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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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The Death Of Me (Daemon x Reader)

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(Y/n) Baratheon was a young maiden when she stepped foot at the red keep for the first time, the second born child of Boremund Baratheon, her brother was to inherit the throne after their father, she had only one reason and that was to wed, so naturally her father instructed her to visit the red keep for an eligible suitor.

She was present when prince Daemon became an official member of the kingsguard, under the eye of the seven he swore to never take a wife and devote his life to the kings guard, a symbol of his loyalty towards his dear brother and king Viserys.

“Such a shame, many women would love to ride the dragon”

Another woman whispered that stood pretty close to (y/n), she smirked at the promiscuous comment and internally agreed with the woman. Prince Daemon was a rather handsome man, his silver locks framed his masculine features perfectly.

Alas, the prince had made his decision and (y/n) was betrothed to king Viserys, her father had congratulated her by a sparing a kiss on her head and a forced smile, (y/n) was a simple obligation and a way to gain power for her father, affection was never shown to her.

The cycle continued even after she wed, she prayed that her husband would be kind and endearing to her, it quickly dawned on her that the king had married from obligation, on their wedding night he had called her by his late wife’s name “Aemma” he had whispered during the rather cold act of babe making.

(Y/n) had cried herself to sleep while the king snored, the next day she had requested to sleep in a separate chamber, a choice that found her lord husband to be relieved by it, not having to pretend to be a couple before bed, he was not cruel he was just… absent at everything.

“Your grace?”

Daemon questioned as he found the girl in the library, he had heard of someone whimpering in the room and was intrigued to find out who could it be. He was met with the wife of his brother crying with her face in her hands as her body shook from the sobs, her hair fell messily on her face and her cheeks were puffy from crying.

(Y/n) wiped her nose and tears quickly but not quick enough for Daemon to not notice them, he puffed out a breath and closed the door behind him before anyone saw her in this state.

“Has something happened?”

“No, no I am alright prince Daemon, you may go”

“You are clearly upset your grace, you can trust me I won’t tell a soul”

“I… I am just… lonely”

It was true. Every girl would kill to be called the queen of the seven kingdoms still the prince to pay for that tittle was a never ending loneliness, she had gone from a father that dismissed her and belittled her to a husband that acted like she had the black plague.

(Y/n) fiddled with her rings as she focused in stopping any other tears from falling. Daemons heart clenched at the sight of her, such a shame to see a woman cry due to the misery her wedlock had brought her, slowly he approached her and bend down in front of the queen, with his thumb he touched her chin and lifted her head to face him.

“It should be considered a sin for a man to make such a beautiful eyes cry”

“Why am I not good enough?”

She mumbled. Daemons lips stiffened at the question as (y/n) burst into tears again, Daemon loved his brother but to see a woman in such a terrible state of mind to the point that she questions herself was horrible and dishonourable, “why did he even marry her?” He thought as he took her in his arms to hug her.

“Hush now it’s not your fault”

He whispered to her to soothe her pain. (Y/n) looked up at him, he was so alluring with his armour and the light of the moon did wonders for him, he looked like an Angel the Gods send to her.

“Thank you”

She mumbled as her eyes focused on the princes lips, they looked so soft and… plump. Daemon started to notice the girls head leaning closer to him, his mind screamed to move away and leave but something in him compelled him to remain seated, to wait for her and see what she will do.

Her lips brushed against his hesitantly, anticipating to be denied and for the soldier to ran off probably never speaking to her again. To her shock he stayed, as (y/n) moved her lips to deepen the kiss further and out of instinct she sat on his lap with her legs straddling him.

Daemon had seem to forgotten where he was or what he was doing, he simply took in her faint smell of vanilla and wrapped his arms around her waist to bring her close, her lips felt heavenly as her body was hot against his finger tips. It only took the book that (y/n) had nearby to fall on the ground making a tug noice for Daemon to come out of her spell, pushing her back by holding her by her biceps.

“No”

“Why? Just a taste”

Her voice was low as she leaned into his neck and placed a few kisses, she had lost control of her morals nor did she care of the consequences, she wanted to feel good, to feel like someone wanted her.

Daemon leaned back and a groan left his lips, toying with the idea still in his mind a memory of his brother appeared, he pushed (y/n) away and went to the door, to his mistake he looked back at her as she stared at him and bit her lower lip, her nightgown was sheer he could see her nipples piercing through the material as she let out a girly giggle, she had the image of a succubus that had just found it’s next victim

“We shall never speak about this again”

“Whatever you say”

Daemon had done everything in his power to stay away from the queen, he had hated himself for going behind his brothers back and having an affair with his wife, he had broken his oath to the kings guard, he had brought shame to the bond with his brother, yet it only took a sweet touch and a pleading look as she stood at his doorstep almost naked for him to give in and spend another night with her.

Oh how sweet she was when she made love to him, she rode the dragon until the wheels fell off and the sun started rise, Daemon would sometimes wonder why did her brother dismiss her, (y/n) was hot as the dragons breath and burned everything.

(Y/n) found sanctuary in his arms, as she laid on his chest both of them naked and spoke about everything and anything, she finally found someone that listened to her, that took care of her, he had even taken it upon himself to become her sworn knight, spending his morrows protecting her and his nights nibbling in her intoxicating nectar, devouring her until she became a mess on his bed sheets and until he collapsed on top of her with the feeling that if he did not catch his breath he would die.

“We can keep doing this any more”

“What?”

“This is the last time you visit me (y/n)”

“I don’t understand, what did I do?”

She rose up from his chest to sit up on the bed and meet his eyes, they had just finished making love for the third time this night and now he was… announcing the end of their affair.

“(Y/n) we cannot keep up with this lie any longer, if we get discovered we will both be dead”

“Is that what this is to you? A lie?”

“You know I did not mean it this way”

“Fine, as you wish soldier”

“(Y/n) do not get angry”

(Y/n) ignored his request as she jumped off her bed to put her clothes on, she ran to retrieve her nightgowns with Daemon leaving the bed as well to stop her from getting even more irritated.

“(Y/n)-“

“No I understand, it is just a misfortune I wanted to let you know i am with child, your child but do not fret, it is not your problem any longer”

He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before he opened his door and called for her with a sheet covering his private part, she did not turn back she just left.

(Y/n) was playing chess when everyone was playing checkers, she was certain that on the morrow Daemon would find some time they were alone and question her about her pregnancy, she of course stood correct when he found her in her bed due to morning sickness, (y/n) was not feeling well and she had some nausea however she did lean more on the dramatic side.

How could Daemon stand against the woman that haunted his dreams when she had his child in her guts? He supported her and became her shadow as the months went by and her belly grew bigger, he had become even more protective of her as she walked around the castle, always having his hand on his sword just in case anyone came near her.

When she gave birth to his son it was the happiest day of his life, during the hour of the eel he had snuck in her room and was able to hold the babe for the first time, such a small human being brought the biggest amount of bliss and made his heart grow bigger as the baby cooed in his arms.

(Y/n) smiled at how Daemon was so careful with their little one, holding her like the babe would break under any amount of pressure, how easier things would have been if she had wed the prince and not the king.

“What’s his name?”

“Maegor”

“Such a scandalous choice”

“He is a scandalous son, the son of a love affair”

(Y/n) had given birth to 5 children, Maegor, Healena, Aemond, Gael and Baelon, all of the fruits of her forbidden affair with the prince, all of them loved dearly by their true father who had filled the void of his brother in the children’s hearts, Daemon was a better father than Viserys ever was, Daemon taught them everything from how to yield a sword to riding dragons.

However (y/n) always worried for her children, Maegor was the first son for king Viserys which meant he held a question to the other lords of who was meant to be the heir of the throne, Maegor held the name of a vicious conqueror and some would even say a cruel usurper, Maegor was a noble child but all this talk of his destiny as he stepped into his teenage years started to thrill him, he had grown obsessed with the story of Maegor the cruel and (y/n) feared of his future, he did not have room for such hostility if he were to rule.

It dawned quickly to (y/n) that with her lord husband growing weaker by the hour, the lords questioning Rhaenyras claim to the throne and making it even worst by giving birth to plain looking bastards that set her up for accusations, to add insult to injury Rhaenyra whispered things to her fathers ear about the legitimacy of (y/n)s children, it infuriated her at the audacity of her to expose her when she paraded her husbands and demanded respect for them while pointing the finger at (y/n), she must act if she wanted her children to be safe.

(Y/n) had wed her oldest Maegor with her daughter Heleana and then Aemond was betrothed to Baela Velaryon to keep the Sea snake on her side, Gael had been discussing into wedding the son of the Tully Lord which would give her an advantage if she also had the riverruns on her side.

“The king is dead, we grieve for Viserys the peaceful, our sovereign, our friend, my dear lord husband. But he has left us a gift, with his last breath he whispered to me that he wishes for our son Maegor to be his successor”

“Then we may proceed now with the full assurance of his blessing on our long-laid plans”

“Precisely lord Lannister, my son Maegor will be crowned king tomorrow at dawn with the Maegors crown, he will yield the sword blackfyre that belonged to Aegon the conqueror let the people remember the ancient strength of the house targaryen-“

She was interrupted by the door opening, Daemon had stormed out of the room furious. (Y/n) was scheming against Rhaenyra to usurp the throne, he loved the woman dearly but this had gone too far even for him.

(Y/n) proceeded with her plans and had given clear directions as what everyone must do and what were the plans that they should follow, after the brief meeting (y/n) went to her room, knowing that a furious Daemon awaited her.

Daemon stopped his pace when (y/n) appeared, she seemed to be unbothered by the scenery and casually went up to him to wrap her arms around his waist and reach up to place a kiss on his lips.

“What do you think your doing?”

“What seems to be the problem my love?”

“Problem? You are usurping the throne from Rhaenyra”

“Daemon you know this goes further than ambition, I am protecting our children”

Daemon scoffed at her claim. Their children were perfectly safe, Daemon had spend his entire life making sure of that, all of them had grown to be decent lords and maidens, they were sleeping safely in their chambers as their mother planned to pluck their first born on the throne.

“you think Rhaenyra will accept this without a fight?, her supporters will rally and bring war to our doorstep”

“Do you think of your lover as cruel? I have instructed to send terms for Rhaenyra, true terms that she can accept without shame, a generous act that she would not have reciprocated if she were in my position”

(Y/n) had worked hard for this moment, she had sacrificed her life to secure her children, she had suffered through a loveless marriage and got stuck with taking care of her infected husband until his last breath, she had listened to ladies at court whispering idiotic insults in her name because of her inability to speak up for herself, everyone had placed a target in her back and laughed at her inability to succeed their expectations. She would not bend the knee now, she did not suffer for it to not harbour any fruits.

“We have relied on one another for years my love, you have witnessed how I was thrown into the wolves defenceless, I have never begrudged Rhaenyra for her choices hell I sympathise with her every woman should feel the love of a man that… cares for her the way you have but everyone knows she has not returned the favour and you are the reason, because she wished to be the one you visit at night”

(Y/n) explained while taking steps towards daemon and had sneakily forced him to walk backwards to her bed, (y/n) sat him down before she straddled him and took his knife to rip open her corset, leaving her chest exposed with just a sheer white cloth of her undergarment.

Daemon sharply inhaled at her bold act, (y/n) had grown over the years and to his eyes she was even more thrilling, the experience she had gained suited her, she was not frail little dove anymore, more like a hawk ready to snag its prey.

“If she takes the throne I am doomed, she hates me Daemon. I have done everything and I was still not good enough, I’ve made peace with it but our children deserve better, I won’t let her have this, I sacrificed everything for this moment”

Her talk was macabre, her motions were erotic. (Y/n) had started to leave a trail of kisses on the princes neck, after years of spending their nights in pleasure she remembered exactly what his weak spots were. Daemon could not focus any longer, he moaned under the influence of her touch and lips as she nibbled at his earlobe and her hand found it’s way to his pants, Daemon defenceless against his lover groaned at the touch, throwing his head back at the pleasure her strokes so generously brought.

“(Y/n) she is my brothers daughter”

“do you love me Daemon?”

Her does eyes worked like a charm as she fluttered her eyelashes and stuck her bottom lip out just enough, Daemon was a fool for even thinking he could change her mind, he was always weak when it came to her getting what she wants. With her free hand she took his and placed it on her cheek and held it there, Daemons heart started to flutter, the influence she had over him was unmatched.

“Of course I love you”

“Then protect me, if she can have her bastards on the throne why can’t my child be king? our Maegor, our first… love child”

She guided his hand down to her breast to cup it and so he did, Daemon was flabbergasted and did not know where or how to focus so he resided on instinct and kissed her passionately, with a swift turn her back was on the mattress, she giggled as daemon used the dagger to tear up the rest of the clothing, leaving her like she was born… nude. (Y/n) stretched her hands to touch his face and bring him closer to her, her plan had worked and the dragon once again bows to the Stag.

“My dragon, will you protect our family? Will you take care of me?”

“You will be the death of me”

Requests are open!

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allkordelia · 8 months

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The Final Chapter

"What in the seven hells are you talking about you didn't tell him." Daemon hiss at his brother, rhaelle stood next to her husband with her hand on his middle back.

They were in the throne room with viserys sitting on the iron throne and otto at the bottom with his usual conniving look, the wedding was three days away and viserys was now telling them that he didn't talk to aemond about the consummation.

"Dear brother, aemond is at that age–" Viserys says a bit weak.

"I don't want to hear it. She is thirteen and he is fifteen, they should be waiting until they are older more so her than him."

"I do not see the problem, rhaelle was much younger than princess jaenara when we were married and had our children. Yet, here she is thriving with you." Otto said.

Daemon flicker his eyes over at otto before looking back at his brother, he refrain from interacting with the hand for the sake of his wife.

"My king, you understand that even at my age back then it was a miracle that I survive childbirth, I fear jaenara isn't as vigorous as me or her mother. She is a delicate child." Rhaelle says distress making viserys furrow his brows a bit.

"As sadden I am to hear that, rhaelle. I can not control what aemond do on his wedding night with jaenara," he said with no hint of remorse, "It is how it always been, jaenara is no different than the many young ladies who had to go through it at her age." Rhaelle scoff in disbelief at viserys's words.

"You are his father. How can you be so heartless to allow this to happen to your own granddaughter." Daemon seethe making viserys weakly turn his head to his brother.

"The king you know is very sick and does not have the energy to speak to his son about insignificant –" rhaelle look at otto with a angry look.

"Insignificant? This is life or death," rhaelle look at viserys again, "If jaenara gets pregnant she could die, viserys."

The king sigh moving his hand to his face, he use his fingers to massage his temple.

"That is the gamble...she must pay for being born a woman, I do not have the power to stop the stranger for taking her."

Rhaelle look disgusted at viserys, she couldn't believe that he did not care that his own flesh and blood could die, she look away from to daemon as he step forward.

"Are you that weak that you can only have enough in your heart for four people," viserys stare down at his brother with a frown, "What kind of man...can't even talk to his own son for the sake of his granddaughter." Daemon glares at his brother as the king sat silently on his throne.

"How is your own son doing, prince daemon." Both rhaelle and daemon turn their heads at the mention of their child,"I heard from a little wyrm that he was off somewhere with a lover."

Rhaelle look at daemon as he gives otto a death stare, aemon was a sensitive topic for them nowadays, a long time ago when aemon thirteenth nameday came around. The family traveled to King's Landing to have a week long celebration for aemon, one night during their fifth day staying there, aemon sneaked out with aegon and went to brothel.

Where aemon lose his virginity to mysaria and some older whore, it took them until Maekar nameday for aemon to tell them and around that time. The older whore came to court claiming she was carrying their son's child, so rhaelle made daemon go to fleabottom and deal with them. Aemon didn't know about alleged pregnancy. When he heard of the old harlots death he presume the whore died of an accident.

But, a two springs later aemon announce to his parents that he was in love, and ask about the girl he told them it was a commoner he meet when he sneaked out of the castle to go to the village. Rhaelle and Daemon were happy for their son that he found a girl that could make him so happy, so they told him to invite her to a private dinner that consist of his parents and himself.

When the day came to their horror what they thought was a girl close to their sin age was actually a woman, a grown woman who looked to be around daemon's age. Aemon also left out that she was a whore or what he kept telling them:

"She isn't a whore she just works in a brothel."

A long story short, a messy argument broke out between them which lead to aemon running away with his "belove", and they haven't seen him since that day. A lot of things were said that night and daemon blames himself mostly for it.

"This isn't about aemon, this is about jaenara and aemond." Daemon grits out, otto tilt his head to the side with a small smirk as daemon turn to look at his brother, "If you won't talk to him than I will, brother." Viserys move to open his mouth only for otto to talk over him.

"Why do you care so much for the princess, she is not your daughter nor your concern. If this was a worrisome issue then princess rhaenyra would have come to her father on her own."

"Jaenara is more than family, she is our stepdaughter and we care for her. In our family, we protect each other. But, you wouldn't know anything about that since our children and your son despise you." Rhaelle condemned making daemon smirk at her before casting his eyes over to otto to see the disdain look on his face.

"Maybe, so but atleast i knew to keep them in line. Unlike you, who is one child short." He spat looking her up and down with a sneer, rhaelle grab daemon's arm to keep him from stalking over to otto.

"Daemon–"

"Speak of my son again, and I will come over there and blind you with those spikes." He jab his finger at otto angry making viserys slam his cane on the ground.

"Enough...both of you...this.." viserys coughing caught the others attention, otto motion to one of the knight to receive the maester as he climbs the steps to help the king up with another knight.

"The king needs to rest," otto states as he climb down the stairs before letting another knight take the king, "This conversation is over. The king should be focusing on feeling better," Daemon's face twist into a lour as otto talk.

"Fine. Maybe, I'll have a better chance talking to your grandson than his incompetent father." Daemon turns his head looking at viserys being held up by a knight while the other stands near by.

"Just give it up, my prince." Daemon turn his head to look back at otto, "My grandson and your...stepdaughter will consummate their marriage, and soon they will have a child of their own. But, atleast you will be able to meet this grandchild." Daemon and Rhaelle look at bemused at otto.

"What–"

"I forgot how can you know of aemon and lady miranna's soon to be child," he said nonchalantly making rhaelle's face drop as her husband lost all emotion in his features, "From what I heard she could be six or seven moon–" rhaelle gasp as daemon punch otto in the mouth.

"I'm going to fucking kill you." Daemon seethe as he grab otto by the collar.

"...daemon...let him go." Viserys says snapping his cane against the cane trying to go over to his brother but the knight kept him at bay.

Rhaelle grab daemon's arm pulling at him as she tells him to let otto go, but daemon wouldn't listen pushing her away so she didn't get hurt while he kill her ex husband. Daemon shook otto and spat words of hatred to the other man's face as he back him towards swords.

"Daemon, goddammit let him go." Rhaelle shouted.

Daemon stop and look at his wife for a second before looking back at otto, it took him a moment before pushing him away making the hand stumble back. Otto spit blood on the floor before wiping his wipe with the back of his hand, rhaelle grab daemon's arm pulling him to her she grab his face to get him to look at her.

"Daemon, look at me. He's not worth it. He's nothing." Rhaelle says as her husband stare down otto who look at him with a croak smile.

"You have gotten soft, rogue prince. I expected as much since you allow your wife to do the man's work for some time now, rhaelle always did...like taking control." Otto look at rhaelle with glint.

"Shut up, otto." Rhaelle hiss as she keep daemon from actually killing the other, "Daemon, let's go, come on." Daemon allow his wife to pull him away.

Daemon and rhaelle made it into the hall before stalking over to he staircase.

"Useless. Both of them. You should have let me kill him, why did you stop me." Daemon said heated up.

"The last thing I need is my husband being thrown into the dungeons," she chided.

"How did he know her name," daemon ask looking at rhaelle, his wife shook his head.

"I don't know, but we can't dwell on it now," she said as they got to the second floor, "Now, we must deal with jaenara and aemond." Daemon grunts.

"We can call off the wedding." Daemons suggested.

"That won't work. Aemond will not let jaenara go not without a good enough reason, the boy is infatuated with her you seen how he is when his around her." Daemon growl annoyed, "If we just take jaenara and call off the wedding, a war could start and aemond will come for jaenara." Daemon thought for a second knowing what he was said spoke some truth, he stop rhaelle in the corridor as he face her.

"We can make it look like a accident, like we did with that whore in fleabottom." Daemon says making rhaelle shake her head.

"No killing. As much as the little freak make my skin crawl, he is still our family." Daemon roll his eyes.

"What else can we do." He says disgruntle.

Rhaelle glance around the area in thought.

"You said you still had a few kingsguards who were still loyal to you, right." Daemon furrow his brows and nod.

"Yes, why?" He ask.

"The greens has taken over the red keep, no longer do they serve the dragon but the flame. We did not realize it then but we are basically handing her over like a platter to these sharks." Daemon frown a little at the thought, "We will need the man to be her sworn shield, which mean you will have to talk to viserys–"

"His useless–"

"That he is but you need to put that all aside and convince him to put your man as jaenara's sworn shield for her sake." She says making huff through his nose as he look away trying to calm himself down before nodding and look back at her, rhaelle give her husband a grateful look before kissing his cheek, "Thank you, husband. Would you be okay if I leave for a bit, I'll back around the hour of the wolf." Daemon furrow his brows before nodding.

"Of course, but where are you going." He ask.

"Magonsæte. I, too, will get someone who can help." Daemon hmm in response knowing who his wife was thinking about.

"Be safe." He kiss her forehead before bidding each a farewell, they depart going their separate ways.

—

It was finally the day of the jaenara and aemond's wedding, all the great houses were their to see the union between the princess and the prince.

The wedding was held in the great sept to rhaelle and the other women dismay, rhaelle wanted her neice to have nice valyrian wedding like she did with daemon. But, alicent wouldn't have it and rhaenyra didn't even try to fight for it, but it was nice to see daemon walk with jaenara and give her away to aemond. That's was probably the only thing sweet that came out of it.

Once the wedding was finish, they move to the great hall to celebrate and eat. Rhaelle and Daemon were the first ones to give out a toast to jaenara and aemond, painfully having to say good things about aemond and their marriage.

"....and we want you to know jaenara that you are love and no matter what." Rhaelle had her cup raise along with daemon and the other,"Dragonstone will always be your home and safe haven." Rhaelle smile making jaenara smile back at her aunt.

"Naejot lentor." Daemon toast with his cup raised.

"To family." Rhaelle smile making the crowd cheered before they drain their cups.

After the toast, some members of the family got up to fraternize on the floor, rhaelle was one of three who stayed seated to watch her family have fun. Her glance around seeing her children and husband, daemon was dancing with galea while gaemon dance with his grandmother, baelon and rhaena were dancing as well with baela and jacerys close by, maekar was talking to his cousins along with alyssa and alys.

Everyone was having was a swell time even rhaenyra and alicent were talking to one another with valaena next to them with her two sister in laws, corywn and aeron along with baelor were drinking and laughing with their nephews and sons.

"Rhaelle." Rhaelle move her eyes from her family to the man standing next to her, "May I sit." He ask making her look at him for a moment before looking away and shrug her shoulder, corlys pull out the chair and sat next to her, it was quiet between them for a second before corlys spoke.

"You look well." corlys says looking at her, rhaelle hum in response, "Your speech was beautiful." Rhaelle side eye corlys before looking away.

"...thanks.." she said montone making Corlys frown a bit before sighing and looking over to the floor where his grandchildren and great grandchildren were.

"They all look so happy," Corlys comments making turn her head slightly toward corlys, "You did good raising them, you and daemon." Rhaelle look at corlys with a suspicious look.

"Why are you saying these nice things to me." She ask making corlys look at her taken aback before he shrug his shoulders.

"Is it against the law to compliment my daughter–"

"I'm your daughter, now." She ask with a brow raise making corlys sigh.

"You have always been my daughter." Rhaelle let out a scoff with an eyeroll, "...and I'm sorry that I stop treating you like one all years ago." Rhaelle blanch at corlys's words never in lifetime or the nexg expecting him to say that to her, she clear her throat and turn away when she saw the look corlys was giving her.

"Why are you telling me this." She mumble.

Corlys move to touch his daughter hand but the monetary she felt his palm, she snatch her hand off the table so she can fidget with her nails in her lap. Corlys bow his head at the action before speaking.

"I will soon be leaving to the stepstones, and i want you to come with me to take it back from the triarchy." Rhaelle shook her head with a sneer on her lip.

"I see. You need my dragon to reclaim the islands," she snicker moving her hamd to massage her eyes, "You actually had me thinking you care–"

"I do not want your dragon, dear child. I want you to come with me and fight, side by side and reclaim the islands properly and give it to your children." Rhaelle look at corlys, "I have made many mistakes in my life, and I can never say sorry to the ones that were taken for us too soon." Rhaelle cast her eyes aside, "But, I still have you and I owe you so much."

"No, you don't." She said looking at him.

"But, I do. You could have taken my grandchildren away from me, you could have told them of what I did to you. But, you didn't. You even saved my marriage with your mother when laena left home, you didn't have to do that but you did." Corlys clench his jaw as he close his eyes before opening them, "I have demean you, ridiculed you, disown you, and you still allow me to have a speck of happiness." Rhaelle bite the inside of her bottom lip as her chin gently starts to wobble, "I'm so sorry that I put you through all of it, I wish in every part of my being that I could take those early years and replace them with better ones." Rhaelle turn her eyes up so her tears wouldn't fall.

"I need some air." Rhaelle voice crack as she push chair back, before she rush away her father grab her forearm.

"Know that I do not deserve anything from you, not your forgiveness or your love, but I need you to know." Rhaelle couldn't look at corlys as he says the three words that she dream to hear from him, "I loving you and you will always be my sweet girl." Rhaelle could only shake her head before pulling her arm from corlys's grip, corlys watch rhaelle as she rush off through the crowd.

Rhaelle left the great hall in a haste before going down the hall to find a space to be alone, she found double doors that lead out to the balcony that overlook the city. Rhaelle lean forward using her elbows to rest on the balustrade and cover her face with her hands, she sniff before dragging her hands down her face before moving them to clench her hair.

"Rhae." Rhaelle flinch at the sudden voice of her husband, she wipe her face and turn to daemon's concern face.

"Damnit, daemon, you scared me." Rhaelle says as she wrap her arms around herself, daemon comes closer to stand in front.

"Who made you cry." He ask moving his hands to grasp her jaw tilting her head up for him to see her, "Give me a name and I'll make sure no finds his body." Rhaelle gave a small smile.

"No one made me cry, i'm just..." rhaelle halt before shaking her head, "it doesn't matter, let's just go back to the celebration." She grabs his hand and move to walk pulling him along but he stop her pulling her back.

"Rhaelle." Daemon says looking at her with a look that made her look down.

"Corlys–"

"I'll kill him." It was rhaelle turn to grab daemon's arm and pull him back.

"He wasn't being malice, he..." rhaelle pause making daemon look at her, "...he said he loved me and that he was sorry." Daemon look at his wife surpise.

"So, they were happy tears?" He ask making shake her head.

"No, I mean...I was overwhelm by his words, after all these years. He apologized to me." Daemon furrow his brows as move rhaelle to lean against him.

"Isn't that what you always wanted." Rhaelle look at daemon and shrug.

"Yes, but...when I imagine my father apologizing to me, I always thought that I get some closure from it." Daemon tilt his head slightly to the side.

"But."

"I don't feel it. I don't feel relief or resentment, I just feel like I always felt. Fine. Its not a good feeling or a bad feeling, I guess...I grew too use to it that it just don't effect me like I wanted it to." Rhaelle frown sadly, "And now, he wants me to go with him to the stepstones with him." She sighs, daemon was quiet for a moment before he spoke up.

"You should do it." He said making rhaelle at him.

"I can't–"

"Why not." He ask making rhaelle look at him slightly taken back.

"Because I am mother. I have responsibilities–"

"But, doing this could be good for you, maybe bonding with your father is what you need to get that feeling that you always wanted." Rhaelle was left speechless, she knew daemon was right and the chance to reconnect with her father could be good for her but.

"I can't go, daemon." She said knowing she will have no choice but tell him, rhaelle sighs grabbing her husband's hands and look up at him, "...I'm pregnant." She whisper.

Daemon's eyes shine as he move his hand to rhaelle's stomach, "That is joyous news, my love. How far? How long have you know." He ask looking down at her stomach knowing was covered by the corset.

"Two maybe three moons." Rhaelle says, "I didn't found out until fourteen days ago."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner." Rhaelle gave daemon a look.

"It was never the right time, with alyssa wanting to live in magonsæte to be closer to Aegor and jaenara's marriage along with founding out our baby boy is going to be a father soon. It was too much to bare." Rhaelle said moving to the balustrade to lean against it as she look at the sleeping city, daemon move to stand behind her resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist, "All of our children are growing up, soon maekar would want to leave then alys, and I know baelon is going to find his way onto a ship to the stepstones." Rhaelle sigh exasperated.

"All we will have left is rhaena, the twins and daena. And I know once the baby comes, daena will feel left out and the worst part is we may miss the birth of our grandchild." Rhaelle said heartbroken.

"Love of my life, it's a bittersweet moment when our children start growing up, but we did our part, it is time they do there's. You know whatever happens they will always come back to us," Daemon says," and you should know you have nothing to worry about with baelon, alys, and daena. Baelon will never leave rhaena, alys can never stay away from you for too long, and daena has joffrey to occupy her. You still have time with your babies and as for aemon, i vow to found him and bring and his...belove home in time for the birth of our grandchild." Rhaella lean away from daemon and turning his arms, she wrap her arms around his shoulder give a half smile.

"Thank you, daemon. In our fifteen years of marriage, I always that I would be giving you this speech," daemon grins down at her, "Who would have thought the rogue prince and the serpent queen would be here now together no less, back then no one could have predicted this union." She lays her head on daemon's chest hearing his rhythmic heartbeat, daemon move his arms from her waist making rhaelle's arm drop to his waist so his arm can be around her shoulder.

"Can I tell you a secret." Rhaelle look at her husband intrigued, daemon lick his lips and chuckle, "When I saw you in the tent back in dwarfstone, I had a dream that night..." he smile thinking back on it as if he had it just yesterday, "You were there...on a beach standing in the water with two young boys and a little girl, you all were laughing. Your stomach was round no more than 6 moons and in my lap was a little babe," Daemon swallow hard feeling emotional as he look down, "I didn't see a dragon in my dreams, but yet it all felt so real and so true," Daemon look back at his wife who eyes were drowning in tears, "And ever since then I couldn't take you out of my head, you consume my thoughts night and day, and I knew if I died out there. Your face was going to be the last thing I saw." Rhaelle let a teary smile slip into her features, daemon close his eyes as he lean his forehead against his wife before whispering, "The gods has been good to me for so many years, they gave me you and you gave me our beautiful children, I thank them everyday for the life I never imagine I could have with anyone else." Rhaelle bump her nose against daemon's nose as her hands squeezing his arms.

"Oh, you silly fool." She whisper lovingly making daemon open his eyes looking at her, " the gods had nothing to do with it, I was going to love you any way." She confess.

Daemon smile wide and lean to press a sweet kiss to rhaelle's lips.

"I love you, rhae."

"I love you more, daemon."

"Impossible, love."

@beggarsnotchoosey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @avidreader73 @green-lxght @spderm4nnnn @supermassiveblackhope @watercolorskyy @stargaryenx

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rabbits-of-negative-euphoria · 6 days

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could you elaborate your thoughts more on "but should we believe Wynne-Jones' Calcifer or the youkai/ayakashi of animanga are meant to be that kind of demon?" and "It's the same cultural disconnect that led so many Christian parents in the 90s to condemn Pokemon as satanic". Specially about Calcifer? Please?

I wish that when translating asian media, particularly anime, they would keep their non-translated nomenclature, it always translates to "demon" or whatever alternative we have.

Well part of the issue is that our word "demon" comes from the Greek word δαίμων or daimōn, which is the word used in the New Testament, but it is not a word invented by the New Testament writers. Here is an excerpt from the Oxford Reference about it:

Etymologically daimōn means ‘divider’ or ‘allotter’; from Homer onwards it is used mainly in the sense of performer of more or less unexpected, and intrusive, events in human life. In early authors, gods, even Olympians, could be referred to as daimŏnĕs. Rather than referring to personal anthropomorphic aspects, however, daimōn appears to correspond to supernatural power in its unpredictable, anonymous, and often frightful manifestations. So, the adjective daimonios means ‘strange’, ‘incomprehensible’, ‘uncanny’. Hence daim��n soon acquired connotations of Fate. Hesiod introduced a new meaning: the deceased of the golden age were to him ‘wealth‐giving daimones’ functioning as guardians or protectors. This resulted in the meaning ‘personal protecting spirits’, who accompany each human's life and bring either luck or harm. A lucky, fortunate person was eudaimōn (‘with a good daimon’: already in Hesiod), an unlucky one was kakodaimōn (‘with a bad daimon’: from the 5th cent. bc). Centuries later, Christian theologians, concentrating on their negative aspects, saw in daimones the true nature of the pagan gods: they were the embodiment and source of evil and sin.

With this in mind, it makes sense that for translators, the most sophisticated translation for any kind of supernatural weird little creature would be "demon" or "daemon." Especially in a modernist, materialist society that views Judeo-Christian demons as merely one mythology out of many.

Calcifer is a very interesting case, because while he is called a demon in the Japanese Studio Ghibli adaptation, he is also called a demon in the original book by Welsh author Diana Wynne Jones. What many people don't realize is that Mrs. Jones was highly educated, having studied at Oxford under the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Her husband was also a scholar of Chaucer. Unfortunately, I think because she was writing children's fantasy in the 70s and 80s, people don't think her work warrants much deeper analysis.

As with all her stories, I think she brought a special kind of cleverness to the table when writing Calcifer that is first exemplified by his name.

"Calcifer" is a common noun, referring to sea creatures like anemones which construct their own shells from Calcium Carbonate, much like how Calcifer constructs the moving castle.

"Calcifer" resembles the Latin model of "Lucifer" which means "bringing light" or "light bringer," but rather than "light" she's substituted the Latin root for "limestone" (calcis), which is also made of Calcium Carbonate.

You know what's neat about Calcium Carbonate? It doesn't burn.

Following this thread through to Calcifer's backstory:

Calcifer was a falling star that Howl intercepted, which slightly resembles Satan's origin story as a fallen angel of light. However, Diana Wynne Jones knew perfectly well that Christian demons are not really falling stars, so we can know she did not intend to write Calcifer as a Judeo-Christian demon. More likely, I think she was paying homage to classics such as Paradise Lost.

Calcifer strikes a bargain with Howl for his heart, which I consider an homage to Faust by Goethe, in which the titular character can be said to have devoured beautiful young women.

As a character, Calcifer is very morally grey and often seems in a league above the other characters as far as stakes and decision-making. This is very characteristic of the mythical creatures of Celtic legend, which are still a very present background element of Welsh culture today, much like the trolls and elves of Scandinavian culture. Many of these mythical creatures are referred to as demons, even though they do not align with the Judeo-Christian definition of a demon. Yes, they can be evil or tricky, but they can also be helpful, lucky, or funny. Mostly, they are volatile. Faeries, boggarts, goblins, elves, sea monsters, and more have all been called demons in Welsh folklore.

This could be due to the early interaction between the Welsh and the Romans (compared to, say, the Irish who kept up their Druidism for much longer), and consequently Christians. I know from Scandinavian folklore that the meshing of Pagan culture with Christian newcomers usually becomes very weird very quickly, with the resulting mythology resembling neither party.

Tl;dr Calcifer is the product of a Welsh upbringing and a classical education, and is explicitly not a demon in the Judeo-Christian sense.

As for Pokemon in the U.S., it's mainly a translation issue. Word got around that lots of Pokemon are based on youkai, which gets translated to "demon" in English, even though they are not Judeo-Christian demons and are much closer to the above cited faeries and goblins. Voila, Satanic Panic 2.0.

#- HK #thank you for this opportunity to nerd out today #Calcifer #DWJ #Studio Ghibli #x #Christianity #mythology #analysis #if you want to know what the actual demons of foreign cultures were; they were the primary deities they worshiped #and whichever spirits they invoked to practice magic or seeing #for this reason I would not watch Noragami for a long time.#but when I realized that modern Japan doesn't actually *believe* the Shintoism they observe #I knew it would be no different from reading The Odyssey or Gilgamesh #morally speaking

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iris-sistibly · 2 years

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Daemon Targaryen poured another bottle of wine on his cup and drank all of it at once, the warm sensation brought about by the liquor felt good on his throat. He had been drinking alone, didn't mind the other people around him, paid no attention to the whores who tried to entice him.

It wasn't like him at all.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Her mesmerising eyes, her alluring smile, the scent of her long, silver hair, the warmth of her body, the taste of her lips.

When he pinned her against the wall and took off half of her clothes, her pulling him closer and grabbing his nape. His lips planting soft kisses on her neck, the heat of their bodies slowly intensifying to the passionate moment they shared.

His mind kept recalling that memory, that night when he almost...almost claimed her for his own.

"Fuck!" he cursed at the back of his mind and smashed the cup onto the table which startled the other customers. He didn't care, he never cared about what other people think, all he cared about was he left her without uttering a single word and disappeared into the crowd. Was he wrong for doing so? Should he had just let themselves indulge like they both wanted?

He is fucking Prince Daemon Targaryen! Brother to King Viserys, first of his name. He could bed any woman he wants, but she wasn't just anyone. She is Rhaenyra, not some low born prostitute he'd pay to fuck then leave after. He was a formidable warrior, but with her he was defenseless. She bears no magic, but he has always been enchanted by her beauty. He is stubborn, yet he couldn't resist her.

He strives to be a king, and he desires her to be his queen.

He wants to be with her, and build a life together. Make the kingdom prosper, and sire as many children as they want.

But Rhaenyra's father would never allow it. Viserys was adamant to wed his daughter yes, but certainly not to him. For the very reason that he was already married to his bronze bitch. Daemon shook his head, Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, Maegor the Cruel had several. How is him taking Rhaenyra to wife any different?

His relationship with Viserys may not have been as pleasant as they both would have liked, but they share the same blood. Thus their bond as siblings will always be there, but the fact that he couldn't be with Rhaenyra because his own brother forbids it was frustrating.

He was a prince, yet he is denied with everything he wants. The crown, the iron throne, and the woman of his desire.

And with that, Daemon drowned himself in liquor once more.

The Aftermath of an Almost Sinful Night (by: Iris)

I couldn't get over with the brothel scene, and I've been thinking of what went on Daemon's mind after he almost did the deed with Rhaenyra, and Viserys confronting him after.

Also, I am writing this in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm and I am kinda freaking out so I turned to writing to ease my fears (little fun fact about me: I hate thunderstorms since I was little and yes, I still get anxious when shit like this happens, so I either write, read a novel or listen to music for comfort 😁).

#fanfiction #hbo series #house of the dragon #fire and blood #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys i targaryen #matt smith #milly alcock #paddy considine #daemon x rhaenyra #daenyra #daemyra #whichever you prefer

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sir-tarhos-et-compagna · 1 year

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Knightly thoughts on the other killers, part 2

Spirit: Mysterious, poetic and bloody... as almost everything from East I hath already seen. Legion: A gang of youngling rogues. And rogues are still better than so called "nobles". Plague: This woman reminds me of Sintra's "sacred" catacombs I hath pillaged. And of plague, of course. I'll avoid her as well. Ghost Face: This assassin is more experienced than those "legionnaires" and decided to operate alone. Still, he is not like Durkos at all. And uses strange flashing artifacts, almost like the heretics of our realm. Demogorgon: Art that creature Gehenna's guardian? Oni: As I hath said, I could deeply respect this warrior of East, if he was more than a mere tool of destruction. Extremely efficient one though. Deathslinger: I do respect this bounty hunter, but his weapon seems less of an honour than any hidden blades or bows. If the secrets of making such weaponry were to uncover, the chivalry would soon be doomed. That would be the end to the world as I knew it. Executioner: I guess, the devil also hath his Carnifex. That one fiend, in particular. Blight: An insane alchemist. I would declare him heretic, but still he seems more reasonable than that... "Mastermind". Also, alchemy has potential anyway, so we shalt keep an eye on his works. Twins: Those art peasants, and I can confidently tell they were hunted and outlasted the hunt. Curious. Trickster: It is said jesters can mock even kings, but pride and arrogance of this one seem genuine. Seems like the one who gave weapons to peasants also forgot to throw that insolent harlequin to dungeon. Nemesis: Flesh golems from our folklore art true. As well as the unresting dead. Cenobite: We art in Pandemonium, so no wonder there art daemons. The church and The Pope truly and immediately hath to change their sinful ways and repent, before it's judgment day. Artist: This woman... is the essence of this realm. Both diabolic and beautiful. But I don't believe she could inspire me like lady Amanda does. Onryo: That should be an elder vengeful spirit. The one they call Rin seems not halfway as evil and powerful. Dredge: It is similar to the one that resides inside of The Shape. But it is out, loose and free. The mere presence of it is disturbing. Seems even St.Peter himself couldn't help against this pure evil. Mastermind: I hate sorcerers that think they achieved godhead. But mark my words. One day, they shalt pay for their hubris.

#tarhos kovács #the knight dbd #the knight #dead by daylight #dbd ask blog #dbd killers #thoughts

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fides-regnat-aeterna · 3 years

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Hanahanu Reborn

"Bring him in," a voice announced. It was strong, albeit a bit concentrated in the nose. It was one that wouldn't be too out of place within his home Legion. But here? It was one of the many markers that made him so distinct from his newfound kin.

"Yes, lord," a second voice said, a figure bowing and moving from the threshold of the door that was barely cracked open. This one was firm, a bit hardened by yelling orders to his warriors, though a note of unease was easily able to be noticed. The figure was dressed in full warplate, crimson and edged in steel, with the armor itself carved and inset with symbols taken from the Book of Lorgar. Upon one pauldron sat the icon of his Legion, the Latros Sacrum, and on the other sat the icon of his Host, a bloodied handprint over a leatherbound book. The Host had no grand title or name -- few did, nowadays -- and was simply known as the 17th Host. He was bare headed, with tanned skin, black hair styled with an undercut swept to one side, and dark eyes that betrayed his worries. His name was An-Ishkur, and he had been asked to assist in the rejoining process for his brothers within the Legion.

He strode into an adjacent chamber, where a number of warriors bearing similarly-colored warplate currently sat. It was quite barren, as the newly-named Master of Possession had asked it to be, with benches lining the walls and warding sigils carved into the pale walls. The floor was a mosaic of white and black, marking out the sacred octed beneath their feet. The warriors within tried not to show their overt discomfort. Most were able to mask it well. But some were pawing at their faces, snarling with annoyance, tapping their foot, or reciting prayers and litanies under their breath. Within each one sat a creature of the Empyrean, one of the revered Neverborn. Daemons, as many called them.

"Hanahanu Elil," An-Ishkur said from the doorway. A few heads came up, and he locked eyes with the one who was destined to go next. "Your time has come, brother." The eyes looking back at him were a tawny grey tinged with amber, a testament to how much the daemon within had changed him. He was just surprised to see that Elil was able to even take his helm off -- several of the other Legionnaires could not. The face looking back was darker than his own, with the same handsome, almost patrician features found amongst most of the Legion. His hair was a short, messy crop of black that almost edged on a very dark grey. He reached a gauntleted hand up to brush some of it aside.

"We're ready," Elil said, standing. As he spoke, An-Ishkur noticed his teeth were becoming sharper. If all went well, like it seemed to with the two who had gone before, then hopefully the beast within could be quelled.

Hopefully.

An-Ishkur nodded, making a gesture and leading him to the door. The door itself was decorated and ornamented, with some more recent carvings and wards having made permanent marks within its surface.

He raised a hand to knock, before the man within impatiently said, "I know who you are and who you are with, just get him in here."

The two traded glances, and An-Ishkur shook his head before opening the door and allowing Hanahanu in first. The room still smelled of burning flesh, blood, and incense. The only other figures within the vaulted chamber was an Astartes clad in robes of red and white, followed by two smaller robed humans as he renewed the circles and prepared for his next experiment. The room was approximately fifty feet on a side, with braziers of burning incense set about ten feet apart to the duo's left and right. Towards the front of the room sat a raised dais with a lectern, and upon it sat a book bound in skin with yellowed pages. An-Ishkur suppressed a shiver as his eyes passed over the book. Something... else felt as though it brushed his consciousness as he did.

The man in robes finished speaking an invocation and finally drew himself up, turning to face the two newcomers. With the two of them arrayed in battle plate, it almost made him look smaller and slighter in comparison. He was still formidable compared to the two humans beside him. He brushed aside his sandy-colored hair, his odd sky blue eyes staring into Hanahanu. He clasped his sun-kissed hands together, a smile plain on his face.

"Well, Hanahanu Elil, it is my pleasure to formally meet you," he said. An-Ishkur had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "And a pleasure to meet your partner as well. Do they have a name?"

"Hersyaf," Hanahanu growled, his teeth half bared. He shook himself out, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. "... Hersyaf. He calls himself Hersyaf."

"Hersyaf," the man said with a nod. "I am Zikar-Sin. Formerly of the Thousand Sons, now taking the position of your new Master of Possession as the Apostle wills."

Formerly was an interesting word to use. To An-Ishkur, it was blatantly obvious that he had not entirely eschewed the ways of his old Legion, and that he still considered himself one of them.

"Do you know why I have called upon you, Hanahanu-Hersyaf?" Zikar-Sin asked.

"You want to make us more 'whole'," the warrior answered. An-Ishkur could hear the growls of the beast under the careful voice of his friend and brother. An-Ishkur looked to him, trying to hide his worry.

"Are you sure you want to volunteer? Maybe you should wait until we know it works," he had said when the sorcerer had first announced his intentions.

"An-Ishkur, we've been over this. If something isn't done, Hersyaf is just going to take over and rend us apart anyway. This can be a chance to give us true balance, rather than having this more..." Hanahanu trailed off. "... parasitic relationship we have together."

"Hopefully it won't be more than a few weeks of waiting and testing," An-Ishkur protested. He sighed. "Look, I get it. Hersyaf is getting stronger and bolder, but he's always been a bit of an arrogant blow-hard. It hasn't always been easy calming you down."

"That's the point," Hanahanu said. "This can make it so I can have more control, too. That way we both benefit, and the bond is less one-sided. I don't want to just be a vessel to feed a daemon, An-Ishkur. I am my own man, with my own thoughts and my own devotions of the Powers."

"I know, I know. I'm just worried something will go wrong."

"And if it does, I know you'll be there to take care of me." Hanahanu rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We've been side-by-side ever since we first strode the sands of Colchis as aspirants. And we've been there for each other in all other miserable exploits of ours. Remember the wine raid in Tizca?"

"Hey, that was your idea," An-Ishkur replied, finally breaking into a small smile. "But that was much different to this."

"Even though we had one of our cousins scolding us for ages afterwards?"

"Hanu, come on. I know you want to make light of this, but this is a serious decision."

"I know it is. And I know why I've made it." Hanahanu removed his hand. "It's for the benefit of us both. Even if Hersyaf is impatient and doesn't want to admit it, we spent some time discussing it and we both agreed." He offered his friend a kind smile. "But I appreciate the concern." An-Ishkur tried to smile back, but he knew it read false. His expression turned into obvious concern as his brother walked back to his own personal chambers to prepare for what was to come.

"I am indeed." The words of the sorcerer shocked him out of his memories. "I am going to make sure that both of you can co-exist in a mutually beneficial relationship. Already, two of your kinsmen have walked away as one. I can see the strife within you both." He reached up one hand, reaching towards Hanahanu. He growled and gnashed his teeth at him.

"Sorcerer," he hissed.

"Hanu," An-Ishkur said. "Please." The other warrior turned, his eyes looking unfocused for a number of moments, his face locked into a snarl. It took some effort for him to nod. An-Ishkur's concern only grew.

"Ah. Feisty one. Not an uncommon reaction," Zikar-Sin said. "Well. We should be getting started, now shouldn't we?" He turned his body and gestured to the center of a number of concentric rings. Hanahanu looked apprehensive of them, but An-Ishkur nodded his approval. Once more, there was a pause before he moved, carefully avoiding the salt and chalk that marked them out on the ground. Once he was standing, the Master of Possession made a gesture for him to sit. Hanahanu obeyed. "You may wish to put on your helm. Or don't, it's not very relevant to me," he said to An-Ishkur. An-Ishkur nodded, trying to give his brother a smile one last time.

"I'll see you on the other side, then."

"We'll be made as one," Hanahanu said with a nod. An-Ishkur took the helm at his belt and fit it over his head, taking in the new view behind his jade-colored eye lenses.

"You will be called if you are required," Zikar-Sin told him. "Close the door on the way out, don't pay attention to the whispers, blah blah blah, this is your third time hearing me say this." He made a dismissive gesture towards An-Ishkur as he moved towards the lectern. An-Ishkur was glad the helm could hide his face, so the sorcerer couldn't see his grimace and his eyeroll.

He moved back towards the entrance of the chamber, casting one last look over his shoulder at his brother as he knelt there. Once again, they locked eyes, but instead of only seeing the eyes of the man he'd known for centuries, something else looked back at him, too. With a breath, he left the room, letting the great door creak close behind him.

It was eighty minutes before they opened again.

Eighty long, torturous minutes. Eighty minutes holding a vigil at the door, one hand planted on the pommel of the chansword belted at his side. Eighty minutes left wondering if anything would go wrong, wondering if his brother would be the one to fail. He never had the control his predecessors had over his daemon -- Hersyaf was infamous for his hungers and rages, and notoriously difficult and reluctant to relinquish control -- so would this process even work?

His answer would come to him in a way he had dreaded since Hanahanu had volunteered himself for the process.

A ghastly, snarling howl erupted from the room behind him. An-Ishkur moved, drawing the chainsword as he faced the shut doors. From within he could already smell flesh cooking, and he could hear the chanting of Zikar-Sin within. He stood there, tense and waiting, for fifteen seconds.

+GET IN HERE AND HELP ME!+ a voice thundered through his mind. An-Ishkur doubled over from the force of it, clutching his helm, but he soldiered on and threw the doors open wide, his chainsword revving.

He froze at what he saw.

Within the circles, with blood covering its ragged maw, stood a beast. Its head was lupine in form, with large fangs and teeth that constantly salivated, milky blind eyes, and spines starting from its forehead and continuing down its body. The armor of the beast was the same deep crimson of An-Ishkur's own, though it had been moved and formed into natural armor. Mangled fur sprouted from where the plates had buckled, sitting atop mutated musculature. Its arms were twice as long as they should've been, the hands having grown to triple their natural size and ending with curved and wicked claws. A long, almost serpentine tail, ending in a wicked thagomizer lashed. The legs were armored, wolf-like in form, with claws sprouting from the crimson ceramite boots. One of the circles was pulsing a sickly pattern of red. Zikar-Sin had a trail of blood coming down one side of his face, his clothing a messy ruin. The only other figure was a robed human, who was cowering away in the corner.

The bloodied rag of a robe that laid at the feet of the beast was all that remained of their companion.

The beast let out another ragged howling snarl, its sightless eyes staring into the ceiling.

"What have you done?" An-Ishkur demanded.

"It was not me! The daemon was too strong, it overpowered his soul!" Zikar-Sin shouted. He wiped blood from his forehead, drawing himself up and keeping his hands loose before him. "Thanks to the wonderful thralls provided to me, it was able to breach one of the wards against my distinct command!"

"It seems your thrall has paid the price for it."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, now help me!" Zikar-Sin said with an eyeroll. An-Ishkur approached the raging monster, keeping his weapon leveled at it.

"Hanahanu Elil!" he spoke, keeping his voice as strong as he could. "I know you are in there, brother. Hear me! Come back to us! We shall try again at a different time!"

"We are not using that weakling's name!" the beast spoke, resting its weight on its hands. Its tail lashed.

"You can speak?" An-Ishkur asked, lowering his weapon. He glanced to Zikar-Sin. "What shall we call you?"

"I am HERSYSAF!" he roared. "WE shall be HERSYAF! Not a weakling, soul-bound MORTAL!"

"Where is my brother?"

"I am your brother now, Captain An-Ishkur," Hersyaf practically purred. It came down to rest its weight on its hands. "The bitter whelp is going to be sleeping for a while. But I like him enough to not destroy him entirely. Not yet. He feeds me well." The two locked eyes. Through the milky film, An-Ishkur could swear he saw the same old tawny eyes of his oldest friend looking back. Hidden. Repressed. Pleading. The creature grinned, and An-Ishkur turned on Zikar-Sin.

"You have explaining to do. Lots of it." He revved his weapon, anger clear in his voice and in his posture as he stalked over to the sorcerer. "Start talking, or I'll rend you open myself. What have you done?"

"Those are questions best left answered for me, Captain," said a dangerous and deceptively soft voice from the doorway. Both An-Ishkur and Zikar-Sin diverted their eyes to the floor. An-Ishkur dropped to a knee.

"My Apostle," he practically whispered.

"Captain. You may look up, your obedience has been recognized." Eyes of flint locked onto the robed Master of Possession. "Zikar-Sin. I sensed that something had become altered," said the newcomer. "Look at me."

"Yes, lord," said the sorcerer, his voice actually sounding shaken, for once. Both looked up to see the unarmored form of the Dark Apostle of the Host, flanked by four members of the Annointed. Even Hersyaf seemed to be attentive, his nose sniffing at the air. A soft whine came from him.

"We shall discuss the ramifications of this failure and you shall discuss how this happened with me," the Apostle stated.

"Aposte Ans'ar, I-"

"You," he said, shifting his attention. "Captain."

"Yes, lord?"

"You know the brother whom we have lost?"

"Not yet lost," An-Ishkur said quickly. "I-I can still see him, my lord, though he has been pushed down. I think I can help save him."

"Do you?" His head was gently cocked to one side, his eyes intense and searching. He glanced back at the creature stuck beyond the wards.

"I do, Apostle." An-Ishkur nodded. There was silence. The tension was palpable. He could hear Hersyaf clawing at the ground.

"Then he shall be put under your command, if we decide he is to live." Ans'ar crossed his arms, making a gesture to one of the heavy-plated Terminators behind him. "Zikar-Sin, you are to come with us. You will explain what blasphemies you have created."

"Yes, Apostle," Zikar-Sin replied. The two Annointed came forward, with one seizing his arms and putting them behind his back.

"As for you," the Apostle once more looked to An-Ishkur. "You and your coterie may begin the rites of mourning. The Legion will join you." He turned to leave, but the captain's voice stopped him.

"Apostle, if I may?"

The Apostle stopped. "Speak, Captain."

"Please, let him live. Hanahanu and I have been together since we were aspirants. I know I can reach him. I know he's still in there. I can deal with Hersyaf. I promised him I would help him, no matter what happened."

The silence that followed made him feel as though he was balancing on the blade of a knife.

"Very well," the Apostle said with a small sigh. "If this is what you wish to pursue."

"It is."

"I can reverse this!" Zikar-Sin called as he was being taken away.

"Silence, sorcerer," Ans'ar called after him. "Then he shall be considered a member of your coterie. If he acts in a way that puts the Legion at jeopardy, he will be punished."

"As would any of us," An-Ishkur said quickly.

"Indeed," the Apostle agreed. He turned once more, making another gesture as he walked out with the Annointed, leaving An-Ishkur alone with Hersyaf in the circle.

"He wanted union," Hersyaf said in a snarling whisper. "He wanted the two to become one. And, well..." he grinned. His acidic saliva splattered and hissed on the salt making up the wards. "This is what our unity looks like."

An-Ishkur watched his Apostle leave, standing and facing Hersyaf. "Hanu never would've wanted this. But I swore to him I would help him no matter what."

"When did I ever say it was he who desired this unity?" the daemon asked with an all-too-knowing grin.

#3k words on the dot #hello this account exists lmao #will be shilling on main and other side blog #moonclaw writes #legion lore

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unnameablethings · 4 years

Text

Uxorious

(submitted this to Silk and Steel back in February - made it to the second round, didn’t make it in! so now all u lovely folks get to read it! Same universe as Toothed-Bird Grin, but wlw now. this one is also about 6.5k long, so, uh, hope the readmore works. I’ve put it up on AO3 so you can read it there if you want.)

The timing of the Earl of Tabiner’s call was rather inconvenient, considering the ghoul’s teeth were still embedded in the meat of Dell’s good sword-arm.

Under ordinary circumstances, Dell would readily greet him with every ounce of her good St. Catherine’s manners, but in this particular instance, her formidable self-possession was occupied with biting back a string of deeply unladylike language. With a great feat of strength, Dell set her feet in a square, sturdy position and wrenched the deuced ghoul’s jaws apart with her bare hands, arms trembling as she did so. The great lout of a lord stood with fastidious, scowling displeasure as she slammed the ghoul down into the open grave she had prepared for it, driving the sainted blade down through its heart to pin it there. It would be very polite of the ghoul to stop squirming so much when it was clearly downed, but, as with most ghouls, this one had no sense of decorum.

Nothing for it but to climb out of the grave and finish the job, and Dell gritted her teeth as she put weight on the injured arm, hauling herself and her sword up and out. The ghoul stayed put for the moment, which would be, hopefully, long enough. The lord’s foot tapped fretfully, his nose wrinkled in disgust. There was no avoiding him any further, it seemed.

“Good evening, my lord. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dell inquired through gritted teeth, and wished for a bath and a change of clothes. Perhaps even a decent supper.

“I am in need of your… services,” said Lord Tabiner, with a frustrating lack of elaboration. I had assumed, Dell carefully did not say. She dusted a half-inch of soil off her thick, gray trousers, and unhooked a flint and steel from her belt.

“By all means, sir, make your request,” she said, and struck a few sparks into the grave. The corpse inside keened as it went up in a blaze far faster than any corpse should, crackling and moaning in the flames. Lord Tabiner’s face drained of color, acquiring the texture of sealing wax. This seemed like an appropriate admonishment for his unfortunate timing, so it was difficult to pity him.

“It is a delicate matter,” Lord Tabiner hedged. “One that must be handled… discreetly.”

“Well, if you’ll give me a moment, sir, I will gladly meet you in private to discuss.”

There had been a time when Dell had insisted upon a chaperone for these sorts of meetings, but she was twenty-eight, and had been working at this sort of thing for twelve years. She was clad in trousers and blood, for heavens’ sake, and a holy blade was sheathed at her hip. Eventually, the damage to one’s reputation was irreparable. And with Dell’s mannish shoulders, broad stature, pronounced nose and close-cropped hair, the unwanted attention of men had not been a concern for many years.

Lord Tabiner stood back as Dell finished with the ghoul, reburying it so that, when the ghoul’s poor widow came to see what had become of her husband, she would find him peacefully lain to rest at last. Another few coins toward Dell’s freedom.

And perhaps a few more, yet. Dell joined Lord Tabiner in his stuffy carriage, raising an eyebrow as he shut the door and drew the curtain like a man hunted.

“I have reason to believe,” said the whey-faced lord, “that a daemon has placed a spell of wantonness and seduction upon my wife. She pines for the daemon, and seems to dream of her. She has confessed the temptress visits as often as fortnightly.”

“St. Catherine’s will happily send someone to your estate to invoke a blessing against daemons, I am sure,” Dell said, and thought, rather uncharitably, that this was not something she particularly needed to be bothered for, nor was it urgent enough to preempt a chance to treat the wound that pained her at present. A daemon was a powerful creature, but their primary harm was in seducing good, God-fearing people into sin. Really more of a religious matter than one that Dell’s particular brand of violent intervention was suited for.

“I want you to deal with the daemon directly!” Lord Tabiner exclaimed, loudly enough that Dell’s eyes flashed in warning, fist tightening on the hilt of the blade laying across her lap. “I have had blessings placed left and right, and yet I am continually cuckolded in my own home by this unholy creature. If this gets out, my reputation will be in shambles.”

“I see,” said Dell, though if she had been frank with the man, daemon-slaying was somewhat beyond her ordinary purview. Dell considered herself a fairly straightforward woman, suited to the battling of ghouls and wyverns. “Straightforward” was the one thing daemons consistently were not.

Lord Tabiner coughed uncomfortably into his hand. “As it is so sensitive a request, I would appreciate your discretion, and would be willing, of course, to compensate you for the trouble of anonymity.”

“And what would be my compensation?” Dell inquired, intrigued. Perhaps she would come out of this with a tidy sum after all.

“How much is the remainder of your debt to St. Catherine’s?”

Dell blinked, feeling rather like she’d received a blow. “Come again?”

It was not an insignificant sum - she owed nearly two hundred pounds for the cost of her upbringing and training, still, which would be three years of income for even a well-to-do lady’s maid, and the income from doing battle against the cursed creatures riddling the country was largely eaten up by St. Catherine’s charges for maintaining the blessing on her blade, with sundry other costs.

“However much is still owed on your life, I will gladly pay it. In return for your utmost secrecy and your swift and effective action, of course.”

“I am not certain you know what you are saying, sir,” Dell said, weakly. “I still carry a debt of nearly two hundred pounds.”

Lord Tabiner sneered, emanating a miasma of condescension. “Is that all?” he asked. “My wife has gowns more costly. I will sign the contract here and now, if I will be rid of this nuisance.”

Dell’s traitorous heart was lifting already, thinking of her freedom - yes, she was a spinster already, and would never have a husband, but that was not a hardship. The unhappy visages of the women who had married to escape St. Catherine’s had thoroughly cemented in Dell’s mind that husbands seemed more trouble than they were worth. But to be able to make her own money and live in her own home and choose her own work - that was worth having to deal with a daemon.

“It will take me a day or two to acquire a contract through the proper channels, and I will need to speak to Lady Tabiner about her predicament, I’m afraid, but that is quite the offer, my lord.”

“Call upon my estate once you have the contract. I will ensure you receive the information you need.”

“Yes, sir,” Dell said, and was dismissed to go about her business.

Dell arrived at the Tabiner estate on that following Tuesday, as promised, with a St. Catherine’s signed contract in hand, dressed as respectably as was manageable. There was not much to be done about her hair or the scars or her unsightly complexion, but she had scraped herself into impeccable tidiness and a dress that had fit perfectly well when she was eighteen, but not so much anymore. It strained uncomfortably at the muscle of her arms, irritating the bandaged wound.

Immediately upon being admitted to the small, informal sitting room, it was clear that Lady Tabiner was beautiful, but her posture next to her husband was arched slightly away from him, collapsed into herself like a cowering dog. She looked for all the world like a terrified, scolded child, and the helpless anger that struck Dell was an old and familiar one. Dell had not assumed that a man like Lord Tabiner would be very forgiving of such rampant infidelity, but regardless of the poor gentlewoman’s sins, it was difficult for Dell to see a woman suffer and not long to come to her aid.

"Sir," Dell said, quietly, a greeting less polite than originally intended, and proffered the contract to Lord Tabiner. He signed it with barely a scan of the contents, which would be almost insulting, if it were not for the sheer amount of money. Dell was hardly going to complain if a wealthy man was less careful of his money than he should be. She almost wished she were planning to scam him, the wretched man.

“Thank you, sir,” Dell said, retrieving the contract. “Now, if I may speak to your wife in private, please?”

“Absolutely not,” Lord Tabiner puffed, chest swelling. He was a tall man, but Dell was a tall woman, and she did not flinch. She waited for him to finish, and then repeated herself.

“If I may speak to your wife in private, please?” she asked in the same neutral intonation. “Sensitive matters, you understand, of a feminine persuasion.”

Eventually, Lord Tabiner was convinced to vacate the premises, and left with a grumbling sense of simmering anger that left Lady Tabiner still and cold; Dell maneuvered to put her broad form between the lord and his wife until he was safely away. Only then did she sit down across from Lady Tabiner and fold her hands in her lap, sitting in polite silence to allow Lady Tabiner time to collect herself.

“You’re here about her,” Lady Tabiner said, finally. Her hands clenched in her skirt, her voice sharp with unguarded vulnerability. Dell found herself looking away from the raw intimacy of her expression.

“I am.”

“Does he-” She said the word in the exact opposite of the tone she had said her in, bitter and curdled, “-expect me to fall in line merely at the threat of a St. Catherine’s hunter of sin? You cannot hurt her. She is too strong, and I - I refuse to allow you.”

“Has she done something to deserve being hurt?” Dell asked, meeting her eyes. Lady Tabiner was the first to look away.

“No. Perhaps- No. She is not at fault. It was I who did the wrong, and perhaps I would have done it without her to ask me to.”

“Tell me,” Dell said, and Lady Tabiner heaved in a breath so deep her stays creaked. She was a tiny woman, but swollen with suffering. Dell leaned forward in an attempt to project understanding and gentleness - she was hardly a charismatic woman, strong and unbeautiful and often lacking tact, but she had found that other women tended to gravitate toward her. Lady Tabiner’s fine mouth trembled, and then she began to speak: rapidly and tripping over herself, her voice raw and choked. Dell let her speak, silent out of shock as much as respect.

“I never meant to betray my husband - I am not that kind of woman. I obey my vows, madam, it is important that you know. I should have remained a respectable wife and mother, it matters not how much I - how much he- I ought never have let any of this happen. I knew not what she was, at first. I met her in the gardens while on a promenade and all I knew then was that she was kind to me. She told me I was beautiful. She spoke to me like I was important, and I felt a kinship with her as is only possible to feel with another woman. And she was so lovely. She was perfect, with roses in her hair, and I felt as though the sun were out for the first time since- In the beginning, all I wanted was to see her again, to speak with her, to attain the sort of romantic friendship that women have in novels.

“And then a few nights later, I woke up and she was there. In my room. It had been a… difficult evening, with my lord Tabiner, and I was so glad to see her that I did not question as I ought. I assumed it was a dream, and I reached for her-” Lady Tabiner’s hand rose slightly, mimicking the motion, and her eyes were distant.

“She said my name. Her voice was like a concerto, and her eyes shone in the dark, and I realized what she was, and I did not care. I didn’t care. Not then.”

“What was she?” Dell asked, barely above a whisper. She was drawn in despite herself, could see the tragic circumstances, the beautiful seeming-salvation of the daemon offering comfort, as vividly as if she had lived it.

“You know what she is,” Lady Tabiner spat, and pressed her trembling lips together, staring hard at Dell’s shoulder, where she could not avoid her bandages showing above the collar of her dress. “A daemon. She called herself Uxorious. Perhaps she did bewitch me, because when I looked at her that night, I could not bear to look away. I am… ashamed of what I did that night. Of what I do, when she comes. But I can’t say I regret it. She makes me feel precious, and beloved, and beautiful. And- and safe. Just for a night, now and again. Perhaps that is the spell speaking.”

Dell felt herself react at learning of a name, though she did her best not to interrupt or startle her. The name itself was interesting - Uxorious, to love one’s wife overmuch, an ironic name for a daemon that seduced married women into adultery. It was also useful, as was a location where the daemon could presumably be found - either in the promenade gardens, or in Lady Tabiner’s bedroom at uncertain intervals. Best to check the gardens first, however, so as not to intrude upon a lady’s privacy.

It was difficult to blame the poor woman for seeking solace from the brute whose children she was forced to bear. It was equally difficult to ask the question that must be asked. “How did your husband find out?”

Lady Tabiner’s complexion turned a cold, washed-out grey.

“I was unwise. Lovestruck, one could say. I called her name in my sleep, I tried to draw her portrait, I wrote her name over and over. I was besotted with her, and I rejoiced too visibly in the mornings after her visits. My husband thought I was betraying him with a man of our acquaintance, at first, but he dragged the story out of me, eventually. He was… displeased, with my weakness, but better that it be a daemon than an ordinary man, for at least I was victim to a devilish temptation, and not an earthly one. A daemon’s bewitchment would mean it wasn’t entirely my fault. I… I do not know if I believe that Uxorious has treated me so cruelly as to bewitch me so, body and soul, or if I merely fell prey to ordinary temptation. I would… I would like to know. My husband certainly believes I have been bewitched - I suppose that is why he summoned you here.”

“Thank you for telling me that,” Dell said, with a tenderness and a sympathy she could not hide. Lady Tabiner’s dark eyes were wide and wet. “I will investigate whether or not there is a spell involved, and inform you of my findings.”

“Thank you,” Lady Tabiner said, and then slumped back in her seat and burst into tears.

Privately, Dell felt dread begin to brew. It seemed more and more likely there was no bewitchment, and that meant that when Dell did battle with the daemon and stopped her from visiting Lady Tabiner, there would be no breaking of the curse, no return to normal. Lady Tabiner would be forced to feel every ounce of misery in her right mind. It was cruel of the daemon to play such havoc with the woman’s tender feelings merely to feed on her eternal soul.

It would be easier for Dell to battle the daemon if she could ask around for more information, perhaps find others who had made Uxorious’ acquaintance, so to speak. In this particular instance, however, there was absolutely no way to inquire after that information without causing great offense. Nothing for it but to parade around a garden chanting a daemon’s name under her breath like a fool until the daemon got either intrigued or irritated enough to come and see what was happening. What a dignified excursion this would be.

It was hardly like Dell had any gowns fine enough to show off around the gardens anyway, so she did not bother with a gown at all. As a hunter of unholy creatures, she had some leeway when it came to crossdressing, and she took full advantage of it. Dressing in men’s garb gave Dell a queer feeling of comfort. She felt calmer and more confident, able to act with a man’s brashness and dispense with thoughts of beauty. While she appreciated the look of skirts on other women - there were gowns which truly took Dell’s breath away, on others - she felt only discomfort when wearing them herself.

She dressed in sturdy trousers, armed herself thoroughly, and strolled in the garden with the calm austere severity of a true woman of St. Catherine’s. None would publically call a St. Catherine’s hunter anything but respectable, however improper the manner of their garb and their work, so she gathered many odd looks but no comments as she wove between the finely adorned women and their gentlemen suitors, through the spiraling rose paths. Dell was not entirely certain what she was looking for, but she hoped she would know it when she saw it.

And, in the end, she did know the daemon when she saw her. The sunlight touched Uxorious’s braided hair like a lover, and her smile shone across her small, impish face. Her eyes were a brilliant green as she touched a woman’s arm, smiled up at her; her dress, green and brown and white in a confusion of embroidery and gems, was cut just barely within the restraints of modesty. All these could have been merely the mark of a beautiful woman, but the dazed, enraptured look on Uxorious’ companion’s face was difficult to mistake.

“Uxorious,” Dell murmured, too softly and distantly for a human woman to hear. Uxorious’ pretty head snapped up, and she turned to look with eager alacrity. Dell was expecting her to look nervous at the sight of a woman clearly demarcated as a hunter with cross and sword and trousers, but instead the daemon lit up with unholy glee. She whispered something to the woman she was speaking to that made her blush and smile, and abandoned her companion to glide over to Dell with a slinking grace. A single dark ringlet fell softly over her freckled cheek as she smiled up at Dell.

“Did you call for me, ma’am?”

Lady Tabiner’s description of Uxorious’ voice as reminiscent of a concerto was barely an exaggeration - it was truly musical, in the way of harps and flutes. The daemon was more diminutive than expected, however, barely reaching Dell's ribcage. She looked as delicate as a porcelain doll, and Dell felt an uncomfortable twinge of protectiveness that she knew was intentional on the daemon’s part, and yet seemed unavoidable.

“Lord Tabiner hired me to come and speak with you,” Dell said, stiffly, fighting the urge to soften. It was hardly as though Dell had never met a monster disguised as a beautiful woman before. She knew better than to give in to her weaknesses.

“Did he? Lord Tabiner? Whyever for?” the daemon asked, round-eyed.

“Oh, you are perfectly aware,” Dell snapped. The daemon looked innocuously uncomprehending, small, soft lips parting slightly. Dell fumbled for words that were not entirely inappropriate for a public setting. “You know,” she said again, and the daemon’s innocent face cracked into the most self-aggrandizing smirk that Dell had ever seen. Lord above, this would be an uncomfortable conversation.

“Are you here to kill me, ma’am?” Uxorious asked, easy and smiling. “Or do you prefer sir? I suppose you may make the attempt, though I must warn you, it is unwise.”

“No, not to kill you,” Dell said. “Not unless I have to. But what you’ve done to poor Lady Tabiner - I am here to make you undo it.”

“I’m afraid Aurelia has been quite thoroughly done, so to speak,” Uxorious said, and seems to feel the opposite of remorse. “Is it my fault, when women cannot resist my charms?”

“She is miserable,” Dell said, quietly.

Uxorious stilled. Her voice seemed a decade older when she spoke next. “Perhaps this would be better suited as a private conversation?”

Dell became aware of the curious passersby, never quite rude enough to eavesdrop, but certainly wondering what sort of scandal was brewing when a well-armed St. Catherine’s hunter was conversing with a beautiful stranger.

“And where would you prefer to have it?” Dell asked.

“I have a place,” Uxorious said, and proffered a small, elegant hand.

Dell narrowed her eyes. “You want me to enter a circle of Hell of my own volition?”

Uxorious smiled. More than ever, her beautiful form seemed like the lure disguising a hook, and Dell did not care to bite like an unwitting trout. “On my blood and power, you will come to no harm within my domain, and you will be freed into the world before the sun sets tonight.”

Dell thought over the wording, and then said, “Freed specifically back into these gardens, and I will have your word that no more time shall pass inside your domain than outside it.”

“Freed into the Promenade Gardens, right where I found you, and you will experience no more time than is truly passing,” Uxorious confirmed.

This seemed acceptable, and Dell hardly wanted to have this conversation in the middle of a public garden, so she inclined her head and offered Uxorious her arm. Uxorious slipped a hand into the crook of Dell’s elbow as though they were intimate friends, and pulled her through an archway. The effect was odd - she did not reappear on the other side of the archway, but went through it into emptiness, as though the garden on the other side were an illusion. There was little time to puzzle over it, however, before Dell was through the archway as well, and into Hell.

Hell did not look like Dell expected. Of course it did not, this was a daemon’s domain, not the torment-chambers of sinners. Yet Dell had expected some reminder of its location. Instead, she found herself in another garden, this one forest-like and untamed. The trees were enormous, some bearing fruit and others blossoms, a heady mix of scents filling the air. Blackberry thickets cluttered the undergrowth, and the floor of the forest-garden bore plants that Dell recognized as poisons side by side with strawberries and sunflowers.

It was all so wild and earthy and green that Dell could not help but look around in awed admiration. It suited Uxorious, who reclined in the crook of a low, sturdy apple-branch with the comfort of one who sat there often.

“Now. What was it you wished to speak to me about?” Uxorious asked.

“About Lady Tabiner,” Dell said.

At the reminder of Lady Tabiner, Dell felt her soft, sun-warmed awe harden back into cool resolve, and her shoulders straighten, hard and cold. She clasped her hands behind her back, drawing herself up to every inch of her full stature. Yes. She was here on behalf of the sorely wounded Lady Tabiner, and she could do battle for the lady, even if the spirit quailed at the thought of battling a woman on behalf of the lord. Uxorious’ only response was to languidly lay a cheek against the trunk of the apple tree and casually kick off her shoes, one, two, letting them hit the clover beneath with a thump.

Now her feet and calves were bare, dirt-smudged and scandalous. She should have had a petticoat, stockings, should not have had so much sun-gold skin on display and such a casual air. It was hardly as if Uxorious were not aware of what she was doing. Of what she had done to Lady Tabiner.

“I’m not the reason she’s miserable,” Uxorious said, sharply. Dell’s eyes jerked guiltily back up from her hemline to meet her eyes. The green of Uxorious’ eyes seemed to have deepened unnaturally, and her jaw was set in a cold rage. Dell could not blame her. The brute of a man that Lady Tabiner - and now Dell herself - were beholden to for their livelihoods was prone to inspiring such emotion.

“And yet she is,” Dell said, “She thinks you bewitched her. She begged me not to kill you, and she wept.”

“Is it bewitchment to provide a miserable woman with a moment of light?” Uxorious said, and began to let down her hair, neatly picking out dark pins and combing it out with her fingers, strand by strand. Dell looked away. It felt like a sin of some indefinable sort to watch. “If she must be with him, is it not a gift to allow her some affection now and again, at least?”

“But did you bewitch her? Or do you linger simply because you are so memorable?”

“I think you underestimate how memorable I am,” Uxorious laughed. Her teeth were blinding white, and oddly sharp behind her rose-petal lips. Dell scowled at her, folding her arms tighter, but a blush tipped her ears with heat that she couldn’t suppress.

“She betrayed her marriage vows,” Dell snapped. “That is not behavior for her to take pride in, and you ought not take pride in tricking her into it. She is ashamed.”

“A sham of a marriage, and sham-vows.” Uxorious shrugged, elegantly. Dark hair fell around her face in a curtain of curls, all of her pins vanished. “He vowed to love and to cherish, and he has done none of that.”

“Would it stop you, if he had?” Dell asked, disgusted.

“Who knows?” The daemon seemed unconcerned. “The promises of humans to deny themselves their indulgences has never meant much to me. Why shouldn’t a woman be allowed to take pleasure in the arms of whomever she likes? I am happy to bestow my gifts upon the unhappy married and unmarried alike.”

“Gifts?” Dell frowned. “I thought you just seduced them.”

She realized how hopelessly naive she sounded when Uxorious started, and then tossed her head back to laugh in a gleeful, uproarious peal. Her teeth have changed, two long incisors jutting out like fangs, and her laughing mouth opened wider than it should. Dell flushed, dully.

“Oh, my dear,” Uxorious said, when she finished laughing. “Am I not a gift in myself?”

Dell said nothing, flustered and guarded. She felt herself a fool, and Uxorious’ beautiful, vulnerable delicacy concealed a razor wit that set Dell quite at odds. The sinuous line of Uxorious’ body and the glittering sharp of her eyes and teeth made Dell think of a serpent, jewel-bright and venomous. For the first time, she put a hand on the hilt of her sainted blade.

“Don’t draw that blade, hunter, not in my place,” Uxorious said, with the same lilting, careless tone. Dell neither drew the sword nor removed her hand from the hilt, challenging.

“You speak of your attentions as gifts, but I doubt there is any charity involved,” Dell said. Uxorious drew her knees up under her skirt, shifting to reclining sideways on the apple branch.

“Of course I get something from them,” she said. “But it is a more than fair exchange, I feel.”

“You feed on their immortal souls and call that a fair exchange?”

“No need to be so dramatic.” The ‘s’ in ‘so’ is sibilant, hissing. “I take nothing they cannot regenerate with time, and I make very sure there is no pain. They all agree to it, in the end.”

“Because you trick them and seduce them,” Dell argued, but the smell of the garden was heady and Uxorious’s half-hooded eyes were heavy on her, and she suddenly found it quite easy to understand how someone could lose all track of their vows and the integrity of their soul under such a look. Uxorious’s dress seemed to be getting tighter, conforming to the shape of her, and the shape was odd. Not quite a woman’s, and then very much not a woman’s at all.

“Why are you here, Dell?” Uxorious asked, instead of answering the accusation. By now she was a serpent in the apple tree, her skirted legs melded into a sinuous length that looped and coiled. Her dress was melted into her skin, birch bark and leaves and scales covering her elegant form, a mix of plant and serpent. Beautiful and terrible, strange and lovely.

After too long a look, much too long a pause, Dell said, “I am here to make sure you don’t bother the Tabiners anymore.”

“And if I say no?”

“No?”

“If I say I will go back to the Tabiners as I wish, and draw Aurelia Tabiner into my bed whenever she consents to be taken? If I follow my own will and take my lovers without care for the constraints of your congregation?”

“Then I will do as I must.” Reluctantly, Dell drew her sainted blade.

Uxorious hissed as the blessing-inscribed steel was bared, and the sound struck a bolt of fear into Dell’s chest. Uxorious was so small, in her mortal disguise, so harmless and round-faced and big-eyed, and now as she approached her coils seemed to surround Dell entirely. The smell of apples and herbs and summer was strong enough to choke, the glimmering green of her eyes hypnotic and her mouth red enough that it hurt to look at. The world seemed to bend around her as her long, ophidian body curled and wove. The daemon was so beautiful, so much, that Dell felt tears stream from her eyes without her permission, that she wanted to kneel, but she locked her knees and her spine and held her blade firm.

“Put that away, Dell,” Uxorious ordered, softly.

“I have my orders,” Dell said, and her voice barely escaped her lips, rough and strangled. Her hands were strong, though her shoulder pained her at the strain, and she had killed more frightening things than this with her rough and bloodied hands. “I have no choice. Surrender, or do battle.”

“You always have a choice.”

Dell’s hands shook, arguments rising to her lips and then dying there. She struggled with the emotion for a long, furious moment, silent as the daemon watched.

“Well?” Uxorious prodded.

Dell’s voice rose to nearly a shout as the words escaped at last, different words than she had planned. “I am not free to make them! The nunnery owns me, and I must do as I am bid until I can purchase my freedom. Do you think I want this?”

Uxorious’ small, exquisite face was close enough to Dell that her warm breath brushed Dell’s cheek. Her eyes were bottomless pools of green, and up close, the scales on her body were revealed to be leaves and blossoms, bark and bone and small, glittering gemstones. There were delicate vines mingled with the waterfall of her dark hair.

The myth of adders hypnotizing their prey came to mind, and Dell kept the blade up between them, the scant few inches of blade-width and the sharp of the edges all that separated them. Uxorious, languid, laid her cheek against the flat of it, and though the burning glow of the saint-markings must have hurt, she betrayed no sign of pain.

“You do not need to pay,” she murmured, “for the crime of being born. Children are owed care, and you ought to have incurred no debt for it.”

“The church disagrees,” Dell said, though Uxorious’ words hurt more than if she had dug her claws into Dell’s wound. The sword was pressed so close to the curve of Uxorious’ throat that the scattered petals there bent around the edge. The sword was not so sharp as to cut with just a touch, but if Dell moved to raise her blade, the friction would slash those white petals in twain. She did not allow it to move, even with Uxorious’ slight weight leaned against it.

“The church disagrees with me on nearly everything, and I am right about all of it,” Uxorious said, with a glittering smile. A strangled laugh burst from Dell’s throat, and hurt as it did.

“There,” Uxorious said, and her tone had dropped all malice or conceit, merely gentle now. She delicately touched a cheek Dell had not realized was wet. “There’s a smile, lovely.”

Dell froze at the touch, terrified and wanting to lean into it all at once. The steel between them was not enough of a barrier, and yet was far too much of one. Uxorious’ hand was warm, and felt less like skin than like new leaves. Thorn-claws prickled at Dell’s skin. She was so near.

“Free yourself,” Uxorious breathed, and rubbed her cheek along the steel flat of the sword in a way that made it even harder to think. “They will never let you repay the debt - they cannot afford to let a warrior like you leave. They will only find ever more reason to keep you. Come away, and make your own choices, freely, as your strong soul dictates.”

“They’ll find me, if I run,” Dell said, bleakly.

“Then run away with me.”

Dell flinched back, violently, and Uxorious let her go, though she felt herself come up against the sun-warmed wood of Uxorious’ thick tail. Her arms trembled, her shoulder aching so badly she could hardly move it, and she dropped the sword to one side to look at Uxorious better. A tiny cut on the curve of her jaw dripped liquid gold.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why?” Dell begged.

“You’re magnificent,” Uxorious said, and her coils tightened slightly, brushing against Dell’s calves, bringing her body a little closer. The sword was no longer between them, and Uxorious’ scaled chest brushed Dell’s. “The church would like to keep you because you serve them well and obediently. I would like to keep you because you are handsome, interesting, strong. You are the sort of woman who puts men to shame.”

“Do you make this offer to all of the women you seduce?” Dell said, almost laughing. The heat in her cheeks was unaccountable and embarrassing, and almost certainly obvious to Uxorious’ close, gleaming gaze.

“Some of them. Often they deny me.”

Dell was so warm, pinned against the daemon, sun and earth and sweetness. She could hardly move her sword hand, trapped in the daemon’s coils, and if this was a plot to disarm and destroy her, then it was remarkably effective.

“I refuse to make myself into anyone’s servant,” she warned.

“You are free to come and go as you please, and do as you wish,” Uxorious promised. “Only be strong and brave and kind, as you are, and allow me to admire you.”

“And where are the teeth in this trap?” Dell challenged. “It is a very pretty lure, but there must be a hook underneath.”

“No teeth. No hook. I am taking a gamble.” Uxorious’ body rippled, brushing up against Dell, and she swayed, intoxicated.

“What do you mean by gamble?”

“You have a magnificent soul,” Uxorious said. “Strong and warm and sweet. The gamble I am making is this: I think you will let me taste it-” At this, her tongue flicked out, delicate and forked, scenting the air a hair’s breadth from Dell’s face. “-and that it will be even sweeter with the taste of freedom, and the space to grow to your full strength.”

“Lord above,” Dell said, faintly. “You’re very presumptuous.”

“Allow me to presume a little more?” Uxorious’ intention was clear, her mouth angled toward Dell’s, murmuring so quiet and close that their lips almost brushed with every word.

“Please,” Dell said, barely breathing. Uxorious laughed, and kissed her. Quite thoroughly.

Her mouth was soft, the kiss sharp and bright. It felt like Dell had never been touched before this moment, and she abruptly felt desperate for more of it, to be kissed and kissed and kissed. Dell fisted a hand into the daemon’s long hair, careful not to crush the fine stems entwined there, and kissed back, at first with more fervor than skill, but learning how to kiss more gently as the movements of Uxorious’ mouth taught her.

This was a remarkably persuasive argument as to the goodness of Uxorious’ ideas, and Dell lost her objections for a considerable amount of time, dazed and adoring. But eventually she pulled away for long enough to have thoughts again, her mouth feeling odd as she looked into Uxorious’ half-hooded eyes.

“Well,” Dell said, with a sense of almost hysterical humor. “If I am to run away and let the church go hang, something needs to be done about Lady Tabiner.”

“I bring her happiness, when I can, but she will not ever leave the Tabiner estate when her child and her family will be left behind with it,” Uxorious said, and her body rippled in a way that made the wood of it clatter and rattle.

“Then something must be done about Lord Tabiner.”

Uxorious smiled a slow, ophidian smile. “I am no warrior, but do you have any ideas, my strong knight?”

“A few,” Dell said, darkly. Uxorious laid her head against Dell’s chest, a soft weight, and Dell daringly petted her hair, momentarily distracted from her anger. “But my thoughts are not the most important to consider, I believe.”

“Agreed. Perhaps we ought to ask the lady herself?”

“Perhaps we ought.”

The door did not open, that night, onto sunset in the Promenade Gardens. It opened, instead, into a darkened bedroom. The conversation was brief, and Lady Tabiner’s desires were clear.

The Earl of Tabiner, the rumors said, had fled in the night, to parts unknown. He left behind his fortune, his only son, and his wife. It was agreed by all that his wife was to be pitied, so noble and brave in the face of the loss, and that the Earl was quite the cad. There were no rumors about the St. Catherine’s hunter who had vanished from the ranks - casualties were not uncommon, and the church disliked gossip.

Lady Tabiner’s smile, these days, was remarked upon as brilliant.

#original #my writing #original fiction #short fiction #f/f #silk and steel #butch #femme #lesbian #wlw

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atlas-the-worldbuilder · 5 years

Text

So! It’s that time of year again, magik is in the air, and monsters are prowling the streets. Time I say we share a good old-fashioned halloween folk story!

Before I begin, let me first clarify a few things. Firstly, this is an old story; the fable has roots in Ireland, and has been around at least several hundred years. As such, several different versions of the story have cropped up, so if you’ve heard a different version of the story, do not fret. For this telling, I’ve selected the iteration of the story which I personally feel is most faithful to the characters and the natural flow of the story itself. Secondly, this is a story with deep cultural and religious ties. Being an Irish folktale, of course, there’s going to be a heavy mix of Christian/Catholic themes alongside more abstract pagan beliefs. I myself say you’re more than welcome to believe whatever you wish, but for those of you who get offended easily by mentions of religion, you may wish to forgoe reading this tale.

That being said, let’s begin this story about a terrifying being who stalks the night every year! Though you probably know him already, in one form or another~...

THE TALE OF STINGY JACK

So! Our story begins a long, long time ago, in a small Irish town - more specifically, the pub of the old Irish town. Sitting in the pub, drinking to his heart’s content, was a man known to the local residents as “Stingy Jack”. Stingy Jack was known around town for many reasons; as the nickname suggests, he was rather cheap and selfish, and was very much known for his avarice and... generally being an all-around jerk to people. However, he was also known for being a rather shrewd and tricky individual; he could always find cash around when he needed it, or ‘convince’ some poor stranger to part with some change.

Another thing Jack was known for was being the town drunkard, and presently he was living up to that reputation. On this particular day, though, Jack had run into a bit of a problem. He had just finished his mug, and was going through his pockets to pay for another, only to find he did not have enough! He cursed to himself, and idlely grumbled, “Damn... I’d sell my soul for one more beer.”

So just imagine Jack’s surprise, when who should happen to hear this plea... but the Devil himself!

The Devil pops into the pub, and takes a seat next to the rather surprised Jack. “So I hear you’ll sell your soul for one more drink, eh?”, the Devil asked, smiling with that devilish grin of his. “I think I can help with that! If you agree to give me your soul, I’ll give you enough change for a final drink at the bar. What do ya say, Jack?” Now Jack, as we covered, was many things - a cheater, greedy, and selfish among them. But one thing he was most definitely not was a fool; he recognized at once that making a deal with the Devil would end up with his desires being twisted or convoluted. But rather than doing what most people would do and decline, Jack decided to try his luck at out-swindling the swindler. “I got a better idea,” Jack replied with a sly grin. “If you turn yourself into a coin, I’ll spend you for my last drink for the night. Then you can change back to normal, and cheat the bartender out of his payment! What do ya say?”

The Devil chuckled aloud. “I like the way you think!”, he confided, and with that, he promptly turned into a gold coin to be spent. However, Jack instead took the devil coin, placed it inside his pocket, and held it against a crucifix he had in his pocket! Unable to shield himself from the sacred icon, the Devil began to shriek and shout. “Please! Stop! It burns!”, the coin shrieked in agony. “I’ll do anything you want, just take it away and set me free!” “Ok then,” Jack replied with a victorious smirk, “I’ll let you go if you promise that I won’t go to Hell when I die!” “Sure, fine!”, the devil cried in pain. “Just let me go!” Jack smiled, and tossed the coin away. The Devil disappeared, and Jack had got his wish.

For the rest of his mortal life, Stingy Jack indulged himself in the most deplorable of activities. He murdered, he stole, he drank, he performed just about every sin and crime in the book. After all, with no worries about where he would end up, he had nothing to fear anymore!

When Stingy Jack’s death finally came to pass, there were more than a few among the townsfolk who were grateful to be rid of his debauchery. Jack’s soul left his body with an air of smug joy, and followed the path to heaven, ready to indulge himself in his afterlife. However, as he approached, the gates remained locked. Confused, he approached the gatekeepers and asked why he couldn’t go to heaven.

“Your soul is too wicked,” the gatekeepers said. “We cannot accept you here.” “I can’t go to Hell, though,” Jack countered confusedly. “Doesn’t that mean I go to Heaven?” Again, the gatekeepers refused him entry due to his wicked soul.

Jack tried again and again to argue his point, but each time was steadfastly refused. Stunned and confused, Jack reluctantly turned away from heaven and began to follow the path. Without a place to rest, his soul wandered the dark, mysterious realm between Heaven and Hell... the Other Side. For months he wandered, trying to process the gatekeeper’s refusal while avoiding the unearthly shapes and ominous sounds hiding all around him. Finally, though, it dawned on him... the afterlife wasn’t all or nothing, as he had believed. Heaven was only a place where the goodhearted could reside; because he had lived his life with selfish and greedy intent, he could never truly gain the enlightenment and peace that realm offered.

Somewhat defeated, Stingy Jack trudged back along the path, down to the only place he had left... the very place he had declined access to...

When he finally arrived at the gates to hell, a familiar face greeted him, his smile full of savage and cathartic schadenfreude. “Well, well, well! Look who comes crawling back to me!”, the Devil gloated with a cackle. Jack knelt down. “Please,” he begged, “I understand now, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I just... I need a place to rest. I can’t stay out here, so please let me take back my wish?”

The Devil frowned in thought; while he wasn’t particularly eager to have someone like Jack in his domain - especially after the horrible backstab he’d received -, it seemed somewhat unfair to let the swindler go empty-handed...

With a vile smirk, the Devil grabbed a burning hot coal from the ground at his feet. “Here, this should help light your way!”, he called out as he tossed it over the gate. “Careful, its hot!”

As Jack caught the burning coal, a couple things happened. Firstly, his hand was severely burned, as the coal seared his skin, and he screamed. Secondly, the hellish energies and magik from the coal began to mutate and warp his body. His body twisted and stretched, as Jack was transformed into a freakish entity, daemonic energy radiating from his once mortal body.

With the Devil’s laughter ringing in his ears, Stingy Jack slunk back into the darkness, clutching the coal. Rejected by heaven and hell, he spent what felt like an eternity wandering the dark, twisting, foreboding lands of the Other Side. All the while, he held the searing hellfire coal in his hands - too painful to squeeze it tight, but too afraid of losing it forever to let go. After all, it was his only source of light and warmth, in the darkness. And it likely would’ve remained that way, but then Jack gained a small reprieve.

Whether it be through sheer determination or from some bizarre supernatural strength granted by his transformation, Stingy Jack managed to hold onto that burning coal until a very special day came. That day, of course, was All Hallow’s Eve - Halloween. A day when the mortal world and the Other one start to grow closer together, and the monsters and strange beings from the Other Side start to slip into our world to explore while they can. Jack, too, managed to cross over, and made it back to his hometown under cover of night.

But he didn’t come to relive the old days, or to apologize to the townsfolk he had wronged; Jack only had a short amount of time before he would be forced to return to the darkness. He only had one goal: finding something to carry the coal in, so he wouldn't be pained any longer.

So he stumbled through the night, still clutching the eternally-burning coal in his hand. After several hours of lurking through the woods, he found his way into a farm, where he found a collection of freshly-harvested gourds. He picked a small one, carved a hole in the front and top, hollowed it out, and tied it up with some rope to carry it. Then, he dropped the coal in, and carried it like a lantern, managing to complete all this before slipping back into the darkness.

And this is how he got his name, “Jack of the Lantern”.

The ending of this story differs from telling to telling. Some like to think that old Stingy Jack has taken this new opportunity to redeem himself, and has taken up the role of a gatekeeper himself, keeping the monsters from the Other side from causing trouble and guiding them back at the end of every Halloween. Others like to think that Jack has only became even more vile and cruel after his transformation, and now lives for the pure enjoyment of the suffering of others, be it mortal or monster. Unable to sway from his sinful and sadistic past, and now with the powers of a daemon, he has truly become the most monstrous of monsters.

And then there’s those - myself included - who like to take a more benign middle stance: having made peace with his past mistakes, Jack is nowadays just an incurable prankster, living to cause a good scare once in a while, making him not much different than the monsters he walks amongst.

Whatever you believe, the end result is the same. Jack has earned a reputation among the monsters of the Other Side as a being whom is best not to provoke. And this reputation is the reason we carve Jack-O-Lanterns every Halloween: to scare away monsters by tricking them into thinking that Stingy Jack’s lurking around. When a monster sees the carved pumpkin, glowing with the light of a flame, they take notice and give it space.

So keep yourselves safe this Halloween, friends. And if you happen to see a Jack-O-Lantern on its own in the woods... ...run.

#Halloween #scary story #atlas the worldbuilder #Story Time #jack o lantern #Stingy Jack #folklore #storytelling

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jomiddlemarch · 5 years

Text

In nature’s infinite book of secrecy, a little can I read

The trip from Sept-Tours to Madison had been taxing, more so on Diana. They’d flown and driven, dealt with Sarah’s suspicion and Em’s solicitousness, and finally been settled down in the attic room Em called “the guest suite” without any hint of irony. Matthew thought of what Ysabeau would say if she saw it, the iron-framed bed simply old, not an antique, the softly faded quilts made by Bishop witches over centuries. There was a jumble of glasses on the window-sills, green and cobalt, bubbled with age, filled with dried flowers, acorn caps, a jay’s feather, and braided rag rugs on irregular floor-boards. The ceiling was pitched steeply, the chimney set at one end. He imagined the rooms Diana had been given at his home and would have winced at the comparison, except that her face had relaxed the moment they’d climbed the stairs. Tension he should have seen in her dropped away and if she was not the woman he’d met at the Bodleian, she was herself again in some intrinsic way. Her eyes shone like summer, her hair was a silky, bright tumble around her face. If he ever confided a quarter of his musings to Hamish, the daemon would be on the floor, convulsed with laughter. His mother would be aghast, for all that she’d accepted Diana into the family. Marthe would only smile, happy in his happiness.

He and Diana got ready for bed quickly. She was tired enough he didn’t interrupt her with a kiss and waited to embrace her when they were under the covers. The sheets were not linen, not any particular thread count, but they’d been used for years, laundered with lavender and dried in the fresh air. Diana wore matching pajamas in Madison, not the tee-shirts and leggings he’d seen before; they were made of cotton, sprigged with rosebuds and trimmed in tatted lace. She’d peeked under the pillow and found them neatly folded. Em’s work, he’d thought, until Diana picked up the jacket and muttered Sarah, grinning to herself. She settled herself in the bed, turning on her side so he could fit himself behind her, his hand on her belly where the pajama top most cooperatively gave way. She was warm, as she always was, and his body reacted to hers as it always did but he was able to keep his desire for her banked. He kissed the back of her neck and breathed her in, smelling flax and white clover, the sleepy smell of beeswax. He stroked her skin softly, simply enjoying her. She sighed and he laid his palm against her, beneath her belly-button, just above the crest of her hips.

“Your mother told me I could never give you a child,” Diana said after a moment. She said it to the flickering candle, to the round, grey river-stones of the chimney-piece, to the jay’s feather. He could not see her face beyond the curve of her cheek. “Is she right?”

“I think so,” Matthew replied, letting himself hear the words. “I don’t think I can get you pregnant.”

“Are you sorry about it? Ysabeau told me to make me stay away from you, I believe,” Diana said. “It didn’t work. I wanted you too much to think of anything else.”

“I’m not sorry for myself. I’m sorry about you, ma caille,” he said.

“You don’t want a child then,” she said.

“I’ve had a child. Children. Lucas, the ones Blanca lost before, one was a girl, she never cried, so small, pichona,” he said, remembering their faces.

“Her name was Pichona?” Diana asked.

“No, it means little, in Occitan. She was so little,” he said. Blanca had wept at the birth, not the way she did when Lucas came next, plump and strong, dark like Matthew.

“I’ve had children and I’ve sired vampires. I’ve been a father. I am a father. I should have been more honest with you, I should have told you being my mate meant you would never be a mother,” he said. He felt the weight of the sin, the grief; he’d not wanted to pay attention to it so he hadn’t. He’d focused on Ashmole 782 and how he craved Diana, on danger and fear and whether she was prey. The Covenant and his mother’s narrowed eyes. This glass of wine and the next, always red, always with the faint tang of blood. He hadn’t thought what his love would take from her until she said something. And now it was not vague, not any longer. It was Diana’s eyes shining as she told him, her belly growing round and hard, feeling the baby kick; a newborn at her breast, the sweet, soothing smell of her milk, of clouts soiled with baby shit, Diana exhausted, blissful, laughing, casting spells as she awoke, as she sang lullabies. Holding the child in his arms, their child, a witch with a vampire for a father, Diana’s sunny curls, his own dark green eyes.

“I should have told you, asked you,” he repeated. “It was wrong not to speak of it before.”

“It’s too late now?” Diana asked.

“Too late for our mating to end in anything other than death,” he said flatly. “Yours or mine or ours.”

“That’s all right,” Diana replied, shifting so that she could look at him. She gave him a reassuring smile and somehow the house creaked kindly, in agreement with her.

“What? Christ, Diana, I just told you you’ll never have a child—and that I knew, that I could have said something and didn’t.”

“Well, first of all, you’re wrong. Also, second and third of all. You’ve gotten a lot wrong, Matthew, is what I’m trying to say.” She was all affectionate confidence, almost patronizing. If Baldwin had heard her, he would have crowed over it and offered her a glass of the temperamental Grenache he favored.

“You’re frowning, right here,” she said, tapping the corner of his mouth and then tracing his brow bone above his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

“No. I don’t understand you,” he said.

“First then. You cannot say never, for there’s never been a mating between a vampire and witch since the Covenant and there are no reliable records extant prior to that,” she said, sounding every inch the historian. “There’s no data, only what your mother said. And pardon me, but I don’t think she was operating from a place of complete sincerity. It’s not a stretch to say she has a significant bias.”

“You think she’s wrong?” Matthew asked. If Ysabeau were wrong, would he want Diana to conceive? It was a different question, one without a clear answer. He supposed she’d be asking it soon enough.

“I think Ysabeau doesn’t know everything, least of all about what we are capable of together, you and I. When we are not fighting to stay alive. Secondly, I do not need to carry a baby to have a child. There are always children to be taken in, who need a home, parents. I was a child like that. Sarah and Em are my aunts andmy mothers. That one was pretty obvious but maybe siring vampires muddies the waters about adoption, the emphasis on sharing blood, I don’t know.” She said it so matter-of-factly, so charmingly, he couldn’t help laughing a little.

“Third, while you could perhaps have mentioned that you had some concerns about our mutual, shall we say, collaborative fertility, in the face of the Congregation trying to fucking destroy us, Satu, Peter Knox, my wild magic…I can understand how it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. You’re a vampire, not a god. Being extremely old doesn’t mean you know everything,” Diana said, letting her hand drop to cup his cheek. “Though you don’t look a day over forty.”

“I should look thirty-seven,” he retorted.

“Oh well. None of us are perfectly happy with our appearance, are we?” she teased.

“Are you done? This has been the oddest critique I’ve ever received for failing my beloved,” Matthew said.

“But you haven’t failed me. I never asked you. I didn’t care about having a baby. I only wanted, I only loved you, Matthew,” Diana said.

“You don’t want to have a baby? You’re so sure?”

“I’m not dead-set against it. I don’t want it right now, when everything is so uncertain, when we are so new…we haven’t even consummated the mating. Isn’t that so?” Diana said.

“Yes,” he said.

“So, there’s time. Maybe I will not live as long as a vampire, but witches are not humans. My magic is irregular, unpredictable. I don’t see why we wouldn’t have the chance, many chances, to have a child together in the future,” she said.

“You are enough for me,” Matthew said firmly. “You alone, mon coeur.”

“And you’re enough for me. Now that you’ve brought it up though, I like the idea of your baby,” Diana said. He heard the truth in her voice, smelled its green fragrance.

“Our baby,” Matthew corrected. Saying it aloud made it real. One day, he might hold her close and feel two hearts beating. Perhaps that was something he could allow himself to desire, nearly as much as the witch in his arms.

“A witch for a mother and a vampire father…d’you think we might have a daemon?” Diana asked, sounding sleepy and content, untroubled by the question she’d posed, though every other creature Matthew knew would be horrified by it. Well, not Marthe and not Hamish, but everyone else.

“I suppose we’ll see,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Go to sleep. Maybe you’ll find the answer in your dreams.”

“Our dreams,” she said, pulling him closer. He let himself doze off. It was good to be together. The house settled around them and the candle went out, without Matthew having to spare a breath.

#a discovery of witches #adow #bishmont #diana bishop #matthew clairmont #ysabeau de clermont #marthe #romance #witches and vampires #interspecies mating #secrets #sins of omission #papa!matthew #practical!diana #families #fluff and angst

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tetrakys · 5 years

Note

First to all, your smut is AMAZING and we're lucky to be able to read it. Two: I was scrolling down that prompt list and it was so hard to choose because every single one fits with our dragon boy Lance lol But I decided for 62, (“I think thats the first time i’ve heard you moan…it was like a fucking melody.”) 63, (“I really want to kiss you right now.” “Then do it.”) and 84, (“I’m gonna strangle you.” “Is that a promise?”) with Lance, pretty please? You da best, btw.

62. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you moan…it was like a fucking melody.” & 63. “I really want to kiss you right now.” “Then do it.” & 84. “I’m gonna strangle you.” “Is that a promise?”

Awww Anon, you’re da best! Your words made me all mushy inside, thank you :*

Let’s kick-start our Lance binge with this nice selection. This is set right after episode 26 (so, spoilers duh) and the next prompts will be all connected.

And, of course, NSFW.

Anon let me know if you liked it :)

———————-

FALLING - pt 1

“Erika!” Miiko threw her arms around me, hugging me like she’d never done before. I knew her feelings towards me had changed in time, but I had no idea of the extent of her affection.

Before I could even say a word, someone else was waiting to greet me, and Huang Hua held me in an even tighter grip. I felt tears coming to my eyes, I’d lost my family, but I wasn’t unloved.

“Tell us everything,” she said once we got to the Christal room. A foreign feeling crossed my body, I couldn’t perceive the Oracle’s presence anymore… she was really gone.

“I know,” Miiko nodded catching my gaze, “I feel the same.”

“What’s going to happen now?” I asked tiredly to both of them. The Oracle is dead, we are still surrounded by traitors and Valkyon is gone, taken by Lance who knows where.” I went to lean against the wall, exhausted. “Once the guys managed to rescue me from certain death at the bottom of Memoria’s cliff they had already disappeared.”

“Certain death?” Huan Hua repeated, her eyes bulging in shock, “tell us everything, from the moment that monster kidnapped you.”

I opened my mouth and tried to formulate the words, but a sharp pain in my chest stopped me from even emitting a sound.

I’d realised, the moment we’d got to the sea traveling back to HQ, that Lance had done something to me. The guys had asked me all kinds of questions about what had happened, but I hadn’t been able to reply to even one. He must have used the same spell that tied him to the daemon and prevented from tell each other’s secrets. Had it worked on me because I was part aengel?

Miiko and Huan Hua were disappointed but allowed me to go back to my room and rest, I really was exhausted.

I let my tired body fell onto my bed. Ugh… I was still wearing my dusty, worn clothes… without even getting up, I undressed and threw them to the floor, remaining just in my underwear. I didn’t have the strength to shower, I was going to do it in the morning.

I’d left my door unlocked just in case, but I knew my boyfriend wasn’t going to join me that night. There were too many things to discuss and plans to make to go to Valkyon’s rescue.

But did he really need saving? I thought as I tossed and turned in my bed. Lance wasn’t going to hurt him, I was sure about that now. Whatever his sins, and there were many, he wasn’t going to turn against his family. After the things we’d seen in Memoria, his people, his mother… I’d never seen him as shaken and shattered as when he’d witnessed his parents’ final hours.

I knew it now, his heart was in pieces.

Would a completely evil man be capable of feeling so much? With such intensity?

I didn’t think so, still… he’d thrown me off that cliff just to buy himself time to escape. I liked to think that he’d done so because he was sure the guys were there ready to save me, but I felt disappointed, and I had no reason to.

That’s not true, is it? Said a little voice inside my head, you two were getting pretty friendly on that island.

I swallowed hard, a little ashamed of myself. There’d been moments, during this whole kidnapping ordeal, that he hadn’t treated me just as his prisoner.

There’d been moments where I hadn’t seen him as a monster.

There’d been moments where I’d been incredibly attracted to him, where I’d forgotten about anything and anyone else.

I was suddenly feeling hot, even though I was almost completely naked. Touching the skin on my chest, I realised I was burning up, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t ill.

My hand moved to my belly, caressing lightly… and in my mind it wasn’t my hand at all… it was bigger, stronger… wearing a tick, black, leather glove.

“What do you want, little thing…” his voice whispered to my ear, as if he were there with me.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” I replied, my hand… his hand… moving to my hips, each caress leaving goosebumps on my skin.

“Then do it,” he taunted me and, with my eyes closed, I could see his devilish smirk.

The hand was now between my legs, above my underwear, touching between my fold, the thin barrier of my slip doing nothing to prevent me from feeling everything.

And because in fantasies there are no consequences and prices to pay, I kissed him.

My lips attacked that evil smirk with hunger, meanwhile the fingers between my legs had found exactly the right spot where they were needed the most and started massaging with vigour and expertise.

I didn’t want sweet, I didn’t need soft, in my mind our kiss was pure instinct and untamed power. I stayed there, writhing on my bed, enjoying that forbidden fantasy for I didn’t know how long.

With one final bite to his lips I came, my back arching and my body shaking uncontrollably.

“I think that’s the first time I heard you moan, it was a fucking melody.”

This time the voice, his voice, wasn’t coming from my head. I immediately opened my eyes and raised my back to rest on my elbows, my skin flushed and my muscles weak, while I was still partially coming down from the pleasure I’d just experienced.

Lance was right there, leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of my room, and was looking at me with hunger in his eyes, his gaze caressing my whole body from head to toe.

“How…” I started to ask, when he interrupted me.

“That was the best show I’ve ever seen in my life, I should thank you.”

“It wasn’t a show, and it definitely wasn’t for you,” I replied angrily.

“Really?” he said coming closer, with confident steps. Crunching down he grabbed my chin between his fingers and added “and I was so sure it was my name I’d heard on those sweet lips of yours when you came.”

I hadn’t… had I?

“I‘m going to strangle you,” I growled between my teeth, murder in my eyes.

“Is that a promise?” he replied, his evil smirk back in place.

“While there’s nothing I would love more right now than having your hands all over me, I can hear someone coming, they’ll be here soon.”

Standing up he went to my window.

“I stopped by to say that I’m back and I will need your cooperation in some matters.”

“The hell I’m going to help you, it’s enough that I can’t say anything about you,” I replied standing up and grabbing a night-gown, finally aware that I was almost naked in front of him.

“And isn’t that convenient?” he replied climbing my windowsill, “this way you don’t have to pretend to get into any moral battle with your conscience. You’re welcome.”

“You’re impossible!” I whispered-yelled, “where’s Valkyon?”

“I doesn’t concern you, just know that he’s fine and he’s exactly where’s supposed to be, at my side. I’ll see you soon.”

He jumped off, right before a knock came to my door. Karen had been sent to wake me up to discuss about possible plans to find Lance.

Little did they know he was right there under their noses.

And I wasn’t going to tell them.

#eldarya #eldarya 26 #lance #ashkore #lemon #my writing #writing prompt #I wrote this on the plane #I was in the middle row #who knows what my neighbours thought #they definitely saw #not even a bit ashamed #falling

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horrible-on-main · 5 years

Text

“Good morning,” he greets the stranger, chipper in the face of her withering disgust. They all look at him like that, like he’s nothing but filth. He supposes that they’re not wrong, considering what he’s done. She doesn’t acknowledge his greeting, but takes a seat opposite him. “You are going to answer my questions.” “Of course,” he agrees. It makes sense as an instruction. Even as a statement of fact. But something in her tone makes it sound almost like a challenge, and it puts his hackles up. He keeps his expression pleasantly neutral.

(Cut for length. Content: violence, torture-ish)

Her questions seem to be in no particular order, flitting about between the details of his heresy, his history, other seemingly irrelevant points about his life, and questions he can’t answer about the Dust Runner and its crew. To his relief, she accepts his admissions of ignorance and moves on. He gives the clearest answers he can, balancing detail with brevity, and she seems satisfied.

There’s no violence, thank the Emperor. The immobility of being shackled to the chair is uncomfortable, but he’s had worse. Much like the guards who remain on hand, it doesn’t seem like an unreasonable precaution. The interview is surprisingly hard work, staying focused as she skips from topic to topic without any discernible pattern. But he’s up to the task. The greatest discomfort is thirst.

As it drags into multiple hours, his throat grows unpleasantly dry. She has water to hand to spare herself the same problem. “May I please have a drink?” he ventures cautiously. “No,” she tells him shortly. “You’ll have water when I’m done here. Answer the question.” So he does. It seems needlessly petty to him, but who is he to judge the Holy Inquisition. And a little thirst won’t kill him.

When she’s done asking questions, she just gets up and walks out. But true to her word, the guards give him water before they unchain him. They hold the cup to his face, which is embarrassing and results in him getting substantially damp. But it does quench his thirst, and that’s what matters. They’re rough about taking his arms and frog-marching him back to his cell, and it’s an effort not to stumble. He sighs to himself once they’ve left.

It’s not so bad. But the other shoe must surely drop soon.

---

He meets her again what he guesses must be a few days later. The set-up is exactly the same. He is brought to the same room, and shackled to what he can only assume is the same chair. He waits, with a soldier standing so close to his shoulder that he is acutely conscious of their closeness. And she arrives shortly. “Good morning,” he offers again. “More questions?” “You will address me as Interrogator,” she tells him, “Or not at all.” “Of course,” he agrees, though her hostility isn’t promising. “More questions, Interrogator?” “Yes.” She sits down. “We’ve reviewed your answers and found certain discrepancies.”

Fear coils in his gut as he tries to figure out what she could mean. He answered everything truthfully to the best of his ability. Some of the questions taxed the limits of his memory, it’s possible that he could have messed up...

“Who do you work for?” “No one, or rather, whoever’s paying. I don’t--” The soldier to his left hits him. A solid blow to the side of his head that leaves the bone stinging and makes his whole head throb from the impact. Worse than the pain is the suffocating dread that begins to rise despite his best efforts to smother it. “Who do you work for?” He hesitates. Repeating the same thing again seems like it will lead to predictable results. But apparently he stalls too long, because he is struck again. Harder. His teeth clack together and he tastes blood. His head rings. “Who do you work for?” The soldier raises their fist again. He can see a dash of fresh red on the grey carapace at the knuckles. The last blow must have split the skin, but he can’t feel it. It’s masked by the deeper pain beneath. “No one,” he insists with an edge of desperation. “There is no one, I take whatever work is--” This time he flinches, but it doesn’t seem to do anything to lessen the pain. His vision is starting to swim. Panic threatens to claim control of his breath, of his voice. Should I lie? Lying to the Inquisition is almost unthinkable but if she doesn’t want the truth...

“There is no point in hiding anything, heretic. The truth will out, it always does in the end. It is solely a matter of how much you suffer before we reach that point.” “I’m not hiding anything fr--” Another blow. “I regret my sins, I want--” Another. He is frightened. Afraid that the bones of his face will break, afraid that this is nothing compared to what she could do to him, afraid because he has no idea how to convince her that he isn’t lying. But fear is an old friend. He breathes deep. “Answer the questions asked,” she orders, “And otherwise hold your tongue.” Tacitus nods carefully. Even that motion sends jolts through his aching skull. I am still water, he thinks, Cool and deep and clear. “Who do you work for?” There seems to be no point in answering, so he sets his teeth against the inevitable pain. At least he can not bite his tongue. All is still, all is quiet. When the blow lands, he feels the pain at a distance. “Who do you work for?” Her voice is unimportant. There is only still water.

They can hurt him, but they can’t do worse than the Warp. He was trained to stare down daemons and survive the worst that storm can throw at the mind. I am still water, cool and deep and clear. The pain still throbs through his skull, still peaks with every blow that lands. But he holds his mind apart from it and pays it no heed. Ripples spread, and ebb, and diminish. As the trance deepens, he stops hearing her words. She is irrelevant, and he is worlds away. All is still again. There is only darkness and the water. All is quiet.

#tacitus in chains #tacitus in chains drabble #drabble #violence #beating #ariadne #ariadne drabble #how they met #are they going to look back on this fondly some day #probably not #she is awful

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blackrose-ffxiv · 5 years

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Attempted Alliance 11/24

"She despises cowardice. And you did surrender, rather than meeting your end like a warrior." Gilbert Viscart looked over his mug towards the other. There was no aggression in his words. It sounded simply like an evaluation of Lebeaux' worth. "Yet you still live", he added as the mug came down. "You still have time to seek to become worthy of Her."

Lebeaux Desrosiers smiled, though he did lower his eyes back down to his glass in an effort to look ‘chastised’. “There is too much to be done in Her glory to die in a snowdrift under the blade of a heretic.” He explained calmly. “She has shown me such during my prayers and the blessing of my blade. When the time comes and I do move again to strike Idristan down and rid Ishgard of his tainted presence, will you support my efforts.”

Gilbert thinks on this: "I'm not going to have you cower behind my shield to do your dirty work for you", the Knight says a bit harshly. "Heretic though he may be, he had the right of it. He won fairly by force of arms. Under the sight of the tower. It would have been an honourable death, if not for the accusations leveled against you." He picks up his mug, then sets it down again with a small sight and continues: "You can't change overnight. It's a long process. You can become a better person if you really want to." He sets his shield and blade down. This was going to be a longer conversation. "What kind of tainted presence do you mean?"

Lebeaux shook his head firmly. “I wouldn’t ask you to fight my battles for me.” He lied pleasantly. “Only to stand as an ally should it come to it. You were gracious enough to help me once, despite my defeat. I would hope to call you a ‘friend’ as I train and pray to return to Her grace.” He explained calmly, though in his opinion he had never fallen from it in the first place. As the phrase he had used was called into question he shifted his smile to appear sad. “You were there, weren’t you supposed to bear witness? You didn’t see it?”

Gilbert nodded slowly. The others' words seemed to make sense. "I saw you both using some strange magicks. Not the sort of thing that one would use in the line", he admitted. "Believe it or not, I am no expert on magicks. But I'm usually pretty good at sniffing out daemons and their ilk. That's why I have been tracking down that family. That's why Ser Agache came to me. He knew I had access."

Lebeaux nodded solemnly. “It was a difficult thing to understand, I’m sure.” He agreed sympathetically. Not bothering to elaborate on why that would be. Instead he took a small sip of whiskey. “ ‘That family’? And how did tracking down a family come to asking you to pull my own personal records.”

Gilbert stiffened some: "Can't talk about it, official business", he said in a clipped tone. "And you haven't answered my question. Tainted in what way?"

The elezen glanced over the edge of his whiskey glass as he took another sip. “You used your official contacts for a private inquiry?”

Gilbert flustered, caught out. "Can't talk about it. Official business", he said. He looked away, quickly draining the rest of his mug.

Lebeaux furrowed dark brows, looking very very concerned all of a sudden. “Gilbert. It is my business as well. It sounds as though you abused the privilege of your position to find information on another Faithful Ishgardian national to hand over sealed records to a bastard-born halfbreed who dabbles in befouled magicks. Halone have mercy on you, what have you done.”

"...." Gilbert looks up then. "I recall you asking me to do just that", he protests. "The only reason you did not get any of that, is you lost."

“Only after you all but admitted to doing this in the first place. Records I very well would have had access to myself if I was still permitted the rights bestowed upon my position during the War.” Lebeaux pointed out calmly. “It is only by Her grace that you do not have the death of a devout on your hands. After you orchestrated it.”

"You don't have access to those records because you are wanted for crimes against the people of Ishgard", Gilbert counters. "I had my doubts about it. You knew that. But you lost to Ser Agache in Trial by Combat. You lost in accordance with the old ways we both hold dear." He huffs: "What do you think would have happened to you had we stood before the highest magistrates and seen this fight?"

Lebeaux tilted his head as though considering it. “Let’s think about this honestly and rationally.” He began slowly. “If we had stood before the Tribunal, as it stood, I suspect it rather would have gone along the lines of never getting started. As a high-born son of a founding House I would have been given the opportunity to publicly repent and likely have my House pay a stiff fine. Possibly some reparations. That is, if I wasn’t praised for my attention to detail and enthusiasm for my work. Ser Agache, should he try to attack me, would have been executed for his dealings with dark arts and the nerve of being a lowborn bastard daring to accuse a highborn.”

Gilbert glares. He saw the truth of it. "Mayhaps", he admits. "Is it those old ways that you miss, then? The corruption? Your own privileged position? If so, it would seem that I misjudged you, Ser."

Lebeaux shook his head slowly. “Not at all.” He corrected calmly. “If some empty words of penance and a slap on the wrist were enough I would have returned to Ishgard long ago. Paid the lip service to the new Republic and found myself a comfortable position in the clergy or a clinic.” He shook his head firmly. “Our city is sick, Gilbert. Rather than bickering between us and allowing that sickness to spread … or helping it to spread…” he noted as looked pointedly down his nose at the blonde. “We must be willing to work together. All of us of the old, True Faith.”

Gilbert looked at the other. "Is that what you truly want? To work together? With a mere lowborn hyur?" He sneered and looked back at the other. "I miss the old faith. The honour of warriors. The fight against evil. But we both know why the Fury punished Ishgard. Don't we?"

Lebeaux relaxed the judgmental look and smiled cordially at the hyur, even as he sneered back at him. “Even if we are of the old faith there is no need to return to all of the old ways. I see no reason that an honest, devout and pure lowborn cannot rise up to glory in Her name.” Actually, he could see several but telling Gilbert that certainly wasn’t going to help his cause. “Why shouldn’t She rise you up to what you have earned.” He nodded solemnly in agreement to Gilbert’s question, but didn’t elaborate. Allowing the hyur to keep talking if he really wished to go into ‘why’.

"That's right", Gilbert agreed. "It's the tainted blood of the nobles. All of you drank of the dragons blood. It's a curse on all the generations. Only those of us who do not descend from the Knights are free of that taint."

“Mind yourself, Gilbert.” Lebeaux corrected coolly. “These are the words of the New Republic that you’re bandying about despite claiming to be adherent to the true faith. Why would the Fury wait until now to punish us for the supposed sins of so long ago. The blame cannot be placed solely on the founding families. All of Ishgard has allowed its Faith to rot. What few believers that remain are charged with the task of saving the entire city and returning it to Her light. Will you have yourself be counted as one of them.”

"Of course I count myself among them", Gilbert said with a huff. "But what has been revealed can not be hidden again. You are highborn, are you not? Do you deny that your ancestors drank the dragon's blood?"

The elezen prickled slightly in return. “It has never been told to me while learning my family’s lineage. There was no mention in such records of our founding Father drinking the blood nor eating the flesh of a wyrm. Should I truly have such a taint in me, wouldn’t I have stooped to drinking dragon’s blood to save myself from defeat.”

Gilbert thought about that. "Mayhaps", he ponders. "But then it's not as if your families' chronicle would document how your women fornicated with dragons and beasts, or how your men experimented with foul blood magicks. And if you are highborn then you do indeed descend from these people. If you think you do not, then you are as lowborn as I am. Which is it?"

Lebeaux set his whiskey glass down firmly. “Bear in mind, Gilbert, that the situation did not take a turn for the worse until the foreigners were allowed into the city. We were not thriving but we held our own against the Horde. Then these outsiders infiltrate with the aid of bastards and byblows and suddenly the City is under onslaught. That cannot be coincidence. Now they would muddy the waters to hide their hand by declaring the Archbishop an abomination and his Heavensward monstrosities.” He spoke quickly and sharply. “As you are a low born and hyuran besides, I understand fully why you would gladly open your mouth wide for these lies. How sweet they must taste sliding down your throat. Not only would they tear down the class separation with this re-writing of our history but they would also account your deeds for naught as you achieved your glory slaying dragons, did you not.”

Gilbert frowns. What Lebeaux was saying made sense. "My status has nothing to do with it", he said, though he wasn't entirely sure of it. "I've seen the corruption in Ishgard. I've seen the plotting and the scheming. I've seen you and Ser Agache do it both, with your fine words. Trying to get an advantage using words and paper. It is very different from the wholesome, simple worship we did in the Real Ishgard." By which he meant, not Ishgard proper. "... if these accusations of yours are true then my liege would be in on it as well. And why would he? He had nothing to gain by this. He heads one of the High Houses!"

Lebeaux extended his hands, settling them palm up on the tabletop. “There is corruption. There always has been. It is a symptom of the sickness but not the cause itself.” His tone had calmed considerably, a far gentler sound now that Gilbert seemed to have undug his heels from his previous stance. “Your liege lord is a clever man. He saw the changing tides, considering it was under his roof that one of the bastards allowed the foreign contagion to fester. Rather than stand against it, he chose to move with it. Should it turn again, you would best believe he would repeat the process in the new direction as well. You notice that he still has his fine house and brimming treasury, despite his cries for change.”

Gilbert sat back and frowned. He was silent for a few moments, thinking of this. "She would not have us win the war. She brought her icy breath over our lands. If the corrupted blood is not the cause of the sickness, then what is?"

Lebeaux exhaled a quiet chuckle. “I would ask you think and pray on it. Perhaps seek the advice of Father Liautroix.” He suggested as he finished the glass and rose to his feet. The remaining whiskey was slid towards Gilbert. “Their answer isn’t an easy one, yet we must look beyond such things as highborn and lowborn. Elezen or hyur. Look to the Faith. It will be meaningless should I just set it in front of you.” He walked past, giving the blonde a pat on the shoulder as he strolled leisurely by to stand on the far side of him. “Then I would be no different than the non-believers shoving their ‘truths’ down your throat.”

Gilbert nods. "I'll seek his advice", he remarks. That seemed like a good idea. Gabineaux would know the answers. He looked to the side when the other raised and patted him on the shoulder, the gesture prompting a faint smile. "Faith will save us", he agreed. "I will pray on your words, Ser."

Lebeaux nodded softly. “And I will pray for you. That She should guide you to the truth. You are a good man, Gilbert. Yet you seem to be easily distracted along the way. Even if you stop to look at the scenery do not stray from the path. Not for the sake of pretty boys that bruise easily. Nor for the chance to take a cheap shot at a highborn whom you envy. I do look forward to hearing from you soon and perhaps sharing another drink. It was certainly enlightening.”

@gilbert-ffxiv

#lebeaux #gilbert #probably not a good thing when lebby starts to sound like he's making sense #poor gilly #he just wants to save princesses and slay dragons

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chibi-jing · 6 years

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About Ardyn in Assassin’s Creed

In return for the Assassin’s Creed festival hosted in Final Fantasy XV, Ubisoft put in his own game a little quest that allows the player to get some FFXV stuff, but also a cinematic with two special guests.

Let’s see what this little scene can teach us… (Spoilers ahead)

First of all, remember that we are in Assassin’s Creed Origins here and not in Final Fantasy XV so what happens in AC is normally non-canon to FFXV lore. However, we can still learn from this special quest and try to understand better FFXV story.

The quest begin with an meteorite falling from the sky. The rock is blue and emits light. The game calls it the « fallen star ».

This stone is obviously a reference to the meteor of FFXV that has the same kind of glittering blue light. Besides, the world of FFXV, Eos, is very often qualified as the « Star » in the game and is corrupted by the « Starscourge », a plague supposedly arrived from the sky with the meteor.

Without this meteorite, the quest can’t begin because the tomb is closed. So like in FFXV, this fallen rock seems to start the story.

When you enter the tomb, you can see on the walls the same engraving with Ardyn and Noctis that is outside near the big sundial and also some « tips » on the front wall.

To make the sundial works, you have to make the time pass in the game to reach the morning. At this moment, three cavities corresponding to the highlighted ones on the wall in the tomb open, revealing crystals. You have to touch them with an arrow before the walls close to activate the sundial.

When it’s done, three blue rays can be seen on the top of the pillars and Bayek says that they « enlight the gods ».

You can finally enter the heart of the tomb now that the front wall is open, revealing a giant prison of light with in it… Ardyn.

When Bayek touches the box made of light, he provokes a reaction in it but doesn’t open it. The light walls are broken from the inside by Ardyn as you can see in the video.

Then, Ardyn steps out but he can’t go very far since Bahamut arrives almost at the same time. The Astral throw his mystic swords all around Ardyn, catching him and they vanish together in the sky.

For me, all this scene is a metaphor about Ardyn’s imprisonment and release.

Bayek says clearly that it’s a tomb. Normally you put dead people in tombs, something that Bayek strengthens by paying respect to the Gods that « swallow souls and devour corpses of the dead ones » when entering the place.

This can be connected to what Ardyn explains to Noctis in front of the Crystal in Chap.13: in Japanese, Ardyn says that « the king not yet chosen by the Crystal killed the only man who could save the people ». If we know now that this king was Ardyn’s brother, we can imagine that in fact, he tried to murder him to eradicate the corruption or just to get rid of him and by doing so, putting him in the tomb.

But as we know, Ardyn became immortal. Since he can’t be killed, he was jailed somewhere as Talcott revealed it to Noctis in Chap.14 in French. And this mysterious place was probably Angelgard. In the Comrades extension, it is said that criminals were put in Angelgard where Ramuh judged their sins. This is a perfect place to lock someone like Ardyn that became a pariah and owns daemonic powers that can allows him to escape from any regular prison. And Angelgard is also a mystic place connected to other dimensions as said in Comrades and as Noctis proves by returning from the Crystal to Angelgard.

So maybe it is what we see in AC: Ardyn jailed in Angelgard, his prison connecting him to another reality so he can’t escape.

But when Bayek touches the mystic wall, the disturbance wake Ardyn up and weakens the wall allowing him to gather his power and broke it. Released in this reality, Ardyn tries to leave the place but Bahamut, the only Astral that didn’t fall asleep after the Great War sensed his awakening. By throwing his blade through the dimensions, he comes here to take Ardyn away from this reality.

You can find Bahamut’s behaviour strange but remember that Ardyn is immortal and survived at Shiva’s kiss without problem. The only thing Bahamut can do is to remove Ardyn from this dimension so he can’t corrupt another place.

As said in Comrades, Angelgard connects to the planet’s soul. If Ardyn was connected in some way to this place, it’s normal for Bahamut to take him away from here.

If you look carefully at Ardyn before he breaks everything, he seems surrounded by floating darkness. So the prison of light can contain his latent darkness, but only to a certain point.

In the cinematic, Ardyn seems a little younger than in FFXV. Since he is immortal, he is not supposed to age but maybe this is an indication to tell us that theses events took place before the beginning of FFXV. Because after all, we don’t know when he exited his prison.

In addition, we know that Ardyn suffered a damnatio memoriae and when you look at the engraving with him and Noctis, you can see that in the cartouche the symbols representing him (the chocobo with the hat and the dagger) are damaged, like if someone tried to erase his name. It’s not the only ruined part of the engraving but it can move towards FFXV story about him.

So the story would be that in the past something fell from the sky, starting troubles for the world with the Starscourge. Immortal and rejected by the Crystal, Ardyn suffered the anger and the hatred of the people who tried to kill him and jailed him in a place from where he can’t get away, Angelgard. He waited here the opportunity to escape, until finally something happened in the world allowing him to break his chains and slip out. Even the Gods can’t fight him so he only have to wait for the Chosen King to raise to fulfill his revenge.

This is only an interpretation, but a lot of parts can connect to what we already know, telling us the story of Ardyn.

I don’t have explanations for all the things in AC, for example I don’t think there is a reason for these three specific pillars to be activated, or why Bayek says that the number « XV » is very important apart for the obvious reference to the game. There is also the fact that you have to wait the morning to activate the sundial. Day and night are very important notions in FFXV, but with the release of Ardyn you should expect to wait for the night and not for the day since he’s spreading the Starscourge. But since it’s a sundial, it indeed works better with the sun so I don’t think there is something specific to take here, only gameplay explanations.

And the name of the quest, « A gift from the gods »: it can simply refers to the reward of the quest for the player, but if not it is very mysterious. What can be this « gift » ? Ardyn’s healing powers that corrupted him in the end ? The meteor that fell down with the Starscourge ? The presence of Ardyn in a beautiful cinematic to make all the fangirls chill ? (something they definitely did, believe me, I am one of them XD)

To conclude, I would say everything that happen in this scene is not a coincidence. A lot of aspects can connect to the FFXV lore and if, of course, Ardyn and Bahamut have never been in the Assassin’s Creed universe or even in our, what happened here can possibly be an illustration for what really happened in FFXV.

youtube

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dicecast · 6 years

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The Core Realms of the Outer Planes

-Introduction of the Planes, as written by Sigil Scholar “First Dawn” as punishment for a great crime she committed against nature itself. She can be found in Sigil University giving extremely grumpy lectures about the multiverse until her community service is entirely over.

Part 1: The Core Planes

The most famous Planes are of course, the Outer Planes, so much so that they are quite frankly, over done, and I find this assignment to be entirely beneath my time and dignity to have to explain. The popularity of these monuments to limited imagination isn’t surprising, after all each of them represent a facade of a simplistic, reductive, and all together uninspired morality that shackles this world to the corpse of absolutes. Each of them is dramatic and superficially excited, and for the average prime I imagine it must be quite exciting to discover that not only is Hell real, but that it is build upon metaphorical representations of Lawful Sins. But for those of us wordly enough not only see the larger framework but also to challenge base assumption, the unimpatnative nature of these 9 planes isn’t just uninteresting, it is actively detrimental to true planar study. These 9 planes are so overly studied so that all other fields of Planar examination are left woefully understaffed, with more and more time and effort being dedicated to 9 realms which frankly weren’t very interesting to begin with. This is similar to how the four “Classical” Elements (Earth, Wind, Fire, Water) have become popular that there are more scholars dedicated to the Plane of Water than their are to all of the other 17 elemental planes combined. This planar brain drain is not just frustrating and tedious, it’s also dangerous as the denizens of say, the Middle Planes are actually just as threatening as Demons but lack the symbolic residence to have people make the proper preparations. There are more paladin demon hunting orders than I can caught, but the designs of the PLane of Dreams can evidently walk freely, as their machinations are not laced in the mask of objective morality. Even within the Outer Planes, the vast majority of scholarship goes to the Lower Planes, the realms of Evil, likely because of how ultimately simplistic they are. Discarding cultists, nobody likes demons, and so there are book upon tedious book written about their evil, their depravity, and their lack of complexity, all of which boil down to “Demons are bad, we should kill them.” The Upper Planes, far more challenging in their conceptions, have little in the way of scholar, because defining what is evil is easy, defining what is good is challenging. Seriously can I write about anything other than this, I mean god, this is child’s play stuff?

Ok Fine

There are 9 “Core” Planes, which embody, as you might imagine, personify one of the Night Alignments. I might as well mention now, the Outer Planes have a creepy obsessive fetish with symmetry, which will get tiring very very quickly I assure you. These nine planes can be subdivided into the “Upper” “Lower” and “Central” Planes, personifying Good, Evil, and Neutrality respectively, and it’s all very nice and neat and infantile. Let’s do the Lower Planes First, which as the personification of evil, are utterly overdone in terms of the popular imagination. There is nothing more tedious than the many many texts on the Lower PLanes, so I will try to sum them up as quickly as possible. One thing first, these planes are the largest infinite planes in the multiverse ,because evil is the most powerful force in the multiverse, luckily they are always fighting each other in The Blood War so we don’t have to deal with it, and I’m sure you know this already.

The most overrated of them all are The Nine Hells of Baator, Home of the Devils, Beings of Law and Evil, and every layer of it has been so particularly scrutinized that I suspect many of the scholars (such as those who wrote the Gates of Hell manuals) are actually in the pay of the Nine. Hell is a land of rigid unyielding law, but I want it duly noted it is not in fact, fascist. It isn’t absolute, mindless dehumanizing law, instead it is the most evil aspect law can possibly have, namely Feudalism. The Law of Baator is strict, unyielding, and inhuman, but above all it is unfair and arbitrary. The laws are contradictory, inconsistent, and utterly self destructive but they are literal law, even if they make no sense. This is law to such a demented degree that they don’t make any sense, a hypocritical system which is absolute in its incompetence and inhumanity and yet stills frustrate continues to exist. The Hells are not realms of absolute obedience and conformity to an absolute law, they are an incomprehensible set of rules and obligations that pretends to be a realm of absolute obedience and conformity, which is even worse. The Hells are ruled by the “Lords of the Nine”, 9 freakishly powerful Devils who serve as Feudal Lords, lead by the “Lord of the Nine” the enigmatic and entirely overplayed Asmodeus, who if you read his news briefs, is the most clever, intelligent, funny and sexy entity in the world, but everybody else sees him as a prat.

The opposition to the Nine Hells is the realm of Chaos and Evil, The 666 Infinite Layers of the Abyss, is a realm of absolute paradox, staying with the fact that it supposedly has infinite layers but in fact has 666 (scholars have counted 667). Populated by the Demons, this realm is crawling with every horrific evil imaginable and is the largest plane in existence, for every one Devil, there are at least a million demon, likely more. A single Lawful Evil Mortal soul can create 9 devils, while a single Chaotic Evil soul can create a huge amounts of demons. This is fundamentally and explicitly unfair...and that’s the point. The Abyss is a realm where rules don’t work, in fact any attempt to even conceive of rules are folly, and trying to put it into a box is futile in itself. All generalizations are proven wrong and all trends fail because the Abyss actively rejects it, and the plane itself almost seems to delight in thumbing its nose at conventional understanding, occasionally producing good demons just to confuse everybody else. As a rule demons are sadistic, cruel, and anarchistic but of course...that’s a rule. The Abyss is forever in a war against themselves, each layer has a Demon Lord who wishes to claim the title of “Demon Prince” but only three really have a shot and they have fought for millenia, Grazz’t Lord of Lust and the Triple Realms, Orcus the master of Undeath and Divnity, and of course Demogorgon, the Prince of Demons. However combat is tedious and so is the Abyss, so let’s move one.

The least appreciate Lower Plane is Abaddon, the realm of the Daemons, who are in many ways the more moderate evils and thus less focus is paid to them, which I think is largely unfair, because that makes them the most human. Daemons are oriented around 4 principles of evil, Hypocrisy, Bigotry, Vindictiveness, and Ignorance, and individual Daemons will drift between these as if they were wearing hats. It is very hard to sum up Daemons because they are evil in a very relatable way, they are most famous for their vast corporations of soulless bureaucracy, but Daemons also can have a great deal of personality individually, though almost always in as needlessly dickish a way that they can. Daemons are all hypocrites who lack any core or foundation other than circumstances, and so what type of viciousness they represent varies from moment to moment, and unlike their extreme counterparts, it’s never ideological. Daemons are at their core nihilists, and are evil without justification, logic, intention, or even knowledge, they are the random everyday evil of your average man. Which is why I find them superfluous and am going to move one.

Editor's Note: I have to also mention they are ruled by The Four Horsemen. There, moving on.

Moving on to the perpetually overlooked “Central Planes”, these are the realms of neutrality and really don’t have the scholarship they deserve. They are not in constant war, while Law and Chaos disagree, each mostly acknowledges the necessity of the other, but instead try to find a balance, which is of course, extremely difficult.

First are The Outlands, the great patchwork that connects the Outer Plane, and at the center of this infinite plane is the Spire, on top which lies Sigil. Every square mile of the Outlands is different, almost a patchwork of aspects of other planes, and you could walk through a forest into a desert into a great mechanical wasteland in the span of three minutes. This plane has the largest mortal population, and is responsible for many of the fundamental rules of reality, and keeping the Balance of the Planes intated. Ruling over this are The Aeons, mysterious cosmic entities who keep the illusion of the world intact, or possible weave a new one, enematic and unknown. Their ruler the Monad has as far as I can tell, never been seen and likely doesn’t exist.

Next to the Outlands is The Maelstrom, supposedly the origin of life, and an ever shifting realm in its own right, but this is a realm of creativity, language, and the senses, things that fundamentally reject any limitations placed upon them. The realm is one of potential good and bad, independence and free will, and the native Proteans, strange snake like creatures who seem to wish to push against all restrictions, and offer up radical visions of what could yet be.

Next one is Mechanus, the realm of Gears, which maintains the universe itself. This gigantic endless system of gears and systems is the realm of math, shapes, physics, and systems, consistency and understanding. It has little interest in societal rules, which it finds all together too inconsistent and self serving, but instead cosmic rules, like the notion that 1+1=2 unless you can prove otherwise mathematically. The natives are known as Modrons, and each resemble different forms of law, most look like shapes (Cubes, Pyramids, squares) but other are equations, and the greatest resemble strangely enough different forms of dice.

Next are the Upper Planes, where the forces of good dwell, and are some of the smallest realms in the world, for here dwell the forces of absolute good. And as much as the edgelords out there like to claim otherwise, they aren’t well intended extremists, they cannot be anything other than absolutely good, they are defined by their very good nature on a fundamental level incomprehensible to a mortal. These planes are on the verge of destruction, barely holding their own against the vast hordes of evil, but despite this, they stayed strong and part of that is through their unity, these planes have difference but they work together and help each other, their differences make them stronger and allow them to prevail over the forces of evil. Also i want to make this clear, they are not ruled by Gods, Gods are entirely different things, these are secular realms. Just assholes.

The most famous are the Seven Heavens, where Law and Good come together as one, ruled by the Archons. Built around a Celestial Mountain, the seven layers are all built around the theme of betterment of the self, souls come here and improve steadily, ascending the layers. The natives here believe strongly in goodness as the result of governance, and hope to build institutions, orders, and structures to allow good to flourish. Militarily, they are armies, which is why they get the most attention, the Archons go forth in hoards to try to stymie the forces of evil where they can, and when they do show up, it is indeed magnificent.

Next is the Realm is the Blessed Fields of Elysium, ruled by the kind Aasimons, creatures of love, relationships, and community. This realm is idealism, understanding, and goodness as the result of personal happiness. The souls here try to find joy in themselves and those around them, for those who are happy will turn away from cruelty. The Aasimons are the least known of the Good Exemplars, for they focus not on dramatic heroism whenever possible, but instead on the smaller acts to try to make good have a chance. Childcare, helping broken homes, providing medical aid or psychological care, first responders to disasters, grief counselors, or simply a mysterious women in a bar who is willing to lend a sympathetic ear, Aasimons go often in secret the Material Plane to help keep the spark of hope alive in what little way they can. To them, depression is where evil emerges, and joy is what allows the goodness within you to come forth.

The Transcendent Glades of Arborea is where Chaos and Goodness come together, with the Azatas serving as its manifestation. Aborea is a vast wilderland except more wonderful and magical than any that exists, colors, sensations, and pleasures exist as no mortal co comprehend them, and seriously they throw the best fucking parties you have no idea. This is a realm where man’s base nature is good, and without limitations and restrictions placed upon it, they can come forth and enjoy the morality that lies within us, and Azatas hope to tear down the institutions and systems to force mortals to choose selfishness rather than compassion. Azatas, like Archons, go forth and fight evil ,but they do so as individuals or small bands, of scouts and infiltrators. Many times a force of evil has suddenly fallen apart due to the secret machinations of the Azatas, and more than a few times villians have found they prefer getting really high in Arborea than taking over the world.

Once these 9 realms were balanced equally but ever since the actions of mortals have determined their power, evil has been winning, and so much so that Good as a force is no longer a factor. If the legends are to be believed, this new circumstances was created by the Upper Planes themselves as the price to give mortals true choice of their actions, thus condemning themselves to their own destructions. The Upper Planes by all right should have been wiped out long ago, destroyed by the forces of evil, and yet they prevail, because in a world seemingly resigned to darkness, there is just enough kindness that the light stubbornly refuses to go out.

There you go, 9 overdone, over analyzed, over handled bullshit system which isn’t worth any respect, and I think that the whole thing is a colossal waste of time.

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mzargentum · 7 years

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The Stormsender’s Daughter | Chapter II | Fit For A King

Chapter I |Chapter II | Chapter III

@ravagekamisama @aquathemermaidstripper @digitalkanvas @prettyprompto @insomniasix

“GAH! THAT WRETCHED BRAT!”, a heavily injured Chief Besithia raged at the sight of his destroyed laboratory as well as a decent portion of the facility. Muerlin certainly did a number on this place. Literally a third of it was flat against the snow burying many of its residents let alone billions of gil worth of equipment. “She will pay for this....I will bring that girl to her knees”, he continued envisioning tearing Muerlin’s tiny throat out with his large fist. The chancellor, as calm and collective as eve, examined the damage. “Now now, just a slight delay...nothing we cannot fix”. The ruined facility wasn’t much of a concern to him. He just witnessed the magnificence of his future bride and her divine power. All he was concerned over was retrieving her. The Chief knew this and it annoyed him slightly. “Tck...his radiance will not be pleased by this ‘slight delay’”, Besithia added expressing his irritation. He had every right to be. The Emperor would probably have his head. Iedolas Aldercapt didn’t really participate in much of anything, but he pretty much had a leash on every commanding officer in Niflheim short of Ardyn, and when he received word that not only did one of Besithia’s experiments temporarily put one of his facilities out of commission, but she also escaped...he was going to be anything, but pleased. “I’m sure I can assuage his excellency one way or another”, Ardyn affirmed with confidence. “Even so”, Besithia still impatient to capturing Muerlin, “the Pythoness must be intercepted and we can’t risk a worldwide investigation. It could spark...unwanted attention”. The chancellor smiled toward his concerned friend, “not to worry, dear friend, she will return to us in due time...on her own shortcomings. The Stormsender’s Daughter can’t hide in the shadows forever”, his eyes widened slightly with evil intent, “...but that doesn’t mean we can’t give her a little push”. Besithia smirked at his friend’s logic. He was right. The Pythoness was going to pay.

Meanwhile in Willownoire...

The sun peered into the windows of the homes throughout the sleeping kingdom. Mother’s and father’s snuggled their children close after soothing their nightmares from the previous night. The stray coeurl pups nuzzled against their mother’s firm bodies still pleasantly dreaming. Even the great behemoths spent their mornings prowling for their next meal, disturbing the fish within the clear lagoon. So gentle, so peaceful. “Your Majesty”, a light voice interrupted the tranquil daydream of Willownoire’s king. King Silvanus Zephyr CXIII turned his head slightly in indication of his attention to his servant, Leira. “My apologizes...you asked me to inform you upon King Regis’ arrival”, the elderly woman softly stated to the troubled king. “Yes...thank you, Leira”, the king kindly replied to the woman. She graced him with a smile and a light bow before exiting the room. Regis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis, was a dear friend of the Zephyr’s. He rarely got to travel to Willownoire due to imperial watch. Though there were times he could sneak past the empire’s defenses. Thankfully, this was one of those times. Silvanus reached out to his friend recently as a personal favor. Usually most forget that even a king needs a friendly ear every now and again. Silvanus exited his quarters to meet his old friend by the hidden garden behind the kingdom. It was only accessible to a Zephyr. After all, it was Asteria’s favorite place to play. “Blessed be the Stars”, Silvanus shouted pleasants toward the Lucian king,“King Regis...as I live and breathe”. Regis chuckled at his friend’s dramatic greeting. They have sent many letters back and forth over the years. He was also aware that he was coming that day. “Spare me, you old fool”, the Lucian joked as he embraced his friend with a hug. “Have you been in good health?”, Silvanus patted his friend’s shoulder. “Quite so”. Regis nodded. “I can tell. You have a glow”, Silvanus gestured toward the Lucian king’s pale cheeks, illuminated by the morning sun, as he walked past him toward the garden. Regis shook his head with a chuckle at his friend as he followed his lead. He seemed in high spirits despite his seemingly desperate plea for his aid though he could tell there was something off. As they entered the garden, Silvanus’ smile dissipated. Protected by the cerulean hedges and their crystallized roses, he proceeded to divulge his emotions to his trusted friend. Luckily, Regis was already aware of what ailed him. “I can feel the weight of your guilt”, Regis softly yet firmed stated to his friend. A slight chuckle escaped Silvanus’ throat, “is it that obvious?”, the Willownoirian sighed in defeat. “You forget, I am also a father...”. There was not much else needed to be said that hadn’t been said or thought already. How could he do it? How could he give away his little girl? HIS DAUGHTER. The Astrals would be ashamed of him. WERE ashamed of him. Any father would be ashamed of him. Silvanus perched onto a marble bench lightly throwing his head back toward the sunlit sky. Hot tears forming in his violet eyes. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes letting his tears fall down the side of his face. “I betrayed her...”, the king spoke, his words shaky with grief and heartbreak. His friend joining him on the bench looking to the large pond in front of them. Watching the koi frolic under the surface. “Willownoire has survived under the shadow of the empire for decades...my father before me, his father...his father”. Regis shifted his gaze to his freind with a forwarded brow, curious as to where he was going with this. “...all strong willed men...all made their share of sacrifices”. “But not at their children’s expense”, Regis barked. Silvanus gritted his teeth at his friend’s comment. It was a low blow, but he knew he was right. He allowed his family to be divided out of his fear for his kingdom. He allowed his own flesh and blood to be taken from his grasp knowing full well he would possibly never get to hold her again. “Even the Fulgerian himself never would’ve done such a deed. We all know the legends”, Regis continued in a firm tone. “A King is bestowed his duty upon the day of his birth. It is his destiny. A father’s duty is bestowed upon the birth of his child. It is his privilege...and his legacy”. Silvanus taking in his friend’s words lowered his gaze to the pond. “How is the young prince?” “Noctis is well...”, the Lucian looked toward his ring of the old kings with a heavy anguish. Silvanus placed friendly a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “The Chosen King will find his way”, Silvanus smiled to the Lucian. He did not have to explain. The young prince, Noctis Lucis Caelum, was destined to be the Chosen King prophesied to sacrifice himself to save Eos in the distant future. His son....destined to die. A burden his the Lucian king was not fully prepared to face. Regis nodded in gratitude at his the Willownoirian King’s gesture. Of course he understood. After all, his daughter was the Pythoness. Harboring half white and black magic. Half daemon. Destined to be despised by most. Destined to be alone. “...and the Pythoness will find peace”, Regis reassured his dear friend. Silvanus patted the Lucian’s shoulder. He shifted his gaze toward the sky, a gleam in his eye. For the first time in 5 years, Silvanus Zephyr was at true peace.

As the afternoon sun settled into the sky, King Regis had departed Willownoire to return to Insomnia. King Silvanus retreated toward his palace, his gaze hung low in deep thought. “Silvy...”, snapped back to reality by the soft, yet stern voice, he smiled sweetly to his beloved Ceres, his Queen. “Don’t you get tired of always brooding about? The citizens are starting to think we’re no fun”, she joked with a smirk. Hands placed firmly upon her hips. The king chuckled, “we cannot have that can we?” “No, we most certainly cannot. Not while my reputation hands in the balance”. Silvanus playfully rolled his eyes. Suddenly this was about her. “Imagine if the whole kingdom found out I was married to such a stiff? I’d be ruined!” “Well, I apologize for inconveniencing you, your Majesty”, the King dramatically joked with a bow. “As you should. No way will I let this kingdom think the Zephyr’s aren’t fun, for I, sir, am VERY fun”. “That you are, my love”. Satisfied, Ceres smiled and proceeded to head back into the palace. Her king following beside her. “So, how was the mighty King of Lucis?”, Ceres asked in a cheerful tone. She missed Regis’ company greatly, but was far too busy to take the time out of her daily commute. “Very well. He sends his regards”. She lightly giggled. “...and young Noctis?” She looked toward her king with slightly worried eyes. “I’m sure he is alright...he has Regis as a father after all”, he reassured his queen with a large smile. Ceres chuckled at her husband’s playfulness though she still seemed bothered. “They ought to be the same age...”, she whispered. The king’s heart cracked at his wife’s sorrowful tone. Ceres was the radiant star that lit up the darkness that brewed in his since he lost Muerlin, but he sometimes forget that while he wallowed for his sins as her father, Ceres was her mother. Silvanus wasn’t the only one who lost something those 5 years ago. “Yes...which means once this is all over, they can rule together against the empire. Hand in hand”. Ceres raised a confused eyebrow at her husband whom had an unfamiliar look of determination on his face. Against...the empire? Was he thinking....no..that’s ridiculous. ....isn’t it? Silvanus felt his queen’s stare and despite her general sprightly nature, she worried for his well-being. He was very stubborn and prideful, and still, after all these years, refused to deliberately give into his sorrows to his wife. Or “display weakness” as he called it. “Hey...”, Ceres softly addressed her husband placing a firm hand upon his chest stopping him in his tracks. She stepped in front of him leaning against her king’s heart, meeting his gaze with undying love and devotion. The man melted into her glittery blue eyes. “I know you’re not going to tell me everything and you don’t have to...”, the woman delicately spoke, “but...just remember...we’re a team...and whatever path you take, I will be right by your side...always”. Dearest Ceres, she always knew exactly what to say to mend her husband’s broken heart. He smiled at his beloved wife, gently placing his large hands upon her angelic face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. She reached up gently clutching onto her husband’s wrist, a light smile upon her lips. “Ceres...”, he whispered to his love. “Yes?” Their faces mere inches from one another. “...you think I’m fun, right?” The queen scoffed playfully slapping her husband’s hand away before hastily retreating to the palace. “Idiot”. Silvanus chuckled chasing after his love. “Ceres, c’mon! Don’t you think I’m fun?” “No, but your son does. Why don’t you go bug him for a while?”, she gingerly waved her husband away. Silvanus stopped in the foyer, his wife continued on. “I love you!”, he shouted after her, the servants smiling at their banter. “You better!”, she replied with a chuckle, turning slightly and winking at her husband with a grin. With that, the king made his way to the right hallway. Who says the king of Willownoire was no fun?

“Wow...that’s really good”, Lord Ein, the eldest of the Zephyr children, chuckled at his younger brother, Taron’s, tower of building blocks. “Thanks”, the 4 year old said as he grabbed a green block from aside his brother. “What’s it supposed to be?”, the elder brother asked shifting to the side slightly so the boy could reach his remaining blocks. “A castle”, he answered gleefully, grabbing two more. “A castle? Who lives there?” He grabbed a few of his action figures to sit in front. “You...me...daddy...mommy...Gaea...Heira”, he listed as his grabbed one more sitting it in the middle. “Who’s that?”, Ein gestured to the mysterious figurine. “That’s Muerlin”, the boy answered looking at his brother with a duh expression. Ein looked at the four year old in slight shock, but refrained from questioning him further. “Right. Of course, it is....Muerlin”. Taron was born a year after Muerlin was taken, but it couldn’t be anymore normal to the naive boy. Ein on the other head had a more difficult time just accepting it. After all, he was there. He remembers it like it was yesterday. 10 years old, sweating bullets as he heard his mother’s blood curdling shrieks from outside her bedroom. A young maid being escorted out and vomiting on the stain glass floors. 4 hours of continuous panic until he heard his infant sister’s subtle cries. Leira finally granting them and Gaea access to view the small bubblefaced baby with short silver hair...only to watch her be taken away 14 hours later. Completely helpless. If only he could’ve stopped them....if only.... An abrupt knock on the prince’s door brought him out of his thoughts. “It’s open”, he replied granting his father’s entry. “Well, well would you look at this?!”, Silvanus enthusiastically exclaimed toward his sons. “Hi, dad”, Ein greeted his father with a chuckle. “Now what have we here- WAIT! Don’t tell me....ummmmm”, the king joked with his youngest son who giggled at his gesture. “It’s a castle!” “A castle! Of course! And is your brother helping you?” “No!”, Taron turns toward Ein with a smirk, “he’s just sitting there watching like a dope”. “Hey...you said you didn’t want me to help”, Ein protested. “I don’t because it’s mine”. The 4 year old satisfied with his logic continued with his masterpiece as Ein rolled his eyes and stood up approaching his father who was chuckling at his youngest son’s retort. “Funny...you were just like him back in the day”, he teased the collective young man. “Tch..yeah, right”. Ein crossed his arms watching the boy play. “I saw King Regis here earlier...by the garden”. The king shifted his gaze to his inquisitive son. Ein was quite sharp...sometimes too much for his own good. “Yes...he and I had a little chat earlier”, Silvanus said in a lightened tone hoping to ease his son’s mind. “Don’t you think that’s a little risky? With the empire breathing down our necks and all...?”, Ein turned toward his father, a stern look in his eye. Ein had the means to be king someday, but was never very keen on the idea. “The empire should be the last of your worries”. “Because you’re the only one whose neck is on the line?”, Ein retorted sharply at his father. Silvanus couldn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. “Taron’s never even met Muerlin...yet his mind is on her constantly. He thinks this is normal. That she’s just...on vacation or something. And who knows what Heira thinks?”, he stepped closer to his father, “what’re you going to tell them when she doesn’t come back?” Despite how much he wanted to deny it, his son had a point. To be honest, Silvanus was certain none of them would ever see Muerlin again...but negativity would get them nowhere. “That is not of true importance right now. What is is how deal with the empire”. Silvanus firm and poised watching his son frolic in naivety. “I will not serve them, dad...I don’t care of the consequences-”, Silvanus cut him off, in a relaxed tone, “you will not have to”. The prince turned toward his father, perplexed, “...what?” “You will not have to...”, the king met his son’s eye. “Willownoire will no longer live in the shadow of Niflheim. I cannot promise much...other than the fact that our people will prevail. Only with your help,” the king placed his hand upon the young prince’s shoulder, “...my son. Help me pave the way for your sister to follow and I promise you...Willownoire will prosper”. Ein was young, but he was sharp. Looking toward little Taron, he knew what his father was trying to tell him...and though it hurt, he knew it was his duty to aid the Pythoness. To aid his sister. He returned his gaze to his father and nodded, accepting his fate. Yes. Willownoire will prevail.

Meanwhile, on the southern side of the castle...

“Ow.......OW! Mom!” Ceres, startled by the sudden outburst looked down to see a frustrated Gaea, the second eldest of the Zephyr children, underneath rubbing the back of her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear”. “You need’a break?”, the 12 year old sighed, “I’m sure Heira would like a turn at the torture session”, the angsty pre-teen joked gesturing to the small girl playing on the sofa across from them. Heira was the youngest of the Zephyr children, only 2 years of age. “Now, now”, Ceres chuckled at the girl, “let your sister play. Besides, her hair is still fine since the last time I brushed it unlike someone’s”, the queen teased. “That’s because she doesn’t go anywhere”. “Or she just gets into less trouble”. Gaea huffed at her mother’s teasing and watched the child play. “I remember when you were that cute”, Ceres sighed jokingly antagonizing the fussy pre-teen. “I remember when there were only two of us”, she attempted to mumble under her breath only to receive a light smack to her cheek. “Simmer down, Squirrel Girl”, referring to Gaea’s chubby cheeks. “MOOOM! Ughhh!” Gara covers her cheeks with her hands. Ceres laughs at her daughter’s annoyance and gives one of her squirrel cheeks a loving kiss. Mmmmmwah. Little Heira, hearing the funny noise, giggled at her mother and sister revealing her nearly toothless smile. She places her tiny hands upon her cheeks squishing them imitating her big sister, but also crosses her eyes and sticking her tongue out making fart sounds. Ceres chuckles at her daughter’s humorous cuteness. Gaea on the other hand, rolls her eyes and shifts her gaze out the window. Silence invades the room for a moment. “What was King Regis doing here earlier?”, Gaea asks her mother, voice monotone. Ceres raises an eyebrow. She never expected her to be so observant. “Your father asked him here for a personal favor”. “Like what? Thinking of getting rid of Taron next?” The queen winced at her daughter’s question. Gaea protested Silvanus giving Muerlin away to the Nifs. She was only 7 years old when Muerlin was born. She was such a lively and eccentric child and was so excited about her little sister, but since that fateful day, her relationship with her father had strained. Taron was born only a year later. She wasn’t Ein, but she at least knew that her mom must have gotten pregnant right after Muerlin’s abduction. ...Then Heira only 2 years later. She loved her siblings, but couldn’t help but feel like her father was trying to replace the one he gave away to distract everyone from the fact that the empire had complete control over them. Most of Willownoire didn’t even know about Muerlin. Hell, pretty much all of Eos didn’t....but nobody cared because there was Taron and Heira. Like a Hydra. Cut off one head, two more grow in its place. “Your father wouldn’t do that...”, Ceres finally replied to her angry daughter. “Tch...he did it once”. “Gaea...”. “What makes you think he wouldn’t do it again?” “Gaea”. “Then you can have two more babies”. “GAEA!” Ceres shouted startling little Heira. The baby girl dropped her toys onto the floor and started to cry. Ceres rose from her chair, “oh dear...”, she whispered as she made her way to the crying 2 year old, cuddling her close to soothe her. “Shhh...mommy’s sorry, pumpkin. She didn’t mean to scare you”. Gaea stood from her seat and huffed as she exited the room not saying another word. Ceres was angry...but could she be really? She knew how losing Muerlin effected Gaea...and frankly, she understood. She never really expressed it, but she despised the empire and the destruction it brought to her family. Frankly, she was sick of it. Enough was enough.

That night...

A dim azure flame flickers in the fireplace of the king and queen’s chambers where Silvanus is standing at his desk by the window. He stares intensely at a metal box with a crystal teardrop over the lock keeping it sealed. The only sound emitted in the room was the sparks of the fire. The king’s breathes were seemingly nonexistent. You would’ve believed his heart had stopped. Soon after Ceres entered the room, as lighthearted and cheery as ever, returning the king to the land of the living. She stretched. “Well, Heira and Taron are FINALLY asleep after 2 hours of storytime”, her cracking joints echoed through the otherwise quiet room. “Y’know, those two should read to me once in a while. It’ll be good practice for when I turn senile”. The king laughed at her joke. “...and Gaea?”, he asked meeting her gaze. “Oh, she’ll probably be home soon”, Ceres waved away at the question like it was nothing. Although her husband knew her better. He could hear the shakiness in his wife’s throat. He heard from one of the servants of the incident with Gaea earlier, but she clearly did not want to discuss it so he left it alone. Silvanus retreated from his desk and put out the fire letting the moon illuminate the room. He turned toward his bed to see Ceres sitting on the edge of her side staring toward the moon with her hands delicately placed in her lap. Silvanus approached the window, hands behind his back, to admire this glorious night. He released a sigh of satisfaction. “The moon is gorgeous tonight...the stars are chased silver”. A beautiful sight, indeed. The king was in pure bliss at the view. “Silver...”, his wife whispered, voice choked in her throat. He turned toward her noticing the tears flowing down her cheek glistening in the moonlight. “...like her hair”. Silvanus approached his wife, kneeling in front of her, and took her dainty hands into his own planting kisses onto them. He knew his wife went through hell to keep her composure these past five years. If anyone deserved a moment to cry, it was her. “I never got to hear her call me “mother”....never got to soothe her from her nightmares....tell her that there was no such thing as the boogie man....that last one would’ve been a lie because we let him take her away”. Her voice grew angry. Silvanus looked up to see her blue eyes begin to twitch. “We let him take her....”, he felt a low roar in the room. “Ceres”. “We let him....”, the roar grew louder, items in the room began to shake. “...take her”. The shaking worsened, glass was knocked off of shelves, the chairs and tables began to levitate. “Ceres”. “We let him take her”, Ceres began to shout as various itens were thrown about the room. The bed was elevated slightly. “Ceres!” “NOOOO!”, she screamed cracking the window before her husband grabbed her face with both hands forcing her to meet his gaze. The abrupt disturbance put her panic at rest before everything in the room was settled and silences was emitted once again. The woman relaxing into the man’s arms as he whispered sweet sentiments to her cooling her off. “...this needs to stop”, the queen finally speaks in a pant. Silvanus shot his wife a surprised face. “The empire...our family can’t bare this any longer....we need her....I need my little girl”, the queen sobbed. Silvanus clutching her trembling body against his chest, “she will come...the empire cannot fight the storm forever...we will pave the road for her to take...”. “No matter the consequence...”, the queen added. “No matter where she may go...the Pythoness will come home...and we will be waiting”.

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