#jocelyn and trevelyan

[dreadwolfish]

It was a long time since Jocelyn Trevelyan had gone to a party like the one First Enchanter Vivienne had invited her to. She elected to leave her companions behind, though Cassandra in particular gave her a look that said she disapproved.

But the party should be harmless enough, and Jocelyn didn't want to insult Madame de Fer by insinuating that she needed bodyguards in her home.

Or, rather, in the home of the Duke of Ghislain. Rumors of Madame de Fer's relationship with Duke Bastien had flown even as far as the Ostwick Circle.

Vivienne's reputation preceded her, in more ways than one.

read the rest on archive of our own.

#da fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #dragon age #vivienne de fer #trevelyan #storiesofthedas #storiesofthedas6 #myfanfic

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Romance 11-22-20

Sunday Romance 11-22-20 

Prompt:  Time stops when I’m with you 

Word count:  1520 (sorry… I did try) 

I’m taking this from my Nanowrimo project.  I wasn’t expecting how it went, but sometimes characters surprise us.  So it goes.  I had to edit down a lot as the original bit had over 2100 words.  

Tagging @sunday-romance 

They slipped into the library.  Trevelyan used Power to light the candles by the chess boards.  He led her closer to the light and turned to her.  Carefully, he rolled up her sleeve to reveal where Miranda had held her so tight.  She drew a ragged breath at the tender touch.  His fingers traced over the bruises starting there.  Feather light but enough to draw heat into her veins.  A dark look crossed his face.  

“It’s nothing,”  she soothed.  She pulled away from him, rolling her sleeve down as she did.  She moved towards the chess boards, needing the space from him.  

“But Miranda hurt you.”  

She blinked in surprise before shaking her head.    “What makes you say that?”  

“I saw her grab your arm.”  

“Oh.”  That detail pleased and worried her. “She can’t hurt me, not in a way that matters.  It’s not worth making a fuss over it.”  

“So you’ll forgive her for it?”  His voice sounded hard, rough.  

“I didn’t say that.”  She moved White’s pawn.  “I just said it’s not worth a fuss.”  

“If you say.”  He stood across from her and moved Black’s pawn.  

“Convenient of Aerilon to cause a diversion.” 

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?”  

She smiled.  “Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s done this.”  

“Whatever makes you think that?”  

“Call it a hunch.”  

He smiled.  “He is a good friend.”   

“Yes, he is.”  

They played in quiet, still standing across the table from each other.  “Henry had you at his table this evening,” he observed.  

“Yes, so he did.”  She moved her Celestial.  

“You don’t sound pleased.”  

“Am I supposed to be?”  

“Some consider it an honor.”  

“Then he really should find one of them instead of me.”   

“No desire to be queen?”  

She made a disgusted face.  “May the Goddess and the Consort save me from such a fate.”  She studied the boards.  Why had he moved his Castle there?  She moved her Dragon to counter.  She looked up to find him smiling.  “What?”  

“Not afraid I’ll tell Henry how you feel?”  

“Why should I since Henry already knows?”  

He nodded as he took her pawn.  She captured one of his.  They kept playing.  Jocelyn tried to concentrate, but the way he looked at her was distracting.  Truth be told, he was distracting.  What was he doing here with her?  Why did he have Daniel create that diversion so he could bring her here?  It couldn’t have been just about the bruising.  She went to move her Troll then realized that it would be a mistake.   

“You’re not playing very well.”    

She sighed.  “No, I’m not.”  

“Any reason why?”  

She looked up.  Her heart caught on the beauty of him.  She studied the curve of his lips, wondering again what he would taste like and knowing it would be so good.  Gods, why did she have to think of kissing him?  Her fingers itched to trace over the planes of his cheeks.  She wanted to feel his skin against hers, his weight against hers.  Gods, she wanted him.  It was just that simple.  Yet, he did not want her and she knew it… except he was here, studying her in a way he hadn’t before.  Why was he looking at her so?  

“Jocelyn.”  

“Yes?”  

“You didn’t answer my question.”  

She raced to remember which question she had avoided.  “I suppose I didn’t.”  

“Will you answer it now?”  

Her eyes dropped his lips again.  They would be soft and sweet and good.  Yet he wasn’t hers.  He wasn’t.  She saw too much in his look.  Her heart led her down a dangerous path.  She needed to leave.  He wasn’t hers.  He really wasn’t.  She needed to remember that.  

She dragged her eyes away from him.  “No.”  

“Why not?”  

“Because it doesn’t matter.  I’m just not playing well.”  She sighed.  Her hands started for her hair to run her fingers through.  She stopped, remembering all the combs there.  She dropped her hands, brushing her palms over her dress.  “Sorry, Wexton.  Perhaps we could continue this game another time.”  

“If you wish.”  

She nodded.  Now was the time for her to leave.  Yet, she stayed where she was, still caught by him.  How did he do that?  Why was she so enthralled with him?  Did it matter even?  He wasn’t hers.  He wasn’t.  Gods, what was she going to do when he married another?  The thought crashed through her, pummeling her heart, and stealing her breath.  Another.  He was going to marry another.  He was, wasn’t he?  

“I should go,” she said.  “Stay.”  

The word froze her.  “Why?”  she asked even as she wished she hadn’t.  

“Because.”  He stopped.  “I want to say something to you.”  

“Which is?”  He didn’t speak.  He just studied her like she was a wonder.  “Wexton.”  

He shook his head, sending his gaze to the floor.  “It was easier to say in my head.”  

She grinned.  “Most things are.”  

He nodded.  “Yes.”  He blew out his breath, looking away.  She drew her brows together in puzzlement.  Why was he nervous?   “I didn’t mean it, you know.”  

She frowned, confused beyond measure.  “Didn’t mean what?”  

“What I said to Northam, about you having no qualities to commend you as a wife.  I didn’t mean it.”  He looked at her then, pain crossing his face.  “I had to stop him pestering me about you.  You weren’t meant to hear what I said.”  

“But why?” she asked.  “Why say them at all if you didn’t mean them?  

“Because I can’t have him or anyone know how much you matter to me.”  His voice was rough with emotion.  “I’m the King’s Enforcer.  I cannot put anyone before my king, but I’d put you.  You’re my weakness and there are many who’d use you against me and I’d let them if it would keep you safe.  I thought I could marry Miranda as she mattered less, but I can’t.  Not if I have a chance with you.”  He drew a long breath.  “Gods, Jocelyn, with you, I’m at peace.  Time loses meaning and…”  He stopped.  “What?”  

For a moment, she had felt joy.  She mattered to him.  Those words sent her heart soaring.  Then he spoke of Miranda mattering less.  She could see his reasoning, the cruel logic in it, and it infuriated her.  How dare he.   Fury exploded through her.  

“You’d marry someone so you could sacrifice her if necessary?”  

“I…” he started then stopped.  “Oh.”  

“Yes, oh.  Most certainly oh because that’s what you’re implying even if you don’t realize it.”  She glared at him.  “How could you think of doing that to Miranda?  Marrying her just because you don’t love her is awfully cold-hearted and cruel.”  

“But…”  

“And what of your children?”  she demanded.  “Do you really think your enemies wouldn’t target them?”    

He frowned.  “I hadn’t considered that.”  

“Of course you hadn’t considered it.”  She threw her hands into the air.  “Gods, Wexton.  Your family isn’t meant to be your weakness.  They’re meant to be a source of strength and I can’t believe you thought about doing that to Miranda.”  

“You’re defending her?”  he asked in puzzlement.  

“Well, someone has to.”  She crossed her arms over her chest.  “We both know she’s not my favorite person, but I’m not going to let you use her in such a way.  That’s cruel and it’s not you, Wexton.  It really isn’t.”  

“No?”  he asked, his voice edged with anger.  “Are you sure?”  

“Yes!  And before you ask me how I know, I remind you of William and your men.  You think you’re a hard man, but inside you is a very good heart.  I really wish you could see that, but you don’t and I don’t know why.  Which makes your plans for your marriage completely ridiculous and quite frankly stupid considering everyone you hold as a friend is a weakness.”  She stopped, suddenly aware of Trevelyan’s focus on her.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”  

“Like what?”  

She frowned.  “Like you either want to fight me or kiss me and you can’t decide which.”  

He snorted.  “That would be true.”  

“Oh.”  She stilled even as her heart raced again.  “You want to kiss me?”  

He snorted again, this one more a laugh than before.  “Woman, I’ve wanted to kiss you since you took my Castle on our tenth game together and smirked at me in triumph.”  

“Oh.”  She remembered that game well.  “Why didn’t you?”  

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me to.”  

She bit her lip.  “But I did.”  “But you were betrothed to Marsten.”  

“And I still wanted to kiss you.”  

He sighed, shaking his head.  “Perhaps I should’ve then.”  

“You could now.”  The words left her before she could consider the wisdom of them.  

“I could?”  She nodded.  “Thought I was too cruel.”  He leaned towards her over the boards.  

“Only if you’d actually married Miranda.”  She leaned towards him as well.  

“Which I’m not going to do.”  

“No.” 

His lips were close to hers.  “What am I doing instead?”  

She brushed her lips to his.  “Marry me.”  

He grinned.  “Thought you’d never ask.”  

#sundaylove #sundayromance #my writing #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #jocelyn and trevelyan #not sure I like how this ended up #probably more to flesh out but jocelyn was mad at trevelyan #poor guy just wanted to tell her that he liked her

[aliemah]

Love Languages

You can’t say I never did anything for you, now! I wrote some Cullen x Trevelyan fluff fic that’s just me being cutesy and self-indulgent but I guess you can read it too if you want.

Click here to read that shit on AO3 or you can read it below the cut.

------

To her, love was more than just the hugging and kissing and good feelings that came with it. Once it had meant just that, but since she’d met Cullen, her perception of what love was had changed.

Love was getting to watch him wake up from a deep sleep in the early morning sun, hair messy and tangled. Sharing a bed through the night was different, but soon it became his only comfort. Feeling him pull her closer to his chest, placing kisses on her neck before he pressed his nose into her hair - he loved the subtle scent of elderflower of the soap she used. Some mornings his hands would wander her body aimlessly. Always reverent, appreciative, caring. Other mornings, there was a purpose, and meaning to his touches. Desperate after a period of absence from each other, teasing when she’d brought up that game of Wicked Grace, gentle when she’d had a poor night’s sleep.

Love was listening to him give orders to his soldiers to protect the fortress, to secure a new foothold in a region, to send a report to Leliana to decipher. Conviction and confidence suited him, and he didn’t need the massive fur on his shoulders to stand out as the commander. He often shed it to spar with new recruits, anyway. Hearing the pure exertion of his energy with each swing, each blow that was taken, the care in his voice - remember to raise your shield! - the gentle reminders as splinters were pulled from tender skin. For as fierce and immovable as the man was, he had a heart of gold. Every soldier knew this. Every soldier respected this. Orders were spoken once, heeded twice. She only ever heard him raise his voice once outside battle; someone had been careless with their sword. A shout turned to a stern voice, softer words, and a reminder to mind their sword.

Love was waking up in the middle of the night when his night terrors returned. Wiping the sweat from his forehead when he woke, reassuring him he didn’t have to apologize for waking her. Never asking him to talk to her, but always there to listen. When he caught his breath, she went to grab the teapot, getting fresh water and tea and setting it by the fire. Sometimes she would wrap him in a blanket, sometimes she would simply lean against him. Whether he talked or remained silent, he always held her hand. She wasn’t sure what it was about the tea that was so soothing to him, but after a cup or two, he was always ready to go back to sleep. He always clutched to her dearly when they lay back down, sometimes so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. But eventually, he would relax, sleeping peacefully the remainder of the night with her beneath the weight of his arms.

Love was the pain that came with the realization she could die any day, at any time. Tucked away in a dark corner of Skyhold, face soaked with tears as her arms wrapped around her legs, she was hardly surprised when she heard Cole’s voice calmly guiding Cullen to her. Cole wanted to help, he assured the boy that he’d done enough to bring him to her, and asked him to please wait outside. His smile was gentle, knowing, and he simply sat beside her, making a comment about how she must be freezing sitting on the stone floor for so long. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, but she cracked a smile and leaned against the fur of his coat. Silence for so long. Until his hand turned palm up, nearly in her face. Cole had told him what had been on her mind. He knew that fear well, and wanted to show her something. Despite the cold and the rain, they made their way to the edge of the bridge of Skyhold, where he spoke in that same, patient, quiet voice. She had much to be proud of, and every right to be afraid. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in control. Her armor was well maintained even when she was out traveling, the same to be said of her weapons. Her companions would all protect her fiercely or die themselves trying to save her. There were worse things than death, he claimed, but she didn’t have the mind to ask what he meant by that - he was likely speaking from experience. Each moment they spent alone, her pain was eased with the knowledge that she was understood perfectly. It would never go away but the burden was made easier.

Love was seeing the way his face lit up upon seeing her after a long day. The hard lines on his face softened, his lips would curl and pull at the scar ever so slightly, his eyes seemed to reignite with some fire behind them. Some days she could stroll right up to his desk and greet him, other days she waited by the door for his meeting to finish. His greeting was always the same - a sight for sore eyes. The days when she returned from a mission outside the fortress, often late in the evening, she felt she was the one who needed to see him. Sometimes he was already asleep, taking up the entire space of the bed until she woke him with a gentle nudge, collapsing beside him and effectively passing out. Other times it seemed he knew she would be returning and kept himself awake to greet her and make sure everything went as well as it ever could. He treated her like she was the only person worth listening to when she came with news of any kind, pushing aside all other responsibilities or feelings to give her his complete attention with that mildly adorable look in his eyes to match.

Love was seeing the relief that overtook him when she returned from her final battle with Corypheus. She was covered in blood, bruises, dirt and sweat, but he saw right past all of it when he took her in his arms, his sword clattering to the ground beside them. Her legs felt ready to give out, and he lowered them both to the ground to sit, keeping his arms firmly around her. She was cradled, feeling his warm tears against her neck.

Love was watching him casually toss opened letters into the fire as she curled up against him. There was a faint smile on his face with each one that got added. Elaborate wax seals in various shades of red or blue, fanciful script that was sometimes too elaborate to be read. Declarations of interest or outright proposals all tossed into the flame as he held her hand. As the last of the pile was cast into the heat, the thumb that had broken each of those seals was placed on her lower lip before he leaned down to press his own lips to hers.

Love was finding herself incapable of seeing a future without him. Inquisition or no, he was beside her. At times, it was beside her back home in Ostwick. Other times she imagined what it might be like to live in Ferelden. She asked him one afternoon over a game of chess what he might do if the Inquisition was disbanded. He replied, with readiness she hadn’t anticipated, that he intended to follow her wherever she went. Consequently, he asked what she thought she might do, and she forgot the game of chess, staring dumbly across at him in surprise at his words. Moving a piece on the board, she grinned, admitting she liked the sound of that. She asked if he would like to see Ostwick, and meet her family. He joked about not being of the proper breed to meet them, despite knowing all he had to do was ask and he could gain just about any noble title he desired, short of King. He sacrificed a knight to protect his queen, smiling when he replied he would love to meet her family if they were open to meeting him.

Love was too many words and feelings to be captured so easily in one. When people asked if she loved Cullen, the answer felt almost too easy, too simple: 

Yes.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #female trevelyan #jocelyn trevelyan #cullen x inquisitor #fluff #fanfiction #spoilers? #short fic #aliemah

[servantofclio]

How about 12, 13, and 14? Please and thank you :D

12. Brainiest VS Brawniest. These are both going to be DA characters: Maeve Surana, tiny elven mage, is the most cerebral and intellectual. I’m giving Simon Trevelyan the nod for brawniest, since he’s a six-foot warrior, although Coran Aeducan would also be a contender.

13. Most forgiving VS Most grudgeful. Most forgiving: Aderyn Hawke is tremendously kind and forgiving almost to a fault. Most grudgeful: Coran Aeducan never forgets a slight.

14. Physical vices (drugs, sex, alcohol) VS Spiritual vices (Lust, wrath, envy). Yikes! This one is tough. Um, Jocelyn Hawke definitely drinks too much, so I’ll name her for physical vices. Spiritual vices, I’ll hand to Alex Shepard and all his not-entirely-repressed anger.

#oc headcanons #simon trevelyan #aderyn hawke #coran aeducan #jocelyn hawke #alex shepard #ferociousqueak #replies #maeve surana

[thecookiealchemist]

Dragon Age OCs: Worldstate One 

#oc: jocelyn amell #oc: astrid hawke #oc: elise trevelyan #dragon age

[isobel-thorm]

Tagged by @troyebakers to do this piccrew

My gorls: Warden Queen Katryn Cousland // Evena Cousland // Ariadne Hawke // Rhia Trevelyan // Hero Princess Jocelyn // Dragonborn Rowena

[arcaneworrier]

my new OC, Jocelyn Trevelyan.

#dragon age #dai #I know I've been on a hiatus lately #sorry! #but hopefully I'm back for good #mine. #oc: jocelyn

[darlingrutherford]

15?

Thank you so much for the prompt, Nonny! This was such a great prompt that I ended up writing two of them: one for Sarya Lavellan, and one for Frederick Trevelyan.

For those reading To Weather the Storm, the letter I wrote for Sarya to receive is from a character that will eventually be in a future chapter. She would have already received this letter by this point in the story, so no spoilers mentioned. But, maybe a bit of insight to some things that haven’t been brought up yet :)

15. A letter to your OC from a companion they haven’t seen in a while

Letter to Sarya Lavellan

On’ala Sarya,

It has been so long since your last letter to our clan, I began wondering if the Shem made you forget us. I am not even sure this letter will reach you, for surely they are reading them. Still, I have hopes that you will respond.

Clan Lavellan is different without you here. Much has gone on the same in the months since you left, but there is an air of sweetness missing. Fewer flowers are strewn over camp. Arlise’el’s salves do not soothe as well as yours. Do you remember, five years ago, when one of Fen’harel’s wolves came upon our hunting group and caught us by surprise? You had to spend so much time tending to my wounds. I did not think they were so severe, but you always knew best.

With how much time you are spending with the Shem, I hope you will still remember us. You say you are not being held against your will, but can that really be true? I can’t imagine they allow you to roam the forests freely as you did with us, to dance under Mythal’s light during celebrations as we did. I worry about your safety with them. You must be an enigma to them, a free Dalish mage living in their world of cages and templars. I even heard rumor the commander of the Inquisition’s army is one of them, and from Kirkwall no less… I will be asking Istimaethoriel for leave to check on you. Your hand is unmistakable, but still, I wonder.

Astisha mya mar, Vhenan.

Renan Nerian Lavellan

Letter to Frederick Trevelyan

Frederick,

When we sent you to the Conclave to represent House Trevelyan, it was because I believed you to have finally outgrown your childish enthusiasm. Evidently, no manner of upbringing can train that out of you. Your Lady Ambassador wrote to me, begging for intervention as apparently you won’t listen to a word she is saying. Do you know what it’s like, for a mother to receive a letter stating that her youngest son recently fought off a horde of bears he needn’t even fight?

I know, as you have written thusly, that you believe yourself to be in love with your “devilishly handsome, mustachioed companion” as you put it, but, Frederick, surely there are other ways of impressing him? May I suggest poetry, or… Whatever it is they do to woo one another in Tevinter. I’d remind you that flowers have no claws if you pick the correct ones. If you will not do it for the sake of the station of importance you have found yourself to be in so quickly, do it for your mother. I may have to visit in person if Lady Montilyet writes to me in such frustration again.

To answer your question in your last letter, yes, Poppy is doing well. Jocelyn has been giving her much needed attention, as she constantly whines for it in your absence. I am not sure how much longer she will fit through doors, at the rate she is growing. I am sure she will be thrilled to see you when you come home.

Please, listen to Lady Montilyet and stay safe. The Maker can only do so much in spite of your spirit. 

Love, your mother. 

#Anonymous #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #sarya lavellan #frederick trevelyan #letters #fanfiction #my writing #my fic #to weather the storm #trevelyan #lavellan

[roguelioness]

Elena Trevelyan

Origins Parents: Bann Trevelyan [father], Jocelyn Trevelyan [mother] Siblings: Leonara Trevelyan [sister], Samuel Trevelyan [brother], Maurice Trevelyan [brother], Colin Trevelyan [brother] Elena was the youngest of Bann Trevelyan’s children, promised to the Chantry at birth. However, one cold winter morning when she was twelve years old, she was discovered to have magical abilities and was promptly shipped off to the Circle of Ostwick. Upon joining the Inquisition, she chose to specialize as a knight-enchanter. Circle of Ostwick Elena was an intelligent student, though her noble birth - and her family’s connections to the Chantry and the templars meant that she was afforded many privileges within the Circle. Her brothers went on to become Templars, and though they were not stationed at Ostwick, their influence meant that the Templars in Ostwick often turned a blind eye to her activities. This earned her the ire and scorn of her fellow mages, though her instructors were well pleased with her. She passed her Harrowing with ease, though it was whispered quietly amongst the others that her test had been easier than most. Elena did not bother to fight the rumors - her Harrowing had been arduous, and if people thought to underestimate her, it was to their detriment, not hers. The Conclave She was pleased to serve as a mediator in the war between the mages and the templars, knowing that her ties to both would serve her well. She believed that mages required Templar supervision, and that many mages did not know their own power and so required guardians to protect them from themselves, and to protect the innocent.

Upon receiving the mark, she was only too happy with the title of ‘Herald of Andraste’, genuinely believing that she had been chosen by the Maker to serve his purpose. Relationship with companions Cassandra Pentaghast - she got along very well with the Seeker, the two of them finding common ground in their belief in the Maker. Seeker Pentaghast generally approved of Elena’s readiness to spring into action, though she did not understand Elena’s fondness for The Game.

Iron Bull - Elena was friendly enough with Iron Bull, but was always wary of him. She was only too willing to sacrifice the Chargers to secure an alliance with the Qunari, believing it to be the best for Thedas. She would later come to deeply grieve this decision, however, and considered it her biggest failure.

Blackwall - she got along well with Blackwall, having a great respect for the Grey Wardens; however after his revelation, she lost all trust in him. Though she rescued him from the dungeons of Val Royeaux, she ordered him to serve the Inquisition before joining the Order.

Vivienne - Elena was close friends with Madame de Fer, the two united in their belief that the Circles and the Templars were a necessity. Elena would go on to support Vivienne in her bid to become the next Divine.

Solas - she butted heads often with the elven apostate, the two rarely seeing eye-to-eye on many matters. She did her best to free his friend from the bindings, and was genuinely sad when she wasn’t able to, but she refused to let him take the life of the mages she considered innocent. However, they had a tentative friendship at the end. 

Dorian Pavus - she was great friends with Dorian, the two often meeting to play chess and gossip. It was Dorian who gave her the courage to pursue a relationship with Cullen, who she’d been attracted to but had considered off-limits due to his Templar past. She consoled Dorian after he met his father, though she privately believed he should have spoken with the man.

Varric Tethras - she got along very well with Varric, often joking around with him, and dubbing him her official biographer.

Sera - Elena found Sera immature and annoying, but was happy to use her connections with the Red Jennies to further the Inquisition’s reputation. She refused to let her kill Lord Harmond, instead forcing the nobleman to serve the Inquisition.

Cole - Elena did not trust Cole, though she let herself be persuaded by Solas to let him remain in the Inquisition. Though she recognized his superior assassin skills, it only made her more nervous around him, believing he could turn on her at any time. When presented the opportunity, she opted to make him more human, which allowed her to relax around him.

Romance Elena was attracted to Commander Cullen, though she was hesitant to pursue anything more than friendship, believing that he wouldn’t be able to overlook her abilities. Encouraged by Dorian, she let herself flirt with him, and was ecstatic to learn that her feelings were reciprocated. She supported Cullen in his quest to quit lyrium, though she feared for him daily, and she wore his coin around her neck when she faced Corypheus in the final battle.

Major decisions Mages or Templars - Approached the Templar Order as her brothers were templars. She chose to ally with them, believing the Order was needed to protect the people of Thedas. Hawke or Stroud - Left Hawke in the Fade, knowing that the Wardens would need a leader to return them to the right path. Grey Wardens - Chose to ally with the Wardens, believing that they would be needed on the small chance that Corypheus triggered a Blight. Halamshiral - Reunited Empress Celene and Briala. Recruited Florianne as an agent, though she had the disgraced former Grand Duchess executed quietly after she had served her worth. Temple of Mythal - Refused to complete the rituals, believing them to be an affront to her faith, and as a result was forced to fight the Sentinels. She opted to let Morrigan drink from the Well as she thought the geas was too much of a risk for her to chance.

Trespasser Elena was forced to turn against her former comrade-in-arms, and mourned the death of Iron Bull deeply. She chose to kill Ataashi, not wanting the Qunari to use the dragon in the future. She felt incredibly betrayed by Solas, and the knowledge that the elven apostate was, in fact, an elven God lead her to a personal crisis of faith; she began to doubt the tales the Chantry said of Andraste and the Maker. She vowed to hunt him down and kill him at all costs, fearing that if she did not, everyone and everything she knew and loved would be destroyed. She chose to create a peacekeeping Inquisition, knowing that its resources would be needed in tracking him down and willing to risk the chance of his spies.

The only silver lining in the madness was that she was able to quietly marry Cullen, and adopt a mabari with him.

#inquisitors #my OC #Elena Trevelyan

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Love 11-1-20

Prompt:  Rose tinted glasses 

Word count:  1460 

Trigger warnings:  brief mention of non-consensual kissing, brief mention of non-consensual sex, short description of consensual kissing.  

For @sunday-romance and @viawrites-andacts 

NaNoWriMo has begun.  This is from what I’ve finally decided to be the project, though honestly, anything can change.  Trevelyan likes to think he’s a hard man.  Truth is, he’s pretty soft inside.  So it goes.  

Trevelyan stretched his neck and felt a satisfying pop.  The ache in his shoulder eased, but persisted.  He picked up the washcloth from the hot water, squeezed it out, and set it over his shoulder.  It helped.  He stretched and moved his neck from side to side.  Perhaps he should have ordered a bath.  He had a multitude of sore spots that would do well with some heat.  Yet, he hadn’t asked for it.  He was accustomed to doing his camp bath.  He sighed and dropped the cloth into the hot water.  Perhaps another time.  He wiped his face.  

A knock on his door stilled him.  He frowned.  He was bathing.  Short of an attack, no one was to intrude.  It was his time to be by himself.  No William.  No Marcus.  No one.  Just him.  Yet, someone was knocking.  Before he could protest, the door opened.  He whipped a towel around his waist in time for William to shuffle into the room.  He shot his squire an angry look.  The young man’s face crumpled into remorse.  

“My apologies, Your Grace.”  He glanced back behind the door.  “I know you do not wish to be bothered, but… ummm… well…”

“But I’m making him bother you,” Jocelyn announced as she strode into the room.  “So save the tongue-lashing for me and not poor William.”  

“What are you doing here?”  he snapped. 

“Making sure you have a proper bath.”  She opened the door wider.  Two servants brought in a bathing tub that they set by his fireplace.  Another two brought in buckets of water to fill it.  

“I don’t need this,” he said.  

“Yes, you do.”  

He scowled.  “No, I don’t.”  

“Yes, you do.”  She crossed her arms over her chest as more servants came with more water and other items.  “I watched you at the training grounds.” 

That revelation surprised him.  It also pleased him far more than it should.  Yet the revelation raised a whole host of questions.  “Why?” he asked before he could think of wisdom of it.  

“Because you need a good soak in hot water.”  

Irritation swelled that she didn’t answer the question he wanted.  Then again, why would she?  Reasonable for her to assume that he was asking her about the bath, not why she watched him earlier.  If he wanted the answer to that question, he’d have to ask her.  He opened his mouth to ask, but decided against it.  He didn’t want to know the answer.  He really didn’t.   

“Whatever makes you say that?”  

She arched an eyebrow up.  “As I said, Wexton, I watch you at the training grounds.  You need this bath.”  

Irritation flared again.  “I’m not a child.”  

“Never said you were.”  

“You’re deciding how I’m to clean myself.” 

“I’m deciding that a full bath would do you more good than a camp bath.”   

He scowled, disliking the truth in her words.  “I like bathing this way.”  

“Really?”  Her tone dripped skepticism.    

“Yes.” 

“And when was the last time you actually sat in a tub of hot water for a bath?”  He frowned, struggling to find the memory.  Irritated, he shook his head.  “You don’t remember,” she observed.  

“Doesn’t matter”. 

“Oh, it most definitely matters.”  

“Why?”  

“Because.”  

He waited for her to elaborate.  She just stood there, as if her one word answer explained everything.  “That explains nothing.”  

She smirked.  “Actually, it explains everything.”  

“No, it doesn’t.”  

“Of course it does.”  

“No.  It does not.”  

Her smirk slid into a grin.  “Oh, it most certainly does.”  Her grin widened.  “Particularly since it’s distracted you for long enough to get the tub filled with water.”  She gestured to it.  “Seems a shame to have the servants undo all of their work.”  

He narrowed his eyes at her.  She had him and they both knew it.  His scowl deepened.  “Fine.  You can go.”  

She shook her head.  “No.”  

“No?”  

“No, and don’t claim modesty, Wexton.  You can keep that towel around you and I promise I won’t look.”  Disappointment surged through him.  He tamped it down hard.  She turned to William.  “Thank you, William.  That will be all for now.  I’ll attend to the duke.”  William nodded, sparing his duke an encouraging look before closing the door firmly behind him.  “Right.  Into the tub with you.”   

He didn’t move.  The disappointment that she promised she wouldn’t look flustered him and he didn’t like it.  Why?  What was she planning?  He mentally shook himself. He had to take control of the situation.  Now.  Before it was too late.  The disturbing thought of too late for what flitted through his mind before he chased it away.  

“No.”  

“Yes.”  

He frowned.  He was the duke.  She should be listening to him and yet she wasn’t.  What was she doing?  Gods, he wished he knew.  That was the trouble with Jocelyn.  He so often didn’t know what he was doing with her or her with him.  He didn’t.  She didn’t act like anyone else.  She just seemed to do what she willed and right now she willed to have him in a bath.  

“Why?”  he asked again, hating it and yet the word just kept slipping out.  She rolled her eyes in response.  “Trying to seduce me?”  

She snorted.  “Wexton, if I wanted to seduce you, I’d be naked on your bed, or at least in something more appealing than this.”  

She gestured over the plain blue tunic she wore over a gray shirt and loose fitting leather pants.  Unbidden, his eyes followed her hands.  They lingered over the skin at the base of her throat, perfectly framed by her shirt.  His eyes caught the curve of her breasts and hips, barely hinted at under her clothes.  Those hints enticed him, making him want to strip her of her clothes until she was naked on his bed.  The fantasy surprised him.  He pulled his eyes from her.  Whatever made him think that?  

“So rest assured that I’m not here to seduce you.”  She set her hand on his shoulder and turned him to the tub.  “Go.”  

Her touch was fire on his skin.  Want raced through him, catching him off guard.  His eyes traced over her face, the angles of her cheeks, the curve of her lips, the bright amusement in her amber eyes.  They stopped on her mouth.  His mouth dried.  He wanted to kiss her hard, senseless, speechless except for the sweet moan of her pleasure in his ears.  The thought shocked him as much as it made him ache.  A kiss to taste how sweet she was and how delicious.  It would be a long kiss, hard, deep, his tongue caressing hers, feeding on her mouth like it was a favored treat.  He could imagine it.  Gods did he want that kiss.  

He mentally shook himself, hoping he hadn’t embarrassed himself or her by his thoughts.  She still had that smug look on her face.  Gods, now he wanted to kiss that smugness from her.  He forced his eyes away.  He needed to stop thinking these thoughts.  He straightened, desperate to be in control again.  

“Rather dangerous for you to be alone with me, don’t you think?”  

She laughed.  “Oh, most definitely not.”  He frowned in confusion.  Her smile stretched wider.  “Don’t look at me like that, Wexton.  We both know that you’re not one to force yourself on anyone, even if you did find them naked on your bed.”  

A perverse desire to grab her, to make her fear him in some way, flowed through him.  He stalked towards her.  All he had to do was take her, show her that he wasn’t who she thought he was.  He was faster, stronger.  It would be easy.  She could fight him, but he would prevail.  He knew it.  He could ravage her, do with her as he willed, and none would gainsay him.  He was the King’s Enforcer.  Ruthless.  Hard.  Dangerous.  Even cruel.  He had to be.  He needed people to fear him.  That was his work, his duty to his king.  Yet she didn’t take a step back.  No fear touched her face.  She just stood her ground like she always did.  

“So certain of me?”  

“Yes.”  

Instantly the desire was gone, undone by the simple conviction in that single word.  He couldn’t trespass against her belief in him.  Gods, why?  Why did her opinion of him matter?  “Bound and determined to see me in a rose colored light, aren’t you?”  

She shook her head.  “Far worse, Wexton.  I’m determined to see you as you are.”  

He believed her.  It frightened him as much as it delighted him.  “What if you’re wrong?”  he asked quietly.  

Her amusement faded, replaced by an emotion he didn’t want to name.  “I’m willing to take that chance.”   

#sundaylove #sundayromance #nanowrimo 2020 #jocelyn and trevelyan #tough guy who is really a softie #i'm still not sure what i'm doing with them

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Romance 10-25-20

Prompt:  Come Hell or high water 

Word count:  1439 

Trigger warnings:  Torture, injury, death.  

@sunday-romance I still can’t decide what to do about NaNoWriMo.  Yes, I know it’s only a week away.  I’ve always been more of a panster than a planner so this should surprise no one.  However, I’m going to do one more Jocelyn and Trevelyan drabble.  We shall see if I stay with them or another couple.  This is fantasy.  

Jocelyn peered around the corner.  She frowned as she counted the guards.  More than she wanted, but not so many that she and Omeyra couldn’t manage them.  She leaned back against the wall.  Justice sent her a question with his eyebrow.  She held up six fingers, indicating three on either side of the passage.  Omeyra nodded, pulling three throwing daggers from her belt.  She handed them to Jocelyn before pulling out another three.  Justice gestured to the battleaxe in his hand.  She shook her head.  While he could take out the guards, she’d rather they be quiet about this.  She didn’t want anyone to know that they were here until they were gone.  A battleaxe made too much noise.   

She looked at Omeyra.  She nodded, bolstering Jocelyn’s confidence.  They could do this.  They would do this.  Come what may, be it the fires of hell or something else, she was getting Trevelyan out.  It was just that simple.  Then when he was safe, she’d challenge Alistair and bring the double-dealing scum to his knees.  However, she needed Trevelyan out first.  

She nodded her head one, two, three before the two women stepped into the passageway.  Omeyra’s dagger caught the closest guard in the throat before the other five had even looked up.  Two more fell as their companions started to react.  Jocelyn’s dagger came quick behind Omeyra’s.  They all struck true.  Omeyra reached the bodies first, searching for the keys that they needed.  Jocelyn kept moving to the wooden door at the end, banded over with iron.  He had to be here.  There wasn’t any other place for him to be.  Alistair kept all of his special prisoners here and Trevelyan most definitely was special.  He had to be here.  She swallowed hard, trying hard not to consider any other possibility.  She would find him, even if she had to tear the castle apart stone by stone.  

Keys jingling caught her attention.  She looked at Omeyra who tossed her the guard’s keys.  She had to try two before the third one fit into the lock and opened it.  She grabbed a torch before she pushed the door open.  She stepped into the dim cell and immediately froze.  Trevelyan was there, naked.  Chains attached to his wrists and ankles held him in an obscene spread-eagle position.  He wasn’t standing, still upright only because the chains wouldn’t let him collapse.  His head hung down.  Burns courtesy of the pokers still in the brazier marked him all over.  Cuts, some still oozing blood, marked his sides.  She knew they came from a terrible lashing.  Several festered.  For a heartbeat she thought she was too late.  He was still, so still.  Despair threatened to overwhelm her.  She couldn’t be too late.  Then he shuddered through a breath.  He was alive.  

She raced to him.  Closer she could see him shivering.  Her fingers touched his cheek and found his skin hot.  Yet there was little sweat on his brow.  She frowned, carefully lifting his face to hers.  His left eye was swollen shut from a beating.  A new cut dripped blood from his right cheek.  Blood had dried at the corners of his mouth and down his chin.  Rope marks encircled his neck, red with a darkening purple behind it.  She swallowed hard, desperate to not think of all that Alistair had hurt him.  She spread her hand over his cheek.  Rage welled within her and she held onto it.  Alistair would pay for this a thousandfold.  

Trevelyan’s one good eye fluttered open.  It was blood shot, unfocused in fever.  He jerked against her touch, moaning as he did.  “Hey,” she said softly.  “It’s me.”  

He turned his head to her.  She couldn’t tell if he was shivering or shaking his head.  “Joce?”  

Her name came rough, chattering, barely more than a whisper forced through a dry throat.  She nodded.  “Aye, love.”  She cradled his face in her hands.  “We’re here to get you.”  

He jerked away from her.  “No.”  His eye closed again.  “No, I…”  he retched.  She stepped to the side, but nothing came.  

“Yes,” she said firmly.  

Omeyra handed her a water skein, trading it for the keys and torch.  She held the spout to his lips.  He took a swallow then gagged on the next, muttering no all the while.  Jocelyn bit her lip, forcing tears and sorrow down.  Rage, she had to hold onto her rage or she would break.  Breaking wouldn’t help her husband nor her heart.  She could break later.  Right now, she had to get him out of the dungeons and to healing.  She couldn’t pull on Power here.  Alistair would know.  She had to wait, however much she did not want to.  She had to.  

Justice came up beside her, a rough blanket in his hands.  “I’m going to kill him,” she vowed.  She draped the blanket around Trevelyan.  “Long, slow, painful.”  

Justice nodded.  “I’ll hold him.  You two get him down.”  

She didn’t answer, just a curt nod.  Justice easily lifted Trevelyan.  A groan of pain rose from him, squeezing her heart.  Omeyra tried the keys from the guard, but none fit the lock in the shackles.  Frowning, the two women searched the small chamber.  They saw no other keys.  How were they going to get him out?  With power, Jocelyn could undo the locks, but she was trying not to use Power.  Alistair would know and she didn’t want him to know.  She glanced at Omeyra, gesturing to the locks with her eyes.  Could they pick them?  

“Looking for this?”  

Alistair’s voice froze her.  They’d all had their backs to the door.  They hadn’t thought to keep an eye on it.  No one was supposed to know they were here.  Keys jingling made her inwardly groan.  She spared him a glare over her shoulder.  He stood just in front of the doorway.  Streaming through the doorway behind him were his guard.  He had a self-satisfied look while he dangled a set of keys on his finger.  The guard forced Justice to let Trevelyan go, causing the duke to moan in pain.  They surrounded Omeyra as well, but left Jocelyn be.  She kept her back to Alistair, her hands in front of her.  

“I mean, it was clever of you to sneak inside without using Power,” he continued.  She heard him approach.  “Of course, that meant you wouldn’t see the spell I had on this chamber to let me know if anyone other than me entered.”  He walked around her to stop by Trevelyan.  “So perhaps not so clever at all.”  He jerked Trevelyan’s head back, causing him to cry out in pain.  Jocelyn automatically reached for her sword hilt.  “Careful, my dear duchess.  You wouldn’t want me to hurt him more.”  She straightened, her hand falling from her sword hilt.  “That’s a good girl.  One should always listen to one’s betters.”  

Jocelyn didn’t react. All she needed was for Alistair to stop touching Trevelyan.  Then she could act.  She could use Power now since she didn’t need to worry about alerting Alistair to her presence here.  He knew and in knowing had signed his own death warrant.  She just needed Alistair to not be touching Trevelyan or Power could affect him as well.  Alistair just needed to step away.  

Trevelyan’s gaze focused on her.  “Joce.”  Again her name fell rough from his mouth.  “I’m here.”  

“Sorry.”  

She shook her head, smiling warmly.  “No need, love.”  

“Oh, please.”  Alistair dripped disdain.  He let Trevelyan go, taking a step towards her.  “Still can’t believe…” 

No other words left him.  The moment he no longer touched Trevelyan, Jocelyn let her rage free.  It grabbed hold of her Power, forming a swirling black-edged dark purple fire around her hands.  Her eyes glowed the same color as her hands.  Before Alistair could shield himself, she lashed out with her hand, catching him with a bolt through his stomach that came back to wrap around him, sending him to his knees.  With her other hand she dropped the guards around Omeyra.  She barely heard Justice’s axe make short work of the other guards.  She focused her rage and Power on Alistair, the magic flame burning him inside and out, robbing him of any voice or ability to scream.  She stalked to him, grabbing him by his throat and lifting him off his feet.  She glared at him, her eyes still lit with black and purple fire.  

“Dragona takes care of its own,” she said, Power echoing deep in her voice.  A smirk tugged at her lips.  Alistair’s eyes widened in fear.  “And we have no desire to be merciful.”

#sundaylove #sundayromance #jocelyn and trevelyan #My writing #jocelyn got a little dark on this one #don't mess with her or the people she cares about #She will take you down

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Romance 11-15-20

Word count: 928 

Prompt:  I didn’t mean any of it 

@sunday-romance @viawrites-andacts 

Here’s a little fluffy angst because Trevelyan is my favorite idiot of the moment and Feelings are a little challenging for him.  It also helps keep my Nanowrimo word count going.  

Jocelyn stared at Henry.  “What?”  

The man had the audacity to grin and look quite pleased with himself.  “We have decided that you will marry the Duke of Wexton.”  

Shock dried her mouth and sent her heart racing.  Henry wanted her to marry Trevelyan.  Her.  Not Miranda.  Not any of the ladies of the court.  Her.  She glanced towards Trevelyan.  He was on the other side of the room, staring out the window.  He was still, strangely so, with the most impassive expression on his face.  Did he now want to marry her?  Was Henry destroying his plans?  She would not do that to him.  She wouldn’t.  He had wanted Miranda, not her.  She looked back at Henry.  

“But why?”  she asked even as she wished she hadn’t.  

“Why not?”  His grin spread wider even as her puzzlement grew.  “Who better to marry Marsten’s widow then my Enforcer?”  

“But…”  It was barely a word, more just a noise of confusion and disbelief.  

“And since the good duke has no objection to the match and since we have no objection, then all we need is your consent, my dear, and the betrothal is done.”  

Jocelyn opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words came.  Trevelyan hadn’t said no.  Why hadn’t he said no?  Didn’t he know he could have?  Henry would have honored the no.  He would have, but why did Trevelyan say yes?  Why did he agree?  He wanted Miranda, not her.  

Henry tilted his head to study her.  “Do you have an objection?”  

“No, but…” 

Henry waved his head.  “Then it is done.”  He turned.  “We shall give the two of you a moment to discuss matters before we announce this to the court.”  He flashed a bright smile before he left the room, closing the door behind him as he did.  

Jocelyn stared at the door.  Her?  Marry Trevelyan?  There had to be some mistake.  There had to be.  She turned to him.  He hadn’t moved from his spot by the window.  She looked back at the door then at him.  

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, walking towards him.  “We can tell Henry no.  He’ll listen.  He will.  If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.  We don’t.  We…”   

She stopped speaking as he finally turned to her.  She couldn’t read his expression, but the intensity in his eyes made her mouth dry and her heart beat even faster.  She froze, caught by the beauty she saw in him and the very new way he looked at her.  For the first time she wasn’t sure around him.  It wasn’t fear.  She could not fear him.  It was something else and it was that something else that frightened her even more.  It was the memory that he hadn’t said no to Henry, that he had said yes to her.  He shook his head slightly.  “But I do want this.”  

“Why?”  she asked, wishing it didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.  He didn’t answer.  His gaze hit the floor.  “What of Miranda?”  

“A mistake.”  

“And I’m not?”  

He snapped his head up to look at her.  “No.”  

She frowned, shaking her head.  “But you told Overlin that I was not for you.”  

“Yes.”  Pain crossed his face.  “I didn’t mean it, though.  I didn’t mean any of it.”  

“Then why say it?”  

“Because I had to.”  He closed his eyes before opening them.  Her breath caught in her throat at the yearning she saw there.  “Because I didn’t want him to know.”  

“Know what?”  she asked when he fell quiet.  

“How much I want you.”  He looked on the verge of tears.  She started for him, not able to stay away.  “You are my weakness, Jocelyn, and as the King’s Enforcer, I can’t have one.  I can’t so I thought I could marry Miranda and not you and then you would be safe and it would all be well.  You just had to let me go and the plan would all work out well.”  

“Trevelyan,” she started.  She was close to him now.   “Except you wouldn’t go.  You wouldn’t and every time I was reminded of how you saw me, not the duke, not the Enforcer, just me and each time I lost more of myself to you.  So I really tried to push you away, but you are too damn stubborn to do what you ought and I didn’t know what to do.  I still don’t know what to do except that I cannot do this anymore.  I can’t.  I have this ache in my chest and it only stops when I’m with you.”  

Her hands caught his tears on her fingertips.  “Love.”  

He closed his eyes tightly.  “And with that I am undone.”  His hands pressed over hers.  He opened his eyes, gracing her with a look of love so dear her heart burst.  “And I’d have you undo me again and again, Jocelyn, until the end of our days.”  He swallowed hard.  “Please?”  

She smiled, not sure why there were tears on her cheeks.  “Yes.”  

“Yes?”  She nodded.  “Yes!”  His face exploded into joy.  He hugged her tightly, burying his face into her hair as he did.  “Yes.”  He breathed deeply.  “You deserve so much better than me.”  

She shook her head.  “No,” she said fiercely.  She pulled away to look at him.  “No.  There is no one better than you for me, Trevelyan.  No one.”  

He studied her, his fingers brushing lightly over her cheek then brow.  “From your lips to the ears of the Goddess then.” 

#sundayromance #sundaylove #my writing #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #jocelyn and trevelyan #don't know if I will keep this but it is something

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Love 10-18-20

Sunday Love 10-18-20 

Prompt:  Don’t ever doubt us 

Word Count:  1019

Thanks again to @sunday-romance for the prompt.  

Last week I thought I knew what I was going to do for NaNoWriMo.  Now, I have my doubts.  I may still try to hijack the essence of the characters into a new story.  I don’t know.  We shall see.  Either way, this prompt fitted Jocelyn and Trevelyan the best.  

And I have say it killed me a little to not write “As you wish” at the end.  Just saying.  

Trevelyan closed his eyes, pain etched clearly on his face.  “Maybe it would be better if we were apart.”  

Jocelyn’s eyes flew wide  She didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t dare do a single thing.  He didn’t just say what she thought.  He couldn’t have.  He wouldn’t be that heartless, would he?  He wouldn’t be that cruel?  After everything, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t have just said what he did.  He wouldn’t and yet her mind insisted that he had.  She swallowed hard, desperate to keep her heart from shattering into a million pieces.  He didn’t say that he wanted to be away from her, not with that pain on his face.  He couldn’t have.  He wouldn’t have.  

And yet he had.  He really had.  He really, truly had said those words.  He had and she was going to kill him for them.  She was.  Anger flared through her, gathering Power into her as it did.  She glared at him, trying to breathe through the pain in her chest and the swirl of Power gathering in her fists.  He couldn’t.  He wouldn’t.  Yet… the words hung in the air between them.  

“What?”  she said, her voice hard and cold.  

He flinched at the single word.  More pain crossed his face, pain she wanted gone all at the same time she wanted to strangle him.  How dare he!  How could he?  Pain seeped in through the anger, pricking at her eyes, and stabbing at her heart.  How could he even think it?  She loved him.  Him.  Every damn infuriating part of him.  Loved him in ways that she couldn’t understand and yet craved.  Craved with the need that one had for air or water or food.  With him she was complete, whole in a way she never had before.  She thought that he felt that as well.  She believed it, believed that he loved her in return.  So then why?  Why would he think that they should be apart?  

He looked down, purposely not meeting her eyes.  “I just think I’m not the man for you.”  

She winced.  “How can you say that?”  

“It’s the truth.”  

“It’s complete buldecark and we both know it.”  

He shook his head.  “No.  You deserve someone better.”  

“NO!”  The word exploded from her.  Power around her flexed, bowed out by the fury she wanted desperately to unleash.  Yet she couldn’t.  She would hurt him if she did.  He had no shields around him, nothing.  Pain took over more of the anger.  “No,” she said more quietly.  Tears slid out of her eyes.  “I don’t want anyone else.”  

He sighed deeply.  Yet, he still would not look at her.  “Joce,” he started.  

Her heart cracked, sharp, like a bone breaking but a thousand times more piercing.  “Do you not love me?”  She hated how her voice sounded so desperate and needy, but she couldn’t help it.  She had to know.  She needed to know.  

He looked up then.  Pain still pinched his face, but there was a tenderness there as well.  “It’s not that simple.”  

“Why not?”  

He closed his eyes.  “Because.”  

She frowned, pain and anger warring in her again.  “Because why?”  He didn’t answer, looking away to his left instead.  “Do you doubt me?”  

He shook his head.  “No.  Never.”  

“Then what?”  

He looked at her again.  She took a step towards, wanting to soothe all the pain away.  Yet he leaned back from her.  She stopped, wondering if breathing was worth the effort.  “I doubt myself.”  

She frowned in confusion.  “I don’t understand.”  

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”  He sighed, weariness echoing in the sound.  His eyes drifted down again before looking up.  He shook his head.  “How can you do this?”  

The pain in his voice squeezed her heart like a vise.  “Do what?”  

“Stand there and love me still.”  

She swallowed hard, aching so deep inside her she didn’t know how she could still breathe, let alone talk.  “How can I not?”  

He closed his eyes, releasing tears down his face.  “I don’t deserve you.”  

She reached for him then, not able to stay away.  He didn’t move away.  Her hands grabbed hold of his shirts and tunic, pulling him to her.  “I don’t believe that.”  

He opened his eyes then, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.  “Clearly, and yet there it is.”  

“It’s buldecark and you know it.”  Anger flared again.  Anger still tempered by pain.  

“Perhaps.”  

“There’s no perhaps, Wexton.”  She struggled to contain the pain, the tears, all of it.  Yet, she couldn’t.  The tears fell and her chest constricted in pain.  “I love you, Trevelyan.  You.  No one else.  Don’t you believe me?”    

“I do and each day I stand in wonder and awe of it.”  His hands closed over hers, spreading warmth through them.  “I do love you, Jocelyn.  Hopelessly.  Desperately.  Completely.”  “Then why try to break from me?”  

His fingers traced over her face.  “Because it’s easier to doubt than believe you would love me.”  

She frowned.  “Why?”  

He snorted.  “Because, and I quote,  I’m an overbearing, surly, frustrating, egotistical, idiotic fool of a man who does nothing bur frustrate, annoy, and bother you.”  

She winced at the memory of those words.  It seemed an age ago.  Her hand settled over his.  “And yet I still fell in love with you.”  

His face softened in the way that melted her heart.  Every single time.  “And you still fell in love with me.”  “So don’t ever doubt us again.”  

“I won’t.”  

He leaned down to kiss her.  She met him more than halfway.  Gods, she loved him.  She did.  However much of a fool or idiot he was, she loved him.  She did and he loved her back.  She knew it as she knew her own name.  He loved her.  

He pulled her into a deep hug, burying his face into her hair.  “I”m sorry, love.  I’m so sorry.”  

She held him tightly.  “Forgiven.”  

“So easily?”  

She shook her head and looked up at him.  “Yes.”  Her hand rested against his cheek.  “Just don’t do it again.”  

He kissed her palm.  “As my love desires.”  

#sundaylove #sundayromance #jocelyn and trevelyan #my writing #it's really hard not to write as you wish #Maybe I've watch The Princess Bride a lot #Angst because you don't like a little angst #trevelyan is bit of an idiot

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Romance 10-11-20

Prompt:  “Are we really doing this?”  

Word count:  1448

@sunday-romance Week 8 of Sunday Romance.  I’ve decided to use these to work on my NaNoWriMo 2020 project (title pending)  It’s fantasy and romance because that seems to be what I write (at least the romance part).  Main characters are Jocelyn and Trevelyan.  Trevelyan is the Duke of Wexton and the King’s Enforcer.  Jocelyn is the Lady of Dragona.  They’ve been friendly to each other in the past.  Now though, her husband tried to overthrow the king.  Trevelyan killed him.  Jocelyn claims innocence and Trevelyan wants to believe her.  They’re definitely attracted to each other, but won’t actually acknowledge it out loud because reasons.  It’s complicated.  There’s also magic which I still have to hammer out more.  Did I mention this was a work in progress? 

Jocelyn knocked on the door, but there was no answer.  She didn’t expect one.  Trevelyan was making enough noise that likely no one would hear it.  At least she tried to be polite.  She pushed the door open.  Trevelyan was by the fireplace, a goblet in his good hand, a bandage on his injured one, and a murderous look on his face.  William reached to undo his chest plate, but he snarled at his squire.  William tried for a vambrace and received another snap for his efforts.  She shook her head, suppressing her smile.  Getting knocked off his horse certainly had him in a foul mood.  The duke was not one who enjoyed defeat.  His squire, though, deserved better.  William tried for the chest plate again.  

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped at William.  “Leave it!”  

“For someone who is fine, you certainly are making a lot of noise,” Jocelyn observed.  

Both men started.  William’s face faded from surprise to relief.  Trevelyan’s expression passed through some other emotion as it went from surprise to annoyance.  She inwardly frowned at the middle emotion-too swift for her to recognize, but it was there.  

“What are you doing here?”  

She shrugged and approached him.  “Originally I thought to be sure you weren’t dead.”  

“I’m not.”  He didn’t move away from her.  

“Clearly.”  She reached for his vambrace, but he pulled away.  “So instead I’m here to rescue William from your ill-temper.”  She held out her hand.  “Your arm, Wexton.”  He didn’t move, but when she reached her for his arm again, he didn’t pull away.  

“I don’t need your help.”  

“Yes, you do, so stop fussing and let me do this.”  She removed the vambrace then the goblet, and gave both to William.  “Other arm.”  She glanced at him and caught his puzzled expression.  “What?”  

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”  

She nearly rolled her eyes even as she undid the buckles.  “Am I supposed to be?”  

“Most people are.”  

She snorted before handing the vambrace to William.  “Yes, well, I’m not most people.”  He didn’t say anything.  She worked freeing on his pauldrons.  When he spoke, it was quiet, soft, almost tender.  “No, you are not.”  

She snapped her eyes up at him.  Her breath caught at the tenderness, surprised and stupidly pleased by it.  That was the problem with Trevelyan.  He caught her attention, whatever his intent.  Sometimes she could ignore her desire by focusing on his surliness or ill-temper.  Then sometimes, he did this, spoke to her in a way that made her stomach warm and her hands unsteady.  His grey blue eyes held her, inviting her to stop time and just study him.  Gods, she could spend an age being lost in them.  

Swiftly, she looked down.  She was not meant for him and she knew it.  No point in chasing after something she couldn’t have.  Yet he studied her as she worked.  What he hoped to learn, she didn’t know.  She wanted to ask him, but she didn’t.  She didn’t trust herself to speak in the moment.  Some things were best left unknown.  Once the outer armor was off, she helped with William his mail shirt and then the padded linen.  He was left in his undershirt and pants.  William had removed his leg armor while she had worked on his top half.  She dared a look at him and wished she hadn’t.  Beautiful, her heart whispered.  But not ours, her mind whispered back.  

She mentally shook herself.  This next part was tricky.  She was certain he had an injury to his side.  She’d seen him fall.  She needed to examine him.  She could wait for Brother Marcus, but who knew when he would appear.  She was here.  She knew something about healing and she could channel Power in the right way if needed.  However, she had to touch the injury to know what to do and that meant his shirt off.  It was for his own good and not because she wanted to see him shirtless.  It was.  

“Right.”  She willed a lightness to her voice she wasn’t sure she felt.  “Your shirt, Wexton.”  She held out her hand to him.  

He arched a fine eyebrow.  “My shirt?”  

She nodded, desperate to seem as unaffected by the request as possible.  “Yes.  I saw you fall.  Someone should check on your injuries.”  

“I see.”  

His eyes traced their path over her.  An uneasy warm blossomed low in her belly under his gaze.  If it wasn’t Trevelyan, she’d say he was appraising her as someone to bed, but this was Trevelyan.  He might turn her head, but she would not turn his.  He had Miranda.  No reason for him to want her, to see her as anything but a friend.  She was imagining things, seeking something that wasn’t there.  It was pure foolishness and yet, she couldn’t escape how her breath quickened or her heart beat faster the longer he studied her.  

He shifted, closer to her now than he was before.  She resisted the instinct to take a step back and more strongly the instinct to take a step closer to him.  “And for no other reason?”  His voice was still soft, but she heard a heat to his tone that wasn’t there before.  

She swallowed hard.  What was he doing?  “No,” she answered, her voice more shaky than she wanted.  “Should there be?”  

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.”  His eyes dropped down her mouth, causing her to bite her lower lip in anticipation.  Anticipation of what though?  He wasn’t going to kiss her.  “When a lady asks me for my shirt, I usually expect something in return.”  

“Like what?”  

His eyes looked up at her, freezing her with their intensity.  “A kiss.”  

Her mouth dried even as her mind reeled.  Was he flirting?  Was that what he was doing?  Flirting?  With her?  But why and how and…?  Gods, why did the thought of a kiss with Trevelyan have to be so damnably enticing?  

“A kiss?”  Her voice trembled over the word.  

He nodded slowly.  “Yes.”  Somehow there was almost no space between them.   “A kiss for my shirt, milady.”  

“Oh.”  

Her nose filled with his scent.  A shiver of delight traveled down her spine at his nearness.  Gods, what was he doing? What was she doing?  She should say no.  He could wait for the good brother.  She should take a step back and run.  Run before she did something she shouldn’t.  Yet, she stayed where she was.  A kiss with Trevelyan.  The thought warmed her very core.  A kiss.  A kiss for his shirt.  She should say no.  She should and yet… She looked up at him, lost again in his eyes.  Lost.  Completely lost.  

“Very well.” The words left her before she could stop them.    

Surprised crossed his eyes before replaced by something far too akin to delight for her comfort.  Delight?  In her?  By him?  Foolishness, but he was leaning down to her.  He was going to kiss her.  Her.  She knew the signs.  Gods, were they really going to do this? Her heart sang even as her mind screamed at her to run.  Was she going to taste him and then let him go?  Was she?  She swallowed hard, wanting the kiss but knowing that she couldn’t.  She couldn’t.  He wasn’t hers.  Best live with the regret then know exactly what she could never have again.  

Just before his lips touched hers, she turned her head to kiss his unscarred cheek.  She immediately took a step back.  “Your shirt, my lord duke.”  She held out her hand to him.  

He didn’t move.  When he looked up, she imagined surprise and disappointment before his expression smoothed away.  “That was not a kiss.”  

She nodded.  “Yes, it was.”  

“No, it wasn’t.”  

“Yes, it was.”  She swallowed hard.  She reached for an indifference she didn’t feel.  It was the only way forward.  He couldn’t know just how much she had wanted that kiss.  “You didn’t say what kind of kiss you wanted and my lips against your cheek is a kiss.  Ask anyone you want.”  

A frown started before he shifted it to a small grin.  “I see that I’ll need to be careful of my words with you, my Lady of Dragona.”  

Her breath caught again.  Why did he say her title that way?  Soft, tender, but with a touch of want.  Want.  Why would he want?  He had Miranda and if not her, then any other woman at court.  No point in wanting after her.  And yet… she mentally shook herself.  No point in hoping after what would not be.  No point at all.  

“Yes,” she said, her voice stronger.  “Now, your shirt.”  

#sundayromance #sundaylove #My writing #nanowrimo 2020 #jocelyn and trevelyan #they will figure this out at some point

[drbibliophile]

Nanowrimo 2020 Day 14

Word count:  26171/50000

Woo hoo!  More than halfway through and about 3000 words today.  Now it is late and I really should just go to sleep.  A longer excerpt for those who want to read where Trevelyan probably reveals a lot more in regards to his feelings around Jocelyn than he meant to.  Wexton is Trevelyan, our favorite hero.  Aerilon is his friend, Daniel.  Martin is the duke of Verilain and Xavier is the duke of Savone.  They are older by at least 15 years than Trevelyan and Daniel.  Henry is the king.  

The other men sounded agreement.  Xavier glanced at Henry who shook his head.  He shifted attention to Trevelyan.  “So, Wexton, when you are going to wed?”  

He shrugged.  “When I do.”  

Xavier shook his head.  “Come, come.  That won’t do.  There’s got to be someone in the court that interests you.”  

Martin grinned.  “Don’t you know?”  

“That’s Maggie’s sphere, not mine, and she hasn’t mentioned that you have a choice, Wexton.”  He stopped.  “Assuming that there is one worth the bother.”  

Trevelyan frowned in confusion.  “Meaning?”  

“Meaning if you’re going to marry, marry someone worthwhile, that makes your life easier and doesn’t waste away your time or energy on ridiculousness.  You need someone you can take on campaign or leave to defend your castle.  Doing otherwise is pure foolishness.”  

“Well, then I’m afraid that Wexton is doomed to foolishness,” Martin noted.  “He’s intent on the Lady Miranda.”  

“Miranda?”  Xavier frowned.  “Which one is she?”  

“The pretty buxom one with the whiskey eyes and the gold and brown hair,” Martin identified.  No recognition lit in Xavier’s eyes.  

“My cousin,” Daniel added. 

That did it.  “Her?”  Xavier’s face clouded before he shook his head.  “Not a good choice, Wexton.”  

Trevelyan was going to protest that he hadn’t formally chosen Miranda, just shown some interest.  Now, though, he needed to defend his choice.  “Why not?”  

“Not a good campaigner, that one.  She’s for the court.”  

“So she has diplomatic skill.”  

Xavier snorted.  “Don’t mistake the ability to smile while they twist the dagger in your back as a sign of diplomatic skill.  It’s more deceit than anything else.”  

“Deceit?”  Martin protested.  “I’d say it would be a good use of one’s charm and situation.”  

“Like I said, deceit.”  He shuddered.  “Good thing Maggie had no desire for a courtly life.”  

“She did until you seduced her away from it,” Martin countered.  

“Who told you that piece of nonsense?”  

“Bella.”  Martin looked triumphant.  

Xavier frowned.  “Well, Bella was for the court as well until you took her away.”  

Marin nodded.  “That I did.  Single best decision of my life.”  He looked at Daniel.  “How did you get Rebecca away?”  

“A better question is how did Rebecca rescue me from court for which I am eternally grateful.”  

Henry studied his dukes.  “You three have cast some fairly unsavory aspersions on my court.”  

Martin and Xavier looked at each other then at Daniel and Trevelyan.  The other two dukes shrugged.  Xavier sighed.  “We’re all warriors and campaigners, Your Majesty.  It’s our nature to prefer a straight up fight than one cloaked in insinuations and innuendos.”  

Henry nodded.  “Because your maneuvers against the Terygon were completely transparent.”  

Xavier frowned.  “That was different.”  

“Not that different.  Both require a use of strategy and a disguise of intentions, but the weapons are words instead of swords”  He took a drink from his goblet.  “However, we will concede that it is not a battle for everyone which is fortunate that your wife is a good campaigner in court.”  

Xavier frowned harder before it soothed away.  “Aye, well, Maggie’s wit is a potent weapon, that I will grant, and one I’m glad to not have used against me.”  

“That is truth.”  Henry glanced at Trevelyan.  “For all of Savone complaining, your fellow duke does make a good point, Wexton.”  

“Which is?”  

“Find yourself a wife that is suited to your life and will make it easier.  We grant that the Lady Miranda is beautiful and a good dowry, but she’s for the court.  Always has been.  Taking her away from it would not be wise.”  

“Perhaps I wouldn’t need to.”  

Henry shot him an incredulous look.  “No, Wexton.  The court is not for you.”  

“And yet you’d have me choose someone from the court as a wife.”  He didn’t want to complain, but their requirements weren’t tenable.  

“There are those who are more amenable to a warrior’s life than not,” Henry said dryly.  

“Like who?”  

“What do you think, Savone?”  

Xavier shrugged.  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but as I have noted, that is far more Maggie’s sphere than mine.”  

“Your favored excuse,” Daniel said lightly.  

“Because it is true.”  

“Then whom would you choose, Aerilon?”  

Daniel shrugged.  “I am not in the business of matchmaking, Your Majesty.  That is more Rebecca’s realm.”  

Henry snorted.  “Verilain.  You must have someone.”  

Martin sighed.  “Only because Bella keeps me appraised of what is going on.”  He rubbed his chin in thought.  “What about one of Montrose’s brood?  They’d be used to the campaign trail.”  

“But then Wexton would have Montrose as a father in law and that would be a poor thing to wish on anyone,” Xavier said.  

“Aye, there’s truth to that.”  Martin leaned back in his chair.  “Haverlain’s eldest?”  

Trevelyan shook his head.  “Too young.”  

“Too young?”  

“Aye.  I have no desire to wed or bed anyone half my age.”  

“Ah, yes.”  Martin nodded.  “Wise that.”  

“What about Navarrin’s daughter?”  Xavier asked.  

“She’s married,” Daniel answered.  

“No, no.  Not that one.  The other one.”  

“Dedicated herself to the Goddess.”  

Xavier’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Really?”  

Henry nodded.  “We approved the vows last week.”  

“Oh, well then, that’s not going to work.”  

“No.”  

They fell into an easy quiet.  “What about the Lady Jocelyn?”  Xavier asked.  

Trevelyan shot a look at Martin.  As he did he caught Daniel frowning and Henry being still.  That puzzled and concerned him.  Henry was rarely ever still.  Then it was gone.  Daniel was back to his usual pleasantry and Henry was tracing a pattern on the tabletop.  Yet, he’d seen it.  He’d swear that that he had.  Why?  Why those reactions from his friend and his king?  

“What about her?”  Martin asked, distracting him from his thoughts.  

“Well, Maggie says she can ride and hunt and is decent with a sword,” Xavier said.  “Seems like she’d be all right as a campaigner.”  

Martin nodded.  “And Dragona is a good holding especially with Justice and his men as part of the bargain.”  His eyes settled on Trevelyan.  “And if I remember correctly, she did win at least one game of chess against you.”  

“So she did.”  

“Then a good enough match for you,” Xavier said.  

“She is Marsten’s widow,” Daniel said quietly.  

Trevelyan nearly frowned.  Why was Daniel objecting?  Was he even objecting?  His expression was neutral, but Trevelyan suspected there was a deeper emotion at work.  Sometimes he couldn’t read the other duke.  He knew that Daniel valued Jocelyn.  Did he think that Trevelyan was not worthy of her?  Was he wrong about Daniel?  Mentally he shook himself.  No.  He’d stake his life on his friendship with the duke of Aerilon.  There was something else at work.  There had to be.  

“All the more reason to marry her off to someone so she won’t cause more trouble,” Xavier announced.  “That woman is dangerous.”  

Trevelyan did frown.  “She was not the cause of Marsten’s rebellion,” he countered.  

Xavier shot him a skeptical look.  “And you know this how?”  

“Because she told me.”  

“And you believed her?”  

He leveled a hard look on the elder duke.  “Yes.”  

Xavier snorted.  “You’ve a lot to learn about women if you’re going to believe her at her word.”  

“And you have a lot to learn about the Lady Jocelyn.”  

“Educate me if you’re such an expert.”  His gaze matched Trevelyan’s while his voice carried no small amount of skepticism.  “I’m fascinated to know why the King’s Enforcer believes the wife of the traitor when she tells him that she had nothing to do with her husband’s plans.”  

“I never said I was an expert, Savone.”  

“Yet you seem ready enough to believe her lies.” 

Irrational anger flared inside him.  His hand closed into a fist under the table.  “She didn’t lie.”  

“And you know this how?”  Trevelyan didn’t respond immediately.  “A word to the wise and a pardon to my dear Maggie, but women will say most anything to get what they want, particularly in bed.”  

His anger flared.  “How dare you!”  

“How dare you!”  Xavier roared back.  “You’re taking the word of a traitor over your own good sense.”  

“She’s not a traitor!”  

“She is!”  

That did it.  He leapt to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table.  Blue fire flashed over his hands.  “Enough!”  Daniel’s voice kept him from leaping across the table to take Xavier by the throat.  “Stand down, Wexton, now.  Immediately,” he ordered.  “And Savone, have a care of how you speak of the Lady of Dragona.”  

Xavier kept his eyes on Trevelyan.  “I am merely pointing out what I see, Aerilon.”  

“Then you are blind,” Trevelyan snarled.  

“No more blind than you.”  

“Again, enough!”  Daniel snapped.  “Wexton, sit down now before I make you.”  Trevelyan shot his friend an angry look, but he did as he was bid.  “Thank you.”  He looked at Savone, his expression hard.  “I will say this once, Savone.  Slander the Lady Jocelyn again and you will answer to me.  Do I make myself clear?”  

Xavier frowned, confusion clear.  “You would defend her?”  

“Yes.”  Daniel sat up straighter.  “The Lady Jocelyn is many things, but she is not a liar nor is she a traitor.  If she says that she was not involved in Marsten’s plans, then she was not.  Are we clear?”  Xavier shrugged more than nodded.  He looked at Trevelyan.  “I am also certain that Wexton did not base his determination of her innocence on her word alone.  Did you?”  

He didn’t want to answer.  The anger roiled through him.  How dare Xavier doubt Jocelyn?  How dare he?  And yet even as his anger raged, the rational part of him understood why Xavier would speak as he did.  He opened his hands, closed them tightly then opened them again.  He drew a long breath and let it go.  He only spoke when he trusted his voice again.  

“No.”  He drew another long breath.  “From all accounts, Marsten had left Dragona with her men at least two months before he’d made his intentions known and without informing his wife of his intentions.”  

“And you know this how?”  Martin asked.  

“Talking with her captain, her men, and her people.”  

“They could be lying,”  Xavier started.  

Trevelyan sneered.  He couldn’t help it.  “That would require over two hundred people telling the same lie in the same way without anyone slipping up.”  He shot Xavier a hard look.  “Think that likely?”  

Xavier shifted in his chair.  “No.”  

“Dragona Castle was also besieged twice in the preceding three months.  I sincerely doubt she could be rebelling against His Majesty and defending her castle.”  

“What did you say?”  Henry asked.  

“Dragona Castle was besieged twice in the preceding three months,” Trevelyan repeated.  

“By whom?”  

“Count Farin.”  

Henry frowned.  “And what has been done about Count Farin?”  

“The Lady Jocelyn stated she handled the matter.”  

“Which was how?”  

“I am afraid that I do not know, Your Majesty.”  

“And why not?”  Clearly the king was displeased.  

“Because you wanted me back swiftly and taking a week to check on Farin’s stronghold didn’t seem to be swift,” he shot back.  “Your Majesty,” he added.  

Henry’s eyes opened in annoyance, but it faded quickly.  “Yes, I did rather remember asking you to bring her to me sooner rather than later.”  

Trevelyan didn’t answer.  Biting his tongue was the wiser move, but his anger still simmered.  If he wasn’t careful he was going to say more than he should.  He already had.  Gods, why did Xavier have to be such an ass about Jocelyn?  He didn’t know her, didn’t understand truly she could not, would not have rebelled against Henry.  It wasn’t her.  It just wasn’t.  He drew a deep breath, willing himself to calm.  Most of the time he could contain his temper.  This day, though, this day his temper was getting the best of him.  

“Well, Savone, it seems that the Lady of Dragona is not as traitorous as it would seem,” Martin said.  

Xavier nodded.  “Yes, so it would seem.”  He stroked his chin before seeming to come to a conclusion.  “My apologies to you and Aerilon if I spoke inappropriately.”  

“Apology accepted.”  Daniel said before Trevelyan could even think of disagreeing.  Trevelyan inclined his head in agreement.  “She is also a good friend to my wife and myself, Savone.  If Wexton had not defended her then I would have.”  

“So you are saying I should be careful.”  

Daniel sighed deeply.  “I am saying that appearances aren’t everything.  I would also advise that you ask your wife about the lady.  You may find her opinion illuminating.”  

Xavier frowned.  “You don’t say?”  

“I do say.”  

That cracked a small smile on his face.  “I will be sure to ask her then.”  He leaned back in his chair slightly.  “Well, Wexton, after all this, perhaps you should marry her.”  

Trevelyan counted to five before answering.  His anger was still there and he needed to control it.  He marry Jocelyn?  Internally he shook his head.  That was a foolish thought.  She didn’t want him.  She hadn’t wanted him then.  She certainly didn’t want him now.  He’d executed her husband.  

“I’ve made my interest in the Lady Miranda known.”    

“Until you’ve formally asked, you can always change your mind.”  

“Perhaps I do not want my mind to be changed.”  

He nodded.  “Ultimately, Wexton, it is your life, but I would think hard on why you were so quick to defend a traitor’s wife.”  

He bit back his first retort and settled on his second.  “Perhaps my sense of honor demands defending someone who is innocent.”  

“Perhaps.”  

“Glad that matter is settled then,” Henry said.  “Now, given we’ve troubled Aerilon for a feast tonight, it would be a pity if we were all late to it.”  He stood, causing the other men to stand as well.  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”  They all bowed to him.  “Wexton, a word.”  

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #My writing #jocelyn and trevelyan #trevelyan has a definite sense of honor #I need to make his internal motivations more consistent through this part #Then again being a walk contradiction may suit him

[drbibliophile]

Nanowrimo 2020 Day 13

Word Count:  23210/50000 

This Friday I am wiped out-mentally, physically, emotionally.  I am done.  So I got a tenth done of what I “should”, but I did some writing.  Now my bed calls to me after I chase the younglings to bed.  

And FFS, wear your masks, don’t eat in restaurants, and stay the heck away from other people!  Thank you.  

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #My writing #jocelyn and trevelyan #exhausted #wear your masks