herself to Lady Lacroy.

Iann looked at Fane. “Are you alright?” Another question followed. “Will she be alright?” And then a statement. “You no doubt heard what happened to our own sister-by-marriage earlier today, Inquisitor.”

Ephram interjected, from where he was standing near the princes of the island kingdom. “And a not inconsiderable number of barrels of mead are from Honeywild Holding.” He was still, like many of them, watching the aftermath of what had happened with the … witch, he supposed? … but it seemed like as good an in as any to strike up some conversation with the noble seafaring Princes and Lord Savin.  Ephram turned his focus to the little knot of gathering nobles; it seemed luck was on his side, when it came to ingratiating himself to them as swiftly as possible.

“If you wish,” Faye said, wiping her hands carefully on the cloth. “Faye. Faye Lacroy. A pleasure, Octavia.”

Iann scoffed. “Honeywild Holding. Any place that needs to claim its purpose is doomed to mediocrity….ah.” He turned to regard the tall blond man, a haughty once-over. “That makes sense, now that I see who makes such a claim. Lord…Pittypat? I forget your name.” And most other people would too in a few years, Iann thought silently. This poor lost Lordling.

Fane waved off the question for his own well-being good-naturedly. “If that display was anything to judge by… Yes, I think she’ll be just fine,” he said looking in the direction Faye had vanished equal parts amused, concerned and unsure quite what to make of what he’d just seen. Though what Iann said next drew his attention back aside to him “I did… and I’ve asked that some of my men do some investigating… Subtly of course. How does she fair now?” he asked of Cassandra.

“Likewise, Faye.” She said walking beside the woman. “I heard the mad spit the word witch at you.” Octavia pulled her long hair out of her face and tucked some behind her ear. “I had wished that with this 'peace’ the High Raj is restoring to the lands we would have a more open thinking society.” She said shaking her head. Finding someone that was also a witch was a rare occurrence. Octavia did not practice her magic, but it was certainly manifesting itself these days- and growing stronger each one that had passed.

“Pettaline. I’ve still got the name of my ancestors, Your Highness, and unfortunately the legacy of their unembellished naming customs when it comes to our lands.” Ephram smiled as if the jibe had been some sort of friendly joke between them. Over the years and the dwindling of House Pettaline down to nothing, he’d gotten very, very good at not letting humiliation show. “Are you talking of the kidnapping attempt that happened earlier? Between that and this bizarre attack and accusation of witchery, it seems the Capital’s not as prepared for so many people flooding into it as they thought they’d be.”

“She’s comfortable, with her precious daughter,” Iann replied, and seemed satisfied that Savin had taken it upon himself to look into that matter as well. He was not the 'Inquisitor’ for nothing, after all. A title that Iann understood (as his own House once underwent a thorough Inquisition, over three hundred years ago) and respected. Or, well, he specifically respected Fane Savin to be thorough. “Tell me what you find…” he saw the mix of emotions flit across Savin’s face, and then looked amused as well. “It seems some magic was afoot. Both yourself and my little brother have been successfully caught under some enchantment of The Witch of the Wilds.”

Fane nodded a little upon hearing that she was safe with her daughter. “I’ll see it handled… but the timing seems far too convenient,” he admitted honestly though as Pettaline added his opinion to the matter about preparations Fane could only make a small noise of agreement. “That’s true enough, you would think the Cloverry and Crown would have forseen some incidents… Yet I see little being done about it by the Royal guard.” As for Iann’s comment about the Witch of the Wild’s enchantment Fane merely shrugged a shoulder, “she’s an interesting one. A little stern and prickly perhaps but… interesting.”

Iann On the point the little (tall) Lordling made, Iann had to agree. He tapped at his beard. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t all expect perfection just yet.” it was a blithe comment. Iann didn’t expect perfection at all. “Still, my heart is beating quick from all the excitement. No better time to compare mead and proclaim the Forty Isles caskets more worthy, eh?” He smiled, and clapped Pettaline on the back, hard. He looked around. “Now where’s my lovely White Lady gone? I’d like to enjoy myself in the confines of the Bluesprings Keep. Who will join me? Savin, I’ve yet to see you tipsy, never mind ten sheets to the wind.” He said it with a slow and careful smile though, so Inquisitor Savin didn’t see it as mockery, but a friendly invitation.

Bella walked alongside Faye as they made there way to the event. Lord of Light, no wonder Bella had felt her presence in the crowd of others. The darkness that was evident all over her person was a heavy contrast but Bella didn’t quite see it as anything that should make them enemies. Enemies came with a purpose beyond just a connection to something. “When did you feel the call to your Lord?” Bella asked, looking about the event as they walked into it. Food and drinks all over the place, her wolf salivating as it waited for her to fetch him some food. If he just rushed the table there would be screams.

Silent as the owl that Iann likened him to, the Prelate materialized in step with Faye and Octavia as they walked. “Lady Lacroy,” he said, and acknowledged the young woman accompanying her with a nod as well, “I’m deeply perturbed by what you just endured. Please be assured that I will be assigning some members of the Emerald Hand to watch for any such further attacks on your person.” Theodore didn’t offer a definition of the Emerald Hand with this announcement; either the woman knew of the shadowy agents of the Cloverry, or she didn’t.

“It’s hardly the worse thing I’ve been called.” But Faye agreed with Octavia. Peace would only hold if the old mindsets died with the war.

Fane looked at the crowds moving towards the main keep his features set into a slight frown. “We should discuss it more but later as you say… perhaps a few drinks.” With what had happened first to Grand Lady Cassandra and then Lady Lacroy Fane found himself a little perturbed and distraction typically made not a welcome companion for revelry. But a few drinks wouldn’t hurt he supposed. “Tell me you brought the Amber casket with you at least? I might be persuaded to have a few more if you have it.”

Ephram threw his shoulders back, straightening at Fane’s note concerning the lack of timely response by the Royal guard. “Maybe the Raj’s soldiers have orders to be on the lookout for threats to the throne,” he said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Which, I’d reckon, would leave those of us capable of spotting other skirmishes and trouble-making the responsibility of keeping the peace. D'you think, Lord Savin? Highness Cardero?”

“I wouldn’t think that witch should be used as a slur.” Octavia shrugged. “When I think of witch, I think of power. Passion. Strength.” She said looking over to Faye.

Miguel kept mostly quiet, but he nodded to the man who proclaimed himself a Pettaline. Was this another noble being taken for granted like Lady Lacroy? And was he worth being friendly with? There was a lot of mental math going on in Miguel’s head. But he didn’t want to appear too friendly with anyone in front of Iann. “Hearts beating fast indeed. I wouldn’t mind a little friendly competition.”

The excitement, as it was called, only served to show the priestess that this place needed more guidance. Violence beget violence, after all. But she followed as the others moved towards the festivities that had been announced. The strange woman with the violet eyes drew her attention briefly, but she soon turned back to Bellamy. “I can’t recall ever not being in His service,” Scarlett answered. “It’s been my life.”

Fane hooked his thumbs into the loop of his scabbard. “Perhaps the Raj’s guards, but what about the City Watch?” Fane asked the other Lordling casting a look towards a few of those soldiers in question that dotted the streets, he couldn’t say he was overly familiar of the man or his holdings but he made a sound point. “Aye, perhaps but is it our peace to keep? We were invited here to witness the crowning of a King not to control his subjects.”

Maya excused herself briefly to purchase her spices. She haggled a bit less than usual, but still got a better price than most. Spices tucked safely away she returned to the party. Once there she picked up a pitcher of wine and began her rounds offering more to the guests.

And now the vultures descend on their quarry, Faye thought to herself. Faye knew the Cloverry. She knew of the Emerald Hand. And while never having any particular interaction or grief with them, she was always suspicious of anyone that said they only wanted what was best for the people. “Prelate,” she greeted, remembering what the entitled’s robes looked like. “It’s nothing that can be helped, I’m afraid. Please don’t use your resources for my sake, though it’s appreciated.”

Danian had chosen to take the long route to the Capital. They could have ridden to the nearest port and sailed down, but they rather enjoyed the road, to be honest. There was far more to see - and they could have the peace of traveling alone. As soon as they reached the city gates, they had dismounted from their steed to walk him up through the lower city. They weren’t bothered by the people there. They weren’t in their formal wear. They even chatted briefly with a 'commoner’ or two. It wasn’t their first time in the Southern city, but it never hurt to stop and ask a few directions. When they finally reached the courtyard, their horse had been secured in a stable and they were wandering freely throughout the streets, hand on the pommel of the sword at their hip - a habit they had never been able to shake. But something- or rather someone stopped them in their tracks. They stood and blinked. Once. Twice. Squinted their eyes. Then, with a swift step, they weaved through the crowd over to him, a small grin forming on their lips. “Tuah?” They certainly hoped they hadn’t mistaken the man, but they were quite sure. “-Or is Your Majesty, now? I’ve heard some very interesting stories coming over from the Peninsula.”

Iann was amused to have the little (tall) Lordling trailing behind himself and the Inquisitor. He didn’t find it absurd or annoying, but rather the norm. The higher one rose in ranks, the more the minor nobility clung close. Plus, the added bonus was that Pettaline fell into step with Miguel, thus setting the ranking quite smoothly as they made their way towards the Keep. “I will definitely like to speak of it more, when mouths are also more willing to speak,” he agreed with Fane. Iann could hold his liquor, and he suspected most of the nobility here would make the same claim. Still, Iann decided he was better at it, simply because he had to be. He noticed Lord Tuah hovering near one of the steps and gave him a courteous nod. “The Amber casket was brought and branded with your name on it, Inquisitor,” Iann crowed. And he gave Pettaline a passing nod. “I do however, love these spontaneous demonstrations of power.” Iann did not love it at all, as he continued. “It reminds the commonfolk why they are ruled by the likes of us. A very wise observation indeed, Lord Pettaline.” It wasn’t wise at all, but Iann was like a cat who enjoyed playing with his food.

“Thank you. Even if you’re one of a minority,” Faye smiled sadly. “Though I have no real magic. Not anymore.”

“Oh?” Octavia questioned, she tilted her head at the womans comment. “Could’ve fooled me.” She said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Faye smiled. “I"m clever, that’s all. What men see as magic is simply… using my resources wisely.”

The Red Priestess fell into the slowly moving crowd, taking in the new faces, the symbols of status and the way in which everyone was gathered together. So many names. So much bloodshed between families. Yes, the Lord had been right to send her here. To deliver the sword to the One.

Fane nodded upon hearing that there was wine for him but said little more, instead opting to walk beside Iann as they ended the Great Hall that was filling with people. A band nearby struck up a jaunty tune, light-hearted and enough to start getting a few people already in their cups to try their hand at dancing.

“Clever you are, you didn’t need anyone's help back there. You were fine without aid from the gentleman or myself.” She said complimenting the woman's tenacity.

Miguel held in a sigh. Iann was talking out of his rear, and he didn’t believe anything that was said anymore. In his mind it was all posturing. Might as well posture with them - he rolled up his sleeves and crossed his arms as they walked. “Lord Pettaline, what kind of flowers do you have in the Honeywild Holding?” He asked with a friendly smile.

Faye smiled again, though it was a little less bright. “When you’ve been on your own as long as I have, you learn to adapt. Or you die.” Not that it truly mattered. Her House was already dead. Faye was just too stubborn to let go. They moved on into the revelry, and Faye looked around for someplace to get a drink.

“I’d think that involving oneself in the safety of the people of the Bluesprings doesn’t count as control, or wanton shows of power,” Ephram ventured after a moment’s consideration after Fane and Iann had their say. “But then, I’ve only got a handful of families to be responsible for, nothing so grand as the Blackspire or the Forty Islands. Probably you lords have a much better estimation of the politics here than I do.” Acknowledgement of his lower rank made, Ephram turned his attention to the Threepenny Prince walking quietly beside him. “All politics is like having older siblings you keep reminding you that you don’t know as much as they do, huh?” He was bolstered by that pretty smile the Prince turned on him, though, and said, “We don’t cultivate flowers in the Holding, Your Highness. It’s all wildflowers growing where they like – mostly those yellow sailbushes, and a pale blue version of queen’s roses, and everywhere there’s these frenzies of tiny little white laceblossoms, the most blinding white you ever saw, when they’re all a-blooming.”

Bella could not relate, the darkness had come to her when she felt herself surrounded and unsafe, something that sought her out when she needed it too. “Perhaps our guidance comes to us differently,” she mused heading towards a table of food, pulling off some chicken for her wolf and holding it in her hand. “Does your lord let you drink?” She asked, wine and various other drinks covering the table along with the food.

Maya approached one of the women who seemed to be looking for something. “A drink m'am?” she asked holding out her tray.

“Perhaps,” the priestess nodded. “And my lord has no interest in what I do for myself, only for him. I’m allowed to do as I please, as long as I go when he calls.”

Prelate Theodore smoothly rejoindered Faye’s automatic protest, saying, “It’s already in motion, Lady Lacroy. Believe me, the deployment of the Hand is as much for the sake of the Cloverry and the Raj as it is for your safety.” He collected a goblet of one of the wines that was less palatable to most people, a resinous green vintage from an ancient vineyard to the West. “Do you foresee any other concerns arising during your visit?”

“Unfortunately true, M'Lady.” Octavia motioned to a woman who had glasses of mead and wine upon a tray. “Thank you, Miss.” She said nodding to the woman.

Tuah turned when his name was called out, his brow raised and head cocked slightly to the sight. It was obvious that he dreaded any interaction that was to be had with any noble families, seeing that he had nothing much in common with most of them. Or at least he assumed it so. His eyes scanned the newcomer, taking in the sword by their hip that seemed more practical than decorative. He tried to place the face to someone of his past. Someone from the Dawnguard perhaps? He could feel the tenseness from his confidante, raising his hand to ask him to stand down. “Danian?” he guessed, before it clicked and a wide smile as he closed the distance between them and gave Dani a hug. “By the Lord, look how you’ve grown. Well, only by a little,” Tuah couldn’t help but teased, crows feet appearing at the corners of his eyes as he smiled fondly at the other. “And it’s Tuah. There is no need for such things between us, hm.”

Miguel nodded in agreement. “Truly, that’s why I tire so easily of politics.” His broad shoulders pulled up in a small shrug. “I would rather talk about flowers,” he said, not entirely honest, but not an outright lie. “That sounds wonderful. You know, I’ve never had any honey from the Honeywilds, though now I understand the name better,” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “Honeywilds… we cultivate our honey a little more, with certain plants, like lavender - so we know which hives have specific tastes or smells….”

Faye turned to the young girl as she came close. “Please,” Faye nodded, and took a large goblet of wine. “Thank you.” Turning to the Prelate, Faye hummed around a long sip of her drink. “Ahh, so the asking was merely a formality, was it?” She was hardly naive enough to think that she was of the same importance as the Raj and the Cloverry itself. “None caused by myself, I can assure you.” She nodded at Octavia, glancing again at the girl with the tray. She seemed… strangely familiar. But no. Faye couldn’t know her.

Prelate Theodore took a measured draught of his wine, savouring the piney stripe it laid down his throat as he swallowed. “Did I give the impression I was asking? How peculiar of me.”

“Duty never sleeps. Didn’t your cousin say that once, Inquisitor? Or perhaps your wife. Someone beautiful enough that I was distracted both by her words and her face,” Iann said with a smile that was more clever than happy. He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder for a moment. “I see your Lovel ward is here, and our old friend the Oathbreaker.” He motioned for a servant, requesting the Amber mead from the Cipprian Island casket to be opened for himself and Savin.

“No. But you did give the impression you wished to know my opinion in matters regarding my personal safety.” Faye tipped an eyebrow at the Prelate. “But it’s no matter. Safety is always of prime concern at times like this. The Raj should count himself lucky to have someone so… willing to take things in hand.”

Maya listened as the nobles spoke, absorbing information. Knowing more was always useful. She brought wine and mead around too. When Lord Cardero asked for the Cipprian Mead to be opened, she nodded with a, “Right away sir,” before going to open the cask. It would be better to disappear from the room for am moment and from the thoughts of those nobles and religious folks who seemed to eye her curiously.

Lord Savin’s ruminations over the technicalities of military duties and the Driftwood Prince’s prods at his dignity started to fade into less importance as Ephram’s attention was won over by this lesser prince of the isles. “Are you all that particular?” he asked, slowing his long stride slightly so they fell a little more behind the others. “About tastes and cultivation, I mean.” Ephram drifted entirely to a stop, giving Miguel a sidelong smile. “It’s not so bad to let things go a little wild, sometimes.”

Fane hummed, “aye to a point perhaps but I just wonder is it our duty to see a city’s laws are upheld when there are men whose jobs it is to do that?” He was mostly just postulating really, it was all said and done now and little could change the fact of what had happened. Though the mention of his late wife by Iann caused Fane to dip his head, “my late wife did, but she knew my inclination to duty better than most I suppose, that said something always catches your eye when you happen by our Halls.” A joke, in part at least, considering how many broods of iann’s bastards there were about his city now. “It appears so… I might head and see them.”

As the Lady Bella excused herself, the priestess found her own goblet of rich wine, so dark it was nearly black. Glancing around the room, she made her way around the periphery, pausing to watch a dancing couple.

“I’ll join you, if you don’t mind,” Iann said, happy to abandon his brother in light of speaking to the Lovel boy, and finding out anything about his dear son Buttercup.

Octavia thought about her father war chieftain and clan leader- and of how she had been framed for his murder. Once she fled their kingdom they were overrun with the High Raj, every last one of her family killed. Octavia shook her head as if to shake the thoughts out of her head and looked back to Faye. “I am not here on behalf of him, I am only accompanying someone.” She said looking around the room for Bella. “I had only wished to keep you safe from that madman, I had missed when he lunged for attack but saw when he held the blade to your neck..” She said, bringing her hand up to her own neck. “I do not like to watch as women suffer at the hands of men.” She shook her head.

Fane gestured for Iann to walk with him, “I don’t mind in the slightest…” And while he was content to go and see his ward and fellow commander, his thoughts turned to checking on Lady Lacroy after the incident. Perhaps in a little while.

One side of Miguel’s mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. “Well, it could have its value, but tasting the small differences is interesting, a challenge almost.” His eyebrows twitched a little at the word challenge. He got a couple glasses of the Cipprian Mead once it was opened and handed one to Lord Pettaline. “Of course, I would be more than happy to try mead made from your honey if you would be so kind as to point some out. I’m sure a taste of the wild won’t hurt me.”

“Do you serve the house of the your Mistress? Or just your Mistress alone?” Faye asked. She had no quarrells with sellswords or hedgeknights. She was merely curious. “And as for that, I appreciate it. Truly.” Faye laid a hand on the other woman’s arm. “Neither do I.”

Iann let Fane handle all the re-acquaintances with his Ward and the Oathbreaker. Iann in the meantime looked around, hoping their moving didn’t lose the servant who’d run off to get his mead.

Prelate Theodore raised his eyebrows for a moment, looking even more owlish than usual. “Then that was clumsy, on my part,” he said. “I’d only intended to relay information. Nevertheless, Lady Lacroy, the matter has, as you say, been taken in hand. And I see that you have others willing to come to your aid, such as this young knight here.” He acknowledged Octavia with another nod, but then went still, catching sight of a rather … decorative personage appearing on the other side of the Hall. “Enjoy the festivities.” With that, the Prelate stepped away from the two women, making a wide arc around the perimeter of the Hall in Freddie’s direction.

It took Tuah a moment to recognize them, but that was understandable. The last time they had seen one another, Tuah had been a freshly appointed knight of the Dawnguard and Danian had been a highly enthusiastic ten-year-old aspiring for the same role. Though, his hug was- slightly unexpected. They weren’t exactly used to getting embraced by other members of nobility in public. Nevertheless, they returned it before stepping back to look him over. Quickly, their grin gave way to a harmless scoff, and propping one hand on their hip, they responded. “I would kick you in the shin for that if your confidant didn’t look so ready kick me back.” Not that he was wrong. They had grown and their boots gave them another two inches or so, but even then, their shorter stature was apparent. “Tuah it is then,” they smiled.

Fane as they neared Fane raised a hand and lightly clapped Tuah on the back smiling at him and then Danian the smile growing fonder. “Long time no see strangers.”

“I appreciate the information then.” Faye nodded to the Prelate. “And you as well,” she said as the man moved off in the general direction of a new arrival.

Maya returned only long enough to get the mead and gather her wits. Once done she delivered large goblets to the Lords Cardero as well as anyone else who desired them without a word. It was speaking, generally, that got her in to trouble.

“Hello again,” the priestess said, coming up behind Maya as she had delivered her latest glasses of mead. “I thought you served the House Savin? Not the capitol?”

Fane was surprised when Maya arrived with a tray serving drinks and after taking one off the tray gave her a sidelong look. He’d been about to open his mouth and point out the same, that Maya need not serve the drinks to the other nobles and could partake herself in some of the festivity. She was one of his cohort on this journey after all. But opted to close his mouth and leave the two women be for now.

Octavia laid her hand over the woman’s on her arm for only a moment before bringing it up to her collar. “Protection over women is the one thing I have unwavering belief in.” She said making eye contact with Faye. She studied her face for a moment before moving her eyes around the room, finding her mistress across the way with the two others she left her with. “I serve my mistress alone. I am a knight, protecting her above all else. She allowed me a place to take comfort in knowing I belonged, and for that I am grateful.” Octavia said, looking back to Faye.

Iann noticed the Blackspire crest emblazoned on the servant girl’s dress rather than the Bluesprings. He saw Fane about to address her, but it seemed a Red Priestess of the Light caught the girl first. Iann stayed silent and listened to hear the girl’s response. More out of idle habit, than the expectation to glean anything interesting or useful.

Danian returned Fane’s smile when he approached, offering a slight nod of greeting. “Lord Savin. It has, hasn’t it? What- two years? Things are still well for you up further North, I hope.”

Faye frowned slightly, noticing the other woman’s repeated gesture towards her neck. But she didn’t say anything about it. “I admire that.” She followed Octavia’s eyes towards her mistress. “Belonging somewhere can be hard.” FAye knew from experience. “I"m glad you found your place.”

Ephram accepted the glass that Miguel handed him, their fingers pressing together briefly at the handoff. “I’m not one to back down from a challenge, Highness,” he said, taking a bigger drink of the highly-regarded mead blend than was entirely civilized. “And surely not if it’s something you’d find interesting. The Hall is serving last year’s premium mead tonight, but I’ve got a few different vintages of Honeywild mead in my rooms, in fact. If the feasting and festing doesn’t tire you out too much, maybe you’d like to venture back with me afterwards? Sample the products of my Holding?”

Maya nodded, “I do, but I’m hardly one to let you all languish for lack of mead.” She gave a brilliant if porcelain smile. It was safer, usually, for her to fade into the background as a servants.

Fane didn’t stand so much on ceremony here with Tuah and his ward. “Two years too long hm?” he gave them a more stern look before his smile returned and he opened his arms to embrace them warmly. “The North is as it always is, unforgiving and unchanging. Though far less warm without your presence there. I do wish you’d consider returning back North.”

“I dare say none of the lords or ladies will languish if you don’t serve them their fifth glass.” The Priestess noted the girl’s expression, unable to shake the feeling that she knew her. Or should. “But… doing one’s duty is sometimes the hardest thing we can ask of another person, isn’t it?”

It was interesting to see the servant girl deliver such a dazzling smile. The falseness, Iann understood; but smiling with such dazzle tended to draw attention, compared to the blank, neutral stares of the other servants around them. He sipped his mead, looking over Tuah’s shoulder as Fane and Lovel got reacquainted. He smiled over his cup, at the Red Priestess’ reply to the girl. Those Priestesses were notorious for their sense of single-minded purpose, as well as the heat between their thighs. Not that Iann had ever bedded one, but the stories were intriguing.

Tuah chuckled heartily, hands on Dani’s shoulders. It was odd for him to show such affectionate display, seeing that he usually wore an almost permanent frown on his face. But it was such a relief to see such a familiar face that for a moment he couldn’t help himself. “Do you think I need his help kicking your arse? He’s only here to stop me from doing anything too un-king-ly.” He patted Dani on the shoulder before letting his hands fall to the ground. He turned his attention towards Fane and Iann, his expression now more guarded as he greeted them both. “Lord Savin. Lord Cardero.” If Fane had approached him and Dani alone, he would’ve embraced the other as well, glad to see such familiar faces. But that wasn’t the case, so Tuah decided to keep his lips tight and forced himself to flash a polite smile instead.

Iann licked his back teeth, his smile like a fox. “How goes your High Peninsula, Lord Tuah?” he asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited.” The last time, Lord Alexander had been alive; and for Iann it hadn’t been a pleasant visit.

“You may not think so, but I fear they would disagree,” Maya replied. Her expression softened considerably. “It is not mine to ask if duty is a difficult, only to do it.”

Her Majesty, Freddie really shouldn’t have been there. He was neither high-born, nor invited - nor terribly interested in the current monarch (beyond finding the Raj rather appealing physically, and just familiar enough to wonder if they’d met before under rather more intimate and insalubrious conditions.) But still, all that aside, a party was a party; and Freddie had entertained more than enough of the men attending thisone, back in his bed at Mab’s, to make attending it rather good fun. Especially when he happened across some of his more perverse patrons, puffed up with pomp and circumstance, their lady-wives on their arms.

Miguel blushed, a physical reaction that was far from the usual labyrinth of words and lies - there was no way to trick his body into doing that for him. Lord Pettaline’s words caught him off guard. Miguel still didn’t know where Pettaline would sit in his plans, or if he would even be worth the trouble. But he was charming, in a way, without such lofty ideas or holdings to be frustrating. Miguel cleared his throat of mead. “Perhaps. I imagine the mead you bring with you must be the best vintage. Pray, correct me if I’m mistaken.” He watched Pettaline’s face, trying hard to imagine what kind of man he was when he wasn’t around the other nobles. That was what mattered if Miguel was going to follow him back to his rooms.

Prelate Theodore finally completed his circuitous route to the Blue Diamond Whore, hissing at the back of Freddie’s head, “What are you doing here? Surely you didn’t take the Raj’s invitation as literally as to believe that strumpets and harlots should also attend the celebration?” One hand shot out to vice Freddie’s elbow. “Get out. Or – bloody Nines below, never mind that, it’ll make more of a scene than anything else.” His grip tightened in conjunction with his lips drawing to a thin line across his face. “Stay put. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself.” Even as he said it, he knew it was a vain request.

The Red Priestess looked at Maya with an expression that said that what the girl had just said had struck a nerve. A good one. “No it is not. You may yet surprise us all. Maya of No Importance.”

Danian didn’t hesitate to accept Fane’s embrace, even squeezing him for a brief moment before they released him. They couldn’t deny the familial sense of their relationship or the fatherly role that he had filled, even if they refrained from speaking of it. “Well, I’ve been traveling quite a lot here and there over those two years, so you can’t blame me entirely. Believe me- there’s nothing that aches me more than being separated from the North. I have stopped back home a few times, but it’s not nearly enough.”

Octavia felt stuffy in her layered clothes. The leather bodice feeling tight around her waist and the collared black shirt making her feel constricted. She usually wore only a shortened smock and a long sleeveless leather tunic. Octavia took a sip of the wine she received moments ago. “Yes, thank you. I have hopes that others find somewhere that brings them comfort. Or where they find intimacy with loved ones.” Octavia swirled the wine around in her glass. “From where do you hail?” She asked Faye.

“Little Danian, how is my Buttercup? I hear he blossoms whenever he sees you. The boy has a head for two things: blacksmithery, and you. All his letters are full of those two worthwhile subjects.”

Faye had no loved ones anymore. And as for any… intimacy… well, it had been a long time. “The Wildwood Marsh. Not too far from your woodlands, I don’t think.”

“No, quite close actually. The marshes are very interesting. I have only travelled through there once, twas before I came across my mistresses castle.”

Her Majesty, Freddie Initially taken a bit by surprise when he felt a hand close around his arm, Freddie smiled when he realised who it was that had caught him, turning subtly to look the Prelate in the eye, his own gleaming wickedly. “I was a spectacle before I even walked in tonight, darling,” he murmured, as unconcerned with titles and protocol here as he was in his own room at the brothel, “-but do you reallythink my leaving would make more a scene than anything else?” Freddie leaned a bit closer, his voice low, but rich and throaty. “What if I were to get on my knees for you right here? Would that be better or worse?”

Maya shook her head, “I have no intention of surprising anyone. She gave a small polite smile, "If you’ll excuse me.” But then without waiting for an answer she turned away to deliver the rest of the wine and mead on her tray.

Fane typically was more reserved in his affection than this but he had no particular reason to refrain. Iann’s presence was hardly a hindrance in his opinion though he noted Tuah’s sudden tension. Though wasn’t entirely sure why. “You’ll have to tell me all about your ventures… You don’t write nearly enough with updates of your antics.”

Iann chose to look over at the Red Priestess then, and raise an eyebrow at her. His tone was mild and friendly as he spoke to her. “It is good mead, the girl is right about that.”

“Is that so?” Tuah raised his brows when Iann mentioned that he had visited the Peninsula. Perhaps it was during the time where Alexander had been in position of power, since he had never met the Cardero personally during his time overseeing the land. “I hope that your stay was fitting to one of your standing.”

Ephram socked back the rest of the precious Cipprian mead, giving away his rural holding rough manners with the lack of delicate savouring of the liquor. He scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and leaned in closer to Miguel, a tall tree in a wind bending over a stouter one. “I’ll be honest with you, Prince Miguel,” he said, voice dipping low and confidential, “they’re not, in fact, my best vintages. Not all of them, not by the standards of–” he waved his empty wineglass at their surroundings, “–all this finery. We Easterners tend to prefer mead that goes down a touch raw.” He straightened up again, a corner of his lip lifting briefly. “Not to everybody’s taste, especially those accustomed to gentler handling.”

The Red Priestess watched Maya leave, not following after her. Things would work out as they should. In time. She turned to the group standing nearby, seeing the prince looking her way. “I prefer wine, but yes. She is.” She came over, looking at the adornments on the man’s richly tailored clothing. “I don’t think we’ve met, your grace.”

“I am afraid it was not a fitting stay, no.” Iann’s statement to Tuah was firm, but gently spoken. He didn’t elaborate, but he did look at Tuah square in the eyes as he said it.

“They were beautiful in their nature, every creature there more beautiful than the next.” She said before taking the last sip of her wine. “How will this wine ever give me enough movement for dancing when it is so weak?” Octavia asked. “I’ll need another.” She said shaking her empty glass. “And you?” She asked motining to Fayes glass.

“Not many people chose that road for travel. Too afraid of the witch to take a shortcut. Another,” Faye said, feeling the heat of the place as well. “Please.”

Prelate Theodore’s lips were in danger of altogether disappearing. “Shut up,” he growled, stepping in closer so that he could hold Freddie locked in place, visions flooding his head of Her Majesty prowling through the assembled crowd doing his best to unsettle unfaithful nobles. “I’ve warned you before about this nonsense. You take entirely too many liberties – it’s going to get you noticed by the wrong people, if you keep on the way you are.”

Miguel’s face was still red. When Lord Pettaline leaned down to tease him, his stomach felt full of bubbles. At the word raw all of Miguel’s muscles tightened as one. He needed a breath of fresh air. “We will see where the night takes us.” He needed time to think about it, but time was a commodity he didn’t have. Logic kept him in line, even if every primal instinct in him desperately wanted to taste Lord Pettaline’s mead. “I should…” All of his mind was working on self control, there was nothing left to come up with an excuse to walk away from the Lord of the Honeywilds.

“And yet I see no wine in your hand, blessed or otherwise,” Iann said, since the clergy of any religion usually loved their blessed wine. “No, I don’t think we have, Priestess of the Light. Care to guess?” He had no doubt the Red Priestess was aware exactly who he was; if she were here, she was likely a High Priestess. And in the world of religious fervour, one would make it their duty to know who they mingled amongst. He smiled, because the Red Priestess had already been bested on the semantics of duty, by a servant girl no less.

“Your Highness,” Danian chuckled at Iann with a nod of greeting. “It’s been some time since I last saw him, but I imagine he’s no less the energetic child he was then. He’s a very passionate boy, you know? As long as he keeps himself dedicated to his interests, I believe he has a very bright future ahead of him. And of course–” they turned to look back at Fane, “there’s loads to tell. What’s the point of adventures if you leave them with no tales to tell?” There was a small gleam in their eye when they said that. No number of years or titles imposed could completely erase the lord’s penchant for trouble.

“I’m afraid of many things; but a witch wouldn’t be one of them.” She winked. Octavia decided to share her most kept secret with this woman- only because she herself had been a witch before as well. Octavia reached her hand out to Fayes, touching only her pinkie slightly before retracting. She sent a cool breeze up her arm, swirling around it such as a long bracelet would; starting from her wrist and ending at her shoulder. She motioned towards a table that held bottles upon bottles of mead and wine. “I could bring them here, but to avoid a ruckus we would be smart to take the few steps.” She said tilting her head towards the spirits table.

Fane grinned at Dani’s words, “well then, you’ll have to regale all of us with tales of your adventures then. No doubt you’ve been venturing across land and sea – the latter no doubt of interest to Iann here.” As he’d been speaking with them he’d been sipping his goblet and had gradually depleted its contents. He’d been about to take another sip when he realised that it was empty and sighed, “I’ll return in a little while I need more drink.” With a wave of his goblet he wandered over to the table of caskets to refill his cup in the meantime.

Iann sighed, his eyes closing for a moment as he thought of Buttercup. He hadn’t seen the boy in so long; he was likely not even a boy any longer. When he returned the White Lady to the North, Iann knew he needed to visit his eldest child at Blackspire as well. “Thank you for the news.” Iann trusted Danian’s word. “It’s a pity that we’ve never crossed waves during our travels, Danian. But then again, it is a big ocean.” Multiple oceans of course, but the singular just sounded better.

“Blessed wine is swill watered down by priests who think it will last longer that way. I prefer the real kind.” Her own glass had sadly disappeared somewhere, but she was certain she could find another. The Priestess looked him over, casually reaching out to feel the edges of his robes before humming thoughtfully to herself. She named off his House and title without mistake, dropping the fabric from between her fingers as she did. “How fares your House? Well, I should think?”

A bolt of triumph streaked through Ephram’s belly as he watched the princeling – more baby-featured than his brothers, maybe a little less able to dissemble because of it – struggle to come up with some way to gain himself a reprieve. Ephram didn’t mind granting him one, for a few hours. It would only give Miguel time to keep coming back to everything Ephram had hinted at, stoking his ship’s fires, until he sailed himself right back into Ephram’s harbour when he was too full of mead and desire to resist anymore. “You should, yes,” Lord Pettaline nodded. “I should too, really. We wouldn’t want it to seem like we were giving any of our peers a cold shoulder, would we?” He gave Miguel a wolfish smile. “But don’t stay away too long, Prince Miguel. I’m not partial to tapping my casks with only my own company.”

“I see,” Tuah held Iann’s gaze with his own, unswaying. “I would apologise on behalf of the previous Lord, but it would seem unending if I start doing so.” He straightened his back and moved his shoulder in an almost a shrug. “You’re more than welcome to visit again, though I’m sure you’re far too engaged with overseeing your own nation to even bother with a small land such as ours, hm.”

Her Majesty, Freddie loved it when the Prelate got stern; his disapproval so complete and all-encompassing that Freddie couldn’t help but want to provoke it. But when Theodore’s grip tightened - Freddie would have bruises tomorrow (not that that was anything new) - Her Majesty did as he’d been bidden and stayed put. Though he was far from cowed. “You noticed me straight away,” the whore teased, “Does that make you the 'wrong’ people?” His voice softened slightly, one eyebrow raising. “Or was that some genuine care, and concern for my safety, that you just expressed?”

“That might be foolish of you,” Faye smiled easily, though she meant no harm by it. She watched curiously as Octavia reached towards her, and when the other woman touched her finger to Faye’s, and she felt… gods above… Faye sucked in a breath, her hand closing of it’s own accord as the power rolled up her arm. Something flickered in the depths of Faye’s violet eyes, a flame long forgotten by memory, but not by what was bound in her blood. Magic. “How…” Faye shook her head, and the light started to fade from her eyes, leaving them a soft violet once more. She could only nod as Octavia indicated the drinks table, and moved towards it without further prompting.

Faye was so shocked, so in need of something very very strong to push away the feeling of something she’d never experienced, but remembered nonetheless, that she didn’t see the Lord Savin. And ran right into him. “Fuck…” She looked up, instantly ready to snap at someone. “Watch where- Oh. It’s you. I… apologize.” She reached for the wine and filled her glass.

Iann was distracted by someone deigning to touch him - someone who wasn’t his children or Princess Addeline. He realized it was the Red Priestess, and he was surprised when it seemed she identified him by the seam of his shirt between her fingers. Seemed, of course, being the operative word. He’d never met someone who used this tactic before. “Yes, you should think that, Priestess. The Forty Isles thrives. Have you ever visited our kingdom? I know we aren’t much for the Light, but you’d still be treated hospitably.” Well, that was only partially true depending on what island she visited. But Iann wouldn’t reveal the inner politics of his islands to an outsider. This was all part of the game, anyway.

Miguel nodded, feeling like a mouse staring down an owl. He needed to get his head back in place, he was at the castle to make alliances. Though, wasn’t that a way to make an alliance? He was able to pull himself away from Lord Pettaline to stand in a corner and sip his mead.

Iann looked over at Tuah, extraordinarily pleased that the minor Lord (albeit not so minor now) did what Iann expected him to do, and invited him to visit the High Peninsula. “I value your invitation more than I do your apologies, Lord. They are not necessary.” Did Tuah understand, what the Heir to the Forty Isles visiting the Oathbreaker’s holding would mean to the world watching? He genuinely hoped so. Iann only did it for the strategic geographical advantage, and a mild curiousity of this mysterious minor lord who bested Lord Alexander. “Anyone who served in Savin’s Dawnguard is someone I consider well worth a visit.”

“Would I be privy to hear these adventuring of yours?” Tuah turned his attention towards Dani, “It’s been a while since I was able to travel so freely.” He heaved a sigh and swirled the content of his drink, still full as he hadn’t taken a single sip.

Fane was just helping himself to a few of the richer casks when someone bumped into his back causing him to spill it all over his sleeve “oh for gods sake…” he cussed under his breath shaking out the sleeve of his jacket. He turned with a stern glower to look at whoever happened to be culpable for the act where he’d been about to snap in annoyance he opted to shut his mouth once more. “Oh,” he exhaled and turned his attention back to his sleeve “Lady Lacroy… No it’s fine.”

Danian nodded to Iann with a smile. “Of course. In fact- now that you’ve brought him up, I’m probably long overdue to pay him a visit as well, the way he used to follow me around. Between him and Fane, it sounds like I might be heading there as soon as our visit to the Capital is over.” As they began talking of oceans, Danian gradually began stepping in the direction of the Hall. They had been on the road for… long enough to need a proper drink or two. “Aye, it is. I’m not the best of seafarers though, I’m afraid. The lands across the seas are worth the journeys, but I would take a horse over a ship any day, if I could.” Looking over at Tuah’s request, they grinned. “Yes, of course. Why would I refuse?”

“You flatter yourself.” It was an insipid scold, as reprimands went; particularly because Theodore knew quite well that even though Freddie did enjoy flattering himself – it seemed a favourite pastime of his – those boasts were far outstripped in number by the praise heaped on him by Queen Mab’s clientele. He hadn’t been coronated 'Her Majesty’ for no reason. “I want this night to continue without any more unexpected dramatics, at least of the bloodletting sort. And I can’t ensure that if I need to also keep an eye out for you making trouble, blast it.”

Octavia watched as Faye’s eyes lit up. This had been one of her favorite things about magic- seeing the look on other peoples faces. “My mother was like me, as was her mother. I was supposed to be taught by her how to use what was handed down to me, but she died while in childbirth. Her mother said that her death strengthened me, causing me to take what was hers and double my own. I just don’t really use it, and I don’t know how for the most part, my Grandmother died before she could show me as well.” Octavia sighed, taking a few steps towards the table. She picked up what seemed to be mead, and my the smell of it, strong mead. “Would this be to your liking, M'lady?” She asked. “Oh, more for me, then.” She laughed as she watched Faye fill her glass. Octavia took a sip, nodding along to a melody the band played. “Do you think we shall say in this formal wear all night? I would assume something a little more casual might be fitting for a celebration meant for all peoples.” Octavia shifted from one foot to the other, studying the varying outfits of the crowd.

The Red Priestess thought nothing of touching the prince. There was no law but that of the Lord of Light, and that of the common laws of the land. She meant no offence besides. The cloth was fine and soft, and the priestess could appreciate beautiful things. She glanced up at the prince as he spoke. “I’m happy to hear that. And I have. But it’s been some time. As High Priestess, I’m more needed at the sept than abroad. Though it matters not if you accept the Light, your grace. Our lord will be just as hospitable as your islands, I’m certain.” Did that mean she knew of what went on in some places in the Isles? Not necessarily. But she had heard rumors.

“We had it. Once. A long time ago. But it faded with time. I… thank you for sharing it.” They moved on to the table, and Faye felt bad for snapping at the Inquisitor. “I’m sorry, m'lord. Can I … get you something for your sleeve?” Faye asked. She glanced back at the lady knight. “I certainly hope not. It’s stifling.” Though her gaze travelled in one particular direction, to the long frame of the Lord Savin as he shook his sleeve that was dripping with mead.

Fane noticed the woman from earlier still with Faye deciding there was little to be done to save his sleeve. “Ah that’s kind of you but no, don’t worry, don’t worry… clothes might be dampened but thankfully spirits are not…” his smile returned more gracious now as he noted Faye’s companion and turned a charming smile in her direction. “Aaah! Lady Lacroy’s knight in shining armour, hm? I can’t say I caught your name earlier… Lady?”

“Ah, well. I too have something I’d like to return to the North, and therefore I’ll be visiting Blackspire as well. Did you come by ship or horse, Danian?” Iann asked. “I’d be happy to take you there, if you need a quicker way than hooves on hard packed roads,” he said, teasing the young Lord gently. He turned to look at the Red Priestess, and swept a glass of wine of a tray for her as well. “So then why are you here? To convert the commonfolk and nobility alike?” he asked, amusing himself at the thought. “Or do you come bearing a message or a portent? I know you Priestesses are renowned for those, for better or for worse. Or perhaps your'e here to report the Cloverry’s fanfare back to your sept?” He used the word 'fanfare’ with a friendly sarcasm, considering how austere the Keep was.

“Spirits indeed…” She took a long drink of her wine.

“Of course.” She dipped her head slightly to Faye. Octavia turned to the gentleman that had been with Faye earlier. “I would hardly define myself as such, she rescued herself.” She said turning back to her. “My name is Octavia, though I would seldom call myself a lady as I has not been raised as one.” She smiled at the man. “You must be Lord Savin, lovely to meet your acquaintance.” She said before taking a gulp of her mead.

Her Majesty, Freddie pouted for a moment at the rebuke, then sighed as theatrically as he could, given the accusation of dramatics that had been levelled at him, rolling his eyes to the heavens. “Far be it from me to distract you from your more godly pursuits, Prelate,” he said, resting a hand over his heart, “I’ll be as good as gold from here on out.” Freddie grinned, knowing that Theodore enjoyed a bit of goss - even if he claimed otherwise. “Though I can see at least 6 customers from here - including the one I told you about. With the Scold’s Bridle.” Freddie glanced down at the Prelate’s hand still on his arm. “But tell me about 'any more’ dramatics, yeah? Have I missed the best bits of the evening? I mean, if you’re going to hold me, darling, either fuck me, regale me, or dance with me - otherwise I’ll have to find my own entertainment.”

“No. Nothing so atrocious. I bring the Unnamed Blade to the rightful ruler.” She took the wine with a nod and took a long sip. “The Cloverry are of no concern to us, your grace. They are their own entity, and they do much good. Or so it seems.”

Now Iann was torn between hearing Danian’s tales of adventure, and hearing more about the Unnamed Blade. He’d be seeing Danian again; this Red Priestess, he might never see again. “What is the Unnamed Blade, Priestess? ” And why did it need to be united with the High Raj?

“The blade for the one true ruler. The one from the prophecy.” The priestess said this as if it was no large concern other than getting the blade to where it needed to be. Though it was glaringly not on her person. “Said to be the blade that will usher in a new age of peace.”

Fane pointed an index finger at Octavia before ruminating “indeed, indeed she did.” The same hand and index finger then turned to point at Faye then his brow tipping a little, “fireberries no? Very impressive I must say.” As Octavia introduced herself Fane gave a small nod studying her attire curiously though mostly in search of a sigil to denote who she served, but finding no obvious evidence he ultimately had to ask. “And who is it that you serve? And please, how would you prefer for me to address you?” Though her assumption of who he was earned a small dip of his head, “that would be me, and likewise.” His attention travelled to Faye then “I meant to come and ask at an earlier point in time but my kinsmen kept me busy…” his brow furrowed a little in apparent concern, “how fair you after earlier?”

Tuah internally sighed at Iann’s reply. He should’ve known that Iann wouldn’t say no to such invitation, perhaps even eagerly wait for Tuah to extend the invitation to him himself due to the strategic placing of his small nation. So much to hope that the Lord would decline. Still, Tuah tried his best to keep the polite smile on his face. Despite his personal bias towards other nobilities, it wouldn’t hurt to let themselves be allied with other Houses. He simply needed to find the right one to ally himself with so the past would not repeat itself. “I look forward to your visit, then,” he replied, “and perhaps, if fate’s willing, I’d be able to visit your land.” His smile was more genuine when he turned his attention towards Dani. But before he could reply he was quite distracted by the words of the Red Priestess, he believed what she was called, curiosity piqued his interest.

Faye smiled at Octavia as she spoke to Lord Savin of earlier. “Fireberries,” she nodded as he addressed her, draining her glass as he turned again to speak to Octavia. “Other than a bit of wounded pride and a new scar, I’m fine, m'lord. Thank you.”

“I serve Bellamy, Queen of the Dead Woods. I am her central protector.” Octavia said, finding Bella in the crowd across the great hall. “Just Octavia will do, if you may.” She said tipping her head back to him.

Prelate Theodore briefly and very vividly considered throwing Freddie across the mead table, unbelting his clerical habit, and strapping the saucy wretch within an inch of his reprobate life. The major flaw in that plan was that Freddie would enjoy it far too much. As a matter of fact, the Prelate would also enjoy it to an unseemly degree, and it was in an abrupt attempt to stave off that thought that Theodore adjusted his grip on Freddie to turn them facing each other, stepping smartly forward in the opening move of a traditional findlay dance – his ire only increasing as Freddie immediately, seamlessly, fell in elegant step with him. “The Grand Lady of Summerset was nearly kidnapped earlier,” Teddy told him as they moved in wide swirls across the Grand Hall floor. “And the Witch of the Wilds was attacked by House Kesley. Both attempts foiled, but all the same. It has me on edge.”

“Came by horse, from home. Not the shortest or easiest ride, but it can be a bit of fun if you know where to break,” they grinned at Iann. “I appreciate the offer, but there are a few things back at Wolfhaven I’ll have to settle after my visit here and it’s far more convenient then if I ride up from one Northern keep to another.” After fetching themself cup of mead, Danian indulged in a sip before tilting their head at Iann. “Do you journey much on horseback yourself, Iann?” Then they came to realize that everyone was having their attention drawn to the Red Priestess in the room. Sighing, they took another drink from their cup, this one longer than the last. It was good, but it wasn’t the ale they were used to.

Cassie was late. Which was just a smidgen of an understatement, but the good thing she knew was everyone in the Kingdom would party all night long if they liked, so she couldn’t have missed too much. Cassie finally reached the Keep successfully climbing the stairs and promptly finding a spare cup of mead to carry around with her as she circled the room. She saw many faces she knew and a few she did not. She took a deep breath, knowing her kidnap attempt would probably be brought up in conversation. It had bothered her a tad more than she’d let on earlier in the day, but so was the course of a royal life.

“Sounds fascinating,” Iann said to the Priestess; but it actually did not, unfortunately. He’d hoped to enjoy some fervour and passion from the Red Priestess regarding her Unnamed Sword. “And where, may I ask, are you keeping this sword you intend for the High Raj?” he laughed, glancing at Danian with a mischievous look. “There are many ways to give someone a sword, after all. And many types of…things…that one might refer to, as a sword.”

Her Majesty, Freddie smirked, having seen the little flare of angry lust in the holy man’s eyes, and carried on dancing gracefully, never missing a step or a beat as he asked, “Summerset, hm? Which one is she again?” He pretended at ignorance simply to provoke, punishment being a pastime they both enjoyed from mutually beneficial ends. “And I’m afraid you’ll have to refresh me about House Kelsey’s quarrel too, love.” Freddie’s smirk deepened. “You know I have a much harder time remembering Bluesprings’ ladies, than its gentlemen.”

Fane found himself smiling at Faye’s mention of fireberries shaking his head in amusement. “Truly inspired, I’ve heard of the idea of powdering them but always was led to believe they still remained too viscous to be turned into a fine enough powder.” Though at Octavia’s mention of who she served Fane perked up. “She’s here?” he asked curiously his eyes travelling around the room in search of anyone that might be fitting of such a title but not immediately coming upon her. “I’ve heard tales of your Queen.” Questionable ones he would admit but no less interesting. He found such figures intriguing. “Very well Octavia it is then.”

The Red Priestess raised and eyebrow over the rim of her goblet. “If you mean cock, then I’m quite familiar, your grace. As for the sword, it will come when it’s needed. Unlike so many men I’ve known.”

Iann laughed then, loud but hardly abrasive. “It’s a pity you have to give it away then, I would have loved to see you wield it,” he said. He always had a pleasant and mild tone to his voice, but at the moment his words were less about the game, and more genuine. The Red Priestesses were also known for their crassness. But as a sailor, he’d grown to appreciate such low humour. He raised his cup, looking from the Priestess to Danian, and even to Tuah who looked like he wanted to sink into the marble beneath them and die. “To the Unnamed Sword, may our High Raj use it often, and well.”

“Oh, I didn’t say it was for the Raj, now did I?” the priestess smiled over her cup. “I said the one true ruler.”

“Yes, she is here- in all her glory. Some of these tales are quite exaggerated, but many are true; if not an understatement for the power she wields.” Octavia said looking at Lord Savin. Many gawked at the queen, but she would rather have that instead of someone trying to take advantage of her.

Overhearing the conversation between her brother in law and the mysterious woman, Cassandra let out a slight snort and raised her goblet in agreement only briefly making eye contact with the group.

“Not if you know what you’re doing,” Faye told Lord Savin. “Don’t inhale them. Or you’re fucked.”

Prelate Theodore said acidly, “Since I’m hardly telling you these things for your analysis – seeing as the most you’d be able to offer me is information as to the girth of the cocks of any men even peripherally involved and what faces they make when they come – it isn’t as though you need details.” Theodore was grim, disapproving silence for a few turns across the floor, and then he said, “The auburn-haired sister-by-marriage to the Forty Isles is Lady Cassandra of Summerset. House Kesley,” he emphasized the unusual family name, “bears no love for witches, particularly those who factor large in popular mythos. I doubt they would make a repeat attack on Lacroy, however. At least not for some time, at which point she will not be my problem.”

Danian hadn’t entirely been listening to the words of the Priestess, so when Iann glanced down at them to deliver his witty comment, they nearly choked on their drink. After coughing a second to recover, their look back up at him bore the slightest glare- though they also had to respect the cleverness of his statement. “Well- you’re not wrong.” Luckily the group’s focus had stayed fixed on the woman and not their reaction, so they were content to join in on Iann’s toast. But this woman… she did seem to enjoy a bit of correction. Danian sighed and turned to look elsewhere around the room, spotting the woman who had joined in the raising of their goblets, but she had turned away, and they didn’t want to approach her, wary from her position that she might not be interested in interacted with any of the band Iann had brought together.

The Red Priestess glanced over at the Lady Cassandra, wondering if perhaps it would be her that could pull the sword from it’s casing. She doubted it. But only because she was already of great importance. Though the priestess had no say.

“I would hate for that to be the case, I’m glad I took a step back to avoid your line of fire.” Octavia said raising a brow at Faye. By this point she had been a glass of wine, and a glass of mead in yet the warmth that came from the alcohol hadn’t affected her. She felt warm in the layers, so she flagged down a servant. When they walked over she slipped off her cloak, handing it to them. She unbuttoned the shirt she wore under her leather bodice and slipped it off, attempting to be ride of it without pulling any of her long hairs. The neck piece she wore still in tact. “Now, that’s better, if I do say so.” She dismissed the servant, asking her take her belongings to her room in the castle.

Fane listened to Octavia describe her queen as any devotee would. All her glory. How many times had he heard people say that about their leaders? But he was no less curious about this Deadwoods Queen. “So she does wield blood magick?” Fane had long since believed fables to be just that, these lands had not seen the influence of such things in an age. Though it was the role of the Guard to keep such things in check… To know that there was a potential risk in the city, while it didn’t alter his outward expression he kept a mental note. Though soon enough the woman was occupying herself with stripping off her layers and Fane found himself sipping his drink. “I should hope not…” he raised both brows at Faye’s statement “well, at least in the negative connotation that phrase happens to hold.” He raised his goblet to her with a grin and took another sip of the rich contents.

“You shouldn’t be so dismissive of the size of men’s cocks and the faces of their pleasure,” Freddie said, smiling a bit inscrutably, “Wars have been fought for less.” When Theodore pointed out Lady Cassandra though, Freddie turned his attention dutifully in her direction for a moment, as though glancing upon her for the first time - he liked the Prelate to never be entirely sure if he was clever or not; a bubble-headed bauble or something with a bit more bite - then took his correction regarding House Kesley with an appropriately abashed inclination of his head. Though his eyes continued to smile. “And why is she your problem now, Prelate? Have you been sharing your excesses with witches as well as whores?”

Faye nodded. “The further away you are, the less the effects. Though if sprinkle a bit in someone’s drink…” She took a long swallow of her own.

“Godspeed then, Priestess.” He gave Danian a wink and squeezed Cassandra’s hand, before he headed off.

“I do not speak on behalf of my mistresses affairs, but I do assure you she is only here to celebrate with the others gathered here tonight. Look at these festivities.” Octavia said raising her glass.

“And yourself, your grace,” the priestess called after him.

Prelate Theodore actually gave a sniff of wry amusement at the prospect. “I’ve yet to meet any women arriving for the coronation who see the church as anything other than a pernicious tool of corruption or at best, misguided when compared to their own belief systems. So no, Insolence–” his sibilants sharp on what passed for a pet name, “–there’s been no dalliance of the sort with the witch. I’ve set a few of the Emerald Hand to watching her.” Theodore gave a parched laugh. “I even let her know I’d done it, so that she’d realize her actions are being monitored, but the subtleties of that seemed to escape her. I don’t know why I expect anything diverting when it comes to these self-important provincials, Freddie. Each of them the lone remaining member of their House, each bearing it with noble pained dignity.” He paused at the wine table, procuring another goblet of his favoured resinous green vintage. “Can you appreciate the place in which I find myself? Terribly weary of stoic suffering?” He lifted the goblet to his lips. “Me!”

Fane raised a brow at Octavia’s answer. Not a confirmation but also not a dismissal either. Interesting how you could read into what a person chose to say and not say. “Oh no doubt, no doubt… We’re all here to celebrate after all are we not?” He looked aside to Faye then dark eyes sparking curiously, “but on the topic it does have me interested… What is your opinion of magick? Considering the reputation that goes ahead of you… No doubt you have some opinions on it.”

“My family had magick once. But our ancestor squandered it. So it gradually dried up.” Faye shrugged. Other than the bit she’d just felt from Octavia, Faye had never felt real magic.

As Iann departed, Danian didn’t miss his brief interaction with the woman who had glanced at their group before. Taking it as a sign that they were free to approach, the Northern lord stepped toward her and offered a small smile of greeting. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. Lord Danian Lovel of Wolfhaven.” They gave the lady a short bow. “I do hope I’m not a bother, but I couldn’t help noticing Prince Iann’s stopping by you just now. I take it the two of you are acquainted?”

“Of course I have an opinion on it.” Octavia said raising her eyebrow. “Who doesn’t?” She reached for a bottle of wine, emptying the remaining contents of it into her glass. “I think magick can be light, wonderful, powerful in the most peaceful of ways; but it can also be dark, dangerous. I think it depends on who’s wielding it.” She said looking back at Lord Savin.

Her conversation with the other small group waning, the priestess made her way towards the wine table. “Stoic suffering?” she said wryly as she came up beside the Prelate of the Cloverry. “Don’t tell me the Cloverry is falling down on their job? I quite admire their work,” she said genuinely.

“That’s a selfish thing for them to do.” She said with a shake of her head. “If this is the reality, then why the hateful vengeance towards you? Is it all just in rumor?” Octavia  asked Faye.

 “I’m no harpy, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t steal men away to father my monstrous daughters. I have no daughters. I haven’t seen a man in… ages.”

Cassie saw them coming over, and pulled the cup away from her lips when they spoke. She smiled gently and nodded. She had not met Lord Danian properly before. “It’s a pleasure, no bother. I know the Forty Isles heir quite well actually.” She couldn’t help but laugh, “We’re related by marriage. I’m Cassandra of Summerset…” Her gaze shifted around the room a moment, “No doubt, I’ve made a sliver of conversation tonight.” At the very least, Cassie could have sworn she heard the Prelate mutter her name. Her brow suddenly furrowed back at Danian, “You’re affiliated with Blackspire estate aren’t you?”

Fane tipped his goblet to the room, “people who don’t believe in it?” Fane offered up in answer to Octavia’s question considering the populus tended to view magick as being extraordinary. Far from commonplace and not well understood therefore a fearful thing. “Ah the eternal debate of good versus evil and innate power and how it’s wielded…” Far too heavy a topic so Fane opted to pick up the vase of wine and top of Faye’s drink considering the contents of her cup was waning “well… there’s plenty here for the picking.”

Gods but she sounded like some simpering waif lamenting her existence. Faye was lonely, yes. But it was simply how it was. Coming here had done nothing but set her out as a target, no matter what Lord Savin, or the Prelate, or Octavia even, wanted to say about it. She knew when she was being watched. But other than the reputation that followed her and the hatred some families had for witches, what did it matter? She only came because she’d been invited. “And they hate me because they can. It’s easy.”

Prelate Theodore looked at Freddie, then turned to the Red Priestess. “Unusual for a priestess of the Lord of Light to outright offer compliments for the promulgation of another faith,” he remarked. “At least, it’s unusual in my experience. Our tenets of penitence are rather at odds with your beliefs, aren’t they? Or am I behind in the latest developments? An entirely likely scenario.”

“Well, whoever is trying to bring you down is already below you.” Octavia said to Faye. “You should not worry about the people who are against you, not while you’re here at least. You are amongst friends, let the foes wallow in their pity.” She brought her glass up to her lips to take a sip. “Plenty here for the picking?” She asked Lord Savin. “Just of drink or has anyone caught your eye?” Octavia motioned around the room with her glass and smiled at him.

Her Majesty, Freddie smiled, almost to himself, at the endearment - because that’s what it was, from a man like Theodore - pleased to be set apart and given a name that would only ever cross the Prelate’s lips, then nodded his head in understanding, as they moved from the floor, their dancing done. “And what is the Wild Witch brewing that you feel needs the Emerald Hand’s attention, love? Is she a threat, or simply a nuisance?” The Blue Diamond Whore chuckled. “In either case, you might have done better to let the assassins take her.” Watching Theodore drink, that elegant throat reminding him of the last time he’d tasted it, Freddie took a goblet for himself, sipping it, and then subtly slipping a hand up the Prelate’s voluminous sleeve to drag an enticing finger over the slender man’s pulse point - there and gone in a flash. “I can sympathise though,” he said with a faintly wry little grin, “-there really is nothing more tedious that the company of those bearing up admirably under the strain of their own honour and fortitude.” He smirked again. “Though, half of those are quietly ready to cut a man’s throat for an extra half-acre of land, so even in their tedium, you can’t afford a moment’s distraction.”

Danian When Cassandra spoke her name, a spark of realization flashed in the young lord’s eyes. “Ah, Your Majesty. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” They couldn’t help glancing around the room as she did before turning their head back to her. At the mention of Blackspire, they smiled. “Yes, I am. I was Lord Savin’s ward there for much of my life. Iann’s eldest and I became quite close,” a quiet chuckle came from them at the thought. “He had a tendency of following me around throughout the day. Very enthusiastic young man- and passionate too. He’s got a bright future ahead of him.” They paused to take a sip of their mead. “I met Iann during one of his visits- and apparently I have been featured in his son’s correspondence as well. By now, I imagine he knows more of me than I know of him.”

“I have no worries that my faith will lose it’s followers simply because I have the ability to see things from a different perspective than most of my sisters.” The Priestess sipped from her glass. “Anyone who seeks to ease the suffering of others shares our most basic beliefs. We are the same in that at least. Why should we not rejoice? ”

Faye could only nod, as she was trying her best to drink away the shaking feeling the touch of magic had given her. Among other things. She had… liked it. And it would be dangerous to think too hard on it. “I don’t worry about them. Only the foolish would dare attack me a second time. I won’t be so kind.” She nodded at Lord Savin as he refilled her cup for her. “Good and evil are all made up by men.”

Fane wasn’t quite so sure he agreed with Octavia’s statements about those individuals being below Lady Lacroy. Recent events he was aware of - namely the attempted kidnapping of the Grand Lady of Summerset and also an attempt on the life of Lady Lacroy? Two events so close to the coronation yet also seemingly unrelated but also equally able to drum up discontent amongst different levels of the Kingdom. One for the nobles, another to raise the ire and suspicion of the common-folk… But also potentially a distraction from something more? Fane rubbed his chin lost in thought as he stood there. Though Octavia’s question, caused him to laugh quietly, “caught my eye? An amusing notion but… No. Not particularly. I leave indulging in such… mm… interests to other lordlings.”

Prelate Theodore directed his attention to the Red Priestess more pointedly; his body language made it very clear that he was no longer going to carry on any interaction with Freddie, that there had never been any reason for him to do so apart from a single polite dance at what was, after all, supposed to be a festival enjoyed by even the most base of commoners. The spot where Freddie had run his finger against Teddy’s wrist felt silvery hot-cold, and the Prelate couldn’t ignore the lingering phantom of that intimate touch – but he could ignore Freddie himself. Treat the man like the whore he was. Remind them both that certain boundaries could only be stretched, not crossed.

Cassie smiled, “I thought so. I know your guardian, business mostly but-“ She squinted, “I imagine I might have seen you in passing from time to time.” Cassandra laughed at the mention of one of Iann’s children, “He must inhabit some of his mother’s tendencies then.” For all his familial support towards Cassandra and her daughter, it didn’t ebb his more infuriating moments. “Lord Iann always makes it his business to know everyone’s business.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis but added wisely, “Just make sure not to give too much of yourself away.”

Prelate Theodore So Theodore spoke only to the Priestess, blocking out all else but theology. “Perhaps what is as yet a singular viewpoint of your own will in time be shared by the rest of your sisters, praise unto the Whole.”

“Praise, indeed. Though as High Priestess, my influence is… far reaching. At least within my own septs.” She watched the Prelate as they spoke, sensing the aura of his faith that he carried like a banner about his person. “I can see why you were chosen as Prelate. An open mind is a rare thing these days.”

Her Majesty, Freddie’s dismissal was sudden and complete - but by no means out of character for the Prelate - and the whore couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as Theodore turned his back, thinking, 'Right then, time to make my own fun…’, drifting off into the crowd, and heading in the direction of a small knot of men talking quietly in a corner - one of whom he’d seen only last night, who’d come to Queen Mab’s with a large courgette and a riding crop. Freddie didn’t intend to stop, but a picture really was worth a thousand words sometimes.

Faye frowned slightly as the Lord Savin said he had no interest in anything or anyone in the room. That he didn’t partake of those pastimes. Not that her mind had wandered there at all during the course of the evening. He was handsome, yes. And he had been kind to her. But such was his duty. Faye didn’t expect anything less. Or more. Certainly not more. But she overcome with a sudden wave of needing some air. “If you’ll excuse me…” Faye said. “We’ll speak later,” she said to Octavia. “Thank you again for earlier.” She glanced at the Inquisitor. “M'lord.” And moved off to find a dark corner to get quietly drunk.

“Well, I’m sure the other lordlings will have a wonderful time with that tonight.” She laughed. The people in the room had sunken into the drinks haziness. She could count more than three couples attempting to hide in the shadows. “Of course.” She replied to Faye. “Maybe I’ll make my rounds. Cheers to you, Lord Savin, Lady Lacroy.” She said, bowing to them. Octavia walked across the room to where a large table with a pile of food sat. She picked off a grape from a vine and popped it into her mouth.

“As long as you were visiting the North prior to the past two years, it’s fairly likely. Though, I tended to prefer the outdoors.” At the mention of Iann and his business, Danian sighed with another slight chuckle. “So it would seem. Unfortunately for him, aside from my travels, I doubt I’m all that interesting. From what I’ve experienced, Southerners like yourself live far more exciting lives than those of us in the North. We have to survive the weather before we do anything else. Still,” a nostalgic feeling turned up the very edge of their lip, a touch of sadness lingering there for the briefest moment, “our home is in our blood. It’s where we belong. Everywhere else I’ve been- I’ve never felt entirely myself.”

Fane had been left alone after Faye had made her excuse in need of air and Octavia in favour of doing rounds. He didn’t mind particularly and opted to take the time to pull off his jacket, the sleeve was ruined and would need a thorough wash out to try and save it from the wine that had been spilt on it. A shame, but ultimately a fixable issue. Waving over one of his servants he requested it be taken back to his room leaving him to roll up his sleeves to his elbows so they were now more out of the way.

Faye sat in silence, watching the room and the unfamiliar faces (besides Miguel and Lord Savin) chatting quietly. Others were more raucous, and Faye found a small bit of amusement in watching them. And the music. Gods it had been so long since she’d heard music… some time later and she was well into her cups, cloak put aside and hair falling a bit out of her braids.

Fane had by now had several more cups of wine. Enough to loosen the edge of his more severe nature and loosen his more uptight demeanour into something more pleasant. While he’d done several rounds of chatting here and there ultimately spied a familiar blonde now saw on the edge of the room. “Now… what’re you doin’ o'er ‘ere, hm?” his accent was thicker when he spoke goblet hanging loosely from his fingers as he stood in front of Lady Lacroy.

Faye looked up as a tall shadow fell over her table. She looked up with slightly bleary eyes to see the… the figures of Lord Savin. But she was in no mood to talk. “Getting drunk. Now go away.” She turned back the mug of whatever alcohol she was drinking currently.

Fane cocked his head at the abrupt answer, “can’t get drunk alone, s'no fun.” Promptly he swung one leg over the bench and sat lazily straddling it as he deposited the jug and his drink on it. “Quite the party o'er here,” he wiggled his finger indicating the general vicinity.

“Yet I’ve somehow managed it without you. Will wonders never cease.” She tried to glare at him as he sat - uninvited - down next to her, but she couldn’t decide which one of him to focus on. “A party of one. Now go away.”

Fane chortled at her attempt to glare at him over the table. “You’re funny, hm, yes, very funny” he raised his drink in a slight salute before taking a gulp. “Aah but no!” he laughed exclaiming a touch too loudly leaning forwards on his forearm and pointing at her. “Not one. Because… Now I’m here. So…. it’s now a party of… of two.” To embolden this particular statement of very, serious logical fact the Inquisitor held up three fingers.

Faye was not amused as he sat down very close inside her personal space. She leaned back slightly as he pointed at her, and nearly swatted at his hand. Except he held it up, along with three fingers. Faye’s eyes narrowed, and she looked between him and his…more than two fingers. “Can you /be/ an imbecile and really be the Inquisitor?”

Fane frowned as she narrowed her eyes looking at her and then his hand and back at her still very serious before a fourth finger flicked up to join the prior three. “Two… Twos, two split makes… two.”

“Four. It makes four.” She reached for her drink. “Do you really not have any skills at all? Or does the Guard just run on luck and watered down ale? Because this…” She held up two fingers. “Is two. And this.” She put one down. “Is you leaving.”

Fane shook his head forlornly. “No no no, see…” he kept his hands up as they were his index and middle fingers pressed together tightly as they were presently in the air on either hand “this is two but–” he tilted his head before splitting his fingers apart “this is four.”

Faye merely shook her head. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first man to think he’s more talented with his fingers than he actually is…”

Fane knew his brows had gone towards his hairline, a flush rising in his features and it was debatable if he was on the border between embarrassment or anger. That is until he snorted ungracefully and started to laugh jovially, “I see what you did there… Fingers and… hmph… Smart… You… are very smart.”

Faye knew he was drunk. But so was she. Normally she wouldn’t have dared speak so frankly, and she certainly didn’t /really/ think he was unintelligent. It was just… being here was a lot. Talking to so many people in one day had drained her. So what finally made her laugh was the way he started to flush. And the fact that the one thing he seemed to understand was her… innuendo. She snorted her own laugh. “Does that mean I’m mistaken and you do know how to use them?”

Fane waggled his brows and picked up his goblet tilting it a little at her almost spilling some but pulling it back just in time to take a sip. “That… now, that… Would be telling.”

Faye watched the wine nearly slop over the sides of his cup, but didn’t move away this time. She was afraid the room might spin out from under her if she moved too quickly. “Means no then?” She raised her own eyebrows at him. “I wonder if that pretty knight is still around… she probably knows a thing or two…”

Fane snorted again and made a face as he levelled her with a look across the table “why so… curious?” he questioned changing tact, “curious t'find out?”

Faye looked at him evenly, feeling overly warm in the heat of the party. “Maybe I’m tired of being lonely for once.”

Fane opened his mouth and closed it then before opening it once more and closing it again. He looked at her for a long time, though his brow furrowed deeply. “Being lonely’s a choice… You don’t… have to choose it.”

Faye returned the look, her eyes flickering slightly with something she didnt’ speak out loud. They were sitting close enough that she eventually reached out and toyed with the ends of the laces on his shirt. “And I choose not to be…” she said eventually.

Fane rarely indulged as he had tonight, typically having far more restraint than he was presently showing. But then again he was so damn tired, eight years since his wife had passed and he’d kept his own council. He served and performed his duties day in and day out without question. So what if he wanted something for himself for once? Though feeling eyes on him caused him to turn his head a fraction to the group standing nearby eyeing them with a stonier look. Though the play of Faye’s fingers drew his attention back to her before he said quietly under his breath so that she might hear but the others would not. “Go… Give me… a little time then… I’ll… walk you to your chambers.” He would take a different exit and walk around.

Faye looked at him evenly still. It had been years for her as well, since she’d shared her bed with anyone. Never marrying, but occasionally finding company in those that passed her way. It was very lonely, and Faye had chosen it. Because she was afraid. But this man had been exceedingly nice to her. When he didn’t have to be. She’d tried to get him to leave her alone, but he didn’t leave. And Faye knew that didn’t mean they would fall in love and get married or any of that, but for once she really would like to not be alone. Which is why she only frowned slightly as he told her to go first. A small nod was all she gave him as she collected her cloak and made her way out into the street, passing slowly beneath the torches as she waited on him to join her. Though a part of her thought he wouldn’t.

Fane lingered in the hall, making a point to finish off his drink and press the heel of his palm to his eyes exhaling shortly. Hawks, the lot of them, hovering for the smallest morsel of gossip to shred apart and this was his reputation they were wanting to grate. He made a point once he rose to stop and chat to several Lords and several minutes later circled slowly around to the staircases.

Faye waited, walking slowly along the walk as if she were looking out over the city below. But the longer she was there, the more she realized that this might be a trick. A few more minutes passed, and she realized that more than likely it was a trick. That him sending her out before him was nothing more than an excuse to give her the slip. And after she’d thought that he just might be genuine. But that was foolish of her. Why would a man like him want to be seen going back to the chambers of someone like her? He wouldn’t.

Fane glanced around, that is until he caught sight of his companion for the evening pacing on one of the walks. “Why are you pacing?” but lingering wasn’t a clever idea, explaining why Fane politely proffered her his arm. “Come…” who knew how many eyes were on them even in these empty halls.

When his voice came through the still night air, Faye startled slightly. But she was too surprised to do much else besides take the proffered arm and walk along beside him. “It’s kind of you to… walk me home, m'lord. It’s a dangerous place these days. For a lady… all alone.”

Fane dipped his head a fraction in response to her thanks. “The least I could do…” his eyes however scanned the walls cautiously. They walked in otherwise companionable silence back through the castle towards their destination.

#got au #got scene