#to the knight in black armor scrolling through the halls.

[moodymisty]

Listen I know the wall husbands heads are full of concrete but I'm interested in what you could do with a black templar

Maybe having a cleric darling (Thinking more of a lay person vs someone like a sister of battle) so there can be some delicious religious subtext

But I also know some black templars are very much into seeing when normal baseline humans can overcome the odds and rise above with their own zeal.

Maybe she isn't a combatant but by the God Emperor she will help out however she can even if it is just passing him boltgun magazines.

I got ideas for Black Templars but they're all over the place! Maybe you can make more sense of my ramblings and since it's still on the brain it could be Yandere or not just however you can make a Black Templar with a Darling work

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: So... I went apeshit. I apologize. I just fucking love doing religious subtext and whatnot. Also the frail maiden with her knight. Combining them? Awooga. Like this is my dream prompt. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: His thumb presses against your lips, and your mouth opens. You can taste the metal on your tongue, like bitter iron. His hand despite being so inhumanly large is so dextrious and gentle, and the thoughts that enter your mind are sickening.

Relationships: Unnamed Black Templar/Fem!Reader (there aren't pronouns used but the lady/knight vibe is super intense)

Warnings: A smidge lewd but not NSFW, Vague traditional gender roles-like talk (being gentle/needing to be protected etc), Religious under(over)tones, Forbidden romance undertones, Vague yandere/yandere beginnings, Armor kink if you squint, Brief mentions of blood and murder, General 40kness

Word Count: 2209 oops uwu

Ceramite boots thud against the floor like the thunder overhead, echoing in the high, vaulted ceilings.

He hears a tile crack underneath his right boot as he shifts his weight onto it mid-step.

He was always heavier than his brothers. His armor had to be adjusted three different times to fit him as he outgrew it.

'Leave him, he’s off to go for his prayers, and to stalk the locals.’

His one battle brother had laughed at the other’s comment, as he left them all behind to return to the cathedral. It's far from his first time here, in these sanctified halls. He finds himself returning here after almost every patrol, every outing, every moment alone.

His armor shifts with his movement, and he rolls his left shoulder during his walk. He’s had the armor fixed after a stray round hit him in the shoulder, but it still feels off. Like the motion is ever so slightly delayed in comparison to his other interface ports.

He'll get it looked at again. For now he has a different pursuit.

It’s the dead of the night, moon high in the sky as he walks through the nave past pews filled with nothing but air. At this time of night he knows it will only be you here, keeping candles lit and rolling scrolls. A stray servoskull might flutter past every now and again, but other than that, you remain in complete solitude.

No distractions, no needless fluff. You're always busy, fluttering about, making yourself useful where you can. You aren't able to fight, not this threat, but your obedience in cleaning armor- weapons when an Astartes allows- and other such duties has earned you enough to stay where your fellows have left.

Many of the other human refugees have been shipped off at this point, to become the Militarium's logistical problem. You and a few others however have earned your keep. At least in the eyes of the Black Templars.

You'll be far safer here than in a Militarium camp stuffed in with hundreds to thousands of others; Like animals waiting to be shipped off world.

You'll be far safer here with him.

There you are. He can spot you from across the cathedral, and a part of him wonders why it has such an effect on him. His hearts beat faster and his neck tenses; It feels like how he does whenever he's about to fight, but also distinctly different. It almost makes him feel like he's sick from an illness he can't explain.

The moment you hear him however, knowing the sound of an astartes this late and this far away from his brothers could only be him, your back straightens. You've been leaning over for awhile, and your body makes uncooperative cracks as you stand at his approach.

He stops in front of you, at the bottom of the ambulatory steps that rise up to the main altar. You stand at the top of them, quickly moving aside so he can come closer. When he does, you can feel his gaze through the lens of his helmet. It always feels heavy, even when his helmet isn't tilted you way you swear you can feel whenever his eyes are on you.

With both hands he unseals his helmet with a soft hiss, grasping it by the rim before handing it to you. It’s almost too heavy for your grip, but you manage to hold it close to your chest and avoid dropping it. Meanwhile he takes a knee, elbow on his knee as he drops his head in prayer.

His chainsword shifts on his back, over top of a long, tattered cape that's stained with mud and blood at the bottom hem. Astartes don't leave their armor during war, and so the cloth holds the weeks long stench of iron and rotting flesh. It simply burns however, until a few minutes later and then you can no longer smell. For the best, more than likely.

The cathedral is cast in complete silence, his shoulders shifting underneath plates of ceramite. He always is whenever he prays, unlike his brothers in the few times you've seen them. Perhaps it's just a quirk of his. Or maybe they're the odd ones.

Then again, they aren't the ones visiting an empty cathedral in the dead of night, only to meet a single person. Over and over again.

When he rises, he gently takes his helmet from your hands and latches it onto his belt. You speak up for the first time since he appeared.

"Have you made good progress out there? The weather seems to only be getting worse."

He looks down at you; His short, hastily chopped hair dry and pressed in odd places from the pressure of his helmet. It's mostly dry now, but you can tell it was wet not long ago. He must've taken his helmet off in the rain and was instantly soaked to the bone.

"The Emperor watches over us. We will prevail despite the deluge."

Said deluge batters on the tall glass windows of the cathedral, and thunder cracks not much later. The sound gives you a momentary jolt. This particular storm has been going all day, but the area has been battered with rainstorms for weeks now on and off. It might not slow them down, but you can see dried chunks of mud where they've had to trudge through it to progress. Most of it is washed away on him now, the rain having cleaned his armor significantly.

Your hands grasp each other tightly, no longer having his helmet to act as some sort of grounding.

"I tried to pray like you do, this morning." His eyes noticeably brighten ever the slightest, as your voice echos in the empty cathedral. "I wanted to pray to the Emperor that you stayed safe out there."

You don't know if he finds it amusing; But the corner of his mouth quirks upward ever so slightly anyways.

"Then pray for our victory, not our safety. What matters is that we succeed," He states.

You hear the mechanics in his armor shift as he leans slightly more on his left leg than right. It's like the armor is simply an extension of himself, and you suppose it is.

He is the first astartes you've even seen, so your knowledge is sparse. A small part of you has so many questions you'd wish to ask him, not knowing if he'd even entertain you with an answer.

You're fascinated by him; You wonder if he thinks the same of you. The way he acts lends you to think so, but you don't know how to feel about it.

In the corner of your eye you notice movement, and turn to the right just a bit and see someone walking across the nave. But when they catch sight of you and one of the Black Templars, the scurry out of the main hall like death was on their heels.

It isn't the first time someone has made a conscious effort to avoid you, now that you have an astartes taking such an interest in you. People are keen to spend as little time around them as possible- as despite them being the primary source protecting you all, they have more than displayed their fickle nature. One misspoken word and you could be gone. It's happened before. You know of a few faces that have disappeared with little a word.

You must look away from him for too long, as suddenly his armored hand grasps your jaw, turning your face back to him. The awkward angle due to his height makes your neck ache, and you grasp at the seams of his gauntlet for any sort of support.

"Are you going to try and run like they did?"

He says, watching you like he's looking for something more than a simple answer.

You wonder what he sees. If he notices the way your heart has begun to race in fear and something else, as he overtakes your vision. That something else was only for those rare moments of solitude where your reasoning left you, and your mind wandered to areas it shouldn't. If you'd known any better, you might've thought such things were blasphemous, or something of the sort.

Suddenly, you remember that he's waiting for an answer; You watch as the scars on his face move when he shifts his jaw.

"No."

He takes a step closer and with no more room your back presses against the altar just behind you. You risk nearly bending over it from how close he is, his dominant leg taking root just close enough that your legs have to part to let his knee past.

The shadow of the window mullions decorate the back of his armor, the light making the shadows against his face even harsher. You can even see the shadows of large rain droplets against his pauldrons, sliding down as if they've actually fallen on him. You can hear them hit the glass as the wind whistles outside and rattles the glass.

You watch him wondering; His eyes and face are completely unreadable. Astartes are so stoic, any little emotion is held invisible deep within themselves. Trying to figure out what he's thinking is an impossible task, though it's clear the interest he has in you is no longer just curiosity. That thought makes your heart pound against your chest as if it's trying to escape, your blood hot.

His thumb presses against your lips, and your mouth opens. You can taste the metal on your tongue, like bitter iron. His hand despite being so inhumanly large is so dextrious and gentle, and the thoughts that enter your mind are sickening.

It feels like he's toying with you; Experimenting with something new as he watches the way your soft skin gives under his armor. Your hands and gentle skin have faint crumbles of candle wax and ink on them from your work, as they grasp his armor.

You're terrified. You want more of him. You'll be happy to burn if that's what it requires.

"You'll come with me, when we are finished here."

You whisper his name, telling him yes as if you were foolish enough to think you had a choice in the matter. No one but him is here to hear it.

If someone was you wouldn't be able to see them from the way his massive armored form overtakes almost all of your vision, swallowing you in a sea of shadow and pitch black armor. They would see as he leans down, his thumb leaving your lips. You can feel his hot breath on your skin. The way he almost seems to suffocate you with how much of his body looms over you, just to get close. You can hear your own heartbeat so you just know he can, his eyes dilated and nearly total black.

Your back hurts pressing against the edge of the altar, feeling vulnerable underneath his unreadable stare. The fabric of your clothing bunches in places and rises up on your body, catching on the seams of his leg plates. His armor might be cold, but astartes run hot; Like their blood is boiling, so beneath that metal chill is the heat from the skin visible on his face and neck. You think if the cathedral was any colder, his hot breath would be visible.

His lips hover over yours, brushing as if he's so thoroughly detailing every step of this. Savoring each moment, or perhaps just toying with you. Watching the way a human so much smaller than him writhes under his grip at his mercy. You want to finish it, but the hand clamped around your jaw won't allow you, as much as you want to yearn and beg and plead to k-

'Brother. Return from toying with the refugees, the chaplain has returned with an update.'

Suddenly audible is a deep voice shaken by vox distortion emanating from his helmet; His head turns ever so slightly in it's direction. The bow of his upper lip brushes over yours as he does so. His brow furrows and he seems visibly irritated, interrupted during the worst possible time. You are as well, though it's more of desperation as you try to silence the way the your body aches for just him.

But as quick as it had begun it all ends, as he rises to his full height and removes his hand from your jaw. It complains with the promise of a hefty bruising, as he uses the same gauntlet to one handed slip his helmet back onto his head.

You can feel him stare at you even through the lenses, as he shifts in his armor and walks past where you stand splayed against the altar, clothes a mess. Your legs wobble as if about to give out from underneath you without his support, a weight like a rock in your lower belly.

He walks down the ambulatory in silence and leaves you alone once more, but you know it won't be for long.

#if you want me to name him and design him feel free to say! but for now you can make him the astartes ken doll of your dreams #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #black templar x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[nyxhaven]

A Knights Honor pt. 1 (gale x reader, gn tav)

Authors note: (open to nice criticism, au Gale of waterdeep is to be heir of blackstaff academy tower, when a new Knight gets appointed to be guarding the tower. Will Gale be able to take over blackstaff or will his newest interest blind him. ((gale flirting, fluff, cute moments, light spice) idk what this is gonna be I just have some cute ideas for gale and a knight we will see. probs gonna be a couple parts)

Part 2

“Get a move on” you say to the other soldiers with you

You have been summoned to blackstaff tower by open Lord silverhand, you have also been told that an increase of security is being spread out through out waterdeep ever since the zhents activity has risen.

you adjust your armor after climbing all these stairs, you notice the old waterdeep architecture, no windows anywhere and dark stone with simple carvings patterned into the bricks, only few mage lights here and there illuminated the halls of this place. you reach a large door at the end of the corridor, a small plaque labels the door as the office of the blackstaff. Pushing the door open you enter a small office.

“take these scrolls back” a woman says, a young male drow grabs the scrolls and turns to walk away before seeing you and giving a rude look. one you are not unwelcome to rude stares ever since you’ve started in the city watch.

“uh excuse me, I am tav. a city watch memeber sent from open lord silverhand to watch over the black staff tower. I have been sent here with 3 other soldiers where 2 will be set up at the entrance and exit one will also be patrolling all times the halls, and I at whoever’s side for protection I can also patrol halls and stand by exits” you say to the human women in front of you, gesturing to the people behind you, you turn back to the elder woman sitting in her chair.

“ah, bout time silverhand answered my call to guards. I am vajra safar, I am the current blackstaff welcome to my tower. set up your guards and get familiar with the tower, this ring will allow you into the parts of the tower you need. once familiar with the tower head to the top, mr. dekarios will be the one your guarding, he’s the head of our research and teaching here my heir to the tower.” she hands you a key and goes back to looking through scrolls brought to her by others

“Thank you” You take the ring and escort your guards getting them posted, a small time passes getting acquainted with the tower you find yourself at a large bridge near the top of the tower. You walk across seeing the view of Waterdeep its mid day and the city seems to just be waking. Continuing across you find a another small tower. You knock on the door and listen for a noise.

“Ah, one second please” a rugged voice calls from the other side of the door. After a small while the door swings open to show a man flattening down his robe a simple black, with small gold details. Brown hair pushback flowing down to his neck curling at the ends as if to protect the soft skin below it. A strong 5 o’ clock shadow cover his jawline, heavy hooded eyes stare at you. “I must apologize, I am gale dekarios, come in please. ” you take the man before you in before following him in the door “please excuse the mess, allow me” he snaps his fingers making the mage lights shine brighter from the ceiling.

“I am tav, sent by open lord silverhand to protect you. I i will be with you most of your days now and will be around as much as you want me to, and I am surely never one to judge a mess” you straighten your back, and tuck your hands behind your back on top your blades. seeing the gale of waterdeep was not your plan when you were told to guard blackstaff. rumors of the heir to blackstaff have been in waterdeep for a couple years now, such as exploring new types of magic and forbidden tomes. “i’m sorry to intrude on you while working I can stay posted outside the door if you’d like to return to working you look a busy man” you say noticing the mess of papers, cups, ink pots strewn across the place. you notice his tower is elegantly styled with rich purple fabrics draped from the ceiling, a large fireplace lay across the room stoaking a roaring fire.

“stay…please, I haven’t much company recently in the tower having another’s presence around will be great, tara has been in and out so much recently it gets easy to forget how many days you can go with out seeing sunlight.” he says while stacking papers and moving stuff off the main table near a small kitchen. “do you drink tea or coffee? tara says I should drink tea more but I sneak the coffee when she’s away.”

you walk over to the table and notice many papers with writing you have no clue its origin, gale proceeds to make a pot of coffee using a strainer and some magically procured hot water. you notice the small details gale has put into making his part of the tower seem more homely, small fabrics lay on small counter tops and books stacked any spot available.

“i’m fine, thank you it’s kind. I am your guard I don’t think I should be relaxing when we could be attacked anytime, I have a night shift guard coming tonight to take over for me, I rotate the other guards out then maybe then I can join you for tea…or coffee your choice.” making eye contact again, you can’t help the smile the begins to pull at your lips when he looks at you.

“ah, of course… I see. well then i’m heading up to my library to go over some tomes i’ll probably want you there protecting me.” he says in a playful tone, sipping his coffee before setting atop the table.

“I give you my oath to protect you, gale of waterdeep” you say to him bowing your head slightly giving him a playful smirk back

(I just know gale would be a low key coffee snob)

a rather uneventful watch goes by as you stand near a bookshelf watching gale read. you’d occasionally get the “hmm” or “awe” maybe a “interesting” here and there to break up the time. he’d ask politely for you to help him with grabbing and putting books away to avoid tara getting upset about the mess. he fills you in on the details of tara after you awkwardly asked “who is tara that you keep mentioning?”

you cannot help but find yourself staring at him while he browses his books and find the crease under his eyes when he squints to understand a word or his fingers when licking them to turn the page. gale of waterdeep the heir to blackstaff, you cant be serious i’m finding him attractive, this is my job. ignore it tav, you can’t help but not want to ingore how impressive gale is.

after some time in the library gale steps out to stretch, find ingredients to make him a dinner. the sun sets and you rotate the guards out from the morning with the new night batch before your night double comes to tap you out for the night. remembering gales offer for coffee and tea. the time waiting for your shift to be over drags on, finally a nautical twilight welcomes the night and you are off from your duties, luckily with the jobs great pay they also provide housing in the tower. finding your room you let out a sigh of relief shedding your armour and weapons and you retire to a night outfit secretly still stashing a small weapon for emergency.

an hour later you find your self walking the stairs to the same bridge you crossed today. there waiting is gale looking out at the city it’s nightlife stirring with markets celebrating some festival of wardeep culture. he’s adorned a simple deep purple tunic and black pants he’s hairs more nicely slicked back like he’s bathed and a fresh shave shows his smooth curve of his face.

“ah just the magus i’m look for, I wasn’t gonna turn up an offer to have a night dining with the gale of waterdeep.” his attention snaps to you the second your presence steps on the bridge.

“I was hoping i’d see you, again. you are quite lucky. consider this a gift for your first day on the job. you did a good job watching over the library and I today.”

“oh, thank you” thank gods for the night, you feel a blush creep on your cheeks. “i’ll follow you in then” you follow behind the man and steady your breathes. you shouldn’t be nervous, you spent all day with him. you have no clue his love life, his intentions or interest, he’s a very kind man who wants to have a good start to a friendship.

“right this way, also note I am a wizard not a magus though we have plenty of amazing magus here I am not one.” he says smiling while leading you in to his tower.

his tower is cleaner then an hour earlier books and stacked neatly and papers and aligned on a desk more then likely thanks to magic, and a fresh scent of food stirs through out the air. you sit for a nice meal and wine being the beverage choice by gale. you go on chatting about lives and where you are from and gale fills you in on…the simple things tara how he started at blackstaff and small past times of his childhood in waterdeep.

the fire kindles down to coals and small flames, the wine bottle has just been poured into the glasses by gale, a silence falls over the tower as the breeze enters in through the set of french doors leading to a deck.

“this was nice tav, thank you.” a low rasped voice says from across the table. his hair slighty falling into his face as he look up to you.

“of course gale this was great getting to know you I hope I serve to show you I can protect your tower and you”

“i’m sure you’ll do a great job, though remember i can fight as well, hopefully never against each other” he says, a faint brush hands as his knuckles pass over yours while setting down his glass. you linger on the feeling his callous knuckles from casting spells. you look up to meet eyes with him before looking out the double doors to the sky full of stars.

“i’ve always wanted to see a star up close” you say to him, and finishing off your wine. “what about you anything you’ve ever wanted to see?”

“yes actually, a lot of things id love to see, this tower gets pretty tiring and lonesome” he’s says while staring at your lips stained with a faint red from the wine.

“I hope to hear about them all, I better retire for the night. I will see you in the morning gale of waterdeep, you have my promise.” you say standing heading for the door

“just call me gale you don’t need to worry i’m the “off waterdeep” part, I like you”

you retire for the night in your bed thinking of the small moment tonight when you’d make eye contact and your breath would hitch, or when you say something smart and you had no clue what he’d said but it was cute the way he’d ramble on about it. you savored the last taste of the wine you had on your tongue and rested till morning.

#bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale x gn!reader #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #baulders gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav

[joytraveler]

13. Space Paladin

Space Paladin begins with fast paced rock and a montage of the hero suiting up, with their gold and white power armor they're quite imposing as they jet off towards what will be the first stage!

"SPACE GHOST!"

A side-scrolling shooter similar to Gradius, though made a bit easier by your ability to deflect shots with your sword and knock them into enemies.

HNV: Ooh, superheroes in space, an underused video game archetype! DueyDecimal: I believe this is more like a KNIGHT in space! Syrupentine: I hope it's not the kind that can only move in an L shape

You can even knock enemies into each other for extra damage! Because of this, you have to time your attacks right and being aggressive usually yields you only a swift demise.

aroseahorseboy: ping pong those meteor monsters! aroseahorseboy: whoa they knock each other back at you too, that's not fair

"Space Knight is really kind of Space Pong but you know what, I get to put on a fancy robot suit and go out in the universe, and that's what I- WHOAH!! Slow up there, Dragonfart!"

The first boss rushes past from the back of the screen, a mechanical dragon that flaps up and down quickly, spitting homing fireballs. "Oh he's cool looking! I hate him also, he's hard, ow!"

Klickitat_Street: Hey, she’s just trying to defend her family! Look at all the eggs you destroyed on the way! Syrupentine: I wouldn’t want to lay meteors. :( HNV: That would probably give you hemorrhoids... Klickitat_Street: Or assteroids. :P Baconnaise: Bea is it okay if you have two less fans soon

She also discovers she can charge up her slash attack. This lets her create a shockwave when she swing, and lets her knock back projectiles twice as fast!

"He's like, 'You know as a knight I was really worried I wouldn't find a dragon in space and I'd just have to settle for slaying a space manticore or something.' "

"And the dragon's like 'Ahh no lousy stinkin' knights up here in the black reaches of- D'OH!!' "

Her final blow chops its head clean off.. and then the head flies away, apparently cackling! "Hey, I'm going to put you on the hood of my car next time I see you!"

aroseahorseboy: you thought you could hoard all the space damsels and astro-gold you wanted? aroseahorseboy: THINK SPACE-AGAIN DueyDecimal: I love when ‘space’ is used as a prefix in the future! HNV: That’s mostly the fault of dictation soft where failures comma Dewey. Glockroach: So is he dead or is he gonna show up later attached to a battleship or a dump truck or something

"I mean, he's bound to show up later, I kind of like when games get a rivalry going between- oh.." The next stage has begun without warning. This time you're flying through a long tunnel lined with statues that appear to be other Space Paladins? The music is much more soft and somber, and Bea finds herself being attacked by ghostly warriors.

"Whoah, the Hall of Ancestors? And none of them are happy to see me, it seems! 'I remember youuu.. I gave you twenty bucks and you never gave it back and then I DIED!' And my guy's just like 'but you're dead now you'll never need it' and they're like 'nope, nope, don't care, we're haunting you, we called up all them dead relatives and we're gonna use 'em' "

berd_snurglar: hey, harsh but fair DueyDecimal: The makers of this game were definitely going with the super overblown portrayal of paladins, huh! With the deep religious themes and asking for spiritual guidance and stuff Meanwhile in every game I run, the Paladin ends up being “The Terminator, except he can turn water into wine“

The vengeful ghosts really test Bea’s ability to reflect shots, and she finds herself using her special spin move more to clear the screen of projectiles than to attack!

A giant knight statue kneels at the end of the stage. There's a bit of dialogue here! Unfortunately none of the text is legible, it's like an alien language. "Huh. Anyone got the secret decoder ring or possibly Google Translate"

Glockroach: It says ''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''' ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' Syrupentine: Oh, it’s Woodstock! berd_snurglar: dude got big and joined the space guild I guess wait is the statue also talking or is it knightdude just introspecting

Bea is then presented with a choice- two options, but both in the same abstract "language".

"Uuuuhhhhhhh... Guess we'll do a vote? How many for nonsense A vs. nonsense B?"

DueyDecimal: OK, hang on, maybe it’s a cryptogram? Can we figure out which of these characters is the ‘E’ and work it out from there? aroseahorseboy: that would be the one that looks like ‘ Baconnaise: you are already nonsense, Bea HNV: What was the name of this show again? Syrupentine: i just call it Bea Time Oh jeez duh. PRESS BEA!

"First option is usually 'Yes' with these things, but what am I agreeing to here?" She flips back and forth, moaning and groaning before she makes her choice.

Instantly, the statue's eyes light up and it rises to its feet, pulling a giant sword down from offscreen. "Y'okay, I clearly just agreed to take a look at your cool sword! Done, let's go! Bye!"

HNV: I’m going to assume that he offered to rule the universe with you as father and son and you just said no? snerd_buglar: 'look around lad, all this could be yours' 'what the statues?' 'no not the statues lad!'

This battle feels more dire because there’s no projectiles to reflect, just clashing swords as Bea flies through the endless tunnel of moaning ghosts! Bea still has her own shots, but can’t seem to land a hit on the giant statue with them, it’s even better at blocking than she is!

"I really don't know what to do, nothing seems to get through!" After several minutes of clashing blades, Bea's getting ready to give up, until she realizes she's no longer in control. The warriors have lowered their weapons. Then, they clasp each others hands, and shake.

"Oh."

Syrupentine: Oh. berd_snurglar: oh. Bee52: oh Llord_Kuruku: Oh...

The screen slowly fades to black, but as it does, some sort of energy appears to flow between the giant knight and their smaller successor..

"See I knew I was worthy of the...thing, you guys all worried for nothing!"

DueyDecimal: Why is everyone saying “Oh?” Oh. HNV: The only thing I was worried for nothing about was that Screen 2 wouldn’t match how crazy Screen 1 was...

Screen 3 opens with a legion of ships flying by in the background, over an Earth-like planet. A single while pixel can be seen darting between them- and several are split clean in half! The pixel then flies directly into the camera, and we see it's our knight again! The stage truly begins as they fly low over what looks to be the mothership, touching down to run along its surface.

"Oh dang, a run-em-up now? Okay! Gravity shmavity, it looks cool as hell"

berd_snurglar: this is kind of like someone make an NES lords of thunder and i'm diggin it Llord_Kuruku: I’m starting to to dig this game for real, it’s got a really epic sense of scale

"Yeah me too, Kuru. Wish I knew just what was going on but that's kind of part of the fun I guess!"

HNV: That’s part of the appeal of all of these games, isn’t it? There’s something under the surface, even with the bad and unplayable ones!

Bea can't fly here but she can jump, and she has to to clear some of the turrets and missiles that fly by. "Just, just chop it up already, what's the hold up?"

TaichouSenseiKun: Drama!

She doesn't need to fight much until the miniboss appears, a robotic manticore with an unpleasantly human face-plate and literal stinger missiles!

DueyDecimal: DUDE! Bee52: this is the Monster Manual in space!! berd_snurglar: dewey did you make this one DueyDecimal: Did I?? We’ll see if you have to fight a mechanical hook horror next! HNV: A Robotyugh aroseahorseboy: CPU flayer

This stage is basically a gauntlet of minibosses. After the manticore comes a somewhat underwhelming robo griffin, but its more than made up for by the robo beholder!

Glockroach: B-H0LD R DueyDecimal: This isn’t just a game I’d make, this is what I see when I close my eyes

Approaching the bridge at last, there is no crew visible beyond the windows. Only a glass dome containing the head of the dragon from stage 1. It seems to cackle before turning as much firepower on Bea as possible!

Syrupentine: He’s back!! I love this dragon HNV: Do we get to name him or is that only for heroes Glockroach: Called it btw Llord_Kuruku: Congratulations! You won Space Paladin.

This last boss battle puts Bea’s reflection skills to the test. Some projectiles must be batted back, while new ring-shaped ones must be caught on an outstretched sword and then matched with an opposing color before launching them back to crack the dragon’s dome!

And that's only the first phase- as the battleship itself is finally destroyed, the bridge detaches to become a huge chimera, the dragon head topping off its tail!

"Aaaaahhh.... I did- NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! ARE YOU KIDDING?"

aroseahorseboy: frippin dang dude! DueyDecimal: This game is grueling but at least it keeps rewarding you with new stuff! Bee52: yeah but come on! that was like kids making up rules in a pretend game! Bee52: POW I got you! Yeah, but, um, my head flies away and gets a new body and also it’s got more heads this time!

"Nu-uh, I got invisibility which not only makes me invisible but if you hit me your arm just goes through anyway! And also the floor is lava and I have the lava boots but you don't"

Syrupentine: MOOOOM, BEA'S CHEATING

She can only get a few hits in, but that's all that's needed with her newly empowered sword! "Ahaaaa, eat a big pile of fu- WHAT???"

The last phase seems to be just the dragon head flying about, and she's too distracted by the chat to dodge in time!

She glares at the screen, slowly turning to the chat window. "YOU!!!!" "No big deal, we can always just.. just.. Game over?! What???" Bea squints at the screen. "They give you ONE life to do all that??"

TaichouSenseiKun: one life to live Klickitat_Street: Well now I'm just amazed at Bea's gaming prowness. All that on one life! Syrupentine: "Prowess" TaichouSenseiKun: Prowness: having qualities resembling the prow of a ship Klickitat_Street: ...I was so ready to come back at you with the dictionary, but no, it is prowess. Everyone's been laughing at me behind my back when I say 'prowness', haven't they. -_-; aroseahorseboy: no you're just in smart company, in real life people probably don't know the word

"Well in spite of how awesome I am, I dunno if I can do that all again, not right now. We'll come back to this one, I have a score to settle!"

aroseahorseboy: any robot dragon that thinks it can mess with Bea has got another think coming probably at least two more thinks since it seems to have several heads

#jtnuggets #jan 19 #bea #hnv #dueydecimal #syrupentine #aroseahorseboy #klickitat street #baconnaise #glockroach #berd #bee 52 #taichousenseikun #llord kuruku

[lunarthedragon]

Demon!Jaskier Part 3

Part One: here | Part Two: here

+++

He likes the quiet worlds. The worlds that are stuck between wars, between enlightenment, between art, between history. When people are just people, never to be written into their books or scrolls or tombs.

It is quiet. It is honest.

He thrives off the delicate moments of reality. The joy and entertainment not meant to sooth a wound. Not meant to pride over philosophy.

It is pure-honest-raw. Mindless laughter, never forced. A burn from an oven, not a pyre. A bruise from a toy ball, not a fist. A cut from a page, not an axe.

He likes these best.

+++

He does not wake slowly. He is unconscious and then not. There is little difference, little change, except how others perceive him, and he never cared much about that anyway.

His chest has been wrapped in thick bandages. Not to heal, but to keep blood off the lovely, fine sheets. The curse is gone, he can feel the push-pull on the wound has been relieved, and he begins to mend the hole.

There are still black veins along his bared limbs and his eyes are pitch black as they look to the sorceress sitting at the foot of the bed. Her back is to him. She does not know he is aware.

He recedes back into his body as the wound heals, feeling like wet wax in a mold, wanting to harden and take shape but never quite-right.

The black veins recede, but his eyes stay dark.

“Hello,” he says, his voice an echo in his cavernous body.

The sorceress stills, startled, but composes herself quickly as she looks around at him. There are designs, freshly painted, on her front, and he tilts his head at them.

“You’re awake,” observes the sorceress, slowly standing, attempting to look bigger than she really is. Chaos envelops her like an old friend, in a way he has seen so few sorcerers and sorceresses do – too frightened, too lost, too greedy – and he straightens back up.

“Yes,” he says. He would usually be more talkative, but he is flayed and speaking at a distance, far away in his own body, and he would like to slip back into an unconscious state. Make his body prone and receptive. Fill in the corners of that mold and dry until he can momentarily pretend that he fits.

“You are—”

“I don’t like you putting spells on my friend,” he cuts her off, black eyes blinking slowly. He never was spectacular with his filter.

The sorceress arches a brow, delicate and strong in a single motion. Impressive. “Now, how would you know about that? You were asleep,” she accuses without actually accusing. Jaskier thinks he quite likes her.

“Was I?” he questions, lips stretching into a too-big, too-thin smile.

The sorceress narrows her purple eyes suspiciously, turning to pace to the other side of the bed, like a prowling panther. “You are not human,” she says, then scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Clearly. Energumen?”

“I really would appreciate it if people would stop calling me that,” he huffs, pouting, and adjusting to sit back against the headboard of the bed.

“Demon, then?”

“Close enough,” he shrugs, setting his hands in his lap.

“Certainly something strong enough to pick a fight with a djinn and survive,” the sorceress observes. “I know you do not hold the djinn’s wishes. I know it is Geralt, despite him saying otherwise.”

“Likely attempting to explain the wound,” Jaskier nods.

“Claimed a wish gone bad,” the sorceress explains, “That you’d wished never to have your heart broken again.”

“And he calls me the dramatic.”

“And now, he has done what I needed done and waits where I can easily retrieve him.”

“Yes…” Jaskier pauses to look around the, frankly, lovely room. “Where is Geralt?”

The sorceress sneers, somehow still beautiful, and says, “What? Don’t know everything after all?”

“Of course not, Y̸͖̓̏ẻ̵̚ͅn̶̐͜n̷̳͒ę̸̒f̴̫̽e̷̖̜͝r̷͔͚͛,” the sorceress startles as he tears her name from the void, from her chest, from the past and present and future. “If I knew everything I wouldn’t bother living in your worlds. It would all be far too boring.”

Yennefer storms back to the foot of the bed, a firestorm in her eyes waiting to come loose. She glares at him, glares down to the pieces of him that still remember agony.

“Either you will help me,” she says, warns, commands, “Or I will fetch your Witcher and use the djinn.”

“You will never bear children, Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he says calmly, casually, as he slips sideway and sits on the edge of the bed. His doublet and chemise are missing, likely too stained with black ooze to ever be recovered, and he begins to unwrap the bandages around his chest. His skin is whole again, no flesh scar in sight, but he still feels it. Faint and fading. A ripple to be ironed out.

“Excuse me?” Yennefer says, hardly more than a whisper, the firestorm within growing so hot she coats herself in ice to combat it. “You have… No idea what I—”

“You are familiar with the conjunction of the spheres?” he cuts in, not in the mood for… whatever had been winding up there.

“What? Yes, of course!” Yennefer snaps, sharp as icicles.

“I predate that. Predate your sight and your books. Your cells and your marrow,” he says lowly, looking towards the sorceress as he wraps up the black-stained bandages. Dark veins that match his eyes reappear on his shoulders and arms. Comfortable. Familiar.

“I have lived far more lives than you can imagine. I have experienced heartache, fury, sorrow, euphoria. I have been a mother, a father, a killer, a savior. Do not claim I do not understand, for I understand more than anyone,” he heaves a breath he does not need, “Speak clearly. Your wild rage falls on deaf ears until it can be wielded.”

“Order to my chaos?” Yennefer snarls, a memory in her eyes that Jaskier does not dwell on.

“Sword to your knight,” he corrects, “Scythe to your reaper. You coat yourself in it. It is the armor you hide behind, when it should be a weapon you wield.”

Yennefer says nothing, glaring at him, her plan falling apart around her without her even realizing. Her mind is shifting, changing, adjusting. Reconsidering.

“My choices were taken from me,” she snarls eventually. “Stolen from me.”

“Some were,” Jaskier agrees, because it is partially true. The threads of Yennefer’s past and fate not all pulling towards herself. “This one wasn’t.”

She looks at him sharply, taking a step towards him as if to threaten. To hurt.

“It was your own choice that led you to this outcome, but that is what hurts the most, isn’t it?” he says and his voice twists, thickening and bubbling out as his hands turn black, too. ”It was always someone else’s fault for hurting you. Abandoning you. Leaving the scars that cannot be seen. You’re used to it. Used to letting someone else take the lead. You may not give them the sword, but you bare your neck.”

“Be quiet,” Yennefer growls, taking another step closer.

”But then, you finally have a choice. Your own choice. A choice with repercussions, but you take it because it is yours. You think you take control. You think you have rule over yourself. Yet all your actions are a cry for help. A cry for vengeance. A cry for pity.”

“Shut up.”

”You are a response, Yennefer of Vengerberg!” he roars, the windows shaking, the candles flickering, the stones growing moss. He pauses, staring at the furious, lavender eyes before him, and calms himself. He pulls back his veins, his claws, but leaves his eyes. “You could so easily be action. You do not want your womb. A child. You want to be loved, but refuse to love yourself.”

“Who says I don’t love myself?” Yennefer snarls, leaning towards Jaskier, who looks up at her from his seat. Completely calm.

“You wear a very pretty mask. My whole life is a mask, I know what they look like,” he replies, then begins to stand. Yennefer steps back, as if she expects him to attack, but he just stands there, holding his hand out in offer.

“I have lived as a mother for children I never gave birth to,” he says, his voice soft, cool as frozen dew, and Yennefer stutters in her spot. Her eyes widen.

“How?” she demands, stepping closer again, but not taking the offered hand.

“Many ways. Surrogacy in some places. Adoption in others. Love in them all,” he says and Yennefer’s lips thin, apparently not liking that answer. Jaskier narrows his eyes. “A child is not obligated to love you. To care about you. And they won’t if that is all you want out of them. But to love yourself and give love, you will always have it returned.”

“What happened to me ‘wielding fury as a weapon’?” Yennefer snaps.

“I do not see why you cannot have both?” Jaskier tilts his head.

They are silent, his hand still outstretched, and her aura thick. Thick with the unsaid. Thick with the reconsidered. Thick with the plans she thinks she hides so well from him. Thick with power and possibility.

She glares at him, glares with a purple wildfire, and slowly reaches out and takes his hand.

+++

Jaskier, after Cintra, makes sure to visit often.

The midday shadows are long and the night is thin, letting him bleed through the streets and alleys and people without them knowing.

They don’t see him come, don’t see him go, but they are resigned that he exists. That he is there. That he means no harm.

Calanthe attempted to throw him out the first few times she turned and he was standing beside her, but each time guards dragged him to the gate they found their hands empty as their queen’s enraged shriek echoed through the halls.

Eist thinks he’s funny. Jaskier likes Eist.

Pavetta always sees him like no one else does, sees the shadow of his shadow, the voice that curls under his skin, and she greets it like a friend. He always plays her the sweetest songs, assuring her the soul in her belly is strong and bright.

Then, when Cirilla enters the world, he sings for her too and makes her laugh with his tricks.

She has chaos in her core like her mother, not yet soured from repression, and she grows up fearless of boys or swords or dark eyes. She laughs when Jaskier flickers behind a guard, startling them when they turn. She begs him to “do the thing” and watches as a hand pushes under his skin, like pushing against a curtain, and strains the skin. He vomits black to scare off tutors when she grows tired of lessons.

“You spoil her more than me,” Pavetta smiles as she and Duny prepare for a trip on the sea.

Jaskier smells death, feels it in the back of his eyeballs, knows they will not return and the space in the shadows of Cintra will fill with sorrow and tears, red like blood. He can feel the void, closing around them, and it feels like he’s staring at a mirror.

It feels like him.

“Someone needs to,” he says instead, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling.

“She’s a princess,” Pavetta rolls her eyes.

Jaskier says nothing. He says nothing nothing nothing.

Only good-bye.

+++

“Good news, Geralt!” Jaskier announces as he walks out of the mayor’s house just as the Witcher comes towards it. “I have made a lovely new friend! You met Yennefer, yes? Gorgeous sorceress? Bewitched you to harass a few diplomats?”

“Got me thrown in a cell,” Geralt growls, looking dubious but also incredibly tasty. Jaskier has never seen him in the leathers he wears now.

“Charming woman, isn’t she?” He then notices Geralt’s own eyes flicking downward. At first, he assumes he is looking at the new shirt Yennefer gave him and he puffs up, preening at the attention, but then realizes the Witcher is likely concerned over something else.

He reaches to pull down the loose collar of the black top and show his bare chest. Something in Geralt jumps, but it is repressed so violently even Jaskier cannot see it.

“I am perfectly fine. As I assured you before,” he smiles and Geralt huffs, looking away. “Now, onto the subject of that djinn. We should sort out your last two—”

“One. I only have one wish left,” Geralt corrects, “Blew up a guards head.”

“Unoriginal, but very well,” Jaskier huffs and he can feel the swell of the djinn in indignation. He doesn’t hide his smirk. He is safe from any further attacks thanks to Geralt’s first wish. “Now, as for the third and final wish… I had an idea,” he smirks even wider, thinner, and glances back at the house where he can feel Yennefer in thought.

Her spell had been dispelled the moment Jaskier touched her skin, and she had begrudgingly accepted that. She had not changed her mind, but she had been given much to think about. He could feel the turmoil in her head, the fire raging white but compressing into a single point.

It worried him.

He did not do well with worry.

“It is your choice, of course, but hear me out…” he turns back to the Witcher, who watches him closely, standing closer than seems necessary. “I worry for what she will do. I worry she will do herself too serious a grievance before she can become something greater than her past. You must be careful with your wording, but…”

“You want me to make a wish for her,” Geralt finishes, looking thoughtful, and his own eyes flick to the mayor’s house.

“It is your choice, of course, and you really must be aware how you word it, but I think—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier’s eyes thin suspiciously, eying Geralt and feeling out his mind. His soul.

He is curious. Not like when he is given a particularly unique contract. Something lighter and sweeter. Something that doesn’t fit what Jaskier knows of Geralt, but somehow feels familiar on his skin. It’s…

Oh…

Geralt is smitten.

He tries to hold back his smile, but it leaks through anyway. It doesn’t feel happy. It feels anguished.

Geralt steps back, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, deliberating over how he wants to say his final wish. Considers for a long time. And then his lips move and the pressure in the air nearly knocks them back.

A storm on the ground, twisting and roaring. Something tethers, like an anchor caught on a stone. Heavy and unruly. Breaking and holding.

It pulls tight, braided with fire and ice. Geralt’s shadow stretches towards the sun.

And then the djinn is gone.

Jaskier feels it pulse once before it is fully free, the current taking it up, up, up. The euphoria is palpable, vibrant as a bird’s feathers. Refreshing as the open air. Warm like home cooking. Freedom.

Jaskier is staring up at the clear sky, clouds curling like a storm, but not with the same promise, when Geralt sucks in a sharp breath.

Jaskier looks at him, then follows his gaze back to the mayor’s house. The windows have been shattered from the release, but he doesn’t think there is anything to be concerned over. Still, Geralt pushes past him, speaking lowly, “I’ll meet you back with Roach,” before hurrying towards the building.

The tether – anchor crushing a stone, holding a ship still as a wave comes crashing down – fades as Geralt leaves.

Jaskier blinks. Whatever the djinn did, it clearly had nothing to do with him… But what could Geralt’s final wish have been? And how could the djinn have manipulated it for their own, malicious enjoyment?

The feeling of finally-here-colliding-obsession-infatuation-pleasure-pain-agony knocks the breath out of Jaskier and he steps back, staring up at the house in shock. Euphoria, but a different kind. A physical kind. Mounting and mounting in a way that feels too sudden. Too rushed.

He knows the feeling. Partakes in the feeling. Loves the feeling.

But this makes something in him roil and curl, contorting back and away until it pulls at his spine. Pulls at his veins like strings on a puppet. Pulls on his heart, strangling it with arteries and claws.

Why? Why does this hurt? Why does he care?

He moves without moving, the world twisting and spinning beneath him before he collapses in a field of flowers on the other side of the world. On a continent forgotten and abandoned.

The crushing on his heart becomes too much and he falls to his knees, raising a black, clawed hand, and plunging it into his chest. Ribs shatter like glass, red blood gushes before it turns black. Skin and eyes turn black, black, and blacker still. Not veins, an all-encompassing shadow eats over his flesh. A living-dead-vacant echo.

He rips out his lungs, throwing them out of the way, and tears out his heart with a shriek. He shrieks and shrieks and shrieks, black vomit and tendrils and hands erupting from his throat and his chest and his spine and his limbs. A mass of nothing and everything.

A single hand is held out, fingers too long, seemingly unaffected by the way the rest of him writhes and cries out. His red heart, still beating, sits in his palm, waiting and hurting and never going away.

He wants the end, but he cannot want himself.

With a shuddering, worldly crack, he pulls his hand in, cradling his heart close to the crater where it once sat.

Anguish. Anguish. So much anguish.

It was his own fault.

Shouldn’t get attached.

That’s why he’s here.

Kill the middle. End the lessons. The journey is death. The end is nothing.

Take him back.

Take him back.

Take me back.

+++

When he comes to, he is whole. His chest is whole and pink, like a fresh wound or a human, he forgets.

There are no organs in his palms, only dirt and ash.

Tears roll down his face. They taste like the ocean.

He’s crouched in a field of death and decay, dead flowers hanging over too-large corpses. Hands, larger than buildings, frozen where they fell in the distance. Ribs curve like archways over his head, closing him in.

He stands and turns and he is gone, smiling when Roach is there and nickers in greeting, the world green and lively once more. The mayor’s house off in the distance, but he pays it no heed. Instead, he pets the Witcher’s mare and waits. Waits. Waits.

A̵l̶w̶a̵y̶s̷ ̷w̴a̸i̸t̵i̵n̵g̸.

+++

Here are the people that asked me to tag them for this part! However, not all of them Tumblr would let me mention, so please make sure you’re not set as a private blog or anything like that. @so-damn-mishalicious​ @patrycjami-chan @matcha0milk @zoeyszone @katgirl05 @tokilabitch

It’s also on ao3 now: here

Part 4 to come soon. These are really fun to write!

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #nonhuman jaskier #demon jaskier #fanfic #geraskier

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Roman’s Birthday: A Tale of Self Discovery

I wrote this while listening to Tale of the Mountain by @spectralheartt so it is heavily influenced by that song.

Word Count: 2,778

Roceit, can be seen as platonic or romantic. The name of the kingdom is an anagram of Imagination.

Roman tore through his room, grabbing all the pages he had on his desk and wrapping them with twine, putting them and as many pens as he could grab at once into his bag. His squire stood at the door, the scroll still in his hand. In a flurry of motion, Roman strapped his sword belt on and picked up his shield, bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Aright, I think I’m ready. Do you have everything you need?” He asked the squire in front of him. 

“I think so. Shall I get the horses ready?”

Roman nodded. “Yes, that would be best.” He strode out of the room, going down the opposite corridor as his squire. He strode through the halls, searching for the one person who he actually wanted to talk to before he left.

Finding him, he crept into the room to surprise his twin brother. Remus stepped to the side at the last second, causing Roman to fall onto his face instead of pounce on the other’s back. Remus cackled. “Having fun, are we?”

Roman rolled onto his back. “Help me up, would you?”

Remus laughed but complied. “So, are you off?” The usually playful man was serious, face a mask of stone.

Roman nodded as he felt his own face settle into a similar mask. “As soon as the horses are ready. Are you sure you won’t go with me?”

Remus nodded. “Yes. Someone has to look after the kingdom while you are gone.”

“But Father is still alive, he’s the king.” Roman pointed out matter of factly.

“Of course. But someone has to make trouble to keep this place interesting. Besides, I don’t think Mother could handle both of us going to war at once.”

“I’m not going off to war. I’m just going to slay a dragon. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Remus slapped him on the back. “Then get going.”

Roman turned, gripping his brother’s forearms. “Take care of yourself, will you?”

Remus nodded, returning the grip briefly before shoving his brother away. “Alright, stop with the sap.” Roman nodded and left.

 In a few minutes, he was off, galloping down the hill and toward the mountain. He let the horse run as fast as they wanted, giving it free rein. The mountain was a few weeks ride away from the castle and they spent the first two hours in silence as Roman enjoyed the feeling of riding for a long while. After they slowed a bit to conserve energy, he began recounting tales of past glory, battles hard fought and won.

The three weeks passed quickly as Roman sang tales in the day and wrote others at night. Soon, they were upon the mountain. For the most part, the horses were capable of traversing the terrain. However, they had to turn the horses back about halfway up as it got too steep for them. The knight prince and squire continued to climb the mountain on foot. 

It took them another half day to climb the mountain up to the cave it was said the dragon came from. They entered the cave, camping in the entrance for the night. In the morning, they ventured deeper. Roman looks for any sign of the dragon, eventually seeing a side tunnel with a scale sitting in it. Quietly, he pointed it out to the squire and they both went down the path, making sure to stay low. Eventually, they reached the end of the tunnel.

It opened out into a large chamber filled with treasure. Curled up on the piles of precious gems, suits of armor, splendid clothes, and many other things Roman was unable to see at the time,was a large dragon. It was an olive green with claws as long as Roman’s sword

The squire didn’t stop fast enough and stepped into a pile of gold coins, making a clatter before Roman could pull him back by the collar of his tunic. The dragon stirred, opening an eye to reveal an iris the color of molten gold. It reared its massive head until it was facing the knight prince and the squire. “Who are you? What do you want?” The voice boomed from the dragon, echoing off the caverns until it seemed to come from every nook and crevice.

Roman squared his shoulders, dropping the squire in favor of pulling his sword from its scabbard. “I am Prince Roman of Initiomagna! I have come to slay you, vile dragon!” 

The dragon almost seemed to sigh. “If that is your wish, I shall not go quietly.” Without warning, a claw swept within inches of Roman’s chest, causing him to throw up his shield instinctively.

The battle was on. Roman fell into familiar patterns of striking, retreating, blocking, deflecting, and moving. His feet moved on their own as he advanced, practically wading forward in the piles of riches that went unnoticed. He felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins and almost laughed as he felt more alive now than he had in years. It felt as if he had been drowning while at home but was now able to have his first breath of air in years.

The battle raged for hours, neither willing to give up and surrender, both knowing it would be to the death. As the hours wanned, Roman could feel his strength slipping away. He could feel the fatigue settle into his bones, the adrenaline fading. He knew the battle was almost over, knew he would lose. Sure enough, claws came down and Roman was unable to bring his shield up in time, his sword piercing the dragon’s hide at the same time, seeming to go into the heart. They raked over his chest, leaving deep gouges that filled with blood. Roman fell against a pile, going limp as the light faded from his eyes. He could hear the squire scream and a deep rumble go through the cave, followed by running footsteps. Then, his eyes were closed and he knew no more.

When his eyes fluttered open, he found that he was in a different cave. The sounds of a fire could be heard somewhere off to the side, the smoke funneling through a hole in the ceiling. His armor was off, leaving him in only his under tunic and leggings. He could feel something pressing on his chest but didn’t see anything. Groaning, he tried to sit up, only for human hands to push him back down at the shoulders.

“If you don’t want to rip yourself in half you will stay lying down for the time being.” A voice that belonged to the hands said. The bed creaked and settled as the person sat on the edge of it, looking down into Roman’s face.

Roman looked back up at the person. A male in black clothing, a half cape edged in yellow wrapped around his shoulders. He had a hat on his head and half his face was concealed in shadows. “Who are you?” Roman managed to get out.

The man turned to look at him, his face still in shadows no matter the angle. “You can call me Janus.”

“What are you?” Slipped out before Roman could process that he was thinking it. It was a valid question as he never knew anyone who could manipulate shadows to do something like what he was seeing done.

Janus laughed. “Some call me a witch.” His answer was noncommittal, almost as if that wasn’t the full answer.

“Where am I? Where is the squire I brought with me?”

“When I found you, a wounded dragon was crouched next to your body. You looked dead even to an experienced healer like me. Your squire probably ran back to wherever you came from to tell your family of your joint demise. As for your location, you are still in the mountain, just in my personal chambers.”

Roman nodded, feeling sleep pull at him. He gave into the soft tugging, allowing his eyes to close and slumber to claim him once more. He spent the next three weeks recovering, at the end of which he was allowed to sit up and walk if he took it slow. It took him another few months to fully recover.

In that time, he found that he enjoyed Janus’ company and preferred the simple way of living in the caverns of the mountain to the extravagance of the castle. He learned his way around every nook and crevice, knowing where to sit for the best sunlight, where best to practice his sword skills. He learned the mountain as if it were the back of his hand and came to love it as home.

Within that time, it was also revealed that Janus was the dragon he had come to slay. Janus is a peaceful creature, capable of shifting between dragon form and human form. The only drawback is that, in human form, he still had to bear his scales on the left half of his face. There, his eye was still the molten gold rather than the warm brown of his human eye. His nostril was pointed and snakelike. He even had a fang on that side. When it was all explained that the village was the one to attack Janus first and he had simply gotten back what was his, Roman understood.

They lived in peace together for years, almost a decade when then the peace was interrupted. Roman had been tending the small farm they kept on the side of the mountain when a laugh rang out. It wasn’t Janus’ and Roman certainly hadn’t been laughing at the time so he looked around for the source of the noise. Janus came out onto the mountainside to stand beside Roman as they heard a different laugh ring out.

Eventually, three travelers came up the mountain. One had a black cloak that could have matched Janus’ capelet but covered a tunic of purple. Another was covered in a gray cloak with a tunic the color of the sky. The third was not wearing a cloak but a blue tunic that matched the color of a deep lake. They all came around the bend, the one in gray making yet another joke that caused the one in black to laugh, matching the second laugh that had rung out. 

Roman and Janus exchanged glances as they stood there, waiting to be noticed. It wasn’t long before the travelers saw them and stopped in their path. It was easy for Roman to look intimidating as his tunic had been discarded on such a hot day and his scars were on full display. They looked between Roman and Janus, taking in the shadows he had conjured to cover his scales even in direct sunlight and Roman’s scars that proved he had lived through some things.

The one rivaling a lake stepped forward and bowed. “Good sirs, as it is near dusk, might we beg shelter for the night? We have our own food, you will not have to worry about feeding us.”

Roman looked to Janus as he was the original owner of the house. Janus crossed his arms. “What are you doing on this mountain?”

“We are on our way to visit the monastery at the top, sir.”

Janus looked to Roman, who shrugged. “I don’t see why not as long as they watch out for Baby.”

Janus smirked, knowing Baby was Roman’s endearing term for Janus’ dragon form. “Of course, we wouldn’t want Baby to get hurt.”

The one rivaling the sky stepped forward. “Who is Baby?”

Janus smiled and Roman knew he was tempted to say, ‘I is Baby’ as he had said so often. Instead, he said, “Baby is another creature that lives in this cave system. You will treat him with respect if you ever come across him.”

All three solemnly nodded before they were ushered into the caves, the one in black releasing a sigh of relief. Roman moved to stoke the fire as Janus showed them an empty cave they could stay in for the night. Janus came back and Roman looked over at him, the shadows having been dropped to conserve energy.

“How do we want to go about this?” Roman asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do we want to just mention Baby and never show him? Do we want as little contact as possible? Do we want to scare them with stories? What do we want to do?”

“I could conjure some minor illusions to have such things as heavy footsteps, scales against stone, seeing a tail out of the corner of the eye. I know you have been itching to have other people know some of the stories that have been trapped in your head for so long.”

“So, I scare them and you top it off? Sounds like a plan.”

That night, Roman had all three guests sitting around the fire before he started his story. “Tell me, do you know the tale of the mountain?”

The one in purple shook his head, bangs falling into his eyes but he made no move to fix them. The one dressed as the sky also shook his head, bouncing in his seat. Janus just looked on, enjoying how Roman’s eyes lit up as he dove into his tale.

“I swear it’s true.” He recounted how he set out, not speaking from where or his status, intent on slaying a dragon. As he spoke, he made gestures with his hands, having all four people engaged in the story. He spoke of the epic battle between himself and the dragon. “As my heart was set a-pounding, I saw that all that glitters isn't gold. For as I gazed upon the hoard of treasure lost to a collapsed cavern, a mighty dragon sat upon it.”

He recalled the battle, embellishing here and there to the point that Janus was described as having been able to use his witch powers in dragon form as well. He spoke of a fake cavern collapse, the treasure lost to time. When he was done, he repeated his beginning lines. “So tell me, do you know the tale of the mountain?”

This time, they nodded. Roman continued. “Tell me, do you hear the call of the mountain? Tell me, do you feel the soul of the mountain?” He reached out, hand connecting with the ground beneath them. “I swear it’s true.”

Janus smiled as the others clapped. The one looking like a lake didn’t clap, but stared intently at Roman. Finally, he spoke up. “My apologies sir but, did you happen to give us your name?”

Roman’s smile grew forced, fake. He knew how to hide his feelings behind smiles and could almost feel the all too familiar stone mask settle back into place as his face took on his polite company face. “Do, I did not happen to give you my name.”

The man nodded. “However, I do believe that we know you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Do you happen to be from Initiomagna?”

“Yes. Are you also from there?”

“No, but I have happened to hear the story of the crown prince who went to slay a dragon but lost his life in the process. This left the kingdom bereft as the king and queen died from their grief and the younger prince took the throne. He has been ruling with an iron fist for nine years, wasting resources and draining the citizens of the land of every resource as he went to war with many neighboring countries.” He recalled the facts with such a flat voice one would think he was speaking of the weather instead of the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.

Janus quickly stood and held his hands out to Roman, who buried himself in his chest. Janus rubbed his back. “It’ll be alright. At first light we can set out and help, okay? For now we need to sleep.”

They didn’t have the energy to prank their guests that night as Janus was having a hard time convincing Roman to sleep instead of putting on his armor and murdering his brother. As it was, they ended up sparing with Janus in dragon form until Roman collapsed from exhaustion in the early hours of the morning.

Janus fed their guests breakfast and sent them on their way before gathering up any necessary supplies, this included getting traveling funds from the hoard. He then set up an illusion so no one could steal the hoard while he was gone. Once all that was done, he woke Roman and they were off, journeying to save the kingdom from a tyrant. 

#roman sanders #sanders sides #birthday #fanfic #ace writes

[antichristsxbox]

Knight in Shining Armor - Part Two

Read part one here!

Summary: Princess!Reader wakes up in Sir Langdon’s palace post-rescue. 

From the writer: Hey guys, I’m so excited for this fic! I really enjoyed writing Michael like this— very sweet and caring. If you enjoyed this, all likes and reblogs are appreciated + check out my masterlist for more things like this! Thank you so much to @jocelynscloset​ for proofreading this for me. :) Update— here’s part one, here’s part three, and here’s part four + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,665

A red room with a black ceiling and black crown molding— a cast-iron chandelier with no gems dangling, but nine black, lacy lamp shades. A black canopy above your black four-poster bed, with ornate fabric and ribbons hanging from the sides. Silky sheets run past your fingers as you pull the fabric from your body. The same silky material clings to your body as you stand, and you’re wearing a black nightgown that hits mid-thigh with red lace detailing. A strict, but visually pleasing theme, you think. 

You cannot exactly recall how you ended up here, but you are assuming this is Michael’s palace. Opening the armoire, you search for something more appropriate to wear. Many dresses, exclusively black or red, and many more tiaras, all cast-iron with rubies. Plenty of options are available but you settle for a simple black linen dress— the temperature seems unusually high. Perhaps it’s the many candles burning, or the two fireplaces in your room. One across from your bed, and the other near the back of your room, connecting to what seemed to be an en suite bathroom. A simple tiara with one peak and a large ruby in the center is your accessory for today.

Exiting through the large, carved wood doors leads you to a long, arched hallway. Doors are shut until the hall reaches a dead end, and a wooden door is left ajar with a faint light fanning from the crack. Hesitant at first, but eager now as you push the door to reveal a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and a focused Sir Langdon writing a letter, quill in hand and scroll on desk.

“You’re awake!” he says, standing up to greet you. A warm hug is graciously accepted and a soft smile is flashed— you hold Michael in your grasp before breaking the hug to look back up at him. 

“Where are we?” you ask, looking around his grand office. A window gives a glimpse of what lies beyond the castle walls, but it’s a dark setting with a faint orange glow in the background and a reddish sky. 

Michael motions for you to sit at a chair across from him, then makes his way to his seat across from you. He folds his hands and crosses his legs.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight? I must explain something to you,” he says. 

His offer comes as a surprise, but you instantly accept. Curiosity begins to boil as he continues on, but his words are lost as your mind races with things that could be what he means to reveal later. It’s difficult when somebody says they would like to share something but leave it on a cliffhanger to reveal at a later date. Fortunately, Michael arranges dinner for tonight— your curiosity will soon be extinct. 

As you open the doors to your room, a blonde woman is sitting near your fireplace flipping through a book and smoking a cigarette. She stands and outstretches her arm for you to shake her hand. Her name is Madison she introduces herself as your guide for anything you might need around the castle. Where the library is, kitchen, dining room, garden, you name it. There is another young woman, Zoe, who is busy right now but should soon be available. 

Searching for something to wear seems harder than it actually is, given so many options in your seemingly endless wardrobe. Madison insists that a dark red, lacy gown would suit you for tonight as a darker look is more traditional for dinner. She leaves you to dress and get ready, but returns when accessories are needed to be chosen. A small, black evening bag and dark tiara highlight this as a true nighttime look. Realizing it’s almost time to meet Michael, Madison guides you towards the dining room and leads you to the door. She wishes you good luck, then leaves you at the threshold alone. 

A nervous jitters type feeling stirs inside of you, but as that passes, you push the door handle down and enter the room. Sitting across an elongated table, Michael sits against a tall chair, parallel across the table to yours of equal height. In the middle of the table, a large feast awaits of ham and various other side dishes, vegetables, and salads. He stands and greets you, pulling out your chair for you to sit and lays a napkin across your lap. Retreating back to his chair, he stops to pour himself a glass of red wine, asking if you would like one as well. As much as you would like to partake, you realize you may want a clear head for what he would like to tell you, if it’s important. 

“What is it?” you ask, looking across the long table, barely able to make out Michael’s expression, save for his light eyes being accentuated by the fire. He stands and approaches your side of the table.

“I would prefer to show you, if that’s alright,” he says, placing a hand next to yours. A small nod gives him permission to show you what he has in store. Without warning, the candles on the table burn out, then reignite with no match. Michael raises his hand, and an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table makes its way to his palm. He must have the gift of the Light as well. How fun, you think. Not a better match could be made if your parents tried. Raising your hand up, the apple flies from his hand to yours. Candles go dark again at your will.  The steamed broccoli sitting near your plate begins turning green and growing more stalks. Michael turns towards you as you take a bite from the apple you stole from him.

“I was never planning on telling you, but I’m glad we share the same abilities,” you say, waving to relight the candles on the table.

“You’re a warlock?” you ask, telekinetically pouring yourself a glass of wine from the other side of the table, then sending it over towards you.

“Much worse, Dear,” he says, swallowing hard enough it’s visible in his throat. 

“I had to lure you to that Hellmouth, that well, if you can remember,” he goes on, recounting how he had led you into the woods. Those memories seemed distant and faded until he now brings then up. 

“Because we’re in Hell, Dear,” he says bluntly. Peeking behind you to glimpse out the window, the same darkness is outside that was present when you woke up. It was easy to brush it off as a cloudy day then, but now it seems ominous and mysterious. For some reason, you never imagined Hell to be like this. 

“You’re the Devil?” you ask, looking up at Michael after turning from the window.

“Close— I’m his son,” he replies. 

Dinner is nice; the food is delicious. Being the Devil’s son obviously has its perks, especially in Hell. Now that you’re here, you may as well get comfortable and get used to this life with Michael. Truly, you are grateful he was the one that rescued you. Ending up with somebody that would never know about or understand your abilities seems boring. But, Michael’s analogous abilities to yours, drawn from the darkness, are more intriguing than anybody else’s powers ever seemed. A different route to the same result of having supernatural abilities. 

After dessert is over, Michael stands to hug you, then holds the door for you that leads out to the hallway. To your surprise, he hasn’t tried to make a move yet. Sure, you’ve been locked in a tower for a few years prior to Michael, but boredom from living at your previous castle lead you to quite a few bedrooms over time. There have been a couple of knights and cute messenger boys. Even this beautiful palace of Hell would begin to seem dull without a refreshing touch once in a while. 

“Would you join me for a cup of tea?” you ask as Michael begins walking the opposite direction, towards his room. He turns as he hears you speak, then comes closer towards you again. He insists to go back in the dining room and sit for tea there, the servants could prepare any kind you would like instantly. 

“Michael, I have it in my room,” you say, looking up at him and smiling, then extending a hand for him to take. You wait for a moment but become disappointed when he lightly pushes your wrist down and does not take your hand. 

“I will come talk with you, answer any questions you may have, nothing more,” he says, walking in the direction of your chamber. 

The door flies open with no hands, and Michael walks in after you. After he quietly closes the door, you turn to him and grab the front of his dinner coat, pulling him towards you in a needy kiss. He reciprocates but breaks the kiss after a few seconds. You were hoping another tug on his dinner jacket would bring him closer again, but he walks away to sit on the couch near the fireplace. Quickly, you follow and sit next to him, placing a hand on his strong thigh. He crosses his legs, now out of reach for you.

“Why? You rescued me just so we could talk and eat dinner together?” you say, annoyed. Meeting his gaze, you could tell he now has a stern expression on his face. There is a serious and somber element to his presence now. It is surprising, however, that the son of Satan wouldn’t care to indulge in his own sinful nature. 

“I will not do anything to compromise your honor, we will have plenty of time to do whatever you like after we are wed,” he says, conjuring a glass of red wine for himself and one for you, resting on the coffee table in front of you. 

“That ‘honor’ you speak of— it’s gone, Michael, we’re fine,” you say, crossing your arms and sighing. If he’s upset, it’s his fault for rescuing you. You never know what you’re going to get when you decide to snatch random people from random towers. 

“I never intended for it to come out like that; whatever has happened is fine by me, but I do not plan on compromising my own values,” he says, taking a long sip from his drink and setting the glass down. Interesting, you think. His values must be pretty uptight, but you’re charmed by his determination to meet his own high standards. 

“May I ask what you value?” you say, picking up your glass from the table and steadying it on your bottom lip. Michael looks towards the front of the room and takes a moment to think. Dry, red wine flows past your lips. Candlelight reflects off of his shiny shoes and golden hair. 

“Being the son of the Devil, people expect me to be evil, wild, indulgent, sinful, carnal, whatever you would call that. My father can control many aspects of my life, my purpose, what he intends for me to do. But, he can’t control all of me. I can be a good Antichrist and a good man.”

Michael is determined. He realizes his own destiny, yet still recognizes the aspects of where he can have free choice. You had very little doubts about him before, but the entirety of your worries wash away as you realize that Michael only seeks to honor you, and himself, in the best way he knows how. It seems he would like to prove that even being brought into the world by evil, there is pureness and redemption in the supposed worst people. This is an admirable statement and a job well done, for his example at least. He is responsible and recognizes the consequences of ‘behaving badly,’ as your parents put it. Michael is a very noble man considering his demonic lineage. 

You would like to ask him more, but you wouldn’t like to pry into anything too personal to share. But, you think if you share about yourself, a good conversation should ensue. Half the battle of a good marriage is having good communication with your partner, right?

“I think people would expect a princess to be virtuous, but that’s boring,” you say, raising your glass to your lips again. It’s bittersweet, knowing that you have ended up with somebody who waited with the right intent in mind, but you wasted all your firsts when you were bored and tipsy, looking for entertainment around the castle. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but how many? Please don’t answer if you’re not comfortable, I’m only curious,” he says, looking towards you as long, blonde hair falls to frame his face. 

A small chuckle escapes your mouth as you sit up, leveling your eyes with his. It’s actually not such a high number or bad at all, considering how spaced-out over time your encounters have been. 

“You would make it five,” you say, breaking eye contact and looking down towards the floor. The expression on Michael’s face does not change, even when you look back up towards him. 

“Have you ever, you know?” you ask, a small smile making its way across your face. Michael’s smile perks up and matches yours before he answers. 

“No, Princess. I’m boring, I know.”

It amuses you how back home, Above, this conversation would likely be happening in the opposite direction— a prince or king who’s been around town paired with a naïve princess. Only this time, Michael is not naïve, not one bit. He recognizes what he is doing and the reasoning behind it. You hate to be thinking of this now, but the idea of him sticking to his resolutions and following through is very intriguing— captivating, even. His first time would be with you. Would he be a delicate lover, or a touch-starved man, ready to claim what he has rescued for himself? He must be big, he’s a very tall man. Your eyes wander down to his shoes, glancing down. His feet are almost double the size of yours. And, in your experience, the whole ‘men with big feet’ saying has been surprisingly accurate. 

Again, you take Michael’s dinner jacket and draw him closer to you. A soft kiss is shared between the two of you, and the lingering taste of red wine is present on his lips. Oh, you wish you could throw him down on your bed and show him what he’s missed out on. But, you’re not going to be the one that deters him from his promise to himself. Breaking the kiss, you keep your eyes closed and lean in towards his shoulder. Your noble knight is not going to be deterred by your own bad intentions. 

“When are we to be married?” you ask, voice muffled against Michael’s shoulder. 

“We could begin to make the plans tomorrow if you’d like,” he says, resting an arm on your upper back. Planning seems like the boring part, but it’s one step closer to making Michael your husband. 

“Could you stay? To cuddle?” you say, sitting up and giving your best puppy dog eyes towards Michael. 

“One thing leads to another, Princess,” he says, standing up and gently removing his hand from your back. Now that it’s gone, the feeling of his pressure on your body is more present than if it were there. Before heading out, he takes your delicate hand in his palm and brings it to his lips, leaving you with a soft kiss and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your belly. He walks towards the door and quietly opens it, wishes you a good night, and heads back towards his room. You already miss him next to you, even if you were just chatting. Excited for tomorrow, you get changed quickly and go to bed early, eager to wake up and see Michael again.

///

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes​ @ms-mead​ @daydreamingofcody​ @psychobitchtess​ @swampwitchh13​ @ahstmblrupdates​ @forgivemelucifer​

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon alternate universe #michael langdon au #michael langdon fluff #american horror story #ahs #american horror story apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #american horror story: apocalypse #ahs: apocalypse

[ataleofvalor]

Somewhere in the far North...

The battle raged as far as the eye could see, from one end of that mountainous valley to the other and nearly up to the peaks of the very mountains themselves. Thousands of warriors, hundreds of banners, all of them fighting with a savagery not seen in the more prevalent battles between Horde and Alliance. A great storm roared overhead, blocking out the sun as rain and snow whipped around those absorbed in combat. Thunder boomed and at times lightning struck the ground, sending dirt, rock and warriors flying.

Amidst it all a single ray of light remained. Stubbornly refusing to be snuffed out by the raging storm, it's rays illuminating a lone warrior carving his way through the field. As tall as any of them, clad in the furs and armors of his brothers in arms. The only way to differentiate him from the rest was that lions mane of hair, braided into thick lengths whipping about with every twist and turn of his body as he swung with both axe and sword; And a tabard of white and black, dirtied and bloody from battle. Though the sword and shield crest was still visible upon the fabric.

Who could say how long it had lasted, that great battle.. Hours? Days? With the storm that had raged from start to finish few could say. When it was over though, many thousands lay where they had been cut down unable to rise again in the mortal world. Then, as if new foes were suddenly taking opportunity, sunlight pierced through those storm clouds like spears, singling out the fallen seemingly at random. Dozens at first, then hundreds of beams of light. From the skies above where the light pierced the clouds? Great winged beings descended to battlefield below..

Val'kyr. Odyn's chosen warriors of the Light, charged with bringing the spirits of the valorous to his Halls of Valor high in the heavens. One by one the souls of the fallen that had yet to pass over, and were deemed worthy of Odyn's gift, were plucked from the mortal realm and guided up through the clouds.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, surrounded by a dozen bodies of fallen warriors, the one with the black and white tabard knelt. Cleaning his blade on a piece of torn banner and surveying those that still stood.

"Varsen! Up there, on the hill, it's your colors!" At the shout, the warrior twisted to glance over his shoulder, spotting a familiar comrade and offering him a nod. At least one brother survived the carnage this day. Searching out the hill mentioned, Varsen rose to a stand immediately upon catching sight of what awaited them. Two figures, both of them mounted. One, carrying a large standard matching the tabard he wore over his armor.. Sword in hand, the warrior began trudging over the bodies of the fallen and through the mud towards the hill and the figures searching for him no doubt.

Finally, he'd made it to the top of the hill and the mounted men standing before him could be studied in detail. While they wore the livery of Lord Sunshield's crest and colors, he did not recognize their faces. All the same though he'd offer the both of them a bow of his head. "You are both very far from home and in unfamiliar country, what news from our lord?" He could only assume Lord Sunshield was sending for him, there was no other reason besides dire news, and he truly hoped the latter was not the case.

"Hail, Sir Varsen." One of the mounted men raised his hand in salute, a smile writ on his features but unable to fully hide his unease given their location. Pulling a sealed scroll from the bag hanging off his saddle and offering it out to the knight. "Lord Sunshield summons you to the capital as soon as you are able. The details of which are described in this letter. What is your answer?"

The sword in his hand was shoved into the earth before he strode forwards to accept the letter offered him, casting a piercing gaze up towards the two men. Nearly offended by their tone and choice of words.. "My answer? I will send a raven to Lord Sunshield himself.. If by some miracle of the gods you arrive before it does you will tell him I journeyed South with haste to answer the call."

@theborderlandcoalition

[erikacousland]

Dragon Age: Asunder. Reading notes, part 3

Chapter 3

… What was a mage supposed to be like, anyhow? He knew what the common folk out side the tower thought. If they were kind, they'd say a mage was a thin old man with a white beard who spent all his time surrounded by scrolls and books. If they were unkind, then a mage was a sinister- looking fellow with black hair and a pointed beard, someone who lurked in shadows summoning demons whenever the templars weren't actively preventing him from doing so.

*

… It wasn't unusual for apprentices to simply vanish. The templars gathered you for your Harrowing in the middle of the night, without warning. Succeed at the test and you were a mage in full. Fail and you were dead. If you refused the test, you were put through the Rite of Tranquility and rendered an emotionless neuter. It was a preferable fate for some, but Rhys found that hard to believe— he couldn't get near a Tranquil without shuddering. He would rather be dead than spend the rest of his life looking at the world through those dead eyes.

           When someone failed their Harrowing, however, the rest of the mages weren't told. The apprentice was just gone. It happened frequently, and considering a mage's life was never his own— you could be transferred to another Circle or whisked off to some duty assigned by the Chantry without so much as a by- your- leave— one became accustomed to people coming and going. You didn't question it. There could have been many more murders than any of the mages suspected, and only the templars would know for sure.

*

           Ever since the Chantry ordered the closure of the College of Enchanters, things had been steadily growing more tense. Permission for travel had been suspended. Gatherings were forbidden, and even on those rare occasions when assembly was allowed in the White Spire's great hall, the First Enchanter had little to tell them. He was supposed to be their leader and their advocate, but now it seemed he was reduced to a figurehead.

           There was talk of rebellion, of course. There was always talk. Mages in the far- off city of Kirkwall had rebelled a year ago, and considering what happened to them Rhys wasn't surprised the talk never went further than that. It did make him wonder if that might ever change. If Adrian had her way, it would, and sometimes he even agreed with her.

*

           The office was unchanged from the last time he had been there. The same war trophies from the Knight- Commander's younger days as a soldier. The same dull painting by some relative preoccupied with the pastoral Orlesian countryside. The same bookshelf filled with long- winded treatises on history and Chantry dogma. The fireplace had settled into a dull smolder, but put out enough heat to give the room a warm, smoky feel. About the only thing that was different about the office was that the Knight- Commander wasn't there.

           Instead, there was a stranger seated behind the massive oaken desk. Salt- and- pepper hair showed the man had some age, but his face was hewn from solid stone. The armor he wore was like a templar's, but was charcoal black and emblazoned with a strange image that looked like the Chantry's sunburst but with an eye in the center. Most noticeable were the man's grey eyes: sharp and cold. This man was a warrior, and one who would kill without a second thought. For the first time Rhys wondered if he was in real danger.

…

           Rhys felt a chill run down his spine. He may not have recognized the symbol on the man's armor, but the name he'd heard of. The Seekers of Truth, an order that stood above the templars as personal servants to the Divine. Nobody spoke of them except in whispers, and even then only to say that when a Seeker showed up you knew there was trouble. …

*

           The Lord Seeker leveled an icy glare at him, and he regretted his outburst instantly. He didn't want to regret it— he wanted to keep on yelling, make these people see just how wrong it was to treat grown mages, mages with power, like they were recalcitrant children. In the face of that look, he knew it didn't matter. He was a good judge of character. Given an excuse, this man would slit Rhys's throat before he even got off a single spell. And he would do it with the same cool, unblinking demeanor that he had now.

*

… Rhys felt a bead of sweat slowly crawling its way down his forehead. It was impossible to keep an entire tower of mages under complete control, not without locking all of them in cells like prisoners. The templars knew that mages snuck around behind their backs and gossiped, and it wasn't unreasonable to think they shared other types of knowledge as well. Where there was one blood mage, there could be more. There could be dozens.

*

… "It says here that you are a medium, Enchanter."

…

           "You have a rare talent to detect and communicate with spirits and demons."

*

           "You're not looking for answers." Rhys stood up, defiant. "This isn't an investigation. Someone tried to kill the Divine, and you're not going to be happy until you can string together a conspiracy that makes sense to you. So what ever you're going to do, I suggest you do it. Lock me in the dungeon. Perhaps I can be the murderer's next victim? That should clear me of suspicion quickly enough."

*

*

*

           The commons weren't really intended as a gathering area. It was a glorified landing outside of the mages' chambers on the middle floors of the tower, allowing access to the central stairwell. There were no furnishings to speak of, just cold stone floors and a few small windows that let the chill in every winter. Statues lined the area at each supporting pillar, grave- looking depictions of warriors from an age long past. Rhys had always hated them. He felt their proud eyes staring down at him, judging him for having the temerity to possess magic.

*

           What if the Lord Seeker invoked the Rite of Annulment? Rhys heard that question asked more than once. The thought of every last mage in the tower being put to the sword was difficult to contemplate. It was a right the templars possessed, meant to be used only as a last act of desperation when a Circle of Magi was completely lost to corruption. That was supposedly what had happened in Kirkwall. If the Rite of Annulment hadn't been invoked since then, it was no doubt because the templars feared further rebellion— but how far could they be pushed?

*

           "The First Enchanter is doing nothing," she said, just loudly enough for the man to overhear. Edmonde stood not far away, gazing listlessly out a window. He'd spoken to no one, and his only reaction to Adrian's statement was to close his eyes with a pained expression. Rhys felt badly for the man and the position this entire affair had placed him in. Couldn't she see that? Rhys raised a hand to urge her to keep her voice down, but she knocked it out of the way. "The other senior enchanters are no better. You can do something, Rhys. Take charge!"

           It was always the same demand. Adrian was headstrong and thus made enemies. Rhys was more charming, she said, and thus better liked. He could get her point across to those who wouldn't listen, despite his protests that this would put him in the same position as she was in. "That's not going to help," he told her.

*

… It was fortunate that senior enchanters got their own rooms. As spartan as they were, they allowed privacy the dormitories didn't. One could sneak out of a dormitory easily enough— apprentices did it all the time— but not without being seen by others sharing the room. …

*

           Gathering his magic, he reached his mind across the Veil and summoned a spirit through. It was tiny, a wisp of a creature with barely any consciousness to call its own. The shimmering orb hovered over the palm of his hand, its magical hum tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

           "I need you to be quiet," he whispered. "You can do that, can't you?"

           The wisp bobbed excitedly and dimmed. He barely even saw it now. Tossing it up into the air, he sensed its excitement as it floated out into the commons. Even such a small spirit took great joy in coming into the real world. They found the oddest things of endless fascination: a wooden chair, a piece of steak, a feather. Left to its own devices, a wisp would bob around random objects for hours, making strange trilling noises as it explored its environment.

           The templars frowned on the use of even such benign spirits, although it was not strictly forbidden. The best healers, after all, summoned spirits of compassion to assist them. Such spirits did not linger and immediately returned whence they came, but the Chantry looked upon any who had the talent to contact them with suspicion— such as himself. Still, it had its uses.

*

           A young man sat on his haunches not five feet away, staring with haunted eyes from under a mop of unkempt blond hair. He was clearly neither a mage nor a templar, dressed in worn leathers near covered in dust and grime, and hadn't seen a bath in ages. There was a furtive tension to the way he crouched, like a cellar rat caught out in the open— paralyzed by fear and yet desperate to run.

#Dragon Age: Asunder #Dragon Age #Cole #Dragon Age Novels #Reading notes #David Gaider

[imalreadyjudgingmyself]

The Teacher Trap (Aizawa x Reader) P3

Teacher Trap Masterlist

So, you might be a little hungover right now. You blame Kayama. She invited you out to drinks last night. No, you blame yourself. After all, you said yes. Either way, your head is killing you, and of course, Kayama is perfectly fine (something you resent thoroughly).

“You wouldn’t be in pain if you had more of a tolerance.” Kayama playfully scolds you.

“I wouldn’t be in pain if you let me stop and drink water when I wanted to.” You reply sharply, ripping open the package of aspirin Kayama had handed to you.

“But you’re so cute when you’re drunk!” She slaps both of her hands to her face and lifts a leg, making kissy faces at you. You turn away from her sipping your tea, trying to focus on your plans for the day. “Plus, you talk a lot about a certain someone,” she whispers in your ear before licking your cheek.

“Okay,” you jump out of your seat. “You’re too much. I’m going to school, you can get ready or whatever, just make sure to lock the door on the way out.” You fly out the front door with your drink in hand and take off towards the subway.

You love Kayama, she’s a really sweet and smart woman. She can be a real handful though. She drank so much she was nearly blacked out, and you had to ‘carry’ her (for lack of a better word) to your apartment. No way you were letting her go with any strangers, not even a taxi driver. How she’s not hungover is a mystery you’ll never understand. You don’t know what she plans to wear to school today, hopefully not your clothing—that would be awkward, and you don’t really put it past her. Maybe you should go back.

The subway screeches as it pulls into the station. You sigh, whatever she has planned she needs to do it fast or else she’s going to be late. You stand on the far end of the subway, your hero instincts kicking in so you can survey the other passengers. You listen to morning chatter of the people around you, sighing as you feel the nagging headache pulse against your skull. It was a stupid decision, you shouldn’t drink the night before classes. It’s about then that you realize you left your lesson plans back at the house as well. Today is not going to be a good day.

You arrive at the station and take off towards the school. Hopefully, you’ll get there with enough time to rewrite the plans. You need to be efficient with your time, finals are coming soon. No distractions. You race up the steps of the school and reach the top before finally collapsing against the railings and taking a moment to breathe. Your head feels like it is going to implode, but once you catch your breath you take off up the hall. You open the door to the teachers' lounge a little too harshly and jump at the slamming noise it makes.

Everyone in the room turns to stare at you. Your face burns as you apologize and step into the room, rubbing your now ringing ear. You walk more cautiously towards your desk, now feeling all eyes on you. You sit down and pull some paper and a pen out of your desk. Okay, you were planning on doing a lab. Go you. You roll your eyes at your stupidity. Okay, textbook. You flip it open and begin rewriting the plans.

“Yooooo!” Yamada calls out way too loudly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Head: pulsing. Ears: ringing. Mood: not in it.  “You went out with Kayama last night, huh?” No volume control. None.

You take a breath before responding. “How’d you know?” You flinch at how ‘customer service’ your voice sounded.

Yamada pulls his phone out and starts scrolling through it as he says in a sing-song voice, “A little birdy told me.” Kayama not only sent him messages—she sent him pictures of you drunk off your ass. What god did you anger for the day to go this way?

“Leave them alone. Can’t you see they’re working.” Aizawa, your knight in shining armor, comes to the rescue. He pulls Yamada off of you and grumbles, “Something you should be doing as well.”

You smile lightly at that comment, murmuring a small “thank you,” before turning back to your work. You hide your burning face in the textbook. Kayama comes strutting in a few minutes later—wearing her hero costume (thank goodness but also how the heck did she get that) and holding your lesson plans. You nearly cry as she hands them to you. Maybe today won’t be that bad of a day after all.

 Nevermind, you think to yourself as you watch smoke billow out of the laboratory windows. Everything was going great until class 1-A. You don’t even know what happened, but suddenly one of the containers at Mineta and Kaminari’s lab station started smoking. Kaminari grabbed the container without gloves but thankfully you used your quirk to rewind his actions and stop him from burning his hand. Then, you ordered the students to leave the classroom.

The fire alarms started going off with an earsplitting noise, making you slightly dizzy (or maybe it was the smoke). The chemicals in the experiment weren’t supposed to act like that. There should have been no chance of a fire. You covered your mouth and nose with your hand as you start processing the smell of sulfur. You thought of using the fire extinguisher but since you had no idea what chemicals the students stole to make that mess you couldn’t risk making the fire worse. The smoke has covered the ceiling by the time you left the classroom. You’ll just have to wait for the firemen to clear out so you can find out what Kaminari and Mineta stole to cause this reaction.

So, there you are, watching smoke billow out of the windows of your laboratory. Sitting on the ground, being checked out by a fireman. You warned the firemen before going in that you were afraid that there could be sulfur dioxide in the room, which led to your impromptu check up on the front lawn on the school. Thankfully, the firemen finally left and joined his team. You set your head in your hands. Don’t cry. Don’t CRY. DON’T CRY. This is your fault. You should have been keeping a better eye on the students. You have mentally revisited the beginning of class multiple times trying to figure out how the students got a hold of the chemicals. You never saw them even go near the chemical closet which is by your desk, so how could they have gotten something.

“Are you okay?” You jump slightly, leaning back and opening your eyes to see the Principal standing over you.

“Clean bill of health,” you say, giving a thumbs-up before moving to stand up.

“What happened?” The Principal asks, wringing his hands and looking over his shoulder at the lab.

You shrug before crossing your arms over your chest, “To be honest, I have no idea. I think the students go into the chemical closet somehow. But, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing teenagers do makes sense,” Aizawa states coming up beside you, and your face dusts a light pink. “I wouldn’t put it past my students.”

“Well, I’m hoping to find out what chemicals caused this fire. I’m also hoping that there’s no damage to my equipment.” You trail off as you finish that statement. What would you even do if the lab is destroyed? You wouldn’t be fired, would you?

“Were you not able to rewind the fire?” The Principal asks.

“No, the two chemicals were already in the container so even if I rewound they would have just reacted again.” You slide your hands up to your shoulders, looking back over at the lab. At least it’s no longer smoking.

“It’ll be okay.” The Principal says kindly. “I’ll talk to the firemen, please let me know anything that you discover.” He then leaves to go talk to the firemen that are now packing up the truck. You sigh, watching the last of the firemen leave the laboratory. The principal gives you a thumbs-up and points at the lab. Another sigh.

A hand rests on one of your shoulders, and you look at Aizawa. He looks serious as always. “Mistakes happen. Don’t waste time worrying about it.”

You chuckle, and his hand slips off your shoulder as he fixes you with a glare. “Sorry, but you really need to work on your emotional support.” His scowl deepens, and he shoves his hands back into his pockets. You cough to kill the laugh bubbling up your throat. “I’m going to investigate the lab.” You say, turning back to face the mess.

“I’ll come with. I need to find out what student needs detention.” Using your quirk, it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened.

  Mina cheered to herself internally all afternoon. Mind you, she really didn’t think the boys were dumb enough to catch the lab on fire, but you and Aizawa were pushed together, just as she hoped! The plan was actually for Kaminari to use the acid on Mineta’s pop-offs to cause chaos and for you to have to talk to Aizawa about it (don’t worry she had a plan to save the grape—no matter how much she’d like to see him suffer). But looks like the boys teamed up to do something extra stupid. In the end, she got what she wanted so, no big deal. At least that’s what she thought until she, Kaminari, and Mineta were pulled from their heroics class halfway through. They came face to face with an extremely peeved Aizawa (and a very nervous you), who gave them detention until the end of the semester. Ashido tried to play the victim but Aizawa was not having it. So—this plan was a bit of a bust. But she won’t give up!

  After school, you are talking to Aizawa about the students’ detention. You felt it was a little harsh and are trying your best to defend them. Of course, Aizawa’s having none of it, and to be fair, he has a lot of good points. You exit the teachers' lounge together and notice Midoriya standing outside, nervously fidgeting. You assume he’s there for Yagi when he nervously calls out, “P-professor!” You pause, and so does Aizawa.

“Yes?” You ask, nervously. Aizawa leans against the rails, looking out over the campus. You turn back towards Midoriya, who notices Aizawa as well.

“Y-you’re Re-Action, right?” He asks excitedly, becoming starry-eyed. You cringe at the mention of your hero name. Ugh, it’s so clunky and awkward, and you thought it was sooooooo cool when you came up with it in high school. You swear you almost head Aizawa snicker. “You rewound Kaminari in class today, didn’t you? Wow, you were even in the top ten for a while.” You cringe again. It was just a week, and it was terrifying. Many heroes are jealous of the top ten, and you had accidentally beaten out the tenth rank. You almost shudder at the memory of the glares you received. They weren’t very hero-like. You notice Midoriya has started to murmur to himself, which makes you even more anxious.

“U-uh.” You say, trying to figure out how to stop him.  You wrap your arms around yourself.

Thankfully, Aizawa is your knight in shining armor for the second time today. “Midoriya, you should be heading home.”

Midoriya flushes, realizing he had been murmuring. “Y-yes, sir!” He then turns around to leave. Still, Midoriya is observant, and he saw how you and Aizawa walked to the entrance together, as well as the flush of pink in your face as you headed your separate ways. Midoriya remembers Mina trying to recruit him a few days ago to the “make our teachers fall in love squad” (motfil (pronounced like the French words “mot” and “fil” because guess who) squad for short) and suddenly, he doesn’t think her idea is that random after all. Maybe he should rethink his membership.

A/N: Wow, this part is ridiculously longer than the others. Hopefully, that'll make it worth the wait? I have started college again so the updates on this will be sporadic at best. Don’t ask me about Mina’s plan. I know it’s dumb, I just could think of anything better. I love that Midoriya part at the end tho. I think it’s pretty funny tbh. So, yeah, your quirk allows you to rewind a person or object up to two minutes. But there’s also an investigation side that allows you to rewind a “scene” to see things that have happened. In that, the people themselves are not truly rewound but you can see the events leading up to an accident. Neither of these events actually mess with time itself, which is why Midoriya was able to recognize that you had rewound Kaminari. Idk if that makes any sense at all, oh well, I tried. Btw all the likes and reblogs are killing my heart. I don’t deserve it, haha. Also, I’m having a lot of fun just exploring your relationship with other teachers. After all, you do have a life outside of your crush on Aizawa. Hopefully, you guys’ll bear with me cause I think it’s important to flesh out yourself as a character too. Idk. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Have a wonderful day!

#aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader

[rhetoricalrogue]

2. “Things you said to me through gritted teeth” just screams Rolf and Cassandra to me...

Thank you for the ask!  I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you, but here’s Rolfe and Cassandra in the modern AU I’m still trying to figure out.

Cassandra sighed as she pulled up to her house.  After putting in a longer day than usual at the office, all she wanted was to head inside, take off her shoes, and dig into the pizza sitting temptingly in the front passenger seat of her car.  Digging in her purse for her house keys, however, threw a wrench in that plan.

She’d taken the key to her car off her keychain when she went in to get an oil change earlier that day.  Distracted, she’d thrown the rest of her keys into her desk drawer at work and had completely forgotten about them as she walked the short distance to the shop to pick her car back up.

“Well this is just great,” she muttered, sitting down on the front porch step.  Letting out a frustrated huff of breath, she flipped open the pizza box and pulled out a slice.  She may be locked out of her own home, but at least she wasn’t going to be hungry while she figured out what to do.  Technically, she could go back to the office, but she really didn’t want to.  She knew herself too well: if she went back now, she’d wind up staying late as she picked up right where she had left off.  She could drive over to the security station Cullen was posted at and ask for his key, but she didn’t want to bother him while he was working and if she took his key, he’d have to ring the doorbell when he came home late that night.  Cassandra didn’t mind his odd hours; she kept strange ones herself and Cullen was the quietest, most considerate roommate she’d ever had who consistently paid his half of the bills on time.  It probably helped that neither of them were ever really home, but they did get along well when they found themselves in for the rare evening.

She eyed the door, wondering how much damage she’d do if she tried to mess with the lock. “Probably too much to warrant trying,” she grumbled around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.  Even without looking, she knew that trying to pry one of the windows open was a lost cause too. She and Cullen had upgraded the flimsy windows as one of their projects to improve the rental for their landlord. Even with the original windows, breaking and entering were definitely not in her wheelhouse.

Yet she knew someone whose talents were.  She frowned as she scrolled through her phone’s contacts, her thumb hovering over the name.  Before she could chicken out, she pressed call and listened as the phone rang.

Rolfe was stretched out on the sofa tapping his pen against a half-finished crossword puzzle when he heard his phone ring.  After lazily glancing at the screen to see who it could be, he quickly sat up with a huge smile when he saw the heart eyes and bear face emojis bracketing the name Pentaghast.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he drawled as a greeting, setting the folded up portion of the newspaper on the coffee table.  Vincent’s cat Zinnia instantly hopped up and tried to eat the cap of the pen, so Rolfe swiped the pen back and stuck it behind his ear, much to the cat’s displeasure.

“Hello, Rolfe. How are you?”

“Ooh, a greeting and pleasantries! It’s not even my birthday!”

He listened as Cassandra sighed on the other end of the line, all but seeing her grind her teeth. “Forget it, this was a bad idea.  Sorry for bothering you.”

“Hey, wait! You hang up and I’ll just call you right back! What’s wrong?”

Cassandra fidgeted. “I seem to be locked out of the house. I accidentally left my keys at work.” She picked at a piece of sausage on her pizza.  “I don’t know why I called you.”

“Hey, no teasing: I can help.” Jumping up from the sofa, he went to the front hall and slipped on his shoes. “I’m heading out the door right now. Give me about twenty minutes to get to your place and I’ll have you back inside before you know it.”

Cassandra leaned back on the steps until her elbow was resting on the porch. “I really appreciate this.”

Making sure his own keys were in his pant pocket, Rolfe shrugged into a jacket and grabbed his motorcycle helmet. “When a lady asks me to commit crime, how can I refuse?”

It earned him a less-frustrated sigh that he could tell was covering up a laugh. “It isn’t a crime.”

“Yeah? Then be sure to tell that to anyone if they catch me and decide to call the police.”

It took him ten minutes instead of his estimated twenty to make it to Cassandra’s house. He knew the route by heart: it was no accident that he and Vincent wound up jogging by at the same exact time most weekends that Cassandra was home. He’d specifically timed their route to when she usually came outside to have a cup of coffee on her porch with the newspaper just so he could wave at her as they ran by. The stitch in his side and the fact that he was up at some horrible hour of the morning when he didn’t have to be was completely worth it.

Rolfe was in deep, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit how he felt.  He also knew that Cassandra hadn’t told him to get lost yet, which is why he continued his attempts to woo her.  Had she expressed that his advances were unwelcome, he would have backed off some time ago.

“Trevelyan’s B & E Services, how may we help you?” he asked, hopping off his bike and tucking his helmet underneath an arm.

Cassandra stood up and brushed her hands off to get rid of pizza crumbs. “Can you…” she gestured to the front door. “Work your magic?”

Rolfe climbed the porch steps and made a grand show of thoughtfully stroking his chin as he regarded the lock.  “Which one of you invested serious cash on this lock?”

Cassandra folded her arms in front of her and tilted her head.  “I’m not even going to ask how you know how much locks cost.”

“Come on, Pentaghast.  You were the Right Hand of the Divine; you should know what the Left was up to most of the time.”

“Oh, I know that Leliana would have known, but why would you?”

Rolfe shrugged and pulled out a thin black nylon case from an interior jacket pocket.  “I might not have worked in the same circles as Sister Nightingale, but we dealt with similar issues.”

“You said you were a bodyguard for the Chantry.  I didn’t know you dabbled in spywork too.”

“Ex-bodyguard.” Crouching down, he took out a set of lockpicks from the case and fiddled with the lock for a while.  “The Chantry sort of has a zero tolerance policy when the person you’re assigned to gets vaporized.”

Cassandra watched as Rolfe’s lip curled up in anger.  “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Sure as hell felt that way.”  He twisted one of the tools in his hand and cursed under his breath as he lost the grip on one of the tumblers.  “I should have been there.”

Cassandra knelt down so she could look him in the eye.  “And if you had been there, the most you could have done was die right alongside Mother Roberta.  Somehow, I doubt that would be something she would want from you.”

He paused long enough to quietly nod before clearing his throat.  “Sorry,” he said, taking a breath before grinning at her.  “Usually I’d already be inside, but it isn’t every day I have a pretty lady watching me work.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at the compliment.  She would have said something to counter the flirtatious tone he gave her, but she knew he was using charm to deflect from talking about heavier topics that still held a painful sting to them.  “Then maybe I should take my pizza back to the car, give you some privacy?”

“And deprive me of your company?  Cassandra, please.  Don’t be cruel.”  He made a triumphant sound as the tumblers clicked into place. “Ah ha!  Voila, your door has been defeated!”  Standing up, he opened the door with a flourish.

“My hero.”  Picking up the pizza box from where she’d placed it on the porch swing, she moved towards the open door.  “Thank you, Rolfe.”

He put his tools back in their case and leaned against the doorframe.  “And does the hero get a kiss for his good deeds?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t push your luck, Trevelyan.”

Rolfe put a hand over his heart.  “That hurt, Pentagast.  Right here.”

Cassandra laughed.  “Somehow I doubt it.”  She paused.  “Have you eaten? I may know someone who has a double meat, double cheese pizza they’re willing to share.  You know, as a thank you for being my knight in shining armor.”

“Your knight in leather armor,” Rolfe corrected, bending to pick up his bike helmet.  “You can’t stealth in plate mail.”

“Is that a yes?”

Rolfe gave her a beaming smile that made butterflies flutter in her stomach.  “I thought you’d never ask.”

#otp: bad flirting and disgusted noises #replies #scottishvix #rolfe trevelyan

[captain-azoren]

White Knight, Red Queen - Chapter 2: The Mirror

Claudia repairs a broken magic mirror, only for her and Soren to get sucked in and sent straight into the clutches of the Fire Nation! And on the day Soren was to be sworn into the Crownguard no less.

FF.net

AO3

Now it really begins.

2 years ago…

 Soren marched proudly and triumphantly through the halls of Castle Katolis, donned in a shining new set of armor and the signature black and white tabard of the Crownguard, the most elite class of knights in Katolis. Today was his day, the day he would officially become the youngest Crownguard in the history of Katolis, and Soren could not be happier as he thumbed the hilt of his new sword. Soren grinned and winked at the other servants and soldiers as he made his way to the tower where his father’s study was located. Soren threw the doors open and made his entrance.

“Hey, future almost newly appointed Crownguard here!” Soren shouted into the room as he entered. He looked around to find Claudia nose deep in a spell book and carrying her bag of dark magic items. “Hey Clods, where’s dad? My knighthood ceremony is in an hour…and what are you up to?” Soren watched as Claudia walked over towards a table covered in ingredients, the kind she and their father Viren used for dark magic. There was a small cauldron in the center, into which Claudia poured in a vial of glowing orange liquid. The sorceress finally looked up to her brother.

“Oh, hey Soren!” Claudia greeted her brother cheerfully. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to crack this spell for dad. You see that mirror?” Claudia pointed towards the back wall, and Soren’s gaze followed to find a large, rectangular mirror, framed with gold flames and beset with rubies. The glass, however, was cracked into several shards, though all the pieces remained within the frame. Soren frowned and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, how could I forget,” Soren pouted. “That’s the mirror dad got mad at me for breaking all those years ago.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been fooling around in his secret magic room,” Claudia replied and gave Soren’s shoulder a playful shove. “But it’s been over seven years since then, so your bad luck should be all out, right?” Soren simply huffed and turned his head away. “Aw come on Sore-bear, dad’s not still mad about that. Here, have an apple. Don’t worry, it’s not poisonous.”

Claudia handed Soren an apple from the table. She knew he liked to eat when he was upset. Years ago, Viren had found Soren in his secret chamber in the library, and the gold framed mirror smashed. Viren had been furious at the time, and ever since then the cracked mirror had been a reminder to Soren, hence why Viren still kept it in his study and not moved it along with all his other magic items to a more secure location.

Soren eyed the apple before biting into it. “Well, whatever. I don’t see how it’s so hard to fix a mirror anyway.” He said between mouthfuls. “I don’t even remember how I broke this stupid thing! It wasn’t my fault…” Claudia threw a spoonful of crushed butterfly wings into the cauldron, and a poof of smoke evaporated into the room.

“This is no ordinary mirror, the glass is magic,” Claudia explained. “The pieces are all attracted to each other, but they need a spell to properly repair. I’m betting we could use it to spy on people, or maybe even talk to them!”

“Look, just don’t take too long, okay?” Soren bit off another chunk of apple. “I don’t want you or dad to miss the ceremony. This is my special day, and I don’t want to be one upped by a mirror.” Claudia nodded absent mindedly as she gave the cauldron the juices from a sparrow’s gizzard, making Soren queasy. Another puff of smoke shot from the cauldron, and Claudia smiled gleefully as her concoction began to bubble and glow.

“Alright, let’s see if it works…” Claudia whispered excitedly, making Soren roll his eyes. He watched as Claudia dipped a ladle into the cauldron and carry it over to the mirror. With a flourish, Claudia took the ladle and splashed the glass with the dark magic brew. The liquid sizzled against the cracked glass, glowed, then evaporated….and did nothing. Claudia waited a moment and Soren watched, bemused. The sorceress let out a groan of frustration and set the cauldron back onto the table. “I was sure that would work.”

“Well, too bad, let’s go Claudia.” Soren said in a hurry. He took one last bite of his apple and swallowed. “We’ve got more important places to be.” The young knight took the apple core and spitefully threw it at the mirror. Every time he saw it, he heard his father’s shouts of anger, and the sooner he could get away from it the better.

The core flew through the air, and both siblings expected it to bounce off the mirror and fall to the floor harmlessly. But no apple core hit the floor. No core hit the mirror either. In fact, there was no core anymore. Soren and Claudia watched with amazement as the apple core disappeared into the mirror, the cracked glass rippling like still water being disturbed. Claudia let out a long, slow gasp of amazement.

“Soren, you did it!” Claudia shouted and took Soren by the arm to drag him to the mirror. Soren himself was dumbfounded as they both watched a mirror that was simultaneously cracked, yet rippling. “This isn’t used to spy or talk, this mirror is a por-!”

Claudia was cut short as, without warning, the mirror’s cracked surface fell inward, and within the frame was now a starry sky…and empty space. There was a moment of calm before both siblings felt themselves being sucked into a vacuum. They cried out in shock as they were pulled in by the rush of wind. Soren and Claudia both instinctively reached out for one another, grabbing each other’s arms as they went tumbling through a star filled voice.

“Claudia, don’t let go!” Soren shouted over the gusts of wind pushing them. His sister clung tight to him with one arm, while he other hand went to her satchel to pull out a dried crab claw. Claudia crushed it in her hand, and a lavender liquid formed around the two of them into a bubble. The two of them steadied as they rode the wind. Soren stood up and looked into the direction they were heading. There was a star ahead, growing ever brighter. The closer it came, the more it looked like a doorway.

“Soren, I think we’re about to exit!” Claudia stated. Soren nodded as it was clear where they were going. Their bubble reached the light, and the siblings shielded their eyes as they passed through. The bubble popped, and Soren and Claudia fell back to earth.

Viren’s children landed face first with a thud onto a red, carpeted floor. Soren shook his head as he got to his knees, still blinded and disoriented from the light. As his vision returned, he looked around to see where he was. The walls were red, covered in ornate patterns of gold depicting long, serpentine dragons. Lining these walls were dozens of different ornate items and artifacts, not unlike a museum, but very lustrous. Exotic, spiky sets of armor that were definitely not from Katolis, treasure chests, wall scrolls, tables of books and maps all filled the great hall which Soren and Claudia found themselves in.

What caught Soren’s attention the most, however, was the striking figure standing before him. Clad in red and black armor with gold trim, a teenage girl about the same age as Claudia, with dark brown hair tied up into a top knot with a gold hair pin shaped like a flame. Her sharp features were framed by two long bangs. Soren’s blue eyes met the girl’s golden ones, and for a moment they gazed back at each other with shock and wonder. Then the girl shouted.

“GUARDS!”

Soren and Claudia had a second to react before the girl extended her palm and an intense blue jet of flame shot from it. Soren grabbed Claudia and pulled her out of the way just in time as the flames singed the carpet where they had landed. It was then that they saw the guards coming through the doors, wielding spears and wearing the same type of armor as the girl. They blocked the exit, but Soren charged forward. Drawing his longsword, Soren cut through the wooden spear shafts, their points falling to the floor harmlessly. The guards blinked in confusion before Soren bulldozed his way past them, knocking the men aside with his own armored body and clearing the way for Claudia.

“I’ve got your back Soren!” Claudia shouted as she took out a green bundle of vines from her satchel. Her eyes glowed as she whispered the incantation, “tpure seniv,” purple magic flowing into the bundle before she tossed it at the doorway. The bundle burst into a web of vines that covered the doorway, buying the siblings some time as they began running down the halls of this strange, new palace. The vines would not last long though, as they were engulfed in blue flames and burned to ashes. The girl who had called the guards walked past the smoldering plant life and looked down the halls where Claudia and Soren had run, squinting her eyes with intrigue.

“Claudia, where on Earth are we?!” Soren shouted as they ran. A young servant girl squeaked in fright as the two of them ran past her, almost dropping the bowl of cherries she was carrying.

“I don’t know Soren, I don’t think we’re in Katolis anymore,” Claudia answered while she tried to keep up. “I’d say we’re in Xadia, but nothing here looks like an elf!”

“Well they’re still trying to kill us anyway!” Soren retorted as they rounded a corner. By now the commotion had alerted the entire palace, and more guards were beginning to swarm and chase after them. Some of them began to shoot fire from their hands like the girl did, but these were orange flames instead.

“These people, they’re doing fire magic like it’s nothing…” Claudia observed as she pulled out a glass globe filled with water and a tiny, floating clam shell. She recited yet another incantation, “doolf tnerrot,” and threw it onto the floor. The small globe broke and unleashed a torrent of water that rushed down the hall and swept away the fire mages. That gave the siblings some breathing room, and both ducked through an open door to catch their breath.

“Claudia, wherever we are, this is really, really bad.” Soren began. “Not only are we surrounded by hostiles that can do magic, but dad is going to kill us for messing with the mirror. And worst of all, I’m going to miss my knighting ceremony!”

“Calm down Sore-bear,” Claudia said reassuringly. “We can still get back, we just need to get to the portal we came out from. Makes sense, right?” Claudia smiled at Soren, hoping her logic would cheer him up. Her brother took a deep breath and sighed.

“Okay, but that means having to get past that scary lady with the blue fire. Kind of hot though…” Soren smirked as he rubbed his chin, before Claudia gave him a light smack on the head.

“Focus Soren. We have to find a way back to that museum-y looking room. How’s your sense of direction?” Claudia asked. Soren shook his head.

“Sorry, kind of hard to get your bearings when you’re fleeing like a scared bunny.” He answered.

“Why don’t I show you,” Came a voice. Soren and Claudia looked to the doorway to see a grim looking young man with dark hair and a horribly burned face standing there, wielding two curved swords. “We can start with the prison...” The young man rushed at the two and brandished his swords. Soren blocked Claudia as he raised his own sword and the blades clashed.

“Claudia, move! I’ve got this!” Soren shouted as he and the boy with the burned face locked blades. Claudia moved out of the way as the two sword masters began to duel. Soren’s longsword had the range advantage, but the burned one could attack and defend at the same time. Claudia fumbled through her satchel trying to find the right spell to use. Soren swiped at the dual wielder, who blocked and swung back with his other curved sword. Soren thought he was out of range, until a wave of fire shot out from the sword tip.

Soren was blasted back by the fire and stumbled. Fortunately, his armor was resistant enough to negate the worst of it, as Soren regained his posture and stance. The burned swordsman began to swing his swords once more, throwing wider arcs of fire at Soren. Soren blocked, parried, and dodged the fire as best he could, but took another hit. Meanwhile, Claudia found the item she was looking for, a short chain bracelet in the style of twin snakes.

“Got it! Soren, snake chains!” Claudia signaled to her brother. Soren grit his teeth as he stood his ground.

“Okay ugly, block this one.” Soren growled before charging at his opponent. The burned boy took a defensive stance, but was surprised when Soren gripped his longsword by the blade instead of the hilt. Soren swung the sword at the burned one hilt first. He tried to block it, but extra weight of the blow broke through, and the cross guard of Soren’s sword struck the burned one in the shoulder. He dropped his guard and stumbled back, gripping his shoulder in pain.

“Meht dnib leets nirehtyls!” Claudia shouted. The chains in her hand grew long, and transformed into large snakes that quickly slithered towards the enemy. The burned one gasped as they wrapped themselves around his body, trapping him, before changing back into heavy chains. The burned one fell to his knees and grunted as he struggled to break free.

“Come on.” Soren took his sister’s hand and they ran out of the room. More guards were closing in on them once more, and neither sibling had time to gain their bearings, turning any corner that seemed safe and dispatching any guards that got in their way. They ran for minutes, not stopping to rest or catch their breath, until finally they came to a long hallway leading to a large doorway with light shining through the cracks. Soren and Claudia both instinctively knew it was an exit, and made a beeline for it. Two guards moved in to halt them, but Soren easily knocked them out with quick blows of his pommel.

Claudia readied another spell as Soren began to push open the heavy double doors, and they ran outside into the palace courtyard. The light of the sun shined down upon them, and for a moment they felt relieved to be out, until they saw the rest of the guards and fire mages swarm in on all sides. The siblings stood back to back, guarding each other as the hostiles closed in.

“Claudia, if you’ve got something big and flashy you wanna throw out, now’s the time…” Soren said to his sister as he brandished his sword. Several of the fire mages held fire in their hands, ready to unleash.

“Then it’s time to bring out the big magic…” Claudia replied as she reached into her satchel and pulled out one of her most powerful relics, the Sky Primal Stone. A small thunderstorm raged inside the tiny sphere, and Claudia drew the power of lightning into her hand before raising it skyward. “Fulminis!”

The lightning shot up into the sky, and all the soldiers surrounding them stepped back in fear and awe. Soren grinned triumphantly. Claudia always came through, and now was their chance to escape. Soren was about to make a path for them, when suddenly, another bolt of lightning struck the sky, only it was not from Claudia. Everyone turned to the palace’s entrance to see the girl from before, her two fingertips smoking as she stood in a low stance.

“Whoa…” Soren could only say as he gazed at her. After a brief pause, the soldiers quickly moved in, pointing their spears and readying their flames. What opportunity the siblings had to flee was gone. Soren kept his sword held high, but he knew it would do them little good. Claudia held more lightning ready in her hand, but they were too close now for her to manage another casting. A guard had a spear now pointed close to her throat. Soren growled as he switched places with Claudia and knocked the spear tip away. “Don’t you touch her!”

“Stand down!” The blue fire girl shouted to the soldiers as she began to approach. Running up behind her was the burned swordsman from before, having freed himself from his chains. “Good of you to join us brother. Guards! Disarm these two so they can’t cause any more trouble!” The soldiers did as they were ordered, pulling Claudia’s satchel away from her and taking the primal stone, leaving her powerless. Two more guards took Soren’s sword and forced the siblings down on their knees. The rest of the soldiers cleared a path as the other pair approached.

“Don’t underestimate them,” The burned one began to say, his dual swords sharing one sheath at his back. “The boy is strong, and the girl has powers like a spirit.”

“Yes, I see they gave you trouble,” The girl replied dismissively. She stood before Soren now, looking down at him as he looked back up defiantly. She tilted her head as she studied his features, then reached down to tug at his dirty blond locks, making him grunt in pain.

“Ow, hey! Watch the hair!” Soren snapped at her. The girl let go and squinted at him.

“Golden hair and blue eyes…” The girl said. She looked over to Claudia to study her features next. “Green eyes too, with strange clothing and equipment…” Her gaze shifted back to Soren, and they met eye to eye. Soren did his best to match her gaze, but it felt like her eyes were piercing right through to his soul. “Who are you? What nation are you from?” She demanded.

“I’m Soren, Crownguard of the Kingdom of Katolis!” Soren shouted out for all to hear, loud and proud. “And this is my sister, Claudia, a master of magic. Who are you?!” He hoped that would get them some respect. The burned one crossed his arms.  The girl’s face was blank for a moment as she gazed at the blond boy and processed the information.

“…Soren…?” The girl asked, then smirked at him and leaned forward. Her face came dangerously close as she met Soren eye to eye, and for a moment the Crownguard felt a sense of unease at his personal space being invaded.

“Don’t you know?” The girl asked, keeping eye contact with Soren. “I’m Princess Azula of the Fire Nation. This one here is my brother, Prince Zuko,” She motioned to the burned one, who simply glared in silence. The girl, Azula, stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, asserting her authority. “And the two of you just managed to storm out of the royal palace of the Fire Nation, making it past hundreds of guards and firebenders.”

“Firebenders? Is that what you are?” Claudia asked, her curiosity piqued. There were spells that controlled fire, but nothing on the level that these firebenders seemed to display. Azula raised an eyebrow at the question.

“Yes, that’s right. You two really aren’t from around here, are you?” Azula asked, holding her chin as she studied the siblings. “You come stumbling out of a mirror without warning, no idea where you are, and you managed to get this far…I’m impressed. Just a little.” A small smile formed on her lips as she stroked her chin. “Still, I’m afraid we’re going to have to detain you, for now. Guards, take them to the treasure room and keep them there.” Azula turned and began walking away, with Zuko following suit. “I need to speak to father first.”

The guards lifted Soren and Claudia up and placed shackles around their wrists. With their weapons confiscated, they had no choice but to obey as they were led back into the palace. All the servants and staff watched with curiosity as the two outsiders were led back down the long halls to the treasure room, the place where they had first appeared. Meanwhile, Azula and Zuko took a different direction, to the throne room where Fire Lord Ozai was seated. He had a look of annoyance as his two children approached and kneeled, heads bowed.

“What is this disturbance?” Ozai asked hotly.

“There were two intruders Father, a boy and a girl. They appeared without warning within the palace.” Zuko answered, keeping his head bowed.

“Intruders? But the day of Black Sun is weeks away.” Ozai retorted. “Was your intel incorrect?”

“No, never, Father, these two are different,” Azula began to say, and raised her head to meet her father’s gaze. “They’re unlike anything we’ve ever seen before, from an unknown kingdom they call Katolis.”

“They’re not benders, but they possess great skill and strange powers. One of them can even control lightning.” Zuko explained. Ozai’s eyes widened, and he furrowed his brow.

“I want these intruders executed,” He said as he stood, the flames surrounding his throne intensifying. “I’ll not have would be assassins thinking they can come for me and live to tell about it.”

“Actually father, I don’t think they are assassins,” Azula said. “They came through a mirror, that large one which the late Admiral Zhao brought to us from the hidden library he found in the Earth Kingdom. It must hold some kind of spirit magic. I saw the whole thing happen, and judging by their reactions, these intruders came by accident.” Ozai turned his nose up as he sat back down.

“They came through a mirror? That sounds like some preposterous spirit tale, strange people traveling from another world through a looking glass.” The situation had rattled Ozai. He did not let his children see it, but he had been on edge ever since he was told about the Day of Black Sun and the coming invasion. “So? What is your point, my dear?” The Fire Lord asked, and Azula smiled at him.

“Father, I think we have an opportunity to gain new allies, and new power,” Azula stood to her feet, while Zuko eyed her suspiciously from the floor. “Even though there were only two of them, our strange visitors fought their way past our imperial firebenders from the treasure room to the courtyard. They even managed to subdue Prince Zuko,” Azula shot a smug smirk down at her brother, who scoffed and rolled his eyes. “The day of Black Sun will be here soon, taking away our bending and leaving us vulnerable. While we have a foolproof plan for the invasion to come, a little more insurance would not hurt.” Ozai stroked his long beard as he considered Azula’s words.

“So, you believe that convincing these…aliens to join us is worthwhile?” Ozai asked. Azula nodded, her smile growing larger as she could already feel her father’s approval.

“Yes Father, and not only that, but we could learn how they wield this magic,” Azula answered. “The boy is strong and resilient, but the girl, his sister, holds the real power, to control elements without bending, to use real magic like the spirits can.” The Fire Lord smirked back at his daughter, amused by her choice of words as his son stayed silent. Ozai nodded to them.

“Very well then, if you can turn this…incident to our advantage, then do so,” Ozai commanded. “Keep our visitors here as our new guests, make them feel right at home for as long as you can. We will show them the glory of the Fire Nation, and they will come to us in our time of need to tell us their secrets. You two are dismissed.”

Azula and Zuko bowed to their father before turning to leave. Zuko frowned at his sister.

“You think it’s going to be easy to convince them to join us?” The prince asked. “I have a feeling they might not be too thrilled about it if they knew why we’re being invaded.”

“Don’t worry so much Zuzu.” Azula replied, her smirk still present. “What our guests won’t know won’t hurt them, right? Besides, I’m sure these poor lost souls would appreciate the infinite hospitality that the Fire Nation has to offer. Just leave it all to me…”

Meanwhile, Soren and Claudia were taken back to the treasure room where they had arrived. The two of them were seated down at one of the large tables, side by side. Claudia’s eyes scanned the room until she spotted what she was looking for, a large mirror, though this one was different from the one in Katolis. It was a large circle, with a grey stone frame lined with runes, and a winged dragon perched on top. The glass was not cracked, but perfectly smooth and reflected the rest of the room.

“Soren, there it is…” Claudia whispered to her brother. Soren followed her gaze to the mirror and smiled excitedly.

“Clods, all we have to do is make a break for it,” Soren whispered back. Claudia gave him a worried look, but he did not notice. “I can overpower these guys easy, then we just bolt for the mirror and we’re out of here.” Soren took a deep breath and readied himself, tensing his legs to spring into action. “On my mark….one….two…th-“

“I’m so sorry about that,” Came a female voice from outside. The guards made way as Princess Azula and Prince Zuko entered the treasure room and walked up to the siblings. “Guards, please take these shackles off, these two are our guests and we should treat them better than prisoners.” The guards did as they were ordered and unlocked the cuffs from Soren and Claudia’s wrists. Soren was taken back, his plan interrupted before it could begin. He and Claudia watched as Azula walked up to the large mirror, studying it inquisitively, before pushing her hand towards it. The glass stayed firm, as glass normally does. Claudia and Soren were surprised by this, and Azula turned to them. “You both came through this, but it seems that you can’t go back.”

“What!?” Soren exclaimed as he walked towards the princess. Two guards moved in his way, and Soren glared at them. “You mean we’re stuck here?” Soren stomped his foot and huffed. “I had places to be…” Azula put on an expression of pity. She had already known the mirror would not work, having tested it before pursuing Claudia and Soren earlier. Azula just needed to make sure they knew they were stuck, before one of them tried to do something rash. Azula motioned for the guards to move, and she put a hand on Soren’s shoulder.

“I know this must be difficult for you, being stranded in a strange new world,” Azula said, her words coated with honey. Soren looked back at Azula, he and Claudia oblivious to her intentions, and began to feel more at ease. “But not to worry. The Royal Family are generous hosts, and we will gladly let you stay at the palace until you find your way back home.”

“Really? Oh, thank you!” Claudia said as she got up from her seat and went to give Azula a hug. Azula did her best not to shove the sorceress to the ground and set her long hair on fire for her insolence, and she managed to keep her composure.

“It’s nothing, you’re more than welcome,” Azula replied as she pried Claudia off of her. Zuko watched from the edge of the table, glowering at the spectacle. Lying always did come easy to Azula. While the prince did not trust these outsiders, using them the way Azula did made him uncomfortable. Still, it was better than executing them, as long as they truly were not assassins. Ozai had restored his honor, and Zuko would not shame himself by disobeying his father again.

“Okay, so, what now?” Soren asked impatiently. It did not look like he was going to be home in time for his ceremony. He still considered himself a Crownguard though, regardless of if he was officially sworn in and took the oath. Soren would make sure no one forgot that. “What do we need to do?”

“I’ll have to create a new spell to try and reopen the portal home,” Claudia said, scratching her head. “Some of those ingredients I used were not easy to get either. You wouldn’t happen to have any unicorn mane lying around, would you?”

“What is a unicorn?” Zuko asked incredulously. “Is that like some kind of tiger monkey?” Claudia sighed and rubbed her temple, causing Zuko to shrug in confusion.

“Okay, I have to make a new spell using all new different ingredients then…” Claudia grumbled for a moment, and Soren was worried until Claudia put a bright smile on her face. “But hey! That just means I get to experiment with a whole new kingdom of animals! Imagine all the new spells I could invent!”

“We will assist you in any way we can, Claudia was it?” Azula said, her words still sweet. “I would love to learn how your spells work, but first, I think you both need some rest after such a harrowing experience. Come, we’ll show you a tour of the palace and where you’ll be staying. I’ll make sure the guards and staff know you are our most esteemed guests in your time of need.”

Azula snapped her fingers, and the guards stepped in line as she led Soren and Claudia out of the treasure room with Zuko not far behind. Things were already starting off even better than she planned, and Azula loved every bit of it.

#Azula #Soren #Claudia #Zuko #Ozai #avatar the last airbender #the dragon prince #White Knight Red Queen #fanfic

[fernwehbookworm]

Knight of Kandor- Chapter 4

In my room, I throw the bolt to lock the door.

"Fuck!" I throw myself on the bed.

When the throbbing subsides some I manage to stand again and remove the heavy plates of armor. I finally sit and look at my ankle, I cringe. Black and blue splotches already bloom all over it. It has swollen so much that I cannot even see my ankle bones. From under my bed, I pull a small chest and open it. The chest is filled with various cloth scrapes that I gather for my moon blood. I usually burn them while men slept during that week.

I grab one of the longer scraps with a tight weave. I use it to tightly wrap my ankle and keep it stable. The pressure relieves some of the pain. Exhaustion overwhelms me. I only take off my under tunic, leaving my chest wrapped, my arms too tired to work at un-weaving it. I doze lightly, the throbbing in my ankle keeping me from a deep sleep.

A scream tears through my room. I bolt upright, grab the sweat-stained tunic from the floor and throw it over my head. I pull my sword from the scabbard on the floor. Quickly I unlock my door and dash across the hall. I throw my should against the door as I burst into the room. Inside I cast about, looking for the cause of the scream. Lena sits up on the bed, breathing heavily, Jessica holds her hand while rubbing her back in a comforting way. I scan the darkness for anything out of place.

"It was just a nightmare." Lady Jessica whispers to Lena. I glance at them again and quickly turn back around as my cheeks grow hot. Queen-in-waiting Lena Luthor was completely naked.

"Excuse me, my lady. I... I was not aware..." I hear a sharp intake of breath and the rustling of the sheets. I carefully move to the door, keeping my back turned the whole way.

"Kal, thank you for coming," Lena says in a small voice. I nod, still not looking than see myself out to return to my own room.

I try to sleep but after tossing and turning I give up and begin my daily exercises. This morning I also had to report to the Queen in her personal chambers. It was short seeing as I had only been here a couple of days. I also had to relay to Sir James the events of the day before. The Queen sat silently through it all except to dismiss me. Her dark cold eyes always made me uncomfortable. I take a deep breath when I leave to try and shake the feeling of judgment.

"Have you found anyone to be on your personal guard?" Sir James asks as he catches up with me.

"Donovan. I Like him. He has an eagerness to prove himself. Other than that, no."

"Excellent choice. That boy of yours, John, He is doing well. Surpassing all the guard trainees his age. You trained him well."

"Thank you, Sir James. He had a lot of natural talent, to begin with."

"Pleas Kal, Just call me James. We should be friends because we will be seeing a lot of each other.

"Okay, James. Is there anyone you suggest for me to check into?"

"Hmmmm..... I'll make a list for you. I have to go to the practice yard. Have a good day Kal."

Good was not the term I would have used for my day. After meeting Lena at her room, she leads us to a study with a large ornate desk. Books line the walls, two large armchairs sit in front of an even larger window that floods the study with daylight.

Jessica moves immediately to the chairs and picks up some needlework that she had apparently left from a previous time. A large stack of parchments rest on the desk Lena sits behind. Not knowing exactly what to do I just stand at attention by the door. After a few minutes, Lena sighs deeply.

"Please Kal, I do not believe that a dagger-wielding beggar will burst through the door. Sit down. Read a book if you would like. These reports will take most of the day." I linger at the door until Lena gives me a hard look.

I nod and walk to the books and scan the titles. Despite my ability to write short letters and read commands I still struggle with most words. I see a book on strategy and pull it down then sit next to Lady Jessica. The hours stretch on as I struggle through the book. Most of the words are familiar but it is still slow going. Lena's quill scratches on parchment and Jessica's needle silently weaves through the cloth.

"Reading is not easy for you, is it Kal?" Lena's voice breaks the silence.

"No, my lady. Your brother had one of his pages teach me enough to write and read orders. Now master Winslow is teaching me."

"I keep forgetting that you were not born with such privileges. You handle yourself so well. Almost as if you were born for court.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Kal please, call me Lena in private. We are going to be spending a lot of time together and titles are tiring. Besides, you saw me half-naked last night." I know Lena is teasing but I feel my face flush none the less.

"Yes, my... Lena." She chuckles at my stumble.

We lapse back into a comfortable silence. Eventually, Lady Jessica sends for food. Several servants bring plates of steaming meat and soups. Slowly cooked vegetables and fresh fruit. There is a wedge of hard cheese and fresh bread with a pitcher of a sweet red wine. To my delight, a platter of sweets is brought up also. Jessica takes a little of everything.

"Help yourself Kal. I know you must be hungry." I grin but Lena does not even look up from her work. I pile a plate with food and set the book aside to concentrate on eating and give my brain a rest. I always had to eat a lot of food, I do not know why. That is why I had to learn to hunt and trap because army rations were never enough. I could out eat most of the biggest men in my company.

The sun moves across the sky and I pick at the remaining food. Lena, on the other hand, had hardly touched her plate of fruit and cheese and bread. She had a look of intense concentration as she methodically poured over the reports. At one point I started pacing to avoid losing my mind in the stillness. I glanced over at what Lena was doing and saw she had reports from all over Krypton. Grain invoices, mining reports, troop movements, death tolls. The variety and importance of each one were astounding. I sat again to avoid distracting Lena although I am not sure if she even noticed my restlessness.

Dozing lightly in my chair, I hear Lena's chair scrap backward on the stone floor. Servants had come long before to clear away the plates and platters. they also came and lit the chandelier of candles over our head as the sunset. It was nearing time for supper.

Lena called for her page who seemed to miraculously appear as if knowing she would need him. Which I guess he probably did.

"Take these reports to Queen Lillian," she commands.

The boy awkwardly lifts the large stack and hurries out of the room. He nearly spills the whole pile as he almost runs into James on the way out. James smiles and tousles the boy's hair before stepping out of the way.

"My Lady." James bows to Lena.

"Sir James. What brings you here?" she asks.

"I have come to relieve Sir Kal for the night. Also here is the list of names for you." The last part was directed at me. James hands me a rolled up scroll.

"Thank you, Sir James." I bow my head slightly at him then turn to face the women in the room.

"Good night, Lady Jessica. Good night Your Highness."

"Good night, Sir Kal," they say almost in unison.

As I walk I unroll the scroll. The list is sadly short. How could there be so few trustworthy men in the castle? As I scan the list I realize that most of the names are Donovan's friends. I get to the bottom and stop mid-stride. Jonathan Jones. Apparently, James thought that the boy was ready. He had already hinted several times that he thought John was good. Better than most.

I tuck the scroll away and continue to the guard dining for food. I easily locate the group of men I need. Quickly I grab a slice of bread and wedge of cheese and scarf them down. A small swig of wine from a pitcher to wash it all away. When I approach the men, their conversation falls silent.

"Follow me." Is all I say.

They do. Good, they are willing to follow orders. I lead them to the practice yard. I pick up two blunted swords from the rack of training equipment. I toss one to Donovan, who nimbly catches it from the air.

"I am going to spare with each of you in turn. Ready?" I nod to the young man. He seems unsure but his face grows serious. He raises his sword.

I press hard, trying to see where each man stands in their training. They were good for men who had never seen real combat. But they were too rigid, everything was precise and basic. I could easily flow through their stiff guards. When we were done each man was in various states of weariness. Some still short of breath. To me, however, the battles energized me after a day of nothingness.

"You, sir, are a force of nature." Donavon is still panting slightly.

"But what was all this for?"

I study each man closely. I liked the determination each had fought with. All fought clean and fair, the product of honest men.

"To test you." They look at me questioningly.

"And you all pass. Sir James wanted me to find men to guard the Queen-in-waiting. I choose you."

Grins spread on the men's faces. There are eight of them in all. I send two of them to ready to take over guarding Lena's hall, then talk to the rest.

"We will personally be responsible for protecting the Queen-in-waiting. Only you men will rotate through the guard. For her rooms, for whatever room, she enters, or for her alone. We will guard her every step. I will also teach you to fight like me, like men who have everything to lose. Donovan, Anthony, you will take over guarding the Queen-in-waiting rooms at midnight. Andrew and Conner at dawn. I will send a page with further instructions. Tomorrow right after supper you are to report here. That is when we will train. Dismissed." The men quickly leave the yard but I soon hear laughter from the men who were excited about a new duty in life.

In my own rooms, I use my new soaps to wash the sweat from my body. Then I begin to clean my armor, determined to take good care of the wonderful gift. My eyes grow heavy after two sleepless nights. I re-wrap my chest and dawn a nightshirt and loose cotton pants. I just finished tying them around my waist when someone knocks softly at the door. I am surprised when Lady Jessica's face greets me. She is in her nightdress, sleep glassing her eyes.

"My lady cannot sleep. Every time she tries she sees the man with the knife. My Lady wishes for you to stay in her chambers tonight to help put her mind at ease." I nod.

"Let me put on something more suitable. I will be right over." Jessica turns back to the still open door of Lena's chambers. I put on a comfortable tunic and my boots. I grab my sword and pull the baldric over my head.

When I enter the room, Lena stands staring into the dying flames of the fire. She wears a red nightdress with a matching shawl draped around her shoulders. She does not turn at my entrance so I place a hand on her shoulder.

"My Lady, please go to sleep. That man can no longer hurt you I will stay here all night. Tomorrow I start training your own personal guard of men I and Sir James trust."

"Lena." she sighs.

"Pardon?"

"Please call me Lena. I never get to hear my own name. It makes me feel like less of a person." She looks at me sadly.

"Lena. Sleep. Lady Jessica and I are both here." Lena nods her assent to my plea and climbs into the large bed with Jessica.

I settle into the overstuffed armchair by the fire, sword across my lap. I had already resigned my self to getting very little sleep tonight.

"Will you be here when I wake?"

"I am sorry my... Lena. I have lessons with Lady Catherine before dawn." She nods and lays down. I settle in for a long uncomfortable night.

My days began to blur together. Lessons before dawn, court in the morning, watching Lena and her ladies in the afternoon. After dinner each night I began training with the men. I had to teach them to be able to adapt to battles, not everyone fought with honor and that took a lot of time to break them of that notion. Nearly a fortnight passed before any real change occurred.

Lena's Ladies began preparing for the End of Summer Festival. A week-long celebration that celebrated the start of harvest. Most of the noble families would return to court with their households, most common folk would travel to Kandor from all over Krypton. Tournaments would be held and celebrations would last all night, every night. It would also celebrate the return of Prince Alexander. The army had managed to set up strong defensive lines along our border and Cadmium had drawn back to resupply for winter months. The Prince was using the lull in the fighting to return home.

The bustle of the castle begins to put me on edge. So many new people in and out of the castle. New faces crowd the halls and the old are never where I expect them after I had memorized their routines.

"You know, when you are nervous you fidget with your sword."

"Huh?"

We were in Lena's private study as she checked reports. I was pacing back and forth when Lena spoke and I stopped and turned to her.

"Also you get this cress between your eyes when you are worried. Right here." She points to her own forehead. I roll my eyes.

Still, the comment makes my heart start thudding in my chest. We spent so much time together that I had come to notice all her little habits. How she gets so concentrated that nothing else matters to her. How it breaks her heart to disappoint those she has to deny. She was filled with compassion behind an icy royal exterior. It seemed she had been watching me also.

"I have a right to worry Lena. This castle is full of strangers. All potentially here to kill you."

"Kal, I trust you, and the men you trained. You need to trust them too. Now come here and read this to me."

Lena kept insisting on making me read despite Winn's teaching. Winn had grown on me during our time together. His positivity was endless. He loved the books he cared for and he was a genius at breaking and making the coded messages for the army. We went out nearly every night I was off. It was nice to be able to have a friend to talk to. Somehow Winn managed to introduce me to a new woman every night. I would laugh and talk with them before letting them down easy in the end.

Lena was sending the reports she had finished with the page. Lady Jessica was off overseeing feast preparations. We were alone except for the two guards outside the door.

"So are you competing in the tournaments?" Lena asks as she carefully puts her quill and ink away.

"No, I have no training in such things and wish not to attempt and make a fool of myself."

"Well, there is one you could do. The open brawl. It has almost no rules except not to kill." I consider the suggestion.

"That seems a difficult task, all those men surrounding you and not killing them. But I suppose it would be doable."

"Wonderful, I will have Jessica enter you. Your squire, John, I will make sure he gets everything you need." She says energetically.

"Lena, why is this so important to you? she sighs.

"Because whatever brute wins is rewarded with the place of honor next to me each night of the festival. Which means I am then obligated to speak with them or dance with them if they ask." I chuckle softly.

"So I am a brute now, am I?" We had long since lost the pretense of hiding our emotions and we actually teased each other in private. It was a banter that seems to flow easily between us.

"No! Of course not. You are the person I would much rather celebrate with because it would be a celebration instead of me dreading every minute."

"There is no guarantee I will win." I point out.

"I believe you will. That is enough." She says it so seriously that I almost cannot respond.

"Anything for my future Queen."

Lena rests her hand on mine. The contact surprises me when I realize we are both leaning forward on opposite sides of the desk. I clear my throat and take my hand back by adjusting the baldric again.

"Where to now, my Lady?" Intentionally not saying her name to break whatever spell had fallen over us. Her eyes darken slightly but she says nothing about me pulling away.

"Now we go to welcome my brother home."

After the very long formal Ceremony that was basically a big parade of mummers dancing, men marching, and women being put on display for the prince. The prince then takes his place on a throne next to his mother and sister. The ceremony dissolves into a feast that is more drink than food. When relieved of my post next to Lena I find Winn where we agreed to meet to head into the city. Our favorite tavern was The Kryptonite.

The food was great and the ale was sweet. Winn and I talked in a corner. Somehow Winn always knew the latest gossip. I had a feeling he read things he should not have but it kept me informed of the goings on in the castle so I did not complain. After several hours we begin the long walk up to the castle.

"I have something you may like in my room. Its a book on different herbal remedies I acquired from a healer. I have it memorized now so I do not need it anymore." At least I am pretty sure that is what I said. Winn was talking about how he wanted to learn about healing techniques. The ale was making my mouth feel like it was a little behind my thoughts.

"That would be a-maz-ing." He grins and stumbles slightly when he looks at me.

That puts us both in a fit of laughter before we resume the walk. It seems to take forever in the alcohol-induced haze but we finally make it all the way to my room. The guard's eye Winn but let him pass. When we are in my room I dig through the chest at the foot of my bed for the book.

"Here it is. Of course, it was at the bottom." I stand and turn back to Winn. He is standing closer than I thought and I give myself a shake. Maybe I drank more than I thought.

"Thanks, Kal." Winn's voice is kind of high like he was nervous.

He grasps the book but does not take it from me. I feel my head cock to the side in a question. Winn lurches forward and his lips clumsily meet mine. I jerk back and push him at the same time. Winn sprawls on the ground.

"Oh Rao, Winn I am sorry. I did not mean to push you so hard."

"So you aren't into me. Rao what have I done." Winn scrambles to his feet and tries to leave, but I step in front of him.

"Wait, Winn."

"It's fine Kal. Either you're gay or you're not. You obviously are not and I just ruined our friendship."

"No, it is not like that. I am but not in the way you think."

"What is that supposed to mean!" He is angry and hurt and it is plain on his face.

"I...I can't tell you."

"Whatever Kal. Move. I want to leave." I know if he leaves nothing will be the same and I will lose my only friend. I chew on my bottom lip as I contemplate what I am about to do.

"Winn, can I trust you?"

"What?" He nearly spits the question.

"If I tell you why I need to know that I can trust you. With my life. Because if you tell anyone it will mean I will lose my life." Winn's face slowly moves from anger to deep thought and then softens back into the gentleman I know.

"Yes, Kal. You can trust me." His slow response shows that he really did consider his answer and I know it is true.

"I...I am not who you think I am."

"Kal, just say whatever it is. I am way too drunk for obscure words." I sigh.

"Winn, my real name is Kara. I am a woman." I believe every emotion possible plays across Winn's face as he processes what I said. Then he laughs.

"Wow, oh Rao, you almost had me there. That was so out there I almost believed you. This has to be the strangest way someone has turned me down."

"Winn," I say seriously to get his attention. I take one of his hands and press it against my chest. I know my breast were never large but they were still there. I see Winn's eyes widen at the soft mound under his palm.

"Kal... Kara. Oh, this is fantastic. It explains so much too. No wonder you turned down nearly every woman I through at you. No wonder you were not attracted to me. Wait, no, why aren't you attracted to me?" I grin at his rambling and at the way he is waving his arms about.

"Really Winn? That is your first question?"

"Wait you said you were gay, just not the way I thought. Who then?" I blush and look down, Lena's face flashes across my vision.

"Kara no! The Queen-in-waiting?"

"Yes," I say in a small voice.

"Oh jeez, Kara."

"Well Winn, now you know my two biggest secrets."

"Oh Roa, this isn't like an 'I know too much and I have to die now' situation is it?" I laugh.

"No Winn. This is a 'you have to be my friend forever' situation."

"Oh, wonderful. Now you know my biggest secret too. Same sex relationships are very frowned upon."

"I know. Which is also why Lena should never know my feelings. Or my secrete. I have lied to the crown and that is treason."

"I understand Kara. But hey, you won't have to hide with me."

"That will be great Winn. I'll see you tomorrow." I finally step out of his way because somehow I know everything will be okay.

Winn pulls me into a tight hug and I stiffen at first. No one has hugged me since my mother died. Slowly I wrap my arms around him also.

"Goodnight, Kara."

"Kal. Just call me Kal. It is safer that way." Winn nods before leaving. I lock my door and fall into bed. I feel like a great burden is lessened a bit. Not that someone was taking it from me, but Winn was helping me hold it up.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #KoK #knight #au #medeival

[wind-in-the-weirwoods]

Knight-Errant

I’ve somehow gone over the 500 follower mark on this Jonsa sideblog and I’m thankful for every one of you. This community is wholesome as hell and really helps get through the slog of my personal life

To that end, here’s the rough draft of an AU fic I’m working on where Ser Barristan Selmy went North instead of East, looking to escape assassination attempts and serve the realm by exchanging his white cloak for a black one (the irony is not lost on him). The continuity I’m working with is a combination of book and show elements, things that make sense to me personally, and ofc shades of Jonsa (which I believe is canon but we’re not there yet folks) so please don’t think too hard about timelines and contradictions and such

I’ve got about seven chapters in various states of readiness but this is the one I think will most appeal to anybody seeing this post. It’s a fun project to work on and I’ll keep plugging away until it’s ready to be put on AO3 when all is said and done. I want to emphasize that this is a rough draft (I wrote it in about an hour before posting it here after noticing my followers count went over 500 and started yelling) so there are totally some typos and what have you going on

Anyway check it out I hope you enjoy it

A single horn blast rang through the courtyard. Arstan Whitebeard set his mouth in a firm line and stepped outside to watch the gates open. The big, oak doors had just been repaired from the giant’s break-in that morning and creaked open achingly slow.

Arstan stared down at the horses and riders as they entered. It was as an odd a grouping as he’d ever seen – a straw-haired knight in battered armor, a squire in what looked like faded Lannister red, and a tall girl in grey just behind them. They coaxed their horses into the courtyard warily, looking around at the men of the Watch and wildlings that crowded Castle Black.

Snow fell gently but persistently. Old wooden boards creaked beneath Arstan’s boots as Dolorous Edd and Jon Snow joined him on the balcony. They hadn’t expected any wandering crows or supplies caravans. These newcomers didn’t have the look of messengers.

Edd tapped his gloved fingers nervously on the bannister, but Arstan noticed Snow had gone oddly still. His eyes rose to the young man’s face and saw him staring intently at the three arrivals.

Snow shuddered and hurried to the stairs, wordless. Arstan and Edd were just a step behind him, brows furrowed. What was this?

Tormund gaped open-mouthed as the knight dismounted and helped the lady down. They turned to face Snow at the bottom of the stairs and Arstan started – he knew them. That was no knight, but the lady of Tarth. Her skill at arms in touneys had reached him in King’s Landing. Her squire was familiar but he couldn’t place the boy’s face.

The girl in grey was Ned Stark’s daughter. Taller than Arstan had last seen her, but he remembered her from the last weeks of his service at the capital. Arstan felt his face pale and hoped his beard was enough to keep him from being recognized. Surely he would not be found out after all this time?

Arstan’s gaze flickered from the girl and back to Snow, who had paused at the foot of the stairs still as a statue. Stark’s daughter swallowed uneasily, eyes only for Snow. Her bastard half-brother, Arstan realized. The snowflakes whirled gently between them.

Stark’s daughter – what was her name? – hesitantly stepped forward, timid. Snow mirrored her, arms loose at his sides. Then she lurched forward, mouth opening into a wordless cry. Snow rushed ahead and she leapt into his arms as they embraced.

They stood there, reunited. Arstan numbly thought that Snow hadn’t have expected to see his family again since joining the Watch; what misfortunate had brought the Stark girl here? They still stood there before the befuddled onlookers, quietly rejoicing. The lady of Tarth bowed her head in relief. Tormund was still gawking at the her in her armor.

After a long moment the two Starklings broke their embrace. Snow shouted for firewood and blankets; Edd waved at the gatekeeper to close the doors. Ser Davos ran over from across the courtyard, arms beckoning in question.

Arstan followed them back up the stairs but stopped outside the hall to give them some privacy. What had just happened?

***

He didn’t find out until the next morning when they broke their fast. Snow and Stark’s daughter gathered at a table in the mess hall with Edd, Davos, Tormund, and Brienne, the lady of Tarth. Arstan stood at the doorway as they broke bread and talked.

The tale the Stark girl – Sansa, her name was – told was hard to hear. She did not linger on the abuse she’d suffered from Lannisters and Boltons and Littlefinger but Arstan noticed Snow’s shoulders tighten. She’d won her freedom with the help of a dead man, and Brienne led her safely here.

Someone knocked hurriedly at the door. Arstan turned unbidden and opened it, a hand passively resting at the hilt of his sword. One of the stewards waited outside in the cold, scroll in hand. Outside a grim-faced Bolton man waited patiently on a dark horse.

Arstan’s face was a mask as he took the scroll, nodded to the steward, then shut the door and crossed the room.

“Letter for you, Lord Commander,” Arstan murmured. Snow turned, sighed, and accepted the scroll with a pink wax seal. Sansa’s mountain lake-blue eyes lingered on Arstan’s face before turning down to the message.

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.”

Arstan stepped back to resume his watch near the doorway. Snow broke the seal and looked the letter over silently.

Sansa’s eyes flickered up at Arstan again and returned to Snow. The old knight felt his blood run cold. Snow snatched the message up roughly and bowed his head, breathing deeply.

“To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow. You allowed thousands of wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard.” Snow paused, breathed, and read again. “Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon.”

At that Snow started. His eyes lifted to meet his half-sister’s and he continued, “His direwolf’s skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back.” Snow did not change his tone. “Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection.”

Tormund grunted and shifted his weight, staring down at Snow to gauge his reaction. “You will watch as I skin them living.” Snow scanned the next line, began to read it, and stopped, staring at his half-sister. Sansa stared back at her half-brother and reached across the table steadily, taking the letter for herself.

She began to read. “You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see.

“Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

The table broke out in discussion. They spoke all at once about the Bolton bastard’s succession, how many fighters the wildlings had, and whether any of the surviving Stark bannermen remembered their oaths. Whether the message even spoke truly.

Sansa’s hand shot across the table and seized Snow’s, pulling him towards her inexorably. Snow froze, eyes wide. Arstan himself was taken aback by the gesture.

Her tone was steely as her eyes pierced into Snow’s. “You’re the son of the last true Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal.” Her knuckles whitened around Snow’s fist. “They’ll fight for you if you ask.” She breathed quickly, licking her lips, and she continued to implore him. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both.”

Snow still sat hunched over the table, eyes the size of dinner plates. He nodded.

Sansa did not let go of his hand as she turned to Tormund. “You’ll help us?”

The big wildling scoffed in response, eyes burning. Ser Davos and Brienne were spoken for. Edd sat on the bench alone, defeated. He had no dog in this fight. The Watch took no part.

Sansa looked up over Snow’s shoulder, eyes searching for Arstan. He frowned, throat dry.

“Will you ride with us, ser?”

Edd jumped and Snow jerked in his seat, eyes questioning.

Sansa surveyed them both in surprise. She hadn’t expected that reaction. “They don’t know?”

Arstan took a moment to respond. His shoulders slumped, and he answered in a low voice, “They don’t, my lady. I left that all behind me.”

“I remember you,” Sansa said slowly, gently, “when you were dismissed.” Her stern face turned to a small frown. “They were awful to you. I’m sorry I said nothing against it.”

It was an ugly memory. He didn’t remember her standing amongst the courtiers before storming out, but the girl spoke truly. “It wasn’t your place to defend me, my lady.”

“I should have still done something. Have you taken your oaths truly?”

Snow’s eyes danced back and forth in thought. Edd interrupted them, “Arstan swore his service to the Night’s Watch, same as me. But not as a knight. You’re anointed?”

“I was shamed,” Arstan answered quietly, “and a wanted fugitive. I didn’t want goldcloaks or knives in the dark bothering the Watch.”

Snow entered the conversation. “Arstan swore to serve the watch. If you’re not Arstan then who are you, truly, ser?”

The old knight thought hard, memory reaching back days and months and across the years. There lay Snow in a drift, ruby-red blood fallen and pooling where he’d found him. Ruby-red blood spattered on his breastplate from dragging Robert away from the dying boar. Loose rubies in the bubbling Red Ford around the ruin of a prince he’d sworn to protect. A white cloak and silver sword thrown down in anguish and fury before the Iron Throne, the same spot where an atrocity in ruby-red cloaks had been offered.

He’d failed before. He wouldn’t fail again. Robert and Rhaegar and the children were gone, there was no saving them. But here was his saving. A knight was nothing without a lord to serve, and any man would have loved to serve Lord Stark. The blood rushed back into his face and he felt hot despite the cold outside. Lord Stark’s children needed a knight to serve them.

He knelt and they stood, Sansa walking around the table and bewildered Edd and Tormund. He bowed his head and spoke confidently, earnestly.

“I am Ser Barristan of House Selmy, formerly of the Kingsguard.” Someone muttered Barristan the Bold in shock and he ignored it. “Dismissed by King Joffrey Baratheon, fugitive of his justice.”

Barristan looked up at the Starklings. Sansa was graceful, eyes dancing. Snow was dark, still processing the revelation. Barristan unsheathed his sword and offered it hilt-first. Snow took it uneasily and Barristan thought of the same trepidation Rhaegar had worn when he’d first sworn his service. He said the same words again.

“Lady Sansa,” he began, then added gently, “Lord Snow, I offer you my service. I will shield your backs and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

Snow was hesitant and unsure. He’d never been taught the words. Sansa spoke surely, “And I vow that you will always have a place by my hearth and mead at my table.” Her mouth set in a hard, thin line. “And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” She turned to Snow and beckoned him forward. He returned the sword and grasped the knight’s forearm, lifting him to his feet

“Arise, Ser Barristan. We welcome your service.”

#my writing #actuallyjonsa #game of thrones au #jonsa au #jonsa fic #ser barristan selmy #game of thrones spoilers #got spoilers #a song of ice and fire spoilers #asoiaf spoilers #jon snow x sansa stark

[templarhalo]

The Master of Mankind’s Return Chapter 5 ( In the Grim darkness of the far future, there is only disappointment and hope)

Only three chapters left until this fanfic is officially complete  Thank you again for everyone who’s read it.   I plan  to have this chapter and the previous ones posted on Archive of our Own this week.

Vldor was falling.   He was tumbling into an an abyss,  his limbs flailing, his mouth trying to  scream, but producing no sound.

He slammed into the floor of a the Imperial Palace   Valdor groaned and pulled himself to his feet.   Then he looked around and almost screamed.

The palace was unrecognizable.  Gold was slathered over the walls,. Statues that had once been painted were dull and lifeless,   The magnificent tapestries and friezes that had been  removed in the process of fortifying the palace had not been restored to their  rightful place.

Thick layers of dust and soot had settled over everything.  Valdor had to refrain from screaming again when released the soot was actually cremated human  remains

Than he realized something.

The palace was silent.    Something it never should have been.  The palace had always been filled with the giggles of Ligo scampering through the halls, the clack-clack of Malcador’s Staff,  The chortle his Custodes made as the exchanged jokes with Sisters of Silence in thought-mark as they went about their duties.  The ka-boom! of one his King’s experiments  going awry.  

But there was no sound, not even the background of the hustle and bustle of Terra was heard.

Valdor started running in the direction of the Sanctum Imperialis.  He had landed  near the Tower of Hegemon.  In about 15 minutes at his maximum speed he would reach the Eternity Gate

When he reached Eternity Gate, he couldn't hold back his scream back anymore.

An army of the dead stood between him and Eternity Gate.  There were Astartes and Custodes in blackened armor, wreathed in fire, with no visible, flesh except for bones.   

There were mortal soldiers, too. Voidsmen of the defunct  Solar Auxilia, warrior maidens in a pattern of power armor he did did not recognize , Lucifer Blacks and the gung-ho Catachans.  Valdor saw flame-wreathed  soldiers in gas masks and trenchcoats clutching Lucius Pattern Lasguns and shotguns.  He saw  soldiers in green and olive fatigues led by a skeleton clutching a banner that had the name Cadia inscribed on  it's tattered form.

There were Thunder Warriors too.  The glorious, honored dead of the Terran Unification Wars stood alongside those who had been betrayed at Isstvan III and V and who died at the Siege of Terra and the decades after

Valdor felt a chill deep in his bones.  There had to be at least 300,000 Space Marines alone standing before him, not to mention  the Custodes and Thunder Warriors and the host of mortal soldiers.

For a second Valdor stood before an army of Martyrs.

Then they saluted, and parted before him

Valdor hesitated, then he gritted his teeth and took a step forward

Eternity Gate opened  with a deep  rumble.

Valdor  was greeted by a withered figure  sitting in a cell.  It took Valdor a moment to  recognize him as His King

The Emperor rose from the floor.  Valdor could see His ribs through the chiton He wore.   His hair was white and greasy, dark circles were under his eyes.  His hands were gnarled arthritic things. No aura of raw power cloaked him, this was His King as he truly looked, the strain keeping his body and mind intact after the wounds Horus dealt and the agony of his confinement to  Golden Throne plain to  see .

The Emperor wiped blood from his nose, than he spat black bile and coughed up phlegm,   His body made the rattle of death,  for it was little more than a corpse, its only purpose to  contain His essence and provide a form for His subjects and the woman he loved more than life itself to  see.  

“The wheels of fate are spinning  old friend, I have done all I can to  stack the deck in your favor.”

The Emperor  reached through the bars and lay a spasm wracked hand on Stan's chestplate.

“I look forward to seeing you with my own eyes old friend.”

Constantin awoke with a gasp.  He was  not expecting to be able to actually see with his physical eyes.  Isha must have healed him while he’d experienced this…. Experience.  Valdor would not call it a dream.  Dreams hurt and left a dry, bitter taste on one’s mouth, like a mix of taking a bolter round to the chest and trying to keep down bitter dregs of a poor vintage of wine.

“Your mind is loud for a mon-keigh.”  Isha said.

“Really?” Valdor asked.  The goddess nodded.   “You have my thanks for healing me.  Are we close to finding an exit to realspace?” The custodes asked.  He rose with more effort than he’d care to admit.  His wounds had been healed, but his strength was flagging.  He wanted nothing more than to rest, but duty forced him to remain standing and press onwards.

“There is a webway portal ahead   Twenty five of what you call miles ahead.” Isha answered.

The Aeldari goddess smelled of pine and roses, freshly baked bread and fertile soil.   The goddess presence, coupled with the  whispers of the imperfection of the daemons and those he slew with the Apollonian Spear hammered at him.  

He looked at Aella for a second.  

“You look like shit Captain-General.”  The young custodes  said with a grin.

Leman let out a bark of laughter.

“I feel like shit.” Valdor said.

“So Lord Commander Guilliman has petitioned for the aid of the knights of Sigismund?” High Marshal Helbrecht asked.

“My Primarch... has requested that the Black Templars muster as many warriors as you can spare to aid him for his crusade.  He would be honored if the Eternal Crusader could take part.” Lieutenant Chiron Patroclus of the Ultramarines 10th Company replied.

Sitting in a throne of hand carved marble mined from a quarry on holy Terra  during that heady period between the end of the Terran Unification Wars and the first true battles of the Great Crusade Helbrecht was every inch a Black Templar.

His Power Armor was a mix of Mark III and IV  plate  painted in a dull bronze that did little to hide the scars and dents it had accumulated during its service not just to Helbrecht but to those who had worn it before him. A line of knights had worn this suit, a line stretching back all the way to the Templar Brethren of the First Company of the original Imperial Fists Legion.  The suit had bore the scars of the battle fought at Beta-Gamon and the Siege of Terra itself.  

Over this power armor was a black tabard and cloak lined in arterial scarlet. Further adorning the armor were oaths of moment, purity seals, crusader tokens and scrolls detailing Helbrecht's glorious deeds.

In the Master of the Black Templar’s hands was the Sword of the High Marshal’s.  Even sheathed and deactivated  the Power Sword radiated an aura of majesty,  for the blade had been forged using  fragments of Rogal Dorn's own Chainsword Storm's Teeth.  The holy sword  had been quenched in traitor and xenos blood in the hands of the founder and First High Marshal of the Black Templar and  the First Emperor’s Champion, Sigismund

In contrast, Lieutenant Chiron wore Mark X Power Armor, which bore few battle scars. Helbrecht saw no battle honors on his armor aside from the Vigilus Campaign.

Not only does the Primarch send a lackey, he doesn't even send me one who's at least earned to right to march onto the field of battle in  holy Terminator Armor. Helbrecht thought.

Helbrecht’s pride was not stung, but the High Marshal was by the  necessity of his sacred office and duties a political thinker.  

Why had Lord Commander Gulliman sent a Lieutenant with barely two centuries of battle experience?  If the matter was so damn important why not order the High Marshal with his divine and political authority or petition him in person? Why not send Marneus Calgar or Reclusiarch Cassius? Or a member of his Victrix Guard or a Company Captain?  Or was this crusade so important that this young officer was all the thirteenth son of the God Emperor could spare in his preparations?

At least he has not sent one of his  Librarians. Helbrecht thought.

“Tell me Lieutenant, given the importance of this endeavor why had Lord Commander Gulliman not come in person? I mean no offense but why send  a young brother such as yourself? “

“No one else could be spared my Lord.  My Primarch is personally overseeing the gathering of forces for his new crusade.  Lord Calgar has been recalled from Vigilus to resume his role as Lord Defender of Macragge.  Reclusiarch Cassius fights along the 3rd Company and half the 6th against the Tyranids of Hive Fleet Kronos. The remainder of the chapter save for 25 veterans of the first and half of my own company, muster at Calth.

Translation :Guilliman was micromanaging again, but wanted his officers close, and anyone else that could have been sent  was unavailable due to other duties.

“What are Gulliman’s goals for this new crusade of his?” Helbrecht asked.

“Further securing the borders between the western and eastern half of the Imperium as well as the destruction of key traitor assets including  the Despoiler himself. My lord.  Many chapters, including your primogenitors and the Iron Hands have contributed their entire strength to  this endeavor.”

Helbrecht took a second to reply.

“I will confer with my knights, tell your primarch I can guarantee at least two hundred warriors for his crusade. I cannot promise that the Eternal Crusader herself will join for I have received petitions from other commanders.”

The Lieutenant nodded and than left the hall.

“My liege,  you should send only a handful of knights, there are other war zones, we would be more suited to.” Marshal Brienne of the Tarth Crusade said.

“I concur, High Marshal, the filthy Tyranids  and Tau have been ravaging the southern half of the Imperium, send enough brothers and sisters to satisfy the Lord Commander and be done with it.  He did not even petition you in person.” Marshal Tormund, a Primaris Marine clad in battered Gravis Armor said gruffly

“We have received reports of Huron Blackheart conducting  raids in the galactic West.  We should muster as many warriors and ships as we can.  Surely she  would be put to better use ending the Tyrant of Badab. while Lord Commander Guilliman has his own Gloriana.”   Marshal Michel spoke.

Helbrecht  suppressed a sigh.   The Black Templars had been bloodied this past century.    Many of their Chapter Keeps had been destroyed.  Many brothers and sisters had given their lives for the God-Emperor.   With the Imperium split in half that meant a great many Knights were missing, presumed fallen.   Helbrecht doubted there were a little less than two thousand Black Templars still crusading, and with every petition for aid and every campaign that dragged on longer than projected spread them thinner and sapped their strength.   The crusade to protect key Shrine worlds had been a costly campaign, even with the new Primaris Marines to bolster their ranks.   The Indomitus Crusade had whittled them down even more.   Aiding Lord Commissar Yarrick in slaying Ghazkull Urk Thraka had left more than a thousand of them dead   While the chapter had continued the Eternal Crusade far below Codex Approved levels, and when tthe chapter had been at the brink of extinction, something had to  give.  The Black Templars could not be everywhere at once.

“This is a perfect opportunity to avenge Marshal Almarich and the honored fallen  who died fighting the Despoiler!” Venerable Tankred boomed. The  Dreadnought  was one of 14 ancients and the sole Mark V lingering in the corner of Sigismund’s Hall. The others were  mix of Contemptor, Mark IV and Leviathan patterns; all of them more than five thousand years old or more.

Helbrecht listened to the arguing of his Marshals and Castellans

“Enough!  Tonight, I will pray to the primarch and the God Emperor for guidance before the bones of the first High Marshal!  Tomorrow I will decide if I will take the Eternal Crusader to  join Lord Guilliman.”

That night Helbrecht knelt before the amber encased bones of the first Black Templar and prayed for guidance.

He shut his eyes,  for a second  he was kneeling, the next he on the bridge of the Eternal Crusader, the Vengeful Spirit filling up the viewports.   He saw the Phalanx beside the Vengeful Spirit. Her guns trained on the traitor flagship

“Fire now High Marshal!” A voice ordered over the vox.

Helbrecht opened his eyes, his chapped lips uttering a gasp.  He was back in the Tomb of Sigismund.  

When he returned to his quarters he voxed Reclusiarch Grimaldus that he had made his decision. The Eternal Crusader would go to Gulliman’s crusade. The only question now would be which Marshals would accompany him and which ones would not.

“Finally an exit back into real space.” Leman said.    “Do we know where it leads?” Rogal asked Isha inspected the portal.

“ It leads to a planet called Drecksloch.”  Isha said   She  pointed to  the inscription and  smiled,  as if she knew a joke that others  would not get.  

The portal opened  with a deep bass rumble

The five of them entered the shimmering portal,  Constantin  a sense of vertigo for a a few minutes  no more than three by his estimate.   Than he emerged in the middle of a fucking war zone.  In the distance he could make out Imperial Fists and Space Wolves  engaging warriors of the Black Legion.   

The sky was  filled with smoke  and dueling aircraft.

“Brother?  Is that you?”  a familiar, if somewhat unliked voice said.

Standing before them, clad in  deep blue and gold Power Armor, a Laurel wreath on his head and The Emperor of Mankind’s sword in his hand was Roboute Guilliman.

   .

#the master of mankind's return #warhammer 40k #templarhalo's fanfiction #Constantin Valdor

[scoundrelstars]

BECOMING, Part 2

<<Previous Next>>

[108.M42]

“My lady, it’s almost time.”

Nazarena was keeping a careful eye on the chronometer as she and Ysmin finished fussing over Esperanza’s body glove. Her ladies-in-waiting had been practicing the ceremonial donning of the traditional pilot’s suit for the last week, determined to get it everything just right.

The two girls had sequestered their charge in her apartments, fussing over every detail of Esperanza’s appearance. Every eye on Higara would be on the latest class of noble scions undergoing their Rituals of Becoming and it would not reflect well on the House to be underdressed. Sunset was close, the horizon sky was beginning to shift from deep azure to shifting violets and Esperanza knew it was time.

The suit itself was made of a body-hugging electroreactive mesh that would contract in response to augury input from a Knight’s armor. In concert with the mind impulse unit at the heart of the Throne Mechanicum, the suit allowed pilots to feel what their armor felt and gain the critical sense of spatial awareness that every warrior needed.

Ysmin finished pinning an elaborate plait in her raven hair, lifting it away from the puckered red skin around the synaptic jacks freshly implanted at the base of her skull. The recently-healed flesh felt hot to the touch and stung gently in the cool air of the castle apartments.

The two of them stepped back and let Esperanza pull on the control gauntlets that would complete her panoply. She nervously examined herself one last time, making sure everything was as it should be. The suit itself was a lustrous black, almost silken, material, and spider-webbed with bronze circuitry. Dataports were interlaced into key positions at the elbows, shoulders, and sides of the knees. More of the intricate wiring was inlaid into her gloves and boots. Nazarena and Ysmin nodded their approval.

“Ready,” said Esperanza. She’d stayed mostly silent throughout the entire process, only speaking to answer questions about fitting and comfort. She’d been afraid that her voice would have quavered, betraying the flutter in her stomach to her two friends.

“You’re ready,” said Ysmin, with a surety that made Esperanza smile, grateful for her friend’s confidence. It didn’t do much to ease the silvery fear that coursed through her, but she was glad for the support.

Nazarena took up the long silken cloak that had been draped over one of the ornate chairs in the dress. It flowed in her hands like water the color of night, the blue-black cloth drinking in the light from the glowglobes set into the dressing mirror. Emblazoned on the dark fabric was the rampant white Lion of Teliodes. Two silver clasps fastened the serous garment to her shoulders and Esperanza pulled the deep hood over her head.

Fully clad in the raiment of her house, she took a deep breath and let it go, keeping the shudder in it under control.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Ysmin and Nazarena made way for the sweep of her cloak and hurried ahead to open the carved double doors that led out of her rooms. In the long gallery, slanting orange light was streaming through the towering windows, setting the white marble in a fiery cast.

Esperanza strode down the hallway as she had a hundred times before. Her feet carried her on their own, her mind lost in keeping the silvery flutter of fear in her stomach from overwhelming her. Her boots were soft on the carpet, the cloak a soft swish. The only thing that broke the silence of the fortress was the thundering of her heart in her ears.

Finally, she arrived at the antehall, a chamber of vaulted white stone and gilt frescoes just before the Camarinas’ Grand Hall. Tapestries and trophies hung from banner poles jutting from the columns that rose away into the darkness of the ceiling above. Upon entering, Esperanza was greeted by the sound of a great many people talking all at once.

Groups of noble families, all dressed in their finest attire, were circulating throughout the room in a complex web of social niceties and deferences. Fashions from all across Higara swirled in a dazzling display of the planet’s elite. The House of Al-Sabir, the Furuys-lords of northern jungles, were resplendent in amber bodysuits, stylishly slashed to show silver silk beneath.  House Ursline mingled with their long-time allies, House Agon, both from the High South and both clad in ceremonial armor made from the Caldera Serpents that dwelled in the volcanic craters there.

“Esperanza!”

As she descended the steps and spotted her two older siblings, Astrela and Toma, making their way through the crowded antechamber. The twins were some decades older than her and quite the pair, bedecked in the newest capital fashions and representing the Teliodes colors. Tall and lithe, they were the picture of Higaran equatorial nobility. They both had the bronze skin, raven hair, and piercing blue eyes of true scions of the House. Toma looked every inch the Grandee, the midnight blue of his suitcoat complemented by the white Steppe Lion mane that adorned the collar and flowed down his back. Astrela had taken the opposite approach, her white dress seemingly made of one strip of cloth that had been wound around her body to great effect. She’d eschewed the long hair that was current Camarinas convention and had shorn her hair short, displaying the cranial implants at the base of her skull for all to see.

Toma hugged Esperanza and brought her in conspiratorially between him and his twin sister.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Of course she is,” whispered Astrela, a wide grin on her face, “she’s a Teliodes. ‘Victory or the Gates.’”

Esperanza took a deep breath, glad of the strong presence of her siblings. “I’m ready.”

Toma put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into Esperanza’s eyes. She looked up at him and saw through the smile on his face to the worry beneath.

“What is it?”

“Just… don’t force it. When you’re down there.”

“Stop it, Toma,” scolded Astrela, “she’ll be fine. Just make sure you let the ghosts know you’re in charge.”

She nodded dumbly, trying to absorb the conflicting advice. The two of them were experienced Knights, prodigies and crowd favorites. Together, they had felled the Leviathan Wyrm of East Higar. Fought back-to-back against greenskin hordes. Even destroying a xenos witch-construct of the Aeldari. Whatever guidance they could give her, however contrary, was a precious thing.

“Come on, we’ll be announcing you,” said Toma, guiding her to the base of the steps leading up into the Grand Hall.

Beside her, the other Houses were readying their candidates that had come of age. She knew each of them, having faced them across the sparring arena ever since she had been big enough to hold a sword. Coran Al-Sabir, Stensa Ursline, and Veldtren Agon.

They were all products of long and noble lineages dating back to before the Imperium of Man spanned the galaxy. Each was archetypal of the character of their Houses. Coran Al-Sabir was thoughtful and quick. Stensa Ursline was stubborn as a grox. And Veldrtran Agon was putting on a brave face. Of the four of them, odds were against even two surviving the Becoming.

But they had to do it. Not only for the honor of their Houses, but for the protection of their people. The Oath of Becoming was what they were born to endure. Trained from childhood to pilot the great Knight armors into battle against the foes of humanity. To glorify the name of the Emperor in valiant combat against the great darkness of the galaxy. It was their honor and it was their burden.

Trumpets blew a fanfare and great war horns sounded, signalling the start of the procession. They passed through gilded doors big enough for two Knight Armors to stride abreast and into the Grand Hall of the Fortress of Camarinas.

The rafters of the hall stretched high into the darkness, eighty meters or more, and the galleries and platforms that jutted from its walls were packed with the planetary elite. Administratum dignitaries, scribes, and logos-historitors chronicled every step the solicitants took as they entered. The High Sacristan, an imposing figure of fused cybernetics and withered flesh wrapped in the red of Mars, was accompanied by a retinue of Mechanicum priests. He rode an anti-grav platform that hovered over the heads of the gathered nobility, forever apart from the rest of Humanity.

By far the largest group were those that thronged the ground floor of the Grand Hall. The assembled noble Houses had turned out in force to see the newest Knight hopefuls. Each had brought a suit of armor to represent them, tapestries and honor scrolls hanging from the huge war engines. They towered over the assembled crowd, machines built for war, but restrained by honor. Bound by duty.

Esperanza recognized the heraldry of each in turn, having learned the heraldry of every Higaran House by long lessons unders strict lineage historians. Defiance of Fire, Sword of Hashan, Ironbreaker, and Irascible Foe. She knew them all by heart. Their presence loomed, making her feel small as she passed beneath the martial machines.

All eyes were upon her, weighing down her limbs and making each step an effort of will. She pushed through, determined not to hesitate. The four solicitants  swept down the hall, followed by their familial escorts. Floating servo-skulls equipped with pict-capture lenses buzzed around them, capturing the moment from every angle.

By tradition, each of them hid their face--Teliodes and Agon with deep-hooded cloaks, Ursline with a furred mask, and Al-Sabir with a veil of mirrorsilk. Only after they emerged from the Chamber of Echoes would Higara know their face. For while the Becoming was a celebration for the great Houses of Higara, it was also a wake. The Oath was a cruel thing, leaving only a fraction of those who attempted it alive.

Their procession came to an end at the foot of the throne dais which rose from the marble floor beneath soaring stained glass windows, alight with the orange fire of the setting sun. Three tiers of white marble steps held the assembled highborn of Higara, from the smallest and least influential on the bottom tier to the Houses that could lay claim to the throne just below the top level. The highest tier, just below where the Grand Duke sat, was the smallest and was the traditional place for the Keyholder Barons of the six High Fastnesses.

Esperanza searched the tiers until she found the faces she so desperately wanted to see. The Marchesa of the Meditara Steppe, Camila Teliodes, looked on from the second tier, her hand clasped fiercely over that of the man next to her, the High Shield Arturo Teliodes. Her mother and father. They watched with tears in their eyes and Esperanza’s heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to run to them, but knew there was no way she could.

The solicitants came to a halt upon the six-pointed compass rose that had been laid into the stonework before the throne dais. Each sank to one knee, bowing low before the Grand Duke. His Grace, Arai Tyto of Higara, pilot of the legendary Thousandfold Blade, stood and looked down upon the Knight candidates that had been brought to him. He was a severe man with a voice as deep as the Sea of Scorn.

“People of Higara, rejoice! A new cycle brings a new Becoming!”

Tyto spread his arms wide and and the Grand Hall erupted in applause. The Knights’ warhorns sounded, commencing the ceremony. Esperanza’s heart leapt into her throat as she stood, but she put steel in her spine. She’d been born for this.

#Warhammer 40k #Warhammer 40000 #Warhammer #Imperial Knights #Scoundrel Stars #House Teliodes #Esperanza Teliodes #Becoming #sci-fi #fan-fiction #fiction #108.M42

[crowkingwrites]

War Creatures (Ch.17)

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Summary:  In a crossover of the Nine Realms and Westeros, you find yourself in the dawn of a rebellion. Odin, Lord of Pyke, has made alliances with your family, House Grover of Highgarden. Your father’s army will join Odin’s army to overthrow the King and take the Iron Throne. There is just one cost to this alliance.You must marry the dark, young prince Loki.In a world where Kings do as they wish, where war is an oncoming storm, and peace is nothing but a dream, you are lost but brave. Loki is more powerful than he seems, and love will grow from the flames of war.

Words: 2416

Taglist: @white-chocolate-mocha-fan

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11108748/chapters/29052837

“Within A fortnight!” shouted Lord Wilfig across the dining hall. “My son and his new bride shall be joined in marriage! Ah, sweet, young love.” He looked at us. Walder’ grin had a piece of meat stuck in it, and I politely tried to smile. Fandral cringed at my facial reaction, and tried to lighten the mood for the both of us.

“Think of it this way,” he began. “Less than two weeks till they’re all gone.” He was right. Loki’s plan had put Fandral and me at the frontlines. Each day passed and we grew more and more annoyed with the drunken dwarves.

The Lord Mother, Lady Wewatta, planned every detail of the wedding, down to the seating arrangements. I was a part of these plans as much as a baker was a part of a naval army. Not to say that she was cruel or mean. Lady Wewatta was very excited about her son’s upcoming nuptials, and even more excited that it was to Lady Cerissa, a very pretty, human noble.

“And you shall wear a handmade dress, my dear,” she said proudly. “I’ll have them work day and night for you.” I nodded my head, but in a way, I felt bad for her. When you have a husband and a son who are nothing but awful, how do you cope? I wondered how she felt about King Malekith.

After another fitting which lasted three hours, I took a refreshing walk about the castle. The Eyrie was no maze. Visitors in Highgarden would often complain to me how lost they would get in the halls and corridors. Maybe it was where I grew up, or maybe because dwarves were simpler, but the Eyrie’s layout was not hard to figure out.

My room was among the other guest rooms in the castle. The floor above me had our hosts’ rooms. Lord Wilfig’s room was the biggest in the castle, but the least defended. It seemed Lord Wilfig thought he could defend himself and if any enemy were to come to his door, he would want them to face him first.

Walder’s room was much similar to his father’s. He did have guards protecting his door, but they seemed lethargic and bored standing there. In the floors below all of the bedrooms were obviously the throne room, dining hall, lord’s talking chambers, etc. One thing that caught my eye was the Moon Door.

As I walked into the throne room again, I noticed more of the grandeur of it all. Lord Wilfig’s ancestors loved luxury, art, but most of all, looking intimidating to their enemies. Hence, the Moon Door. The perfectly round door was a long way down to hard rocks, spikes, and the cold, unforgiving earth.

I bent down over the wall to see scattered bodies. Most of them were decayed, but I spied an elf, quite a few dwarves, but most curious, a frost giant. My father told me how savage they were. Their cold, hard northern laws made every man held accountable for their wrongdoings. Sometimes I didn’t know what was colder: frost giants or their traditional ways.

“Lady Cerissa!” I heard behind me. It almost startled me into falling through the Moon Door. I turned to see Walder with a few of his friends. Loki was not far behind. It seemed he was watching him.

“Good afternoon, Walder,” I greeted as politely as I could. A smile made its way onto my face, my eyes looked alert and gave all of their attention to the dwarf in front of me.

“How’s my bride-to-be?” Walder leaned forward to give me a kiss on the lips. The Black Mountain Knight stepped in between us to stop him. I secretly smiled at my protector, but as I glanced over to Walder, he was clearly unhappy. “Move, you cunt.”

Loki turned around to face Walder. I could almost feel the fire coming from his eyes to Walder. Walder stood his ground this time. His friends were armed.

“I wish to kiss my betrothed,” he stated. His friends were ready to attack. Quickly, I stepped in between my silent knight and Walder. I put my hands up and kissed Walder on the cheek. His skin was uneven, but I let the kiss linger for a moment. As my lips left his cheek, I could feel heat rise to his cheeks.

“There,’ I smiled at him. “Better?” My warm smile cooled his temper. I watched Walder’s friends lower their weapons, and Walder’s smile fade into a sense of awe. His eyes grew wide and they dilated. I turned to Loki to see what he thought of my acting.

Loki’s green eyes seethed at the scene before him. His fists were clenched. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was jealous. I shook my head. No, that was a silly thought.

:Loki’s POV:

Why were my muscles tensed up? Why I did feel the need to eliminate this excuse of a mortal being? I watched his anger fade and genuine joy and awe replace it. Lia turned to me and she knew. She could see underneath my armor. She saw my rage.

What was I doing? I couldn’t be like this. I turned and walked away from the whole situation. I heard Lia say some excuse to get herself away from Walder, and she followed me in pursuit.

This was ridiculous. The rush of anger carried my feet further away from that oddly-shaped pig-nosed hideous thing. Why? Why was I feeling this way? There was no rational reason why I should feel this angry.

“Loki!” I heard in a lowered voice.

Oh. Oh that’s why. Oh no.

“Loki,” Lia said to me, grabbing my full attention. She wore purple every day since we’ve been here. She looked lovely in purple. Then again, she’d look lovely in any color I put her in. I shook my head. I can’t have these thoughts.

“Yes?” I snapped out of it.

“What happened back there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were acting weird,” she pointed out to me. No, she’s onto me. She knows.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lia,” I turned and led her away from the hallway. Somewhere we couldn’t be heard. I turned into a small room off to the side. It was filled with queer knick knacks and scrolls.

“Are you alright?” she asked me, looking around our surroundings. What could I tell her? That I felt jealous of the dwarf? No, that’s silly. She would think I’m petty.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You don’t look like it, take off your helmet,” her eyes searched mine. I followed her orders. My hair fell loose behind me.

“Better?” I asked her. Lia’s arms crossed. Why must she be so difficult?

“What’s wrong? Please tell me. Did I do something wrong? Why did you go off like that?” Her eyebrows knitted at me. She thinks this is her fault.

“No, it’s not you, Lia,” I tried to remedy it. “I just feel sick.”

“Do you need to lie down? You work yourself too hard sometimes—

“It’s fine, Lia,” I interrupted her. I looked at her in her fancy dress and her hair tied back like a northerner. Her e/c eyes looked into mine, and I could feel my heart sinking. We were friends. I couldn’t break our friendship over a heated moment.

Suddenly, the door opened to our private conversation. Fandral smiled at us both. “Found you.”

“What?” I asked him. “What could you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Fandral shrugged. “It’s not like we’re about to invade or anything. Personally, you two hiding in this closet seems like a great idea to win this rebellion.” Lia smacked Fandral in his upper arm, and I fell in love with her a little bit more.

“What is it, dear cousin?” the poison from her voice could have killed Fandral. I could not hide my wicked smile any longer. This was going to be good. Fandral rubbed his arm.

“Our troops are ready,” his voice lowered. “We could strike tonight.”

“We should strike tonight,” I confirmed. “Do you have the gift?”

“The gift?” Lia asked. I smiled wickedly again.

Lord Wilfig was a drunken old fool, but few could say that to his face. He liked to consider himself a connoisseur of ales, wines, and other spirits. He could taste the difference between an arbor red made in Westeros and an arbor red actually made in Dorne.

I kept quiet under the helmet as Fandral presented the gift to him. “Ten barrels of our finest, my Lord! I wish nothing but to truly celebrate this impending union!” Fandral’s smile sold it all. Lord Wilfig clapped his hands, his pint at the ready.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Get those barrels open!” he cried out, and the whole hall celebrated. Dwarves poured themselves the gifted ale and gulped it down with smiles on their faces.

I stood behind Lia, and I watched Walder very closely as he was already on his second pint of the ale. His behavior wasn’t sloppy or crude yet, but the thought of him even touching her again didn’t please me one bit. This would be over soon.

Lia did very well. She and others knew not to touch the gifted ale. Lia didn’t ask me why, but I could see how curious she was. Her eyes watched Walder gulp the ale down so quickly. I wondered if she could figure it out herself.

“Lord Flement!” Lord Wilfig shouted at Fandral. “What do you call this? It’s smooth. It’s delicious!” Fandral took one quick glance at me, and answered Lord Wilfig.

“It’s from our mountains. We brewed it with something special. We call it the Night Ale,” I heard a small gasp from Lia. There it is. She figured it out. She looked to the dwarves with their heavy eyes and sluggish movement. Several of them had left the hall already. Others had fallen asleep where they sat.

“The Night Ale?” Lord Wilfig repeated. “What a lovely name.” He clinked glasses with Fandral and drank the rest of the ale.

“Do you like it?” Fandral asked. “Would you like some more?” Fandral kept Lord Wilfig’s attention while his people sang drunken songs and became sleepier by the minute. I escorted Lia to her bedchambers on the higher floors.

Once we were away from everyone and the halls were quiet, Lia turned to me. “Loki! That’s genius! Did you see them? They’re all falling asleep!”

“I didn’t think it would work so fast,” I confessed to her. “But we have to wait to strike. Not until everyone is in a deep sleep.” Lia helped me hide my weapons and armor in her chambers. The dwarf maidens knew not touch things that were not theirs. I changed into my true armor.

I felt powerful in gold and green. My cape cascaded behind me. The golden armored plates and my horns were not polished, but I felt proud of them. They have been through battle. That’s when I saw Lia.

She covered her eyes so she couldn’t see me change, but she was peeking through her fingers. Her eyes were gazing at me as if she was admiring me. No, that’s a silly thought. She wouldn’t be looking at me like that. Would she?

“Lia, I can see you peeking,” I boldly said. Lia gasped and turned away from me quickly. She was admiring me. I felt a smile quietly grow on my face. “Do you like it then?”

“Like what?” I heard her say. I wanted to chuckle at her misfortune. Her hands were still covering her now-red face. She made herself look so small. I walked over to her and touched her shoulders. She jumped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I apologized. “I only thought—

Fandral came into the room again. “We’re almost ready, my lord.” Elise followed behind him and grabbed Lia. Elise started to wrap Lia in a heavy blanket and pulled her away from me.

“Your timing is perfect again, Fandral,” my sarcastic voice dripped onto the floor. “Thank you, really. Thank you so much.”

“I told you I wouldn’t disappoint you,” Fandral winked. I turned to Lia and Elise. Lia was wrapped sitting on the bed so far away from my touch.

“You are to stay here, do you understand?” I warned her. “You’re not running off on me again.”

“I won’t.” she answered in a quiet voice.

“Promise me.”

“I swear I will stay here,” Lia’s voice carried her anxiety with her words. She was nervous again. I found myself walking to her before I could even realize. My fingers felt her soft hair, her face warming up to my touch.

“Cecelia,” I brought myself to her level. “I don’t want to lose you. Please swear to not run away from this room. I need you to stay here. I promised your father—

“I don’t need a speech,” she interrupted me. “I swear to not leave. You have my word.” She brought her lips to my cheek, and I felt the same warmth as Walder did. Now I understood why he was in awe. She smelled like roses and honey. She was not as warm as the sun, but she was something better. I felt a pull to her, but I stood up. I had to.

“Thank you, Cecelia,” I said and I turned to leave. I would return to her, and I would return with an entire castle that would be ours. Ours alone.

:Lia’s POV:

I watched Loki walk away from me, and it hurt. The door closed behind them both, and Elise locked the room from the inside.

“It’s happening. We’re going through another battle,” she sighed.

“We’ll be alright in here. The Eyrie is a stronghold. These rooms are meant to protect the inhabitants,” I told her.

“Yes, but what good will that do for them?” Elise asked me. The dwarves were nasty and heavy fighters. They played unfairly. I shifted in my bed, and I felt something heavy and hard.

Oh no.

I quickly got off my bed and pushed my sheets around. Elise looked at me confused.

“What are you doing?” she asked me. Under my sheets, it laid there. Oh no. I picked it up with both hands to show Elise my concern.

“He left it,” I showed the sword to Elise. “Loki left his sword. He’s not armed.”

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki x original female character #loki fanfic #marvel/ game of thrones crossover #war creatures