#canon-typical violence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-really-lonely-mountain · 4 months

Text

Along for The Ride - Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: Transported to Middle Earth, you must Join Thorin Oakenshield's Company as they travel to reclaim Erebor! OR: My take on the classic 'modern girl in Middle Earth' troupe. With this first installment, we are following the first movie of The Hobbit trilogy, and falling in love with Kili on the way! Slow burn with this one y'all, nothing spicy till the next work I'm afraid.

Tags: Kili / Reader, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Modern Character in Middle Earth, During The Hobbit, How Do I Tag, Canon-Typical Violence, Kíli Is a Little Shit (Tolkien), wrote this while I had covid, in like 4 days lol, implied soulmates, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Freeform, Holding Hands, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sleepy Cuddles, Protective Thorin Oakenshield Company Members, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Fluff and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Where In Middle-Earth Is Gandalf?, Hair Braiding, Dwarf Courting, My First Tumblr Fic, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Live, Thorin Oakenshield Lives, Fíli Lives (Tolkien), Kíli Lives (Tolkien)

Word Count: 6,292

A/N: I was utterly appalled by the lack of Kili writers on here and Ao3. Y'all who write for Kili, I've been eating your crumbs like it's the shit (cause it is) for weeks, but one can't be sustained on crumbs alone so I've prepared a feast!! This is the first fic I've ever wanted to post, please be gentle. Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are loved and treasured!!

Tagging the amazing Kili writers I've been living off of for the past few weeks and who have inspired me so they might share in the feast as well lol go check out their stuff too: @mikathemonster, @cowboybeepboop, @littleenglishfangirl, @ethereal-inquisitor, @sweetpeakili

Photo credit: @immawriteyouthings

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

You were having one of those days that made you want to run away from everything. Instead, you walked on the golf course behind your house after hours; no phone, no umbrella, no bag this time, just you. You had what you could fit from your hands in your jean pockets as you walked the grassy field. Something twinkled and caught your eye on the far side of the fairway, there was a sparkle in the ferns. You walked over and began looking through the underbrush. Your hand grazed a smooth stick with a mangled end that encased a gem. You picked it up hoping for a better look but were transported to another world instead!

You appeared in the new world holding the staff. You were standing beside an older fellow with a pointy hat and long grey beard. You looked around and saw many other gruff, burly-looking men sitting in an encampment. They looked as confused as you. You did the only thing you could think of doing at that moment.

You turned around and took off running as fast as you could.

The wizard whose staff you were running away with asked the younger dwarves in his company to fetch you for him. They ran after you as quick as the wind. You dodged trees and hurdled bushes, making an all-around great effort. You were slowing down though. You stopped for a moment to catch your breath and plan. A twig snapped in the distance; quick footsteps closed in on you. You took off again. You needed a place to hide, a moment to think for God's sake. You were afforded no such luxuries. They were gaining, you were tiring. In your drained haste, you tripped on a bush which sent you stumbling and struggling to regain your footing given your momentum. You finally fell and scampered to take cover behind the roots of a great tree. Their footfalls grew slower and drew nearer. They were so close you could hear their words now.

“…She’s hiding, Fili,” one said much closer than you expected them to be.

You tried your best to steady your breathing. Your heartbeat was so loud you knew they could hear it.

“Stop scaring her Kili,” The other chastised. “You know she’s got to be scared half to death”. He walked past you, studying the ground. The other came up the other side of the tree doing the same.

You gripped the staff preparing yourself to be found. They turned in unison following the same tracks and looked up at you simultaneously. They were both panting but not as hard as you. Fili, the elder and more experienced of the two knelt where he stood a few yards from your curled trembling form.

“My name is Fili” He put his hand on his chest and motioned to the man next to him, “This is my brother Kili. We mean no harm to you.” He kept his distance and showed his empty hands. You stayed firmly pressed against the tree trunk, your chest heaving rapidly and your eyes as large as saucers. They could have tackled you, beaten you, or done any number of terrible violating things, but they kept their distance and spoke softly.

“What’s your name?” Kili asked, with a charming smile as he crouched beside his brother.

“Y/N,” you said in a shaky freaked-out tone.

“Y/N, that’s our friend wizard’s staff,” Fili said, “If anyone can figure out how you got here, he can.”

“But you gotta come back to camp with us,” Kili said reaching out his hand as a peace offering. So many horrible things could happen to you in the wild of this new world, but even more on top of that could if you didn’t go with them.

“How can I trust you?” You asked them. They looked at each other.

“How can we trust you?” Kili threw back at you with a suspicious look and recoiled his hand.

“Touche” you nodded returning his look.

“Seems we are at an impasse then,” Fili huffed at his brother, “You want to get home, and our wizard can do that. The only way that can happen is if you come with us back to our camp. We can only offer you our word and promise on our honor as dwarven princes that you will not be harmed by any in our company.”

You thought for a moment and nibbled at your lip, “You promise?” you looked up at Kili this time.

Kili looked you deep in the eyes, and very seriously said: “No harm will ever come to you, on my honor as a prince.”

You nodded at this, “Very well”, and tried to stand up but were stuck against the tree. The 2 men easily lifted you back to your feet. You followed them back to the camp.

You tried your best to hide behind Kili as you approached the wizard smoking a pipe. You peeked from around his shoulder at the other men in the camp. They were looking at you.

“Please sit, my dear,” The wizard said to you, motioning to the rest of the long log beside him “We have much to discuss.”

Your legs wouldn’t move you from behind the dwarf. You were still quite afraid.

“She seems to have taken a liking to you Kili,” the wizard said to him. The rest of the company let out a soft chuckle of agreement. You couldn’t see it from your angle, but Kili smiled and nodded.

“Sit down child, we aren’t going to hurt you,” One of the dwarves sitting across the fire said. You took a deep breath to gather your courage. One false move by any of the others would have you bolting again.

You moved from behind Kili and sat beside the wizard still clutching the staff.

“May I take that from you?” the wizard politely asked. You handed it to him. He explained how this type of thing had happened to a couple of his wizard friends before, but he didn’t know the remedy or spell to undo it or how to prevent it from happening again. You sat quietly listening and nodding. He explained to you and the rest of the company that he was leaving to travel to his friend and inquire about your predicament. In the meantime, he convinced the company and its leader, Thorin you came to know, to keep you in the company as an innocent bystander to help around the camp and whatnot till Gandalf (the wizard) could figure out what to do with you. Gandalf gave you a small sack of coins, instructing you to get a bag, a bedroll, clothes, and any other necessities you’ll need at the next town.

As the fire died down so did the company. They got out their bedrolls and sleeping gear like a synchronized unit and as quickly as they started, they were all asleep snoring softly. Kili had first watch and was sitting on the ground next to you leaning against the log you were on. You slid onto the ground next to him curled with your knees to your chest. He looked over at you. You looked over at him.

“I don’t know what to do now,” you said not hiding the waver in your voice very well, “I’m so scared.” You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You cried into your hands as quietly as possible, so you didn’t disturb and anger the others. If you had looked at Kili, you would have seen him in a slight panic and at a loss for what to do, he didn’t know how to console crying women. You sobbed into your hands knowing you just needed to let it all out then you’d be fine. Kili looked at the fire and put his hand on your back. Physical contact of any kind back home was next to nonexistent, it felt nice to know he was trying his best to comfort you. After a few minutes of uncontrollable sobbing and hiccups wracking through you, you began calming down. When you were able to breathe properly, you wiped your face even though tears kept falling. You sniffled and rested your chin on your knees letting the tears fall silently now.

“Do you feel better?” Kili guessed in a soft tone and rubbed his hand on your back.

You nodded at him, “Yes” You took a deep breath and wiped the tears from your eyes as best you could, “Thank you” You looked at him and smiled a little. He smiled and nodded too, still concerned but returned his hand to his lap. You sniffled and looked at the fire.

“Really though I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said. “I’ve never been camping before,” you paused to think. “I don’t know how to fight or use a sword or make a fire or hunt or-or—” You were working yourself up and starting to cry again. Kili cut you off before you could start sobbing hysterically again.

“WOAH! Woah!!” alarmed, he put his hand on your back again, “It’s ok. Calm down.” he said harshly, “Take a deep breath, that seemed to help last time,” He mumbled the last part under his breath. That made you smile despite yourself.

“You don’t know how to console someone, do you?” You took a deep breath and wiped your eyes. He shook his head and took his hand from you. “Seems we’re both out of our depth then,” you said making the mood a bit lighter.

“In my defense, I was raised in a pack of manly men,” He smiled fondly “It’s a wonder my mother got through to me at all.”

“So, you do have a mother,” you said, making him look at you quizzically “I assumed you were raised by wolves,” You shrugged. He laughed and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re not completely wrong about that,” He smiled, looking over at the men across the fire. There was a momentary silence. “We’ll teach you those things, how to fight, how to make a fire, all that,” He looked over at you, “I mean who knows how long Gandalf will be, and you’d have to be pretty stupid not to pick up a thing or two even from this bunch.” You smiled and nodded; this calmed your nerves a little. A moment of silence fell between you again.

“Is it ok if I stay up with you?” you innocently asked, “I’m not very tired.”

“Sure,” he said casually, “May I ask about your life back in your world?”

“OK,” You nodded.

“What do you do?” he asked, you gave him a weird look. “Like for a living, how do you make money, how do you spend your days?”

“I’m a student at university at the moment.” He looked at you confused this time. “I spend my days studying at a desk, it’s boring and dull” You quickly summed up.

“Ooohh,” He said, “No wonder you couldn’t run for shit,” He laughed.

You scoffed, “So rude,” You huffed, failing to hide your smile. He was glad you were cheering up a bit.

“If it’s so boring and dull, why don’t you do something else?” He asked, naive to your world and its ways.

“It’s…complicated” you sighed “I have to study to do what I want to do for work even though I don’t want to work or study or do any of that, but I have to make money somehow because I need money to do stuff and buy things because the world I live in is shitty that way and it’s so frustrating sometimes,” you gritted your teeth to make your point.

“Well, what do you want to do then?” he asked, trying to understand your strange world.

“Sit on the beach,” You said without hesitation “…Listen to the waves…sleep on a blanket in the sun,” you sighed wistfully. “Die happy and rich.”

“That does sound nice” He agreed “I’ve never seen a tropical ocean before, the seas near the Blue Mountains are all frozen over.”

“Surely there’s a beach somewhere in this world,” You refused to believe the universe sent you to a world without a beach.

“There is! I’ve heard stories of Southern Gondor, where the sun makes the sand hotter than forges, and the water falls over the horizon in every direction.”

“That sounds like the beaches from back home,” You felt a little bad for him. You’d been practically raised at the beach because it was the only free thing to do in your hometown.

“May I ask a question?” you asked this time.

“Of course,” He shifted to lean against the log and face you.

“What are you guys doing?” you gestured to the camp around you.

“We are on a quest!” He said proudly, “A quest to take back our ancestral home from the dread dragon Smaug,” he said in a sinister voice. He explained about Erebor and the dragon and Thorin to catch you up. You listened, nodded, and took it all in, asking questions and giggling at his jokes. He was a decent storyteller.

“And I’m just along for the ride I guess,” you said deflated about your role in all this.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re quite good company,” He indulged; Kili always got so lonely on watch.

“Yay!” you said over a yawn, “I’d hate to bore any of you,” you replied, genuinely fearing your stories may never measure up to theirs. You leaned over and laid on the soft grass, curled in a ball with your arm as a pillow. You tried not to shiver from the cool evening breeze. You heard some shuffling of fabric, and then a blanket fluttered on top of you. You looked at Kili who smiled and said: “I’m quite the furnace at night, I’ll be fine without it,” he reassured.

“Thank you,” you said over another yawn. You didn’t expect to fall asleep but the next thing you knew it was early morning and you were awoken by the clanging of pots and spoons. You sat up and looked around to get your bearings.

‘Still in the same strange world’ you thought not fully awake. Kili appeared, greeted you good morning, and handed you a bowl of white goo he called porridge. You thanked him and ate your breakfast in silence like the rest of the company. While the men packed up the camp you were tasked with washing the dishes in a nearby stream. You were struck by the beauty of the incredible woods around you even in the dim morning light. You returned to camp and put the dishes in their bag, which was taken by one of your new companions. You felt out of place without a task among everyone who knew what to do. Balin saw you standing in the middle of the camp looking lost. He asked Thorin what they were to do about their lack of an extra pony for you. They decided you could ride with Kili seeing as he was the lightest (next to Bilbo) and his pony could take the weight and because you seemed the most comfortable with him. The old dwarf with a white-grey beard curled up at the ends approached you with as much of a nonthreatening air as he could muster.

“Good morning, my dear!” He greeted you with a chipper smile. “My name is Balin”

“Good morning,” you replied. “I don't quite know what I’m to be doing,” you said sheepishly.

“That’s ok lass, it’ll come with time,” he reassured, “For now, you’ll ride with Kili so you can see if he needs help getting ready.”

“Ok,” You nodded and started walking in Kili’s direction. You stopped in front of his pony and petted its nose and down its neck. “I’ve been told that I’m to ride with you,” you said timidly looking at him adjust his saddle. Kili looked at you and nodded.

“I’ll be happy to have a lovely conversation again” He smiled and looked back at his saddle, making the final arrangements.

He turned to you and said, “I’ll give you a leg up,” And jabbed a thumb at his pony. You nodded and approached the animal. You put your hands on the ponies back and bent your leg waiting for him to help. He leaned forward so he could whisper in your ear: “Wrong leg”. You blushed quite profusely at that and switched legs. He heaved you with such strength he nearly threw you over the other side of the pony. You made yourself comfortable behind the saddle before he hooked his foot in the stirrup and carefully mounted so he didn’t knock you off.

“You ok?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yep!” you smiled. He nodded. You were excited to see new lands even though you feared what they harbored.

“If you need to hold on to me when we get going you can,” he said, making you both blush despite yourselves.

A few moments later Thorin called out: “Company ready?” in a deep booming voice, “Aye!” They all replied in unison. “Company, move out!” He bellowed and urged his pony forward. The rest followed behind him one by one. When your animal lurched forward you grabbed Kili's waist for dear life. The company was silent till they got to the end of the forest. You had your cheek pressed against Kili’s shoulder and your chest against his back. The fur of his coat was very soft against your face as you turned your head to look over his other shoulder. You yawned but didn’t realize you did it right next to his ear and breathed down his neck. He determinedly kept his eyes on the pony ahead of him to keep the blush rising in his chest at bay.

“You can take a nap if you need to,” he said over his shoulder in a soft voice for only you to hear.

“That sounds like a good idea,” You yawned again. You buried your face in the soft spare fabric of the hood on his back and cuddled closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes and sleep swiftly took you. He knew this because he could feel your breathing slow on the back of his neck. He was happy you could sleep and couldn’t help his smile. You shifted now and then, turning your head one way then a while later turning it the other. Kili tried not to talk or move too much in fear of waking your delicate slumber. By midday, you felt very well rested. You took a deep breath and released your grasp on Kili to stretch your arms above your head, arching your back to wake yourself up. You quickly slipped your arms around him again, so you didn’t fall.

“Good morning!” He chirped, “Well afternoon really,” he corrected with a smile, “Sleep well?”

“Mhm,” You hummed against his shoulder “I haven’t slept that well in a long time,” you said thinking back on the restless weeks before your arrival in Middle Earth.

“Good,” He nodded. “Happy I could be of service.”

“Yes, you make quite the comfortable bed,” you replied.

An easy silence settled between you for a while. You contentedly watched the landscape pass by while he kept the pony on the path.

“What’s a good weapon for a beginner?” You asked knowing you needed to start wrapping your head around the fact that you could be stuck here forever and needed to protect yourself. He thought about that for a few moments.

“I’d have to say a bow,” He shrugged, “I don’t know honestly, lemme ask Fili,” he kicked up his pony to walk faster to be next to his brother. “What is the best weapon for a beginner?” He asked him. Fili glanced at you and thought for a moment.

“Hmm I think a sword would be easiest,” He replied, contradicting his brother.

“A sword?!” Kili said incredulously “No that’s one of the harder ones,” He swatted his hand as if to swipe the words from the air.

Fili scoffed “For you maybe,” he said barely keeping his teasing smile under control “But not to the rest of us, my weapon-challenged brother.” That made you giggle. Kili huffed and pulled his horse back, so he wasn’t beside his brother anymore.

“Are you that bad with a sword?” you asked, trying not to laugh too much.

“No!” he exclaimed, “I’m just better with a bow and arrows,” he pouted.

‘Awe he’s so cute when he pouts’ Your thought took you by surprise.

“Perhaps you can teach me, Archer,” Your voice was lower than you intended, making you both blush. Your breath ghosted over his ear making him shiver just a little. He turned his head to look at you over his shoulder, his face so close to yours. He looked at your lips then deep into your eyes holding eye contact.

“Maybe I will,” he said in a deep gruff whisper that made you gasp and goosebumps rush over your skin. He turned back and smiled; proud he could get a rise out of you. You huffed and distanced yourself from him by leaning back, needing the space to calm down.

As night drew closer, Thorin led the company to the edge of a forest and found a shallow cave, more like a cliff overhang to make camp for the night. He told Fili and Kili to take care of the ponies and Oin and Gloin to make the fire. After the meals had been handed out Thorin told you to take Fili and Kili a bowl. You walked through the forest and found them looking at a downed tree in panicked awe.

“Something took 4 of the ponies,” Fili said to you, hoping you’d have the answer to their predicament.

“Yes, and…” you nodded at them trying not to panic yourself “What are you going to do about it since it’s your problem?”

The brothers decided to see what took the ponies and if they could handle it themselves, no need to worry Thorin, right? You followed them as they tracked the pony-nappers. Kili hid behind a tree and peeked around, you hid behind him and peeked over his shoulder. 3 large trolls were something to worry about, and a sight that made that dreadful feeling drop from your chest into your stomach. Your grip on Kili’s coat tightened.

He turned to you and said in barely a whisper, “Go back to camp and tell Thorin”.

Fili was immediately against it, huffing and puffing from behind his tree. Kili shrugged and motioned with hands as if to say, ‘What else would you have us do?!’ Fili huffed again and snuck around the tree. He tried to cut the rope fence with his sword, but he took too long. The trolls caught him. They were deciding ways to eat him when Kili looked at you in alarm and told you to go back to camp. You ran as fast as you could.

“Ponies! Big grey troll things took the ponies!” You said out of breath pointing the way you just came “Fili…in…danger”. Thorin cursed in dwarfish and rallied the company. Balin told you to keep your distance, so you didn’t get caught in the fight.

The dwarves fought bravely but were captured. Bilbo bid for more time while you thought of a plan. You heard the trolls complain about daylight coming and that gave you an idea. You saw the trolls had made camp in the shade cast by a large boulder. You wedged a branch under the rock and used the leverage to try to roll it. It was very heavy, and you were not. It took everything in your power to push the branch to roll the boulder down the ditch edge it rested on. The trolls were washed in sunlight, turning them to stone and freeing the company. They cheered when you stepped over the branch and into the clearing. You helped them from their confines and smiled and blushed when they praised your good job.

Back at camp the company gathered their things and discussed what to do now. Fili suddenly hushed the company.

“Warg howls in the distance,” He whispered to Thorin “They are coming!”

“RUN!” Thorin yelled at the company. Following Thorin everyone started running. You all ran as fast as you could onto a hilly plane sprinkled with trees and boulders. You ran and ran till the Wargs finally caught up. They began to encircle you. The company fought the beasts, taking them down as still more came at them. You went to hide behind the rock formation but fell into it instead. You climbed out as the Wargs were closing in.

“Down here!” you called “There’s a passage this way!” you slid down to make room for the others. Thorin was the last one, as he slid down a horn was blown near the entrance to the passage.

“I can’t see where it leads, do we follow?” One of the dwarves asked.

“Yes! We follow!” Thorin barged through the dwarves and led the company through the narrow pass. You all walked for a few minutes, but then Thorin rounded a corner and slowed as he realized where he’d unwittingly led the company. The rest kept walking around him, but Bilbo stopped and said in admiration: “Rivendell”. You stopped as well to take in the view before you. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. A small town on the side of a mountain with water flowing from beneath some of the glittering structures.

As Thorin led the company over a bridge, you grabbed Kili’s arm to steady yourself as you looked around and took in the ornate statues and architecture of the front steps of a large building. A man much taller than you or the dwarves approached the group.

“We would like to speak to Lord Elrond,” Thorin said through gritted teeth. He was swallowing his pride for the betterment of the quest, that much was clear through his clenched fists and tense shoulders.

“Lord Elrond isn’t here,” The elf said regretfully.

“Then where is he?” Thorin’s patience was growing thin. A horn was sounded on the other side of the bridge you’d just crossed. Everyone turned to see a group of horses galloping towards them. The dwarves began shouting in dwarfish and closing ranks with their weapons ready for battle. You were pushed into the very center of the circle as tall horses and riders circled you. They stopped suddenly and the one on a black horse dismounted.

“My Lord Elrond,” The elf who first approached you said with a bow.

“Lindir” Elrond bowed his head at him then turned to the leader of your group, “Welcome Thorin son of Thrain,” He looked over the dwarf “You have your grandfather's bearings.”

“I’m afraid I know you only from the stories my grandfather told me,” Thorin was doing his best to be polite. (You were later informed that the stories were mostly about him being a ninny.)

“I’d like to offer you and your company a taste of our elfish hospitality,” Elrond said with a warm smile.

“Does that mean we’ll eat?!” Bombur called from the back. The company chuckled at him.

“Yes Bombur, that means we’ll eat” Dori replied. The company cheered at the prospect of a full belly and a warm hearth.

Not long after, you were sat next to Bilbo and Kili at a large table. The salad appetizers were very good despite the dwarves not liking green food very much. You giggled at their jokes about how bad the music was or how they wanted chips and meat. Thorin was sat at another table across from Elrond discussing something you couldn’t hear, but you could tell it pained Thorin to be in the other man's presence.

You turned to Kili beside you. “Thorin looks constipated,” you said in a low voice barely containing your laughter “He can’t even pretend to be enjoying this”. Kili looked over at his uncle and laughed with you.

When the meals were served there was boisterous laughter and general dwarfish shenanigans, the usual at any merry dwarfish gathering. Bilbo looked like he was having PTSD from when they were doing the same at his house at the beginning of the quest. At the end of the meal, Thorin and Balin disappeared with Elrond to discuss a map. You asked Kili if he would escort you to the markets with as much innocent girlish need as you could muster to solidify your security. He agreed and walked with you through the corridors and to the market. He helped you get a fair price on a bag, a blanket, and a bedroll. The next thing you needed was clothes to blend in.

“What do the women around here wear exactly?” You asked him. He shrugged.

“It depends, I guess” He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he followed you around the clothing stalls like a puppy.

“Gee, that’s a big help.” You teased.

After some more wandering you found a stall selling clothes that looked your size. You purchased a dark blue form-fitting tunic that stopped above your knees and had slits on the sides that went up to your hips. It paired very nicely with the brown pants and brown coat with dark blue highlights you bought as well. Kili helped barter with the merchants since you didn’t know the fair price of things here. In another section of the market, you bought spools of black, blue, and pink thread. You put your belongings in your new bag.

“Are we done?” Kili asked, sounding slightly annoyed. He was ready to go back to the others and be away from so many elves. You sighed and rolled your eyes playfully and nodded. He led you through the busy crowded markets by holding your hand. You were thankful he was in front of you so he couldn’t see your blush. You made it back to the group, who had set up camp in a courtyard garden at the end of a hallway. Just as you arrived two female and two male elves came down the hallway.

One of the males stepped forward, “The bathhouse is ready for you now” he said to the group.

“Bath?! We don’t need no stinkin’ bath!” Exclaimed a dwarf from behind the fire. The rest heartily agreed, not ready to drop their pants on elvish soil it seemed.

“I’d like a bath” you timidly said, not wanting to make a fuss but very much wanting to be clean.

“Very good mistress dwarf, if you’ll follow us,” one of the female elves said. You were tense as you followed the four elves down the corridor, not sure what you were doing.

“You best go with her lad,” Dori said to Kili, “You never know what an elf might try to pull.” He glared at the back of the elves as they walked away. Kili nodded and ran after you.

“Y/N!” He called making you and the elves stop.

“Oh, change your mind, Kili?” You asked with an innocent smile, happy to have his company.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He smiled too.

You were led to a large door that opened into a covered hot spring that flowed over the balcony to create an assumably gorgeous waterfall. Columns lined the outer edge of the room which was split down the middle by a cloth partition. The male elves walked to one side of the divider with Kili in tow, while the females walked to the other. The elves asked that you wash under the heated shower of water off to the side before entering the hot springs. They left you to your own devices.

“I’ve never seen anything like this have you?” You asked Kili across the large room.

“No” He smiled at the wonder in your voice from seeing new things and making discoveries. He thought it was very cute.

You placed your bag and new clothes on the vanity in the corner. You undressed and stepped under the warm shower. You used the bar of soap you found to wash your hair and body. It was the best-smelling soap you’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

“Hey, Kee?” You hollered.

“Yeah?” He yelled back.

“Do you plan on keeping your soap?”

“No…Why?”

“I’ll take it then. I’ll need extra anyway,” And you were so happy you did. That soap made your hair silky smooth and stronger than ever. You rinsed the suds away then stepped into the hot springs.

It felt luxurious. You couldn’t help but moan a little as the heat pulled every knot and tense muscle from you. Relaxed, you floated in the steamy water.

“You still there Kili?” you asked suddenly nervous he’d left you.

“Yeah, I’m here” He replied, “We shouldn’t take too much longer though, Thorin could be back any minute and who knows what kind of a mood he’ll be in.”

That made you enjoy the bath a little faster. Not long after you began drying off and getting dressed. You took the hairbrush and beads and other miscellaneous hair trinkets that were on the vanity. You looked in the mirror at your new outfit. It fit as you thought, though a little snugger in some places than others, hugging your curves to allow for movement yet still baggy for breathability and insulation. Overall, a nice ensemble.

“Ready Y/N?” Kili asked from across the partition.

“Yeah, you can come over, I’m just packing my things.” You replied, folding your old clothes, and putting them in your bag with the rest of your things.

“Here’s the soap” He handed it to you.

“Thanks!” You smiled at him; you simply wrote his flushed cheeks off to the hot water. When you stood, he was able to get a much better look at you in your new clothes.

“A perfect fit I see” He smiled, looking you up and down. He couldn’t help but imagine what you’d look like wearing nothing but his tunic. A line of thought he blushed at and quickly willed away.

“Does it look alright? I don’t know how it’s supposed to fit” You fussed with the hems and the folds trying to make them lay better. He grabbed your hand to make you stop fidgeting.

“You look great,” he said with a genuine smile. You smiled and nodded your appreciation.

You walked back to camp, making moneyless bets on what mood Thorin would be in when he returned.

As you approached Fili saw you in your new outfit and said, “Well look at this…” Making the rest of the company look at you too, “Our wee lass looks like a bona fide middle earther now!” They cheered at your near-complete indoctrination.

“Now she just needs to learn how to fight like one.” Bofur quipped from beside the fire.

“Then I wouldn’t need any of you to protect me!” You put the back of your hand to your forehead feigning a damsel in distress, making the company laugh. You sat on the ground beside the long chair Kili was now examining his weapons in and leaned against it. You held out a stone fish figurine to him.

“As a thank you for helping me” you cleared your throat “…And for being my friend.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you knew he was smiling a little around his reed pipe. He took it from your open hands. You know it wasn’t much but it’s all you could offer.

“Maybe one day you can return it to the ocean,” you said, referring to your previous conversation.

“Maybe I will,” he smiled down at you with genuine fondness.

“Bombur!” Bofur called before throwing a sausage to his cousin. The table, which took skilled elfin craftsman months, even years to craft and carve out of solid wood, collapsed under the massive weight of Bombur. Everyone erupted in laughter, it was nice to be part of the group and share in the merriment.

Thorin stopped Balin on their way back to the camp, “We should leave her here,” He said, “She is a liability.”

Balin had a terrible sinking feeling in his round tummy when he thought of splitting you up.

“So what if she is, Thorin?” Balin said near pleading. “Have you ever seen your nephew that happy or open with a girl that quick before? I’ve never seen the lad so engaged in a conversation that didn’t have to do with weapons before last night. So what if she dies on our quest, at least we gave them a chance to happen, and if fate finds their pairing favorable it will all work out!” Balin was desperate to keep you and the young prince together if only to keep the sinking feeling at bay.

Thorin huffed, “Very well, but her blood is not on my hands,” He walked away and into the camp.

Thorin and Balin returned, and the tone became slightly more serious—slightly. The company settled and laid their bedrolls in the grassy parts of the garden. You laid yours out as well and prepped for sleep by removing your shoes and coat. The night was warm enough that your blanket would suffice. You looked up at the stars wondering if any of the constellations were the same as back home. You cuddled your coat to your chest relishing the feel of the soft fabric. The low conversation between Fili and Kili, while they sat on watch across the fire, lulled you to sleep.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

55 notes · View notes

somefanficrecomendations · 7 days

Text

Never Say That

Author: JackHawksmoor Fandom: Batman

Summary: "Calm down, I'm not aiming for anything vital," Jason said irritably.

Batman turned away from the man he'd just floored. "We agreed-" he began sharply.

"I didn't promise anything," Jason snapped. He lifted his gun, muttering under his breath. "You ought to be grateful, it could be worse-" ---------------------------------------- Or: the Bats have an extremely bad night in Gotham City

Readers Notes: This fic manages to pack in a shocking amount of intensity despite having such a short word count. The flow and pacing of this story is flawless, the character work is on point, and the combination of comic superhero shenanigans and tragedy makes for a tone that feels a little like whiplash. THE WRITING STYLE!!!! Very English Author from the 1900’s, I can’t get over it.

Rating: General Warning: N/A Words: 9,683

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Barbra Gordon, Clark Kent, Stephanie Brown

Additional tags: Hurt/Comfort, Wump, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, POV Third Person Omniscient

Additional Info:

Part of the Whumptober 2022 Collection

#Batman fic rec #batfam fic rec #batman #batfam #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Hurt/Comfort #Wump #Canon-Typical Violence #Blood and Injury #POV Third Person Omniscient #words: 5-10k #fic #complete #wumptober 2022

21 notes · View notes

wangxianficrecs · 1 year

Text

it's a long road but we're not alone by Stratisphyre

it's a long road but we're not alone

by Stratisphyre

M, 61k, Wangxian

Summary: In his madness, they say, the Yiling Patriarch stole into Koi Tower and abducted the widow of Jin Zixuan and her young son, only for all of them to die in a fire in the Burial Mounds shortly thereafter. Sixteen later, Lan Jingyi runs into two rogue cultivators during a night hunt.

Mojo's comments: Such an amazing premise and a well-written story! I'm a little breathless after that ending, and just so happy I dove in. POV moves around, (as does the point in time) and so there's a broad focus over everyone's perspective on the events of the 16 years following wwx's 'death'. I'm particularly fascinated by lxc, whose perspective is so distorted, bless him, but you can see how it all happened and how each step of the way he had only the best intentions. The plot divergence is massive enough that everything is different, and Author is very creative in pulling all the strings together. So. In which jyl kidnaps her wreck of a mourning Yiling Patriarch and forces them both into healing for the sakes of their sons. Lwj mourns, adopts the orphaned kid who reminds him of wwx, and finds a new focus until jingyi literally stumbles over sizhui and jin ling… who all get along like a house afire. So there's reunion, friendship, family feels, treachery and danger, grief, mourning, healing and love. Great story.

canon divergence, somebody lives/not everybody dies, jiang yanli lives, adorable juniors, parenthood, grief/mourning, canon-typical violence, family feels, reunions, golden core reveal, background songxiao, getting together, recovery, sect politics, happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

102 notes · View notes

shivunin · 5 months

Text

Ferelden Silver

(Arianwen Tabriz/Zevran | 2035 Words | AO3 Link | CW: blood, implied canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort)

“I say the name and what it means until the meaning blurs. The wind blows through the goldenrod like death flows through a crowd. Nothing is accomplished and the world is changed by it.” —Ian Parks, “Goldenrod”

“Honestly?” Zevran said, resisting the urge to clutch at the awful ache in his shoulder. “I’d rather take my chances with you.”

The Warden crouched before him, twisting a bloody knife between her knuckles. Zevran could not tell if her goal was intimidation or if she was simply thinking. He was hoping for the former, to be honest. It would be somewhat flattering if she still saw a point in trying to intimidate him after she’d stabbed him in the chest and knocked him to the ground.

“Can I expect the same loyalty from you?” she asked, voice disinterested.

Silver, red, silver. The dagger and the blood coating it flashed in the merciless sunlight. He wondered whose blood it was, then decided he’d rather not think too hard about it. The Crows lying dead in the Ferelden dust around them had not been his friends. Rivals, perhaps, if even that. No—Zevran did not care whose blood coated her blade, her cheek, her armor, so long as it was not his.

How odd, to realize on the edge of a knife that one did not wish to die after all.

What to do, what to do? The Warden—the woman, the one clearly in charge here—had not so much as blinked at his offer to warm her bed, nor any of the other things he’d offered. She had to want something. Didn’t she? Everybody wanted something.

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” he assured her, “up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing.”

She cocked her head, eyes suddenly intent on his. She had looked like that before she stabbed him, he seemed to recall—like a cat who’d seen a bird on the other side of a window. Braska.

“That’s not a fault, really, is it?” he went on, pointedly not looking at her dagger as it flashed end over end between her fingers. “I mean, unless you’re the sort who would do the same thing. In which case, I…don’t come very well-recommended, I suppose.”

Too much; he was talking too much. He had been told plenty of times that he did not know when to shut his mouth, and this was no exception.

Except—except she spoke almost before he’d finished his sentence.

“Very well. I accept your offer.”

“What?” the other Warden asked, rounding on her.

The one who’d been speaking stood slowly and met the man’s eyes as he spoke. Even then, the dagger twisted on between her fingers

“You’re taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?”

“We need him,” the woman said.

Zevran might have said she sounded disinterested again, except there was a layer of steel beneath the words that made him want to sit up straighter. Need him, she’d said. Well—there were worse things to be than needed.

Zevran hauled himself to his feet while the second Warden went on grumbling. He tried to dust himself off to little avail. Ferelden dust did seem to enjoy clinging to one’s skin and clothing, to say nothing of the blood caked onto his skin. When his boot scuffed the earth, she turned to face him at once.

He did not miss the way her fist curled tight around the blade she’d been playing with. One little noise and she was already prepared to fight again. He would remember that, he decided, and recalled the way her eyes had sharpened when he’d spoken of loyalty. Perhaps this was something Wardens were especially interested in, being mysterious fanatics. He had been looking for leverage, for something to move her with.

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you,” he told her, managing only the slightest of bows given the wound on his shoulder, “until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation.”

The Warden looked sharp again, no longer removed from the situation. Her eyes, he realized, were neither brown nor green, but neither and both at once. Zevran decided that she was not like a cat at all. No; she reminded him of nothing more than a wolf peering into the night, the flash of gold in the shadows that let one know that the hunter was allowing itself to be seen. She looked like a warning given hands with which to fight and teeth with which to bite. He needed to be very, very careful if he was to turn this into something better than the Crows had been. He needed leverage, every piece he could grasp, if he was going to make it out of this in one piece.

“This I swear.”

One of her hands drew a cloth from a pouch at her belt and ran it over the blade quickly and thoroughly. Nobody else said anything at all.

“Come on, then,” she said, sheathing the dagger at her belt. No words of acknowledgement, not so much as a nod. Zevran hardly knew what to think.

“Wait,” he said, when he companions turned to follow her. The Warden half-turned, red and white cloth held in her hand.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No—no, of course not,” he said. It took more effort to be charming right now, when the throbbing in his skull had spread to the knife wound in his shoulder. “I wished only to learn the name of the lovely Warden I’m to be traveling with.”

One dark brow arched at the words. He rather got the feeling that she was unimpressed with him. Ah, well. He supposed he couldn’t win everyone over in ten words or less, and truly he was not doing so poorly when she’d been on the verge of killing him at first.

“Arianwen,” she said, and her knife made a soft snick when she slid it home in her belt. “Tabris. Not that it matters. Come on, Crow. We’ve miles to go yet.”

“If I had realized what lengths it would take to get you back to my motherland, I would have gotten myself captured years ago,” Zevran informed his lover—no, his betrothed now, impossible as the epithet felt.

Arianwen cast him a look, which he chose to interpret as harangued adoration. Despite the amount of healing that had been applied to his body, moving still hurt a great deal. For now, he contented himself with lounging against a pile of pillows and watching her. A dagger twisted between her fingers now, flashing silver in the noontime sun. She sat on the windowsill and had done so for the past half hour, watching the street outside. Zevran knew that she was watching for any pursuers, but he saw the faint smile at the corners of her eyes now and then. She liked it here. He was certain of it.

“Or you could have asked,” she told him.

“I could have,” he allowed, shifting on the pillows. Something tugged beneath his ribs, but he hid the wince behind a smile. It did not help; his Warden was far too canny to miss his discomfort. The knife slid back into its scabbard soundlessly. She slipped from the windowsill, landing almost soundlessly, and prowled closer.

“But it would have spoiled the fun of watching you drop from the ceiling like some sort of vengeful wraith,” Zevran went on, moving the sheets aside so she could check the bandage around his ribs for the hundredth time today. “Truly, you were like something out of a tale.”

“How flattering,” she said flatly. She checked his bandages nimbly, neatly dodging the worst of his hurts. “Have you ever heard of flirting, Zevran? You might give it a try sometime.”

“Bah,” he said, glancing down with disinterest when his wound was bared. “You fell for my charms eventually, did you not?”

“Please,” she muttered. Her hands were sure on a jar of salve, careful over the place where the bruises were darkest on his chest. Zevran waited, brows raised, and she cast him an irritated glance.

“It wasn’t charm at all. It was you, you fool.”

“Ah, but I am your fool,” he told her, wincing when he leaned forward enough for her to wind a fresh bandage around him. Her breath stirred his loose hair when she reached around him for the other end of the gauze.

“And I am yours, it would appear.”

Zevran coughed around the thickness in his throat and settled back onto the pillows when she’d tied off the last of the cloth. She lingered, one hand resting on his shoulder. All at once, there was something horrible in her expression. Zevran recognized it—had turned the same on her more than once, had seen her like this only a day before when he’d woken.

Mortal fear—the gripping conviction that that which one held most dear had almost been lost in an instant. Yes, he knew it very well indeed.

“Do not, mi vida, do not,” he said, and his hand found hers over his shoulder. “I am here, yes? And I will remain your fool for some time yet, as long as you will have me. There is no need to storm through the streets of the city again, I promise you that. ”

Zevran thought she would tear herself away, would dart back to the windowsill and put herself out of his reach. Instead, she took a sharp breath and bent to him until her forehead pressed against his.

“I’d do it a thousand times over,” she said, her voice low. Their hands twined together. “I’d do worse to keep you safe.”

“I know you would,” he told her, all joking set aside. He lifted his arm, ignoring the pull at his wound, and rested his hand over the curve of her skull. “But I am perfectly safe. I am here with you now, yes? Come—let me show you.”

“You are not well enough for that,” she said sternly. Zevran laughed until it hurt too much to keep doing so—not very long at all, if he judged correctly.

“I ask only to hold you,” he told her. “You have my word.”

She unfolded herself from the edge of the bed and rested against him for a time, her breathing even. He could feel the attentiveness in her body even as he began to doze. Always alert, his Arianwen. He could not think of anyone he’d rather watch over him while he was incapable of protecting himself. She would do worse than fell a building of Crows to see him safe and she wouldn’t regret it later. Zevran knew this without needing to ask.

“Arianwen?” he murmured, when he could no longer ignore the tug of sleep.

“Hmm.”

“I am going to be the best husband. I swear it to you. You will see.”

The Warden snorted. Her head rested more fully against his shoulder. Usually, she would wrap an arm around his waist or simply lie atop him. Zevran already looked forward to feeling this again, when they had been apart for so long. As soon as he was healed, he reminded himself, fighting a yawn.

“Do not laugh. I have made a…most solemn oath.”

“Not yet, you haven’t.” Her lips were cool when they pressed against his neck, but they warmed him nonetheless.

“I have,” he dragged his eyes open and tilted his head to look down at her. “I will again. I hereby pledge—”

“Shush,” she said, untangling their fingers to press a finger to his mouth. Zevran kissed it. “Go to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I am your man,” he told her, half-smiling when she growled in response. “Without reservation.”

“And I am yours,” she said. “Yes, yes. Save it for the ceremony. Go to sleep, Zev.”

His limbs felt heavy, but Zevran lifted his hand to find hers again. She caught his palm and kissed it, exactly as he’d wanted. Safe—yes. He was safe so long as he could feel her there. Without reservation indeed; the years had stolen any that might have remained to him. There was nothing left but trust as deep and integral as his bones. If she was here, he was safe; he knew that as well as he knew his own hands, his own heart.

“If you insist,” he murmured. “My Arianwen.”

(For Zevwarden Week Day 3: Fear and Safety. Thanks again @zevraholics for organizing this!)

#zevwarden #zevran x tabris #zevran x f!warden #blood cw #hurt-comfort #arianwen tabris #zevwarden week 2023 #shivunin scrivening #da fanfic #canon-typical violence

24 notes · View notes

heniareth · 5 months

Text

ZevWarden Week 2023

Day 3: Fear and Safety

The Flight from Vigil's Keep

Wordcount: 3,440 | Rating: Teen and Up

In the middle of the night, Vigil's Keep is attacked. Zevran and Astala grab their children and flee.

WARNING FOR:

Children in danger (they don't come to harm, but they are in danger. The children are teenagers, 4-year.olds, and a baby)

Explosions

Fire

Fleeing from your home

Canon-typical violence

The attack is racially motivated, but this can be inferred and is not explicitly mentioned or discussed

(Read down below or here on AO3)

Zevran woke suddenly. It took him a moment to orient himself—a moment longer than he would have liked. Something was not right. One heartbeat, and the something not right became apparent.

Smoke.

Fire.

The smell was a mere whiff, but it was not where it should be. That alone made him leave the big, spatious, warm bed and Astala's side. She didn't stirr when he approached the window.

There. The orange glow of fire, inside the inner walls of Vigil's Keep. He opened the window. The smell of smoke grew stronger. Faintly, shouting reached his ear.

It was the unmistakable screaming and clashing of battle.

Zevran hadn't been party to many violent takeovers of a noble's property, but he had seen enough. He didn't bother closing the window. He hurried to Astala, and shook her awake.

"Amore!"

A grunt was his only answer.

"Amore," Zevran whispered, hurriedly. "Please. We need to leave."

Finally, his wife opened her eyes, blinking blearily.

"Whashappenin-?"

"We need to leave," Zevran repeated. He fished his belt with two of his daggers from the foot of the bed and wound it around his waist. "The Keep is under attack."

Astala sat up and looked at him, wide-eyed. "W-what?"

A loud bang, far too close by.

"Amore mio, please." Zevran took her hand. She allowed him to pull her out of bed. "We must be quick. We need to get the children and leave."

"The chil- Oh, Maker." A shudder ran through Astala, and suddenly she snapped into action. "We have to go!"

Zevran was right on her heels.

Eidela started crying when Zevran lifted her into Astala's arms. Her voice echoed through the empty hallway as they hurried to the rooms the rest of the children occupied, until Astala managed to shush her. It sent a sharp spike through Zevran's blood nonetheless. Barely an infant, and far too young to have to flee an invasion.

A low growl greeted them when they opened the door to their children's rooms. It took the old mabari a moment, but Rascal immediately backed down and started wagging his tail when he recognized them. Astala rushed in. Zevran looked around. The younger ones were fast asleep. The older ones, alertness sharpened by the streets of Antiva and the Crows, respectively, had already quietly started suiting up.

Virel and Carlo had pulled on their dark leathers. Perinella was nowhere to be seen. Virel was grim and decided, far from his usual sullen teenage mood. Carlo nervously played around with the pommel of his dagger.

Zevran gave them an approving nod. "Bravi."

Carlo smiled, unsure.

"Help your mother with your siblings," Zevran continued, addressing Carlo. "Get them out of bed and into warm clothes. Keep them close. You will be alright, I promise."

Carlo nodded. With a kiss to the forehead, Zevran let him go, and turned to his oldest.

"Open the passage," he said. "Where is Perinella?"

"Getting potions," Virel said. "She took Brigand."

"Very good. Get her first," Zevran instructed. "I will join you shortly."

Virel wanted to bolt off, but found time to roll his eyes when Zevran held him back and kissed his forehead as well.

"Andaos con cuidado, ¿eh?"

"Sí, padre," Virel muttered. Then he left as well.

Zevran turned and found the twins awake and scrambling out of their beds, eyes big and frightened like Carlo's as he helped them into their boots and coats. No protests came from either if them.

Eidela was crying again, and wouldn't let Astala tie her to her chest. Zevran held the fabric Astala was struggling with in place.

"Maybe I should carry her."

"No," Astala said. "We need you. I can't fight."

"I hope it will not come to fighting," Zevran replied.

"Still." Astala turned her head as he stepped behind her and tied the sling keeping Eidela in place. "Not taking chances."

Zevran glanced at her, at their four youngest, thought of Virel and Perinella out in the hallways with nothing but a dog to watch over them.

"I am yours," was the only answer that came to him.

After a quick stop at their own quarters to suit up, they joined Virel and Perinella up the hallway. Health potions were distributed. Astolfo and Rinona were instructed to hold Astala's hand and not let go. Zevran took Perinella with him to the front of the group, to light their way. Virel closed their march. Quietly, they descended the old servants' passageway.

Their walk was careful. Tense.

"I wish I knew where the Wardens are," Astala said at one point.

"Fighting, most likely," Zevran answered, then smiled wrily to himself. "This invasion is a slight their commander will not forgive lightly, I think."

He caught the beginning of Astala's chuckle when an explosion detonated somewhere far too close by. The whole stairway trembled. Zevran pulled Perinella closer to himself and back towards Astala. Brigand let out a whine of alarm. The explosion ran like thunder through the stairway and then it was silent.

Zevran looked back at his family to find them all unharmed, albeit shaken.

"One of Dvorkin's, probably," Astala said, and ran her free hand over Astolfo's hair.

"I suppose it is good to know that he is up and about," Zevran answered, trying to lighten the situation while fear coiled around his belly like a snake.

A scoff, and then Astala started: "Not if... well."

She didn't finish the sentence, but Zevran knew what she had wanted to say.

The staircase ended in a long, narrow hallway leading straight to the kitchen. The fighting was loud here. Screams, the clash of metal, explosions and the roar of flames filled the narrow corridor, muffled by the thick wall of stone. Zevran picked Astolfo up, Astala carried Rinona on her back. And then they ran. Astolfo was scared. He clung to him with all the strength the arms of a 4-year-old could have and hid his face in the crook of Zevran's neck. Zevran held him tight. Behind him, amidst the ring of battle, he caught snippets of Astala trying to keep Rinona calm. The light at the top of Perinella's staff bathed everything in cold, flickering light.

A torch, a person! Zevran brought them all to a halt as Perinella's barrier flared to life. Brigand and Rascal barked and growled.

"Who goes there?" Astala's sharp voice cut through the din of battle.

"Arlessa!"

The voice belonged to old Gemet, who had been working at the Vigil from before Astala had replaced arl Rendon Howe. Zevran nonetheless set Astolfo down and quietly unsheathed his daggers. Next to him, Perinella stood, tensely waiting.

"They sent me out to find you," Gemet called over the ring of battle, and then they all flinched and cowered as another explosion shook the walls of the narrow corridor. Eidela was screaming now, and Zevran felt Astolfo's hands balled into the fabric of his trousers.

"We cannot stay here," Zevran called out. "Gemet, move back. We will follow."

"Right away!"

The torch and the dark silhouette of Gemet made their way back down the corridor again.

The corridor led to the kitchens, which in turn led to the servants’ quarters. A good fraction of their fellow elves, all occupying different service positions until now, jumped to their feet. The relief flooding the room upon seeing the Hero of Ferelden was palpable. Astala stood a little straighter and stepped forward.

“They are in the Great Hall,” one of these scared people informed her.

“They will come down here any moment,” another said.

From above, a great crash was heard. Astala turned only briefly.

“Carry your small children and make for the outer service door,” she said. “We will ferry people down a few at a time.”

Another crash, and shouting.

“They’re breaking in!” a young girl screamed.

“Keep calm!” Astala commanded. “Move, towards the service door.”

Zevran handed Astolfo to Virel. The little boy clung to his older brother. Zevran held four of the elves back; they were strong, showed less fear than the rest of the people, and were unmarried.

“Stay behind with me,” he asked. “We will build some traps to greet them with.”

Astala stopped, and turned around. For the first time this night, fear crept over his Warden's face.

"You're not gonna stay here alone!" she called, disbelieving.

"Not alone!" Zevran gestured at the four other elves. He knew perfectly well Astala would regard them as insufficient help, and rightfully so, but...

"You can't stay!" Astala walked up to him with long steps, and Rinona had to run to keep pace with her. "Zevran! Those people-"

"I will be alright," Zevran tried.

"They will kill you!" Fear gave way to panic, gave way to wild determination. "I'm not leaving you alone!"

"Amore." Zevran reached out and held the hand with which she was holding Rinona. "Please. There is no time. Keep them safe; I-"

"I will stay."

Virel stood next to Astala.

"No!" Astala cried.

"Go with your brother," Zevran said. "Keep him safe. That is all I ask of you."

"But I-"

"No!"

Zevran immediately regretted his outburst. Virel flinched backwards. The noise was getting closer. They had no time. Zevran turned to Astala again. Her hand trembled; her eyes were wide. Mutely, she shook her head.

"I will do everything I can to return to you," Zevran said and cupped her cheek. "Go, my Warden.

"Please-" Astala whispered.

A loud bang. Screams. Eidela cried.

Astala stepped back. She, too, was crying.

"I love you," Zevran said.

Astala's answer was drowned out by another explosion that shook the walls. Then she turned and hurried down the hallway with their children as fast as her old injury would allow. Already, she was heavily favoring her right leg. She would be in a great deal of pain tomorrow. If she made it out alive.

Virel was leading Astolfo again, and didn't look back. It was Rinona who turned.

"Papa?"

"He needs a moment," he heard Astala say. "He'll be right behind us, just you see."

Then they disappeared around the corner. And Zevran, Crow that he was in his heart of hearts, closed his heart and his ears to the increasingly panicked calls of his daughter.

They grabbed what food they could easily carry. They ripped open a sack of flour so that the air turned dusty white, dumped oil over the floor, set a pot with hot coals over one door and a washbasin full of knives over another.

Voices approached, steps and the clanking of armor. While his four helpers ran for the exit, Zevran stayed by the third and last door and waited, a fire grenade in hand. Something heavy banged against the door. The wood splintered. Then it burst. Zevran stepped into the room. Men, humans with armor and weapons bloodied, poured into the kitchen, bloodlust in their voices. Zevran blew a kiss onto the glass vial that held the grenade and threw it into the kitchen, into their midst, turned and ran. The flour caught fire. The room exploded. The blast sent Zevran stumbling briefly, and then he ran. Screams, heat and a sense of burning satisfaction accompanied him as he rejoined his fellow trap-layers. They barricaded the door and hurried to join the larger group.

They did not take the path that was used to ferry goods up the steep incline that led up to the Keep. Instead, they made through the dark and gnarly forest with its dense undergrowth that covered the rest of the landscape. They hurried through, leaves and branches catching on their clothing. Zevran, in his comparatively tougher leather, led the way.

They found their people halfway to the river, gathered at the edge of a small clearing. A few figures rushed to put themselves between the group and them as they approached, but stood down as soon as they called out to them. There was a commotion at the back of the group. Zevran stepped out of the forest, only to have Rinona crash into him at full speed. Astolfo joined soon afterwards. Rinona was crying, big ugly tears. Astolfo wouldn't let him go. Zevran let them and hugged them tightly in return.

A weight fell onto his shoulders: Carlo. Somebody told him to move, to not squash Zevran, to give him some space: Virel. Somebody stepped behind Carlo when he didn't leave: Perinella. Zevran told them to let the boy be, even if his knees and thighs were starting to strain under the combined weight.

A shadow fell over him, a hand fell to his shoulder, and by touch alone he recognized his Warden. Astala said nothing. Zevran hugged Astolfo and Rinona with one arm and held Astala's hand.

They made their way to the river Hafter and along it, this small refugee group of theirs. Laseth, one of the head servants, who had spent some time with a Dalish clan before she had decided that their life was not for her, led them through the dark. It was a cold night. The heavy cloud cover allowed for almost no light, but thankfully kept the rain it carried to itself. Beside the quiet din of conversations and steps, there was no sound to be heard. The burning Vigil’s Keep grew smaller and smaller, until it vanished into the darkness.

Zevran was carrying Rinona. When his daughter shivered, he wrapped the edge of his cloak around her. Carlo walked next to him, occasionally bumping into him when he misstepped. Perinella was in front of them; she had offered to carry Astolfo on her back. Virel was behind them, silent. Astala walked next to him, Eidela on her back now, and heavily limping.

Her children and these people were still looking to her for guidance.

Zevran saw how tired she was.

They were all exhausted.

He approached Laseth with the suggestion to make camp as soon as they reached a patch of land with a sufficiently big grove of trees. Laseth selected an appropriate spot and set them to work. They built four tent-shaped shelters covered with leaves and ferns to ward against the worst of the chill. What clothes they had on their bodies and the shared body warmth would have to do the rest. There would be no fire. They were still too close to the keep. Zevran and his fellow trap-layers distributed what food they had managed to take with them. Then everybody went to sleep.

Neither Eidela nor Rinona woke up when they were set down; a small blessing. Astolfo fell asleep shortly afterwards, curled up in Zevran’s lap. Virel, Perinella and Carlo did not lie down right away. They sat close to them; grim faces, wide eyes, but unharmed. Alive.

For a while, nobody said anything.

“I’m sorry." Astala quietly broke the silence. “I’m so sorry. This was never supposed to happen. I didn’t want you to have to fight ever again.”

Perinella raised an eyebrow. “But we did not fight. You sent us away.”

“We never wanted you to be in a fight again, then,” Zevran suggested.

Astala nodded. “I’m so sorry. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

Virel and Perinella exchanged glances. Carlo looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just curled up on Astala’s free side, mirroring Astolfo, and went to sleep.

Silence fell back over their group again.

This time, it was Virel who broke it; he was looking at Zevran when he did so. “Why did you not want me to fight?”

Ah. Zevran should’ve known. The Crows’ talons didn't let go easily.

He glanced at Astala.

“Because parents keep their children safe whenever they can," Astala answered in his state. “They care for them, and do not want them to be hurt. Fighting is a very easy way to get hurt.”

“But you train us to fight,” Virel answered, still looking at Zevran. “Why?”

“Because,” Zevran answered this time, choosing his words wisely, “we want you to be able to defend yourselves once you are adults, or if neither your mother nor I are there. Not being able to fight is also a very good way to get hurt.”

For a while, Virel stared off into the darkness. Perinella followed the conversation in silence, with big, serious eyes.

“I am grown,” Virel then said. “Old enough to have been a Crow for years.”

“Yes,” Zevran agreed. “And this is why Crow masters do not make good parents.”

Virel smiled at that, and Zevran did too in a quick, rare moment of shared understanding. Perinella leaned against Astala's free side.

“I want you to know that what your mother said is true,” Zevran continued. “If we could, we would make it so that you never had to fight and never got hurt.”

Virel looked up at him.

“Alas, it is impossible,” Zevran said lightly. “So we do the next best thing: arm you with a blade and knowledge and step between you and any enemies whenever we can, ah?”

Virel smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course, this is not to say that I do not try my very best to return safely,” Zevran continued. “My Warden would never forgive me if I died—"

"True," Astala said quietly.

"—and even if I am a terrible spoilsport who will not let you fight, I hope I-”

He didn’t get further. Virel bumped his shoulder into him, lightly, in a move that surprised Zevran. He was ready to laugh and tentatively push back. But there were confounded emotions darkening his son’s face once more as he leaned away from him again. Zevran stayed still.

“Virel,” Astala said again, gently. “What is it?”

It took Virel some time to speak. Finally, without looking at Zevran, he strung the words together.

“If you had not returned?”

Zevran’s heart lurched slightly within his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astala tense.

“It would not have been what I wanted at all,” Zevran began, slowly. “I would have… I would have been very sorry to leave you behind. I would have wanted it to be different, although knowing you safe would have been a comfort. We make choices. We do not know how they will turn out. We try our best and take risks. You would have done the same for Perinella.” Virel nodded quietly.

“Then you know why I did not want you to be there,” Zevran continued. “Your help would have been very welcome, and your readiness to jump into danger speaks to your courage. But that risk was not one I wanted you to take. I apologize if I have overstepped. But I wanted you safe.”

For a while, Virel said nothing. The silence stretched on for so long that Zevran was beginning to fear he might have said entirely the wrong thing, and that Virel was now angry. He waited. And waited.

Finally, Virel moved. Slowly, unexpectedly, carefully, as if testing the waters, he leaned into him, wrapped his arms around him and rested his head against his shoulder. Zevran hesitated for one moment, then carefully hugged him back.

They broke their little round up, set Astolfo next to Rinona. Virel and Perinella preferred to sleep to one side. Astala advised them to keep close enough to catch at least some body warmth and tried to get them to accept her cloak. They refused, arguing that they had their own. Astala had to let it be in the end.

As Zevran lay down next to her, she turned to him and pulled him close.

“Thank you,” she whispered quietly into his leather. “Thank you for keeping us safe.”

"You were not pleased," Zevran said.

Astala snorted. "Of course not."

Zevran nodded. Of course she was not pleased.

"I hate it," Astala said quietly. "I hate it so much. I was so scared."

"I am sorry," Zevran said.

Astala leaned back to look him in the eyes. "Don't do that again."

"Amore-"

"I know that- that you had to." She was trying so hard to keep her voice in check, Zevran knew. "I don't care. Don't do that again. Think of Virel. He needs you, Zevran, they all need you. Don't leave them."

The words stung. Zevran savored it.

"And you, my Warden?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I need you," Astala said. And then her voice finally broke. "Please, don't go. Please!"

"I am not planning to," Zevran said, with perhaps a little more edge than he intended.

"I know." Astala wiped her eyes. "I know, I know. I'm being unfair. I'm sorry."

Zevran sighed and kissed her forehead. “I could not bear to lose you, my Warden. You know that.”

“I do,” she nodded. “Thank you for making it back in one piece.”

“I am yours,” he answered. And, teasing, he added, “Yours entirely. How could I deprive you of even one part of me? Imagine me without hair.”

Astala let out an undignified snort and muffled her laugh against his chest. The laugh ended in a sniffle. Zevran held her close.

"How is your hip?"

"Bad," Astala said. "I will manage."

"I will help, if you will let me," Zevran said.

"Thank you."

Astala nuzzled closer and sighed against his skin. Her breath slowly evened out. Her weight grew heavier. Zevran closed his eyes, breathed deeply and thanked the Maker for keeping them safe and whole.

These two are a seasoned battle couple, but separate them and hoooooooooooo the anxiety skyrockets.

It's not clear who attacked the Keep (which means I haven't figured it out yet). Maybe she'll never know. Fact is, the crown doesn't do anything much, and she goes to Antiva with the whole family and settles down there for a peaceful live. Until the qunari arrive (looks at DA4 with suspicion)

I hope you enjoyed this one, and thank you to @zevraholics for organizing this event!!

16 notes · View notes

saiacross · 7 months

Text

Bonds Unveiled

Supernatural FanFic : 9,558 Words : Series: Reader-Insert

Chapter 18 Captured, Tortured, and Sealed

This Work is part of an overarching story that can be read as a one-shot with little overlapping information from other chapters. ⬅ Chapter 17.5 The Club Chapter 19 Pt1: To Be or Not To Be Human ➡ Master List

Chapter 18 Captured, Tortured, and Sealed After returning to their motel rooms from a last night hunt Y/N is visited by an old acquaintance who holds a grudge from the past. Unable to do anything Y/N prays to Castiel amidst the encounter, resulting in the only reason Sam and Dean managed to escape unharmed. But now the fiend has made off with Y/N and when the brothers finally find where he has taken her; it isn't a pretty sight. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 Main Story: Y/N is no ordinary Huntress and when she runs into the Winchesters her life takes a turn. As time unfolds, they get to know each other, rely on one another, and demonstrate they care for one another in their own ways. Y/N's life begins to unravel into her history, present, and what lies ahead. She faces resurfacing fears she believed she'd escaped long ago, aided by the Winchester brothers. Their journey together is one of confronting old horrors and finding newfound strength. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

A week had passed since the events that had unfolded in the town, and the camaraderie between Sam, Dean, and Y/N undergoing a subtle transformation. Secrets had been unveiled and confessions laid bare between the brothers, yet neither said anything to Y/N and the trio continued their routines as if nothing had changed; though an undercurrent of understanding pulsed beneath the surface.

After a late-night salt and burn, the trio found themselves back in a motel parking lot. Fatigue clung to them, both physically and mentally, after a hunt that had proven unexpectedly challenging. The sun rose into the sky, casting long shadows as Sam, Dean, and Y/N exited the Impala.

Dean's groan was both an expression of discomfort and an anecdote to the hunt's complications—being thrown across a room wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat. He couldn't resist turning his dissatisfaction into a bickering match, even before stepping out of the car. "No, you're the one who dropped the matches," he grumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes, offering a quick rebuttal as he followed Dean. "I didn't drop them, you threw them at me. And you just suck at throwing."

Their argument might have carried on, if not for Y/N's timely intervention.

"Guys, you're too exhausting for me right now. Come get me when you have food." With that, she veered off toward her own motel room, her door just adjacent to the brothers', and disappeared inside.

Only an hour had passed since Y/N retreated to her room, seeking solace in the familiarity of her own space. A quick shower and change of clothes had offered a fleeting relief from the physical and emotional exhaustion that had settled in after the recent hunt. When a knock echoed through the room, Y/N's thoughts were drawn away from her weariness, assuming it was one of the Winchesters. But when she opened the door, she was met with an unexpected guest—the father of the girl they had helped, a man named John.

Y/N's brows furrowed in confusion, her voice laced with concern as she addressed the man before her. "Oh, John, is everything okay?" Her concern was genuine, a reflection of the empathy she held for those they had crossed paths with in their hunts.

John's appearance was unassuming, but an underlying unease seemed to shroud him. He stood tall and stocky, a presence that contrasted with his current demeanor. He nodded hesitantly, his words carrying a mix of uncertainty and tension. "Yeah, umm, I just had a few questions about, well, you know, a lot of what y'all told us back there. I hope you don't mind me stopping by."

Y/N's features softened, her understanding evident as she stepped aside, welcoming John into her space. She knew that the aftermath of such supernatural encounters often left people with lingering questions and concerns. "Of course, John. I'm here to help. Please, have a seat." She gestured toward the bed, offering a place for him to sit. As she moved to place her bag on the floor, she maintained a sense of ease, focused on being a source of support.

“Well, I really just have one question…” The mood in the room shifted abruptly as John's demeanor underwent a transformation. "How have you survived this long while being this trusting?" His voice took on a sinister edge, sending a shiver down Y/N's spine. His words seemed to carry an ominous weight, laden with an accusation that was as unexpected as it was chilling.

The air seemed to thicken, charged with an inexplicable tension. The room's ambiance turned from familiarity to something unsettling, causing the hairs on the back of Y/N's neck to stand on end. Her gaze met John's, her eyes narrowing as she processed the sudden shift in his behavior. A sense of foreboding settled in the space between them, and Y/N's instincts went on high alert as she confronted the unsettling truth that the man she had welcomed into her room might not be who he appeared to be.

Y/N's steps backward were fueled by a mixture of caution and urgency as if each move could somehow widen the distance between her and the man who was no longer who he seemed to be. Her heart raced in her chest as she desperately scanned the room for potential escape routes, but her retreat only led her deeper into the room, cornering her without a clear means of getting out.

"John?" Y/N's voice quivered, carrying a blend of fear and confusion. Her eyes remained locked on the man's face, searching for any trace of recognition, any flicker of the person she thought she knew. But the man's smile, twisted and menacing, gave way to an unsettling transformation. His eyes, once familiar, shifted to a chilling solid black, revealing the chilling truth—John was no longer himself; he had been overtaken by a demon.

The man's laughter filled the room, a chilling melody of malevolence. His words dripped with a sinister satisfaction, a sense of triumph that he had easily infiltrated her trust. "This was far too easy. You didn't even hesitate for a moment, didn't even consider the possibility."

Y/N's mind raced as she struggled to comprehend the situation she had unwittingly stumbled into. Her instincts screamed at her to devise a plan, to find a way out of this perilous encounter. She mustered her courage, summoning the strength to ask the questions that might offer her a glimpse of what lay ahead.

"Did Sano send you?" The inquiry hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of the truth she feared. The man's response was chillingly calm, each word a revelation of her grim reality.

"Did he release me from hell? Yes. Did he want me to help him capture you? Of course. Is that why I'm here?" His laughter taunted her, revealing the cruel nature of his intentions. "I'm here for my own reasons."

Confusion etched itself into Y/N's features as she sought to understand the motives that had led to her current predicament.

"And what is it you want?" Her voice wavered, a mixture of vulnerability and defiance.

The demon inhaled deeply, a prelude to revealing its malevolent agenda. The words it uttered resonated with a chilling intensity, sending a shockwave through Y/N's senses. "To make you suffer."

Her voice barely above a whisper, Y/N could only manage a tremulous response. "What?"

In this suspended moment, it occurred to Y/N that the Winchesters were mere feet away, separated only by the thin walls of the motel. The demon seemed to read her thoughts, offering a sinister warning that sent a jolt of terror through her. "I wouldn’t if I were you."

As he held up a device—a detonation remote—Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The sinister implication hung heavily in the air and the weight of the situation pressed upon her shoulders.

The demon's grip on the detonation device tightened, his thumb hovering ominously over the button that held the potential to unleash destruction. His taunting words sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, her mind racing to find a solution that would spare her friends from harm. His sinister statement echoed in her ears, "Not unless you want your little boy toys next door in pieces."

Fear clung to her like a suffocating veil, yet Y/N knew she had to act fast. The stakes were high, and time was running out. Her voice quivered as she spoke, every word a plea tinged with desperation. "Alright, you want me to go with you, I will. Just please don't."

The demon's response was laced with a mix of disdain and calculated consideration. He seemed dissatisfied with her readiness to comply as if her cooperation robbed him of the satisfaction he had anticipated. "Now you see, you just willingly coming along doesn't sit well with me."

His discontent was palpable, a reminder of the malevolence that lurked behind the facade of John's body.

"It would have been way more satisfying to have dragged you from your friend's body back in the alley, but you just had to go and torch that plan." His tone took on a twisted amusement as he recounted the event.

Y/N's eyes widened in realization, and her voice trembled as she connected the dots. "That was you?"

The demon's nod was accompanied by a sinister confirmation. "Indeed it was. And imagine my surprise when I finally caught up to you, and that towering Sasquatch was still alive."

In that moment, it became clear to Y/N that this demon was no ordinary adversary. Its persistence and resilience pointed to a formidable power that transcended the typical demonic hierarchy. Faced with this dire threat, she grasped onto the only hope she had left—prayer. Y/N's heart raced as she silently reached out to Castiel, desperately imploring for help. Her prayer carried a sense of urgency as she informed him of their perilous situation, urging him to get Sam and Dean out of there.

While Y/N continued to silently call out to Castiel, she knew that she had to buy as much time as possible which meant keeping the demon talking.

"Why do you want me to suffer? What did I do to you?"

The demon's response was unexpected, and his expression shifted from malevolent to one of apparent hurt. It caught Y/N off guard, her unease deepening. The demon's words carried a haunting weight as he inquired further, "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

The atmosphere in the room grew heavier, and Y/N felt her heart race. She couldn't have anticipated the direction this conversation was taking. As the demon continued, he seemed to unravel a haunting memory, and his voice held a chilling edge. "Ten years ago, Broken Bow, Nebraska."

Y/N's eyes widened, her mind racing, her throat tightened, and her face drained of color as her own memories rushed back to her. Struggling to find her voice, Y/N gasped out, "Jason?"

The demon, now fully revealed as Jason, maintained his intense gaze on Y/N. His words were a chilling indictment, dripping with the weight of past grievances. "I died that night because of you."

This revelation hung in the air, a dark and haunting truth that threatened to consume them both.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

At the same time, in the room next door, where Sam had just returned with food and Dean was cracking open a beer, an unexpected visitor disrupted their routine. Castiel's sudden and unannounced appearance made Dean nearly jump out of his skin, his startled exclamation echoing through the room, "Damn, Cass, what the hell?"

However, Castiel appeared preoccupied and paid no heed to Dean's irate outburst. Instead, he scanned the room with an air of confusion, as if something vital was amiss. Sam, ever the thoughtful one, sensed Castiel's unease and sought answers. He inquired with genuine concern, "Hey, everything okay Cass?"

Castiel's response was laden with urgency and a hint of panic. He urgently questioned Sam, "Where is Y/N? Where is the danger?"

Sam and Dean exchanged bewildered glances, struggling to comprehend the gravity of Castiel's words. Dean was the first to vocalize their shared concern, his voice tinged with worry, "Y/N's in her room next door."

Castiel, now facing the Winchesters directly, sought to explain his puzzling arrival. His voice carried a sense of urgency and foreboding as he revealed Y/N's distress signal, "She called me and said you were in danger. That I needed to get you out of here."

The gravity of the situation hit the Winchesters like a freight train. Without hesitation, they rushed to their door, their movements swift and synchronized, with Castiel closely trailing behind them.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Amidst the tense atmosphere, Y/N was taken aback when her motel room door was suddenly subjected to a loud, frantic pounding. Dean's voice boomed from the other side, urgently calling out, "Y/N?! Open this door!?"

The demon confronting her maintained a sinister smile, his malevolence emanating from every wordless gaze. Before any of them could utter another word, Sam and Dean burst into Y/N's room with guns drawn, their entry swift and determined. Castiel followed closely, his presence like a protective shield.

With the barrels of their pistols aimed at the demon's head, they spotted the ominous device he clutched in his hand, its purpose all too clear. Sam, recognizing the man possessed by the demon, couldn't help but exclaim in surprise, "John?"

The demon chuckled darkly, revealing the depths of his malevolence as he taunted, "This is on you."

Y/N, her voice quivering with desperation, took a step forward and implored, "Jason, please!" But before her plea could have any effect, the demon vanished into thin air, leaving Y/N with a sinking feeling of despair.

Frozen in fear, Y/N’s eyes darted to Castiel filled with dread. She knew what was about to transpire, and with a commanding and urgent tone, she cried out, "CASTIEL!"

Castiel, swift to act, had his hands on both brothers. In an instant, the world around them erupted in flames, a fiery explosion that seemed to consume everything in its path. Sam and Dean found themselves miraculously across the highway from their motel with Castiel, just seconds before the detonation.

As the shockwave rippled through the air, debris flew wildly, and the deafening roar of the explosion sent the trio ducking for cover. The sheer force of the blast rattled their bones and senses, but they were alive, saved from the fiery inferno that had consumed their motel room.

In the aftermath of the explosion, Sam and Dean stood motionless, their gazes locked onto the smoldering ruins of the building that had once been their motel room. Disbelief etched into their wide-eyed expressions, their hearts hammered against their chests, and their minds struggled to process what had just occurred. The only coherent thought was the memory of the terror etched across Y/N's face as they were forcefully whisked away from her, leaving her behind.

Dean, his body acting on instinct alone, started moving toward the now-devastated structure, his determination to find Y/N burning fiercely within him. But Castiel intervened, his hand landing firmly on Dean's shoulder, and his voice commanding, "Don't."

Sam, shaken from his daze, swung around and seized the angel by the collar of his coat. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and anger radiated from him as he hissed through clenched teeth, "Why? Why did you just leave her? What the hell, Cass?"

Castiel's demeanor remained unyielding, as always, as he met Sam's gaze and replied, "I'm sorry. There wasn't enough time."

Dean's voice erupted with fury as he bellowed, "Time?! You know the drill, Cass. It's always... ALWAYS them over us." He couldn't tear his eyes away from the engulfing flames as he vented his frustration.

Castiel's voice remained unwavering as he responded, addressing both brothers, "Dean. Sam. Y/N wasn't in the building when the explosives went off."

Sam tilted his head, his grip on the angel's coat slackening slightly. Dean, meanwhile, turned to Castiel, his expression a perplexed mix of confusion and doubt.

Sam inquired, "What?"

Dean followed up with an urgent question, "Then where is she?"

Castiel, his gaze shifting between the two brothers, admitted with a tone of uncertainty, "I don't know."

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

In the dimly lit library of the Bunker, Sam and Dean sat around the table, their laptops illuminating their faces as they pondered the unsettling mystery of Y/N's disappearance. Castiel's words echoed in their minds, “ I don't know but I sensed her disappear just as we escaped, moments before the explosion actually happened.”

Dean's brow furrowed as he mulled over their limited clues, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. Y/N was alive, she had to be, but her whereabouts remained a confounding enigma. The brothers suspected the demon, Jason, who had possessed John, was behind her abduction. However, a mere name offered scant leads.

Sam's voice cut through the quiet library as he wrapped up a phone call, "Okay, thanks for letting us know." He hung up and sighed before relaying the information to Dean. “Well John is home, Cass cleared him, and he is no longer possessed.”

“And let me guess he doesn't remember anything.” Dean was trying to restrain his anger but his tone gave it away.

Sam nodded his head, “Yeah seems that way. Cass is going to search around town a bit more.”

Dean took a swig from his beer bottle, frustration tainting his features. "So, we got jack shit for a lead." Dean's anger simmered beneath the surface. "Damn it."

As they contemplated their next move, Sam leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. He muttered his thoughts aloud, "Who is Jason?"

Dean glanced at his brother, considering the question.

"The way she said his name, it was like she knew him, you know? Like really knew him. Maybe someone from her past?" Sam’s eyes narrowed trying to put pieces he didn’t have together.

"Maybe, but she doesn't really talk about her past.” Dean would point out.

Sam nodded, realization dawning on him, “But we know someone who she does."

Dean grabbed his phone, his fingers deftly dialing a familiar number. After two rings, a familiar voice answered on the other end. "Dean? Everything okay?"

Dean cleared his throat, his voice a mix of concern and determination as he posed his question. "Hey, Angelique. Just on a case, you know, and got a quick question. Did Y/N ever mention someone named Jason to you?"

A brief silence followed on the other end of the line, prompting Dean to check his phone screen to ensure the call hadn't dropped. He tried again, "Angelique? You still there?"

The tension in the room was palpable as Dean and Sam waited for Angelique's response. Her voice, when it finally came, was laced with hesitation, as if she were reluctant to share something deeply unsettling. She questioned Dean, her voice trembling with concern, "Dean, why are you asking about Jason?"

Dean exchanged a worried glance with Sam, and in a swift decision, he put the phone on speaker and placed it on the table, ensuring that both he and Sam could hear the conversation.

Sam leaned in, his eyes locked onto the phone, and he explained their urgent need for information. "Angelique, we need to know who Jason is; he took Y/N."

Angelique's voice wavered with apprehension as she replied, her words heavy with disbelief, "That's not possible. Jason died ten years ago. We... we watched his body burn."

Dean's expression darkened as he absorbed this shocking revelation. He uttered grimly, "Yeah, well, he's a demon now. He possessed a guy, and Y/N is missing. We need to know everything that happened."

Angelique struggled to maintain her composure, the tremors in her voice betraying her inner turmoil. She managed to choke out a soft but heart-wrenching denial, "No..."

Sam and Dean exchanged worried glances, their hearts heavy with the weight of the situation.

The room fell silent, the only sound the soft, shaky breaths of the woman on the other end of the line.

Finally, Angelique took a deep breath, mustering the strength to share her painful memories. She began to explain who Jason had been, recounting a tale from a decade ago that had haunted her ever since.

Angelique's voice resonated, weaving a haunting tale from over a decade ago. Her words painted a vivid picture of a tight-knit group, bound by their shared experiences and the darkness they faced together. Four individuals: Y/N, Jason, Alex, and herself. Each troubled in their own way, they had formed an unlikely but resilient team.

The group of hunters was known for tackling any supernatural threat that crossed their path, offering aid where needed and taking down the creatures that terrorized innocent lives. Y/N, a kitsune, Angelique herself was a witch, while Alex had joined their ranks after they rescued him from a vampire's nest. And then there was Jason, whose identity had been stolen by a shapeshifter, leaving him unable to return home. So, he'd embraced the life of a hunter with their group.

For a while, they operated as a well-oiled machine, handling hunts with skill and precision. But, over time, Jason's methods began to grow increasingly brutal, causing a rift within the team. Y/N attempted to reason with him, but their discussions only led to more conflict.

Then came the night that changed everything. They received a case from fellow hunters involving a supposed vampire nest with just three members. However, Jason, consumed by anger, rushed ahead to confront the threat alone. When the rest of the group arrived, they found a grisly scene: lifeless bodies littered the basement, but they weren't vampires; they were just squatters living in the abandoned building.

Jason hadn't bothered to investigate, simply launching into a violent rampage. He displayed no remorse for his actions, and that's when Y/N finally snapped. In a fit of rage, she punched him, sending him crashing across the room, and declared that he was no longer welcome in their group.

As they started to ascend the stairs to leave, Jason seized an oil lantern that had been used by the victims and hurled it at Y/N's retreating back. Alex, witnessing the attack, pushed both Y/N and Angelique out of harm's way. The lantern shattered upon impact, splattering the wooden stairs with oil and igniting the blaze. The old, dry wood quickly succumbed to the flames, and the inferno spread with terrifying speed.

Amidst the chaos, Alex confronted Jason, berating him for his recklessness. Their argument escalated, and he forcefully shoved Jason against a wall. Meanwhile, Y/N helped Angelique to her feet, and the two frantically searched for an escape route. They finally spotted a small, ground-level window that offered a glimmer of hope.

Y/N acted swiftly, leading Angelique to safety through the window. Once outside, Y/N prepared to return for Alex and Jason, but just as she was about to re-enter the burning building, a deafening explosion rocked the structure. Flames and smoke billowed outward, as Y/N rushed back to the window where she helped pull Alex from the opening. Y/N then began to enter the building to retrieve Jason but Alex grabbed to stop her. Intense heat and flames engulfed the window opening now preventing her from reaching her friend. Jason hadn't made it out on his own, and Y/N could hear his agonized screams as the flames devoured the building.

The room in the Bunker fell silent after Angelique's chilling account, the weight of the past bearing heavily on all who listened. In the quiet, somber atmosphere of the Bunker's library, Angelique's voice carried the weight of years of guilt and sorrow. Her tale had laid bare the deep wounds that still festered within the group, wounds that Y/N, Alex, and Angelique had carried with them for more than a decade.

Y/N, ever burdened by a sense of responsibility, blamed herself relentlessly. She replayed the moments leading up to that fateful night, wondering if there was something more she could have done to prevent Jason's descent into darkness. Her self-recrimination extended to not stopping him from going alone, not delving deeper into his troubles, and not ensuring everyone's safety before her own.

Angelique carried her own burden of guilt, tied to the injury she'd sustained in the fall. She lamented how her twisted ankle had limited her mobility, believing that if she hadn't been injured, she could have climbed out of the window on her own instead of needing Y/N’s help.

Alex, too, bore the weight of culpability. He blamed himself for starting the fight in the basement instead of swiftly evacuating their group from the dangerous situation.

Sam and Dean sat in somber silence, their expressions reflecting the heaviness of Angelique's narrative. Sam, ever the empathetic soul, couldn't let the conversation end without offering some words of comfort. He broke the silence with a heartfelt, "I'm sorry, that's tough."

Dean, still processing the information, finally found his voice. He cleared his throat and asked the pivotal question that had been gnawing at him. His tone was focused, and his mind was already racing ahead with plans. "Angelique, where did the fire happen? If it's some kind of revenge thing, he probably took her back to where it all happened."

Angelique's voice held a tinge of sadness as she responded, "Broken Bow, Nebraska."

With that critical piece of information, Dean and Sam thanked Angelique for her assistance. They assured her that they would stay in touch and provide updates on the situation. The phone call ended, leaving the room in the Bunker filled with a palpable sense of urgency.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

As the Impala sped through the miles of highway, the urgency in Dean's driving was palpable. Broken Bow, Nebraska, was their next destination, and Dean was determined to make the six-hour journey in just two. Every second counted in their mission to find Y/N.

Sam, seated in the passenger seat, was hard at work with his laptop, sifting through the digital archives in search of any information about the tragic fire that had scarred Broken Bow a decade ago. He read aloud the details he managed to unearth, painting a grim picture of the incident. "Ten years ago, the old inn caught fire just a week before the historical society was getting ready to restore it as a local museum. Four bodies were found in the basement, unrecognizable. They were identified by their dental records, including one Jason Scottmen, who had already previously been declared dead."

Dean nodded, his grip on the steering wheel firm and determined. "Sounds like the place," he acknowledged, his voice steady despite the weight of their quest.

"Yeah, but they demolished that building after the fire, and nothing has been built there since." Sam continued to scan the information on his laptop, and a hint of concern colored his words.

Dean's jaw clenched at the thought of a dead end before they even arrived, but he didn't let it deter him. "Still our only lead," he affirmed, determination in his voice. "I say we still check it out."

Sam silently agreed, understanding that sometimes they had to dig through ashes to uncover the truth, even if it meant sifting through the past of a town that had tried to move on from a dark chapter in its history.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Y/N's eyelids felt like they were laden with bricks, her head throbbing as she gradually tried to pry them open. Her vision remained blurred, but the dismal gray surroundings told her she was still trapped in the same dark, dank concert room as before. She dared not move too much or else the subtle dull pain coursing through her body would ignite into something greater.

Squinting, she glanced to the side, her eyes meeting a nightmarish scene. A shadowy figure stood by a metal table, its surface adorned with an array of gruesome tools and instruments. These devices were designed for the dual purposes of surgery and torture, and their malevolent presence in the room sent shivers down Y/N's spine.

Amidst the eerie silence, Y/N's labored breaths were the only sound, accompanied by the faint clinking of larger metal implements hanging ominously on the walls. Then, the figure spoke, and Y/N's heart pounded in her chest.

"It's about time you woke up," the voice belonged to Jason, who now stood before Y/N, his presence casting a dark shadow over her. Y/N struggled against the unforgiving shackles that held her suspended from the ceiling. Her arms were cruelly restrained, hanging helplessly above her head, rendering her powerless.

Despite her futile efforts, Jason seemed amused, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "I expected a lot more from the Winchester's bitch," he taunted, his voice laced with malevolence. With the tip of a whip he held in hand, he tilted Y/N's chin upward, forcing her to meet his malevolent gaze. The chain that hung from the rune-engraved shackle around her neck weighed heavily, and Jason yanked it downward, a cruel reminder of the gift he had received from Sano.

Jason circled around Y/N like a predatory vulture, the tip of his whip tracing a macabre path along her battered and exposed skin. Each stroke of the whip applied slightly more pressure whenever it encountered an open laceration or a grotesque bruise, inflicting fresh agony upon her already tortured body. He had cruelly informed Y/N before she had briefly lost consciousness, that the whip was Hell's favored instrument of torment—a fact he had come to appreciate all too well.

As Jason moved behind her, he raised the whip high, his malevolent intent clear in the way he brandished it. With merciless precision, he lashed it across her back in a diagonal strike, cutting through the remnants of his earlier blows. The pain was excruciating, and Y/N's back arched involuntarily, her desperate attempt to evade the torment only thwarted by the unyielding shackles that held her ankles and prevented her from moving too far. She could only reach the ground with her tiptoes, a cruel tease of freedom that did nothing to ease her suffering.

Amidst her screams and gasps for breath, Jason's voice droned on, his monologue a never-ending stream of grievances and accusations.

“Do you have any idea..…”He taunted Y/N with questions she had heard a thousand times before, demanding answers that he already knew, and recounting the horrors he believed she had wrought upon him in Hell.

In the beginning, Y/N had offered apologies and begged for his forgiveness, her voice choked with guilt as she explained how she had been on her way to save him. She admitted that she blamed herself every day for his torment. But after enduring hours of Jason's ceaseless repetition, the physical agony pushing her to the brink of unconsciousness on more than one occasion, Y/N's empathy withered away.

It became painfully clear to her that Jason's sadistic cruelty extended far beyond the bounds of revenge. He reveled in her suffering, just as he had relished the murder of those innocent humans, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of her kindness any longer.

Y/N remained resolute in her silence, steadfastly refusing to utter another word to Jason. The runes, cruelly etched into her shackles, continued to suppress her abilities, rendering her defenseless in the face of his sadistic torment.

Her eyes, heavy with pain and exhaustion, drifted downward once more as Jason positioned himself before her. He seemed to take perverse pleasure in surveying the gruesome tapestry of agony he had woven upon her body. Every inch of her flesh bore the cruel marks of his merciless assault—deep lacerations from a variety of whips and blades, patches of discolored bruises inflicted by blunt instruments like baseball bats, and the unmistakable imprints of his own fists.

There was scarcely a part of her anatomy that had been spared from his malevolent onslaught. Y/N's body had become a canvas of torment, a testament to the depths of cruelty that humans were capable of sinking to, especially when fueled by the vengeful spirit of a demon.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

The Impala's engine rumbled to a halt as the Winchester brothers arrived at the location where the old Inn had once stood. What greeted them was a desolate expanse of dead grass, a stark reminder of the destruction that had taken place here years ago.

With a shared sense of determination, Dean and Sam exited the iconic car and began to cautiously explore the area, their eyes scanning the ground for any telltale signs. There was nothing to point them in the right direction, no remnants of the building that had once occupied this space.

Sam took a deep breath and stood near what would have been the front entrance, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Dean joined his brother, "Well, I guess there really is nothing here." surveying the outline on the ground.

However, Sam's keen observation skills soon led him to a curious detail. Without looking away, Sam spoke again, "Don't you think it's odd that the fire was over ten years ago, but this patch of grass still hasn't grown back?"

Dean squinted and followed Sam's gaze, and to his surprise, he realized that there was indeed a distinct shape etched into the lifeless grass. It was as if the memory of the building lingered, refusing to fade entirely. Together, the brothers stepped onto the path that outlined where the Inn had once stood, retracing its ghostly footprint.

Dean, a few steps ahead now, called out to Sam as he advanced, "This place had a basement, right?"

Sam, at a distance but still following the invisible trail, replied, "Yeah, that's where the fire broke out."

As they continued their exploration, Dean's boot suddenly struck something hidden beneath the withered grass, and he realized that it was a concealed entrance to the basement.

Dean knelt down, his fingers brushing away the accumulated debris until he located a sturdy metal handle. With a firm grip, he pulled on it, causing the basement hatch to swing open and expose the black void beneath. Sam joined him at the entrance, the two brothers peering down into the darkness that seemed to swallow them whole.

Sam's face contorted with disbelief as he muttered, "This can't be the basement. The house would have collapsed in on it."

Dean offered a speculative shrug. "Maybe our demon friend dug it out. You know how sentimental they can be sometimes."

Without further hesitation, Sam drew his flashlight from his side along with his pistol and started descending the newly formed stone stairs, Dean following closely behind. Each step seemed to take them deeper into a world that had long been forgotten, shrouded in darkness and mystery.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, the brothers cautiously scanned their surroundings. All was eerily silent, the only sounds being the faint scurrying of mice that echoed through the underground passages. But just as the oppressive silence threatened to engulf them entirely, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

Dean and Sam both spun around on their heels, their eyes locking onto the source of the horrific sound. Without a word exchanged between them, they sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Moments before

Jason's attention was momentarily diverted as he glanced up at the ceiling, his senses tingling with an impending disturbance from above. With a sigh that carried a hint of irritation, he shifted his gaze back to Y/N, his voice dripping with mock disappointment as he addressed her, "Well, looks like our playtime is up."

Jason carelessly tossed the blade he had been using onto the metal table nearby, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. He circled around Y/N, his movements deliberate and unhurried, savoring the final moments of their twisted encounter.

"Seems your little boy toys have finally made their way here," he continued, his tone laced with a sinister satisfaction. "I have to say, though, I'm rather unimpressed with how long it took them."

Y/N strained to follow his movements, her battered body unable to turn to face him. She listened intently, her senses sharpened by desperation, as Jason mentioned the arrival of her friends.

What Y/N couldn't see Jason retrieved a cast iron branding stake from a nearby surface, it’s tip had an outer circle and inner circle with runes between the two as well as a pentagon in the center of the smaller circle connecting its points to the circle. Then there was the ominous glow of the blowtorch that ignited it. Her heart raced as she realized the impending horror she was about to endure.

"Don't worry, though," Jason taunted, the torch's flame flickering ominously. "I'll be sure to come visit you again soon enough."

Fear gripped Y/N as the heat from the torch radiated against her back, sending shivers down her spine. Panic welled within her, and she struggled to catch even a fleeting glimpse of the sinister tableau unfolding behind her.

Her eyes widened with horror as she finally grasped the cruel reality of Jason's intentions. But before she could voice her agony, the searing-hot metal of the branding stake was pressed into her flesh. The pain was excruciating, causing her to clamp her eyes shut as tears streamed down her battered face. A soul-piercing scream erupted from her throat, reverberating off the walls of the grim chamber.

Jason, his lips curled into a sadistic grin, maintained the tormenting contact of the branding stake against her delicate skin, relishing in her torment for a moment longer than necessary.

The heavy, frantic thumping of their boots against the hard ground filled the room as Sam and Dean rushed forward, desperation fueling their every step. As they rounded a corner, their eyes fell upon the nightmarish tableau that awaited them—the torture chamber where Y/N had been held captive.

Their hearts shattered into a million pieces at the gruesome sight that unfolded before them. Y/N hung from the ceiling, her frail form suspended by chains that had bound her, her body bearing the gruesome marks of relentless abuse and torment. But what sent waves of fury coursing through their veins was the sadistic figure that stood behind her, the branding stake still clutched in his hand.

Dean's voice, raw with unbridled rage, thundered through the room as he bellowed, "YOU SON OF A BITCH!!" Without hesitation, he unloaded his entire magazine into the demon, his fury manifesting in a barrage of gunfire that reverberated through the chamber.

Beside him, Sam joined the onslaught, his finger squeezing the trigger of his pistol relentlessly. The room filled with the deafening roar of their firearms, an anguished symphony of vengeance and despair.

Jason, the demon, twisted and writhed, the black tendrils of his essence oozing from the mouth of the hapless human vessel he had inhabited. He seemed to revel in their torment, his laughter echoing malevolently even as the bullets pierced his smoky form.

Then, with eerie calmness, the demon abandoned its host, the black smoke dissipating as it escaped through a crack in the wall. Dean stood frozen, his eyes locked on the lifeless human vessel that lay discarded on the ground.

Meanwhile, Sam rushed to Y/N's side, his trembling hands reaching out to her battered form. Panic laced his breath as he scanned her bruised and battered body, realizing the extent of her suffering. He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, but the sheer brutality of her injuries left him hesitant.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was laced with urgency, an attempt to snap his brother out of his horrified stupor.

Dean turned at the sound of his name, his heart heavy with dread as he approached Sam and Y/N, who hung in her chains, abused and broken. His mind raced, and the first word that left his lips was a desperate call, "Cass!"

Sam shook his head, “Not going to work.” his face was etched with frustration and anxiety as he pointed to the Angel ward on the ceiling, a malevolent precaution taken by Jason to cut off communication with Castiel. Dean's heart sank further as he looked up; they were on their own.

Sam lightly swatted Dean's shoulder, a silent plea for him to focus. “Steady her.” He instructed with determination, he pointed to the locking mechanism that held Y/N's chains taut, a clear indication that their immediate concern was freeing her from her torment.

Dean nodded, his jaw set with grim determination, and immediately stripped off his jacket and flannel shirt. He held them out, ready to cover Y/N as Sam began the delicate process of lowering her to the ground.

Kneeling on the cold, unforgiving floor, Dean watched with bated breath as Sam worked on the locks. His heart ached at the sight of Y/N's battered form, but he couldn't afford to show weakness now. Gently, he brushed her hair away from her face, his voice tender and urgent as he pleaded, "Y/N, hey, look at me."

Y/N's eyes, clouded with pain, exhaustion, and the horrors she had endured, seemed almost lifeless. The sight terrified Dean, and he continued to beseech her, "Come on, sweetheart, say something, please."

Sam momentarily looked up from his task as he worked on the last shackle, his own eyes brimming with concern. Their shared apprehension grew as the seconds ticked by in silence.

It was only when Sam finally managed to free Y/N's hand, allowing her to squeeze his finger weakly, that both brothers exhaled the collective breath they'd been holding. Relief washed over them like a soothing balm.

Sam wasted no time. "Come on, we need to get her to Cass," he urged, already moving to Y/N's side to help Dean carry her.

Dean cradled Y/N in his arms with the utmost care, his eyes filled with protectiveness and worry. Without hesitation, he retraced their steps through the dark, foreboding passages, carrying the precious weight of Y/N's worn body.

Dean continued calling for Castiel, his voice tinged with desperation, even as they reached the Impala and started heading back to the bunker. Dean’s concern deepened every time there was no answer.

In the back, Sam sat with Y/N propped up in his lap, constantly checking her pulse, urging Dean to drive faster, and praying that they would reach Castiel in time to save her.

As Dean's car sped down the highway, the world outside was a blur, mirroring the turmoil inside him. An hour into the drive, his phone interrupted the heavy silence. An unknown number flashed on the screen, but a gut feeling made Dean answer.

"Dean, where are you?" Castiel's voice crackled through the line, laden with regret and urgency.

Dean's frustration and fear boiled over. "Where am I? Where the hell are you? I've been calling you for the last hour. We found Y/N, but she's in bad shape, Cass, and I mean really bad. You need to get your ass here now."

Castiel's response only added to the mounting confusion. "Dean, I can't. I can't find you."

Dean's face contorted in bewilderment. "What do you mean you can't find us? Your GPS broken or something?"

Castiel tried to explain, but his words held an air of helplessness. "Something like that. I can't sense you, Sam, or Y/N. I can't get a pinpoint on your location. Something is... interfering."

Dean's jaw clenched, a battle of emotions raging within him. He finally spoke through gritted teeth, his words loaded with frustration and desperation. "Cass, you listen here. You get your ass to the Bunker, and you be ready the second we pull up, got it?"

Castiel nodded, though Dean couldn't see the gesture. "Right, I'll be there." The call ended, leaving Dean to gaze at Sam through the rearview mirror. His eyes spoke volumes, reflecting the pain, anxiety, and determination that swirled within him.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Dean's arrival at the bunker was nothing short of chaotic. With tires screeching, he hastily pulled into the garage, threw the car into park, and jumped out before the engine had fully stilled. Sam had already clambered out of the back seat, cradling Y/N's fragile form in his arms.

The brothers stormed through the bunker's corridors, the weight of their injured friend driving them forward. Dean's voice rang out, echoing through the halls as he called, “CASS!” The urgency in his tone was palpable.

Castiel, ever vigilant, appeared in the doorway of the infirmary. He stood there, an unwavering presence, ready to assist as needed.

"What happened?" Castiel’s voice held a hint of concern as Sam and Dean entered the infirmary, Castiel followed, the worry etched across his features.

It wasn't until Sam gently laid Y/N on the examination table that Castiel got a clear view of her injuries. His expression darkened, the gravity of the situation settling upon him as Sam began to remove the blood-soaked layers of clothing, revealing the horrors that lay hidden beneath.

Dean's eyes remained fixed on Y/N's still form, his heart aching with a mixture of fear, anger, and helplessness. Sam, more accustomed to seeing Y/N in such dire straits, placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder and gently turned him toward the door.

Sam's voice was tender as he urged, "Let's give Cass some room, alright?"

Dean allowed Sam to guide him out of the room, his eyes never leaving Y/N's battered form. Castiel nodded to Sam, his angelic presence unwavering, as he prepared to tend to their wounded friend. The atmosphere in the room was heavy with worry and the unspoken fear of what Y/N had endured.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

The library was cloaked in heavy silence, Sam and Dean's anxiety simmering as they waited for any news on Y/N's condition. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, only about 30 minutes had passed before Castiel finally appeared in the doorway, a red-stained towel in hand, exhaustion etched across his body.

Dean, ever vigilant, was the first to notice Castiel's arrival. He subtly nudged Sam, who was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. Both brothers stood, their eyes locked onto Castiel, waiting for the words they both longed to hear but feared to utter.

Sam struggled to find his voice, anxiety and dread constricting his words as he asked, "So uh.. so how.. how is she?"

Castiel nodded gravely, his voice steady as he delivered the long-awaited answer, "She is stable and resting comfortably now."

The collective tension in the room seemed to dissolve into thin air. Relief washed over Dean and Sam, their shoulders sagging as they released the breath they had been holding. Dean, in a rare moment of vulnerability, pulled Castiel into a tight hug, an unspoken expression of gratitude and relief that caught the angel off guard.

After the embrace, Castiel continued, his weariness evident, "Yes, well, while I was able to close all her wounds, some of the scars still remained. I'm afraid that with the extent of her injuries, I was forced to pick and choose how best to spend my energy."

Sam nodded understandingly, his concern for Castiel now evident. He asked, "Do you need to sit down? You look exhausted."

Castiel contemplated the offer for a moment before declining gently, "Maybe in a moment. There is still one other concern at hand..."

With those words, Sam and Dean's attention snapped back to Castiel, their faces etched with newfound worry. Castiel took a deep breath, preparing to deliver less comforting news.

"The umm, brand on her back," Castiel began, "I wasn't able to just heal it. It's actually a ward placed there to seal away Y/N's abilities."

The room seemed to grow colder as the implications of Castiel's revelation sank in. Sam and Dean exchanged glances, their expressions mirroring the shock and disbelief they both felt.

Dean's voice was laced with incredulity as he asked, "So are you telling us that she is... human?"

Castiel met their gaze with solemnity and a hint of regret, "Until it can be removed, yes. Y/N is essentially human at this moment."

Dean's initial shock gave way to a determined resolve as Sam probed further, seeking reassurance from Castiel. He asked, "But you can remove it, right?"

Castiel nodded once more, his expression grave as he clarified, "It would be painful. Much like how I removed your anti-possession tattoo from your chest for Crowley. With that being said, I believe it would be best to wait until she is awake and feeling up to it."

Sam nodded, accepting the angel's assessment. He replied, "Yeah, okay."

Dean, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Castiel. He inquired with a hint of concern, "So, you mean like no more ears and tails appearing kind of human, right?"

Sam turned to his brother, trying to gauge Dean's emotions and thoughts. Castiel, however, didn't hesitate to confirm Dean's question with a solemn nod, "Yes, Dean."

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

As the night surrendered to the gentle light of dawn, hours slipped away in the bunker. Sam and Dean had been vigilant, taking turns throughout the night checking on Y/N, sitting with her, their hopes resting on the possibility that she would awaken soon.

In the quiet of the early morning, Castiel had chosen to remain in the bunker rather than depart as he often did, giving himself time to recover from the exertion of healing Y/N's grievous injuries.

As the day wore on, it became late afternoon when Sam decided to return to Y/N's room, where they had moved her, making her more comfortable as they continued their watch.

Sam entered the room,. and to his surprise, Y/N was awake, sitting up in her bed. Her attention was fixed on her hands, which she flexed with a mixture of concern and confusion, as if trying to grasp something elusive.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N detected movement, and she looked up to find Sam walking into her room. Their gazes met, and she couldn't conceal the uneasiness that clouded her features. Her voice trembled as she voiced her immediate worry, "What's wrong with me?"

Sam could see the unease in Y/N's eyes as he approached her bedside slowly and gently. His expression was a mix of relief and worry, reflecting the rollercoaster of emotions they had all experienced since finding her. He took a deep breath and offered a reassuring smile, trying to convey comfort and understanding as he searched for the right words.

"Hey, it's okay," he began, his voice calm and soothing, as if trying to shield her from the harsh realities. "You've been through a lot, Y/N."

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry with anticipation. The concern etched across Sam's face was impossible to miss, and she knew that his demeanor meant something bad had happened. Her voice quivered as she asked the question that hung heavily in the air, "Sam..."

Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the revelation he was about to share. There was no easy way to break the news. "Alright," he began, the word heavy with reluctance. "Castiel... he was able to heal your wounds but... Jason branded you with a ward that seals away your Kitsune side."

The room seemed to tighten around them as the gravity of this revelation settled in. Y/N felt a profound shift in her very essence, a part of her identity now locked away. Her eyes fell to her hands as if expecting to see tangible evidence of this change.

Sam took a seat beside her, keeping a respectful distance but ensuring she knew he was there for her. His eyes radiated empathy and concern as he continued, "You're going to be okay though. Castiel said it can be undone when you're ready, but you need to recover more first."

Y/N nodded her head hesitantly, her thoughts racing to grasp the enormity of the situation. She felt adrift, a sense of loss enveloping her. Her Kitsune abilities had been a fundamental part of who she was.

"You're still you, Y/N, just... a bit different right now, more… human," Sam reassured her gently, his warm hand covering one of hers.

Feeling a mixture of emotions—fear, confusion, and the desire to process everything—Y/N finally found her voice. "Can... Can I just have a moment, please Sam."

Sam seemed uncertain about leaving her alone, but he understood the need for solitude. "Yeah, sure," he replied softly, squeezing her hand gently. "I'll go get you something to eat."

With one last glance filled with reassurance and care, Sam stood, gave her a small side hug, and then headed for the door, leaving Y/N to grapple with the profound changes that had been thrust upon her.

The moment Sam was out of sight of Y/N, his body relaxed more as he ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. It was as though he had momentarily carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His steps led him down the bunker's halls, heading for the kitchen, but he heard voices coming from the library. He figured he should fill Dean and Castiel in on Y/N's awakening, so he followed the voices.

Dean noticed Sam as he walked through the doorway, but his expression held a mix of surprise and concern. He hadn't expected Sam back so soon since he had left Y/N's room. He asked with genuine concern, "Everything okay?"

Sam nodded, though his voice betrayed his unease. "Yeah, uh... Y/N's awake. And she instantly knew something was wrong with her." He motioned over his shoulder in the direction of Y/N's room.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"

Castiel, standing nearby, chimed in with his calm demeanor. "I'm not surprised. When I became human, it was instantly obvious—a startling contrast to what I'd always known."

Dean looked between Sam and Castiel, his frustration evident. He wondered why Castiel sometimes felt the need to overcomplicate his words. Then, focusing on Sam, he questioned, "So, you told her?"

Sam seemed taken aback by Dean's reaction. "Well, yeah, I told her. What else was I supposed to say?"

Dean's irritation flared as he responded sharply, "I don't know, Sammy. You could have come up with something, though. She's already been through a lot; she didn't need this piled on top of it."

Sam scoffed at Dean's words, the disagreement palpable in the air. "Dean, she can FEEL it. It's not something we can just hide from her. And why are you even upset about this?"

Just as Dean was about to fire back, Y/N's voice emerged from the library doorway, calling out to them. The tone of her voice was enough to bring both brothers to an abrupt halt. Their anger seemed to evaporate in an instant.

"Guys..."

Sam, Dean, and Castiel all turned their attention to the library doorway where Y/N stood. The weariness in her eyes was evident, a testament to the physical and emotional toll she had endured. Y/N, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, bore scars along her arms and legs, their light pink hue serving as a reminder of the ordeal she had gone through. She crossed one arm over her body while holding onto the other, exuding vulnerability.

Castiel stepped forward, a hint of concern in his voice. "Y/N, you shouldn't be out of bed."

Sam and Dean exchanged a silent glance, a brief but meaningful conversation between them. Dean took the initiative, heading toward Y/N. Despite his proximity, he didn't touch her, merely offering an arm to guide her to a nearby seat.

Y/N managed a weary smile, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "Yeah, I know, but I heard some yelling and figured I'd better stop these two before it got too far out of hand." She followed her words with a soft, strained laugh.

Dean, concerned and caring, inquired, "How are you feeling?" His arm hovered around her back, ready to assist her to the seat Sam was pulling out for her.

Y/N moved slowly toward the offered seat, each step a conscious effort. She replied, "Heavy. My entire body just feels heavy and stiff, like every movement is a conscious effort."

Castiel observed her movements and couldn't help but offer his perspective, albeit in his characteristically matter-of-fact manner. "Your Kitsune heritage gave you animal-like reflexes, agility, and nimbleness. Without it, your physical capabilities have most likely been reduced to that of an average human."

Sam and Dean shot Castiel a look that conveyed their shared sentiment: he wasn't helping.

Realizing that the look Sam and Dean were giving him was of disapproval Castiel cleared his throat in an attempt to comfort Y/N, "But once you have had more time to recover, I can remove the seal for you."

A brief silence filled the library. Sam, Dean, and Castiel waited for Y/N to respond, sensing her hesitation. When she finally did speak, her voice carried a hint of uncertainty, not because she lacked confidence in her words but because she was unsure of how the guys would react to her thoughts. Y/N's question hung in the air, "What if... what if I didn't want it removed?"

Confusion washed over the faces of Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Castiel was the first to articulate the question that lingered in their minds. "Why wouldn't you want it removed?"

Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the floor in front of her. If she had them, her Kitsune ears and tails would be motionless and tightly against her body. She spoke softly, choosing her words carefully to explain her perspective.

"Being a... Kitsune has been the cause of all my problems my whole life. If I were born human... my mother wouldn't have died like she had. I wouldn't have lived for years, constantly watching people I cared about die, outlive me, leave when they find out, become scared of me, or be hurt because of me. I wouldn't constantly be hunted. The other Kitsunes and Inari would be locked away from the world. The list goes on... but now, maybe at least for now, I can't be tracked, and Sano and Jason won't be able to find me."

The room fell into a heavy silence. No one knew what to say at this point, but it was evident that Y/N had already given this a lot of thought in a short amount of time. Sam simply placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

End Chapter 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 This is the Female Reader-Insert Version of my Story, please consider taking a look at the Original with my OFC Saia.

Please comment & 💜

#supernatural #fanfic #supernatural fanfic #castiel #Dean x OFC x Sam #dean winchester #Fluff #Sam Winchester #Hurt/Comfort #Reader-Insert #Illness #Self-Insert #Angst #Kitsune #injuries #Dean x Reader X Sam #Torture #Canon-Typical Violence

15 notes · View notes

antilocaprine · 1 year

Note

for the kiss prompts, frenrey, 36, pls?

(Kiss Prompt List)

Once I thought about this prompt in context of @melonsharks' Pirate!AU, I absolutely had to do it. This was supposed to end shortly after the kiss, with only a brief reference to what happens after, but then I wanted to write the cool climactic scene, and then I realized that the part after the kiss had taken up way more space than the part before the kiss. Ah well. Sometimes it's like that.

(Also, a savvy reader may recognize elements of the climax from a Redwall book, though I'll be danged if I can remember which one. I read all of them multiple times as a kid, so just trust me on this. It was a very cool scene.)

36: ...to give up control.

Gordon comes to flat on his back, and he must have only been knocked silly for a moment, because particles of wood and dust are still falling through the new hole in the deck that he’s staring up at. Through the gap, he can see a section of the mast and the sails, tattered at one corner where a cannonball took out a rope and tore the edge loose, sending the cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Overhead, there are pounding footsteps and shouts, but Gordon can’t focus enough to think about that right now - he’s too busy trying to pull air into his deflated lungs. His hook scrapes the planking he’s laying on, but he hasn’t got enough strength yet to haul himself upright. He can’t catch his breath - why can’t he catch his breath?

“Great shot, Bubby!” Coomer bellows from somewhere on the deck above, and Gordon relaxes slightly. He hadn’t realized he was still tensed up, and that movement allows air into his shocked lungs in a painful, burning rush. He wheezes a few breaths in, then kicks his elbows back and manages to push himself up far enough to see that there’s a spar of wood punched through his right calf.

“Where’s the captain?” Tommy’s voice yells, sounding more distant than Coomer’s.

“He’s right - oh. Oh, dear.” Coomer’s voice gets closer, and then his head is silhouetted poking over the edge of the new hole in the deck. “Ah! Hello, Gordon!”

“Is - how is he?” Tommy shouts. “Is he okay?”

“Now, Gordon, I wouldn’t suggest that,” Coomer says, and Gordon looks up from trying to yank the wood out of his leg and waves at him. He still can’t catch his breath enough to shout.

A cannonball whistles overhead, and Coomer’s head vanishes as another half-dozen gunshots ring out. The hole in the planks is partially obscured by smoke, and Gordon tries to set his left leg and pull himself off the spear of wood. It looks like he fell on a pallet of crated supplies which broke under the combined weight of his body and ten feet of deck, and part of the pallet is what’s currently playing peekaboo with Gordon’s leg muscles. Since the pallets are secured to the floor of the hold to keep their weight from shifting, this means that Gordon is effectively stuck like a bug on a pin.

Joshua collected butterflies like that, Gordon remembers, and the thought is enough to drive another gasp of air from his lungs. Joshua never killed any of the insects, but any time he found dead ones, he picked them up and brought them home cradled in the cup of his hands to add to the little box of wings beneath his bed…

“oh, shit,” a voice says, and Gordon’s head snaps up to see Benrey leaning over the hole in the deck, outlined in smoke and the fading light of sunset.

“Where’s your gun?” Gordon rasps, the words tearing at his throat. “You have to - fight back -”

“yeah, sure, right,” Benrey says, and hops down into the hold.

It’s an eight foot drop if it’s an inch, but the former stowaway doesn’t even seem to notice the impact. They’re immediately hurrying over to Gordon, peering critically at the impaled leg.

“clumsy lil boy, ain’t’cha?”

“Shut up,” Gordon hisses, hauling one of his pistols free. “Shut the fuck up - take this, and get -”

“nope, i gotta - you really fucked up big time,” Benrey says.

“It was a direct shot!” Gordon snaps.

“not direct enough to, uh, t’hit you, though.”

“Benrey,” Gordon barks. “Are there boarders?”

“uhhhh,” Benrey tips their head back and looks straight up. “no. they’re not, uh - not close enough yet.”

“I have to get back up there, then, to make sure they stay that way.” Gordon tries again to set his heel against the floor of the hold, but his boot slips in a mix of blood and what might be whiskey. What a waste.

“that’s probably - hey, you shouldn’t do that!” Benrey’s tone is alarmed enough that Gordon stops and looks at them. They’ve got both hands outstretched, one hovering a foot above Gordon’s pinned leg, and the other at shoulder level, like they’re going to push Gordon back to the deck - or like they’re monitoring another wound.

Gordon glances over and blinks, genuinely surprised to see a six-inch splinter of wood protruding from the meat of his upper chest. Maybe there are multiple reasons why it was so hard to catch his breath after the fall.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and sees Benrey nodding out of the corner of his eye.

Another shot whistles overhead, and Gordon curses again. “I’m the captain,” he says, probably nonsensically. “I have to - no one else can steer the ship.”

“i can - i could do that?” Benrey’s face is smeared with soot and sweat, but their dark headband is still tightly secured over their serious gaze. “i was, uhhhh first mate. first - first mate Benrey? maybe, uh - best mate Benrey?”

Gordon’s spectacles are chipped at one corner, but he still resettles them to stare blankly at Benrey. “...What?”

“i know how to steer the ship,” Benrey says patiently.

“No,” Gordon replies, and tries to haul his leg off the wooden spar again.

“no - wait, don’t -”

Something hits the railing on deck with a splintering crack, sending shards of wood spinning down through the hole in the planks. Gordon flings an arm up to protect his head, and Benrey ducks over Gordon’s legs as wood patters across their back.

Overhead, there’s a brief silence, then Bubby’s voice shouts “YOU MISSED!” This time, Gordon can hear faint voices yelling replies.

“Shit, they’re getting closer.”

“yeah, so - y’gotta let me help.” Benrey sits up and shakes the loose debris from their shoulders, keeping one hand extended to prevent anything from falling onto the wound in Gordon’s leg. Benrey does that a lot - Gordon will turn around and they’ll be standing there, one hand out like Gordon’s a fire and Benrey’s trying to warm up. He’ll admit it’s made him twitchy around the former stowaway, even after he cleared his residual resentment for having missed Benrey smuggling themself aboard. Even if they got Tommy’s help, he still should have noticed.

Sunkist gives a roaring bark, and there are several splashes like bodies falling into the ocean. Sunkist would never attack any of the crew, so that must mean the fucking Navy ship has finally closed the distance and has either sent a dinghy, or tossed lines over to attempt a boarding.

Gordon looks at Benrey. “Tommy said you got him out of Port Royal on a hijacked dinghy. Is that true?”

Benrey shrugs. “yeah, i guess.”

“This isn’t a dinghy. Can you actually take the helm of a ship this big?”

“yeah, i guess,” Benrey says again, which isn’t the most reassuring thing to hear.

Above them, the clatter of grappling hooks filters through the smoky hole in the deck. “Damn it,” Gordon hisses. “I wouldn’t - I don’t even know where to go, besides ‘away’.”

“i do,” Benrey says, and checks the splinter in Gordon’s shoulder in a businesslike manner. They swipe some of Gordon’s mane of hair out of the way to look at his back, then make a muffled sound. “uh…that’s probably fine.”

“What does - fuck it, I don’t care,” Gordon growls, and loops his hook around Benrey’s shoulder to tug them close. “We have to get away from these fucking bootboys, yeah? Just - get us away.”

“uh-huh,” Benrey says faintly, face flushed and eyes very wide. And Gordon’s been holding back a little, because he’s listened to Benrey’s singing at night and watched them play with Tommy and Sunkist and listened to them pester Bubby until he shows them how to pack blasting powders into explosives, and he’s not blind, okay? He’s seen Benrey watching him back.

Lines creak horribly as the wind catches the sail at a bad angle and the ship lists. Gordon huffs out a curse and feels his own breath reflected back at him from Benrey’s proximity. He reaches up and unclasps his locket, tugging it free and slinging it over Benrey’s head, pressing their lips together as he does to keep Benrey from noticing the complicated motion his fingers make to lock the clasp. He can’t lose the locket - it’s far too important, for far too many reasons.

Benrey presses back immediately, one hand cupping Gordon’s good shoulder, the other braced on the floor as they return the kiss with enthusiasm. Gordon pulls back and swallows, then tucks a finger under the locket and picks it up, letting it roll over his fingers to display the heavy back of the case. He flicks the tiny tab that’s hidden near the hinge, and a length of metal slides out with a soft click.

“whuh…that’s a key,” Benrey says, their eyes nearly crossed to focus on the locket. Gordon clicks the tab again and the tiny key folds back into the pendant.

“When you get to the wheel, there’s a slot on the back of the king spoke, where it meets the barrel of the helm.” Gordon lets the locket fall to thump against Benrey’s chest. “Fit the key into that slot and it’ll unlock the wheel.”

“sneaky,” Benrey says appreciatively.

“Cautious,” Gordon replies. “Coomer’s idea. We stole her once. Didn’t want anyone stealing her back.”

Benrey nods and rises to their feet. The shadow of their headband makes their eyes look like tiny pinpricks of reflected light in the darkness of the hold, and for a moment Gordon wonders if he’s made a mistake - but only a moment. Benrey has proved time and again that they’re on the same side as Gordon’s crew, even though they’ve been annoying as hell along the way.

“m’gonna go - do that. with this.” Benrey gestures at the locket, and Gordon realizes with a spike of delight that they’re flustered. That’s hilarious.

“Benrey?” Gordon reaches out and tugs on the trailing end of the sash that’s tied around Benrey’s waist, unable to reach anything higher.

“yeah? huh?”

Gordon smirks up at them and slaps his loaded pistol into their empty palm. “Fuck ‘em up.”

Benrey’s mouth curls up in a feral grin, their teeth gleaming red in the glow of a sudden explosion from the deck. “on it, boss,” they say, then pause, and carefully add, “captain.”

“Finally,” Gordon snorts. “Knew I could get that out of you eventually.”

“more where that came from,” Benrey says, and then makes a standing leap for the edge of the splintered hole in the deck before Gordon can parse what the hell they meant by that.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, the chaos on deck seems to subside. Gordon can hear water rushing against the hull, so he knows they’re moving, but he’s surprised they managed to fight off the Navy sailors that quickly - unless none of them made it onboard in the first place. Sunkist’s immense head peering over the railing has certainly repelled boarders before, so perhaps it worked again.

Gordon hears footsteps trotting across the wooden planks behind him, but before he has to worry about drawing his other pistol, he hears Coomer’s cheerful voice. “Ah! Hello, Gordon! I see you’re still in a sticky situation!”

With his help, Gordon is able to prise his leg off the spar of wood without tearing too much more muscle, and they make their unsteady way through the hold, Gordon leaning on Coomer, to reach the actual stairs up to the deck. There is debris on the steps, too - the battle left quite a mess, and Gordon winces as his good foot slips on a piece of wood and almost goes out from under him. Coomer catches his weight without appearing to notice, which Gordon is grateful for.

“I’m not sure where young Bipple is taking us, but those dastardly bootboys are having trouble keeping up,” Coomer says as they reach the level of the deck, “and that’s all I care about. Bubby was almost out of bombs!”

“Bite your tongue,” Bubby snaps, holed up near the forecastle and hurriedly pouring dark powder through a paper funnel into a small container tucked between his knees. “I’m never out of bombs.”

“Good to hear,” Gordon rasps, and Bubby glances up sharply, eying the dust on his clothes, the bandage on his leg, and the spear of wood still sticking out of his shoulder, secured tightly with cloth padding. (Coomer had decided it was doing better to block the potential bleeding where it was, but Gordon was hating the fact that it left him with minimal use of his good arm.)

“All right, captain?” Bubby asks cautiously.

“Just fine,” Gordon replies, “as long as these bootboys stay back. Any casualties?”

“Not on our side,” Coomer says brightly, and Gordon leaves it at that.

They make their way across the deck, skirting the edge of the large hole Gordon was thrown through, and head for the quarterdeck. At the helm, Benrey is outlined in an eerie glow. Gordon blinks. The Navy ship is too far back to be casting that light, and anyway, it’s the wrong color, shining a sickly blue that makes Benrey’s skin look wan and washed out. They resemble nothing so much as a corpse, and Gordon stumbles to a halt, staring up at them as they shift the wheel slightly, sending the ship a few degrees to starboard.

“Is…that…?” Gordon starts, and at his shoulder, Coomer nods.

“St. Elmo’s fire,” he says quietly. “None of us have been able to talk to them since they took the helm. But they had the key, so…I assume that was your doing?”

“Yeah,” Gordon says, distracted. “I…gave it to them. Are we - do we trust -”

“Cap’n Freeman, you’re okay!” Tommy appears from behind the mast, and Gordon blinks.

“Do you know where Benrey’s taking us?”

“Oh, I, um…no,” Tommy says, reaching out to scratch Sunkist’s ears as the enormous dog wiggles around some rigging to reach his side. “But we’re in a, um, some kind of current, because they’ve got more sails but they, um, it looks like they can’t catch us.”

Gordon’s gaze follows his pointing finger. The Navy ship does, in fact, have a full set of sails up and belled out in the breeze, visible by lantern light even from this distance. Since Gordon’s ship has at least one damaged sail and is a smaller vessel to boot, there’s no way they should be running ahead of the heavier Navy ship. And yet, here they are.

Gordon looks up at Benrey again, who doesn’t seem to know that anyone else is nearby. “I’m going up,” he decides. “I’ll talk to them.”

“Gordon, I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Coomer says. Tommy, usually Benrey’s primary advocate, stays conspicuously silent.

Gordon shrugs, then winces when the splinter of wood in his shoulder bites into his flesh at the movement. “Someone has to do it, and I gave them the key. I’ll go alone,” he adds, pulling away from Coomer before he can protest.

The staircase up to the helm has a banister, and Gordon leans on it as hard as he can as he limps his way up the steps. The air begins to feel charged as he nears Benrey, and he can see little sparks of blue light flickering curious fingers out from Benrey’s shoulders, from their clothes, from their hair. The entire wheel is glowing from this side, Gordon notes, and decides it’s probably best not to touch anything.

“Benrey,” he says from the top of the stairs, his hand still on the railing and his hook looped over a rope to keep him steady.

Benrey’s lips are moving, but they’re silent, staring straight ahead, eerie blue light dancing across their features. Gordon doesn’t know what to do. He’s only seen St. Elmo’s fire once before, on the rigging of a sinking ship during a thunderstorm, and they’ve all heard the stories of what it means. The fact that it hasn’t spread to the sails is immaterial - its presence says that one way or another, they’re all doomed.

At a loss, Gordon takes an unsteady step closer and raises his voice. “Benrey?”

That gets a reaction. Benrey turns their head slowly, like they’re underwater, their hair fluttering against the wind above their headband. Their eyebrows gradually come down as they make eye contact with Gordon, and when they open their mouth to speak, the words sound like they’re coming from very far away.

“oh…hey…you’re up. cool,” Benrey says, and starts to turn back to face the wheel. Behind them, the Navy ship fires a single shot - they must have dragged one of the guns around to face forward. Maybe Bubby’s taunting struck a nerve. The shot whistles harmlessly through the night and splashes down well aft of the ship’s stern. Benrey frowns again.

“s’not very…nice,” they say quietly, and Gordon watches a line of bright blue lightning flicker from their shoulder over the railing. He turns and sees it streaking across the water until it reaches the place the cannonball splashed down, where it leaps from the dark sea and follows an arc back toward the Navy ship, as if it’s tracing the shot’s path in reverse.

When it lands, there’s the distant sound of an explosion, and several screams. Benrey smirks, and doesn’t look back.

“What the fuck is going on?” Gordon rasps, dust and smoke still thick in his throat and feeling thicker. This is - this is magic, or religion, or something, and he’s not prepared for it today. Tonight. Whatever.

“don’t worry about it,” Benrey says, and their voice sounds clearer, though they still face forward, both hands on the wheel. Gordon’s locket gleams bright gold on their chest, somehow untouched by the blue-violet glow of the St. Elmo’s fire that wreathes the rest of Benrey’s body.

“Where are we going?” Gordon asks unsteadily.

Benrey’s lips curl up in a smile, their teeth gleaming and sharp. “a trap,” they reply, and raise one hand to point, blue lightning flickering around their wrist and fingers like playful snakes.

Gordon turns to look, squinting his eyes to see through the ambient glow. Far ahead, but getting closer, there is a shadow on the water, what looks like a hole sunk into the sea…

His mouth goes dry. “Is that a maelstrom?”

“...dunno what that is,” Benrey says after a moment. “s’a whirlpool, though.”

“That’s what a maelstrom is, man.” Mesmerized, Gordon steps forward and his leg gives out, sending him crashing toward the railing in front of the helm. He forgets that it’s currently flickering with blue light and reaches out to catch himself, jarring his shoulder and his leg in the act and gritting his teeth to keep from crying out.

Benrey makes an unhappy noise, but Gordon can’t look at him yet - he’s too busy staring at the flickers of blue-violet light that are dancing across his knuckles on the railing. It doesn’t feel like anything, which is a surprise - but this close, he can hear a faint crackling, like a distant fire burning hot pine logs. He stumbles away anyway, and feels Benrey’s hand in the small of his back when he does.

“sorry,” Benrey mumbles, pushing him gently back toward the stair railing. “might wanna…hold on.”

A single thread of blue light stays anchored to Gordon when Benrey pulls their hand away to return it to the wheel and Gordon stares as it flickers around the curve of his hook, the other end jumping between Benrey’s shoulder and their forearm. It looks like a bolt of lightning in miniature, jagged and jolting, but it still doesn’t hurt.

“TOMMY!” Benrey bellows, and Gordon twitches. “HANG ON TO SOMETHING!”

“Aye aye!” Tommy yelps from below, and Gordon can hear him shouting it up to Coomer and Bubby. Benrey does something with the wheel and reaches up - and finally, several fingers of blue light dart up to dance through the rigging and skip along the sails. The ship slows, and Gordon can hear startled shouts from the Navy vessel.

“Benrey, you can’t run us into that,” Gordon says. “It’ll - maelstroms aren’t big enough to eat a ship, but it could tear the hull apart and put us in the water anyway, and that’s basically the same fucking thing.”

“this one’s big enough,” Benrey says, then adds “i made sure of it.”

What? Gordon stares at them. “What? What does that mean?”

Benrey shrugs. “means i made sure of it,” they say, then send the wheel into a rattling spin. The rudder creaks and the ship lists hard to port just as they reach the edge of the vortex’s current.

Gordon looks over the railing at it, and abruptly realizes that what he was looking at was an actual hole in the ocean, still quite distant. He’s never seen a maelstrom this big, and certainly not one in the middle of the sea, with no land to knock about strange currents that might build something like this.

“Holy hell,” he whispers as the hull shudders and settles into the groove of the spinning current, slingshotting them around the edge of the vortex.

“something like that,” Benrey mutters, and behind them, the Navy ship charges forward in pursuit.

“We’ve got them now!” A posh voice cries. Gordon glances over his shoulder to see that the Navy vessel has closed much of the distance between them. Sailors holding lanterns lean out over their railings, but they seem cautious about firing another shot, and Gordon notices several arms pointing up at the blue glow dancing through his rigging.

“Benrey?” Gordon asks slowly. “What’s the light?”

“it’s, uh…helping,” Benrey says, their voice sounding distant again. “don’t mess with it.”

“How the fuck would I do that?” Gordon starts, then has to slam his hook into the banister as the ship abruptly lists hard to starboard. “What - did we just hit something?”

“no. s’fine. don’t worry about it,” Benrey says quickly. The black hole of the maelstrom’s mouth is getting closer, frothing white water at the edge marked by moonlight and the mix of lantern light and violet witchlight before it drops away into darkness.

“Benrey?” Tommy’s voice quavers from somewhere on the quarterdeck. “We’re getting awfully close…”

“it’s fine!” Benrey calls down. “don’t - it’s okay!”

“Okay!” Tommy replies, and Gordon can hear the relieved smile in his voice. Just like that, huh? But Tommy’s always been trusting. Gordon is less so.

“If you wreck my ship I’ll - I’ll drown you,” he says, which is probably rude in the situation, but tempers are high.

“like t’see you try,” Benrey mutters, then spins the wheel again as the Navy ship pulls broadside across the mouth of the vortex.

“Oh, shit - TAKE COVER!” Gordon bellows, but it’s too late - he already sees the flashes of light from the Navy guns going off. Fuck, have they even reloaded their own guns? Bubby and Coomer probably took care of that, but -

Gordon’s train of thought screams to a halt, then cataclysmically derails. There is…something…rising out of the black maw of the maelstrom, and it’s caught the cannonballs and flung them back somehow. He can’t exactly tell how, because the…thing…is as dark as the mouth of the vortex itself, and he can only see it where it blocks the light from the Navy ship. Even then, his mind struggles to perceive what he’s looking at - is it some sort of curtain? A feral whale? Is it a serpent? Is it Scylla herself, rising from the depths of Charybdis to hunt for human blood?

“don’t worry about it,” Benrey says sharply, and the wheel clacks as it spins in its housing and their bowsprit swings away from the whirlpool.

Somehow, the current lets them go. It should be impossible, but the sea clears ahead of them, and Gordon’s pretty sure he sees flickers of green and blue lights along the edges of the still water, like the reflection of lanterns lining an avenue.

“Did they miss again?” Bubby’s voice comes from below, and Gordon realizes with a start that, because he told them to take cover, none of them saw the thing that rose from the maelstrom.

“Oh dear,” Coomer says softly, and Gordon spins to look back beyond the stern just in time to see the lights on the Navy ship go dark one by one, the mast tilting as the vessel begins to drop prow-first into the vortex. The rush of the current seems muted, and the Navy ship is quiet and dark as it slips out of sight beneath the waves with a faint rush of cracking wood and creaking ropes.

Gordon breathes very carefully for a few moments, thinking hard. There’s still witchlight dancing around Benrey, but the flickers of blue that had leapt so energetically into the rigging and sails have returned to the helm and seem rather subdued, as if they’re dogs expecting a scolding. Gordon watches one dart close to his hook before it appears to think better of it and lunges back to Benrey, instead.

Gordon shakes his head. St. Elmo’s fire doesn’t think anything. It’s not alive. No one knows what it is, but they know it’s not that. Although...Gordon thought he knew that maelstroms couldn’t get big enough to destroy a sloop, let alone a Navy man-o-war, yet he just saw it happen in front of him. And he’s starting to rethink his initial dismissal of Benrey’s statement that they aren’t human in light of this…well, light. And everything else, of course.

The thread of blue connecting him to Benrey jitters as Gordon steps toward them. They take a step back, but keep one hand on the wheel, looking worried.

“are we, uh…was that okay?”

“That was brilliant, Benrey!” Coomer shouts from the staircase. Gordon swings around to glare at him, and he hurries back down the stairs with a chortle.

“are we…okay?” This sounds even more hesitant.

Gordon steps up next to them and sets his hand on a spoke opposite to the one Benrey’s holding. Their gaze flicks down, then back up to Gordon’s face, and they swallow. Slowly, Gordon reaches out with his now completely glowing hook and gently taps Benrey’s chest. There’s a bzzt like static discharge, and their hair stands on end for a moment before flopping back into its usual messy sprawl above their headband. Most of the unearthly glow around them goes dark, leaving only a few flickers of light across their shoulders like a glowing stole.

“That was pretty brilliant,” Gordon concedes. “But uh…maybe some warning, next time? I don’t know what the fuck I just saw, but I think -”

“oh shit, you weren’t supposed to see that,” Benrey interrupts.

“What did I see?” Gordon asks stiffly.

“uhh…”

“Do not say -”

“don’t worry about it?”

“You fucking -” Gordon lashes the wheel with a practiced sweep of his hand and lunges after Benrey, who takes off, cackling their way down the stairs. Tommy catches them on the quarterdeck, because Gordon can’t move very fast right now and his crew is nothing if not fair. Bubby and Coomer smack Benrey cheerfully on the back, and Tommy squeezes them so tightly that they squeak as Gordon makes his way down the steps toward them. Flickers of blue-violet light dance through the rigging, keeping pace with him as he goes, and he decides that if things like coral can be alive, then maybe light can, too. Especially light that knows better than to touch his locket. He smiles as Coomer steps up to reach for the dressing on his shoulder, now that they finally have time to breathe.

Gordon watches his locket bounce on Benrey’s chest as they laugh at Sunkist pushing Tommy over and sending all three of them sprawling across the deck. Perhaps there will be time for other things, too, if he allows himself that chance. He thinks of Benrey’s eager mouth on his, and figures that maybe he could try that again, to start with. They’ll have to see where it goes from there, afterward. But they’ve got time.

* * *

Far behind them and getting farther, where shortly before, a maelstrom devoured a ship whole, moonlight shines on smooth, dark water, broken only by the eddies of natural currents. Nothing lies lurking beneath the waves. If anyone came looking for a sunken Navy ship, they would never find it. The only evidence of strangeness is faint sparkles of green and blue light refracting off the surface of the sea - or maybe it’s just the reflected light of stars, silent and watchful in the vault of the midnight sky.

59 notes · View notes

turtleduckscribbles · 2 years

Text

Warhorse

After a long and grueling day on the road, Twilight feels like he's at the end of his rope. But before he can lose his grip, he receives a helping hand, and it comes in the form of a sharp retort and winning smile.

Read on AO3 or continue below.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Twilight wilted as he spared a backward glance at his careworn contemporaries. For a procession of divinely appointed heroes, not a single one of them was looking very heroic. Or divine. Or even appointed, for that matter.

It had been a long and arduous day of travel. Dirt, sweat, and suffering made a compelling refrain for the itinerant band of Links, and providence was sending clear signals that it wouldn’t relent anytime soon. The oppressive rays of the midsummer sun blazed hot and heavy upon their stooped backs. Though there was a conspicuous lack of infected monsters crossing their path, the frequency of attacks was no easier to bear, running them ragged from point A to point B.

Wild, adding much to Twilight’s silent consternation, sustained a considerable laceration to his side while on the road, courtesy of a large congregation of kargaroks. The razor-taloned buzzards had swooped down on them from the sky, screeching and scratching as they assailed the heroes as one murderous body. The nettlesome creatures were remarkably efficient; once Wild began mercilessly pelting them with arrows, they singled out his superior marksmanship and targeted him in earnest. The others slaughtered the giant birds of prey swiftly enough, but the damage had already been done. Such an unfortunate state of affairs earned the champion the accolade of “Most Injured Member of the Group” and a place atop Epona, where he currently sat hunched, nursing his wound.

Twilight clenched Epona’s reins as he led her on foot, wiping the slick perspiration from his brow. As fond as the rancher was of his homeland, he couldn’t claim he was in his happy place right now. His back twinged; his legs burned with lactic acid buildup. Somehow, a wayward rock had lodged itself inside his shoe, heedless of every effort he took to oust it. He squinted up with a frown. While the sun still shone brightly in the azure heavens, it was well past its zenith. Soon they would need to start evaluating where they’d settle in for the night; the plains bordering the castle walls were vast, and without any vegetation to use as cover, they were easy pickings for the next eager gang of monsters. It wasn’t wise to make camp where it was unsheltered. Twilight would rather find an overhang, a shaded thicket, a gorge: somewhere better shielded from the elements as well as potential hostile encounters.

It may also be said that he was—in every respect—dog-tired.

“What’s that?” voiced Hyrule, halting Twilight’s musings. Eight heads shot up in response.

A curlicue of black smoke stood out against a muted blue backdrop. And not just one, but four dark helixes, snaking their way up from the earth’s crust. The ribbons streaked across the land like unfurling banners, coalescing into one monstrous plume. Twilight’s stomach constricted as he eyed the horizon, revolting against the invasive stirrings of memory. Too seasoned to hope this didn’t spell doom.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” he ordered, urgent, with a short tug of the reins. “Hurry.”

They set off with renewed haste. Clopping hooves mingled with the thuds of boots as they hustled toward the tendrils of darkness. The toll of exertion blended with escalating dread and weighed heavily on Twilight’s joints; still, he ignored it, forced it down and below the threshold of his consciousness. From his position astride Epona, Wild grimaced and clutched at his bandaged side, his limbs jostled with each of the mare’s footfalls. Twilight winced in commiseration, knowing it couldn’t be helped.

Hyrule was the first to crest the hill. Winded and windswept, the traveler came to an unsteady halt atop the ridge, eyes blown wide as he took in whatever new horror spanned the abutting lowlands. Panting, Twilight stumbled over with the others, Epona chuffing noisily in his ear.

He cast his gaze out before him.

Scorched earth. Blackened barns. Smoldering farmland. Droves of cattle, scattered in every which direction, tailed by frantic herders. Splintered wood. Piercing cries.

Destruction had alighted rapidly upon this little community, and it wasn’t kind.

Twilight spurred himself forward, galvanizing the rest of the group. He took in the gruesome sight. It was an expansive farm—part of Hyrule’s nascent dairy enterprise, no doubt—yet despite the pleas for help that could be heard above the wind, Twilight took it as a godsend that there were no bodies strewn about the wreckage. He steered their course toward a cluster of sheds that fumed with secluded fires. An older man stood motionless on the perimeter as he absorbed the burning remains. Twilight placed a gentle hand on the man’s back, speaking the words of reassurance he had offered countless times throughout his journeyings:

“It’s okay, sir… We’ve come to help… You’re safe…”

A flurry of activity proceeded these words. Ice rods and arrows materialized into able hands. Legend, ever the stockpiler, had his magical staffs out and distributed among them in no time flat, and they got to work freezing over the skeleton of the structure. Twilight unleashed his gale boomerang on isolated pockets of fire, choking the mutinous fumes. The acrid smell of smoke was staggering, overpowering. He coughed dryly into his pelt, eyes watering from the sting.

In the midst of the commotion, someone came running at them—a man, with the look of a wild animal in his eye, clutching at his hair.

“Please, please! My wife, my child… They’re trapped inside! They’re… they’re…!”

Before Twilight could so much as take a step, two of his companions sprang into action. Without a moment’s delay, Hyrule and Warrior took off in the indicated direction, the latter’s scarf flapping about in his wake. The distraught man dogged their heels in hot pursuit.

It wasn’t long until the persisting flames were snuffed out. With the fires extinguished, a sort of stunned hush fell upon the ruined land. Sooty, noxious fumes leached from charred wood; roofs lay crumbled upon their foundations; villagers roamed aimlessly amidst the detritus, like wraiths drifting through a ghost town. Twilight looked around vacantly. A bleak numbness began infiltrating his veins. His comrades’ synergistic efforts, while certainly a boon to these citizens of Hyrule, ultimately couldn’t repair their damaged property. They couldn’t restore their crippled farms. They couldn’t save their livelihoods, nor could they save their broken homes.

They couldn’t save everything. Couldn’t save everyone.

Sounds of pounding feet reached his ears. Twilight straightened to his full height, dismissing the searing stretch in his hamstrings. He trained his expression into one of impassivity, his trusted default, praying that Hyrule and Warrior hadn’t brought bad news.

But it wasn’t them. Instead, two farmers appeared from the miasmic haze. They made a beeline toward the Hero of Time who, accoutred in the plates of his finest armor, most resembled the part of leader.

“Soldiers of Hyrule,” said the first man, speaking to Time but addressing them all, “y’all came to render us aid in our time of greatest need. Light Spirits’ blessings be upon ya.”

A pause lapsed as his words were allowed to hang in the air. Time’s eye shifted almost imperceptibly over to Twilight, his brow cocked in a way that was implicitly understood by the younger. Twilight stepped forward and accepted the mantle his motherland had thrust upon him long ago.

“We’re not… soldiers of Hyrule,” he said. “We don’t work for the Crown. We’re freelancers.”

The farmers glanced at one another. Sheepish, the first turned to Twilight, leaning heavily onto his pitchfork.

“We was ambushed by bulblins,” the man continued in subdued tones. “Came just this mornin’ when we was out in the pastures. Burned our crops, scattered our livestock… took some fer their own, too. Nobody killed, I don’t think, thank the Spirits fer that… Still got us good, though. Thievin’ devils cleared off once they had their fill, leavin’ us to burn. Someplace yonder.”

He pointed west, away from the castle borderlands. Twilight squinted against the bleeding hues of the evening sun. A handful of men on horseback were in the distance, working in tandem to corral their cattle, panicked and running rampant, back into the fold. There was no sign of Hylian soldiers anywhere.

“We ain’t have much left ’cept each other.”

Sympathy flared like a sucker-punch to Twilight’s gut. As a rancher himself, he understood how taxing farmwork was. He understood the ramifications of today’s events, that it would mean more than just a day’s loss for them in total…

He recalled the self-avowed monster boss—King Bulblin, reigning terror—and the havoc that he and his pernicious band of bandits had inflicted on the kingdom in years past. He was the catalyst that drove Twilight to heroism. It was by his hand that Twilight was first dragged onto this perpetual quest, never resting, always fighting.

But King Bulblin wasn’t supposed to be in opposition to Hyrule anymore. He wasn’t supposed to be raiding and pillaging helpless farmsteads. Twilight had seen to that personally.

Hadn’t he seen to that…?

“Can any of y’all ride?”

Twilight tore his gaze away from the skyline. “What?”

“Horses,” said the farmer. “Can ya ride ’em?”

“I… Yes. I can ride.”

“Will ya track down them bulblins fer us?”

Twilight wasn’t sure what the farmer read on his face—shock, obstinacy, perhaps even fear—because suddenly the man was wavering, stammering, pleading desperately with the assembled group of heroes to take upon themselves this role, this insurmountable task he felt constrained to present them with.

“Please, I… W-We can’t do it ourselves, see… Can’t stop them alone… They took our homes, our cattle… ’S only a matter a time ’til they’re back fer more… We ain’t got no swords like y’all’ve got… We ain’t equipped like y’all… Ain’t fighters…”

Fighters.

It was who Twilight was. A fighter. A protector, through and through, from the fire coursing in his veins to the indomitable wolf that consumed his spirit.

It’s okay… We’ve come to help… You’re safe…

And nothing—not exhaustion, not pain of death—could break that promise.

“...I’ll help. Of course I will.”

Sweet relief crested over the two defeated men. Twilight bore witness to it all: the rush from their lungs, the falling of their shoulders, the sheen in their eyes. From the corner of his own, he also bore witness to the concerned looks of his companions, whose stares seemed to bore holes into his back.

But never mind that. He’d deal with it later.

After an abundance of grasped hands and heartfelt thanks, the farmers gestured to a remote stable—one of the few buildings left intact after the assault. It served as the prime relocation site for the remainder of their cattle, and it was there where Twilight would find fresh thoroughbreds to use in his endeavors to bring the bulblins to justice. Considering the load Epona had been burdened with all day, Twilight agreed to this plan of action without reservation. He couldn’t ask his dear friend to fight all his battles for him. She was just as weary as him, if not more so. She’d worked enough for today.

As for his own strength… he’d make do.

The farmhands departed, and foreseeably, the icy prickle at the back of Twilight’s neck grew impossible to ignore. He turned and met the troubled faces of his allies. They looked at him as if he were on the verge of collapse, like a compass that had been improperly calibrated. Four rubbed at his singed elbow, his countenance one of reproach.

“So… you know that most of us don’t ride, right?”

His question sounded more like an accusation. Twilight was unmoved. “I know. But I do.”

“Well, yeah, but you’ve been working your tail off all day. We all have.”

“This farm has been working longer, I guarantee you.”

Four peered at him incredulously. Sky, dirtied and slumped against a hitching post, blew out a ragged breath and asked, “How can I help? I ride loftwings. I could try horses.”

“No, that wouldn’t be wise,” said Twilight. “You’re worn out, and the learning curve is too steep. I won’t risk it for something this serious.”

Instinctually, he locked eyes with Legend and his gaze hardened, daring the teen to contend. But even the agonistic veteran had nothing to say; he broke eye contact with Twilight, his head lowered in submission. Even Wind, usually so keen to offer suggestions, was quiet, slouched against the grubby Hero of the Skies. Their lethargy wasn’t a mystery to Twilight: like him, they had also been going at it all day. And, like him, they knew their options were limited.

Time hadn’t taken his eye off Twilight since the farmers arrived. The old man stood stock-still, unblinking, taking in every inch of his battered descendant. Twilight stared back, giving his mentor the same treatment. Decked in his distinguished suit of armor, Time was the largest and heaviest among them—much too heavy for sustained mounted combat. While he was doubtless experienced in this area… or at least to some degree… Twilight knew it wasn’t his strong suit. It was evident that he was lacking in some respects. Twilight sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

“Pup…” Time said into the stretching silence, “I know I don’t have your aptitude for horseback warfare. But with our champion incapacitated, you’ll need someone to cover for you. You shouldn’t go alone.”

Epona snorted and tossed her head, her feet shifting warily beneath her. Twilight placed a steadying hand on her broad neck and hushed her softly. He glanced up at her silent passenger. Wild looked positively green; he sat lopsided in her saddle, face screwed into a rictus, bandages nearly soaked through. Needless to say, he was out of commission. Resigned, Twilight rubbed soothing circles onto Epona’s velvet coat, sending her a wordless apology through his touch.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Old Man,” he mumbled. “But… I have to go. Without aid from the infantry, these people won’t stand a chance against the next attack—and believe me, it will come. The bulblins can’t be left unchecked. I won’t let them.”

With steadfast resolve affixed firmly to his face, Twilight handed the reins of his beloved steed over to his mentor, not quite meeting his eyes. Wishing that the words that followed from his lips didn’t sound like a lie.

“...I’ll be fine.”

~o~o~o~o~o~

In the cramped isolation of the stable, it was relatively quiet, save for the stamping and bleating of skittish barn animals. The scent of straw mingled with the lingering residue of ash and sent the residents into a gyrating tizzy within their stalls. Shafts of skylight impaled the rafters down to the floor below, blinding in their intensity. But Twilight couldn’t see or hear any of it. Slouched on a rickety old stool, he stared down at his hands, his hair shrouding his eyes.

Of all the imprudent decisions the ranch hand had made throughout his life, this ranked highly on the list. Try as he may, he couldn’t prevent the inexorable slide of fatigue into his limbs, into joints that stiffened like rusted hinges in the winter. A craving for rest pressed down on him from all sides, stifling his stamina, making his impending task seem that much more impossible. With exhaustion serving as his helmsman, it was plain that he was destined for failure.

Twilight mindlessly picked at his nail. This wasn’t a solo man job. In the past, he’d always scraped by on sheer adrenaline and the little help he received along the way… with her help… but today the thought was unconscionable. He was just too tired. Ideally, he’d take the night to recharge and consolidate his energy so he could better serve the people around him. But today, that wasn’t an option. Today, he had to fight—even if he fought alone.

But if he just had some extra help… just a little would go a long way…

He thought back to his rejection of Time’s offer. Was it wrong for Twilight to have impugned his mentor’s competence? Should he have still sought his support, regardless of any misgivings? In the moment, it had felt like the right call. Not only was Time’s armor unfit for vigorous riding, but it had probably been years since he’d last attempted this type of combat. Twilight would never admit it to the old man, but while he wasn’t… old, exactly, he wasn’t as adaptable as he used to be. Twilight didn’t want to see him get hurt.

On the other hand… Time did have the most equestrian experience, barring Wild… he was a skilled wrangler, after all…

An abrupt clonk resounded through the stable as a nervous hoof stomped the ground. Twilight’s head jerked up. The bay horse he had just finished currying glared at him with one large eye, its tail swishing with blatant impatience.

“Hey there, bud,” Twilight soothed, rising sorely to his feet. “Didn’t mean to leave you hangin’ there.” He stroked the coarse fur under its mane. “Sorry about that.”

The bay stared coolly back at him, unswayed by his placating words. A flash of guilt surged through him. Just like Epona, this horse was obviously picking up on his agitation. He’d only meant to sit down for a minute before saddling up—his feet were killing him—but he must have lost himself. Truth be told, he wasn’t paying this horse the attention it deserved, especially considering they were supposed to be battle partners. He had already picked its feet and brushed it down to ensure it was primed for armed conflict… but they’d still only just met. He was supposed to be getting to know it, reassuring it—not sitting down on the job, feeling sorry for himself. Twilight shut his eyes and released a drawn-out sigh, picturing the tension ebbing from his body.

“Ah, here he is—the lone wolf himself.”

His eyes snapped open. Seconds ticked by before Twilight turned slowly in place. His expression leveled out, braced for the inevitable.

In the entrance, framed by the open doorway, stood the Hero of Warriors. With crossed arms, the captain rested a hip against the wooden jamb, the setting sun contouring his figure from behind; yet even with the dazzling light, it was difficult to miss his smile, that cloying grin that never failed to allure as much as it did vex.

“I’ll admit, when they told me you’d run off to the stables, I didn’t expect to find you,” Warrior said. “I thought you’d be long gone playing man of the hour by now.”

Twilight didn’t grace that with a response—only a blank stare. A brief moment passed as they stood there, sizing each other up, before something in Warrior’s mien began to change. His grin slid gradually from his face, morphing into a look of tactful discretion as he surveyed the hero across from him with a strategist’s eye.

“You look downright beat. You all right, man?”

The blunt shift of tone caught Twilight off guard. He regarded the captain skeptically. Was this Warrior’s idea of a good time? To while away Twilight’s limited daylight as a way of amusing himself? Another breath, and Twilight wrenched his gaze away, turning back to his four-legged charge.

“I don’t have time to shoot the breeze with you, Captain,” he murmured. “I have to tack up.”

The bay, sensing the mounting friction, snorted and backed away from Twilight, hooves tapping a frenzied rhythm onto the pavement. Twilight placed a stabilizing hand on one of the two ropes securing its halter in place. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the irritation from brewing in his chest. He didn’t have the mental fortitude to keep up with Warrior’s repartee at the moment. It would be best for everyone if he left.

Footsteps from behind. Twilight wrestled with the flailing lead, jaw clenched tight—only to hear a gentle clucking noise. He glanced back.

Warrior approached from the other end of the aisle, his pace slow and easy. He came at them by degrees, crooning softly, movements relaxed and deliberate as if gliding through water. From his satchel, a handful of apple slices emerged; he stopped a short distance away and proffered his open palm.

“It’s okay, big boy,” he consoled the bay in syrupy tones. “We’re all friends here, see? I’ve got treats—surely you like treats? And listen, I know he looks scary, but Wolf Boy’s actually a good guy, I promise you. He’s really a country bumpkin at heart. Major softie.”

While the content of his speech left much to be desired, it had the intended effect. Curious ears perked toward the sound of his voice. At the sight of the apples, the bay stilled entirely, held captive by Warrior’s enticing offer. Putting a tentative hoof forward, it stretched forth its neck and guzzled up the pieces, nuzzling his hand for leftovers.

“Yeah, I had a feeling,” said Warrior with a smile. He pressed some additional apples into Twilight’s hand and dipped underneath the cross ties, patting the horse’s opposite side. “Good boy.”

Twilight stood frozen with the sticky apples in hand. Reality was playing out in front of his eyes, yet his brain was having a time of computing it. In spite of everything, it seemed that the captain spoke “horse” quite well: With practiced hands, he caressed the bay’s shoulder by way of friendly greeting, his manner attentive and respectful. He spoke to it tenderly, lovingly, as if they’d known one another for years. Then—convinced at having successfully pacified it—he began to move. Gracefully, and mindfully, he trailed a lingering hand down the length of its back, so as to impart his position, circling around its rear to the other side where the tack was kept.

As he passed by, a few details caught Twilight’s eye: torn gloves, blotted vambraces, scorch marks that stood out like bruises on his tunic. Distracted, Twilight barely managed to salvage the apples that went tumbling from his hand due to a pair of greedy, scavenging lips; he indulged them absentmindedly.

“What… happened to you?” he asked the captain, the bay’s whiskers tickling his palm.

Warrior returned with a saddle pad from off the guard rail. Without meeting Twilight’s gaze, he gave an insouciant shrug and set the pad lightly upon the bay’s back, smoothing out the creases. “Someone’s family was stuck under a collapsed roof. They’re all fine though, don’t worry. Traveler and I got them out.” Satisfied with the pad’s alignment, he went to retrieve the saddle.

And that was that.

Interest piqued, Twilight watched the captain as he worked, pacing the hungry horse through its treat intake all the while. The thought entered his mind that he probably hadn’t given Warrior his due credit; even after confronting a harrowing situation, the man seemed just as unflappable as ever. Alongside his collected composure, he appeared to hold zero reservations about the equipment he was handling. He knew exactly how to place the saddle, exactly where to attach the girth, exactly how to fasten the breast collar. Deft hands flew through the various belts and clasps without affording them a second thought. He worked as if he were the horsemaster and Twilight the bumbling stableboy.

Perhaps it was wrong of Twilight to have pegged him as a novice straight out of the gate.

When Warrior drew near with the bridle, Twilight stepped aside to grant him room, shaking himself from his stupor. “So,” he said, unclipping the halter and its accompanying ties, “you ride? Since when?”

Warrior took the bit and coaxed it gently into the bay’s mouth. “Since you were in diapers, more likely than not.”

“Spare me, Cap. You’re not that much older than me.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“It’s a little hard to swallow coming from someone like you, frankly.”

“Wow—‘someone like me,’ huh?” Warrior’s mouth twitched. “That’s bold talk for a goat-roper.”

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but it’s no skin off mine.”

Their words were sharp, but the smiles tugging at their lips were anything but. Warrior’s concentration never once wavered from his duty, but all the same, Twilight felt the tension evaporate from the room like steam ejected from a pressure valve. He gave the bay an encouraging pat, diverting its awareness away from Warrior’s fiddlings.

“Okay, duly noted,” he said. “So you can ride, among a few other things. Any extra tricks I should know about?”

Warrior gave a small huff of amusement. “There are more than just a few tricks up these sleeves, Farm Boy.”

“Anything else you’d like to tell me, then?”

There was a pause as Warrior finished threading the bay’s forelock through the head band up top. Then, he blinked a couple times, refocusing on the straps.

“There are lots of things I could tell you.”

Twilight studied Warrior’s face: those flawless features that harbored the faintest trace of some underlying depth. It was true that he and the captain weren’t exactly close. They didn’t dislike each other, per se, but they also weren’t the best of buds. They had no trouble exchanging witticisms and the occasional insult when the opportunity presented itself, sure—but Twilight couldn’t claim he knew the man. Until now, he had assumed they had nothing in common, that the two of them came from completely different worlds.

Maybe it was high time he changed that.

“Well, by all means, enlighten me then. I hadn’t realized you grew up around horses. I’ve never seen you so much as glance Epona’s way before. What gives?”

Warrior didn’t answer straight away. Twilight watched him meticulously tighten the bay’s cheek strap, his even expression betraying no hint of emotion. It was only after finishing these adjustments that he finally spoke.

“This might come as a shock to you, but it hasn’t always been city pomp and grandeur for me. I had a life before I enlisted—one with horses, believe it or not. So horsemanship pretty much came with the territory.” He threaded his fingers through the dark strands of the bay’s mane. “I didn’t like bringing her into battle if I could help it, but… sometimes it couldn’t be helped. She helped us turn the tide of the war more times than I can count. She’s a real force of nature.”

She?

“...I miss her.”

The revelation dawned on Twilight like sunrays between parting clouds. As someone who’d come of age outside the city’s embrace, Twilight had grown accustomed to the unsavory labels directed his way—naive, obtuse even—but now, as he listened to the captain’s reflections, the brand fit embarrassingly well. Surprising as it was, Warrior too had a cherished horse companion back home, just like he and the old man had. And Twilight had been blind to it.

The thought left a sinkhole of shame in his stomach.

“I know the feeling,” Twilight said at last, feeding the bay another apple slice. “Few things rattled me like the time Epona was stolen from me. It’s tough being separated for so long. And, well… I know she’s not yours, but… you should try making friends with Epona sometime. I think she’d like you.”

Warrior arched an eyebrow at him. “You think? Even if her rider prefers keeping me at arm’s length at all times?”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It’s sort of true.”

For an instant, Twilight almost felt cornered—that is, until he saw the playful glint in Warrior’s eye. Twilight leveled him with a weak scowl before he was overcome by the unruly grin that broke out on his face.

“All right,” he conceded, “so her rider might be a bit of a chump sometimes. I’ll make sure to knock some sense into him.”

“You do that.”

They exchanged good-humored smiles. Though the burn in his calves and magnitude of the mission at hand loomed before him, Twilight couldn’t help but feel a stabilizing peace settle into his core, as if his center of gravity had been restored. This time, he wouldn’t be alone. He had support.

“Speaking of making friends,” Warrior said, giving the bay a finishing pat and turning to the neighboring stall, “looks like we have another one to make before the day’s through.”

Twilight followed his line of sight. A chestnut stallion regarded them curiously from behind the closed gate. Warrior passed off the bay’s reins to Twilight with a roguish wink and loped his way over to the other horse, his scarf fluttering around his heels.

“Hey, Captain?”

“What’s up?”

Warrior turned back with an expectant look. Several beats slipped by before Twilight blinked away the daze.

“...Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

Even through the gritty haze of the stable, it was hard to mistake the genuine affection that crept over the captain’s features.

“You bet, Rancher.”

~o~o~o~o~o~

The sun barely kissed the horizon as they thundered west, two speeding shapes in the amber gloaming, silhouettes distending behind them like inky filaments reaching across the divide. Grasping shadows engorged themselves on the lay of the land, steadily devouring the last fragments of light; an apt memorial for a forgotten netherworld.

Twilight gripped the bay’s reins as he scanned the barren countryside, eyes narrowed against the glare. When he caught sight of a dark, moving entity not even a league out, he instantly knew the farmer’s directions were sound. A sizable entourage of bulblin archers on boarback were marching their way across the parched grasslands toward the western desert. From the steepled formation of their ranks, it appeared they were protecting something in their center—a group of somethings? Twilight licked his lips and glanced his fellow rider’s way.

Sitting astride the chestnut stallion, Warrior was the picture of the respectable cavalier. Resplendent color adorned his frame from every angle, a whirling sail of greens, blues, and golds that rippled on the wind as he worked his horse through an even canter. His fatigue must have equaled Twilight’s—surely it must have—nevertheless, there he was, right by Twilight’s side, riding in perfect form.

As if he could feel the brand of Twilight’s stare, Warrior met his gaze. A searching look; a nod of tacit agreement; a drawing of weapons… and the chase was on.

Twilight urged the bay into a full gallop, Warrior matching his gait beside him. Hammering hooves ate up the ground as they hurtled toward the convoy of unsuspecting monsters. Twilight’s blood ran hot with the thrill of the hunt, eyes streaming in the crush of air. Once within firing distance, he dropped his reins. A volley of arrows leapt from his bow, striking several of the archers from behind. Before the bulblins could react, Warrior veered left and Twilight veered right, effectively boxing them in.

Chaos erupted on the field as the bulblins broke ranks. Boars squealed with fright as their riders dropped like flies. Felled foes were trampled under the stampede of hooves. Warrior plunged fearlessly into the fray, lopping off horns and cleaving every obstacle that got in his way. Twilight scoped them out at range, covering the captain’s six. There was no retreat, no safe haven. Flanked by the two formidable heroes, the brutes could only flounder.

As the bulblins scattered, it was suddenly revealed to Twilight what they’d been dallying over. A horde of cattle were huddled amidst the pandemonium, dithering over which way to turn: the bulblins’ plundered spoils of conquest.

Not on Twilight’s watch.

With an inciting whoop, he spurred the bay forward, pitching violently in his seat. Limbs went flying as they plowed full steam through a cluster of toppled bulblins. Shrieks and wails were lost to the roaring clamor of his steed’s stride, its powerful legs clobbering the unfortunate beasts beneath it. Twilight rocked with the motion, quadriceps screaming in protest, feeling the animal’s heaving breaths through his thighs. Nothing was more liberating.

Without warning, his bow was knocked from his hand. Twilight lunged, but to no avail; it disappeared in the fracas. He looked back. A number of bulblins had moved behind him into his blind spot, their bows drawn and raised. A dangerous predicament. Another fired arrow, and pain lanced across Twilight’s vision as it grazed his temple. A warm trickle slid down his cheek, wetting his collar.

A rallying cry blared forth. Suddenly, Warrior was charging them from the rear, eyes blazing and his blade held aloft. With a mighty overhead spin, he cut the bulblins down, sending them sky-high, their figures twirling like tops through the air. As the boars swerved wildly, he streaked between them and drew level with Twilight. “Catch!” he yelled, tossing his bow, and Twilight did. With a flourish, Warrior dashed ahead in a shower of dust, trailed by a wave of billowing blue.

Twilight watched in wonder as the captain overtook him. The chestnut stallion was on the warpath, a flurry of racing limbs, mane and tail soaring: a raging war machine, only eclipsed by the warhorse up top. Warrior grasped his knight’s sword with both hands, muscles taut with battle-hardened energy, hacking and slashing on both sides. He rode reinless, using his legs to direct the stallion’s path, hips twisting with precision as he harnessed his momentum to drive his attacks. Synced perfectly with his steed, he was power personified; the embodiment of control.

Spirits, he’s strong.

It didn’t take long for them to eliminate the remaining bulblins. Working in unison, the two conquerors mowed them down until nothing was left except for a razed battlefield and a throng of shivering cows. Twilight slowed the bay to a stumbling halt. Bruised and breathtakingly sore, he slumped against the saddle horn, the captain’s bow dangling from his fingertips. Runnels of sweat coursed down his back beneath his clothes. The back of his throat seared with the metallic tang of dusty air; he gulped it in with an audible rasp. From across the circle of cattle, Warrior mimicked him, his sun-bleached hair in savage disarray. A few gasping breaths later, and Warrior rolled back his shoulders, sheathing his sword.

Though exhaustion was inscribed into every dirt-ridden crease of the captain’s face, his eyes shone with an undeniable glimmer of satisfaction. He gave Twilight an affirmative nod, the corners of his mouth turned up. Twilight shook his head in fond exasperation, marveling over how he could have ever doubted him.

~o~o~o~o~o~

“Well—that was a day and a half.”

Twilight huffed out a giddy breath. For all of his mentor’s gravitas, the man had a knack for delivering the understatement of the century. He hobbled over to join his stiff companions by the fire that had been prepared for them under an improvised shelter. His legs gave out from under him, unable to bear any more, his rump striking the hard ground. “Tell me about it,” he wheezed.

Something nudged his shoulder. A damp cloth was held in Time’s hand, his look one of obliging concern.

“Here. That can’t be comfortable.”

Twilight accepted it with thanks. The pungent scent of antiseptic flooded his nostrils as he pressed the rag to his smarting temple. Time squeezed his shoulder and retreated to the other side of the fire.

It had taken Twilight and the captain the better part of two hours to corral the spooked herd of cattle back to the farmstead. They arrived well after dark to find their comrades in a state of weary, orderly commotion, clearing debris and extending aid to the townsfolk. Despite the devastation surrounding them, a hero’s welcome had greeted them upon their return. The farmers, with tears welling in their eyes at the sight of their preserved livestock, thanked them profusely, singing their praises, offering oblations of gratitude from their meager supply of possessions. Twilight and Warrior had graciously declined them all. It was enough to see them safe—to restore their lives to them, even in the smallest degree.

And now, granted shelter and a generous share of food, the heroes had finally found a respite, a place to rest their tired and aching bones.

Twilight inhaled deeply through his nose. The brisk night air was a soothing balm to his flushed, salt-crusted skin. Wincing, he gingerly crossed his legs, setting his elbows onto folded knees.

“Oof… Got you pretty good there, did they?”

He glanced up. Four eyed him from a few paces away, a thick, woolen blanket drowning his little frame. Twilight shrugged and readjusted his cloth.

“Not really. Just a scratch.”

Four raised a cynical eyebrow. With a small smile, he tossed a tattered throw Twilight’s way, which the latter gratefully used as a sitting cushion.

“Hey, I’ll vouch for him,” said a gravelly voice. Warrior’s boots shuffled into Twilight’s periphery. “Rancher’s telling the truth—no heroics this time. It barely nicked him. He kicked some major monster butt out there, you should have seen it.”

Twilight—used to the captain’s backhanded compliments and far less ambiguous gibes—couldn’t believe his ears. Was this a ruse? Dumbstruck, he whipped around to gaze at Warrior, whose signature simper was nowhere to be seen.

“What?” said Warrior. “I’m serious—you were a beast.”

Ah. There it was.

And yet… notwithstanding the quip… his words lacked the usual bite Twilight had come to expect. Warrior looked at him straight-faced, eyes devoid of ridicule. An open book. It left Twilight strangely warm. He banished away the feeling, averting his eyes.

“Yeah, well… thanks. So were you.”

He wasn’t met by a response, only the sound of crackling wood. Around the fire, the circle of heroes sat in various states of repose, nursing the hurts they’d accumulated throughout the day. Twilight noticed that Warrior was the only one standing among them. The captain stood slightly apart, staring into the flames, making no move to sit. Twilight eyed the scuffed leather of his boots, the dark smudges that marred his cheeks. Bright yellow bangs hung limply on his forehead, stringy with dried sweat. He looked utterly spent. With an awkward shimmy, Twilight scooted over and waved over the captain’s attention, patting the space next to him on the blanket.

Warrior regarded him with hopeful disbelief. Then, the hint of a grin dawned on his face. He accepted the ranch hand’s offer, moving beside him on the throw.

“Ugh,” he grunted, dropping down to the ground. “Nothing like a thrashing ride after rollicking in the fields all day. Really gets the blood moving.”

Twilight snorted, massaging some feeling into his cramped calves. “Really, though. I think I’m stuck like this. Everything aches.”

A weak laugh sounded from Wild. The champion lay on his bedroll with his eyes closed, hands resting on his wrapped torso. “Very astute of you, Captain Obvious.”

“Whoa now, I’m Captain around here,” Warrior returned.

A whirl of sparks surged into the air as Time poked a stick into the fire. “You have much to be proud of, Pup,” he said softly. He looked up, the light catching his eye. “You did fine work today. Both of you.”

Twilight dragged a hand through his matted hair, conscious of the many pairs of eyes. “Um… thanks. I… Well, I couldn’t have done it without the captain. His help was invaluable.”

“Aw shucks, Rancher,” said Warrior, putting a theatrical hand to his chest. “You flatter me.”

“It’s true, though. I owe you one.”

An abrupt stillness fell as Warrior’s expression shifted from impish to solemn in the blink of an eye. He lowered his hand, his face set in stone.

“You don’t owe me anything. Not you, not anybody. Not ever. That’s the purpose of a team: to have each other’s backs.”

Then, like the breaking of a spell, the cloud passed. Warrior turned his attention to his shoulder armor, commencing its systematic removal. “Besides, I told you already—these sleeves hold all the aces. This baby’s got some moves.”

Twilight gave him a sideways look. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Weren’t you watching? I’m no one-trick pony.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do. And you should have seen the look on your face when I busted them out, too. Priceless.”

“Your humility’s on point, Captain.”

“Perhaps, but not as much as your bullheadedness, Goat Boy.”

Twilight scoffed. As if to drive home his case, Warrior was suddenly adopting Twilight’s plaintive drawl, the cadence of his voice uncannily accurate:

“Now, Captain, I ain’t got time to chew the fat with you, so you’d better skedaddle. You’re crampin’ my rustic style. And don’t you be comin’ after me either, you hear? I’m a big strong boy, with big strong muscles. I can shoulder the world by myself, and then some.”

Ripples of laughter swept around the circle. Twilight scrubbed the cloth over his face, tamping down the heat rising to his cheeks. “Just for the record, I never said any of that. Not even close.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you didn’t.” Smirking, Warrior leaned over and gently elbowed his side. Twilight looked away to hide his smile, refusing to give the other man the satisfaction.

Git.

“Okay, you two, that’s enough of your dog and pony show,” droned a hoarse voice. On the fringe of the firelight, Legend lay curled on his side, sleep sack pulled up to his nose, peering out at them with sleepy irritation. Warrior set the last component of his arm guard down with a jolting clank.

“I was wondering when you’d speak up, Vet,” he said, flexing his wrist. “We’ve missed those dulcet tones of yours. You’ve been quiet as a lamb all day.”

It was unnerving to Twilight how much venom could be contained within a single look. Legend glowered at Warrior something fierce before he quickly turned his back to them, kicking at the sheets. “Shut up,” he grumbled, voice muffled by his covers. “I’m tired.”

Warrior swapped a shrewd smile with Hyrule, who shook with restrained laughter. Twilight watched this transaction play out with guarded interest. Thankfully, he had enough experience with Legend’s peculiarities by this point to know that the affected air he put on was only a front—harmless, really. Even so, they left the veteran to his beauty sleep, and soon, Sky and Wild joined his ranks, drifting off into the realm of a fitful slumber.

Silence fell. With the townsfolk retired to their provisional lodgings, the nighttime song of the plain filled their place. The gentle susurration of the encircling weeds and shrubs hypnotized and lulled the enervated mind. Twilight watched the steady movements of Wild’s bandaged chest with unseeing eyes. Though he yearned to follow his companion’s lead, he knew sleep wouldn’t be finding him in his sorry state. The tendons in his arms felt on the verge of snapping and his legs cramped and spasmed incessantly. He needed a diversion, something to distract himself from the nagging pain. He rolled out his stiff neck, peeking over at the captain.

Warrior’s eyes were shut to the world, his hands resting lightly on bent knees. He appeared meditative; straight-backed and grounded, his chest rose and fell with the rhythmic pulse of his breaths, as if each exhale were relinquishing the aches from his body. Twilight frowned. Oddly, the idea of abandoning their earlier conversation wasn’t sitting well with him. Besides, he needed some answers. He cleared his throat, setting down his rag.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he began, voice diminished so as to not wake the others. “So… your ‘moves,’ as you call them. What’s the story behind those?”

Warrior cracked an eye open. He thought for a moment before he stretched out his legs, leaning back delicately onto his elbows.

“So much to say, and still you jump straight to horsey talk.” He grinned. “Is that always where your mind runs to, Farm Boy?”

“Hey, it’s a fair question,” countered Twilight. “With all those tricks hidden away in your sleeves, can you blame me?” With a wince, he lowered himself to the captain’s level, mirroring his reclined pose. “Close quarters combat on horseback isn’t easy, even for people who’ve been riding their whole lives. Where’d you learn, the army?”

“Partly. They schooled us in the art of war, but I’d already been riding for years by then. The military only facilitated the transition.”

Twilight hummed. “You ride well. What tack do you use—modern, classical?”

“More classical-cutting, actually. Not as hardy as your discipline, but I find it more versatile on the battlefield.”

“Makes sense.” A vivid image from earlier that evening flashed across Twilight’s recollection. “That spin finisher you did today? That takes a lot of strength, not to mention coordination. Nicely done.”

“Thanks, man.” Warrior shot him a winning smile. “I took a leaf from your book on that one, believe it or not. You and your girl brought down those aeralfos last week like pros. You’re a natural.”

The unexpected praise sent childish delight swirling in Twilight’s chest. He felt himself flush. “Oh… well, I’m honored. I shouldn’t take all the credit, though. Epona’s the real MVP.”

“Huh, what’s that? You’ll need to crank up the modesty a little more, I couldn’t hear you.”

Twilight rolled his eyes, feigning apathy but failing miserably. Fortunately, he was saved from a reply.

“If we’re telling horse stories, then you should hear about the time Captain stormed Ganon’s stronghold,” interjected Hyrule with a sly grin. The traveler sat warming his hands over the fire as he listened in. “Ganon holed himself up in Hyrule Castle and was all smug about it. He thought he’d won, but Captain and his horse kicked down the keep door and rode roughshod over his troops. Ganon was pretty peeved, right Captain?”

Twilight, who had never heard any such story, raised a quizzical eyebrow. Time too looked over with intrigue, as did Wind and Four. Warrior dipped his head with a smirk, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Yeah, he wasn’t too thrilled about that,” he said. “When a single rider and his mount prove mightier than the entirety of your armed forces, you know you’ve got problems. Serves him right for hiding away, though. Any martial tactician worth their salt could tell you that one of the most essential precepts in military leadership is leading from the front. Ganondorf’s powerful, but he doesn’t know the first thing about commanding an army—and that’s mutual respect and collaboration. He throws his troops around like they’re cannon fodder, not equals, and I’ll tell you what, that’s the wrong way to lead. When we raided his base in the desert…”

With a captive audience wrapped around his finger, there was no stopping the eager captain’s deliberations. Warrior beamed with pride, gobbling up the attention like it was his last meal on earth, gesturing fervently as he regaled them with the sensational details of his triumphs. Clearly, he was in his element. Twilight smiled down at the ground, feeling that familiar fondness blooming within. In days past, such histrionic displays from the captain would have likely sent the rancher packing. Back then, he was too caught up in their differences, too distracted by the impassable gulf between them that existed in his mind. But now? Twilight thought he understood. To Warrior, this time of merrymaking was a reprieve. It was a rejuvenating breath of air after an endless, taxing day; a joyous reunion with the people who mattered most to him… and Twilight could respect it. Histrionics or not, Warrior was a good horseman. He was a good fighter, a good leader. A good friend, whom Twilight could always count on to have his back, through thick and thin.

And Twilight wouldn’t change that for anything.

~o~o~o~o~o~

A/N: Warrior's love language is Acts of Service and nobody can convince me otherwise >:3

Thanks for reading!

#turtle scribbles #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #lu warrior(s)#lu fanfiction #friendship fic #brotherly bonding #brotherly banter #heroics & horsemanship #canon-typical violence #i love these strong men so much

109 notes · View notes

garbria · 9 months

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric Characters: Cor Leonis, Nyx Ulric Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Cave-In, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tumblr Memes Summary:

Cor glanced at their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Fuck if I know.” Nyx shrugged, ignoring how the movement aggravated his bruises. “Somewhere under the mountain you blew up, at a guess.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Cor grumbled.

Nyx snickered. “Well, you can’t blame me. I wasn’t anywhere near the blast.”

“And yet, you’re here,” Cor pointed out.

Nyx shrugged again, looking away. “I’m not about to explain to the king or the Captain that I let you fall down a hole by yourself.”

Cor sighed. “I hate warping. I really hate warping.”

For the lovely @whostarlockeda03

Did I write a fic just to make a joke about Color Theory?

Yes, yes, I did. Enjoy!

#nyx ulric #cor leonis #cornyx #my fic #ffxv #kingsglaive #blood and injury #canon-typical violence #soulmates #i'm a sucker for soulmate aus #cor and nyx belong together #hope you like it my dear!

13 notes · View notes

the-really-lonely-mountain · 12 days

Text

Along for the ride, to Erebor - Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: Transported to Middle Earth, you must Join Thorin Oakenshield's Company as they travel to reclaim Erebor! OR: My take on the classic 'modern girl in Middle Earth' troupe. This is the second installment, so we are following the second movie of The Hobbit trilogy, and falling deeper in love with Kili on the way! This is the first part for the second movie.

Tags: Kili / Reader, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Modern Character in Middle Earth, During The Hobbit, How Do I Tag, Canon-Typical Violence, Kíli Is a Little Shit (Tolkien), implied soulmates, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Freeform, light smut, it's really just a brief description nothing too detailed, Holding Hands, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sleepy Cuddles, Protective Thorin Oakenshield Company Members, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Fluff and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Where In Middle-Earth Is Gandalf?, Hair Braiding, Dwarf Courting, My First Tumblr Fic, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Live, Thorin Oakenshield Lives, Fíli Lives (Tolkien), Kíli Lives (Tolkien), this chapter is domestic as hell, sword fight training, kili is a big ole softy and i love him so much for it

Word Count: 4,977

A/N: Hey y'all!! It's been a crazy couple of months let me tell ya! good god! I've decided to finally post the next part of the story to tumblr despite it not having been beta read. I'll use you guys as my guinea pigs lol so if you see anything that doesn't make sense or is spelled wrong, I'm begging you to please tell me. I can't wait to hear what you think about my pride and joy! <3

Image credit: @iamjaynaemarie

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

The company climbed down the tall rock into the forest below. Having rested on the long flight over, everyone was prepared for a day of walking. Nothing notable happened except innocent conversation to pass the time and the forging of grapes with Bilbo for a snack.

The sun dipped closer to the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees. Thorin found a small river to make camp nearby. Gloin made the fire then Bombur started cooking the food. While the stew was being made, Fili and Kili practiced their swordsmanship under the watchful eyes of Thorin and Dwalin to provide guidance. The dwarves had found a log and brought it over beside the fire. You knelt in the grass on the fire’s side parallel to the log. The others were leaning against it on the opposite side, smoking pipes and making jokes and commentary about the training. You pulled out your thread spools and measured out the first color. You realized you didn’t have scissors and asked the merry gathering in front of you if they did.

“Nah lass,” Dori said, “Our weapons aren’t sharp enough to cut thread, they’ll only fray it” He kicked Nori to quiet him when he started to protest the quality of his weapons, “You’ll want to ask Thorin to borrow his sword.”

You swallowed thickly and looked over at the man in question where he stood with his arms crossed next to Dwalin. He always intimated you but approaching him alone to ask a favor made anxiety spike straight through you.

They were several feet away, but the clanging of metal was still quite loud. The brothers had removed their shirts, as men often did, to escape the insulated heat it provided. Not that you were complaining, eye candy is always welcome in a world of forests and furs.

You timidly approached the taller man as he instructed the brothers. You waited till they started fighting again to say in a shy voice: “Um Thorin?”

He glanced at you to acknowledge your inquisition, “Yes, what is it?” He sounded impatient.

“May I please borrow your sword?” You pointed to the weapon strapped to his side, “I need it to cut some thread” You tried not to sound as scared and skittish as you felt. He looked at you blankly for a moment, surprised by your question.

Kili threw his brother back several feet, allowing him a few seconds to turn to you with a confident smile.

“Hey Y/N,” Kili said, making you and Thorin look at him. You couldn’t help but smile and sheepishly blush as you tried not to ogle his ripped upper body dripping in sweat.

“Hi Kili” you swayed back and forth a little without realizing it. Thorin took note of your fond reaction to his nephew.

Fili let out a mighty roar as he jumped on the back of his brother, taking advantage of his distraction. The dwarves on the log laughed and you giggled at them as they goaded each other on.

“I’ve got you now brother!” Fili triumphantly exclaimed.

“I think not!” Kili replied with a strong thrusting attack.

Thorin sighed, “Very well” He untied his sheathed sword from his belt and handed it to you. You thanked him and began walking back to your previous spot. He looked at the line of dwarves who were still chuckling lightly against the log, “Make sure she doesn’t kill herself” he said to them. They all nodded, including Balin who found this ironic remembering their conversation about leaving you in Rivendell. It would seem the dwarf king was taking a liking to you.

You kneeled, unsheathed the great Goblin Cleaver a few inches, and positioned the hilt between your knees, so it stayed standing on its spine. You measured 7 lengths of thread at about three feet and rubbed them against the fine elfin blade which cut them in one pass to make makeshift embroidery thread. You repeated that 5 times to end up with two groups of pink, two groups of blue, and one group of black thread. You did your best to keep them separated as you bunched them together to fold them in half and tie a loop at the end that you could hook onto a button of your coat. You sheathed the sword and returned it to Thorin knowing he wouldn’t like being without his weapon. You sat on the side of the log with everyone else and secured your coat in your lap so you could pull taught against the threads. You separated the threads and began knotting them over and across each other like how you learned to make friendship bracelets at summer camp. It gave your hands something to do as you sat idly watching the boys trash talk then turn serious and start fighting again.

“What are ya makin’ Y/N?” Ori asked as he watched you.

“I’m making a bracelet” You replied, pleased to see the others taking an interest in your crafting.

“Why’s that lass?” Bifur leaned over to see what you were doing exactly.

“So I can eventually make one for everyone else” You explained how it’s a tradition of sorts in your world to make bracelets for those you care about as a show of kinship and the enduring strength of your friendship and bond. “Since I can’t fight beside you all on the battlefield yet, I thought this could be another way I show my commitment to the company” You smiled at the group. You’d grown very fond of them during your travels and hoped they enjoyed your company as much as you did theirs.

“That’s a very sweet tradition, Y/N,” Balin said, “We look forward to receiving your gifts” The rest of the dwarves confirmed it with ‘Aye’s and a strong nod of the head.

“Supper!” Bombur called while stirring the pot. Everyone got in line except the training group who was going one last round. You all sat down in your previous spots along the log to see the finale of the night’s training.

You finished your dinner quickly so you could take advantage of the distracted troublemakers as well as the river on the other side of the hill. You grabbed your bag and told Gandalf you were going to the river to wash up. You knew he’d keep an eye on the dwarf who often followed you like a puppy and missed you when you weren’t by his side.

You see, Kili had to share most of his things with his brother; toys, motherly attention, food, and this included the women he was interested in. They usually fell for Fili because he was more mature, older, and looked more dwarfish than Kili who had very fine features for a dwarf and was five years younger than his brother. He initially assumed it would happen again with you, so when you didn’t show any interest in his brother, only in him, he couldn’t put into words how happy it made him.

At the river’s edge, you placed your bag and makeshift towel (your shirt from your old world) on a rock and took off your clothes. The water was chilly but nothing a sit by the fire couldn’t fix. You washed your hair and body with the elfish soap you got in Rivendell. As you rinsed in the steady current of the water your thoughts began to wander to what Gandalf said about your predicament.

You felt pulled to Kili, he brought comfort and calmness to a feeling you didn’t even know was in need. His smile and his laugh, every memory and moment you made and shared with the handsome prince of Erebor begged you to stay in Middle Earth.

It was decided then.

When you stood to squeeze the water from your hair you noticed the sun was beginning to set. The others would want to bathe too, or at the very least wash their hands. You dried off and dressed and took a deep breath to enjoy the welcomed privacy one last time.

You reappeared beside the wizard, “Thank you, Gandalf, that was very much needed” You sat next to him on the ground in front of the fire to warm up. “I may be traveling with brutes, but I needn’t smell like one” You joked. He chuckled over his pipe at this.

“I’ve decided to stay here Gandalf.” You informed him. “Something about this place is calling me to stay.” You needn’t tell him about the intense pull to Kili, right?

“Splendid my dear,” He smiled fondly at your decision. “I’m sure you’ll find Middle earth rather agreeable.”

You smiled up at him, happy to have his support.

The boys were still going at it. Kili was making a great effort, but Fili got the upper hand, making Kili’s sword fly out of his hand and sail through the air to stick in the ground. Kili kept fighting though, trying to get Fili’s sword from him. Fili had to force him to the ground with his arms pinned before Kili surrendered.

“Good job lads, good work,” Thorin said as he helped them up. Coins were exchanged against the log from the bets the company members made. The boys started walking towards their bags, but Kili swerved at the last moment to approach you. Your hair was still slightly damp from the river, so it was obvious you’d just bathed. Being the mischievous sweaty dirt-covered mess he was, Kili held his arms out to you for a hug. You watched him in horror as he continued to walk towards you.

“Ew, no Kili stop!” You held your hand up to stop him but to no avail.

“Awe Y/N, just one hug?” Kili pleaded with puppy dog eyes.

You quickly stood and laugh a little at his persistence, “Don’t you fucking dare!” you said and dashed away.

“Come on Y/N, no need to play hard to get!” Kili strained as he chased you around the log and back toward your bags.

“Aaahh!” You made a sharp turn to narrowly avoid a grimy Fili, who stepped in your path, the little shit. This closed the gap so Kili could grab your arm and pull you toward him.

“Nonononononono!” you pleaded as he wrapped his beefy arms around your shoulders, making sure to rub his sweaty dirty face against your hair and pet the side of your face with his equally dirty hand. “Kili!” you drew out the last syllable in complaint.

“You smell so good” He had the nerve to say.

“You smell like Ori’s unwashed socks!” You pushed at his chest still trying to get away. Everyone chuckled at this. “Get off me, ya big olaf” you managed to wriggle out of his grasp, “I’m not coming anywhere near you till you bathe,” you said dead serious, and pointed to the river.

“As you wish” Kili bowed with a smirk, he grabbed his bag on his way to the river to join his brother. You sat in your by the fire with a small smile that seemed permanent whenever you were around him.

You were working on your bracelet when the brothers returned. The sun had dipped below the horizon making darkness seep into the crevasses of the world. Kili sat behind you on the same long stone Gandalf was perched on and touched the ends of your miraculously dry hair (the elvish soap is magic idk). You stiffened at the unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome contact.

“Can I braid your hair Y/N?” he asked innocently as pink dusted his cheeks. You whipped around aggressively, pulling your hair out of his hand in the process.

“No cause you’re just going to get it all tangled and I’m going to have to spend all night brushing it out!” You weren’t looking forward to that, you thought he was just trying to prank you. Kili’s pout was as cute as ever.

“My dear,” Gandalf budded in before Kili could sulk away, “Braiding hair in dwarfish culture is similar to your tradition of making bracelets for friends, but they take it much more seriously.”

“How much more seriously?” You asked, intrigued about the nature of Kili proposition.

“It’s like…” The wizard took a draw from his pipe while he thought of the words to properly explain it to you, “asking someone to dance, it’s special and a more intimate way of getting to know someone.”

“So, like a date?” You tilted your head in question. You understood his analogy; braiding allows both people to show their level of craftsmanship and commitment, with the added benefit of practicality and looking very nice in the end when done with love and care.

“A bit” Gandalf smiled at your naiveite, “Just know our dear Kili is not trying to prank you when he asks to braid your hair, quite the opposite” He took another draw from his pipe and looked back at the fire.

“In that case, you may braid my hair Kee” You flipped your hair back over your shoulder. You couldn’t see the beaming smile that grew on his handsome face. You dug through your bag to find the hairbrush and other trinkets from Rivendell which you handed to Kili. He kept them in his lap while he brushed your hair. If he came across a knot, he was sure to be incredibly gentle. You enjoyed the physical contact and attention very much.

“Any requests?” He asked sounding confident in his abilities.

“Whatever you think would look best” You couldn’t help but smile a little.

He used your brush to part your hair down the middle. He started braiding at your nape closest to the part. After that you didn’t pay very much attention to what he was doing, instead just relished the experience.

He finished one side and secured it with a bead from your stash, “How’s that feel, too tight?”, he asked and adjusted pieces here and there to make it lay perfectly.

“It feels great!” You chirped happily. You reached a hand to feel what he’d done so far but he shooed it away.

“Not yet, you’ll ruin the surprise!” He started working on the other side.

By the time he was done, you were so relaxed you’d almost fallen asleep on his leg.

“Done!” he said, you could tell he was very pleased with his work, “How do you like it?” He sounded a bit nervous.

You ran your fingers over the braids, feeling how they turned and curved at certain points and went straight in others.

“Kili this is amazing!” You said, very happy with the state of your hair. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you!” You looked back at him with a smile that was as big as his.

“I’m afraid I can't properly reciprocate though, I don’t know how to braid hair like this, I can only do normal braids.” You regretted never having learned how to French braid now more than ever. “If that’s how this works” You quickly corrected in a slight panic.

He was elated you wanted to return his deed at all, “That’s fine!” He tried not to sound too excited and be cool about it, “I can teach you if you want” he offered.

“I’d appreciate that!” You smiled.

You switched places, so he was sitting between your legs facing the fire. The position was innocent, but his thoughts were anything but. Images of your face beautifully contorted in pleasure from his tongue exploring your most private and intimate parts were most welcomed.

“May I take this out?” you lightly touched the silver clip that held his hair out of his face.

“Sure” He happily shrugged. You dug through his brown hair where the clasp was supposed to be, but your trembling hands couldn’t find it in all his hair.

After he heard you huffing and puffing and hadn’t felt his hair fall from the clip he asked in a soft voice, “Do you need help?”

“Yes,” you sighed, embarrassed you couldn’t even get a damn clip undone. He reached back, and struggled for a few seconds but undid the clasp, and handed it to you.

While you brushed his hair you thought of what you should do to it, or more what you could do with his hair given your limited abilities. You brushed through a few knots if any.

“I think I know what I want to try to do,” You touched the sides of his head just above his temple, “I want to do two small braids on the sides of your head, but I want the topmost part of your hair not to be braided.”

“Let’s try it!” He explained how you needed to part the hair and how to get started. You had his head lying against your thigh in an admittedly awkward and uncomfortable position, but he was quite the trooper. You had to restart the first braid three times but, in the end, he talked you through it and you tied it off with a bead.

“How did you learn to braid so well” you asked, struggling to grip all the pieces of the second braid properly and not pull the strands out of his head.

“My mother was insistent I learned. She knew my brother would have no trouble learning this facet of courting, but she feared I would spend all my time shooting arrows and never learn how to properly court girls.” He talked fondly of the memories, “So one summer when I was about to come of age, I came home from running amuck every day and she’d sit me down at her tapestry’s and make me braid the tassels that ran around the border.”

“Were you any good?” You asked curiously.

“Oh yes, I was very good! For a while, I was even better than Fili!” He was very proud of that.

“Why did he get better than you? Lean forward please,” you politely asked.

“He’s quite the lady’s man, so he had plenty of girls to practice on,” Kili sounded like that brought up memories that weren’t very pleasant. You finished the second braid with a bead like the first.

“Lay your head down for me again” You softly asked, gingerly guiding his head to lay against your other thigh, “Awe, baby Kili didn’t get any coochie did he” You fake pouted to tease him, gently scratching his scalp absentmindedly while you rested your neck for a moment. He liked it, more than he’d care to admit. “I’m in the same boat I’m afraid” You parted the other side of his hair.

“Oh? How so?” He was very surprised by this, “I’d have thought men were practically throwing themselves at you.” This made you laugh and blush.

“I’m awfully flattered you think that highly of me…” You took a moment to focus on a particularly difficult part, “But men from my world didn’t talk to me.”

“I find that completely unbelievable.” He was floored by this.

“I’m serious! I was never asked out on a date and the few times I asked for someone’s number they turned out to be self-centered losers with a ton of issues” You hated how much time you’d wasted on them. He couldn’t wrap his head around that and had to hold his tongue from proclaiming his thoughts of your perfection.

He turned to look at you despite your protests, “Then they are truly blind,” He couldn’t have been more sincere. His eyes blazed in the firelight with a mix of ferocity and sadness on your behalf.

“Thank you, Kee,” You smiled at him. He assumed his previous position so you could end the braid with a bead like the two before and then started on the last one, “And those silly girls are truly blind as well.” You wanted to kiss his slightly flushed cheek.

You were both in your own little world, where the troubles of the outside couldn’t get to you…or the onlookers and peanut gallery for that matter. Gandalf had moved to sit with the company who had been watching from across the fire on the other side of the log since Kili finished your first braid. They couldn’t quite hear your conversation, but they knew their beloved Kili was having the time of his life.

Fili was very proud of his brother. He talked about you all the time, was looking at you all the time; the man was whipped. Fili had to hear about you the entire time he was bathing, poor thing, and he finally got fed up with his brother not making a move.

“Kili, just ask to braid her hair for god’s sake” Fili huffed while he waited for his brother to finish in the river. Kili’s eyes lit up like a forge with the breath from bellows, and his face flushed like he did when he hammered out a new blade.

“I think I will,” Kili nodded, distracted by thoughts of engaging in such an informal and somewhat intimate act.

Thorin was very pleased you were trying to repay his nephew’s advances in equal measure. He’d seen the poor boy flounder with crushes in the past as he tended to be immature, and girls mistook that for uncaring and unable to provide. Something about you brought out the best in his nephew though, he’d never seen him act so mature, for this Thorin was willing to stay some of his distrust and pessimistic opinions about outsiders, at the very least about you.

By the time you finished the last braid, Kili had made himself very comfortable against your leg, with his arm wrapped around your calf, fidgeting with the laces of your boot. He looked so tranquil you hesitated to tell him you’d finished, not ready to leave the sanctuary you were in. You leaned back against your hand while you stared into the fire and gently scratched the nape of his neck.

He hummed half asleep, “Mmm that feels good,” His words were a little slurred, but it made him all the cuter.

You stayed like that till your bottom began to protest the hard rock beneath you. He was right on the cusp of sleep when you shook your leg beneath him, gentle with guilt.

“Kili, I gotta get up,” You softly tried to rouse him. He hummed in protest. “Besides, don’t you want to know how the braids turned out?” You admired your work with pride.

He sat up and stretched to wake his muscles then ran a hand over his new braids, “Wow Y/N! These are so good!” He looked back at you impressed, “You picked up on that fast!”

“Thanks, Kee!” You blushed as you ran a hand over the intricate lines in your hair, “They aren’t half as good as yours, but I think I did great for my first time” You smiled, pleased with yourself.

“Come show us!” someone from the log called, followed by various iterations of the same thing from others. Ever supportive, they were eager to see what you’d both made.

Kili stood and you followed him to the log. You turned so he could show off his creation. The dwarves were very impressed, a few coming up to inspect closer. When Kili turned to show your work, the company was even more impressed given it was your first time.

“Next time you’ll have to make beads for her, Kee” Fili teased making him and Bofur laugh at how Kili blushed.

“Make beads? What does that mean?” You asked the group in confusion.

“You’ll understand when the time comes,” Thorin said in an uncharacteristically happy tone. “For now, we shall rest” With that everyone began prepping their bedding for the night.

You laid your bed roll beside Kili’s like usual, but Bombur reminded you to clean the dishes before they were put away. Gandalf accompanied you so you could see with the light of his staff. Everyone was asleep when you returned to camp, except Thorin who was on watch.

When you sat on your bedroll, which was naturally next to Kili’s, he looked up at you, barely awake with a dopey smile.

“You look so pretty,” he said quietly, drawing out the last syllable of pretty. Red bloomed over your cheeks and down your neck. He loved your hair like that, he loved it even more that he was the one who did it.

“Go to sleep, Kee,” You whispered so you didn’t wake the others, but couldn’t help but smile as you lay on your bedroll next to him.

“But then I can’t look at you” He pouted, quite distraught about this revelation in his sleepy daze.

“Well, no, I suppose you can’t…” You nibbled your bottom lip as you thought of a solution, “Would holding hands appease you, sleepy prince?” you asked and held out the hand that wasn’t cuddling your coat to your chest. He was too out of it to catch your nickname for him. He nodded and held your hand in his, making both your hearts beat just a little faster.

You closed your eyes and rubbed your face against your coat to find a comfortable position. You could feel his eyes on you.

You opened your eyes to see him staring directly at you, “Good night, Kili” you said in a strong nonnegotiable tone.

He hummed and smiled and closed his eyes, “Good night, Y/N.”

~~~

Kili felt your hand grow tighter around his, drawing him from sleep. Then he felt you pulling against it like you were trying to alert him to danger in the camp without making a sound. He opened his eyes ready for war and saw no danger. He looked at you confused but realized you weren’t awake. You were whimpering and mumbling as your head thrashed from side to side.

‘She’s having a nightmare’ he quickly thought. He squeezed your hand and gently shook it.

“Y/N” He tried not to let his worry raise the volume of his voice, “Wake up.”

You didn’t respond, your mumbles turned into clear pleas for help, making him fret even more.

“Y/N!” He shook your shoulder vehemently, “You need to wake up” He had an urgency in his voice. You feebly fought against his hold on your shoulder.

“Please!” you gasped, still breaking from the nightmare when you opened your eyes, “No, please let go!” You begged and continued to push against his hand with tears in your eyes, not knowing who he was while sleep still clouded your vision and mind.

“Y/N, Y/N look at me” he moved his hand from your shoulder to the side of your neck and cheek to call your attention to him, “It was just a dream, you’re safe now.” When you met his eyes, he recognized just how rattled you were.

You were breathing rapidly, and tears were making your eyelashes sparkle in the firelight. He could feel your rapid heartbeat where his hand laid over your pulse point. He could tell you were beginning to wake up because you softly uttered his name and the hand that was fighting his on your neck gently wrapped around his wrist.

“You’re safe, I promise,” His eyebrows were pinched together in worry. You nodded and took a deep breath to try to keep the tears away. It’d been a very long time since you’d had a nightmare that bad.

Kili pulled your bedroll closer to his, “Come here,” He gave you a hug to comfort you, “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked when you pulled back from the hug too look at him. You laid your head on his upper arm and kept your cuddle coat close to your chest.

“I-I was in a forest at night and there were goblins and orcs and Wargs coming to attack me and-” You were talking quickly, the bad dream still too real, “and I was all alone and I couldn’t defend myself…” You trailed off, the waver in your voice making it hard to talk. “I was so scared, Kili,” You tried to curl into yourself.

“Hey hey hey, look at me” He held the side of your face again, “You’re safe,” he said. You took a deep breath and nodded. “I’d never let anything happen to you, aye?” He promoted you to get you out of your head. You took another deep breath and nodded.

“I’m ok” you repeated “I’m ok.”

“Yes, there ya go!” He nodded, relieved you were coming around. His thumb swept over your cheek to wipe a tear. You took a few minutes to calm down. Kili was falling asleep, but he needed to know you were going to be ok.

“Thank you, Kee,” you said, your whispered voice no longer shaking with fear, he gave a hearty nod in reply before he yawned. His arm was going numb where your head was lying on it, but it was worth it when you rubbed your face against it to get comfortable as you did in that way, which he found utterly adorable. You appreciated the physical comfort you would have never had in your world.

“I’ll teach you how to fight tomorrow” he whispered over a yawn, his eyelids getting heavy again. He moved his hand from your neck to hang over your waist. He wanted to pull you into him, so you’d feel protected on all sides, not for any other selfish deeply personal reasons of course, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“I’d like that very much,” you smiled and watched as he fell back asleep, not snoring but breathing heavily in that way which you found so adorable. You felt safe with his hand on your waist and fell asleep not long after him with thoughts of training together dancing behind your eyes.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Taglist: @letmelickyoureyeballs

23 notes · View notes