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farity · 1 year

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To tread lightly

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Aemond learns that his betrothed is a gentle soul

Warning: Smut

“The Mowbrays may not be a large house, but their lands are in the perfect strategic spot in Westeros and they are far richer than just about any other family, including the Lannisters.”

Aemond looked at his grandsire, his expression showing the same disinterest he had felt throughout the entire meeting.

“It is an advantageous match, and she is said to be lovely.”

“Loveliness is wasted on me, grandfather, as long as she is malleable, quiet, and fertile, she will do.”

Otto studied his grandson. There was a fire in him, a fire that did not exist in Aegon and had not yet bloomed in Daeron. He often thought it might render Aemond into a pile of ashes if unleashed, but tempered with intelligence, it might make this grandson a great Hand of the King for his brother someday.

“Very well, I shall proceed with the negotiations.”

* * * * *

You were sure you could guide a ship into harbor with all the jewels on your gown. If you turned back and forth, a ship’s captain would see the rays of light firing from every single stone and go safely home.

“It also meant the floor length dress was incredibly heavy, and that did not include the elaborate headdress or the train that had yet to be attached. “Is this really necessary?” you asked your mother. “They’ve already agreed to the betrothal.”

"Stand up straight, darling,” Your mother walked around you. “Remember you are well educated, highly accomplished, and come from two old families that can trace their lineage for centuries. Just because we are a small House does not take away from our family history. You are a Mowbray, be proud of it.”

She added a jewel encrusted bracelet to one of your wrists. “And, unlike many of these so called noble daughters, you have remained pure.”

Oh yes, that had been stipulated in the negotiations. A Septa sent by the Targaryens had personally confirmed it. Your mother had held you the whole time, two servants holding a large cloth of gold to cover you from the hips up to the roof of your canopied bed as you laid, legs spread, on the bed. The Septa had inserted two slim fingers inside you and then removed them and that had been that.

What about your bridegroom? He might have bedded half the land and it wouldn’t have mattered, but you, of course, had to be untouched and intact. One of your cousins had been repudiated even though she insisted she had not lain with anyone, and all she could come up with was that she was a devoted horse rider, but all the same, she was banished to a small village so her shame would not be spread to her family.

“Try not to look so disdainful, darling,” your mother said, “whatever else they are, the Targaryens are in power.”

* * * * *

“Your Highness, I am so glad to finally meet you.”

Aemond watched the girl drop into a curtsy, her gown sparkling with every movement. She was pretty, he supposed, and looked agreeable enough. He extended his hand and she placed one small hand upon it before rising, a sweet smile on her face.

“You are most welcome here, my lady.”

If she expected him to kiss her hand or her cheek, or for him to say he was happy to meet her, she did not seem disappointed when he did none of those things. Maybe she had been well trained and would not be an annoyingly clingy wife. At least he hoped so. He led her to her chair at the banquet table, watched her charm everyone throughout dinner, and after the meal, stood when his mother suggested he take his betrothed for a walk around the gardens.

She looked up at him, that sweet smile back on her face, and followed him down the many corridors.

“Are the gardens this way?” she asked, as they went into darker and darker hallways.

Aemond, walking in front of her, said nothing.

* * * * *

By the Maiden, could he be more disinterested in you?

You followed him as best you could, the heavy gown and new slippers making you a little clumsy. He continued in front of you, his longer legs covering more distance than yours, and you really, really wanted to tell him to stop and let you catch up.

You turned a corner and found yourself pressed against the wall, but instead of a stolen kiss or some attempt at groping you, he planted his hands on either side of your head and looked at you.

“I am told you are learned, so I hope you will not have to be told more than once,” he began. “You are my betrothed, and as of this moment you belong to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak but he continued.

“Your loyalty is to me, your every effort will be in my favor and dictated by me,” he leaned in until his nose was almost touching yours. “I will not tolerate any treachery, lies, or betrayals by you, and should you attempt to defy me, I will-”

“Stop!”

You covered your face, unable to take any more.

“Please,” you added, letting your hands slide down. His eye bore fiercely into you. “Why are you speaking to me like this?”

“I merely want you to know how things will be in our marriage.”

“Oh, is it a marriage now,” you felt anger rising inside you, “it sounds like I am to be your prisoner, unable to say a word or form a thought unless approved by you.”

“That would be ideal,” he snapped.

You moved to slip under his arm but he was quicker, keeping you against the wall.

“Why me, then?”

“Your family is the richest in the land.”

You turned away, anger and resentment coursing through you.

“I was not finished.”

You did not move, still looking away.

“Other than your moon blood, I will accept no excuse for you to not be in my bed. Once with child, you will follow every instruction you are given and take no risks, and after the birth, the maester will decide when you can take me again.”

You felt his lips brush across your temple. “During formal events, I expect you to behave in a way that honors the throne and the family, otherwise you will be confined to your rooms.”

There were hot tears beginning to sting at your eyes and you did everything in your power to keep them from spilling.

“Compose yourself,” he said, “we are heading back now.”

* * * * *

Aemond saw the effort it took for her to keep smiling through the rest of the evening. She did not glance at him again, instead chatting with both his mother and her own. Soon enough, she pleaded being tired and headed to her rooms along with her mother. He stood as she passed, and took her hand to kiss it. Her eyes looked somewhere past his shoulder and her smile was strained.

It was better this way. She should know what was expected of her. He had been betrayed and ignored by enough people in his life and would not allow his wife to do the same. Her life with him would be peaceful enough, he was not a cruel man. He would look out for her, make sure she had everything she needed, and protect her as best he could. In exchange he expected her loyalty and a behavior that honored the crown and the family. If she was expecting flowery declarations and a husband so besotted he praised her at every turn, it was better that she was set right.

He would have a marriage that brought no further insult to his life, a wife that behaved with decorum, and a family that might, finally, fill the void that lurked inside him. He caught his mother’s questioning gaze and a pang of guilt hit him.

* * * * *

“Darling, many things are said in the beginning of a marriage that have no bearing on the coming years.”

You were sobbing uncontrollably, wanting nothing more than to go home, away from the horrible man you’d been betrothed to.

“Mother please,” you managed between sniffles. “I do not want this. I will suffocate with all these rules and the way he talks to me.”

“Child,” your mother said soothingly. “Let’s look at what he actually said. We all know he has this stern façade because of what happened to him, but let’s take that away for a moment.”

“I don’t want to.”

You heard an exasperated sigh from your mother. “Dearest one, he has warned you not to betray him, which is understandable, and has told you he wants children and to behave properly. It is truly not all that awful.”

“He did not have to say it that way, mother.” You wiped your nose with the handkerchief she had given you. “So coldly, so brusquely.”

“He does not know you, my dove.”

“So what? One does not speak to one’s future spouse in such a manner.”

"We are marrying you to a man close to the throne, you will be part of the most powerful family in the realm, you must be stronger and not let petty disputes slip under your skin.”

She placed a quick kiss on your forehead before leaving and you decided you would not let your earlier interaction sour your disposition. You had been well informed on what would take place during the consummation, you were prepared and would be pleasant and dutiful. Maybe he would grow to like you, you thought.

* * * * *

He watched her walk toward him on her mother’s arm. It was unusual but Lady Mowbray had said she was merely substituting for her late husband and would brook no opposition.

His betrothed was pale but composed, her smile sweet, and when he kissed her after saying the words, he felt her fingers tighten on his shoulders.

“Are you very tired?”

She turned to look at him, now in the candlelight of their bedchamber, and shook her head. “Not really.” She studied him for a moment, then asked, “would you like for me to brush your hair?”

Aemond had not expected this, and was silent for a moment. Had she not realized that in order to brush his hair he would need to remove his eye patch? He began walking toward her, deciding that he might as well show her what she had been wed to. Maybe she would never again offer to brush his hair.

Better to find out now.

He pulled off the eye patch in one smooth motion. “If you like, wife, I should very much enjoy having you brush my hair.”

To her credit, she did not wince or recoil upon seeing the sapphire in his eye socket. He sat by the fire and waited for her, wondering if she would suddenly say she was too tired.

“Does your, uh, eye stone need to be removed?”

He turned, noticing how the fire backlit her form, making the nightgown she wore all but invisible. Her hips were shapely and her waist slim and suddenly he didn’t care about his damn hair or his damn anything, but he turned back to let her begin her work. “Every few days, and the maester deals with it.”

She gently pulled off the hair tie he also wore, holding the hair close to his scalp so she wouldn’t tug on it. Her touch was delicate but sure, and then he wanted her hands on his skin. When she ran the brush down the length of his hair, he could have moaned, it felt so good. Ridiculously good.

She continued brushing, her bare feet making no sound on the floor as she went around him. He wanted to pull her onto his lap, make her put her hands on him, kiss her mouth without an audience this time and take his time making her his.

“I am sorry.”

The brushing stopped and he felt her nervousness as if it had weight. He turned and saw her standing with the brush in her hands.

“I spoke to you much too harshly yesterday. I pray you can look past my transgression.”

The sweet smile reappeared. “There is no need for this, husband. We have all been overwrought from all this wedding business.”

He felt his own mouth curve in response. She thought he had been nervous? Him, the most feared man at court. She was walking back to him to continue and he couldn’t wait any longer, he simply reached out and pulled her to him. He felt her sharp inhale of breath and she tossed the brush onto the other chair before linking her arms around his neck.

Her lips were a new delicacy, and he took his time tasting her, delighting in the way she shivered in his arms. She was making eager little noises, wriggling against him and he knew he had to get her on the bed before he took her on the floor in front of the fire.

Slipping one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, he rose and walked to his bed. He sat on the edge, still kissing her as he undid the laces on the front of her nightgown. Once undone the garment fell open, revealing the inner curves of her breasts. Mesmerized, Aemond moved her to the bed, slipping the gown off of her. He saw the instinct to cover herself, the way her arms twitched to cross in front of her breasts and then she looked up at him.

“The Mother has given me a beautiful wife.”

She swallowed as he began to remove his own clothes, her eyes never leaving his.

* * * * *

Your new husband was very fine, indeed.

He was tall and slim but all the training he did had given power to his lean, muscled frame. You saw the way his hair moved across his shoulder as he discarded his trousers, and wondered how his skin would feel under your fingertips.

He kneed your legs apart, settling his weight between them. You knew what was to happen, but it was one thing to be told about it and another to be experiencing it.

“Are you alright?”

His voice was soft, kind, and it soothed your nerves. “Yes, I didn’t know I would enjoy the kissing so much.”

He smiled down at you and bent down to kiss you again. This time you remembered what he had done a minute ago and touched the tip of your tongue to his lips. He tasted like the spices used to mull the wine, even though you hadn’t seen him drink more than a sip or two. He let you explore his mouth, his hand gentle on your hair.

You felt his hand stroking your thigh, his touch leaving a path of warmth on your skin. “Do you enjoy me touching you?”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you nodded. Maybe if you touched him you would feel less nervous. You ran your hands across his broad shoulders and down his arms, then tucked one lock of hair behind his ear and caressed his scarred cheek.

“Are you repulsed?”

“By a scar?” you asked, incredulously.

“And a missing eye. I will put the eyepatch back on if it offends you.”

You shook your head, and pulled him down to kiss the ruined skin. “It does not offend me. Or repulse me,” you murmured softly, hoping he believed you. Your hands continued exploring, now running up the planes of his back. It was a strange thing, to discover another human being like this, something as mundane as skin revealing so much by the responses to your touch.

He was clearly indulging you, giving you time before he took you, and for that you reached up again, pressing your mouth against his. Soon you felt his hand between your legs and were reminded of the Septa. But whereas that was simply a process taken to confirm your status, this was completely different. His fingers moved lightly over a spot the Septa had not touched, and you shivered, the sensation making you want more.

He kept rubbing the same spot over and over, and you felt a whimper escape you. It was becoming too much, and at the same time you did not want him to stop. “Give yourself to me, sweet wife,” he said. When you began rocking your hips, he murmured his approval, and you felt something happening, something that was taking over your every sense, and still he did not stop. You buried your face in his neck and cried out as pleasure and fire unfurled inside of you.

* * * * *

He felt her go completely still at that moment, her body frozen as she came. She was clinging to him, one leg curled over his hip, arms wound tight around him, and he began driving inside her. She gasped, pleasure and pain mixing as he tore through her maidenhead, but he felt the rhythmic grasp of her inner muscles as pain quickly faded.

She let her head fall back on the bed, her skin flushed, and he kissed her as he claimed her, his need for her barely tempered by the knowledge that he was her first, her only, and he needed to go slowly. He felt her hand on his cheek, the gentle caress of her fingertips and turned to kiss her palm.

Mine, he thought, my own sweet wife.

The feel of her beneath him was intoxicating. That she was his, that out of all the possibilities he had ended up with her as his wife, and that she had seen past his despicable behavior . . . Aemond knew he did not deserve her. He did not deserve a woman who went willingly to his bed and placed her trust in him. He lost himself in her arms, the touch of her lips on his face, and accepted whatever mistake the gods had made in giving her to him as a blessing.

* * * * *

Alicent knew the moment her new daughter-in-law had returned from the market. Not because she saw the young woman herself, but because she saw Aemond look up and then his shoulders relaxed, his face lost its usual stern expression, and books and maps were abandoned as he went to meet his wife.

She saw her younger son place a chaste kiss on his wife’s lips, then he took the basket from her hands while she showed him whatever she had purchased. He looked back at one moment, thanking the two guards who had accompanied her and then let her maid take the basket.

She watched the two young people walk away, the young woman at one point leaning her head against his shoulder, and his instinctive move to kiss the top of her head. And she smiled to herself when they were late for dinner.

* * * * *

@arryn-nyx @greenowlfactif @hydrationqueensworld @megzdoodle@melsunshine @queenofshinigamis @throughgoeshamilton @travelingmypassion

@hb8301 @kaemond-zafiro

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #Aemond x Reader #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd aemond

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todaysdocument · 2 months

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Anti-Slavery Petition from Women of America

Record Group 46: Records of the U.S. SenateSeries: Petitions and Related Documents That Were Presented, Read, or Tabled

PETITION. ____ To the Honorable the Senate of the united States and House of Representatives: Your petitioners, women of America, whose names are hereunto subscribed, constrained by the love of humanity, address you in behalf of the claims of a million and a half of their sex, who are afforded no legal protection for the heart's dearest ties, or WOMAN'S "sacred honor," but with their husbands, sons, and brothers, are the doomed victims of a system that dwarfs the intel- lect, degrades the morals, and debases the entire being. Believing that they are solemnly bound to "remember those that are in bonds, as bound with them," and believing that in this AGE OF LIGHT, while the great principles of LIBERTY are anima- ting the nations, that the government of these United States-this "Model Republic"-should use all its constitutional power to eradicate, within its own bounds, an evil which is being repudiated by the civilized world as its direct curse-they are constrained respectfully and earnestly to pray your honorable body at once to devise such measures as may come legitimately within their prov- ince, both to prevent the farther extension of American Slavery, and to withdraw the protection and countenance hitherto afforded by your Government and Flag to the American Slave Trade, and to suppress Slavery effectually in those sections over which Congress has competent jurisdic- tion. And your petitioners will ever pray. Rosetta M Cowles Mary Ann Perkins Jane N Coan Julia A Curtys K[illegible] C. North G A Sues Rosetta L Merriam Harriat P Pratt Sarah D. Linsley Alma Dunham Harriet F Foster Charlotte Melone Bridget Mason Margaret Moran Ann Moran Martha G Fowler Berille Shipman Sarah Shipmen Caroline Shipmen

#archivesgov #February 27 #1849 #19th century #abolition of slavery

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saintsenara · 10 months

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Call for asks: I’ve noticed you’ve avoided saying anything about Jegulus for the last few asks so…. Jegulus 😈

anon please, i’m not avoiding saying anything about jegulus, i genuinely don’t know her.

but, fine, let’s imagine i do.

i don’t enjoy it as a pairing, not because i think it’s unfeasible [in my view, the joy of fanfiction is taking a completely implausible premise and making it work], but because i don’t like the way that the fandom which has built up around jegulus expects certain tropes and characterisations which turn the characters into just profoundly uninteresting people.

and this is the case for all the marauders and marauders-adjacent characters [i’m looking at you, fanon barty crouch jr.!], undoubtedly because the era has so little actual canon material that fanon becomes canon and authors run from there. and that’s great - anyone writing stories in a world hostile to hobbies and creativity is a triumph - but the standard way of writing jegulus which has coalesced around this fanon doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest.

there are many jegulus tropes i don’t love: how it always becomes a parallel wolfstar [james and peter would be the cultured choice if we have to do that]; how it’s just drarry but in the seventies [when the cultured choice for that is lucius malfoy/arthur weasley]; how james becomes a tediously good person when the evidence of canon is that he’s a bit of a dick; how it relies on an exaggerated portrayal of orion and walburga’s abusive parenting which misses the fact that regulus evidently colluded with them against sirius; how it assumes the marauders aren’t intensely codependent [sirius mentions-lily-once black is definitely going to let his brother hang around with them, sure]; how snape is sometimes there and always a knob. james and regulus are also so similar in terms of background, social position at school etc. that there’s no juicy spark [as in snack, for example]. and, of course, prongsfoot is canon.

and so on…

but the biggest reason i can’t get into it?

regulus is a death eater, and not by mistake.

now, we all love a fluffy no-voldemort au, but unless that is a jegulus author’s stated setting, they are going to have to deal with the fact that regulus fucking loves the dark lord. this is a teenage boy who has press clippings about voldemort’s terrorism taped above his bed. he knows exactly what he’s getting into and he likes it.

indeed, my reading of deathly hallows is that regulus’ decision to go and get the locket has absolutely nothing to do with a damascene conversion that conducting a campaign of sectarian violence against muggles and muggleborns is bad, but that learning of the existence of the horcrux - and also voldemort’s lack of respect towards his property, kreacher [after all, we see an attitude expressed canonically by wizards that other people have no right to interfere in how you treat your slaves] - makes clear to him that the dark lord’s aims are not oligarchy, with those from pureblood families ruling in happy condescension over a ministry which is fundamentally unchanged, but ruling in majesty as an immortal absolute monarch. his death is a repudiation of his beliefs, yes, but it is a repudiation of the fact that he believed voldemort was his champion, rather than that he believed voldemort was wrong.

and, actually, i don’t think this in and of itself makes jegulus insurmountable. james is a pureblood, and while there is absolutely no evidence in his few canon appearances that he harboured blood-supremacist views, the very fact of his background would allow a complacency which might let him overlook some of regulus’ opinions [think, for example, about ron’s attitude towards house elves]. equally, we have no evidence that regulus couldn’t completely disavow his former beliefs.

but, it requires the fact that regulus isn’t just a tiny baby who aspires to join a terror group by mistake to actually be dealt with, and i have never seen a single piece of jegulus which does so.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #i'm in danger

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solitus17utopia · 3 months

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" ain't nobody in here that can say that I did you wrong — i did enough, "

Blade was a man of high caliber in terms of mastering the sword. Possessing the ability to steer terror to nearby wanderers and far ones alike, displaying little, if any, of the humane emotions. Sanity diminished; he is a riddle with multiple tricks and traps, but it seemed you can solve the puzzle, finding the trapdoor to his heart. In return, he won't let you go and will keep you safe under all costs. A win-win situation.

pronouns — you.

genre — fluff.

c.warning — unspecified and un-excessive mention of stalking. but, intentionally light.

✧ Blade. — The 0.01%.

Blade was an imposing figure, a man with a high figure tied to is appearance on electronic posters. An immortal desensitised to the dark hues that paint the floors of the planet, living with just a set of clothes and sword in his hand. Blade, was someone stripped of his empathy, the parasympathetic arousal people receive on days with sunny skies and gloomy greys alike, deprived of him.

Surely, Aeons forbid, you could not have been the exception to that strict code of conduct? Nevertheless, when the light begins to flick from its usual dimness, Kafka and Silver Wolf were first to notice the clear infatuation Blade denied himself of.

It was an ironic scene of the multiple acts of tragedy in the swordsman's life. One he had boldly, proclaiming "intrusively, don't be ridiculous,", fallen into. But, if that was truly the case, why hadn't he left? He insists persistently that it's because of the fact that you were not capable of protecting yourself, and that trouble would stir for him if he were to let you misguided into a trap of a cunning snake.

Regardless of the profuse repudiation that spilt from his astute tongue, uniformly, the vermilion-eyed Hunter repudiated letting you awry from from his million-mile stare, a similarity to his primal emotions that failed to be brushed underneath the rugged carpet.

The sky that blanketed the hexafleet was a hex code of bright blue, or primarily what majority label as sky blue. Streets were bustling with the population of the people, streets venders placed here and there and children occasionally seen running about. An appearing picturesque day for productivity and pleasantry. If the navy-haired individual behind your back was able to be ignored in the bright lighting with his contrary colours.

Usual daunting aura surrounding him, he had no intention of relinquishing away from your figure. Not when there was multiple, various and a spectrum of dangers lurking in the light and even shadows for you. Even if the Luofu is confirmed to be a safe place for everyday citizens, Blade printed a glare to keep an eye on you. He would not validate it any other way; his behaviour so, so divergent to his character even passing eyes would notice so — it had become routine. But, they would not dare to act tomfoolery on a stage in front of an exiled criminal of the area, would they? No, unless they had a death wish.

Fortunately, no one disrupted the serenity that clouded your soul for the time being. So, Blade would only let short number of his receptors down. Sensing absence in people surrounding you, he decided to approach you. Placing an 'Immortal's Delight' on the table of the open café you sat at, a glint of subtle serotonin behind the inks in his irises at the surprised look you emitted. "Don't overwork yourself," even if Blade does not want others to see him, a man of immense depth and vulnerability, he could not stand others to be the great interest of your gaze. And, he was more than willing to pick his sword at one they did. But, he would be lying as well if he were to say the tiny bundles of happiness you reciprocated in return to his gesture. It was worth every scar he got for you.

— alex's comments on this matter : i wrote this on such a whim. on such a whim. and surprisingly, it turned out well, with a little drabble. i hope you guys like it. ^^

#⧼ ✣ ⧽ TO THE MANAGEMENT DEPARTMENT #⧼ ✣ ⧽ FOREIGN AFFIRMATION RECOGNITION.#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr headcannons #honkai star rail headcannons #blade x reader #blade scenarios #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade x gender neutral reader #blade headcannons #hoyoverse #mihoyo

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markantonys · 2 months

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In the books Rand completely rejects his Aiel heritage. Jordan seemed to be going with telling the story of an adopted kid who decided only his adopted family mattered. But that's not the only way to tell that story so the show has the opportunity to do something different there if they want to. My preference would be not to have Rand reject his Aiel heritage but to refuse to abandon his Andoran heritage/Two Rivers upbringing. The Aiel canonically want him to become fully Aiel so for him to refuse to give up part of himself could be another way to frame it . They also resent the fact that Rand is only half Aiel and wasn't born in the Waste so they could do more of that imo

i'm trying to think of a useful response but my brain is too occupied by the sudden realization of the Bi Metaphor of rand being too aiel to fit in with wetlanders and too wetlander to fit in with aiel hahaha

anyway, from what i can remember, i don't know if i would say rand *completely* rejects his aiel heritage in the books (at least until the point when RJ himself shuffled the aiel off to the side in general because he wanted to play with the seanchan instead). i may be misremembering but i think rand DOES put in genuine effort to learn about aiel ways, but is just really bad at it and gets easily frustrated with trying to keep track of all the intricacies (which is completely understandable, especially since the aiel are making very little effort to adapt to HIS culture or meet him in the middle). and he IS curious about shaiel and janduin and is emotionally affected by hearing about them from the wise ones, even if he ultimately decides that tam and kari are his true parents (as he should! like you say, it's a great repudiation of the "blood family>adopted family" trope that is so prevalent in media and especially in fantasy where the Normie Adopted Family so often gets swept aside once the hero finds out about their Super-Special Secret Birth Family.)

and he knows that he needs to *be seen* adapting to aiel culture in some way in order to get the aiel's support, which is another interesting wrinkle in the whole situation, because his public behavior and his internal feelings are not necessarily aligned (i'm thinking of the alcair dal scene where i think all those lines about tam being his real father are just in his head as he's talking aloud to the aiel about being janduin's son). i'm not bothered by that sort of "i need to publicly buy into my aiel heritage but in my heart it's not who i am" attitude because i think it's pretty realistic for his situation. and maybe he starts shifting from "i just need to be seen doing this for political reasons" over to "i genuinely do respect aiel culture and want to learn about it, even if i'll never consider it MY culture" as he gets emotionally closer with aviendha and some of the other aiel.

but at the end of the day, while i like the aiel and find their culture interesting, i'm not nearly as invested in them as i get the sense many WOT fans are haha (see: me finding the glass columns sequence quite boring and being utterly bamboozled to discover that most readers list it as one of the best scenes in the series) and so i just don't feel very strongly about what route the show takes re: rand's relationship with aiel culture and his aiel heritage. and also probably have a fuzzy memory on a lot of the book details on this topic!

#anonymous #answered #wot book spoilers

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thelordofgifs · 1 year

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In light of recent interesting discourse about Beren and Lúthien's Silmaril theft, and the Fëanorions' priorities in the lead-up to Nirnaeth and after, I started wondering how things might have changed if B&L had managed to steal two Silmarils rather than one. Would pulling the Union together be harder with only one jewel left to draw focus in Angband?

Then as soon as I thought about it some more, I realised the most inevitable path diverged earlier than that.

Then I started writing a fic, got 400 words in, and realised I wanted to actually figure out what happened first. So here's a half (or potentially a smaller fraction) of a sort of bullet point fic/plan/thing, which may or may not get properly written up later. First I need to work out where to go from here.

Angrist was forged by the greatest of the Dwarf-smiths in the master-workshops of Nogrod. It cuts two Silmarils from Morgoth's iron crown before the blade snaps, and Morgoth stirs in his enchanted sleep.

Beren passes one Silmaril to Lúthien, and they run for it.

Carcharoth still meets them, snarling, at the gate. Beren still holds out a Silmaril to ward him off. His hand still gets bitten off.

But when the Eagles come for them, and Lúthien clambers sobbing onto Thorondor's back, she clasps a Silmaril in her hand.

The Eagles bear them towards Doriath, and the Treelight undiminished shines out over Dorthonion and Gondolin.

In chilly Himring, Maglor is shaken awake from nightmares of fire and smoke by his eldest brother, who drags him out of bed and towards the window. "Look! Is that not a Silmaril that shines now in the North?"

Maglor recognises it, of course. Moreover, he recognises the size and shape of Eagles in flight, even at a distance. Recognises, too, that as often as not they bear doom itself upon their great feathered backs.

(His father's jewel stinging his Oath awake, his brother's emaciated bleeding body wrapped in Fingon's cloak - they all mean failure.)

"Thingol's daughter and the mortal must have succeeded," he says. "What can we do?"

Maedhros and Maglor, you see, are Not Happy with the news out of Nargothrond.

That Celegorm wanted to force an elf-maid to wed against her will, after what they heard befell Aredhel—

That Curufin could turn against his favourite cousin, and betray him to his death—

"I am afraid," says Maedhros, "of what it will make us do. What it will make us become."

"We could ignore it," says Maglor, whose first response is always inaction. "Let it go to Doriath—" But it is hard even to finish the sentence, with the Oath choking his words.

And there is a bigger problem: Celegorm and Curufin, who are sleeping now (it is only Maedhros who can be relied upon to pace the fortress by night), will not do so forever. They have already attacked Thingol's daughter once - will they do so again, before she can pass into the safety of her mother's Girdle?

"We have to get to Doriath before they do," says Maedhros, and wonders when his little brothers became the threat to be outpaced.

"And then what?" asks Maglor, who never shies from difficult questions.

Maedhros gives him one of his quick strange smiles. "This is how it works, you know," he says. "Huan has turned from Tyelko. Tyelpë has repudiated Curvo. It turns you into the worst version of yourself, and then it strips away the best thing you have left."

Maedhros has ridden out to claim a Silmaril before, and lost all of himself in the process.

Maglor, too, has been offered all he ever wanted - his dearest brother, returned to him - and turned away for the sake of the Oath he renewed at his father's deathbed.

They are both afraid of what they could become.

They ride out from Himring anyway, swiftly and secretly, before the dawn.

Meanwhile, Thorondor sets Beren and Lúthien down on Doriath's southern border.

Huan comes to join them, and with the power of the Silmaril, Beren is healed sooner than he might have been, otherwise.

The Quest is fulfilled. Beren has no reason to stay away from Thingol's house.

Instead of wandering in the wilds, the lovers return to Menegroth, present a Silmaril, and promptly get married.

Thingol is very surprised (and overjoyed) to see them; the last news he had of Lúthien was that she had vanished from Nargothrond.

In fact, he's just sent out a couple of messengers, led by Mablung Heavy-hand, with a scathing letter to Maedhros Fëanorion demanding his aid in finding the princess.

North of the Girdle: "Hey, isn't that Maedhros Fëanorion?"

"Sure is," says Mablung, who was at the Mereth Aderthad.

"Hail, Mablung of Doriath!" calls Maedhros, who never forgets a face. "What news from King Thingol?"

Well, there isn't news as such. Just... fury.

Maedhros considers the merits of keeping his cards close to his chest versus the dire diplomatic situation he's currently in, and opts to share what they saw from Himring, and what it bodes for Beren's success.

He decides not to share that Lúthien was definitely with Beren, which he knows because his brothers attacked her.

Maglor is not sure how stopping to chat with an Iathren marchwarden is going to get them closer to a Silmaril, but he isn't in the habit of arguing with Maedhros.

Anyway, before the conversation can wrap up, a marauding werewolf appears.

Right. Carcharoth.

The Iathrim make the sensible call and scramble up some trees. Maglor follows a beat later.

Noldor don't climb trees very often. It isn't one of the skills Maedhros has had cause to practice one-handed.

Not that it matters, because he's frozen where he stands, eyes wide and bright and thoughtful.

This is unusual. Maedhros would not be the most renowned warrior of the Noldor if he were constantly dissociating in the midst of battle.

He saves the dissociation for after the battle, thank you.

The wolf is almost upon him.

Well, thinks Maglor, about time I did some saving for a change.

Maglor is not Lúthien. Does he need to be? He knows enough about madness, and enough about torment. He knows how to sing the suffering to sleep.

He drops down from his perch to begin a lullaby.

Carcharoth slows down when he sings, and comes to a momentary halt, and Maglor takes the time to hiss, "Nelyo, run—"

"They burned him," Maedhros breathes, still with that bright faraway look in his eyes that means he is half-lost in memory. "His hands were black and ruined. No evil thing may touch them."

The wolf lunges.

[I want to kill Maglor off here but I'm a coward. so.]

Carcharoth savages Maglor's leg and he collapses.

That brings Maedhros back to himself.

Mablung and his party aren't heavily armed. They were only meant to be messengers, after all. They get a few shots in at the wolf, who runs off, still maddened.

Maglor isn't moving isn't talking and there's so much blood—

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #beren #luthien #maedhros #maglor #I think I know what happens next #but not what that leads to #I had to look at a map for this do you know how traumatic that was #anyway turns out bullet point fic is quite fun to write #maedhros and maglor have entered leithian and derailed it #maybe fingon will make an appearance too #who knows I'm tired #what even is this actually #cw blood

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mswyrr · 5 months

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lucy gray baird's philosophy

I want to "yes, and" this great meta post by @burst-of-iridescent. Specifically this part:

by the end of the book, coriolanus gives in fully to dr gaul’s way of thinking simply because it excuses him from accepting blame for his actions. if he killed sejanus, it’s because he had no choice. if he betrayed lucy gray, it’s because she would’ve betrayed him first. coriolanus refuses to believe in the goodness of humanity because that would have meant accepting the goodness that existed within him, and with that came the potential for making a different, better choice - potential that he knew, deep down, he had wasted. attributing his crimes to an innate evil that no one can overcome means that he can’t be held accountable, because it’s out of his control.

This got me thinking about how much Lucy Gray's worldview rejects of this way of thinking (and of a Calvinist*/ableist "some people are just born evil" pov people try to impose on the text, which people think is condemning him but actually... accidentally agrees with him that he was born evil and therefore can't help it??????). The book begins with several quotes chosen by the author, but I believe the one that represents Lucy Gray's worldview is Rousseau, who believed people were born with fundamental goodness.

Here's a source on him:

(Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)

And here's the quote Collins opens with:

“Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains.” — Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, 1762

That's Lucy Gray's pov she's come to through living and reflecting as an artist; someone can disagree with it (of course, all of these questions are open for endless debate; they have been debated endlessly!) however, it's important to respect that is where she's coming from, not being foolish or naive. It is a worthy pov that should be respected, even if you disagree. And that she came to this pov through a hard life and from much thinking and she expresses it beautifully in her art.

Here's the key exchange from the book, after Coriolanus has taken on the idea that people are just awful and her articulating her philosophy in response:

(Ballad, 495)

She's not naive. She recognizes the nuance that Rousseau does, that society shapes us. And Panem is pretty clearly a society led by people applying all the pressures they can think of on people toward evil. (And, after his heel turn, Coriolanus' is going to innovate some new pressures...) Clearly there are situations and circumstances that form us before we have much say in it, but that's not the same as being born evil.

The difference between inherent goodness and a corrupt society is, for Lucy Gray, a lot of hard work. It's a struggle. This repudiates both the version of "born evil" Coriolanus himself takes on, which relieves him of responsibility, and the self-righteous, Calvinist and/or ableist pov people keep arguing for, which makes "normal" people feel like they can be sure they're good (and ignore how we are all complicit in evil to some degree or another) because they have a "good" normal brain or they were just born so pure as a soul predestined for heaven. No, for her, everyone has to do the work. To her it's everyone's "life's challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line."

Even more pointedly, the love song she wrote him before his betrayal, "Pure as the Driven Snow," articulates her philosophy in the opening lines:

(Ballad, 481)

Again, we have her personal focus on the work of "staying on the right side" of good and evil after being born good into evil circumstances. She knows it hurts; she's led a hard life herself. "It's rough as a bair" to do that work, it's "like walkin' through fire." But it is doable.

Lucy Gray meant it as a love song but IMO "Pure as the Driven Snow" ends up a lament for the boy Coriolanus was and her love that he betrayed when he betrayed himself. And it is a direct rejection of his excuses, it is inadvertently reading him for filth for the lies he tells himself that all the world is the Games arena, all people are selfish and bad, and he isn't to blame for what he's done because he just wants to come out on top/be the victor of this "natural" "war of all against all" that is Gaul's philosophy (related to the Hobbes quote Collins begins with; I wrote a meta on that here) that he adopts.

I see her demeaned as a foolish girl who just "like bad boys" and I get so frustrated. I also get frustrated by the view that she must not have ever been sincere in loving or trusting him because IF SHE WAS then she would be a fool and his betrayal would somehow be her fault. And she'd reject the idea that she's "good" just because she's so pure or that anyone can claim we're good without doing a lot of hard work.

(Ballad, 482)

She is so thoughtful and interesting as a character. And she didn't just "like bad boys" - Coriolanus showed only his good side to her until the very end, once he'd decided to kill that part of himself. She had no way of knowing. Sometimes you trust someone and they betray you, it doesn't make you wrong, the shame is all theirs.

*Strict Calvinist predestination is some people are just predetermined to be bound for heaven and some for hell, some people are just born good and others are born bad. A lot of people in fandom seem to love Calvinism idk why. The ableism bit of this should be self-evident: there is no such thing as a "bad" brain type completely incapable of morality or a "good" brain and neurodivergence is not the source of all evil!

#lucy gray baird #thg meta #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #disagree with her if you want - but respect that her pov is philosophically sound and insightful #and i prefer the reading of the text where she's right and gaul and post heel turn coriolanus are wrong...#he could have kept trying to be good and loving for that girl #people dismissing her or being like 'she was constantly lying like a GIRLBOSS' is just so annoying - she's great as herself thank you #reject the idea that women are to blame for bad things people do #reject the idea that women are to blame for loving #that it must have been her fault somehow

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vivid-ink · 10 months

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"To Know You Again" Chapter 1 - Homecoming

Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya OC Summary: “Do you remember our last night here? The night before my family left?” The warm, rumbling timbre of Neteyam’s voice washed over her. “Yes,” Naia whispered. How could she forget?... She had replayed the memory of his lips over and over numerous times. One corner of Neteyam’s mouth lifted in a small smile as his eyes tracked over the delicate bridge of her nose and over her steadily flushing cheeks. His gaze stopped to rest on her lips, “You gave me something that night. I think it's time I returned it."

An exploration of what if Neteyam had to leave a girl he was close to behind when his family fled to the reefs to seek refuge. AU - Set 7 years after TWoW, exploring the many emotions and the eventual romantic reunion between Neteyam and his love. Warnings: Adult content 18+, MDNI Content: Romance, drama, angst, fluff, sexual content, smut, soulmates, bonding. Word Count: 6k Notes: This is my shorter chaptered piece, which is cross-posted on AO3 and Wattpad too. But I've noticed that the Avatar fandom seems much more active on here, so here is my story's Tumblr debut. I hope this brings you Tumblr folks much enjoyment! <3

Pronunciation note: Manaia – Ma-ny-uh, or Ny-uh for the shortened version of the OC's name.

Manaia’s disgruntled eyes seethed at the mortar and pestle before her as her hands furiously worked, grinding away at the tough roots in the wooden receptacle. If looks could kill, the implements she held would be smoking now, charred and blackened by her resentful gaze.

The tsahìk’s hut was filled with her mother’s exasperated voice, countered only by Mo’at’s unruffled words as the Omatikaya tsahìk sat by Manaia, grinding her own roots and herbs in a separate mortar.

“Talk to her, tsahìk!” Ayepni implored, gesturing avidly toward her daughter while she paced to and fro before the pair of women seated on the ground, “She will not be betrothed to Tupou!”

Ever unflappable, Mo’at took in a slow and meaningful breath and her voice was placating as she addressed Manaia, “Tupou is in line to be the next olo’eyktan and as tsakarem (trainee tsahìk), it is tradition that you will be mated to him when the time comes for you both to lead this clan.”

Manaia hissed acridly, repudiating the sentiment, “Well then perhaps the Omatikaya should appoint another tsakarem! Leylani perhaps?”

“You have trained as a healer and spiritual shaman for years! All through the Long War you have aided tsahìk Mo’at and studied under her. Will you throw all of the hard work she has put into you away?” Ayepni exclaimed, maddened, “All because of your silly feud with Tupou?”

“There isn’t any silly feud!” Manaia refuted, slamming her pestle down into her mortar with enough force that chunks of masticated root flew out of the vessel to spatter the mat beneath her. She did not have any feud with Tupou, they simply did not get along. They never had, even when they were younger. Tupou found her mouthy impudence unladylike and she found his cocksure demeanour infuriating. She continued, “We’re just very different people and we don’t get along. Besides, Leylani has trained with me under Mo’at too. There isn’t any reason the role of tsakarem can’t be passed to her.”

Mo’at surveyed the bickering mother and daughter with shrewd eyes. Manaia had been a conscientious student through the years and her bond with Eywa was strong. The girl had all the makings of a great tsahìk and Mo’at had sensed that this was to be the girl’s path since she was a child.

A mild headache bloomed behind her temples and Mo’at sighed quietly to herself. If only her daughter’s family had not had to leave the clan at the start of the Long War. Things would be so much simpler now with the hierarchy as it was then, with Jake as olo’eyktan and Neteyam as his successor. Neteyam and Manaia had been close as children…

“It has been many moons since the end of the Long War and you are a woman now, Naia. Time to grow up!” Ayepni admonished, ceasing her pacing to stand before her daughter, her tail swishing in annoyance behind her, “Tupou is an accomplished and well-respected warrior. He is handsome and well-bred. It would be an honour for you to have him as your mate.”

Manaia bristled at her mother’s patronising use of her shortened name. There had only ever been one person she accepted calling her by her nickname and she had not seen him in years. “I don’t wish to be betrothed to Tupou! I have prayed to our Great Mother and I don’t see him in my path. I don’t see myself mating any man!”

Naia knew her last words were a lie.Her heart belonged to a boy she once knew; a boy who would be a man now, living far away in the reef clans. She would mate him in a heartbeat if she could... Alas, dreams were free.

With a loud snarl of frustration, Ayepni swept out of the tsahìk’s hut, leaving Naia alone with her mentor.

“I apologise, tsahìk.” Naia breathed quietly, returning to her task of pulverising the contents of her mortar, “That argument should not have happened in front of you.”

To Naia’s surprise, Mo’at chuckled, “It’s alright child. Your mother has always had a hot temper and a quick mouth. You are more alike than you know. She just wants what is best for you.”

Naia grunted in acknowledgement, slowly decanting the mashed roots into a larger vessel. Her thoughts were running away with her now, leading her to the reefs of Pandora where she wondered how he was and how he was doing. Her heart whispered his name… Neteyam… How did he spend his days? Was he happy? Mated, perhaps? Naia banished the thought when it pricked sharply in her chest. It would not surprise her if he was. Now that the war was over, people had begun returning to their lives, finding love and happiness again. He was a world away from her…

The Long War against the sky demons had waged for six painful years. Many lives were lost and the balance of life had been upset. Victory had come about at the Great Mother’s hands when she fed a hallowed plague to the waters of Pandora, poisoning the sky demons. The sky demons had perished, but all who held faith in Eywa had escaped unharmed.

The clinking of the wooden bangles around Mo’at’s wrists as she worked was a pleasant and soothing sound, and Naia forced her thoughts away from Neteyam. He was a beautiful memory from her younger years and he would stay that way. There was no use stirring up her tender emotions from the past. After all, it was also a little awkward daydreaming of Mo’at’s grandson in her presence.

Mo’at watched as Naia refilled her mortar; a sprinkle of pungent herbs, a dash of seeds and a splash of oil to make an invigorating infusion to energise and revitalise. The young woman was lost in her thoughts and a small crease knitted her brows in a frown. Mo’at’s gaze trailed from Naia’s face, down her seated form, graceful and lithe. Gone was the tomboyish girl who had refused to keep her hair any longer than her chin, who had hated excessive jewellery and elaborate clothing.

Not that Naia was vain now by any means, but she had grown more feminine as she had matured into a young woman. Her head was shaven on one side, but the intricately beaded braids of her hair brushed her shoulders on her other side. Large, gold eyes sat in an oval-shaped face with a delicate nose and smooth, wide lips. She was pretty, though Mo’at knew Naia would never agree. Not when Naia’s days were spent learning alongside Leylani who was objectively considered one of the most beautiful young women among the Omatikaya.

Setting down her own implements, Mo’at reached out to clasp Naia’s wrist gently, getting her attention, “Do you want to be tsahìk after me, child?”

Naia’s eyes met Mo’at’s piercing but tender gaze. She could not lie to the woman. Mo’at often perceived things without ever being told, courtesy of Eywa, she supposed. Naia had never spoken to anyone of the tender feelings she had harboured for Neteyam all these years, but as Mo’at’s crinkled eyes bore into her, Naia could not help but feel as though the woman knew anyway.

Remembering then that she had been asked a question, Naia cleared her throat and replied, “I don’t want to be tsahìk if it means I have to mate Tupou or any other potential successor in this clan.”

“Because you think boys are gross?” Mo’at teased, chortling, and a toothy grin danced across her wizened features at the look of shock on Naia’s face. It was a sentiment that Naia often used to proclaim as a teenager when all her peers had gone through the starry-eyed phase of discovering the opposite sex. Mo’at knew there were rumours that ran rampant about Naia’s preferences. She had never so much as flirted or dallied with any of the clan’s young males and with her tomboyish past, many thought she maybe preferred women. But Mo’at knew better; Manaia had only ever had eyes for one boy…

Naia gawped at the older woman and she felt a flush heat her face. She proclaimed indignantly, “I don’t think boys are gross!” She pursed her lips and a sheepish grimace followed, “Not anymore anyway. I do like men, just not Tupou.”

Laughing heartily now, Mo’at hushed the young woman, “Don’t fret. I don’t believe the gossip that goes around the clan.”

“Good. People spout a lot of rubbish!” Naia gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes then, “Nimwey brought her boy in to see me the other day about the pustules on his face. It was just typical teenage skin, you know, hormones and all. Apparently she’s been telling him his skin is like that because he never cleans his food bowls off properly, and every grain of wheat he leaves behind causes a pustule on his face!”

Mo’at guffawed at the ridiculous old wives’ tale, and then her expression turned sombre as her laughter died down. She reached out to stroke Naia’s cheek, her eyes meaningful, “If the Great Mother does not mean for Tupou to be part of your path, then he won’t be. But you must be open to all possibilities, Manaia. Let not your heart cling on to tender hopes of the past, lest it forgo the opportunities of the future.”

Rumbles of discomfort rolled in Naia’s gut at Mo’at’s words. She knew exactly what the tsahìk’s implication was. While her mind agreed wholeheartedly, Naia could not snuff out the flame she held in her heart that seemed determined to burn bright for eternity. She had tried many times before and had failed miserably. Neteyam was her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night... The years that had passed since the Sully family’s departure had done nothing to change that.

“If Tupou will be olo’eyktan after Tarsem, then Leylani should be tsakarem. She is skilled in your teachings too, as I am.” Naia declared stubbornly, “They are close and Tupou much prefers her. They would certainly make a stronger partnership than Tupou and I.”

Mo’at exhaled with a resigned sigh. The young woman was stubborn. Unease prickled at Mo’at’s skin as she considered what arrangements would need to be made to formally appoint a new tsakarem. It was true that both Leylani and Manaia had trained competently under her, but Mo’at had always had a deep, unspoken sense that the tsahìk’s path was Manaia’s to walk.

Not wanting to cause any more dispute for the moment, Mo’at reluctantly acquiesced, “Alright, I will speak to the clan’s elders. The responsibility can be transferred to Leylani.”

“Thank you, Mo’at.” Naia said, swallowing the tight lump in her throat. Healing was her calling though and while relinquishing her role as tsakarem would mean she would no longer be a spiritual leader, she still wanted to practise her healing skills. The thought caused her to add in quickly, “I’d still like to work with you and heal though. If you’ll allow me to.”

The tsahìk’s expression softened and she graced Naia with an earnest smile, “Of course, child.”

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

Naia’s parents had been less than impressed with her decision to step down from her role as tsakarem. She had returned each evening after her workday to the disappointed gaze of her father, and her mother’s cold shoulder was a silent force to be reckoned with. It had taken a few weeks for the storm to blow over before her mother started speaking to her again.

A chesty cough reminded Naia of her present surroundings and she returned her attention to the child before her. Little Entu was suffering from a severe bronchial infection and the toddler squirmed, fretting in discomfort as his lungs fought to draw in breath. She smoothed her cool fingers over the child’s forehead to soothe him. Bringing a pungent smoke roll of medicinal herbs to her lips, Naia sucked a breath into her mouth and blew the smoke out over the child. The tsahìk’s hut was already hazy with the spicy fumes and she prayed it would help relax the child’s airways.

“He is better than yesterday,” Mo’at remarked, tidying away a set of stoppered vessels from her work station in the corner, “Still coughing badly, but it is mostly an irritant to him than a threat to his life.”

Naia sighed and nodded, “The cough just sounds so awful coming from a little one so young. He will need to stay here tonight still.” Another whine escaped the child and she returned to pacifying him with gentle murmurs.

“Yes, Leylani will come and relieve you soon. She will take the night shift and watch him.”

Eclipse was nearing and the horizon had begun to paint itself in shades of auburn and pinks as the light began to fade. The beautiful light illuminated the vast crevice at the mouth of the Omatikaya’s High Camp stronghold, casting shadows against the rocky walls of the cave system as people milled about.

Naia stretched her neck from side to side, hearing the vertebrae pop and snap quietly from her movements. It had been a long day and she was looking forward to having some time to herself unwinding in her grotto. The grotto that had once been their spot.

There was commotion outside the hut then and Naia’s ears pricked upward in alertness. Gasps and cries of surprise sounded from the people outside, followed by ululating calls of joyous welcome. Something was happening. Mo’at rose to her feet and she padded over the carpeted floor to the entry of the hut, sweeping the draping cloth aside to peer out the entrance.

The older woman gave a sharp inhale and a beaming smile swept across her sage face. Naia heard it then; the words and cries being shouted outside.

“Toruk Makto!”

“Toruk Makto’s family have returned!”

She froze and a thick buzz settled over her ears. The only thing audible to Naia in that moment was the increasing rate of her beating heart. Was she dreaming?... Could it be true?

Naia’s gaze flicked to Mo’at who stood smiling at the mouth of the hut, one wrinkled hand over her mouth as tears of happiness began to pool in her eyes. Naia urged the woman, “Go, Mo’at! Go to them. I’ll stay with Entu.”

As much as Naia wanted to jump up and run outside to see for herself, she was still working, and of course Mo’at should be the first to see her family. Mo’at shot her a grateful look and promptly left to greet her kin.

Vaguely, Naia wondered to herself… Was Neteyam back too?... Her heart thundered with a myriad of emotions. Excitement, disbelief, nerves… She dared not to hope too much. Perhaps it was only Jake Sully and Neytiri who had returned for a visit. The Sullys had called the village reefs home for many years now, all through the Long War and even after. There was a real possibility that they would choose to remain there permanently.

Looking down, Naia discovered that Entu had fallen asleep, the child’s chest rising and falling in shallow but consistent breaths. The sounds of celebration and reunion continued outside, and the temptation to join the throng was strong. Glancing downward one last time at Entu, she figured a look would not hurt. She would not leave the hut, but she could at least watch from the entrance.

Approaching the flap at the entry, she reached for the draped cloth and shifted to stand in front of it, keeping it pushed out of the way with her body. Four splendid ikran stood perched on the edge of the cave mouth, heads tossing as a younger woman tended to them. Tuk? By Eywa, she had grown! Naia still pictured a gambolling seven-year-old when she recalled memories of the girl.

Naia recognised Jake and Neytiri immediately, surrounded by a happy horde of clan members who had rushed to welcome them. Hugs and clasped forearms were being exchanged, and she spotted Mo’at among them who held her daughter in a tight embrace. Three Sullys identified, but judging by the number of ikran, it meant there was still a fourth…

There was another individual standing on Jake’s left, also being warmly received by several of the clan’s younger warriors from Naia’s generation. Was it Lo’ak or Neteyam? Naia shifted her feet impatiently, realising that the individual was being blocked by another male who had his back to her. She would recognise that flamboyant hairstyle anywhere; cropped on both sides with an elaborate cluster of braids trailing down the centre, adorned with beads and feathers. She rolled her eyes. Move your fat head, Tupou…

After what felt like an eon, Tupou stepped aside to allow a shorter young woman to greet the individual. Naia blinked scratchy eyes, squinting. Leylani’s shorter stature allowed Naia to glimpse the individual and her breath hitched when she finally laid eyes on him then. Neteyam! She watched, speechless, as Leylani leaned up to speak into his ear and Neteyam graced her with a wide smile in response.

Naia’s heart skipped a beat. The details were fuzzy at the distance she was watching from, but she knew without a doubt it was Neteyam. Eywa, she had missed that smile… He looked older, of course, grown up now, but it was still the same smile in the same face she remembered from her memories. He was so handsome…

More young warriors and hunters pushed forward to greet him. These were the people they had both grown up with and many of them had been close in their younger years. The eagerness to welcome their old friend was understandable. However, Naia did not miss Neteyam’s distracted gaze in-between his politely returned greetings. She saw his head swivel about, looking through and around the gathered crowd. He was looking for someone.

A sliver of hope unfurled in the depths of Naia’s heart. She followed the line of his golden gaze, flitting from person to person until he looked up then and his gaze locked with hers. His brows raised a fraction, as if in recognition and his eyes settled firmly on her. Heat flushed through Naia, prickling at the surface of her skin, rushing out to her fingertips and trickling down to her toes which curled slightly into the rug beneath them.

Suddenly feeling incredibly shy, she whirled away from the entrance, breaking the piercing eye contact and strode back into the hut.

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

It was stupid, it really was. She was being ridiculous.

Naia had spent the better part of the last seven years dreaming of this day, fantasising of Neteyam’s return to the clan. Yet here she was, holed up in her little grotto like a coward. She had fled the tsahìk’s hut the moment Leylani had arrived to relieve her of her duties. The other woman had attempted to strike up excited conversation about the Sullys’ return, but Naia’s nerves had gotten the better of her and she had waved Leylani away as politely as possible with a fib about being fatigued.

The flame in her lantern flickered, signalling its imminent expiry and she sat upright to add more oil to it so it kept burning. This grotto had been their spot years ago.

After the dreaded return of the sky demons and the forced move to High Camp in the Hallelujah Mountains, she and Neteyam had found this isolated system of small caves not far from the stronghold during one of their evening explorations. Its nooks and crannies had served as convenient hidey-holes away from the worries of life. The grotto had been a quiet place for them to just be themselves with each other.

Naia looked around herself at the rugs that cushioned the ground and the soft bolster rolls she had stolen from her family’s tent to make the place more comfortable. The blanket around her knees was not even a blanket at all, but an old flying shawl that once belonged to Neteyam. With a growl of frustration, Naia pressed her fingers to her tired eyes and lay back again, peering up at the starry night through a fissure in the cave’s ceiling. She knew why she was nervous, knew where the feeling of dread that plagued her now was coming from.

The reality of Neteyam’s return had brought with it a confronting possibility, one that Naia had not thought of before as his return had never seemed likely. What if he did not feel the same way? What if he had not missed her at all?

What if she was the crazy one clinging sentimentally on to youthful feelings that for most people, would have probably faded away with time? Her heart squeezed at the thought. She had wished so long for this day and now that it was actually here, Naia ashamedly felt like she was safer in the illusory retreat of her dreams.

Naia had never planned to feel this way. Her feelings had crept up on her younger self and before she knew it, she had fallen in love. She remembered the day she had realised…

*** FLASHBACK - 8 YEARS AGO ***

Naia hovered by the entrance of the Sullys’ family tent, wringing her hands absently. She tried her best to tamp down the roil of nauseous worry in her gut. It was a happy day after all. Neteyam had passed his final rite of passage; his Dream Hunt.

Only the males in the clan completed this last rite and it was a dangerous feat. There were Na’vi who died during this rite, where they were put into a chemically induced trance by swallowing a psychoactive alkaloid worm and stung by a toxic arachnoid. The men would then begin their spiritual hunt for their path in life until the trance wore off.

Neteyam had passed, but the exercise took people to the edge of death and Naia knew that the ordeal had been taxing on her friend.

The heavy cloth flaps of the tent parted then and Neytiri exited. She stopped at the sight of Naia, registering the look of deep concern on the girl’s face. Neytiri cast a reassuring smile at Naia, knowing the girl would be worried for her son, “Hello Manaia. He’ll be alright. He’s asleep but you can go in and see him if you like.”

“Thank you, I’d like that.” Naia responded graciously, and she disappeared without any further preamble into the tent.

Neytiri bit back a chuckle. For a tomboy who proclaimed often that she found the opposite sex unappealing, she was certainly very attached to Neteyam. Naia certainly did not think Neteyam was gross.

Inside the quiet embrace of the Sullys’ home, Naia padded carefully over to where Neteyam lay on his back on his sleeping mat. Folding her legs beneath her, she sat by his side and surveyed him. His breaths puffed slowly and evenly from slightly parted lips as he slept and apart from a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, he appeared otherwise healthy. Naia felt her worry dissipate at the sight.

Neteyam was her best friend. She did not know what she would do without him.

Naia knew she was not like the other girls who gushed over new jewellery and spent hours re-braiding their long locks into intricate styles. Naia considered herself groomed as long as she ran her fingers through her short hair in the mornings and put on clean clothing. She was not demure by any means and her smart mouth often took people by surprise. Her peers found her odd and she was often excluded from company as a result. But Neteyam had always accepted her as she was.

There was a large bowl filled with water by Neteyam’s head and a clean pile of folded cloth squares sat beside it. Taking a square of cloth, Naia submerged it into the cold water and wrung it dry. She folded it in half and lay it across his forehead and repeating the same process, she lay another wet cloth over his chest. The warm season was humid and the cloths would help to keep him cool.

He looked so peaceful as he slept and Naia let her eyes follow the unique patterns of bioluminescent freckles that dotted his cheeks and trailed up the bridge of his nose to disappear under the cloth over his forehead. Dreamily, her gaze fell to the curve of his lips then. What would they feel like under her fingertips?... What would they feel like against her own?...

The last thought startled Naia out of her reverie. Embarrassment heated the pointed tips of her ears. Had she really just been thinking about kissing Neteyam? One half of her was aghast at the thought, while the other half wistfully pointed out that he was a nice boy and very nice to look at too. As she confronted her embarrassment, Naia let an involuntary groan of mock disgust escape her and it disrupted Neteyam’s restful state.

Neteyam’s face contorted and a pained groan left him. Cursing silently, Naia chastised herself for forgetting her surroundings and placed a hand on his chest to settle him with soft hushing. He squirmed even more then and his scrunched eyelids opened to reveal bleary gold orbs. Leaning over him so she could check his pupils like Mo’at had taught her, Neteyam jumped then at the sight of her.

“Hey, it’s OK, it’s just me.” Naia breathed steadily, removing the wet cloth from his forehead to soak it again in the cold water.

Neteyam grunted and a wan smile lifted the corners of his lips, “Sorry, I thought you were Leylani for a moment.”

Naia’s brows lifted in question and irritation flashed through her, “Why’d you think that?”

A sleepy mumble, “Dunno. She’s on duty today isn’t she? I thought maybe Grandmother had sent her over to check on me.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not Leylani and that you didn’t wake to her beautiful face instead.” Naia said, attempting to sound calm, though she knew she had failed miserably when her words sounded like a sour hiss even to her own ears.

Neteyam snorted and coughed as his laughter escaped him, “No, I just meant that I wouldn’t want her to see me like this.”

His words did nothing to assuage Naia’s flaring annoyance.

“Ugh, you boys are all the same, honestly! Drooling after her big eyes and her pouty lips-”

“Naia-”

“She could easily lead all of you round by your cocks-”

“Manaia-” A slow and deliberate growl from Neteyam.

“What?!” Naia spat heatedly, further displeased by Neteyam’s use of her full given name and his interruptions. She much preferred it when he called her ‘Naia’. Only he called her that.

Neteyam pursed his lips impatiently at her and sighed, “Don’t misunderstand me. I only meant that I wouldn’t be completely comfortable with Leylani checking on me. I’m glad it’s you. I don’t feel like I have to put up any fronts with you.”

Naia felt her irritation fizzle out at his sincere words. She gave a half-hearted harrumph in response and placed the cool cloth over his forehead again.

“Thanks Naia,” Neteyam muttered, before a teasing glint sparked in his eyes and he asked, “Did you worry for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Neteyam snickered and he reached out with a hand to curl it over hers, causing a flurry of tingles to erupt in Naia’s stomach, “I told you I’d be OK. I’m a mighty warrior.”

Naia giggled in response to his quip. And there it was again, that warm and prickling urge to touch him. She wanted to nuzzle his cheek and kiss him.

Eywa help her, she was falling for him. Hard.

*** FLASHBACK END ***

They had grown particularly close in the last year before his family’s forced departure, and their relationship had teetered on the delicate line between friendly and romantic affection.

The passing of Neteyam’s final rite had meant that he was busy during the days with the rostered patrols and hunts that formed a warrior’s duties to the clan. Their separation during the days had only served to bring them closer in the evenings once Jake and Neytiri were done with their own work and Neteyam was relieved of watching his siblings.

Naia rolled over onto her side, tucking her face against one of the bolster rolls as she recollected their evenings together, a pensive smile dancing on her lips. They would meet at the grotto after last meal and Neteyam would regale her with tales of what had happened during his day’s patrol or the day’s hunt. They would play a game of Five Stones and talk of menial things, and when the season got cold, they would lie alongside each other under the blankets by a small fire and watch the stars until they fell asleep.

There had been a secure comfort between them when they were curled around each other for warmth; their skin pressed against each other’s as she lay tucked against him with her cheek against his shoulder. However, that was as far as their affection had gone.

In hindsight, Naia realised that she and Neteyam had basked in the luxury of the time they thought they had, unhurried and shy in their blooming bond. They had been young after all, fifteen-year-olds new to the idea of potential romantic connections. At least, Naia had assumed Neteyam felt the same way. She had never spoken of her growing feelings for him, nor had he given any verbal indication of his own, but she felt the tenderness between them had been evident in the way they were around each other.

When Naia had eventually made her feelings known to him, it had been out of sheer desperation as her world had crumbled around her; when they had run out of time.

*** FLASHBACK – 7 YEARS AGO ***

Tomorrow? They were leaving tomorrow? Naia stood stunned before Neteyam as her chest heaved with mounting panic at the revelation. Jake and Neytiri had broken the news to the Omatikaya earlier that day that the family would be leaving the clan to seek refuge elsewhere from the sky demons. It was both to protect their family as well as to protect the people.

Neteyam had managed to sneak away amidst the anxious bustle of his family while they packed their belongings and readied their ikran for the gruelling journey the morning would bring. He had known she would be waiting at their spot.

“How long will you be gone for? When will you return?” Naia asked tremulously, her golden eyes wide and frantic.

The burgeoning lump in his throat was beginning to hurt and Neteyam swallowed it down tightly, “I don’t know. Probably not for a long time, not until the danger of the sky people is gone.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Naia’s voice was a keening moan as her throat constricted from her imminent tears.

“I don’t want to go either, but it’s not safe for the people if we stay. The demons are hunting my family!”

“I want to go with you!”

“No, you can’t! You must stay here. Your family is here!”

Naia’s expression twisted into a pained grimace and her vision blurred, her eyes pooling with barely contained tears. Her breaths hitched as her frame fought to suppress the sobs that threatened to tear their way from her soul. Neteyam was her truest friend. She turned to him for everything and losing him would leave a gaping hole in her heart.

“Don’t cry, Naia. Please don’t cry.” Neteyam’s voice wobbled unsteadily, his own emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Naia never cried and the pitiful sight of her now caused a painful stab in his chest.

Neteyam’s words broke her and the floodgates of Naia’s tears burst forth. Her hands moved to shield her face as she sobbed and she felt Neteyam’s arms encircle her in a tight hug. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, pressing her face into his shoulder, while his other hand rubbed slowly up and down her back.

A voice he recognised to be his father’s called his name in the distance and Neteyam muttered a strong curse. Burying his nose into the Naia’s short choppy locks, he sighed softly, “I have to go now. I’ll miss you.”

Naia clung on even tighter to his shoulders at Neteyam’s words of farewell. She could not deny the truth of her feelings anymore and it hurt to hold them in. She was in love with him and she had been for many moons now. She felt his hands come to rest at her hips, gently trying to pry her away.

By Eywa, she loved him. However, her words would not come to her amid her hitching breaths. No matter. She could show him all the same. Naia’s grief made her bold and, stepping back, she cupped her face with both hands and leaned in to press a salty, tear-stained kiss to his lips. She felt him stiffen in her hold and his breathing halted. His lips remained unmoving beneath hers and Naia pulled away at the realisation.

Neteyam’s face was stricken as she blinked perplexed eyes at him. Hurt speared through her chest and Naia wondered if she had made a gross miscalculation. He had not returned her kiss.

Jake’s voice sounded again, this time in the much nearer vicinity, and Neteyam began his slow retreat as he made to leave. He cast a pained grimace at Naia and his head shook sorrowfully, “I’ve got to go, I’m sorry. Goodbye Naia, take care of yourself.”

Naia’s gaze never left Neteyam’s back as she watched him stride away and she felt her wounded heart plummet like a stone into her stomach.

Goodbye my love…

*** FLASHBACK END ***

Cussing quietly to herself at the memory, Naia cringed. Perhaps he had not felt the same way after all. The recollection of her unreturned kiss twinged in her chest and she quickly pulled the shutters down over her heart. It had been seven long years and she was grown now. Time to let her daydreams and childish fantasies go. She would need to pay her respects tomorrow; it would be improper not to greet Toruk Makto’s family and welcome them home. She would bury her feelings and treat it as a fresh start.

Letting her heavy eyelids droop, she tucked her knees closer to her chest and curled into a more comfortable resting position. Naia pulled the flying shawl up around her shoulders and turned to press her face into the soft bolster roll next to her. She resolved to sleep in the grotto tonight. Her parents knew she was very independent and if her occasional overnight disappearances bothered them, they had never remarked on it.

Sleep was almost fully upon her when a deep voice startled her out of her drowsy state, “Naia?”

Fright rushed through Naia in a powerful torrent and she leapt up in an instant to face the intruder, instinctively crouching low into a defensive position with a snarl, her tail lashing behind her. No one had ever found her here and the disturbance was a shock to her system.

The male at the grotto’s entrance immediately took several steps back, holding open hands out before him in a non-threatening display of submission, “Whoa sorry! Hey, it’s alright! It’s just me.”

Naia took in the sight of the large male in the burnished gold of the lamplight. Strong legs and narrow hips flared out to a lean torso. His chest and shoulders were well-muscled and woven armbands sat snugly around impressive biceps. The musculature of his stature was unfamiliar to her, but as her scrutiny stopped to rest on his face, she found his visage to be a very familiar one indeed.

Neteyam.

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

Author’s Note: Can you feel the romantic tension in the air? :P Teehee! We will see their full interaction in Chapter 2! Thanks for reading and leave me a line with your thoughts!

Chapter 2 - A Kiss Long Awaited

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