#the tsaritsa who loves so deeply yet cannot love

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #tsaritsa #“eros you left for a month again” yeah................. #anyway. posts tsaritsa fic and leaves #i kept it kinda vague but the fatui are all on your side. whether or not your actually the creator or not though.. #now thats up for debate. #did they tamper w teyvat to kill the archons? to break the world to be remade in whatever image they see fit? #using you as the means of their end? #maybe you are the creator and they just saw an opportunity. maybe they are just devoted to you. #i just think lowkey villain au but specifically imposter au where the only ones who side w u r the fatui like OUGH #i love the fatui. them being the only ones 2 side w u is so tasty #prime material for angst bc the self doubt if the only ppl who believe u r the “villains” #a lot of this is just like. tsaritsa posting again though #the tsaritsa who loves so deeply yet cannot love #contradictions all the way down #she loves you but she cannot love you. #she loves you but she will put a dagger between your ribs. she loves you but she is incapable of love #tsaritsa the woman that u r ough #harbingers and their complex relations 2 love my beloved #smth smth tsaritsa seeing an opportunity to install a puppet “creator” which creates a separate imposter!au when the actual creator pops in #did i write this just 2 write tsaritsa being vague and Weird and horrifying and a horror and a lover and just a woman and #yeah :] #please talk 2 me abt the tsaritsa pleas epleas pleas eplease please please please p[lease please pleas

[officialscaramouche]

PART 3 OF THE REMEMBERING FIC POR FAVOR,,,I BEG 😞🙏

Of course! And thank u for specifying which one bc I mix the two stories up all the time lol

pairing: Scaramouche x gn!reader

wc: 1,484

tw: none

prev next

When you woke, you lay in the softest, and silkiest bed you’ve ever laid in. The room was elegant and ornate, the walls a deeply painted red with golden accents. You sat up with surprisingly less resistance from your wound, looking down and at the bandages that you were wrapped in. Where was your shirt? And who undressed you?

The door swung open with a click and you quickly covered yourself with the blanket, looking to the door. Your captain held a tray with dishes on it, presumably breakfast. “Good morning,” he said, kicking the door closed and making his way to your bedside. He placed the tray on the bed table and took a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “Is your chest feeling better?”

You bring the blanket up further and glare at him. Was he the one who undressed you? How unprofessional of a captain. “Did you undress me?”

He took another forkful and held it in front of your mouth. “Yes.”

“Why? Why not the second grade medic?”

He rolled his eyes when you pushed the fork away, eating another bite himself. “What, you want Tartaglia to see you naked? You’re lucky I’m the one who did!”

“I wish none of you undressed me without my permission!!”

Scaramouche balled his fist around the fork tightly. You were getting on his nerves. Not eating, not drinking, only fighting. “Why not me?! I’m your fucking bo—”

The door to your room clicked open again except this time, your Lieutenant came in. “Whoa! Everyone can hear you yelling outside!” He walked up to the two of you with a smile. “It’s too early to be arguing like this. It’s like you never even forgot anything!” He laughed, gesturing to you.

You glared at him too, turning to look out the window. “Are we leaving yet? I want to get back to the harbor.”

“Not yet,” Scaramouche grumbled through the pancakes. “Because of you, we cannot leave until the day after the next.”

“Because of me?!” You shout, turning to face your captain and wanting to shove him to the ground. But you turn a little too quickly and you crumble under the pain of reopening your wound.

“Please, [Y/N], we need your wound closed before we can start moving out.” He pulled down the blanket to look at your chest. You instinctively grab his wrist to stop him, but the hand above yours that also tried to stop him was your captain. Why would he care if Tartaglia looked at you naked? It wasn’t his body!

You stared Tartaglia in the eyes. “I can look at it myself. I’m the medic.”

“Alright, comrade. I’m gonna snag breakfast before it’s all gone. And you,” he pointed at Scaramouche. “No more yelling.”

After finally getting you to eat, your mood brightened up. Scaramouche was staring out the window with his chin resting in his palm, every now and then his eyes flickering to look at you. You were the same, despite not knowing much of anything. You still ate your food with vigor and you still got happier and less snappy after you ate. “Oh god are these from Mondstadt?! There so fucking good!”

Scaramouche scowled, taking a strawberry from your plate. “Watch your fucking mouth!”

“Look who’s talking! I get it from you!”

You were right, though. After spending so much time with Scaramouche, certain words became more of your daily vocabulary. But wait…why did you spend so much time with your captain?

“Well hurry up so I can take your plates to the staff and you can change your own fucking dressing.”

“Why didn’t you just wait for me to wake up?” You asked, taking a big sip of your water.

“Because you asked me to.”

There was a pause. “I’ve been asleep though. Why’d I ask you?”

Scaramouche grinned like a little boy. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because you love me?”

You shoved your tray off of your lap and crossed your arms. “You are so not my type.”

Scaramouche laughed. “Bet I can change that.”

That evening you had another hydrotherapy session. This time, you weren’t going to fall asleep. It was the same as before; Tartaglia held pools of water over your ears and temples. After having the soothing water wash over you, it was as if you had melted into another existence. Your mind was free of thought, your body light and numb. You didn’t exist, and you weren’t anywhere.

Then a familiar voice brought you something to focus on. “Are you awake?” Your Lieutenant jokes.

You smile. “Yes, I’m awake.”

“Okay, I’m going to ask you simple questions. You should know the answers to these.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’m serious, please answer truthfully and to the best of your knowledge.” There was a pause as he wiggled his fingers, shifting the water in ways that you were sure had meaning. “What is your name?”

“[Y/N],” you say simply.

“Good! Who is your captain?”

“Captain Scaramouche,” you reply.

“Excellent! And who do we work for?”

“The Tsaritsa.”

“Good job. I’m going to ask you more subjective questions, you ready?”

You feel your mind beginning to fizz, like a glass of soda. You fight it, and nod. “I’m ready.”

“If you feel any pain, or are shocked by forgotten trauma, we can stop. Just say the word “starconch,” and I will cease the therapy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tartaglia sucked in a deep, nervous breath. “When you think of the Tsaritsa, what comes to mind?”

“Um…I think of her kindness. She’s so understanding and she accommodates my wishes.”

“If you didn’t work for her, what do you imagine you’d be doing?”

Your face contorts in thought. “Hopefully…living a peaceful, mundane life. Working everyday, being with the one I love everyday, for example.”

“Let’s say you live this life. Who is the person you’re living with?”

“I…don’t know. We’ve been together for two years now but I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you describe him?”

You cock your head to the side. “How did you know it was a man?”

“Nevermind,” he cuts off, not wanting to potentially ruin your memories with his incorrect words. “Next question. Do you enjoy being a medic?”

“It’s never fun to see my teammates get hurt. But I have confidence that I’d never let anyone die.”

Tartaglia hummed above you, and smiled. He admired your confidence and your ability to be strong and courageous when you needed to. “Is it hard being a medic?”

You smiled, and laughed a little. “Nothing is hard when you know what you’re doing,” you chided. “I think fighting is hard, but you do it wonderfully everyday.”

He observed you carefully, a thin veil of darkness washing over his face. “If someone taught you how to fight, would you?” The question was a little more self indulgent, hoping that if he could teach you, you wouldn’t get hurt like this again.

“No, because the man I love protects me just fine.”

You were right. The person that you loved was like a guard dog of sorts. If someone so much as had an ugly scowl on their face as they’re coming toward you, he’s there to step right in between. He was always there, always reliable. But the one time he wasn’t, you nearly met your fate by the time they got you back to camp.

Tartaglia shifted. “Is there anything you know about the man you’re with?”

“He’s handsome,” you sang, a little teasingly. “And he’s so intelligent. And he’s sweet to me, and he’s silly at times, and when we fight we have bad fights. Yelling at each other, saying awful things…but he’s so quick to apologize and do things to make me forgive him.” Tartaglia watched as you went on and on, feeling bad that you had all these things to say about him but he didn’t have a face or name. Just the feeling of love and happiness for a mystery man. “And he’s always there for me. I try to be there for him, but when I do I mess things up. Like right now, I’m only hurt because I—” You sat up suddenly, disrupting the therapy and turning to look at Tartaglia. “I was saving him,” you say with wide eyes, as if he didn’t know that. “I…only threw myself into the battle to save him. That means…it’s one of the guys here right?”

Tartaglia raised his brow and shrugged his shoulders. He wished he wasn’t a good person, because he would’ve taken this opportunity to tell you he was your boyfriend. “I’d tell you but that would ruin the fun!”

You glared, your brain feeling a little strange still from the session. You stared down at your chest wrapped in bandages. This was your love. You placed your hand over your heart to steady your heart rate. “Better me than him.”

Tartaglia disagreed.

#writing #part three: amnesia #Scaramouche #scaramouche x reader

[nemycchi]

Among the Stars

A Childe X Lumine Fanfiction

General Rating

Angst, Love, Family, Betrayal, New Beginnings

Maybe, in another life, this was not how things would have ended.

Lumine likes to think that that is the case. That somewhere out there—across the stars she once traversed, across the worlds she once explored, a version of herself is living contentedly. Maybe in a quaint house filled with various trinkets from her adventures, maybe even in a big mansion overflowing with memories of her conquers—the details do not matter, as long as it is a home.

As long as it is with him. As long as it is with them.

She pulls at her crimson scarf—worn-out from years of use, both from her and its previous owner, as the winds of Snezhnaya blows harder, sharper and colder against her skin. She should be well-acquainted by now to this harsh weather seemingly ever-present in this region of Teyvat from constant visits but she shrugs it off as the lack of warmth reminds her of the years that went by.

Ah, there it is again. That fleeting feeling—like a thief in the night, sneakily closing in when your guards are lowest. Kind of like how he easily slid into her life unabashedly, taking her world by storm—

And apparently leaving with a destruction of the same magnitude.

But she guesses that she should be thankful—for he left something to remember him by. Far more important than anything she has right now, far more important than she is and will ever be.

Lumine sighs deeply. It seems like her old friend—a ghost of tantalizing blue eyes and soft touches, is back again to prompt her to spiral back down into the abyss—into the void she so desperately avoids recalling lest she forgets the present, which is far more important now that she is not on her own anymore.

So, despite the turn her thoughts took, she smiles. Though she thinks he would be disappointed at its bitterness as she trudges on the snow-covered cobblestone walkway, steps slowly but surely taking her back to him.

For a second, she has the half-thought to turn around and start walking away, but no, she has been steeling her resolve for the last four years already, and she knows that it is time to face him once more. Maybe for the last time. Not to fight again, but to let him go. For her sake, for their sake.

At last, with finality in her eyes, she stops before him. Her hand reaches out to touch the polished marble and its coldness seeps into her core, even through the fabric of her glove.

“Hey. I’m here.” she whispers into the thin air reverently, silently praying to Barbatos that he carries her words to him.

And as tears start tracking down her eyes, she promises herself that this would be the last time she weeps for him.

For her sake. For their sake.

 

---☆☆☆---

 

Four years ago, she found herself and Childe tucked away in an open cave, not too far from the Harbinger’s headquarters in Snezhnaya. There, under the dark of the night and the guidance of the stars—he succumbed to his feelings.

“I love you, Lumine.”

And she cried. She never knew that she was capable of such fickle thing that mortals of Teyvat do in distress or in utter elation. In her case, she would attribute it to relief—to the consolation that through her seemingly never-ending journey in this world that persisted for years, her love would be returned.

No, scratch that. Despite the lack of utterance, she believed that it was not her who fell first. Rather, it was him. Though from the hesitance in his eyes and the hint of reticence in his voice, she figured it was a fact that was hard to swallow. Especially for him—a footman of the opposing side.

And so even in that moment, regardless of the warmth coursing through her veins, she found herself asking why now.

“But, Childe—”

Before she could continue, he stopped her by pressing a finger on her lips.

“Sshhh. Come now, ojou-chan. Let’s not think of trivial matters such as allegiance and all that, okay? I can practically see the gears in your pretty little head turning at an alarming rate!” the playfulness in the way he spoke was not lost on her.

Fresh tears still streaming down her eyes, she thought about what this could mean. At the end of the day, it was useless. He was still a Harbinger and she an outlander bound to oppose them. They were destined to face one another, especially then when war is literally on their doorstep—with the Tsaritsa pledging allegiance to the Abyss Order and the knights of the rest of Teyvat on their way to Snezhnaya.

A war is brewing, and their love would be nothing but a thorn on each other’s side.

Yet, even with that knowledge, she chose not to say a word anymore for she knew that he knew as well.

A flash in his usually cold stare and she was brought back to that surreal moment. His finger slid from her lips to her jaw, slightly tracing its curve before cupping it in his hand.

“Just for tonight, let’s forget that. Just for tonight, can I be… Ajax and you—Lumine?” he whispered, pain evident in the shift of his tone.

Gold met the pleading ocean and she realized the weight of her answer. It’s now or never.

And so, allowing herself that moment of weakness, she surrendered. Just like how he did. They will be honest. To each other. Just this time. Just for tonight.

As she raised herself up on her toes, hands reaching out to him, she promised that she will never forget this. The warmth of his arms around her, the sound of his voice as he called out her name in reverence, and the latter satisfaction as their love burned hotter than the brightest star in the sky. She wished upon its luminance that she could keep him like this, with her.

Forever.

 

---☆☆☆---

 

The time of judgment was not kind for it decided to show itself the day after that fateful night. The cold of Snezhnaya never seeped into her bones deeper than it did that moment, with her still standing and four of the Harbingers down the ground.

It was a battle she could not afford to lose. She cannot allow herself to waiver, even with blood coating her arms and one leg clearly limping. She cannot lose—she must buy time until her allies arrive. The outlander trudged on and dread churned in her gut at the inevitable fate that lies ahead of her.

And there it really was. A scene she never wanted to see.

The rest of the Harbingers stood on her way, including him.

She watched the brief flash of pain across his eyes before he looked away.

No, Ajax. You knew the consequences. You cannot hesitate now.

Lumine smiled bitterly at the reminder. She knew this yet at that moment, she genuinely wished she never came down in Teyvat, or that she was just a normal mortal in this world instead. Maybe she would not have to swallow down her tears as she gripped her sword harder in one hand, anemo energy already collecting on her other.

She knows that she is a breath away from losing, with their sheer number against her sole prowess, yet she fought on. She jumped at elemental strikes of varying colors to her best ability, she dashed to evade a multitude of physical attacks on her person with agility she did not know she still possess.

It went on and on, like a game of cat and mouse—with her being hunted down and one slip-up could mean her end. However, no matter how much she tried to ignore it, she cannot help but notice the lack of enthusiasm in the chase of hydro spears coming after her as she twisted between pillars. He was clearly trying not to hit her and she hated it somehow.

Though it seemed that that moment of distraction as she observed was the perfect opportunity for her other opponents to send her flying across the platform. She gasped loudly as she landed on her broken arm and leg.

It hurts.

Her eyes glazed over, unfocused, as she spotted icicles rushing towards her from all direction. Maybe this was the end. Maybe it would be better this way for her. Maybe she bought enough time already. Maybe she was enough.

She closed her eyes, awaiting her demise as she laid broken on the ground. But it never came. Instead, she found herself covered in a bubble of hydro magic frozen in patches. Through the gaps between the ice, she spied the man she came to love standing in front of her.

No, it can’t be!

But it was apparently the reality as she watched his former allies charge at him for this act of treason. Before another burst of ice covered the bubble, she remembered hearing a faint whisper.

“I’m sorry, ojou-chan.”

 

---☆☆☆---

 

Jean and Barbara arrived, along with other knights which prompted the remaining Harbingers to flee. Three additional to the first four they came across with of the Tsaritsa’s strongest footmen lied unconscious and another one was barely breathing a few steps from the bubble they found her in. As the familiar pulse of healing thrummed in Lumine’s veins, she did not waste time and she scrambled to reach him.

His mask lay useless and cracked beside him, his bow beyond repair. His clothes were in tatters except his scarf, which somehow remained intact. All these were duly noted but at the sight of his eyes, she crumbles—presence of the Knights of Favonius be damned.

She cried her heart out, as his breath slowly stuttered even more—as the almost non-existent glow in the blue depths darkened even more.

The acting grandmaster of the knights was somehow moved and she sat next to her, placing her hand on the fallen’s chest to attempt to heal him. But from the way she took her hand back abruptly, and the manner with which she looked away, Lumine realized the cold and harsh truth.

Right then, the unforgiving wind of Snezhnaya breezed through them. It was not strong at all, yet she felt faint—as if it took her life away. And as the coldness settled deep in the recesses of her heart, she swore she heard the faintest of a wish as a whisper in the gust.

“Keep living, ojou-chan.”

 

---☆☆☆---

 

Back in the present, Lumine kneels on the ground in front of the marble stone depicting his name. It has been four years since that day yet she remembers each and every detail of their parting clearly. She recalls with bitterness the moment when they won for it certainly did not go without its costs.

Aether is safe and is now back in their realm. As for her, she is left down here in Teyvat—for she has found herself something to tie her existence on. She does not just live for herself now. She lives in honor of his name—in honor of what they created, of what he left behind. And she swears that she will continue to do so until the end of her days.

But sometimes, as loath as she is to admit, she finds herself unable to forget his eyes, his touch, his everything without pain. It hurts. And it still hurts to this day.

So, she resolves that maybe, it is not something she has to carry anymore. That maybe, she must let go to be able to feel again. Not in that manner—for she knows that she will never love again the same way, but for her to be free once more.

Lumine tightens her hold on the scarf as she pries it away from herself. Tears continue to fall down her golden eyes as she folds it neatly and places it atop the stone.

“You’re free now, Ajax.” she sobs, acknowledging the conclusiveness of her words.

Just like that day, the winds blow gently and she looks up to the night sky filled with a multitude of bright stars.

It is over.

Done.

It is time to move on.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stands up and turns her back from him. One last time, she reminds herself not to look back anymore—for her sake, for his sake. She walks away, with finality—allowing the comforting familiarity of the darkness of the night to embrace her in place of the warmth that will never be there anymore.

 

---☆☆☆---

 

“Careful now—”

Upon opening the door of her past lover’s family house, Lumine feels the landing of a soft body on hers before she heard the last of the warning.

“—Big Sis. I was going to warn you, but she got to you first!” Teucer sheepishly chuckles from the distance.

She laughs a little at his antics before setting the small girl currently taking up residence on top of her on her lap instead as she sits down on the wooden floor.

Deep blue eyes seemingly filled with tears stared back at her with such an intensity reminiscent of the person she got it from.

Ajax.

“Mhm, did my little angel miss me that much?” she pulls the girl into her arms and she nuzzles her hair affectionately.

She felt more than heard her affirmation when Alyona—her daughter, their treasure—buried her head deeper into her chest. She cards her fingers through her sunshine’s golden locks and slowly rocks her back and forth.

Lumine sighs as her earlier thoughts come back again.

Maybe, in another life, this is not how things would have ended. Maybe, things would have been different.

But there is no reason to dwell on trivial matters such as what-ifs and what-nots anymore. She will be happy, she will be contented. She will be home—as long as she is with her—Alyona, her new beginning.

“Say, little angel. Would you like to hear about a new story? Of the brave knight named Ajax?”

#genshin impact fanfiction #chilumi #childe x lumine

[221bb]

Only the Dead Have Seen the End of War

Once, Alina might have thought war would have an end.  

That under the care of rulers who thought it precious beyond measure, Ravka would one day find itself at peace. That with enough power and caution, their enemies would see that it is in their best interests to stop, to rest, to live. 

But that had been a long, long time ago. And now Alina knows better.  

Peace is rare, and to be cherished. 

Ravka isn’t always at war, of course. There are peaceful times, in which they get to focus their resources on what actually matters, to thrive. Those are Alina’s favorite eras in her and Aleksander’s long reign. But mostly, it feels as if those are long and far in between. 

Mostly, their people are dying in the name of conflicts that should not be. That stem from prejudices so long in the making that none even remember when they began anymore – well, perhaps none other than Alina’s husband or her mother-in-law.  

And they are at loss as to how to stop it. 

Alina refuses to wipe nations off the map. She’s no longer the innocent girl who flinches at the death of every other innocent. She has seen the cost of war, and she knows that sacrifices must be made. But that does not mean she would be able to live with herself if they simply covered the entirety of Shu-Han or Fjerda with darkness and left practically no one but themselves. 

But, she has no better suggestion. 

And so history always repeats itself. 

Because Fjerda will never see the Grisha as anything other than witches, abominations which need to be eliminated and burned at the pyres. Because Shu-Han will never see the Grisha as anything other than ju, tools, something less than animal and little more than a means to further their science. 

As tsar and tsaritsa, Aleksander and Alina do not always participate in battles. Skirmishes along the borders are mostly left to their armies, and Alina hates it but understands its necessity – they have a nation to rule, and they cannot simply leave Os Alta for every single assault. 

But for the biggest campaigns – most likely to be the hardest and bloodiest – they always, always join. Very rarely only one of them, because Alina hates staying at the capital like a trophy wife and she can go mad with worry, and Aleksander would sooner cut off his own tongue than let her go off to a hard battle on her own. They leave their commander of the Second Army in charge – once Zoya, now a talented Inferni by the name of Tania – and do their best to reach a ceasefire with as little casualties on their side as possible. 

Such is the case with their current campaign, which had been running for months. They are all exhausted – mentally and physically, although there had been a minimum of losses. But the Fjerdans refuse to reach any sort of understanding, because they claim their heir to the throne had been assassinated by a Ravkan Grisha. 

Well, it can’t be said that never happened. But on this occasion, it really had been no agent or ally of theirs. 

And so Alina finds herself standing next to Aleksander, an entire battalion consisting of two-hundred Second Army and one-hundred First Army soldiers behind them. Her hand is splayed wide in front of her, palm facing forward and effortlessly holding a shield of light wide enough to cover them from left to right, against which a relentless wave of bullets has been bouncing for almost a minute now. On her arm is a blueish fetter, and on her neck is a collar of antlers. Her hair is pulled up into a messy but regal updo on the crown of her head, and her gold kefta infused with black intricate designs would have glistened in the light, if there had been more than the dimness of twilight.  

Next to her, Aleksander is standing tall, clad in his customary black kefta. He has not donned his winter cloak, because its heaviness could be a hindrance in battle that even he cannot afford. Around his feet shadows slither about in messy, chaotic waves that do not reach his knees, which Alina is pretty sure he’s not even aware of. 

It doesn’t matter. Soon, they will be plenty useful.  

She glances at him, and Aleksander catches her gaze and holds. His dark eyes are burning – with rage, righteous fury, and fatigue. Their people are dying, and this entire madness is not stopping. 

So they will make it stop. 

Alina gives him an almost imperceptible nod, and along their tether she sends a strong wave of conviction.  

Of love.  

Aleksander’s eyes almost soften, but he only nods in return. Alina doesn’t need any more – she knows him, knows his feelings, knows the strength of the emotion for her and only her that she’s feeling from his side of the tether. She only watches him, her arm unwavering in front of her, and believes that this is what’s necessary.  

Aleksander closes his eyes – and raises both hands slowly along his sides, palms opened wide and pointed at the sky. Alina fights not to shudder as black lines climb up her husband’s neck almost in sync with the slow, almost inaudible murmur of words she can only hear because of their close proximity. Nonsense, to her – she had never bothered to learn Old Ravkan – but the meaning is clear enough. 

Merzost. 

Behind them, next to them and in front of them, shadows gather in gentle pools. Too numerous to count. Slowly, they raise and build into forms that resemble small hurricanes – and then, faces are formed.  

Gaping, horrendous faces, devoid of features. Hands with clear claws, legs that have no clear borders or ends. Their body – if it can even be called a body  – does not stay still, as their form is constantly moving and twirling. And if Alina focuses enough, it almost seems as if they suck the little light around them.  

The nichevo’ya. 

The barrage of bullets has stopped. Alina does not let go, though. She simply waits, ignores the sound of their soldiers inhaling in fear, and breathes. 

A few moments later, Aleksander opens his eyes and murmurs, “Now.” 

Alina closes her hand into a fist. 

Her shield of light disperses into nothing.  

And with a flick of her husband’s finger, the nichevoy’a charge. 

Around them, everything turns into utter chaos.  

With battle cries – some cries of long live Ravka, others of long live the King and For the Sol Koroleva – their soldiers attack. They barely even get past Alina and Aleksander’s line before the Fjerdans scream start, but they do not stop. They are trained well, and they have been briefed to know the shadow creatures will not harm them.  

The tsar and tsaritsa do not move.  

Aleksander is focused on directing the nichevo’ya, Alina knows. They are not mindless creatures, but fortunately neither are they independent.  

Alina herself does not need to shift in order to do quite a lot of damage. 

Her arms barely move as cut after cut fly in front of her, hitting only enemies. Sometimes the cut is in the form of a thin blade, and at other times in the form of a spear – she does not think of it, lets her instincts take hold. They have rarely disappointed her before.  

And so it begins.  

And progresses, slowly but steadily. Everything seems in control – Squallers at the sides, sending Fjerdans flying off their feet; Inferni in the middle, setting as many drüskelle on fire as they can reach; Heartrenders behind, hands twisting in the air in front of them, inflicting as much damage on the Fjerdans’ bodies as possible.  

And then, next to her, Aleksander stumbles. 

Alina’s eyes immediately snap to him – and she can feel her heart literally stopping, breath catching in her chest, as her gaze focuses on the side of his neck. His hand is already on it, but it does not matter, because his fingers cannot stop the flow of blood streaming into his neckline.  

For a moment, they both stand, frozen. Around them, the sounds of battle fade to almost nothing, and Alina doesn’t care, cannot care, not when they have somehow failed to prepare for this, and she doesn’t know what to do – 

Aleksander falls to his knees, as if in slow motion, and Alina finally reacts. 

Her mind is screaming no, no, no no no no no, but her arm is already thrown forward again, and a small dome of light surrounds them as she drops to her knees next to her husband. She grabs his hand with her free arm and gently pulls it away, and inhales deeply at the sight in front of her, horrified. 

A bullet has torn cleanly through the side of Aleksander’s neck, and Alina wouldn’t be surprised if it had at the very least nicked his carotid artery. The blood is flowing at a truly scary rate, and yet it does not completely hide the literal hole in front of Alina’s face. She knows that if she does not find a way to slow the bleeding, he could be dead in a matter of minutes – before she manages to get him to a healer. 

Dead, dead, dead. 

Forced to spend the rest of her life, alone. Eternal. Cold. Without his arms to hold her at night, without the comforting feeling of being enveloped in his presence. Without the utter pleasure of their slow, blinding thrusts.  

Without his love. 

No. 

Aleksander is trying to turn his head to her, and for the first time she notices that his bloodied hand is closed around her arm, her gold kefta stained red. “Stop,” she commands, voice shaking. “Sasha, stop moving.” 

He stops. 

And Alina acts. “This is going to hurt,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

Without thinking about it too much – it might not work, this wound is too big, it is more than possible that he has still lost too much blood, she also needs to focus on keeping the shield of light around them, somehow – Alina lets go of Aleksander’s hand, places her open palm on the gaping wound, and, closing her eyes, pushes at her power. 

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

When I finish it, if I like it, I’ll probably post it to AO3. For now it’s simply an idea that formed in my mind during a pretty boring meeting at work and played in it during its entire duration. I took some creative libertives here, of course.

Opinions? Thoughts? 

#darkalina #darkalina FanFiction #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #tumblr ficlet

[kazuzuha]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ part three

part one ; part two ; part four ; ...

this work is protected by copyright. copyright © kazuzuha ™ 2021

It took me another two years to find a new goal and remember my past one - the latter being that of me exploring the world, meeting new people, seeing the archons, eating new foods, feeling the wind of the highest mountains in Teyvat...

Interestingly, this goal that I had forgotten coincided with the one I had now; running away.

That was all I had in mind in the time gone by, all that truly kept me breathing in that suffocating place. My own mindset was an opposition to my mother’s, her traditional perfectionism trying to mold me into someone flawless, yet, not better than her. My own set of unbearably high standards wore me down, then were further pushed by her hand which ignored the fact that our pressures came from the same place. But I knew. I knew. 

It was at fifteen that I fully understood that knowing you are in an unhealthy situation does not call upon the Archons to help. 

Father was not around, busy with climbing ranks and taming the snowstorms. If he knew of my ambition, he would have agreed to that marriage proposal I had been given years ago, suspiciously immediately after the Tsaritsa’s interest in me was expressed. It was not that my father did not love or care for me; the opposite stood true. However, he was unaware of how deeply the mental scars inflicted by my mother ran. She was a good wife, a great wife for a Snezhnayan especially. But she was not a good mother. All I had tried to explain, he had already known of, but from a completely different perspective; words convoluted, actions exaggerated - after years of hearing second-hand stories about his child, his image of me became exactly what my mother intended. Therefore, hoping and begging for his help would be redundant. I had to get away on my own two feet.

That being said, I still needed outside help and financial freedom. I made acquaintances amongst my peers, though being taken into a circle of Snezhnayan kids was a difficult task; due to my family’s high standing and my mother’s foreignity, I was either avoided or sneered at. No one dared say much, but those that did were not speaking in welcome. The odds would be stately against my success, if it were not for my observance. Most children were homeschooled and the only way to meet others my age was at a very occasional party or in organised training. There were certain aspects that I saw were well accepted in their eyes; strength, resilience, beauty and charm. I trained in strength, my mind forced resilience, the beauty and charm part could be subsistuted by wealth and social standing. It should have worked. Unfortunately, I did not consider my gender.

After beating a boy twice my size in combat, I was not revered as I had previously expected. I was not suddenly accepted into a friend group, was not offered the bitter alcohol they hid under their shirts. I was a foreign girl they could not touch, could not win against. And that pissed them off. The spreading of rumours seemed like a simple childish act at first, but the way people began to view me was set in stone before they even met me, painting me as unattainable, arrogant. A sense of déjà vu made me realise that I was once again losing an exit out of this place. But I was a quick learner.

Instead of my peers at the training grounds, I looked elsewhere. Tagging along with my father under the pretense of learning his strategies, donning my most modest dresses and tint on my lips, I met the younglings of aristocracy. They recognised my situation as their own, shunned for being better than everyone else. The mindset of superiority deeply ingrained in their small heads made it laughably easy to appease them and get piles of information that I made sure to memorize. My graceful actions, soft-spoken words and dainty visuals… all crafted to fit the perfect standard of a young girl beloved by the Tsaritsa. 

Manipulation was effortless to replicate and after shedding a false tear over an acquaintance’s loss of a parent, the apprehension of the lack of my care about using others sent shudders down my spine. I hated it. I hated being forced to do the same I had been an object of. Most of all, I was horrified by how good I was at it. A secret account provided by a lovesick fool who turned out to be the son of the main manager of our biggest bank. Five sources of income through illegal trade business from Fontaine. A shy girl who wished for one good friend, the daughter of the biggest weaponry corporation, owning over fifty industrial factories in Snezhnaya alone. In less than two years, I was the biggest shareholder of two major companies. 

All I needed was a good public reason to leave and never come back - if I had run away in the middle of the night, the powerful people around me would send hundreds behind me without a second thought. The only ones who can facilely leave are the Fatui - Tsaritsa’s dogs - and, of course, her Harbingers. I have seen my fair share of Fatui, especially when I was still dealing with the mess that was the illegal trading with Fontaine’s machinery. They were soldiers, but they were also people; until you gave them enough power to be drunk on. As for the Harbingers, two of them I had met on multiple occasions; the man I had momentarily seen at Tsaritsa’s side on that balcony was presented as Dottore, or Doctor, though his unhinged expressions pointed to him being a rabid predator, not a healer. He was a shadow; never seen, but always… there. The second Harbinger was my father’s old acquaintance known by the title La Signora, or more favourably, The Fair Lady. As a visionless female aristocrat, I was expected to marry quickly and provide many future soldiers to the armies of Snezhnaya. When I was younger I did not understand the disgust and abhorrence I felt at the thought of my set future. Without dreams, I only wandered. It was not surprising that I began to look up to the notoriously powerful Signora, especially since the silver shade in our eyes was of the same empty shine. Fascinated by her bold disobedience of our land’s customs, I caught myself imitating her walk; young and impressionable, sure, but I also knew that without a Vision, I would never be able to stride as freely as she could. 

That is why I spent so much energy and time on getting Mora. In complete honesty, I could have left Snezhnaya a year into my socialisation. In only a few months, I had enough financial security to start a business in the faraway Liyue which flourished past my expectations. Despite resigning myself to using others, the human mind sometimes cannot help but create bonds of affection to others and so, after the first time hearing “comrade” or the late-night conversations with a painfully vulnerable and lonely teenager, I could not help but want to stay longer, although merely subconsciously. I began finding reasons to stay; perhaps visiting Liyue to oversee my business after a scandal was not a good enough plan to leave, perhaps I should save just a bit more before I go on a long journey, what if the branch deal suddenly fails, I need to manage this project myself… The excuses piled up, my very few friendships strengthened and then, I thought; living here for the rest of my life would not be the worst. This idea was proven wrong time and time again, the glares like daggers in my back, enviness of others putting poison in my cups, the bloody display of the rare bunny I was gifted by a prominent and popular merchant, my mother’s slap at the word “Liyue” leaving my mouth.

I was woken up by news of the forgotten childhood marriage proposal being reconsidered.

“My clever girl is all grown up now!” my father spoke loudly, his fork sounding on the golden plate as the guests around him followed his proud tone with interest. Turning to his closest comrade, another one of Tsaritsa’s most trusted, he spoke as if confiding a secret though all invitees could hear him clearly: “Nobody is ever going to be good enough for my dove, but I’m considering accepting that proposal. They’d make a good match, both of their heads full of coins.”

Booming laughter ensued as my smile froze on my lips. He had never discussed this with me beforehand, so why now?

As if he had read my thoughts, Father’s eyes found mine, his bright and naive, sure that I would simply go with it as I had with everything until now. I decided to keep the illusion intact and made myself smile wider. 

“Girlie that plays with coins, hah! If that’s what he needs to tie him down, I’d get on my knees myself,” the other man spoke, raising his glass towards me and eliciting another round of hollers. 

Not one to stay quiet in rage, I spoke with a light, pretty tone: “Sorry to say this old man, but I’d prefer for the man to kneel down for my hand himself. Your legs might just give out from how long you’d have to be begging on the ground for him.”

The hidden jab of my not even knowing who the man proposing was went past their ears.

“As expected!” the man yelled over the ear-wrenching laughter, slapping my grinning father on the back, while another man, whom I recognised as my only female friend’s absentee parent, spoke up; “She’s really your kid, through and through. Shame you didn’t make a boy, too, with that spunk he’d be one of Tsaritsa’s best warriors by now.”

“No kid of mine would be any good as a soldier,” Father countered, the alcohol in his glass disappearing. “Us Silvers use our heads.”

After he playfully headbutts his comrade, the conversation moves elsewhere and I take my leave. Again, I find myself on the balcony, heaving deep breaths, desperately trying to calm my racing pulse. Vaguely, I think about my wild expression and how others would react if they chanced upon me at this moment, but my unbearable fear does not allow for a stoic attitude. 

Ah, right, I wanted to run away.

It is needless to say that I got my plans in order just that night.

I only let my closest friends know of the finality of my departure, sent a personal letter to the Tsaritsa and prepared an entourage of people who wanted to permanently leave Snezhnaya as well.

Tsaritsa’s reply was swift and curt; a permit to leave for business. There was not any mention of a permit to return, but that was exactly what I had been looking for.

I mentioned my journey East to my parents at a rare shared dinner, as if passing news. My mother would have dragged me by my hair if we had been alone; having my father present was imperative. With my mother’s forced silence, I explained that, due to the scandal - which I had painstakingly created myself - I wanted to take charge of the business in Liyue Harbour for three months until I found a capable enough manager to take over the decision-making.

“It is unsavory for women to make the main decisions in a business,” I sighed, massaging the side of my head as if troubled by this gravely. My father nodded, sympathetically, while my mother coldly glared at my theatrics. It was not her that I needed to convince, anyway; she would follow whatever her husband decided. Holding Father’s hand, a physical contact of seldom, I continued: “I want to get this over with quickly, that is why I am going myself. After all, the marriage should not be put off for too long, should it? You told me a few days ago that you wanted a grandson, after all.”

I left three days after that.

The tearful farewells were done in secret, only polite nods were given in the public eye. More people have come to bid me a good journey than I would have expected, my ties reaching further than those of the usual Snezhnayan. I decided to speed up my leave before anyone else could notice.

White mountains and the creaking of snow beneath the heavy feet slowly turned into browns and greens and sloshes of mud. We stayed the night at a guesthouse in Fontaine, the waterfalls washing away the prints of our path. I wished I could have run away immediately, but arriving at the Liyue headquarters was a necessary evil to maintain our facade; if we did not send word, it would have been no different from an escape without planning. 

The warm water felt wonderful against my cold skin, accustomed to the harsh weather of the land of Cryo. It was a few hours after sunset and only the sounds of nocturnal butterflies were present. The unchanging moon shone down, reflecting its light into the lake, its shape sometimes a copy, sometimes a caricature. 

TBA

[the-sayuri-rin]

Part 1

About The Tsaritsa

The Tsaritsa is not one of the original members of The Seven who emerged victorious at the end of the Archon War. When and how she ascended to the position of Cryo Archon is yet unknown, but it was some time before the incident 500 years ago which left her deeply changed.

Ending Notes- End of Prologue chapter 1

Traveler: What sort of god is the Tsaritsa?

Venti:  Ah... How should I put this?

Venti: Five hundred years ago, I knew her well. But I can't say the same is true now.

Venti: You see, a certain catastrophe happened five hundred years ago, and after that, she cut off all ties with me.

The Tsaritsa, much like the Traveler’s sibling, saw what happened to Khaenri’ah. and what she saw, much like the sibling again, seems to have such a deep effect on her to the point where it has changed them.

To the point where she has no love for people, unlike the sibling who has no love for the gods or anyone but her siblings and maybe the people who serve her (?)

They both now want to destroy EVERYTHING the gods and nations (and might as well add humanity since both of their actions would wipe out EVERYTHING.

However this we also know this about The Tsaritsa:

Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa is actually a gentle soul. Too gentle, in fact, and that's why she had to harden herself. Likewise, she declared war against the whole world only because she dreams of peace.--- Childe

Sorry... to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world. Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn? Then, burn away the old world for me.--The Tsaritsa, in the description for Shivada Jade Gemstone

The Tsaritsa is a very gentle woman to the point where Childe describes her as “too gentle”; and the way her gemstone description is stated makes me wonder if she simply was to remake the world a new with only her as it’s god?

Meanwhile with our sibling:

Reunion with the dragon:

Cryo Abyss Mage:  Your Highness... Your humble servant returns

Cryo Abyss Mage:  When your homeland returns to this world

Cryo Abyss Mage: We shall revel in its glory

This line from A soul set apart kind of contradicts something in a way:

Traveler: (either response gives the same answer)

Sibling: Home.... 

Sibling: Yes, of course. "Home" is wherever we are together.

Sibling:  But I cannot go with you to the next world to find a new home... at least, not yet.

The Mage seems to be calling Khaenri’ah the sibling’s “homeland” but then the Abyss mages are from Khaenri’ah so shouldn’t they say OUR homeland as a collective? 

However in the recent update it appears the sibling dose not consider it to be their  homeland as home is whatever they are with their sibling, and acknowledge they and the players are outlanders. So, what’s gong on with that exactly?

We also learn the sibling arrived and woke up before us long ago enough that they were able to explore all of the world already and by the time they are with us,  Khaenri’ah is falling... then I remember I read something.

#genshin impact

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (18)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn 

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

Can you guys believe May I Feel turned one last week? Its been such a CRAZY YEAR. And we thank you guys who read us for making our hearts brim with fuzzy goodness. Honestly. We wanted to get this out quicker than usual because it was also @colonelhotstuff‘s birthday on the 30th! Happy belated birthday!!

Super special thanks to @b-griveros whose commissioned art is featured in this chapter >:3c hope you guys like it! <3

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive themes  Words: ~12k || Rated: M - Royai

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

soften the parts that we have lost / kiana azizian, infinite

Central City is cool and breezy the following morning despite the bright sunshine beating down, and the air is even cooler in the underground levels of the parking garage. Riza swings in her backpack into the trunk of the rental car with the rest of their belongings. Her eyes feel puffy from the early rise and tired, but she looks forward to sleeping in her own bed - or, rather, a bed that’s familiar to her. They had said their goodbyes upstairs and poor Elicia didn’t want to let go of Roy until she was swayed with good parenting. She even waved a goodbye to Riza in between tears that Gracia assured was her developing melodrama.

“Is that everything?”

“I believe so.” Roy answers after the slam of the trunk door. He gets into the driver’s seat and her into the passenger seat when she sees Maes in the wing mirror flailing an arm and carrying a medium-sized cardboard box with him.

“Roy,” she says abruptly to catch his attention and points to the rear-view mirror.

“What the-” He gets out, leaving the car door open. “I’m sorry, mister. I don’t have any change.”

From where she sits, she can clearly see the Maes’ red face from making the trip and running to find them. He scoffs and shoves the box he carries into Roy’s arms with one swift gesture. “These, forgotten trinkets, are yours.”

Roy digs around the box and raises his eyebrows, recognition cresting over his face and impressed with seeing his old things. “Where’d you dig these up?”

“We started,” he wheezes, needing a moment. “Shut up, your shit is heavy. We started clearing out the extra study room and we found these buried away.”

Roy’s tone is teasing. “Clearing out the study? Hopefully to make way for a gym. Or at least a treadmill, buddy. Cardio goes a long way.”

“No.” Maes glares at him and straightens up from bending over his knees.  He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Nothing’s set in stone yet. Elicia’s barely turned three, but we’re trying.”

Roy opens the car door behind his and the box is hastily shoved into the seat. The contents shift and the poorly closed box shows her a bunch of papers. Journals, she suspects. When she looks up, Roy is patting his best friend encouragingly. “That’s really good news,” he says; the pride suffuses through his tone. She can’t see it but she can hear the smile on his face. “And know that the offer still stands, should anything happen.”

Maes gives him a humbled smile in return. “I appreciate that. I think this time we’ll be better prepared; no, we are better prepared. Knowing is half the battle. But don’t let me hold you up. I’ll keep you updated.”

Riza smiles as they hug goodbye, again.

“Stay safe,” Maes tells him, before ducking his head into the car and winking at her. “Be good, Riza.”

She waves back. “No promises there.” She moves to figure out where the AUX port is on the radio when she hears Maes speak again.

“She called. Last night.” His tone is quieter. It doesn’t resound off the concrete like it was a minute ago but the open car door lets the sound flow in regardless. “Just wanted to give you the heads up in case of, well, anything.”

Roy sighs. “I’m sure she has. I’ve made myself as clear as I can.”

“I know you have. Just be careful, mate.”

The silence stretches on, almost to the point of uncomfortable. “I’ll do my best.”

The door shuts swiftly as he gets in. Maes knocks the metal frame of the car as they drive off, arm raised in a final farewell.

“What was that about?”

Roy has this dazed look on his face, unfaltering even as they reach the blinding rays of the morning sun as they exit the garage. It takes him a moment to ground himself. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that…” As he says it, he almost looks like a kid himself. “They’re trying for another kid.”

She thinks he looks adorable. “Oh! That’s nice. You must be so ecstatic to be a godfather again.”

He shrugs, trying to downplay the smitten smile on his face. “I just think it’s exciting for them. There were difficulties following Elicia’s birth and it’s admirable that she’s willing to go through that again, knowing the risk.”

Riza holds her tongue on the thoughts of adoption and foster care, reminding herself a single couple do not have the power to change the entire system. “Yes, it sounds very brave,” she replies. “And I think Elicia will be happy to have a little brother or sister.”

“I think so too. But, how are you? You sound a little down.”

Riza looks at him warily and deflects just as quickly. “I think I’m still tired, I don’t think my night was very restful.” In anticipation to his response, she amends, “And please don’t say that it was because of your “hot lovin” that kept me up.”

He snorts and laughter laces his words. “I wouldn’t have used that exact phrase, but you caught me. Why don’t you nap? We’re ways away from home yet.”

“I think I will.” She leans the seat back, getting herself comfortable. “And I know how you operate...sir.”

She wakes up and there are pastures passing them by. Cow, windmills and craggy hills in every direction. The Eastern provinces might be simpler than their neighbours, but there’s a simple kind of beautiful that exists here and Riza wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Good morning.”

Riza inhales deeply. “How long was I out?”

Roy hums. “I’d say hour-and-a-half, two hours tops.”

She blinks, trying to rid herself of the sleep in her eyes. “Where are we?”

“We’re about to cross into the Eastern section. Moomoo cows as far as the eye can see for another hour or so.”

Riza raises an eyebrow. “Moomoo cows?”

“Do you...not… call them that? How do you know what kind of noise they make if you don’t preface it with that?”

She snickers as she peers out the car window. “I think your nickname for them is very valid, Professor. Does your colleague Elicia call them that too?”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

Riza’s face scrunches up when the topic of Aerugo suddenly crosses her mind. She figures now would be a good a time as any. “So… Aerugo.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies him perking up in his seat. “Yes?”

“Are they getting married again? What’s the whole deal with that?”

“Yes, that’s basically what constitutes as a vow renewal.”

“But I thought vow renewals were something you did when you’ve been married for decades. Not after a few years.”

Roy snorts. “You underestimate what excuses people will give to justify a pachanga. Er, fiesta, party.”

“Wait, what was that first word you used?”

“Pachanga. Fiesta just doesn’t have the right emotion behind it. Anyway, parties like the ones for children’s birthday, like Elicia’s, aren’t rare. The same people would be at another relative’s kids’ communion, baptism, kindergarten graduation and nobody is going to want to be the person tearing down a declaration of love. It’s quite ingenious, really.”

“Sounds like you guys just like to...pachanga?”

“Yes, in some instances it can be used as a verb.”

“So, it’s just the ceremony?”

Roy’s head tilts side to side, considering the question. “No. Well, kind of. It’s a long weekend on an island, getting together with a group of close friends. The amount of people there won’t be as many as they had at Elicia’s birthday party. Obviously not everyone can drop what they’re doing at the drop of a hat to spend a week on vacation but most are gonna try for a few days at least.”

“Will you?”

“I’d like to. The last time I visited Aerugo was for their wedding. I doubt a lot has changed but it’s a beautiful place. The colors are vibrant there and pictures cannot do it justice. From what I remember, at least.” He smirks at some memory. “There was a lot of wine involved last time.”

Riza hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like it will be a good time.”

His eyes slide to hers. “It should be. Even more so if you accompany me.”

She can’t help it - the incredulous laughter leaves her before she has a chance to consider how that could sound. “Right. I’ll just find the spare two-hundred thousands cenz lying around, shall I?”

He does a good job of keeping his face neutral, but Riza knows a hurt tone when she hears it. “I’m only heartless when it comes to grading, Riza. You would be my plus one.”

“No, that’s - that’s too much money. I couldn’t let you waste- spend that kind of money on me.”

Roy lets out a frustrated sigh that pushes the hair out of his eyes. “This isn’t about me trying to shame you because I have disposable income and you don’t - I want you to come with me. I don’t like that I can’t just take you out for a nice dinner whenever I like, or even go catch a movie with you. Y’know - the things that every other couple gets to do without fear. But then opportunities like these come up, and it’s like some big neon sign telling me that here’s the chance you’ve been waiting for, take it. And even if we could go out on dates like normal people I’d still want you to come with me anyway.”

His impassioned response gives her pause. It’s resolute, adamant, but there’s something that burrows at her, disallowing her to be swayed. It takes her a moment to find her response.

“Is it really about the money?”

“Yes! And… no,” she admits ruefully.

“Gracia mentioned Aubrey.”

Riza nods slowly, letting him fill in that space and going with that flow. “It was quite the ambush, for lack of a better word. And I wasn’t about to monopolize your time simply because I felt uncomfortable amongst people I didn’t know. As tempting as it was to do.”

“I know it can feel intimidating and people were just interested because I’ve lost contact with a lot of them. You were a symbol as much as an explanation as to why that was.”

It pains her to admit that he has a solid argument. “Surely there was more talk than that.”

“Quite possibly. I wasn’t interested in hearing it.”

She falls silent.

“Shall I paint you a picture?”

She turns her head to look back at him. “Of what?”

“Aerugo. What you’ll be missing out on.”

“What could I possibly be missing that I can’t find in East City?”

He doesn’t vocalise it, but she knows he's thinking then let me take you. “The ocean, for starters. The miles and miles of vineyards. It’s an island, actually - off the coast. The place is dotted with old churches tucked away. The food is to die for, and the views even more so.” His voice takes on a reminiscing lilt, the corners of his lips turning up in memory. “We’d hire out one of the old villas overlooking the bay. Freshly pressed coffee and fruits for breakfast. Go sailing in the morning and drink ourselves silly in the afternoon.”

“You can sail?”

“I’d teach you - you’d be a natural at it, I’d wager.”

Riza bites her lip. “I don’t even have a passport.”

“Then we’ll figure that out once we get back home.” His free hand reaches for hers and she takes it. “I mean it when I say I’ll pay for what you need.”

He makes it sound so simple.

She starts slow, trying to sort out the muddled threads in her head into an articulation that is cohesive. “I know classes won’t take much of my time now that the semester is over…”

He nods once and slow as he elongates the i in “Right”.

She purses her lips and twists her fingers together tightly. How does she explain what waits for her at a psychiatric facility? “But I don’t think it would responsible of me to simply drop everything and not expect there to be consequences waiting at the end.”

“Consequences like?”

“I do have prior commitments that I can’t just rearrange just like that.” She waves her hand, out of his grip, for emphasis.

“Which commitments?”

Maybe she’s imagining it, maybe she’s wanting to imagine it, but Roy’s tone cuts through harshly. She can’t understand his line of questioning - why he needs to question her at all in the first place.

“I’m not outright saying no, Roy, but I can’t just give you an answer and then let the chips fall where they may.”

“I agree and I’m not saying you should. Just,” He adjusts his tone. “I’m only curious about these arrangements you have. It’s caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

She looks out the window. “Just because I spend a lot of my time with you, doesn’t mean I don’t have a life outside of you.”

From the corner of her eye she can see his jaw drop. “Riza, that’s not, that’s not what I- why are you being so cagey about this?”

“Cagey how?” She bites her tongue, feeling the guilty pleasure of her pettiness.

Frustration seeps into his voice. “Dancing around answers, being particularly defensive about this. Like you’re hiding something.”

“You’re one to talk.” Riza hears the creak of leather from the steering wheel as its gripped harder in his hands. She wets her lips and sighs, because he has a point. This is something so hurtful that she’s bore alone in the past. She doesn’t want anyone to use it against her; as if her father’s failings or his state of mind reflects directly on her. “I can’t just drop plans to see my father. Not…not when they take weeks to plan out. You’ve known about this for a while, so when were you going to ask me?”

Roy frowns. “I wanted to wait until your grades were released. If this ever comes back to bite us I didn’t want there to be any insinuations from anybody that I used an overseas holiday as a means to tempt you or buy your silence.”

“Then tell me what the game plan is, Roy. I should know.”

He clears his throat. “If, at the bottom of all this, this is something you want to do, to come with me, then I’ll help you get it handled.”

“How do you mean?”

He words it carefully. “If your worries are missing an opportunity to visit your father and if it’s within the scope of things you want to do, then perhaps you could reschedule? Maybe see him sooner then, before we leave, than push it out until after the fact.”

She falls silent again, not having considered the option. The visits were usually so static, so concrete in her schedule that changing the dates seemed inconceivable. Anxiety and trepidation clouded her whenever thoughts about visits came up. There were so many variable to consider and this sporadic invitation was creating uncomfortable waves.

“I won’t badger you about it again, but I will ask about it later this week, just so I know where you are in your headspace. Does that sound fair?”

She nods and concedes for now. “I’ll give them a call.”

The rest of the car ride is quiet until the pastures turn into housing developments and suburbs. It’s just past noon when they finally reach his place, and Riza is utterly grateful. The nap, while nice, had given her an awkward crick in her back and it isn’t until she extends her body out fully that she can feel the tense muscles relaxing. They had picked up some Xingese takeaway once they had reached the city limits, and she is more than ready to demolish some quality fried rice.

Roy has barely opened the front door when his phone lights up and it’s kind of hilarious how quickly his face loses colour. “Oh, fuck.”

“Who is it?”

He shakes his head, swiping to answer. “Madre,” he says distractedly, and then amends, “My mother” as if he meant to say it in Amestrian all along.

He walks away further into the apartment and the sounds of a very sharp voice starts talking in a volume she can hear from where she’s standing. The caller is chastising him, judging by the way he pulls the phone away from his ear. Riza figures he’ll be distracted for a while, and motions for the car keys, which he hands her absentmindedly, jabbering away in Spanish.

She leaves the takeaway on the kitchen island, sneaking one of the spring rolls as she drops back down to the carport to pick up the rest of their luggage. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages to do it in one trip, Roy trying to stifle a laugh as she waddles down the hallway, her fingers protesting as the leather straps of his bags cut deep into her skin.

The dismount is inelegant in the bedroom. She sets down the worn cardboard box atop the bed and then drops the bags next to it without considering how close it is to the edge. The box topples off the bed and spills papers, envelopes, and folders as if it was trying to reach the sunset washed window in one final, desperate bid for daylight.

Riza kneels to the floor to gather it together and stuff them back inside the box until she gets a better look at what she’s handling. Her curiosity piques when she sees a well worn front cover of a PhD thesis with his name on it, gold embossing worn down after years in storage. Looking closer, she sees receipts and old bills mixed in with scholarly journals, dog-eared and faded.

It’s a box of things he left behind.

One of the envelopes tears from seams that has met its limits. Paper of thicker stock spill over her lap, colorful and glossy as it cascades out before she can catch it. Then she recognizes the faces. Military uniform, graduation, candids featuring a younger Maes and Roy, another with youthful optimism, and a sleeping Roy with a scraggly, marker-drawn mustache and Maes grinning at the camera with the marker in question. It’s a handful of them, but there’s a signal going off in her head, telling her this only features people she already knows. Sure, there are pictures of pictures with buddies. It’s strange that she can’t see any that feature his mother or his sisters, she thinks as she reaches for the broken envelope. Or even -

There’s a photo that remained inside, folded in half. “for when u miss me xoxo” it reads on the back in handwriting that is somewhere between half-cursive and half-print. The imprint of a red lipstick kiss is perfectly preserved right below it.

She weighs the decision of looking at this photo in her head for a full minute and her index finger slides in between the folded sides for another. The note left behind clearly implies something suggestive, but she’d get a face to this enigma she’s been placing in the back burner for months. The other photos are returned to the box, and Riza leans back, fully resting her weight on her legs, deliberating.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she flips the photo open. She breathes out in relief when it’s not a full nude or anything sexually explicit and private. However, Riza studies the photo and acknowledges she has come across something still incredibly intimate.

The photo is casual in nature. A capture of a singular moment in time with two people in their early twenties, set in a tropical backdrop. Roy in his younger years is only discernible by the short cut of his hair. He holds a cigarette and has a smile across his face, eyes bright and youthful like all the others. He’s wearing his standard button up shirt in pink shade that looks exceptionally and surprisingly stunning on him, popping out more than anything else in the photo. And it’s also the first of any photo where he’s pictured holding a cigarette between two of his fingers. His hand is tucked into his front jean pocket. He looks carefree, confident with a cocky smile on his face. Completely unperturbed by the arms wrapped around him.

The woman standing behind him is shorter than him in stature. Half her face hides behind Roy’s shoulder, but just over the crest reveals her brown smiling eyes.  She bears a glowing café au lait complexion with brown curls short and soft enough that would make Rebecca envious. Her arms coil over his tailor-fitted shirt and she’s tucked a hand into the unbuttoned portion over his sternum and slipped it well into his shirt, undoubtedly to feel the well-defined muscle under the fabric. Her other arm is wrapped around his waist. If Riza were to guess, she imagines the image was only supposed to be a shot of Roy until she slipped into the picture and under his shirt.

For months, this woman has been an enigma with only a nickname. It’s one thing to hear stories, to be given little fragments and try to piece together an entire person. Only a nickname and now, a name and half a face. Greta, Riza surmises, stares at her, speaks to her and anyone else who would look at it with body language to corroborate the message she’s sending. It strangely transcends the time from when the picture was originally taken.

She is saying, he is mine.

It’s a sick fascination for her, studying the way Greta’s arm snakes across his chest, catches on the open fabric of his shirt. Logically, Riza knows she’s getting upset over something… not insignificant, certainly, but firmly in the past, and delving further into this Pandora’s box will not make her feel any better.

All her contemplating eats up her time as his footsteps sound in the hallway and in a panic, she stuffs the picture into her back pocket. The lid of the box is hastily folded back over and she pushes it to the side of his dresser, half obscured by the shadow cast from laundry hamper.

He appears in the doorway just as she shrugs on a sweater. “Hey,” he starts, awkwardly hovering. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier in the car. That was dickish of me.”

Riza nods. “You’re okay. I was dickish too.”

Roy’s smile is small, but genuine, and he holds his phone up. “What did you want to do for dinner?”

Riza shakes her head. “I think I’ll go back to the flat after I eat. ‘Becca wanted to give me my present.”

His smile falters for a moment, clearly disappointed, but he nods. “Let me know when you want to go. I’ll drop off the rental at the same time and enter in final grades.”

The trip to her flat is subdued. Roy kisses her forehead in the goodbye, and Riza feels the photograph burn a hole in her back pocket.

When Riza opens the door, the sweet aroma of hot chocolate wafts through the air of her apartment. Rebecca is sitting on the couch, nursing a steaming mug, and is so heavily engrossed in her cellphone she doesn’t hear Riza come in. Her footsteps are light as she approaches. She’s almost succeeds until her friend realises and jerks in surprise.

“Shit, Ri-” Rebecca’s fingers slip against the mug, but manages to get a grip and sets it down quickly. She curls her body to face Riza properly. “You could have killed me,” Rebecca admonishes, dramatically placing a hand over her chest. “Is that what you want, a dead best friend?”

Riza grins broadly, feeling a sudden gratitude for her antics, and she leans down to hug her. Rebecca’s hair is still faintly damp, curls not quite suffocating her like they usually do, and fragrant. “Sorry,” she mumbles, releasing her after a moment. “I did text.”

“Did you? I got up like twenty minutes ago,” Rebecca explains after letting Riza go. “My day so far has consisted of me standing in the shower for ten minutes and another five remembering I needed to turn the kettle on if I wanted to have coffee.”

Riza checks her phone; it was quarter past four in the afternoon. “Don’t forget zoning out so hard an intruder could just walk in. Rough night studying?”

Rebecca shrugs and slides over to make room for Riza on the couch. “You could say that.” She says this with a strange quality to her voice, like the question is inherently funny.

Riza deposits her duffle bag on the sturdy coffee table they nabbed from a yard sale, mindful of the still-steaming mug, and sits on the couch. “Was your last exam today?”

“Yesterday,” she answers quickly.

Riza scrunches her brow. “Yesterday was Sunday.”

She stammers, wrinkling her face to remember, “I meant this morning. I went back to bed after it. Cut me some slack, I’ve only just woken up.”

“Here I thought this was you regularly.” Riza ignores the cutting look from her friend. “Did you have to take a lot of them this semester?”

“Yep,” she says with a slight pop to the end of her reply. “Not matter how easy exams are, it’s always such a relief when they’re completely over." Rebecca gets an equally strange smile on her face. “The exams went fine. I wasn’t too worried about them. Me and Alyssa and Emma - you’ve met them before, Hayden’s twenty-first - we decided to go hit the town last night to celebrate.”

“The night before an exam?” Riza questions as she grabs the mug of hot chocolate, refusing to leave it unattended any longer.

“I was drinking that,” Rebecca frowns and Riza evades a swipe from her mid-sip. “And yes, Mother Hawkeye. I think only the med students have anything left now, rest of the campus is in a constant state of partying.”

Riza moves the cup out of Rebecca’s hands as she reaches for it. “But I thought you swore off partying for exam week. You haven’t done it since-”

“Since that first semester as freshman, I know. But it was a special occasion.” She presses down at her eyes and rubs them. “I could sleep for another week.”

Riza hands the mug back to its original owner. She sighs, relating to her friend’s sentiment. “You and me both.”

“Mm!” Rebecca protests with hot liquid still in her mouth. “And excuse you, you were off enjoying Central!” She swats playfully at Riza’s knee. “Less about me, more about you. How did it go? I was actually dying to message you but I figured I had better let you have your fun.”

Riza lets the topic shift. Whatever Rebecca had going on would come out in due course. Besides, her tongue pokes through her teeth as she reminisces. “It was a good time,” she begins, unzipping her ankle boots to kick them off. Her arm mirrors Rebecca’s as she pushes against the back of the couch, tucking her legs under her. “Had a bit of a crash course in birthday parties.”

“There was a birthday party for you?”

Riza laughs. “Hell no. I think Roy might’ve tried that if he had more time - no, I texted you this, didn’t I? We stayed with some friends of his, their daughter had just turned three. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that much screaming before.”

“And… ?”

“And what?”

Rebecca gives her an exasperated look. “You wouldn’t be looking so smug with yourself over a kids birthday party, novelty or not. I know that expression.” She sighs deeply. “Can’t believe I got kicked out off the ‘best present-giver’ throne after seven years.”

“And what expression is that ‘Becca?” It’s difficult to keep her face neutral while remembering the very vivid events of last night.

“That is the face you get when you’ve been fucked silly. I hope he put in a bit more effort than just whipping his dick out.”

“He did,” Riza answers, well aware of the blush staining her cheeks. “Bought me an outfit, bought me dinner, apparently visited like three bookshops to find my present… it was literally perfect.”

Rebecca makes a grabbing motion with her hand. “You took pics right?”

Riza whips out her phone and starts searching for the location of the photos. “He apparently took some candids while I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh shit I would have been maaaad.” She shakes her head.

“I would have too, but they’re actually not that bad.” She hands her the phone.

“Holy fuck.” Rebecca whistles low, and fans herself dramatically as she inspects the photos closely. “I’m definitely gonna borrow this. Your man has taste. You know I recognize this collection, right? Olivier would have a meltdown if she saw you all dolled up in that.” A sly grin grows on her face. “Please tell me you’re gonna post this up. She deserves to be put in her place. She’s not the only one who can pull off current-season Pronovias.”

“The last thing I need is people sticking their noses into business where they don’t belong.” Riza shakes her head, swiping her phone back. “Not that I’m any better.”

“Semester’s over now! Are you worried about her coming back to strike?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Rebecca tilts her head to the side.

The hastily-stuffed photograph in her back pocket comes to the forefront of her mind’s eye, and Riza wonders whether her best friend can offer an unbiased view. She’s not used to this; a jealousy for a person that’s entirely in the picture. Both figuratively and literally. Especially the kind so fixated on one person, rather than a situation as a whole. She can’t tell if it’s merely nerves at the fact that she will probably have to meet this woman in the flesh at some point, or if it has unearthed a deep-seated insecurity. “Now that the semester is over, he’s invited me to go on a trip with him.”

“Go where? Judging by your tone, you’re making me thinking he’s invited you to a funeral.”

“Roy’s friends…” she begins, trying to think of the simplest way to explain this, “for reference, they’re loaded. Our flat could probably fit in their living room and kitchen alone. Probably as rich as Olivier, to be honest. They’re just a lot nicer about it.”

Rebecca taps over her mouth as she says, “Go on”

“Roy’s friend, Maes - I don’t think I’ve ever met a more devoted father. Family is everything to him… and he likes making grand gestures. They’re throwing this big party for their wedding anniversary and Roy wants me to go with him.”

“And you think you don’t want to go? Why?”

“It’s in Aerugo.”

Rebecca chokes. “Oh fuck!” she manages, furiously wiping away what spilled onto her chest. The mug is placed back down on the table, and Riza passes over some takeout napkins. “Where in Aerugo?” Rebecca asks after a few frantic moments of trying to save her top.

Riza scratches an itch on her brow. “He said they own the island or something? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s called San Clavel or something.”

“Oh, Riza.” She says with a wagging finger. “You’re going on that trip. That’s final. Like, he’s paying for you, right?”

“He’s offered, but I mean-”

“But what? You know that in Aerugo absolutely nobody is gonna recognise you. You two could commit bloody murder there and all of us back home would be none-the-wiser.”

“I don’t know about that. The problem is that I’d need to reschedule with my father.” Riza knows she’s using this excuse, but she needs time to prepare for these kinds of visits, just as much as the facility that cares for him needs time to prepare him for her.

As painful as it was with every visit, Riza couldn’t cut him out of her life. The father she loved as a little girl might be nothing more than a husk now, but sometimes she’d catch glimpses of the person he used to be.

Rebecca hums sympathetically. “That’s rough. I’m sure if you call them up and explain they might be able to rearrange his schedule a little, right?”

“I suppose.” Riza doesn’t mean to sound as churlish as she does, but Rebecca merely links their fingers together and squeezes comfortingly.

“I think you should. Do you want me to go with you? Maybe if I annoy him enough he’ll snap at me just like the old times.”

That effervescent, irreverent humour is what she needs right now, though Riza might be loath to admit it. Rebecca’s grin is genuine as much as it is teasing.

“No, no,” she tells her, slumping to rest against her: Rebecca’s arm curls around her and draws meandering patterns through her sweater with manicured nails. “It’ll be easier if it’s just me. You should be celebrating your freedom.”

Rebecca hums in a non committal sort of way, and reaches for an thick envelope on the coffee table and passes it to her - to dearest, darlingest Riza is emblazoned on the front in Rebecca’s familiar loopy script. “Happy birthday, Ri,” she tells her. “I thought it’d be better if I let you choose rather than me getting you something you didn’t like.”

She thumbs open the envelope, prying away the glue with care. A gourmet chocolate bar - the kind that Riza knew she’d never bother to buy herself because the price was absurd, and a gift card for the university bookstore. “Thank you ‘Becca. Ten thousand cenz though? You spoil me.”

Rebecca laughs. “Considering the last book I had to buy for my economics class cost me twelve thousand, I’d be surprised if this even gets you an entire book at all. Maybe I should’ve invested in a bookcase for you instead. Not that it was ever gonna compare to lover boy though. I can’t believe he wants to whisk you off to Aerugo.”

She keeps quiet, until Rebecca pinches her.

“Ow! The hell ‘Becca!?” Riza sits up clumsily, rubbing at the reddened skin of her neck.

“I get being antsy about your dad. Really, I do. What I don’t get it why you seem so mopey about it - location notwithstanding, don’t you want to spend more time with him?”

“No - I do-”

“Because this isn’t the kind of reaction any guy would want to get. Hell, if you’re so on the fence, I’ll just don a blonde wig and go in your place. He wouldn’t notice, right?”

Riza snorts. “I think he might. I still don’t think he’s over the little stunt you pulled-”

Rebecca jabs an accusing finger in her face. “There! It is about him! You’re telling me you just had a spectacular birthday with the guy but don’t know about a trip away?”

Riza bites the bullet, and fishes out the hastily-folded photograph out and passes it to Rebecca. She frowns as she accepts it, the corners of her full lips pursing. “What’s this?”

“His ex. His best friend had some old boxes of his. This was in them.”

The eyebrows of her friend almost disappear into her hair. “And you went snooping?”

Riza groans. “I didn’t mean to! I knocked it over by accident and it all just fell out.”

“But… you took this. I assume he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t.” Her voice is small, and Riza tucks her knees under her chin. “Logically I know I shouldn’t care but…”

“But what? Should you be concerned?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. She just always seems to be popping up even though they’ve been broken up for two years.”

“Talk me through it. You might be too close to the situation - and don’t make that face at me Riza - you can’t not be biased against her. You nicked a photo for crying out loud.”

“Okay, okay.” Riza holds up her hands in acquiescence. It stung having Rebecca - sometimes flighty, occasionally impulsive Rebecca - be more grounded than she clearly was at the moment.

“Roy told me that they’d dated for… seven years. They were engaged too, at one point. Apparently they broke up because he wanted kids and she didn’t.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect that either. I don’t think it was the only reason they broke up, but it seemed like the biggest one. What makes it more complicated is that she’s kind of… related to Gracia, his best friend’s wife. But Maes, the best friend, Gracia’s husband  - I get the impression he doesn’t like her. Like, at all. Apparently he was the one who gave her the nickname Axe-”

“Wait, wait wait - the Axe you were telling me about who was drunk texting him?”

Riza nods.

“Disparaging nickname or not… a guy who keeps an ex in his phone like that-” Rebecca sighs deeply, and rolls her shoulders back. “That’s generally not a good sign Riza.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen the texts - it’s just late night drunkenness.”

“So why doesn’t he just block her number?” Rebecca takes a long sip of her hot chocolate. “Any way you look at it is pretty damning in my opinion. An ex who won’t stop clinging to a relationship that he ended?”

She hates to admit Rebecca has a point.

“Not all affairs are physical, Riza,” her friend warns. “Emotional cheating is very much a thing. And considering you guys weren’t… a couple from the beginning, it’s not a great foundation to build from. A random hookup? I wouldn’t give a shit. An ex? That’s far murkier territory.”

It would be foolish not to admit that the circumstances aren’t great, but neither were the ones their relationship originated from. Maybe she’s refusing to see the forest for the trees, but Riza finds it difficult to think Roy capable of managing two significant secrets in his personal life not interfering by this point. “Sure, but that wouldn’t explain why he had no qualms about introducing me to all his former colleagues at the party. I got the impression that Greta runs - or did run, at least - in similar circles to his. It wouldn’t make sense to even want to bring me to Central if that was the case. If she didn’t know back then, I bet anything that she knows by now.”

Rebecca’s face scrunches up, considering. “I guess,” she says slowly, “...and I guess none of your relationship is really typical either. Nobody made any comments about it?”

“About us?” Riza throws her mind back to the party, and the people she talked to. Most didn’t seem overly interested in her - not to her face, certainly, but she wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t murmurs about the person Roy brought with him. “Most of the interest stemmed from the fact that Roy had lost contact with a lot of them and so they wanted to know how he was getting on. Gracia was the only one to actually bring up Greta in any serious capacity… and she’s her cousin or something so maybe she’d heard a different story of how things went down.

“It’s weird though; Maes genuinely dislikes her, from what I gathered. But the way Gracia talked made it sound like she was still in contact with her? I don’t know.” Riza buries her head in her hands. The more she thinks about it, the more she becomes confused.

“Okay, okay.” Rebecca sets down her empty mug, and pries Riza’s hands away from her head. “In simple terms, you’re jealous of a woman who still has some connections in Roy’s life. Whether those are through his own actions or not I can’t definitively say. What I can say, is that he’s invited you to go to Aerugo with him, for - what did you say, a wedding anniversary?”

“Vow renewal.”

“Okay, so at the very least he wants to spend more time with you, yeah? And it might be a case of him trying to kill two birds with one stone, but I don’t think you should write off the fact that he’s actively trying to involve you into the other parts of his life as best he can.” Rebecca flips the photo over, and makes a disgusted face at the note she finds. “For when you miss me? Is she anticipating that he’ll go back to her? Bleurgh. Clearly he hasn’t, if it was stuffed in a box that he forgot about.”

Riza rings the psychiatric facility the next morning, and speaks briefly to the doctor in charge of her father’s care. The doctor couldn’t make any promises that she could fit in a visit earlier than what they had decided on months beforehand, but she promised to at least try. It was all Riza could really ask for.

It isn't until Saturday morning when she finally gets a returning call, the familiar number of the facility emblazoned on her lockscreen.

“Doctor Cassidy,” Riza answers after a moment. “How are you?” She desperately wants to know whether her request has been accepted, but she can’t bring herself to be completely dismissive of the woman who has ensured the care of her father has been successful. A call on a Saturday, however, is unusual: Riza feels her gut sinking despite her best hopes. It was a lot to ask, in hindsight.

Evelyn Cassidy has been a constant point in Riza’s life since the accident, and her familiar, husky voice brings with it a rush of comfort and reassurance that Riza finds herself in surprising want of. “Can’t say it’s been a great week, Riza - your father certainly gave me a run for my money,” she barks a laugh, “But I was able to wrangle your visit nonetheless. He might not be very happy about it, but he has agreed to see you. Might I know why you’ve changed the date?”

The relief is palpable: Riza feels a line of tension aligning tightly against her spine dissipate into nothing. “I’ve been invited on a trip that was going to conflict with the visit next month. You know I’ve never missed an appointment, and… I don’t know, this seemed like a better compromise than cancelling.”

Doctor Cassidy hums down the phone line. “I’m glad you did call. It’s good for Berthold to have some change in his routine, especially when the result is still overwhelmingly positive. It’s good for you too, you know.”

Riza doesn’t know. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a good kid Riza, the epitome of a devoted daughter. I’m just saying that it’s good that you are putting your own life and commitments first as well. You might have a duty to your father, but he has one to you just as much.” Riza hears the shuffling of paper down the line. “I’ve arranged for you to come in at two-thirty this afternoon. Does that work for you? I know this is last minute, otherwise we can arrange for the following Saturday. He’s just in a relatively stable mood as far as I could tell this morning, and your request seemed urgent.”

Riza leans back in her chair, craning at her makeshift paper calendar pinned to the bottom of her mirror on instinct. It stares back at her blankly: quite literally so. She’s not used to her schedule being so lenient. “Yes, I can make that. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Good! Good. Unfortunately I won’t be here this afternoon, but the nurses know you’re coming. I don't think anybody else has got visits scheduled, so you should have the visiting space to yourself. He’ll appreciate that, I’m sure. I’ll leave you to it then, Riza - the nurses will let me know how it goes.”

Riza utters a quick goodbye, and then stares at the picture on her lockscreen - a view from the guest bedroom, Central gleaming in the afternoon sun like a well-polished gemstone. Their little… spat, she supposes, had left a lingering sour taste that she hadn’t felt able to wash away completely yet. It wasn’t like they weren’t talking to one another, but to Riza at least, she felt like there was a feeling of awkwardness that still clung to her.

However, that wasn’t going to stop her seeking him out in spite of that. Her thumbs drift over the touchscreen, and she navigates to his number. If she was going to visit her father this afternoon, she wanted to be in a good mood when she did - one of them needed to be, apparently.

It rings a few times before he picks up. “What’s up?” Roy asks, after a moment.

“Nothing much, I - where are you?” There’s… music in the background, if she had to hazard a guess, though it’s a stretch.

He laughs, the pleasant, deep kind that travels from the speaker and straight into her bones. “I’m at the gym right now. Did you need something, or is this just for pleasure?”

Riza snickers, shaking her head in bemusement. “The latter, actually. I just wondered if you wanted to have lunch. I’ve got to bug out this afternoon, that’s all.” She had planned on doing some more work for him - Roy had given her his login key and she was going to spend all afternoon down in the bowels of the library, photocopying and printing off an absurd amount of chemical literature, but that could wait until tomorrow morning instead.

“Yeah? I could manage that. Do you want me to pick something up?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. Whatever you feel like, I’m not too hungry.”

“Okay, I shouldn’t be too much longer,” he answers her after a slight pause. “Just let yourself in if I don’t beat you back home.”

Roy is in the kitchen freshly showered when he hears his front door open, debating whether another cup of coffee is a good idea when it’s only lunchtime. A large part of his morning had been spent pouring over the notes Elric had ever-so-helpfully scrawled in the margins of his new paper on organic compounds. The guy might be a real pain in the ass to work with - even distantly - but Roy couldn’t deny that his critiques didn’t have merit. The other part had been spent at the gym, which was the healthier way to work off some steam instead of lighting up.

He wouldn’t consider himself a chain smoker, more social than anything, but he’s struggling to remember the last time he had actually smoked. He had come across a half-used pack of Parliament's while searching for some shorts, and the thought had given him pause. Maes had always been banging on to him about quitting - he had to help be a role model to Elicia, after all - but it was hard to give up after all these years… slight nicotine addiction notwithstanding.

Perhaps it was foolish to be looking for meaning where there might not be any, but Roy was sure that she had something to do with it. She had never made any opinions known about this habit, but there always was a lingering feeling of guilt regardless.

He’s pleasantly surprised when he feels her arms slip around his torso, pressing her head against the expanse of her back. “Hello,” he greets her lightly, reaching for the cupboard with the mugs. “Can I interest you in some coffee?”

He feels her shake her head slightly, feels the heavy exhale she lets go that heaves her shoulders up and down. “No, thank you.”

Roy is quiet as he sets up the machine, only turning in her arms once his espresso is done. His fingers hover over her fringe, delicately pushing it out of her eyes. “Que tienes?” The food he had picked up from the bistro lies forgotten next to the stove, still steaming through the paper bag. This is more important right now - and, he realises, could account for her funky mood earlier this week.

“I’m okay,” she tells him, though he doubts that is accurate. “The clinic finally called back yesterday and said this afternoon would be the best time to visit Father. Apparently he hasn’t been doing so well recently.”

His arms wrap around her firmly and he presses his lips to her hair. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps your visit will be a good influence.” The information she’s given freely about her father is scant, but Roy knows that this is quite possibly the only topic that she’ll never truly feel comfortable talking about, no matter how many years pass. He empathises with her deeply - while now he’s come to terms with the ways in which he was treated in foster care, he had the privilege of coming out the other side with not only his blood family, but all of his adopted siblings too. He has had years to build up relationships again, to learn how to trust freely once more.

Riza is not so lucky in that regard. He sees a lot of himself in her behaviour, in how she processes these things. Grief, and the process of grieving, is not as clear-cut and linear as people posit: and for hurts that go as deeply as theirs do… it’s never easy.

Riza makes a strange little snort, and sighs deeply once more. “I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” she says, her voice muffled a little by the way she rests her head against his chest. “It’s always the same with him… silence, and maybe a nod if he’s feeling up to it. Some days I wonder why I even bother.”

She sounds so jaded, and it cuts deeply that there isn’t really anything he can do to help her. Unless -

The epiphany dawns over him slowly. “Would... would you like me to go with you?”

Riza blinks and pulls back to look at him properly. “What?”

“You said so yourself - these visits aren’t nice for you. They’re stressful - and I see that Riza, hell, I experienced it firsthand.” He feels his lips quirk upwards at the memory. “I know they’re important for you, but I don’t want you feeling like you’re having to… I don’t know, get them over with? In order to come to Aerugo with me. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’ve gone about this the wrong way.”

Riza takes a step back, arms unconsciously curling around herself. “Why would you come?”

“Moral, emotional support. Unless you don’t want me there.” He keeps his tone light, like they are discussing the weather, not an incredibly private part of her life. He knows she can’t have a fuss made of this, or she’ll clam up. This behaviour alone - it’s worrying. There is a difference between debelibrately prying and poking at issues that should be left well alone, and then there’s purposeful pushing away.

She told him mere months ago that it was just easier to keep people at arms length than admit any kind of sentiment, that she had learned long ago from the actions of others that her feelings were inconsequential in the bigger picture. It runs deep in her, and Roy thinks his heart might break at the walls she’s rapidly putting up, even to him.

“I don’t-” she stops, frowning. “No, I-” she exhales harshly, and presses her lips together firmly. “These visits… they’re not nice, Roy. Really. I wouldn’t wish them on anyone.”

“And I don’t want them wished on you.” He steps towards her, fingers sliding under her chin to examine her closely. At this distance he can see flecks of gold in her warm, brown eyes. She is so, so brave. “Not alone, certainly.”

Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she looks like she might cry. Riza’s gaze lowers from his, but Roy keeps quiet, fingers steady on her jawbone. If she moves away, he won’t stop her from doing so.

She speaks up after a few minutes of unsettling silence. “Do you want to meet my father?”

“Yes,” he tells her honestly. “But it’s not a demand. If you’re not comfortable with it now, then we can table it for later. I’d like to at some point, though.”

Riza chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. “And if I said I wanted to meet your foster mother?”

Roy snickers, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction. “Then I would organise that. Not before preparing you for the Spanish Inquisition that will undoubtedly happen.”

Her eyebrow raises disbelievingly. “I doubt I’m that interesting.”

He turns to his espresso on the counter and takes a careful sip. “I beg to differ, avecilla. Besides, it wouldn’t just be my mother you’d be meeting. My sisters will want to meet you as well.” All fourteen of them goes unsaid, but Roy can only imagine the chaos of that environment.

“Do they know about me?”

Ah - the million cenz question. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “They know you exist. Remember the phone call I got when we got back?”

Riza nods, her eyebrows creasing together. “Your mother wasn’t happy with you, if I’m remembering right.” She seems to hold herself tenser here, but he dismisses it.

“Yes, well… she had found out I had been back in Central and I hadn’t visited her, so that was strike number one. But word got to Vanessa that you had joined me as well, and I was told in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t bring you around immediately I would be disowned.” Well, that was the sanitised version. The actual words that were spoken were a lot more intimidating and involved all sorts of colourful threats directed at his person - the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Roy. Of course he wanted to introduce them all to Riza: he merely wanted to make sure she’d survive the encounter as well.

“They must care about you a lot.” He doesn’t miss the wistfulness in her voice, however hard she tries to bury it.

Perhaps it is a bit presumptuous of him to be thinking this far ahead, but given time, he could see her becoming close with his sisters. Not all of them, but the quieter ones; Roy thinks she would find in them kindred spirits. He has no doubts that she will be welcomed with open arms, treated as one of their own - but it’s more a matter if Riza would let herself be… well, adopted in such a manner.

His foster mother is another issue to navigate entirely, and deep down Roy knows no amount of coaching on what to expect will actually prepare Riza for the formidable woman that is Christina Mustang. He’s been careful in what he’s fed to her; enough to keep her placated, not to dig too much - because god knows what his mother would do if she found out the exact circumstances in which they met - but even still, he finds her intimidating, after all these years.

Maybe it’s selfish of him to ask this of her so suddenly, to meet her father who won’t have the capacity to respond in any meaningful way. But he needs to know the truth of her situation, and Riza has been very good about deflecting the issue. He understands that it’s difficult to talk about, especially considering the way in which she had to become an adult… but if he’s being honest with himself, he also wants to meet the man that by all appearances treated his daughter as an afterthought. The two of them might have plenty of parent issues between them, but Roy knows that she’s still coming to terms with her own.

Besides, Chris didn’t raise him to be disrespectful. The man deserved to meet him, even if he wasn’t able to give them much of an opinion or even his blessing.

“They mean well. Perhaps we could drop in for a visit on the way back from Aerugo - bringing them some food back from there would go over well.” It’s not a bad plan, when he actually thinks about it: Cecelia was due literally any day now, and she would be more than willing to run a little interference for him when they visited. Having a new grandchild present as well as Riza would keep his mother from focusing too much on either of them - meaning the visit would be less likely to end with Riza swearing off his family forever. It’s a little strange for him to recognise that he is somewhat nervous for her to meet them, but then again, it’s been years since he’s brought someone home at all.

Riza nods thoughtfully. “I guess that would be… fair.” She rubs at her eyes roughly. “If you’re gonna come with me then you’ll need a sweater or something long-sleeved. The softer the better.”

“Dare I ask why?”

A bitter smile grows on Riza’s face. “Normally he’s fine, but when I was first visiting he’d have… outbursts I guess. Scratching, tearing at his hair… they said it was because it was a new environment, and I was a new face for him after so many months in hospital. He might not even acknowledge us.”

The place is bleak, and Roy has spent a significant part of his childhood in interview rooms waiting for overloaded social workers to remember they had an appointment with his fosterers. There’s an overwhelming feeling of forgottenness here, from the peeling paint on the edifice, to the way the weeds grow in the cracks of the path to the front door. The inside is only marginally better - twenty or even thirty years ago, Roy would have agreed that this hospice was state-of-the-art.

Now it just feels horribly dated, a relic of the past that had been left behind.

Riza approaches the front desk, and speaks in low tones with the woman there. He’s staring at a painted mural that has definitely seen better days when she calls him over.

“Write your name here -” she tells him, indicating to a sheet of large white label stickers, “- and then she’ll go over the rules.”

The list of rules the nurse explains is exhaustive. No raised voices. No sudden or surprise touch. No electrical equipment. Nails to be filed down. No belts, rings - earrings - he realises her ever-present pearls are missing as she hands over her hair clip. The reality of this situation is even more harrowing than he could’ve imagined. Roy briefly debates writing in a pseudonym on his name tag, but considering he had to hand over his wallet, it wouldn't have made much difference anyway.

“We were surprised to hear from you again,” the nurse tells Riza as they turn down another long corridor. “Quite so soon, certainly. I think Berthold will like it.”

Riza makes an discontented noise. “Doctor Cassidy told me he hadn’t been well when I spoke to her on the phone this morning. I don't think this visit will be very long.”

They pass through the metal detector and the nurse - Gladys, Roy gleans from the embroidered section of her uniform, shrugs. “Even if it is, it’s still a good thing Riza. I know your father likes his routine but Evelyn did believe that this… disruption would be worth the momentary tantrums. Healing isn’t always so linear.” She guides them through another shorter hallway, and slides the door open to the visiting room. “Fabian will be here to take you back when you want to leave.”

Riza nods and thanks her, before squeezing his hand tightly. “Ready?” she asks him.

Roy nods. “Of course.”

The visiting room is a sparse affair, but it strikes Roy just how normal it looks. That is, until his eyes are drawn to the way furniture is bolted to the ground, to the heavy grate across the unlit fireplace, to the way the windows are barred and reinforced. The security measure reminds him of one of the rougher foster homes he was placed in while awaiting long-term fostering.

Riza gives him little time to get his bearings, instead pulling him over to a man sitting in a plush armchair near the fireplace.

“Roy, this is my father, Berthold Hawkeye,” Riza says, uncharacteristically chipper, like a customer service employee. Forced smiles and high pitched. She kneels down in front of the man and Roy takes a seat in the chair opposite. “Papa, I’ve been told you’re not happy that I rescheduled,” she continues carefully, like this quiet, catatonic man will maul her at any given moment. “But I’ve brought someone that I’d like you to meet. He’s a chemist, like you.” The man moves his head subtly. Riza glances at him apprehensively, but only for a moment. Her voice certainly doesn’t betray her. “And... also, my boyfriend.”

Slowly, Berthold looks up, and a brief smile appears on Riza’s face. “I had hoped that’d get your attention. This is-”

Roy put his hand up to stop her and he moves to the edge of his seat, nearly off the cushion it as he inches closer. He extends his hand out to her father for a handshake. It stays there, suspended in the air as Berthold’s blue eyes look at them listlessly, then to Riza and then to Roy, before he just as slowly takes the offer on the handshake. He can hear Riza’s breath shudder in relief.

“My name is Roy Mustang and it’s a pleasure to meet you... sir.”

Later that evening, they lie over his sheets in a pensive, post-coital stupor. Both of them naked from the heat that’s beginning to settle over East City; late spring giving way to early summer. It’s been five minutes since either of them has said anything. He’s on his side, head propped up by his hands. She’s lying on her stomach, face turned away from but he knows she’s not asleep from the way she’s breathing. At the moment, Roy is silent to simply be there for her, to let her process. She was in a peculiar mood following the visit with her father; an in-between of being glad that it went well and confusion. Even if she doesn’t wear her emotions like he does, he would be remiss if he didn’t suspect this required a substantial amount of emotional energy.

He also notices that she doesn’t flinch when he traces over the texture of her scars.

Berthold Hawkeye was quiet throughout his daughter’s abridged version of their relationship. This version of the story focused heavily on her job as his assistant and he didn’t fault her for it. Occasionally Berthold had nodded, but largely his head was turned away from the two of them, seemingly transfixed on his left hand, fingers flexing and relaxing every so often.

All the way through her retelling, he had been keenly aware of her bravado. She was so tense next to him, even more so than when Maes was grilling them. Who the act was for, he wasn’t sure: for her father, for him? For herself? In the end, he supposes it was a mix of them all.

Finally, as if reading his mind, Riza says, “I haven’t seen him respond like that in a-” she breathes in, her back just barely cresting to touch the moonlight and then back down into the shadows “-long, long time.”

Her father only given them simple responses, grunts, and nods; very rudimentary social gestures. He feels for her dearly if that had been a vast improvement. “How long?” he asks simply.

“Years.”

Roy breathes out slowly and nears to kiss her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry that’s something you had to deal with on your own.”

Her shoulder blades move in a shrug under his fingertips. “It is what it is,” she says softly.

From the way she’s still looking away from him, into the shadows of his room, he suspects she’s crying or trying really hard not to. He admires her for her fortitude. It must have taken years and years to build up that shell of hers, to keep what she feels hidden from plain sight. Roy remains silent, letting her talk through this.

“My mother, she passed when I was a baby. Growing up, I had a theory that he wasn’t always so distant like he was; that when my mother died, a part of him died with her. I can’t even resent him for that. And then, the accident… that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“He spent day after day locked in his study whenever I was home, for years. It was his life’s work and to this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to do. I was simply too young to understand and even if I did, I don’t think he would have let me in.

“He was very traditionalist. Everything on paper. Nothing electronic. That way he knows it’s real, he’d say. Then something went wrong, some problem that had been giving him grief for weeks on end. He was always frustrated, muttering, banging the walls - he’d been in his study longer than ever, not coming down for meals, and leaving the food I’d bring him to get cold. I shouldn’t have been in there, in his lab. I was only bringing him some tea when he miscalculated and set off something incendiary. All of his research burned the day I got those scars.” She sighs. “He has some too, but not as severe.”

He lacks the words to appropriately respond. She’s unloading a childhood trauma that he knew was severe, but she’s dishing it out so nonchalantly, like it was just another story.

“Did you know I only majored in Chemistry for him?” She sniffles so quietly he almost misses it and his fingers stop.

“To have something to bring up to him for these visits. To engage with him in conversation he’s historically responded to. It would work at first, when I started getting past the general education requirements and then his reactions started to dwindle down again. I had thought I was just going to have to be patient until I got further and further. Career-wise, it wasn’t a bad decision either.

“In the end, it got me to you.” Her head turns to him with her eyes are bright and her mouth smiling. “And today, you helped showed me he’s not all the way gone.”

“I’m glad I can talk nerdy with your dad then.”

“It was good for him. Or at least, there’s some hope that it was.”

“Of course.” He kisses her forehead. “And since we’re exchanging war stories…”

“Is that what we’re doing?” she teases.

“Sure,” he smiles back. “It’s actually very similar to yours. But you have to promise me you can keep it a secret.”

She looks at him from her pillow, and purses her lips. “I believe I kept one all semester. I’d say my record is pretty good so far.”

“I have to cover my bases,” he says with a laugh. “My team in Research and Development were tasked with creating a very specific type of wearable weapons. The simplest explanation for the prototype would be… pyrotechnic gloves, I guess. The idea was that it would be able to pass by unscrutinised by anybody looking closer, so it could be smuggled in by spies and double agents to use at close range. The eventual goal was to be able to make a movement as innocuous as a snap of the fingers, and you’d be able to make a sizable explosion from the resulting fire.”

“This is what you got your doctorate for?”

“Well, hold on a minute, let me finish,” he says defensively. “You don’t have to tell me that what I was doing was morally wrong. It was something I thought about nearly every day. The military doesn’t create this to warm the beds of children, trust me I know. But like your father, it was my work, I had a team and because of what I was doing I was providing a livelihood for others. Or at least, that’s what I was telling myself.

“I was sleep-deprived and stressed and on a deadline. It felt like the walls were closing in on every front. I slipped up. Maybe it was a decimal point in the wrong place, or something else that I should’ve picked up on. The explosion knocked me back, but I had been impaled by - I don’t even know what it was with all burning debris falling on me. I came to a day later to discover that one of my team had died in that fire. An Ishvallan scientist, eager and as willing to learn as I had been. I was in the hospital for weeks, thinking the worst of myself, and Greta…” he swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “She was only making it worse. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t that big of a deal, that it didn’t matter that Heathcliff died because of me. I should’ve ended it there.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t. It was a confusing time and I didn’t give myself time to think straight.” He sighs. “I realize now that how she was treating me during my convalesce, treating our relationship. It was never going to be sustainable, not the way we were heading. We were young, immature, and didn’t know how to communicate honestly with one another. Mix in a near-death experience and I know exactly why we stayed together.”

“How long ago was this?”

“I believe I was twenty-five, if not closer to twenty-six. Almost four years ago”

She doesn’t regard with pity, but understanding when she places a hand on his arm for physical comfort. It was a different and new kind of response. “I suppose I should be grateful for your change in career,” she says after a moment. “Worst injury I need to worry about you getting is a papercut.”

“The hours are a lot more lenient too. There’s never a complaint if I cancel class. But there’s still that missing element. I wonder from time to time what would have happened if I had been more vocal about the research I did for the military. The University is great but...” He trails off.

“But it’s not enough, I understand. And there’s only so much you can do with grants.”

He smiles somberly. “Exactly.”

Riza looks at him for a while. It’s a rare thing to see her so peaceful while she’s awake, no underlying tension present in her expression. “Maybe Aerugo would help clearing our minds.”

He lifts his head, to look at her face. “Are you saying you’ll go with me?”

She nods her head against the pillow and takes a deep breath, like she’s preparing herself. “I do have something to confess, though. That box that Maes gave to you before we left - when you were on the phone the other day, I accidentally knocked it over. And I found a picture, of a younger you. And Greta.”

Ordinarily he’d expect himself to be more uneasy at the revelation, but perhaps her candid honesty - so quickly after the fact - keeps him composed. “Did you? I’m surprised. When we separated, I left all the photos with her.”

“I only bring this up, because I’m curious: do you think she’ll be there?” She sounds so calm, but Roy would be a fool not to know that there is a thread of concern woven within her words.  

Greta is a fleeting creature, letting whims and tempers make her decisions. Roy can’t possibly know for sure and yet he still answers, “No.”

next

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma #*may i feel

[firexfate]

the black sparrow || reign

♔ eight ~ prince tomás’s downfall ♔

Thwack! Alisa watched with pride as Francis sent an arrow flying as he released it, hitting the center of the target. There was assorted clapping coming from the spectators who watched Francis against Tomás, who also was rather good at archery. It was a couple of days after the two engagements were announced. During this time, the members of the French Court were thrown in a whirlpool of events, Bash was attacked by some soldiers, everyone suspecting that it was the English. Tomás was fighting to win Mary’s affection, and Queen Catherine was organizing the wedding of her son and her future daughter in law. It was hectic, to say the least. 

Francis turned to look at his new fiancé, smiling at her warmly. She sent him one back, seated in the middle, between Mary and Aaliyah. Mary caught Francis’s look, before turning to eye the Tsaritsa.

“You two are quite smitten in public.” She observed. Alisa turned to her but softened once seeing Mary’s ever so slight smile. 

“You are not angry.” She shifted ever so slightly in her seat, to look at her fully. 

“You are saving my country, by introducing me to Tomás. I owe you quite a lot, and I hope you and Francis are happy.” Mary watched as Tomás hit his shot perfectly. Everyone cheered and clapped for him. 

“That is kind of you, Mary, and there is no need to thank me. I believe peace is the perfect solution, despite all of the problems that we face.” Alisa informed her, as she watched Francis make a shot. He missed the bullseye, but she still clapped for him, supporting him. 

“Looks like Tomás is winning,” Aaliyah commented from Alisa’s other side. Her tone sounded very curt and bitter. 

“You don’t seem to like him,” Alisa caught on fairly quickly, knowing Aaliyah better than anyone. 

“I just don’t trust him. Scotland needed help, and he just happens to show up? It seems all too good to be true. Alisa, I am telling you. There is something wrong with that man.” 

“I trust your judgment.” Alisa interrupted her frantic assertions, looking over at her once. “But we must jump to conclusions. Let us see what kind of man Tomás is. If you must investigate it, then do so quietly.” Aaliyah nodded quietly. 

“What of Bash?” The Tsaritsa asked her gently. “Is he feeling better?” 

“I suppose, or so Nostradamus says. We spoke about what happened between us,” Aaliyah responded softly, looking down at his hands, “He told me that he was infatuated with Mary, but now, he cannot have her.” Alisa frowned sympathetically. 

“What is going to happen to the two of you?” 

“I don’t know,” Aaliyah admitted, “I told him that I needed to think about it. I have not decided anything as of yet.” Everyone broke off into another cheer again, as Tomás won the archery competition. A servant brought forth a pink rose, which Tomás took, heading over to Mary. 

“Mary, Queen of Scots, would you do me the honor of accepting my favor?” There was a stilled silence from everyone as they watched the couple. Mary smiled at her new fiancé warmly, as she took the flower from him. 

“Thank you, Tomás.” Alisa in the meantime stood up and approached Francis, who was handing back his bow and arrows to the servant. 

“You did well.” She complimented him. “Just missed by one point.” 

“Missed being that keyword.” Francis chuckled softly, coming over to her, pressing a kiss on her lips softly. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t care for winning. None of that matters anymore.” Alisa smiled ever so slightly. 

“Why?” 

“Because I have you now,” Francis told her, gently taking her hand, leading her out of the field and back towards the castle, “I cannot wait until we are married which, according to both of my parents, is quite soon.” 

“And one day, you and I will rule Russia and France together.” Alisa mused as Francis wrapped his arm around her instead. 

“It is good how it all worked out, isn’t it?” The two were walking down the halls. “Mary is about to marry the Prince of Portugal, France is no longer bound by the alliance with Scotland.” 

“Speaking of which,” Alisa looked up at him, “Aaliyah brought something to my attention, and I am worried that she may be right. She doesn’t trust Tomás. She thinks that something off about him.” Francis raised his eyebrows. 

“Off? Alisa, he has been nothing but polite and courteous at court, and he seems to be very taken by Mary. There is nothing wrong with him.” 

“Francis just think about it,” She pressed, moving to stand in front of him, “Mary needed troops, and Tomás just happened to show up, with 8 companies of men. And the whole thing with Bash troubles me deeply, he knows his way around the Bloodwood Forest and all of the dangers that dwell there. What are the chances of him getting attacked and unable to defend himself?” Francis pondered this for a moment. 

“Now that you mention it, I have to admit that this all very fishy. I have been swarmed at court that I did not notice any of this,” Francis smiled at her softly, taking her hand gently, “I promise that I will look into it.” 

“Please do, if Tomás is not the man that we all think he is, I feel responsible. I was the one who urged Mary to form an alliance with him. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Francis pulled her close, kissing her softly. Alisa melted into the kiss, her worries fading away for just a moment. 

“Always so caring,” Francis whispered, brushing his thumb against her cheekbone, causing her heart to accelerate, “I love you, my darling.” Alisa felt her heart flutter, as she smiled at him. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” 

♖♖♖

Francis proceeded to investigate Tomás fully, as did Aaliyah, though the two did quietly without attracting attention. Mary was to leave for Portugal within a week. It was not a sufficient amount of time, but then again, what other choice did they have? Alisa too watched Tomás. So far, they were unsuccessful - Tomás seemed to be decent. It wasn’t until a few days later did anything seemed to change. Alisa was busy writing a letter to Dimitri when she heard a knock coming from her door. 

“Enter.” She did not look up, as Mary shakily entered the room. 

“Alisa?” The tentative voice caused Alisa to look up in her shock. Mary was standing less than a few feet away from her, trembling from head to toe. She looked terrified. Alisa rose from her seat, crossing over to her. 

“Bozhe moy,” (My God) Alisa put an arm around the Scottish Queen, escorting her to the couch, sinking beside her, “What happened to you?” 

“I don’t know who else to go to. I can’t find Francis, Bash is injured, you are my last hope.” Mary began speaking faster, her voice bubbling with panic. “Tomás is not at all what I anticipated him to be. He is a fraud. He just told me that if I fail to disobey him, he will use a whipping---” 

“Hold on, slow down,” Alisa ordered, before standing up and taking some brandy and pouring it in a goblet, handing it to Mary to calm her nerves, “Drink.” Mary did as she was told, sipping the liquid, letting it calm her. “Now, tell me what happened.” 

“Tomás has a whipping boy, his name is Miguel. He said he would use him if I do not provide him with an heir, never contradict him, and be a dutiful wife. He frightens me with his words, Alisa. There is something cold and dark in his eyes.” Alisa sighed heavily. 

“This is my fault. I pushed you to marry Tomás.” Mary shook her head numbly. 

“You were only trying to help, and I needed this alliance for Scotland.” She looked down. Alisa took her hand, pitying the young woman. 

“I will not damn you like this, Mary. We have to get you out of this alliance.” She decided firmly. “No, wonder what the cost.” 

“But how?” Mary asked helplessly. 

“We must exploit Tomás, but we need evidence to do so. Do you know anything else that could possibly help us? A witness, perhaps?” Mary shook her head. Alisa pursed her lips, standing up and pacing around. 

“How did King Henry relieve you of the alliance to France?” She looked at her suddenly. Mary paused for a moment before her eyes lit up. 

“There was a woman. A prostitute, I think. King Henry wanted me to sign her statement, to confirm that it was true.” Alisa’s eyes widened, as she paused looking at her. 

“Statement?” 

“King Henry thinks that an English spy has snuck into French Court and attacked Bash. He will execute him tonight during the feast. The prostitute described that spy, and I signed her statement. That granted me permission to be engaged to Tomás.” Mary explained quickly. Alisa pressed her hand to her lips. 

“Could it be possible,” She began slowly, “That this statement is false?” Mary fell silent. 

“How will be able to prove that?” She asked the Tsaritsa quietly. 

“Maybe, the man you have is not a spy at all,” Alisa muttered as she heard another knock through the door and Aaliyah came in. 

“I was right.” She proclaimed unceremoniously. “He was a two-faced bastard. I just saw the boy that follows him around having a black eye and now a bloody nose.” Alisa let a growl of anger escape her throat. 

“We have to move quickly. Mary, is there something, anything that can prove this prostitute words wrong? I seriously doubt that this so-called English spy decided to attack Bash.” 

“Well, there is,” Aaliyah surprised everyone, by uttering the words, “The royal seal of England.” Mary jumped up at that. 

“I will ask the prostitute again. We might just have a chance, and I will be rid of that man for good.” Alisa nodded, before turning to Aaliyah. 

“We must find Francis and inform him of all of this.”

“And Bash,” Aaliyah and Alisa headed towards the throne room, which was being decorated for the feast, skimming around the place. Bash and Francis were not there. Aaliyah let out a huff, as she led the Tsaritsa outside, past the gardens. Bash and Francis were standing there discussing something near the Bloodwood Forest. Aaliyah and Alisa exchanged a look, before rushing over there. 

“Aaliyah,” Bash moved forward to her, his eyes alarmed, “What are you doing here?” 

“I could be asking you the same question,” Aaliyah told him in an affronted tone. 

“Now is not the time for disagreements,” Francis scolded the two of them lightly before turning to his fiancé, “You were right, my love, right about everything. Tomás is a horrible man with grave ambitions. He must be stopped.” 

“He will pay, and no one will get harmed,” Alisa responded, “We may have a way to prove everything Tomás has said is a lie. We just need a bit of time.”  

“We may not have time.” Bash stressed. “Tomás could be there hurting Mary right now, and we are standing around helpless.” Aaliyah stared at him coldly. 

“You seem to care an awful lot for her.” She remarked. 

“Because she is my friend!” Bash told her exasperatedly. Alisa sighed heavily, at their argument. 

“Enough of this, tonight is the feast. We will go and pretend we know nothing, and if Tomás tries to harm Mary,” Alisa let out a dark chuckle, something that startled the other three; they have never seen her like this before, “Well, he will face my wrath, and that is not exactly a very pleasant experience.” She turned, picking up the skirts of her dress, beginning to head home. Francis accompanied her, his hand on the small of her back. He looked at her, getting increasingly worried when she did not meet his eye. 

“Alisa,” He called out softly, “Is there something wrong?” She looked up at him slowly. Her eyes were expressionless. 

“Should there be?” 

“I have never seen you speak so passionately about something, protecting someone that you do not exactly like.” Alisa did not answer at first before she came to a halt when she was near her chambers. She turned around to him. 

“I will not let anyone suffer because of me. I want to be a good person, a good Queen, a good future wife to you. Someone who you could trust and be honored to rule besides.” She said quietly. Francis walked over to her, smiling softly, as he took her face in his hands. 

“But you have proven that to me, time and time again. You are selfless, you are helping Mary, and that is what I truly love about you. You are not afraid to take risks and stand up for what is right. You do not need to prove anything to me. You are what I want.” He pressed his lips on her forehead. “I will see you at the feast?” 

“Of course,” Alisa smiled ever so slightly, as he pulled back and walked off to his chambers to get ready. She sighed heavily, once she got into her room. She may have proven herself a good person, a good Queen to him, but has she done so to herself? She did not have to wait long to answer that. If Tomás will be exposed and Mary freed, then, she and everyone else would be able to breathe much easier. 

♖♖♖

The party was a splendid affair. Queen Catherine had insisted that it would be a costume theme, and so it was. Everyone was dressed in the finest garments as they were dancing, drinking wine, and laughing in the throne room. In the center of it all, King Henry placed the so-called spy in the center of the room, where he would be executed in the evening. Alisa did not truly fancy the idea, after noticing what had happened when she walked in the room. She was dressed in a fine gown of her own, a light pink one, her hair draping down over her shoulders. Her eyes skimmed around the room and saw Mary standing in the center of it, rubbing her arms, her face distraught. Her eyes filled with relief as the Tsaritsa approached her. 

“Come, have a drink with me,” Alisa spoke with a smile, gently guiding her to the corner of the room so nobody would find anything suspicious. She locked her gaze upon the Scottish Queen, worriedly skimming her eyes, “What happened?” 

“You were right. This spy has not attacked Bash because of the English seal. HIs was red, while the real English seal is silver.” Alisa pursed her lips, nodding softly. 

“And you have spoken to the prostitute?” 

“Francis and Bash, they are taking care of it. They just left.” Alisa’s lips tightened with worry, but she let out a sigh of assent. 

“Let’s hope that they find what we need.” She took two goblets from a tray going around and handing one of them to Mary. Mary sipped quietly, watching the Tsaritsa, who remained a calm composure. 

“I never thought that we can go on friendly terms, despite our differences.” She admitted quietly. “I am still not satisfied with how things went for me.” 

“Neither did I.” Alisa chuckled. “I used to believe that our feud was eternal.” 

“While I may still be a bit angry that Francis chose you and decided to throw our alliance away that was meant to protect my country, I respect you.” Alisa raised her eyebrows. 

“Is that a compliment?” Mary hid a small smile. 

“Well, I owe it to you. You are a good person and a powerful Queen. France is going to be quite lucky when you become its sovereign.” Alisa let a genuine smile unfurl on her lips this time. 

“You really think so?” 

“You were kind to Olivia when I was blinded by jealousy, you managed to win over both Henry and Catherine, you captured Francis’s heart through kindness, and you are saving my life right now. I’d say you are more than decent.” Mary drained her goblet. The two fell silent for a moment, Alisa digesting her words. Its as if her burdens were lifted ever slightly. Growing up in the Russian Court, her heart hardened itself against everything and everyone. It was a miracle how she managed to maintain her kind personality and open up to Francis like she did. 

“Thank you.” Alisa’s voice was barely a whisper. She cleared her throat, wiping her face free of emotion so Mary could not see. “I appreciate you telling me these things.” She paused, taking another sip of wine, “Perhaps, it is time that we try and be friendly towards one another, instead of biting each other’s backs like wild dogs.” Mary let out a quiet laugh. 

“Perhaps. I will need some time to think about it. I will still need to get used to the fact that I will need a new alliance and that France chose you. Maybe with time.” Alisa nodded falling silent again. Suddenly, she overheard someone running towards the two of them. Her eyes caught Lady Lola’s who was in a white gown, practically breathless, her eyes swimming with anxiety. 

“Lola, what is it?” Mary asked, startled, as she looked up at her friend. 

“Francis and Bash just left for the woods. They are going to kill Tomás because they saw him dragging the young boy, Miguel.” Alisa felt her chest squeeze in fear. 

“He is going to kill Miguel, who could be our only chance to convince Henry not to execute that man.” Alisa nodded, her mind determined. “I will go and help Francis do that.” 

“You can’t. It’s too dangerous!” Mary moved forwards trying to grab Alisa’s arm to stop her. Alisa looked at her sharply. 

“If I do not do something, innocent lives will be lost, and I will not let that happen.” She informed her, before she swept out of the room, heading to her own chambers quickly. Once inside, she rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a knife, just in case. She changed into a more comfortable dress, before heading outside. She reached the stables, saddling one of the horses there. Once finished, she galloped away towards the woods. The Bloodwood forest was not as dark as she suspected as it was mostly light out, so she did not have any problems. Soon enough, she heard voices familiar to her. Quietly, she tightened the reins, walking closer, spotting Francis, Bash, and Tomás arguing. Sliding off the horse, she tied him to a tree, before moving closer towards the trio. 

“I will not let you have Mary because I know she will be mistreated, just like Miguel.” Francis was saying, subtly setting an arrow on his bow, aiming it directly at Tomás’s heart. 

“She is my property now, not yours. You have a fiancé of your own, so don’t concern yourself with matters that do not involve you.” Tomás hissed. 

“Scotland may not be our current ally, but Mary is our friend, and we will do anything in our power to protect her from royal arses like you.” Bash argued, moving to stand up straighter, despite the still unhealed wound from his shoulder. 

Alisa’s dark eyes fell to the ground, as she overhead someone grunting in pain. It was from Miguel. She crept forward, still concealed by the bushes and the trees, touching his shoulder. He blinked a few times from his semi-coherent state. 

“Tsaritsa?!” He looked surprised and was about to ask more before Alisa hushed him. 

“We need to get you out of here.” She looked up, seeing that the men were still arguing before they began to fight. Alisa moved closer to Miguel, eyeing the arrow. 

“Don’t scream.” She warned as she moved to pull it out. Miguel let out another grunt of pain, his voice high pitched. She grabbed his arm, pulling him up to his feet and whispering, “Run.” The two took off for their lives. They were not running far as Miguel was limping heavily and he was leaning against Alisa’s arm. They could hearTomás yelling and screaming. 

“DUCK!” Alisa shouted to Miguel as another arrow flew past their heads. Alisa grabbed his arm pulling him to the side, as another arrow flew past them. The clashing of swords was heard a few moments later. She helped Miguel get on the horse with a groan of pain, before moving to sit behind him. She kicked the horse, beginning to gallop away. As she turned around, she could see Francis’s face, mirroring her own, a look of both terror and fear. Alisa turned around, as she rode back to the castle. She handed her horse to one of the guards, before helping Miguel into the castle. 

“Obrigado.” (Thank you.) Miguel managed to get out in Portuguese through the pain, as the two walked inside. “You saved my life, Your Grace. I do not know how to ever repay you.” 

“Tell the king everything about Tomás, and we will be able to call it even,” Alisa told him quietly. Miguel nodded and leaned against her as she pulled him into the throne room, where Mary and her ladies awaited her return. They all breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone fell silent, only a few murmured whispers filling the rooms. King Henry rose from his seat, as Catherine watched the Tsaritsa closely from the side. 

“Alisa, what is the meaning of this? Who is this wretched man? What on Earth happened to him?” Alisa closed her eyes at the many questions thrown at her. 

“I bring him before you, Your Majesty because the man who you are about to execute you is not the man you were looking for.” She spoke. Many gasps echoed throughout the whole. Henry raised his eyebrows, before nodding. 

“I see. Please, continue.” Alisa turned to Miguel. 

“Are you ready?” She asked in a softer tone. He nodded. 

“Sim, Your Majesty.” Alisa gestured to the king, stepping back and watching Miguel tell the whole story. She let out a deep breath. She saved his life, Mary’s, and exploited a cruel man - this all counted for something, didn’t it? Alisa let a small smile graze her lips in spite of the situation. She knew one thing for certain now; there was good in her. Always has been. 

A/N: This took a very long time to write, I should have been done with this by now. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think! I kind of went off the storyline and skipped some scenes because that would make it way too long. See you in the next chapter! 

#the black sparrow #alisa ivanova #lady aaliyah #sebastian de poitiers #bash de poitiers #toby regbo #francis valois #king francis #francis ii #francis x oc #reign #reign cw #long may she reign #long may he reign #mary stuart #torrance coombs

[firexfate]

the black sparrow || reign

♔ three ~ a new alliance ♔

As weeks slid into months, Alisa was enjoying her time at court, while searching for an alliance that could possibly benefit Russia, to no avail. She was frustrated, but at the same time, she was glad, glad that she could stay in France a little longer. Francis and she grew closer, even if it was wrong. He spent his time as much as he could. The two rode horses together, took walks in the gardens, and read in the library, whenever Francis had free time. Mary did not like the idea of him spending time with Alisa but did not mention it to either of them. When Francis was not with Alisa, he was in the throne room, conversing with the nobles and guards. regarding the politics with both France and Scotland. Alisa too was busy focusing on her own country. She advised Dimitri the best she could, as she received frequent letters from him. He seemed to be doing very well. When she was not doing anything, she roamed the castle’s halls deep in her own thoughts, sometimes with her ladies, but other times she was alone. Bash was probably spending all of his time with Aaliyah, while Katya and Natasha were with Greer and Lola, whom they grew quite close to. 

Summer had reached its peak in the castle, before it became less warm, as it was mid-September. While it was beautiful outside, Alisa preferred to stay indoors this day. She walked inside the throne room, where Catherine was getting everything ready for another party. She loved throwing them, and Alisa had to admit that she was rather good at it. Catherine looked over at Alisa with a warm smile. 

“Ah, Tsaritsa,” She beckoned the young Tsaritsa over, “Tell me, what do you think that the decorations, dark red or gold?” She held the decorative flowers in front of her, as she was preparing the throne room. Alisa pursed her lips. 

“Red. A little pop of color never hurt.” Catherine smiled at her. 

“You have good taste, my dear,” She nodded at one of the servants, before taking Alisa’s arm and walking with her, “Tell me, how is Francis?” Alisa was taken back by the question and cleared her throat awkwardly. 

“Madame...” 

“Catherine, please.” 

“Very well, Catherine. I think you know your son better than I do. You tell me.” Alisa told her softly. Catherine chuckled deeply. 

“That may be true, but I have not been spending so much time with him, but you have.” Alisa’s gaze darted to the side. “Oh, don’t be so modest. I am pleased to see that he is with you.” Alisa raised her eyebrows with confusion. 

“I thought you of all people would be against it, it could jeopardize your treaty with Scotland.” Catherine smiled at her ever so slightly, causing Alisa to inhale, realizing that the Queen of France was not too happy with the engagement. “You do not want Mary to marry your son.” 

“I have been talking to Henry,” Catherine continued, completely ignoring Alisa’s previous statement, “And he agrees that if France and Russia could come to a sort of agreement, then this would be one of the most powerful alliances in all of history.” 

“What are you saying?” Alisa whispered, unable to believe what she was hearing. Not only will she get an alliance, but she could possibly be wed to Francis if the king decides to break the alliance. Catherine did not say anything, just patted her arm. 

“Keep doing what you’re doing, and you just might end up getting what you want.” She told her, before walking out of the throne room, calling out to one of the servants. Alisa stared after her, letting out an uneasy breath, as she smoothed her dress, trying to look as though nothing happened. She turned around and continued to walk, admiring the room. 

“Alisa!” She turned and saw Francis moving up towards her, a little flushed. 

“Francis, are you alright?” 

“I am, but a little problem has arisen. There has been some shortage regarding meat and poultry, there is not enough grain to go about. Even the nobles that supplied us with it cannot do anything about it.” Francis said this all hurriedly, in a rush. Alisa’s gaze turned sympathetic. 

“I am sorry, won’t Scotland be able to help?” Francis shook his head. 

“Scotland itself is not stable, it has its own problems going on as of late. It is in no condition to help us.” Alisa nodded. 

“I see,” She looked up at him with a sad smile, “I’m so sorry.” Francis shook his head with a smile of his own. 

“Don’t be, we will figure something out.” He paused himself, tilting his head to the side as if he was trying to calculate a very complicated problem. 

“Francis?” Alisa’s dark eyes flooded with concern. 

“Hang on, I’m trying something here...” Francis muttered, before opening his mouth once and closed it. His eyes finally lit up, before his gaze fell upon hers, “Dobroye utro.” Alisa’s mouth nearly fell open, before she broke into laughter, closing her eyes as she did so before her gaze shifted back to Francis again. 

“Dobroye utro. Kak ty sebya chustvuyesh?” She giggled at the reaction of his face. He looked extremely confused. “I think you might need to learn a little more than ‘good morning.’ Who taught it to you, anyhow?” 

“Aaliyah.” He grinned cheekily. 

“Why do you always look at so many ways to impress me?” Alisa laughed again. “I am not that difficult to please.” 

“I am not trying to impress you, maybe, I am just trying to learn some Russian.” He feigned his innocence. Alisa raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re failing remarkably.” She told him, to which he chuckled. 

“Maybe I just need someone to teach me.” He was cut off midway, as a guard approached Alysa. He bowed before her and Francis. 

“Your Majesty, your uncle, Yuri of Uglich, has requested an audience with you.” Alisa’s eyes widened. She wondered why would her uncle be here. He should be with his son, supporting his rule. Dimitri gave her the impression that everything was going fine, but he should have his father’s council at his side. She nodded firmly. 

“Of course. Send him in.” 

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, he requested to be alone with you. He asked that I show you to the room.” Alisa’s eyes narrowed further, but she nodded, complying. She turned to Francis. 

“I am sorry, I suppose I will have to speak with you later.” She smiled a little. Francis nodded. 

“Of course. I shall wait for your return.” Alisa turned on her heel and followed the guard into one of the living rooms, where her uncle was at. He was pacing around the room impatiently, but paused once the Tsaritsa entered, escorted by the guard. 

“You may leave us.” Alisa instructed. The guard bowed and swept out of the room. Yuri smiled once he saw Alisa and moved forward, kissing her cheek. 

“My dear niece. You look well.” She smiled warmly. 

“As do you, Uncle. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Yuri’s eyes hardened ever so slightly, as a frown grazed his lips, letting out a soft sigh. 

“Unfortunately, Alisa, my visit will not be a very pleasant one. I bring bad news. It’s about Dimitri.” Alisa’s eyes filled with confusion, wringing her hands, as she always did when she was nervous. 

“I-I don’t understand.” She stammered, . Yuri gently took her by the arm, sitting beside her on the couch. “He told - he told me that he was doing fine. Russia was fine. He said that---” 

“He lied.” Yuri interrupted, gripping arm. “He is not coping well under pressure, but that is not the worst part. The people are unhappy with the regency. They are beginning to revolt. A week ago, there was a violent attack. Our soldiers managed to hold them back, but there were deaths.” Alisa’s breathing hitched. She swallowed, trying to think rationally. 

“How many?” She finally asked. 

“Ten. Twice more have been wounded.” Yuri locked his eyes upon hers intently. “Tell me, Alisa, how successful are you in finding an alliance? Because we need more men, and we need them now, or else a bloody revolution will break out, and Dimitri will lose his head.” Alisa swallowed hard. 

“Alliances are not that easy to come by, Uncle, you know that. I have been trying to find a suitable one.” Yuri sighed heavily, leaning back. 

“But you have failed to do so.” He stared at her long and hard, his gaze becoming cold. “You are Russia’s Queen, you must do something, or you will lose your country. I have been working hard to not let this... catastrophe come to light, but if it well, you are less likely to find alliance, than you are now.” Alisa nodded once, finding no point in arguing. 

“I know. My duty as Tsaritsa comes first. I will find a way to end this protest.” Yuri huffed, yet nodded in response. 

“Do that, and do so quickly. Time is of the essence.” Alisa stood up shakily from the couch and left the room without another word. She bit her lip, playing with her friends. The more she thought about it, the more worried she got. She had no alliance. Even if she were to find an alliance, she could possibly not hear back from the chosen country for days, maybe weeks. She felt her chest tighten, something that often happened when she began to panic. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bash and Aaliyah talking to one another and laughing. It made her feel even worse, more miserable and alone. They did not notice as she passed by. Francis noticed that there was something off with her from the start, even as he was speaking with some guards about something. He broke off the conversation at once, walking over to her, hand reaching to touch her wrist. She jerked her hand, before relaxing seeing Francis. Francis’s face softened upon seeing her distraught one. 

“What happened?” He asked gently. She shook her head feebly, unable to speak. “Is it Dimitri? Russia?” Alisa nodded feverishly. Francis took her hands in his gently. “What’s wrong, Alisa?” 

“Dimitri created a whole mess of things, he was pressured by the nobles, and now, the people are revolting, and our troops are not enough. My uncle is telling me that I need to find an alliance as soon as possible, but I---” Her voice increased in volume from panic, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself. 

“Alright, alright, slow down,” Francis interrupted gently, squeezing her hands, “You need more men?” Alisa nodded softly, letting out a shaky breath. “I think we can help with that. We have eight companies of men, I am sure I can convince my father to send some Russia.” Alisa gaped at him. 

“You can do that? For me? For a country that you barely know?” Francis smiled at her. 

“I would do anything for you. You need only ask.” Alisa bit her lip, before stepping forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Francis did not push her away, in face he pulled her closer, his fingers making their way into her dark locks. She pulled back with a smile, before her eyes lit up with an idea. 

“You said France needed meat, right?” She asked slowly. Francis nodded. “Russia has quite a surplus of it, always getting imports from other countries, through trade. Maybe, I can make an offer to your father.” Francis felt his lips curl up into a smile. 

“You want to propose a temporary alliance.” Alisa nodded once. Francis took her hand, the feeling more natural every time he did so.

“Let’s go find my father.” He agreed, before leading her towards his study, Alisa feeling hopeful again. She did not notice, Aaliyah and Bash this time, who were sharing a brief kiss in the hallway. She did not notice Katya walking down the hallway with a handsome noble, chatting away. She especially did not notice Mary, who was hidden in the shadows and watching her and Francis, both angry and envious. 

♖♖♖

Alisa and Francis found the King hunched over his desk, with a few of his nobles, talking amongst themselves. Henry could not seem to find a solution, his face creased into a frown. He looked both frustrated and annoyed. Francis pulled Alisa inside, causing Henry to look up. He looked extremely surprised to Alisa there, and cleared his throat, nodding at all of the nobles to leave for the time being. 

“Tsaritsa,” He stood up, looking over at her, “What can I do for you?” 

“You do not need Scotland to get the meat you desire. You need Russia.” Alisa spoke plainly. Henry’s eyebrows rose, before a thin smile tugged from the corner of his lips. 

“Go on.” He nodded at her. 

“Our people need meat,” Francis spoke up, looking up at his father, “Russia has a surplus of it, and Alisa has offered to send some our way. She proposes an alliance.” Henry pursed his lips in thought. An alliance with Russia? It is almost too good to be true, but of course, King Henry was a proud king and a stubborn one as well. 

“What do you get out of this?” 

“I need men to shut down an uprising against my cousin’s regency.” Alisa explained. “Three companies. That is all I ask.” Henry looked over at her, calculating her eyes. She seemed to be desperate. 

“You seem sure of yourself, Queen Alisa. What makes you think that I would give them to you?” Francis tensed from besides her, his hand slipping out of hers, a stern expression flashing upon his face. 

“Father---” He was cut off by Alisa, who strode up to King Henry. Her eyes now burned with determination and with a fire Francis has never seen before. 

“You have just been offered an alliance with one, if not the, most powerful countries in the world. Are you really telling me that you are about to decline? If so, you are a fool!” Alisa shot at him, glaring at Henry through her intense eyes. “Russia is not England, the country that you are so keen on getting, it is better. England is just one small country. Russia is an entire empire, an empire that I am sworn to protect. So, if you won’t give me the resources that I need, I shall find someone else who will!” Alisa turned around, catching Francis’s eye who was stunned at the way she spoke to his father. He even looked somewhat impressed and rightfully so, as the King started clapping slowly from behind, causing Alisa to turn around. 

“Well done. You are a true Queen, Alisa,” He smiled appreciatively, “You have a way of getting what you want.” He paused for a moment. “Four companies. They will leave at first light tomorrow for Moscow.” Alisa let a smile grow on her face as she bowed her head. 

“My country and I thank you. I will send my uncle over to negotiate the amount of meat to be sent to France.” Henry nodded once, and Alisa knew that she was dismissed. She headed to the door, Francis behind her. 

“Oh, and Alisa?” Henry called her, causing her to freeze in her tracks. “I look forward to working with you in the future.” Alisa merely smiled, as she walked out, Francis at her side. She looked over at him. 

“I cannot thank you enough. You are the one who offered to help and gave me the idea of an alliance.” Francis chuckled. 

“As a said, I will do anything for you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “But now, I would like to ask you something.” 

“What is it?” Alisa smiled a little as she gazed into his blue eyes. 

“Teach me Russian. It sounds beautiful, and I am sure I will learn better when you’d be the one giving me the lessons.” Alisa laughed lightly. 

“It will be hard and frustrating.” 

“I have all the time in the world.” Francis insisted. “At night, we could go use one of the living rooms. I’ll bring some wine, you bring the books, and we will study together.” Alisa felt her face flare up. 

“People are already talking about our friendship, Francis,” She told him. She especially did not want to get on Mary’s bad side, as Mary was not exactly pleased seeing the two of them together. 

“Then, let them talk. Besides, no one will know about it, it will just be me and you.” He smiled ever so slightly, gazing at her. 

“Da.” Alisa finally agreed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I accept.” Francis grinned at that, continuing to walk with her, holding her hand tighter. He couldn’t wait for those lessons. And although Alisa would never admit it, she was too. 

#the black sparrow #catherine de medici #henry ii #alisa ivanova #francis valois #reign #reign cw #lady aaliyah #sebastian de poitiers #mary stuart

[firexfate]

the black sparrow || reign

♔ one ~  the french court ♔  

The pitter-patter of rain echoed throughout the castle of Moscow. It amplified ever so slightly, hitting the windows before it came pouring down harder. The atmosphere was quite gloomy in the throne room because of the weather, yet, oddly enough, it calmed Tsaritsa Alisa Ivanova as she stared out the window aimlessly. It was always cold in Moscow, and the rain was not that unusual. She was accustomed to it, it would be strange to not feel the chilly weather, as she would walk outside, the cold nipping at her skin. She would be leaving all of this behind, as she would travel to France, where she would be for a while—at least until she would find a suitable alliance. Alisa wanted to marry for love. That would be an ideal case scenario, but that was impossible. That was a luxury queens cannot afford. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she did not notice how a set of familiar footsteps was heard from behind. She managed to come to her senses when a hand pressed on her shoulder. She turned around, finding the familiar face of her cousin, Dimitriy, standing before her. He smiled thinly.

“Your Majesty, it is time.” He informed her, causing her to smile when he addressed her formally. Alisa sighed heavily, tucking the cloak around her tighter, before looking over towards one of the guards stationed at the door. 

“Has my carriage been prepared with all of my luggage inside?” She asked quietly. The guard bowed his head. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” He answered. 

“Very well, and where are my ladies?” 

“Just outside the door, Your Majesty.” Alisa nodded her head once more, before turning to her cousin and smiling at him. 

“This is a goodbye then.” She spoke softly. Dimitriy took her hand once gently and squeezed it. 

“But not for long. Soon, you will be back, and not just alone, I hope. It will get a chance for Russia to adjust because of the recent events.” Alisa sighed heavily, knowing fully well what he meant. Russia has been unstable, ever since the death of her father, Tsar Ivan Vasilievich, also known as Ivan the Terrible. He ruled with an iron hand; anyone who would oppose him, he would kill in the most brutal way possible. Alisa proved to be more tolerant, but she was too young and needed a husband. She shook all of her thoughts away, before looking up at Dimitriy and smiling. 

“I will. In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck as regent. It will be no easy task, ruling such a large empire as this, but I know you can do it.” Dimitriy chuckled softly at that, before pulling her into a warm embrace, before pulling back. 

“I will make you proud, I promise.” He assured her. 

“I know, and if you find yourself in trouble, you know where I am. Da vstrechi.” (Until next time.) Alisa turned around and left him alone, sweeping from the room, before finding her ladies, Aaliyah, Natasha, and Katya, dressed in their finest dresses and warmest cloaks. 

“You look lovely, all of you.” Alisa complimented them with a small smile. “Shall we get going?” Katya nodded feverishly. She was excited, all of them were. She has never been so far from home before and had heard wonderful stories about France. 

“Yes, of course!” Natasha chuckled at her friend’s excitement taking the lead, heading towards the front entrance. 

“We are taking two carriages, Natasha and Katya will go in one, Aaliyah, you are with me.” Aaliyah nodded with a smile, as she headed towards the grand carriage, while the rain pelted down furiously on their cloaks. Whenever they would travel somewhere, if at all, Alysa would always sit next to Aaliyah. They were best friends, almost like sisters, which Alysa did not have - she was an only child. As soon as everyone was seated comfortably in the carriages, Alisa gave the order to the driver to take them to France, and they were off. Alisa stared outside, watching her glorious castle in Moscow fade into nothingness. A hand pressed over hers gently, and she looked up to see the gentle face of Aaliyah looking up at her. 

“This is it.” She whispered. “We are headed to France.” Alisa smiled a little, trying to act excited and confident for the sake of her friend. 

“Indeed we are. It will be a new adventure.” Aaliyah frowned ever so slightly, at the uneasiness of her tone. 

“Is there something wrong?” 

“Not at all.” Alisa shook her head, too quickly for Aaliyah’s taste. 

“Are you sure? You look anxious, my Queen.” Alisa did not say anything to that, and Aaliyah’s body seemed to relax with realization. 

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Aaliyah sighed softly. “Alisa, you have nothing to be worried about. You are going to be wonderful in French Court.” Alisa bit her lip. 

“What if the Queen and King of France don’t like me? What if their children will despise me? And what about the people, too?” Aaliyah moved to sit to her side, chuckling a little. 

“Alisa, they don’t know you, not like we do. All they know is that you are the Empress of a huge country. They will see you as one of the most powerful rulers in the world. They will get to know the real you, once they spend time with you.” 

“Perhaps, it is best that they don’t know anything about me.” Alisa resolved, looking over at Aaliyah, who nodded solemnly knowing exactly what she talked about. It was known to her that the Russian Tsaritsa carried a dark secret. If anyone found it out, she could be possibly removed from the throne, and even, executed. 

“No one knows, Alisa,” Aaliyah promised, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly, “This is an opportunity for you to get a fresh start. Besides, we will be there with you the whole time. You don’t need to be nervous.” Alisa let a genuine smile light her features again. 

“Thank you, Aaliyah.” She told her, before leaning back and looking out the window again. She was truly grateful to have someone like Aaliyah in her life. She remembered how they met - a poor, scared Indian girl standing before her, shaking. She did not know Russian and was scared at the prospect at what the nobles would do to her. It all changed when Alisa walked out from beside her father and reached a hand to her in friendship. The rest was history. Aaliyah was trained to become the future Tsaritsa’s lady in waiting, learned the language and culture of the Russians. As children, Alisa and Aaliyah would play for hours on end, and they only grew closer as the two grew older. Alisa would tell Aaliyah all her troubles, while Aaliyah would give her advice. The two were inseparable. 

A soft snore came from Alisa’s left side, disrupting her thoughts. The young Tsaritsa turned, startled, before smiling seeing the sleeping form of Aaliyah. She pulled off her cloak and draped it over her sleeping friend. The bitter cold never had much effect on her. Alisa sighed heavily and turned to gaze out the window once more. France, here I come. 

♖♖♖

The journey lasted a few weeks, Aaliyah and Alisa would spend the time either talking, eating, laughing, or telling stories. When they would get tired, the two would fall asleep, the same way they did when they were children; Alisa’s head would be resting on Aaliyah’s shoulder, their hands entwined, Aaliyah’s head resting on top of hers. It was a very peaceful road to France. As they moved closer, it became warmer, just as Alisa had predicted, which did not matter to her. Aaliyah, on the other hand, was extremely relieved that she was back in the warmth again. India was hot, or so Alisa had heard. 

Alisa managed to doze off, just before they were about to arrive. The journey had exhausted her greatly, and she needed to be shaken awake. 

“Alisa, wake up.” Aaliyah’s voice commanded. Alisa let out a groan in response, causing her friend to giggle. “Alisa, we are nearly here.” Alisa let out a sigh, sitting up and letting out a yawn, stretching. She blinked a few times, after her rubbing her eyes. Aaliyah grinned at her briefly, nodding to the window. Alisa looked over at it and her eyes widened. They were indeed here - The Palace of Fontainebleau. It looked grander than she had imagined it, almost as large as her own back in Moscow. The architectural design was beautiful and the palace itself was surrounded by gardens. Excitement and thrill fueled Alisa before she nervously tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Aaliyah took her hand and squeezed it. 

“You are going to be great.” She assured her before the carriage abruptly stopped. 

“Your Majesty, we have arrived in Fontainebleau.” The driver proclaimed. 

“Thank you, Pavel.” Alisa nodded before stepped out of the carriage. She was greeted by a few servants, who bowed to her, before hastily gathering her things to take to her bedroom chambers. Katya and Natasha joined them within a minute. 

“How was your ride?” Natasha asked the two of them, smiling at Aaliyah and Alisa. 

“We slept most of it though.” Aaliyah shrugged, winking at Alisa’s direction. 

“Isn’t it warm here?” Katya gushed, her green eyes gleaming with excitement, “This is so much more different than Moscow.” Alisa laughed quietly and nodded. She turned to find two guards headed towards her direction. They bowed low once they have reached her. 

“Your Majesty, the King, and Queen of France would like us to escort you and your ladies to the throne room.” Alisa nodded at once. 

“Lead the way.” She spoke, and she followed them into the castle. It was even grander inside, the halls were spacious and each room seemed to have a chandelier. The walls were done up in silver and gold, it was impossible to look away and not marvel at them. Alisa kept her head high, as they entered the throne room. 

“Her Majesty, Tsaritsa Alisa Ivanova with Lady Aaliyah, Katya, and Natasha.” Alisa inhaled deeply, as she let her arms fall at her sides, moving closer towards the King and Queen. Many were gathered in the throne room, nobles, royals, and servants alike, eager to see the young Russian Empress. Behind Alisa, she could hear whispers of Aaliyah, Natasha, and Katya, excitedly conversing, though she did not pay attention. She paused before the royal family, taking off the hood of her cloak, revealing her golden crown submerged in her dark curls. She smiled and curtsied before King Henry and Queen Catherine. 

“Your Majesties,” She spoke French fluently, even as her Russian accent seeped through, “I thank you most sincerely for your generous invitation for allowing me and my ladies to stay here, while I secure an alliance. Russia thanks you.” There was dead silence in the room before she heard a joint movement. Everyone in the room, excluding the King and Queen, bowed to her. Aaliyah nudged her with a smile. 

“Way to go, my Queen. You have their respect.” Alisa smiled faintly but did not respond, as King Henry moved forward. He bowed his head, smiling at the young Queen warmly. 

“Tsaritsa, we are honored to have you in our home. Please, stay as long as you need to.” He spoke taking her hand. Alisa smiled. 

“Please, call me Alisa, and the honor is all mine. I hope to be better acquainted with all of you soon.” King Henry nodded. 

“Of course. We will host a celebration in your honor. It will be for the first time in history we will have a Russian Queen in Fontainebleau.” He gestured for two young men standing behind him forward. “May I introduce you to my sons, Sebastian and Francis?” Sebastian had messy brown hair and icy green eyes that seemed to glow in the sunlight. He took the inial movement, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it, while Catherine de Medici watched in distaste. 

“Your Grace.” He greeted her, his eyes flickering to look over at her ladies, as he stepped back. He seemed to be looking at Aaliyah, who took a little soft breath. Alisa did not think to much of it, as she turned to Henry’s other son, Francis, who was staring at her the whole while she arrived. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. He was gorgeous - blonde, playfully curls fell right near his shoulders, his sky blue eyes seemed to reflect both kindness and gentleness. He recovered himself soon after, stepping forward and bowing. 

“Your Majesty.” He greeted all to formally, with a small trace of a smile, as he took her hand gently. 

“Alisa, I insist.” The young Queen replied with a smile of her own. 

“Francis, then.” He introduced himself, pressing a kiss on the back of her hand tenderly, before moving back, his eyes never leaving hers. Henry did not see pay attention, moving to introduce her to others. 

“This is Queen Mary of Scotland and her ladies. She and my son, Francis, are engaged to be married.” Alisa’s eyes flooded with recognition and she nodded, smiling at the young Queen. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Queen Mary.” Mary walked up to her with a smile and took her hand. She seemed to be kind and nice enough. 

“And you, Alisa. I am sure we are going to be great friends. These are my ladies, Kenna, Aylee, Greer, and Lola.” Alisa smiled back at her, nodding. 

“Likewise. It is a pleasure to meet all of you,” Her eyes skimmed Mary’s ladies, who bowed at her and smiled. She gestured to the women behind her. “These are mine, Aaliyah, Katya, and Natasha.” The three ladies also curtsied before Mary. Henry smiled, glad that everything was going per plan. 

“I assume you are tired from the long journey. You are free to rest until the feast.” Alisa curtsied before him in gratitude. 

“Spasibo.” (Thank you) Alisa reverted to her tongue before she left the throne room, her ladies flocking her and disappearing from the room behind her. After they had left, Catherine de Medici sat down in her throne, as Henry did so and they continued speaking with the nobles regarding the state of France. She heard a shaky breath, from behind and turned to find Nostradamus’s, the Castle’s healer and seer, face scrunched up before it relaxed. Lately, he had been having many visions regarding Mary’s and Francis’s doomed fate. She wanted to marry him off anyone other than Mary, break the alliance, but has not found any suitable match. She was worried about her son. Impatient as she was, she waited until the meetings with the noblemen will be over, before approaching her friend. 

“What is it? What did you see?” She demanded, skimming Nostradamus’s face. Her eyes burned with anticipation and impatience. “If it is about my son, I have the right to know.” 

“I had a vision.” Nostradamus began, before being interrupted by Catherine again. 

“Was it about Francis?” She pressed. 

“Not just him, the Tsaritsa,” Nostradamus paused for a moment, “I see a bright future.” Catherine froze her tracks, pursing her lips. 

“A future? With the Empress of Russia?” Nostradamus nodded once. 

“If Francis marries Queen Alisa, they will be happy together, in love, with many children. Their reign would be long and prosperous, even with a few obstacles.” 

“So, if he marries Alisa, he will not die?” Nostradamus nodded again. 

“Yes.” Catherine’s brain was swimming with ideas. 

“I must get them together, so he would fall in love with her, not Mary.” She muttered to herself before she heard Nostradamus chuckle quietly. 

“I don’t think that would be necessary.” Catherine’s head snapped up in confusion. 

“What? Why not?” 

“Look at him.” Catherine turned to look at her son. He was not paying attention to Mary speaking, only half-listening, his eyes were staring aimlessly to the exit of the throne room, where Alisa left. “If you ask me,” Nostradamus continued in the quiet manner of speaking as the two watched Francis, “It won’t be long until you will have an alliance with one of the most powerful countries in the world. Nature will take its course. Your son will live.” 

A/N: Hey everyone! Welcome to the first chapter of my reign fanfic, it is gonna be a fun ride, I’ll tell you that. As you can already tell, this is absolutely not historically accurate and I will mix up the episodes as we go along, cause screw storylines! XD Lemme know what all of y’all think and I hope to update as soon as I can. xx

#the black sparrow #catherine de medici #alisa ivanova #francis valois #sebastian de poitiers #henry ii #lady aaliyah #reign #reign cw