#let soren be an adult

[fiery-emblems]

Like a lot of people I sometimes ponder what my favorite characters might look like if they were allowed to grow older. I've been seeing a lot of good designs for older Soren specifically so of course I got to thinkin' about my own take!

Some notes on design process under the cut cause I think we should all share our thought process once in a while:

So, for this I didn't want to just want to go with "Soren, exactly the same but older". My thought was "if I was actually in charge of designing for a fire emblem game, one that takes place in a future Tellius perhaps and featuring this character as a guest (a la Tiki or the Awakening trio, which they should keep doing BTW) how would I go about doing that".

You have to think of course, about what the character is actually doing and what their role is. It seems pretty likely that after RD Soren is either traveling the world with Ike or wandering around (probably the former) so "traveler" was the theme. As far as the overall shape and the outer layer especially it seemed obvious to reference the dragons, who are also travelers:

I don't want to just straight up copy the look of the robes though for a couple of reasons. 1) that's boring and the idea here is for an updated visual style 2) I wanted to combine different elements to evoke a feeling of mixing cultures. I figure if this scenario takes place say, 80 years in the future or something, fashions will have moved forward and perhaps you would see elements of beorc and laguz fashions mixed together. Especially for Soren given what he is. So I went with an inner layer that looks more Victorian puffy sleeves (which you don't actually see a lot of in PoR or RD since the characters favor more stiff looking tunics, but they are there and I figured its the future and maybe Crimea has entered its puffy shirt era) with the outer layer looking more like what the dragons wear. 3) Staying with robes seems kind of stagnant. I imagine that a much older Soren who's lived a good life along side his love has probably chilled out a little bit. A little bit. 4) I think having more leg visible gives a more adult silhouette.

The other consideration is the hairstyle. As much as I love Soren being a carbon copy of Rajaion, it wouldn't be the most interesting design choice if I was the character designer of a game to just copy a past design 1 for 1. So I decided to just lengthen his hair a little bit and give it a look like its been blown around in the wind. Soren is the windy guy and I'm assuming he would be more chill here so why not let it be loose and free? This also helps avoid him just looking like Sephiran cause I see that a lot too lol.

Yes I also changed the shape of his brand. I've always been fascinated by the fact that it changed shape between games. I know it was likely just a design oversight but what if it changed because he isn't an adult yet and it changes more as he ages?

Lastly there's the why. Why would your fav show up as a guest character? What would he even do?? Well I think Soren could be really fun actually if we assume he went with Ike and that Ike kept Ragnell with him. I'm picturing a situation where Ike has lived out his natural life and died, leaving Soren to return to Tellius alone in order to tell Mist's family what happened (cause Ike just left without telling anyone anything lol), and to return Ragnell to them. Instead some conflict breaks out, you know how it is, and the more chilled out Soren is convinced to bestow the sword onto the new starry-eyed lord who reminds him of his beloved.

Oh yeah. I can see it now.

#did I waste time thinking about this? Yes #no regrets cause I can alter this design and use it for my own stuff later #fire emblem #tellius #soren #au #ideas and theories #character design #saying I want to see my favs age but then this one has just barely aged at all #dang dragons #let soren be an adult #future tellius au

[thrandilf]

Been thinking about Viren again lately and I just really appreciate him as a character

First off someone in their forties in this kind of media getting a full heroic cycle and growth and having to face consequences both physically and emotionally and coming out of that like wow. "I love Harrow/my children/thought I was doing the right thing but I wasn't" is so big to me

You can love people and still hurt them/still be the problem and I feel like people often want to say he doesn't love Soren or didn't care about Harrow to make Viren’s actions make sense to them but Viren DOES care- and even in canon when someone dismisses his feelings such as when Amaya doesn't believe he didn't want Harrow dead, Viren then lets any criticism slide off of him because "well I do care so I'm right"

And I think that's a complex thing to think about how feeling you're right or doing what's best for someone because it seems reasonable to you, or "I would put my life and those I care about below the needs of Humanity" sounds noble and certainly did to Viren, but every time he followed that line of thought all he did was hurt people and eventually himself

Just because you care about someone doesn't mean you're treating them right and that's a hard pill to swallow

While other characters don't have to forgive Viren (and getting people to forgive you shouldn't be the reason you turn your life around/do the right thing anyway), I think that saying you know what?

You don't have to forgive your parent/peer who did xyz to you

But you can hold them to a higher standard and know that they can still change/grow, maybe far away out of your life, but being an adult/established person doesn't absolve anyone from serious self reflection and changing their behavior for the better and people should be able to keep growing rather than going well "I'm an adult/well I've always been like this" no! You don't stop living as an adult! You don't get to!

Anyway I love him and his having strong feelings and loving his family and screwing everything up and then being faced with all of that and actually coming around

#viren #lord viren #tdp #the dragon prince

[raayllum]

I just finished Book 5, and do you think that Ezra’s arc will have him learn that words aren’t enough? Some fans do think that he’s the least emphasized of the Dragang

I don't think Ezran is going to learn that words aren't enough (they have been, often times in his life, and trying non violent routes are important) but I do think he's going to be presented with more and more situations where it is, as he acknowledges, "Not that simple" (4x03).

In Arc 1, you had the transformative trio of characters (Callum, Rayla, Soren) who were rapidly changing as people versus the more "circumstances change and drag out certain personality traits either more or less" stagnated trio (Ezran, Viren, Claudia). In Arc 2 thus far, it seems that Soren, Claudia, and Ezran are the 'stagnant' ones and Viren, Callum, and Rayla are the transformative ones. That being said, I do think S5 focused on Ezran as much as S4 focused on Rayla, so it's not surprising there's a bit of a trade off (especially with Janai very much being a Main Character in arc 2) with Callum (always our main Main protagonist) getting a decent amount every season. There's definitely a lack of Ezran in the first four episodes (he gets about one scene a-piece) but I do think it's over quality > quantity, in some ways. (Bow from She-Ra for example is in every single episode of that series, but gets very little by way of arcs or conflict or interiority, y'know?)

That said:

I talked about this a bit more in a podcast review I did for the season / this meta, but I think Soren and Ezran are having slowburn arcs that will come to fruition in S6. Soren, after all, hasn't really changed as a character since the end of S3 - he's on team good guy, he's reaffirming his choices and love for his friends, he still cares for Claudia and still views his father as a cruel villain (which, Viren is/can be).

Ezran, likewise, is dealing with his own well, slowburn of problems. In a lot of ways, Ezran has to hold it together when everyone else is falling apart (Rayla is MIA, Callum is a mess; staying level headed even when they're arguing; being the main negotiator seemingly between the Pentarchy and the dragons of Xadia; and ruling is own kingdom). He takes his duties seriously and wants to broker peace further, if maybe a tad faster than people are ready for. Like Janai says, I think, his priorities have changed since becoming king. His duty first and foremost is to his kingdom/the world. (Not that it wasn't his mindset before, but it wasn't his responsibility before pre-series, y'know?) Which is very Rayla of him, I think ("I let them all down" in 3x04 / "I just feel like I'm letting everybody down" for Ez in 3x03).

And we see how much this weighs on Ezran based on how heavily he takes responsibility for his perceived and or literal mistakes. Whether it's speeding things up too fast / not giving enough room for his people's, or his own anger...

E: I had a speech planned for today. It was about peace and love and hope. But I think I left something out. I ignored something that was true. I denied something that is undeniable.

or in doing the right thing in saving the Baitlings, but putting his friends in danger.

And Soren acknowledges that this isn't really fair for Ezran, either:

Soren: This is all too heavy. It's not fair you have to struggle through this alone. You deserve time to do kid stuff. If you spend all your time doing adult stuff now, you'll grow up weird, like your brother and Rayla.

Now, on the certain level, Ezran is alone because he's like - he's the King, and that's its own unique position. However, if you look at how close Viren and Harrow, and Harrow and Sarai were, in their decision making, they did everything together. In spite of being a single dad, Harrow was never alone in what he did as king (for better or for worse): "I accept that tonight I may pay the price for our mistakes."

So I think it's interesting this emphasis on loneliness/alone in the same season we have Amaya and Rayla's conversation about it too:

A: My big sister Sarai was the smartest, strongest, bravest person I knew. When she died, I felt lost and weak without her.

I hated feeling that way, so I learned to be strong alone. Stoic, strong, and lonely. [...] To have that kind of strength, it is not enough to love someone. You have to trust them to share the burdens you're carrying.

So who does Ezran depend on to carry that burden with him? Because Ezran isn't supposed to be alone as king, and Harrow spelled it out for us:

When I am gone your brother Ezran will become king, and you will be his partner, his defender, and his closest advisor.

So the question is... has Callum really fulfilled his role for his brother? Callum isn't crownguard, so actually protecting Ezran is primarily in Soren and Corvus' hands, exemplified by Soren being the one to get angry over the ruined painting in 4x03, to run to Ezran in 4x09, and for Callum to be absent from the Dragon mission in S5. And when Callum is there to have a duty to fulfil:

Then we see the brothers - not Ezran and Rayla - disagree on how to proceed forward with Aaravos, getting momentarily a little heated before they both turn to Rayla (and remember those Rayla parallels I mentioned earlier?):

Now, it's not surprising that Ezran wants to take the diplomatic / least violent route. He's the one primarily appealing to Akiyu rather than barrelling onwards, and expresses great concern for her (even after she tried to kill them). Claudia thinks she can appeal to him in 5x09 because of his empathy. A more compassionate, reasonable route is what he's always done, trying to reason evenly with Finnegrin and with Rex Igneous, even if it doesn't precisely work out... simply because they, like his brother, don't exactly Value the same things Ezran does.

Alright, so the broyals disagreed once, and Callum is a little flighty as a High Mage. So what? Well: Callum now knows, and has already committed himself, to helping Rayla free her parents from the coins, including Runaan.

And Ezran's short story going into S5 hints that this may not exactly be something he's happy about:

Ezran gripped the arrow tight. The thing in his hands was a terrible letter, the ribbon its message: the king of Katolis was dead. King Harrow. His father. Something cold lurched inside him. He fought against it. He’d fought it before, that same hurt, years ago—when he’d found out what really happened that night in Katolis. Still, it haunted him. He couldn’t help but imagine the scene, all of it playing out like grim theater before him, as though he’d been there, as though he’d stood by and watched it happen. That Moonshadow elf upon the castle ramparts, skulking toward his father’s chambers. 

It stared up at him. Ezran felt a coldness twist its way around his heart. It took his lungs, too, and for a long moment he could not breathe, could not feel anything but an unfamiliar anger so potent it seized the whole of him, inside and out. Ezran stepped towards the arrow— —and stomped down on it as hard as he could. He wished he were bigger, stronger, he wished his boots were made of iron and not something soft. Still, it was enough. When he pulled his foot away, Ezran glared down at the arrow’s hawkish head, flattened and broken. Its ruby eye slipped from its socket, its black metal bent like frayed feathers. He left it there in the dark.

Full short story here.

So Ezran is going to find out, or possibly feel, that Callum and Rayla are keeping a secret from him (again, just like S2, which didn't make him happy then, either). Callum is going to side with Rayla over him if he mandates that Runaan shouldn't or can't be freed, giving into his anger and grief much the same way his father did. He may pull rank - and Callum is going to disregard it. A very similar fallout repeating itself...

Ezran being increasingly isolated (especially if Callum and Rayla are working, or leaving, to find the Starscraper), his disapproval and grief, trying to manage the possible fallout of Zubeia being injured/MIA, feeling undervalued and disregarded by his brother... There's little doubt in my mind that Callum and Ezran (and Rayla) will reconcile and find their way back to one another, healing their hurts, but Ezran has a lot of potential anger and angst to express and a lot on his upcoming plate, steadily added to and set up by the previous seasons.

Which in a lot of ways, makes sense. Ezran as king and Callum as high mage, and as brothers, have to prove they won't fall apart the same way that King Harrow and Viren did, more necessary than ever now that Callum has done dark magic again. Ezran was there to pick up the pieces after Rayla left, but he may still have anger over that and their joint secret keeping from him / feeling like they're treating him 'unfairly' like a child. We've also never really seen Ezran have this type of conflict before, nevermind for the trio as a whole (most of the time it's been Callum and Rayla disagreeing, a couple brief instances of Ez and Rayla, and Callum and Ez a few times in S1 / 5x05) so for Ezran to be what starts falling apart would really rattle all three of him, and seems to be where he's headed, character wise.

And I for one cannot wait to see it.

TLDR; Ezran's slow burn arc, much like Soren's, is being steadily set up and is going to likely be a big focus in the next two seasons, pushing him and other characters in brand new directions and with some really emotional, powerful storytelling to upstage our previously held status quo in all the ways.

#tdp ezran #ezran #the dragon prince #arc 1 #arc 2 #s4 #s5 spoilers #tdp spoilers #broyals #brotp: it's super annoying #the royal family of katolis #theme: strength vs weakness #characterization #analysis series #requests #thanks for asking #analysis #sidecharactersdomatter #s6 speculation #tdp #s5 #tdp broyals #personal fave

[jelzorz]

164.

As per @raayllum's request. Takes place/makes references to the fruit (~7 years post-series end, aka everyone is a fully consenting adult) which is not required reading but does explain what Rayla is talking about and is my justification for the existence of this ship.

"It's weird."

"No, it isn't."

"It is."

"Callum." Rayla lets out a breath. She likes to think she's been pretty patient about this, but it's been a long couple of months, and she's growing bored of managing Callum's expectations for him. To an extent, she understands: first Claudia had come home, and rather than be sentenced for her crimes, Ez had pardoned her, and then, somehow, had started courting her, and Rayla had thought that was weird too at first, but the fit Callum had thrown was pointless at best, and stupid and immature at worst. Rayla is his partner, his wife now, before she is anything else, and she's defended him in the past for his poor decision making and his poorer behaviour, but she will not defend him for his spat with Ez.

He has, thankfully, grown past it, but the reason he put his head back on straight is the new thing he can't get past, and they're not even dressed for dinner yet but Rayla is already exhausted by his inability to process the unexpected.

He pouts at her, helpless, confused, but Rayla would have more sympathy for him if he hadn't spent the last few months in a cold war with Ezran. She will not forgive him if he has another one with Soren and Opeli.

"What's the problem, exactly?" she demands, her patience well and truly wearing thin. "Is there something wrong with them being together?"

"I just—" Callum sputters, his brain obviously stuck on the word together like it's hammer caught between the gears of his brain. "It's—Soren—"

"You had no issues when Soren was dating Corvus."

"No, it's not—" He huffs. "With Opeli?"

"Yes. With Opeli. And?"

He flounders for a moment longer, looking more and more a like a fish gasping for air. "It's... I dunno, Rayla, the thought that they—they—"

"Oh, it's the sex, is it?"

Callum slams his mouth shut and goes so red that it takes all of Rayla's willpower not to dissolve into hysterics right there and then. Admittedly, she'd had the fortune of being told straight—by Opeli, when she'd gone investigating after the tension between all her friends had begun to piss her off. Callum and Ez were already refusing to talk to each other last spring, and when Opeli and Soren started to avoid each other too, Rayla had put her foot down and ambushed her in her office before the situation could grow anymore out of hand.

Then... Well. This summer hasn't been easy for them. She will not let Callum make it worse.

"Don't say it like that." Callum squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his temples. "It's—Opeli's like a mom, y'know?"

Rayla snorts at him. "Mums have sex, Callum."

"And Soren is like—he's like one of us. It's—it's kind of—" He grimaces, and for what it's worth, looks genuinely frustrated at himself for not being able to reconcile it. Rayla gives him some grace for that. "Look, I don't want you to think I'm not, like, happy for them? It's just... Opeli's been High Cleric my whole life, and she's been looking out for us since we were teenagers, and she's so much older that—"

Rayla stops him there with a scowl. "Is there something wrong with ageing women, Callum?"

"What? No! That's not—"

"Is she not allowed want things, Callum?"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Is Soren not allowed to think she's attractive just because she's older?"

"Rayla." He bows his head, resigned, exhausted, ashamed. "There's nothing wrong with them being together," he concedes. "Like. They're both adults. It's their decision. And after everything they've both done, and after what happened this summer... If they're happy, that's all that matters. My brain just... needs time, I guess." Then, quietly, and perhaps a little pathetically, he adds, "Sorry."

Rayla blinks at him, pleasantly surprised by his maturity after the months without it. "I get it," she says at last. "It threw me for a loop too, but at the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. They're still our friends. Our family. We'd still do anything for them, right?"

Callum nods childishly, and Rayla offers him a smile at last and pats his cheek. "Let's go have dinner with them. Think you can do that without having an aneurysm?"

He gives her a look. "Give me some credit."

Rayla laughs at that, loops her arm through his, and presses a kiss into his cheek. "Good," she says with a chuckle, "because Soren's been bugging me about this double date for weeks. Let's just have a good time with our friends, okay?"

Callum takes a breath but he smiles, if a little nervously, and nods. "Yeah. Sounds good."

#rayllum #sorpeli #callum not being able to process sorpeli or claudiez is the funniest part of both of these crackships #once again i will fight everyone for this ship #ageing 👏 women 👏 can 👏 be 👏 desirable 👏 too 👏 #in anticipation

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Layers and white lies: a Puzzle House takeaway

I'm not going to delve into too much detail on this amazing book here, but I will touch on a few themey, plotty things I saw and roll around in some angst for a while, so, behold, a cut for big ol' Puzzle House spoilers:

One of the clues that helps Claudia delve deeper into the Puzzle House - and the plot - is the little clue on the bottom of the lantern she picks up: some things are hidden in plain sight. And the deep angst and all of Kpp'Ar's intentions are some of them!

This story, like all of TDP's stories, is written to be understood at a certain level by children. And it is. But for us adults, if we slow down and study what's in front of us - another Claudia clue, which she advises Soren with - we can see more. (this works in the show too of course)

In this case, I'm seeing Kpp'Ar's entire plan - and why he abandoned it - and how it worked anyway.

There's the real angst. He set something in motion, and it became too big to stop on his own. And that's very much relevant to TDP's concept of the cycle too!

Okay, let's break down the situation Kpp'Ar found himself in:

Soren was very ill

Kpp'Ar was engaged with Viren in helping find a way to save him

Kpp'Ar knew about the power in unicorn horns

he captured a giant who was guarding a map scroll that could lead him to one

but then he realized he was not worthy to read its information, and instead of stopping to look at that, he pushed forward in a new direction

This is when things get a little dark.

When the fun cute carousel (that might be made of actual creatures turned to stone? did they all die for this performance?) carries Soren and Claudia deep into the tower, Soren sees the horrible traps and assumes he and his sister are off the planned track for their surprise. At one point he claims that what they're dealing with is literally too big for them.

He's right... but also, he isn't.

Follow the unicorns. That's what Kpp'Ar wanted Claudia to do.

They start on the lantern, and they're present on the balustrade right next to them. She was always supposed to pick up the lantern, remember the snap magic trick Kpp'Ar taught her, and head right up those stairs.

She was supposed to fail at the slide. She was supposed to find a different way to keep chasing what she wanted. Just like Kpp'Ar. When he closes a trap door, he opens a window? Sure.

Follow those unicorns, Claudia! Cutesy and bright, they led her all the way to the giant's prison. She was always supposed to push past the boundaries of "child-friendly" fun and go in there and read the map, so that her father and his mentor could go kill a unicorn for its horn, and then save Soren's life with it.

That was always the plan.

And it was always too big to just ask a child to do. So Kpp'Ar made it into puzzles for her. That way Viren could still save Soren's life, and Claudia would have fun and never be burdened with knowing what she was really doing.

She learned that trick, too, btw. Good job, Clauds.

The hidden angst of what happened to Kpp'Ar is a little harder to see, but it's there too:

Kpp'Ar realized he was dragging Claudia into the same kinds of machinations he'd dragged Viren into

he'd known Viren for years and something in that arc gave Kpp'Ar pause

he could see what Viren couldn't (until S5) - that he was hurting Claudia's future despite her trust in him

something in Kpp'Ar broke, and he had a tantrum (like Viren in S2) and a big change of heart (took Viren 3 more seasons)

he gave Claudia those snake bracelets just before he vanished because he wanted her to free the giant

she'd still have to follow the unicorns to find him - she still might find and use the map - but he couldn't control that now, all he could hope for was that she would show compassion for the giant too

And she did, because she was pure of heart. Kpp'Ar helped set things right, with one of his final acts. But he'd already put into place a whole big plan to kill a unicorn, and there was no way to separate rescuing Kruha from aiding that plan in progressing forward. He had to take his hands off the wheel and trust someone else to do the right thing. He had to give up his need to control everything, and start to trust just a little.

Themey, innit.

What's interesting is that Viren gives no clear indication to anyone - Atticus, Claudia, us - that he's aware of this big puzzle Kpp'Ar made, or its goal. All he admits is that things are complicated and the Puzzle House is dangerous. Very on brand with those layers and white lies.

Couple possibilities:

Kpp'Ar knew Viren would not allow him to endanger Claudia, so he didn't tell him about it, and Viren didn't understand the full scope until after Claudia had seen the map - possibly several years later, shortly before Viren proposed his vengeance plan to Harrow

OR, Viren knew all along about the plan to use Claudia (and was willing to risk her life for Soren's), but it didn't matter anymore, because he'd already found another way to heal Soren - possibly with (some of?) Kpp'Ar's life force - so he played dumb with the map paper and only told Claudia to keep it safe for later

Since he couldn't read the map... I lean toward him knowing all along. Coining Kpp'Ar for having a change of heart - something anyone should be allowed to do at any time - certainly added to the darkening of Viren's heart, but surely he and Kpp'Ar tested the map and found that neither of them could read it before going to these lengths.

With the comments Kpp'Ar makes to Viren in his fever dream - which now might be partially... real? - it's very possible that Viren pushed for the whole thing, trying to save his son's life. Offered Claudia up, got Kpp'Ar to give her a book so she could start studying up on magic, and then lost his cool entirely when his mentor basically said Soren should die, and coined him for it.

And Claudia never knew a bit of that. Probably still doesn't!

I wonder if she'll interact with any Kpp'Ar details in future seasons!

Alright, that's my thoughts!

Puzzle House is possibly the theme-iest graphic novel we've gotten so far. It's themes all the way down. They reach down through the PH plot, into Claudia's onscreen tactics, and they reach up to the meta level with the way that The Dragon Prince approaches the entirety of the show itself.

There is something scary in the dark. But that doesn't mean we should run. It's always better to go slow, to have compassion, and to follow your heart.

Because sometimes the solutions are hiding in plain sight.

Thanks for reading

#tdp spoilers #puzzle house spoilers #puzzle house #claudia #viren #kpp'ar #soren #tdp meta #puzzle house meta

[that-disabled-princess]

Fic Reader Highlights from this year! Thanks @mostlymaudlin for putting this together! This is such a lovely idea.

Fic that made me laugh: Worst Disney Princess Ever by @hushed-chorus.

So technically I listened to Demi read this in the discord, but who's counting. This is such a cute and fun fic in the absolute best way. The pigeons! The undead plotting rats! Baz's resignation to being the Disney princess with his undead animals 😂 Demi, hearing you read this was my first time reading (or listening) to this fic, and it was INCREDIBLE.

Fic that made me cry: you never quite say (but i hear) by @that-was-anticlimactic.

Yeah, this fic made me sob. It reminded me so much of my best friend, who also has ADHD and a loud voice and loves talking about their special interests. I adore them so much and love listening to them talk, even if I don't really get DND. I remember immediately sending them this fic after reading it. This is such a special fic. I absolutely adore it, and Zuko is the best boyfriend.

Honorary mention to He's Cruel But You Don't Have to Be by notanotherfanficwriter. Definitely made me cry. Soren's character arc, especially in Finnegrin's Wake, is incredibly cathartic.

Fic that gave me a story hangover: None Of Those Tiny Fluff Monsters In The House by @roxan1930.

Whatever a story hangover is, this definitely gave me it. I ended up naming one of my micropets in the Finch self-care app Poof because of it. I sometimes go back and reread parts of it because it's just That good and fun.

Fic I want to discuss book-club style: The Gay Bar by @scone-lover.

I think the Carry On discord actually has discussed this one before! It was very very lovely. Both the discussion and the fic. I ended up making a cover of this fic. The fic is so lovely and a very real depiction of queer experiences. Sconey, you are a gift to this fandom.

Fic that got me a lil flustered: Symbiotic by @thrandilf.

Um, yes. Hello. I am very very bisexual for a slutty gay practically-a-god elf tying up another slutty gay pretty-much-a-vampire elf and letting her drink from him. Thank you.

Fic by one of my favorite authors: Blooming by @hoothalcyon.

If you only read one neurodivergent ruthari fic, read this one. It's a collection of oneshots with autistic Runaan and supportive husband Ethari, and is so SO sweet and wonderful. Each chapter is a little slice of warmth and happiness to cut through the difficulties of life. And it's just so lovely seeing autistic adults being written about.

Fic I reread more than once: Keep You Safe by Tragicomic_Warrior_Poet

Just... Hakoda being a good dad to Zuko. Yeah. I love seeing that in zukka fics. I come back to reread this one a lot. Hakoda is such a good dad, and you can definitely tell how much he loves his kids. (And how much he cares about Zuko.)

Fic I sent to everyone I know: On the Edge of Morning by LassieLowrider

I love seeing the Carry On characters being disabled. I don't agree with Baz's leg being healed, and I really wish Simon being neurodivergent was touched on more in the books. So you better believe I sent this to the Carry On discord when I found it! It's such a wonderful slice of life fic <22

Fic that made me fall in love with an author: how familiar the danger by LiterallyThePresident (so sad I don't know if this author has a Tumblr)

So cheating a bit by doing a series for this one. But eh, rules were made to be bended. This series is SO DAMN GOOD. GO READ IT. AND THERE'S ART BY @sefarlen!!! Knight Ambrosius helping out slutty flirtatious commoner Ballister and them having an enemies to reluctant/tentative allies to lovers? FUCK YEAH, SIGN ME UP.

Gonna go ahead and tag some folks if you're interested in participating! Tagging everyone who's tagged above plus @bazzybelle @stitchyqueer @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @theearlgreymage @confused-bi-queer @no-cinnamon-for-synonym @yeonjunenby @yurayuramiharin @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @beautifulterriblequeen @cutestkilla @wellbelesbian @nightimedreamersworld @iamamythologicalcreature and anyone else who wants to! 💖💖

The blank templates 😊

#i'm on the couch suffering so i may come back and add things i forgot but these are all giant fic recs #fic rec #fic recs

[armchairaleck]

Alright, Claudia piece I've been thinking of..

The s6 trailer both consolidated these thoughts and made me wonder if this was a bit eccentric, but hey... I wanted to write it, so..

No real warnings I can think of, it's just dark magic and stuff..

---------------------------------------------

I am my father’s child.

I used to think I was more like my mother. I look like her.

People would tell me that, the ones who’d used to know her. Oh, you have your mothers eyes, they said, or her smile, or her laugh. I had the same black hair as her.

Once I had that hair.

It’s more white than black now.

That’s what I remember the most about her, the way when she held me close her hair would cascade over me, like a dark curtain and tickle my face. The way it always smelt of almond soap, a smell that was peculiarly hers. A smell that was all the warm things in the world - the cakes she used to bake with raisins in, the scarfs she would knit for us when the autumn winds came, the armchair where I used to sit curled in her lap like a cat. Since she left I’ve never smelt anything quite like it again.

Other memories I have are more vague, the sound of the piano drifting through the wall while I played by the fire. I never needed to pay it much attention, but there was always some odd comfort in hearing it and knowing that she was there. The nights when she and my father would read us stories together, my brother nestled under my father’s arm, myself between the two of them and I would rest my head on her chest and absorb the soft vibrations of her voice.

There were other things I didn’t understand, adult things, strange mysteries. My brother lying in bed for days, my mother and father arguing, my father and Kpp’Ar arguing, and the way that suddenly the arguing simply stopped. The voices ceased.

I discovered that people could leave as if you meant nothing, as if all the hidden parts of you that you wanted them to love were not important at all.

When I was six my mother left. I watched her take her things, two leather saddle bags sitting on the bed, each possession that she carefully folded into them.

I remember her wrapping the necklace that my father gave her in a cloth. It was my favourite thing of hers, a gold chain with a green stone that matched her eyes. I’d always loved to play with that necklace, to watch the light of the sun catch on each edge of it and cast its ghostly glimmer over her skin.

Her other things went later, picked up in a carriage, and the holes that they left simply remained empty spaces that my father never filled.

I didn’t say goodbye.

I watched her throw on her travelling cloak. I told myself I wouldn’t cry. I told myself I would be strong, but I ran up the castle battlements all the same. I couldn’t help that. One last glimpse I’d told myself. When I saw her growing smaller, getting further and further away, I wanted to catch her, I wanted to run straight back down the stairs and chase after her, but I knew it was no good. I would never be fast enough, and when I shouted the wind only whipped my voice away.

She didn’t turn back.

I didn’t cry then. It wasn’t until much later and always alone. I was my father’s child.

For years I thought I was not like him, he was always so serious, he rarely smiled. Years passed and the warmth on his face grew less and less, his eyes became dead places that the light couldn’t reach. I didn’t think I could ever be like that. Soren and I used to laugh about it, the more solemn he grew the more we felt we had to smile. We both knew there was something missing, something we had to cover with jokes until it almost seemed as if it was okay, as if we were just like any other family, but we weren’t. We could never be like that.

When I was seven my father let me work in his study. I liked it there. In the summer the sun came in through the tall windows and I could watch its path along each stone and always know the time of day. When the wild grey winter came and the winds howled outside the castle walls, that was when I felt happiest, the fire crackling, my father bent over a book, and the rain hammering down against the window. The two of us together lost in some other world that belonged only to us.

He would show me things, little tricks he called them. The way you could make a ball of fire from an emberback spider and let the flame play on your palm without burning your skin. The way you could take the feather of a lunarflare owl and use it to make objects dance in the air as if they were being pulled by invisible strings. He often did this, he would bring our toys alive and conjure up forests and magical creatures for my brother and me before we went to bed.

Later he showed me his other study, the one that twisted down spiral stairs, deep into the earth, where the stones radiated their cold chill over everything. Ours were the sunless places, damp and dark, where no one else liked to tread. There he showed me other things. A way of conjuring a half-life from ashes sprinkled over flame, and the way you could make it bend to your will. He showed me how to split essence from matter and ways of keeping each suspended in a half realm that was neither death nor life. Together we delved into long forgotten secrets, found hidden things lost to time, and discovered other things that belonged only to us.

He taught me that there was an answer to every problem if you searched hard enough.

There were things I learnt down there that I will not speak of, for they are better hidden. There is a deeper darkness to magic, one of blood and sweat and pain. My father taught me this, but he asked me not to call on it unless the need was dire. This magic had a cost to it, a sacrifice that you alone must make. It is hard to understand, most people call it evil, perhaps it is, or perhaps it is simply something they have no words to describe and so it frightens them. It is easy enough to hate what you fear.

They want this magic though, when there is no other choice, they desire what it can give them, and they take it. Once my father bought land back to life through the heart of a titan and the sheer force of his will. I was the only one who knew the true price of it and yet even then I found something about it that soared beyond beauty. I knew that one day I too would do beautiful things and that no one else would see the wonder in them. 

I saw the way people looked at my father, with fear in their eyes, the way they would one day look at me.

There was a dream I had when I first did dark magic.

It seemed almost endless and full of possibilities. There was a little girl there. She was just like me, but her hair was bleached bone white, and her skin was brittle like parchment that had been left too long in the sun. I liked her. She smiled at me and held out her hand and she led me away into the trees.

The woods grew thick and knotted, twisted this way and that, and they held out their branches like hands. We slipped between them and she showed me many things. There was a river, dark as blood, and on its bank strange creatures danced, their eyes held flames of different colours, their teeth were sharp and yellow and yet they did not frighten me, I wanted to dance with them. The girl taught me the names for all of these things and they slipped off her tongue like quciksilver.

We went looking for lost things that were impossible to find and yet there was some comfort in the seeking. Fire blazed around us and we jumped through flames. I did not mind, it was no different from the way my world seemed to burn around me.

This other place was somehow reassuring. I felt I could find things there instead of losing them and I wanted to stay, I wanted to get lost there forever, to follow each path as far as it went.

I remember the wrench of waking from that dream, my father was beside me, his face pale in the candlelight and he held me. I knew that this was a place he had also been to.

I found a way to go back there, a way to it through the edge of your dreams. Each night before I went to sleep I closed my eyes and imagined it in great detail, the little girl with the dark eyes, the twisted trees and the paths, the red river and the dancing. Each night the dreams returned and I went further and further into them.

I talked with serpents, they taught me peculiar things, the first words for everything, the ones that had been lost even to the dragons, the magical words that had moulded the world into being and they sat strangely on my tongue. There were great owls that let me ride on their backs, their cold black feathers sleek beneath my hands. They flew me up above the world until I could see more than the human eye had ever viewed. I could see the way the world shone, moon and sky, earth and ocean, sun and stars, all of these things linked by dark magic and some other, unknowable power that existed beneath it all. I sang wordless melodies with creatures that seemed too fantastic to exist until the air moved in patterns with our tune.

I told my father about these dreams and I saw the worry on his face. He was always tired. He told me I mustn’t go too far, he told me to remember my way back, and he told me a story of a child who got lost in their dreams like that. Of the changelings that existed there, of the way they would take a child and leave only a slumbering body in its bed, a body that would never wake again.

After that he went to great trouble to get me a primal stone so I could cast other magic. I felt a wild storm raging behind a perfect sphere, and I learnt many spells of the sky, but even though I knew it intimately, even though I felt its fury and its bite, it did not draw me like that other magic.

I could not stop my dreams, I would not have wanted to. The little girl was always there waiting for me and we grew up together. It was nice to have a girl to play with, the castle was full of boys and they couldn’t share my secrets the way she did. Dark sister, she called me and we made pacts of blood and bone and our hearts seemed to beat as one.

I dreamt of a spell that would make my mother come back. I believed there had to be such a spell, there was magic for so many other things, that if I could only find it our lives would be complete. My father would be happy again, my brother would return to the boy he had once been, the one who liked my magic, the one who asked for me to watch him while he slept and keep him safe.

Years passed though and my mother did not come back.

I grew used to it, and then I grew so that I would not have known what to say to her if she had returned. She would have known nothing of me. I felt it with my brother too, the way I could no longer share some mysteries, the way I had to hide parts of myself just as my father did.

The years did something to my father, they seemed to alter him until sometimes he was almost unrecognisable to me. The more he worked, the more it seemed to cost him, and yet he was driven like me to go on.

There were days when my father sat with his head in his hands as if he no longer knew what to do. He gazed for hours at the wall, or stared at a book without ever turning the page. I asked him what was wrong but he couldn’t seem to tell me.

I was older then though, I could piece things together. I had learned to read him the way he had once read me and I wanted to help him. Perhaps I thought I would lose him too, that he would get lost in those dark places that seemed a part of him and that I would wake one day and find he too had gone.

So I listened at doors, I slipped into his study when no one was there, and I leafed through his books and papers until I knew what he wanted and why he despaired of it. Some things are nothing much more than dreams, shapes that once emerged from misty glades but have drifted now beyond time, into some other place where the grass is a richer green.

He wanted the horn of a unicorn.

There are a thousand stories that have been written about unicorns. Tales of their pity, of the way they harnessed the ocean, sky and earth into stones and gave them to humans once, that these were the original primal stones used to give us magic. That they could shift their shape this way and that and even disappear completely. Some people said that they had been hunted from this world, others that they had simply slipped through a veil into another realm completely.

A thousand stories but not one sighting, not for centuries if you believed the books.

Still I felt that I might try, I might somehow find a way. Not because I had any great skill or power, but simply because I had once seen the way laid out for me.

It happened when I was quite small, not long after my mother left. I had wandered through the shell of what had once been a home. It was cold and empty then and I was filled with sadness, I felt as if my whole world was crumbling around me and I longed to stop it. Right in the heart of it I found a creature made of rock, and its sorrow flowed like the sea. I thought that perhaps if I could stop its sadness that mine might also end one day.

When I set it free the creature gave me a map, not the sort of map you could follow by points on a compass, it was only a place you could feel for, reach into with your heart, and if the heart longs for something hard enough perhaps there is still a way to find it.

My heart longed for so many things.

Years later when I needed it, I knew somehow the way that I must go and the secrets required to get there. 

First you must cover your eyes because it wouldn’t do to see the way. Cover your eyes and sing the secret songs. Then you must walk into the woods quite without fear, if you are afraid the woods would simply swallow you up, these woods are very cold and dark. You will feel the chill, wet bark beneath your fingers, and you will hear the crunch of leaves on the ground that sound like brittle bones breaking beneath your feet. You will sense a hundred things out there that are ready to turn you to smoke and you must never flinch.

The further you walk, the more your hope will drain from you and that is when you will know yourself truly, and what you can endure.

I could bear these things, the world had already taught me that, so I walked on until the darkness seemed to fade and I could feel a light beyond me. A voice rang out and filled my mind, it was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard. It told me to uncover my eyes and I did, and the beauty I saw was ethereal. It was something quite beyond anything I had ever imagined, I wish I could describe better, it seemed to shine with starlight as if it had stepped down from the heavens themselves. At the time I believed I would never forget a single hair of it, but there must have been some magic because now I can only see it vaguely, the fleeting outline of its form, the exquisite lines of a face so fine and gentle and kind, and its dark eyes that seemed to stare right into my soul.

I didn’t have to tell it what I wanted, it already knew. Only afterwards did I know the cost of it, that removing the horn of a unicorn denies it the ability to shift into its true form, that in giving me this gift its shape would be lost to it forever. The creature shifted in front of me, became a pale girl with sky blue eyes and I held a horn in my hands, it glowed and its light grew brighter and brighter until the girl and the woods and the trees all disappeared and the sun burst in through my window.

Later it seemed as if this too had been a dream. I awoke in my bed and the first thing I looked for was the unicorn horn. It was there beneath my pillow. I could feel the magic of it, it felt far more powerful than any other object I had ever held, even the sky stone could not touch it. When I gave it to my father his face lit up. He had not looked so happy for a long time, and he took my hand in his own and he told me that everything would be alright.

After that I knew I would never find my way back to the lands of my dreams. There were things I had seen now that were not really for human eyes and could never be explained. I knew that in looking for them I had lost something else.

I never had the dreams again, I never saw the girl with white hair, but she was already a part of me by then, I could talk to her whenever I wanted because the shadow of her was in me. Still there was a sadness to this loss that I cannot put in words, a void that has existed in me ever since.

Later on there were other losses, greater still. My brother left. There were other mysteries, far more arcane perhaps, things that involved the very essence of returning life from death, I had to piece together the only things that remained to me and I will not tell you of that or you would never sleep sound in your bed.

Mine is a different sort of slumber now, it does not give much rest and when I wake I’m always tired.

Now I understand the bone deep ache. It is our own devotion, these things my father taught me in his way. Ours are the places no one else will comprehend, the parts of us we have to kill, and when we do you wonder why there is nothing left.

I loved my father because it is harder to look into darkness and survive than it is to fool yourself that some trick of the light can save you. People will burn their eyes out staring at the sun and they will think it is better to be blind than to know true darkness, to taste the depths our souls contain. He was the last thing I had left and I could not let him go.

I was a little girl once and the world took from me, it took all the things I loved one by one, now it is my turn to take.

I am my father’s child. I hold onto things that are broken and I squeeze until there is nothing left.

I thought I had something of my mother in me, but I do not.

I am my father’s daughter through and through.

#tdp claudia #might bung this on Ao3 but I am also tired so not tonight.. #plus I hear first person POV is hugely hated there so since all my stuff is laughably unpopular I'm a little dubious.. #ehhh idk why tho.. some of my fave books are first person pov.. #anyway I love Claudia.. she can do no wrong by my low moral standards.. #writing

[atypicalsenerio]

—the world is cruel

He'd been about that age when he'd seen something similar, hadn't he?

Soren only knew the child's name due to having a good memory, not because he cared, or knew anything about him, or should realistically see an untrained boy as anything other than a liability. As expected, the child seemed to be in shock, aimless, looking over his shoulder as if hoping the shadow he'd tried to lose would magically come back.

"Kid."

At Soren's word, he looked up, face blank. "Brizo."

"Whatever, Brizo." Despite Soren's cool words, he had a spare, ratty cloak under his arms. He draped it around Brizo in a businesslike fashion. "Let's not let our numbers dwindle lower. Stay close to the fire. You can't change what happened. Try to not let it change you for the worst."

Brizo felt the fabric of the cloak. Suddenly, he winced. "This cloak, it isn't..."

"Hers? No." Even Soren wouldn't pretend that wouldn't be more of a detriment than a comfort. "Get some rest."

Brizo hesitated.

The boy suddenly flung his arms around Soren, cheek pressed to Soren's stomach, bawling. Soren froze, but he didn't shove him away. Awkward for a moment, he let a hand rest on the hood of Brizo's cloak. "This world is cruel," he informed Brizo, knowing that Brizo already understood that better than many adults back in Fodlan ever could.

Soren pressed on, hand on Brizo's shoulder, just loud enough to know he could hear.

"But you don't have to be."

#aopi2023 #toaapollyonouranos2024 #drabble #ic #WAUGH. anyway

[nerdyenby]

I’m sure plenty of people have thought about it but I haven’t seen anyone dissect it so let’s talk about

Soren and Claudia as a reflection of Zuko and Azula

Obviously there’s the whole “kids of the big bad, son gets redeemed, daughter falls further into evil” thing but you can go so much deeper with it.

The Azula/Claudia parallels are pretty overt: villain’s prodigy daughter bases her whole identity around being good at what her father wanted her to be and becomes so desperate for approval she becomes functionally irredeemable (withholding the acknowledgment that she is a victim of manipulation and emotional abuse).

But we get to see in tdp what we never got in atla: the fall.

Azula was conniving and ready to do anything for her father’s approval long before we met her, and similar is true for Claudia, but we get to see a window into who Claudia could have been. We see her have friends and passions and interests and doubts. We see her looking for the best in people and believing what she’s doing is right. We see Claudia wrestle with the morality of her actions. We see her crossing the line and knowing it. We see her losing herself in desperation to get back a life long gone. We see her acknowledge that she has done unforgivable things and hating herself for her willingness to do them.

Claudia is Azula’s arc in reverse. Instead of getting this terrifying, perfect warrior fall apart at the seams when losing control, we get a girl who knows there is a line treading closer and closer until she’s crossed it so many times she doesn’t bother going back any more. We watch Azula’s prefect image fracture and break, we see Claudia collecting her broken pieces, reconstructing herself into something unrecognizable. We watch Azula’s fall from grace, we see Claudia’s rise to power.

Soren and Zuko’s parallels are almost more interesting to me, because they’re a bit more subtle. They are not each other, you could not slot them into each other’s stories like you could with their sisters. They are distinct but that’s what makes them such interesting foils.

Zuko’s arc is of him breaking out of who he was “supposed” to be and finding who he wants to be. Soren’s isn’t. He’s an adult, he’s already decided magic wasn’t for him. He knew he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he still wanted to make him proud. Soren is a warrior but he doesn’t try to be anyone he’s not, he’s a fierce fighter but he’s also an absolute goofball. He’s not the smartest, but he enjoys exploring new ideas and he wants to make people happy, he knows who he is. Zuko, however, is heartbreakingly clueless to what kind of person he is outside of his father’s orders.

Soren has a more defined personality from the get-go, but Zuko has to figure himself out on how own starting halfway through the series. Zuko’s life had been governed by a desperation to earn his father’s love and years of rage, he never got the chance to explore himself beyond this until season three. Soren, on the other hand, knows himself, but has his identity challenged and chipped away at. He is a crown guard, a protector, but he finds himself causing more harm than good. He’s loyal, he wants to fight to make the world a better place, but when he becomes paralyzed he knows that this is better — that he doesn’t want to hurt anyone and that he doesn’t trust his orders to not lead him astray. He wants to do the right thing and make people happy, but standing up for what’s right breaks his sister’s heart and pushes her over the edge. He is determined to help make a better future, one of peace and forgiveness, but that means protecting the king, even against his own father. Soren believes goodwill and faith are the key to a better world, but he can no longer trust Claudia, his sister and closest friend. He believes in letting go of the hurt of the past, but he’s mourned his father twice and he’s still alive.

Soren is a good man who wants to do the right thing, but every step of the way is a personal challenge. While Zuko is struggling to find himself and who he wants to become, Soren is fighting not to lose the best parts of himself when his identity is constantly being challenged.

Zuko’s banishment is a key part of his story, he was thrown out, forcefully separated from his family and forced to find himself on his own while his father’s shadow loomed over him. Soren, however, had been his father’s right hand in a way. He was right there, watching his father and sister slip further and further into dark magic that gradually eclipsed who they once were. He was by Claudia’s side as she did increasingly horrible things to satisfy their father, he watched as she slowly became someone he didn’t recognize anymore. Soren himself was ordered to kill for his father and almost went through with it. Zuko was never asked to do anything like that, probably because Ozai didn’t think Zuko would be willing or able to go through with it, but Viren believed in Soren. He wanted his son by his side, and for most of his life that’s what Soren wanted, too. Viren’s a messed up dude but, in his own messed up ways, he did care for Soren.

That’s part of what makes these families such good foils: that there was love there. Viren loves his kids in a possessive and controlling way, but he does want them safe and close; Ozai only ever wanted his kids to be useful. Claudia loved her brother, and Soren continues to love her.

Zuko and Azula have resented each other for most of their lives. There is sadness there, a sense of loss of what they could’ve had, but they never got to have a proper relationship. We get to watch Claudia and Soren fall apart, while we only ever got to see Zuko and Azula hate and pity each other. That is what hurts.

Look at their goodbye in season three, look at their reunion in season four, look at how they care for each other and how terrified they are of what’s happening before them. Now imagine Zuko and Azula in their place.

That is how you do good foils.

#I went off #sorry not sorry #tdp #tdp s4 #tdp spoilers #dragon prince #dragon prince spoilers #dragon prince s4 #tdp soren #tdp claudia #atla #avatar #atla zuko #Zuko #atla Azula #Azula #Soren and Claudia #zuko and azula #parallels #character foils #foils #siblingship doomed by the narrative rip #writing #analysis #cartoons #tv #nerdy’s multifandom rambles

[agentem]

Early reviews of Secret Invasion are encouraging (but not perfect). Of course it was hard for me to believe Samuel L. Jackson and Olivia Coleman would deliver bad performances. (I have seen SLJ give amazing reads to the worst dialogue ever written.) I worry that Marvel has some of the best talent and often lets the characters down.

And this was does feel a bit "forced" because the Skrulls have long been villains in the Marvel Comics, and are famous for the "Secret Invasion" run in the comics where a key member of the Avengers was revealed to be a Skrull shape-shifter.

But Captain Marvel made them refugees. Maybe not perfect, but sympathetic. So how do you do you adapt that famous run without the Skrulls being total dicks?

Apparently they are made because Captain Marvel and Fury never did find them a new planet to live on (this seems odd. If they couldn't find a planet certainly there could be something like Knowhere where a group could live? Why did they come back to Earth? They love our gravity?)

Things will have to be a bit more nuanced than comics fans are used to. Talos (Ben Mendelsohn), his wife Soren and their daughter Gi'ah (Emilia Clarke) are all known as nice and helpful, but also as reasoning species. (Oftentimes in the comics, it's like "our queen is evil so no we all are. That explains everything you need to know.")

I'm glad I don't have to root against Emilia Clarke though. There had been rumors she was playing Veranke (the aforementioned evil queen who makes the evil Skrulls do evil things) and I was very relieved when it was confirmed she was playing adult Gi'ah (the child appeared in Captain Marvel). And I don't want to see my queen destroy any more cities.

I also demand she and Monica Rambeau hang out in the future.

IDK. I am cautiously optimistic about this.

#secret invasion #samuel l. jackson #olivia coleman #emilia clarke #ben mendelsohn #daenerys targaryen #the marvels #deep blue sea #the queen

[authortobenamedlater]

E7! The penultimate! Keyes-Halsey family drama! Major change on the S-II’s origins! Or not! Who knows with this show!

The good:

Ackerson OWNED Parangosky and it was SO SATISFYING. I really loved Ackerson in this episode, realizing he was getting played and then proverbially spiking Parangosky. It’s what I wanted all season.

Miranda and Halsey’s reluctant mother-daughter team-up. Still living in a parallel universe where Jacob lived and got to see it. Miranda’s “Mom! Please!” while the hard light bridge is disintegrating? GET OUT OF HERE WITH THAT.

Great look into the Forerunners, and possibly the Flood, and some deeper lore without infodumping. More on this in the last section.

John and Makee on the Halo is ALMOST EXACTLY how I imagined a conversation between them in my headcanon that Makee went Halo 5 Cortana. “What if there are no sides, let’s build a perfect world together.” I think it’s going to be a continuing theme.

Jury is out on if Makee can control the Halo and her feelings for John are all that’s saving the galaxy, though.

The bad:

I really did not like how this episode handled Soren. I get what they were trying to do, Soren thinking Kessler needs his coming-of-age moment, but it was clumsy at best.

The Kessler storyline is getting old. Laera had him and then…what? Where is he? Where’s she?

Kwan’s story is also unnecessarily klutzy. They were taking her in a good direction at the end of S1, and now they once again don’t know what to do with her after Madrigal got glassed. Why did they do that anyway?

These Spartan-IIIs seem awfully half-baked. Ackerson calls them “his life’s work” but they haven’t been around long enough to be his life’s work. Sending them into combat presumably unaugmented? And why did they take Kessler and other kids if they can make Spartans out of adults? Logical answer is they’re still making IIs, but then why make the IIIs?

Observations/predictions/questions:

Did we see the Flood in those cracked vials? Did they get released? ARE MIRANDA AND HALSEY AND KWAN INFECTED????

Halsey says she found Forerunner/human DNA, at least I’m assuming it was Forerunners, and picked the Spartans because they had similar DNA? Why? Were the Spartans not originally created to fight the insurrection in the TV world? Or they were and Halsey also saw the Covenant coming down the line? And for all that DNA hunting John is the only Blessed One? I’m confused and curious.

Kessler seemed pretty unaffected when Soren and Laera showed up. Did his memories already get erased? Or did they stick a pellet in his spine already?

I’m VERY intrigued about where the show takes Var, otherwise known as Not Thel ‘Vadam, and Makee.

Does Kai survive the season? John’s speech about “if it comes down to you and you have the spike in your hand” sounds a little like how Kurt went out. And she’s basically in Kurt’s role. Though the previews do at least show her in her Mjolnir.

How will John get Cortana back? Cause he has to get her back. Is he going to turn back to Kai and company? He went back for Kai in S1 on Eridanus. He could do it again.

However it goes down I think the finale is going to be a packed hour.

#halo #halo tv show #halo spoilers

[meganwasbored]

The Dragon Prince Thoughts Season 1 Episodes 1 and 2

I was gonna post the whole season at once but by episode 2 I realized that would be way too long

Episode 1

-I misunderstood the begining for a second and I thought the elves pushed the humans to the west to protect them from the magic but now I see that they’re enemies and that makes a lot more sense

-“Take that, marshmallow monster!” Oh I already love him

-“I wasn’t scared, Bait was scared” AWWW HES SO CUTE

-The jelly tart scene reminds of the little brothers from Brave

-It’s only the first episode and someone’s already gonna die this is wack

-THE WHOLE SWORD TRAINING SCENE AND SOREN LETTING CALLUM WIN TO IMPRESS CLAUDIA BIG BROTHER ENERGYYYY

-Harrow knows he’s probably gonna die but he still tries to keep the boys happy I love him

-“Everything’s going to be fine, alright? I’m sure of it.” The fact that he has to say that clearly means everything’s NOT going to be fine

-AWW HE WANTS TO HELP TO PROTECT HIS DAD EVEN THOUGH HES NOT REALLY HIS DAD IM CRYING

-“Life is precious. Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.” Dang.

-ok I like Soren so far but he’s kinda being a brat about the moth like read the room nobody has time for your complaining. No offense.

-“he looked up at me and I saw the fear in his eyes” + “He didn’t do anything to me! How could I take his life?”

*ahem*

ANYWAY

Episode 2

-“Yesterday I had two eggs for breakfast and I was starving. Today I had four eggs

and I’m stuffed. So, tomorrow…”

“Three eggs! I get it!”

“I was going to say two eggs and one sausage.”

I don’t know your name but I love you random guard

-I’ve known Callum for one episode and I will already die for him

-Callum’s entire conversation with the king I wanna cry

-“The great illusion of childhood is that adults have all the power and freedom but the truth is the opposite. A child is freer than a king.”

-“Take care of your brother” STOP ITTTT

-THE HUG

-I could write a whole essay just on that two minutes

-He tripped. He was running for his life and he freaking tripped.

-“Hey you swept the leg!” BRO WHAT ARE YOU DOING RUN

-THE LETTER ROLLED OUT OF THE BAG I REPEAT THE LETTER ROLLED OUT OF THE BAG

-“I am prince Ezran.” STOPPP ITTTTTTT

-“An assassin doesn’t decide right and wrong, only life and death.”

“That was really clever but come on, really?”

I love them already

-“It’s not a good time!”

“…you mean because you’re with a girl?” HAHAHAHAHA

-Help why is Ezran so chill about this

-DID HE PUT THE LETTER BACK IN THE BAG THATS ALL I CARE ABOUT RN

-“I would rather die a king than live as a coward.” Stop because I volunteer to die for

him

-Ok I get why he’s so against dark magic and he’s valid for that but also literally what else is his plan, like yeah he’s likely to die either way but like dude we can have this argument another time

-“stubborn and ungrateful” WOAH BACK UP THAT WAS TOO FAR

-WAIT SO YOU DESTROYED THE EGG WITHOUT THOUGHT OR PERMISSION??? AND NOW MY MANS GONNA DIE FOR IT??? OH HECK NO I DONT LIKE YOU ANYMORE

-YEAH WOULD YOU VIREN??? Yeah that’s what I thought get out of my face

-I don’t blame you anymore Soren I see where you learned the attitude

-“He’s a glow toad🙄”

-YEAH YEAH COOL EGG DID HE PICK UP THE LETTER THO

#ONWARD #after my phone charges #it died from all the emotions #the dragon prince #tdp #rayllum #the dragon prince thoughts #tdp thoughts #tdp thoughts season 1 #the dragon prince thoughts season 1 #tdp season 1 #the dragon prince season 1

[separatist-apologist]

They Took The Crown But It's Alright

Companion to Call It What You Want To, Ivy edition (with a small excerpt from Soren's chapter- Would You Run Away With Me?)

Never say I don't contribute to this fandom- this is 20k words long. I wrote the majority of it in 12 hours.

Also, I'm so wildly grateful people are still thinking about this fic a year after I wrote it, asking questions and wondering what happened next. Despite how unhinged this fandom is, I am having the best time here.

No graphic, no summary. We die like men. Politely NSFW

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Ivy woke to the sound of pounding on her bedroom door. “Go away!” she yelled, well aware of who was doing the banging. Her cousins had arrived in the Sun Palace the night before and only Nyx would be up so early. “Aren’t you supposed to be a night owl?”

The door opened and Nyx stepped in, his bright blue eyes glittering with amusement. Tendrils of dark followed just behind, sucking up bright rays of light pouring through her window. “I can’t resist the sunlight or you, cousin. Why are you still asleep?”

Ivy sat up while Nyx dropped onto the cream-colored bedding and pushed dark hair from his eyes. He looked just like his father in nearly every way, save for his mother’s eyes. Archeron eyes, Ivy had been told. Ivy wouldn’t know—she was every bit her father, from the long, ruby hair to the russet-colored eyes. She even had his darker coloring and his magic, an unusual combination of fire and sunlight. It was her twin Soren who favored the Archeron lineage; blue gray eyes, fairer skin and their mothers ability for sight. 

“Yvette is going to be here soon,” Nyx interrupted Ivy’s thoughts, his eyes sparking with hope. Yvette was Kallias and Viviane’s daughter, the only child born to the High Lord of Winter and Nyx’s secret crush. Only Ivy knew as far as she could tell, though she was willing to bet Azriel’s son Auden’s shadows had spilled Nyx’s secrets to the rest of their cousins.

“That explains the clothes,” Ivy teased, gesturing towards the finely made black and silver tunic, handsome enough but way too warm for summer in Rhodes. “You’ll boil alive before she ever arrives.”

He shrugged. “As long as I look good beforehand. Get dressed. Don’t make me suffer through breakfast with the High Lord of Spring and his terrible sons.”

Ivy groaned too. Once a year, all the High Lords gathered in one of the Courts and spent a week discussing Prythian, policy, and everything in between. The year before they’d gone to Autumn where Uncle Eris had arranged a week-long festival celebrating Samhain and this year it was his grandfather, who she affectionately referred to as Papa Helion, hosting the High Lord’s and their families. 

He’d planned for the week to fall during the Hunt, one of their more ridiculous holidays in which females took over the city for a day, banishing the males to the sea. The evening culminated in the return of the males, who literally hunted down the women—or the partner of their choice—after finding one of the scarves females tied throughout Rhodes. Ivy had never participated and wasn’t about to start now, adult or not. 

Ivy banished Nyx to bathe and dress, choosing a long, white gown held up by heavy, linked chains above her shoulders. She wrapped gold cord around her waist to tie it all together and give the illusion of curves and allowed her ruby colored hair to fall in long waves down her back. Nyx had worn his silver starred crown and to that end, Ivy wove her own glimmering circlet through her hair, letting a tiny, jeweled sun rest in the middle of her forehead. She wrapped a snake cuff around her arm, knowing her father and grandfather would wear their own, and slid several rings onto her fingers. 

For every other Court in Prythian, it was the male who would eventually inherit the throne. Day was the exception. It was hardly secret that the magic that decided such things had skipped her brother, much to his relief, and had found her worthy. When Helion and her father died, it would be Ivy who ascended. She’d be the first Cauldron-chosen High Lady in living memory, as far as she knew, anyway. She was curious to see Yvette, to see if she was displaying the same magic Ivy was.

Not all the Courts had heirs, like Day and Night did. Winter and Spring and Autumn also had a generation the same age as Nyx and Ivy, but Summer and Dawn did not. Thesan seemed rather pleased to have never had children and Ivy supposed that stemmed from how proud Helion had been when her and her brother had been born. Her Uncle Eris and Aunt Arina had one daughter who was still quite young, little Isolde who was the same age as Spring Courts Aine. Spring Court was an odd place—Tamlin’s two oldest children were sons, his two youngest daughters. Alexander was the eldest, six years older than her and set to take his fathers place. He was the spitting image of his Tamlin in every way. While Ivy had been bred for politics and social niceties, Alexander had been born for war. 

His younger brother Finn was more tolerable, prone to the kind of mischief Soren and Nyx liked to engage in. They might have been friends with different parents. She’d heard the rumors of Finn’s rakish behavior and had seen him sampling the females each year in the different courts. They avoided each other for all the obvious reasons. She was far more partial to moody Saoirse and bright and bubbly Aine, though they rarely came with their brothers and father. 

The problem, for Ivy anyway, was the friendship that existed between her parents. Tamlin and her father, Lucien, had been friends for centuries and when their children were born, patched up their differences after their falling out when her Aunt Feyre had destroyed Spring, and forced Ivy, Soren, and Alexander together. Ivy was twenty-one, the same age her mother had been when she was made Faerie. She couldn’t be forced into unwanted playdates, especially with the brutish males of Spring. 

She left her bedroom and walked smack dab into her grandfather, dressed in a nice chiton and knee length sandals. His golden crown of sunlight sat atop his head, making his dark brown skin seem as though it glowed brighter than he already did. He beamed when he saw her.

“You’re up early,” he commented, throwing a strong arm over her shoulder. Though Helion would never admit it, Ivy firmly believed she was his favorite; of all her siblings, she looked the most like his wife, the former Lady of Autumn and current Lady of Day, Amera. 

“Blame Nyx,” she replied with a bright smile, hoping she glowed half as brightly as he seemed to. Helion’s amber eye’s twinkled. 

“I did see the rapscallion running about. I see not much has changed between the two of you. What shenanigans has he roped you into this time?”

“It’s secret, inter-court business,” she replied much to Helion’s delight. He mimed zipping his lips and Ivy whispered, “He’s hoping to catch a glimpse of the Lady of Winter, Yvette.”

“I’m told she’s become quite beautiful,” Helion half-whispered. “She takes after her mother.”

Ivy shrugged. “She’s too good for him, I’m sure.”

“Ah, but all females are,” Helion replied. “Don’t inform your father I said such a thing, of course.”

As if her dad wouldn’t be the first person to say her mother could have done better. Helion melted away, leaving Ivy to walk alone through the marble halls as early morning light spilled through high, arching windows. Nyx would be waiting on a private patio up on the third floor and while Ivy was anxious to see her cousin, that didn’t stop her from taking the longest route possible. Day Court was stunning, her home far more lovely than anywhere in Prythian. Ivy liked to bask in the warmth, to meander through its ancient, marble halls and imagine herself mistress.

It was a mistake. On the second floor, standing in front of one of the best views of the ocean, was blonde haired, green eyed Alexander. His back was turned to her, broad and muscled from beneath a light blue tunic. A sword hung from a brown belt at his waist and the sight annoyed her. What kind of danger did he expect to find here? 

As though he sensed her, Alexander turned, his serious eyes looking her up and down. Handsome, was her first stupid thought. He’d always been beautiful for a male who didn’t smile. Ivy was grateful he’d left behind his usual baldric of knives and she couldn’t help but notice that there was no golden crown of laurel leaves atop his head that might denote him the heir of Spring.  He never wore it, she thought with a frown.

Her eyes lingered on his full mouth just for a beat. Alexander said nothing at all as he assessed her, his gaze flicking from her head to her feet before he turned away. There was nothing to say, though it was quite rude not to even offer a polite good morning. Ivy scurried off, walking a little quicker than she’d meant to. The only sound was the hard soles of her sandals upon the marble and just as she rounded the corner she looked over her shoulder, surprised to see him looking back at her, too.

She shouldn’t care at all but…something warm bloomed in her chest.

It was sunlight over a garden. It was roses waking from a harsh winter. She shoved that feeling back down, joining a waiting Nyx on the patio, long legs stretched out in front of him casually. He smiled, golden skin basking in the daylight.

“What’s Alexander doing skulking through the halls?” she demanded, still thinking about his too-serious green eyes. She felt Nyx prod against her mind, violet eyes glittering with amusement.

“Maybe he was looking for something,” Nyx replied.

“Don’t be disgusting,” she complained. There had never been any love lost between them, even when she had been forced to spend time in Spring. Alexander, with his knives and his studying and his scowling. Ivy and Soren had each other, had always teamed against him until he locked himself up in the library or took to the garden to avoid them.

Nyx couldn’t argue on that front. The thought of Alexander looking for her was more than repulsive. It was against nature itself to consider him as anything other than an obnoxious adversary. He wasn’t the first beautiful male. He wouldn’t be the last.

“Eat your breakfast,” Nyx demanded, pulling her from her thoughts. “And help me think of ways to annoy him at the meeting later.”

Ivy would have bristled at his bossy tone normally. Today was different and for once, she was all too happy to dream up a little mischief. 

*

Alexander had kept far enough from the Spell-Cleaver-Archeron clan. He had no interest in being subjected to their scorn or their chaos, especially not at his expense. He and his brother Finn were meant to pay for the mistakes of his father, apparently, for eternity. Rhysand had never gotten over it and Nyx wouldn’t, either. Alexander might have forgiven them had their poisonous opinion not tainted all the other courts. Ivy and Soren hated him just as viciously, apparently intending to hold Alexander accountable for their mother’s dip in the Cauldron. He could recall years of their fathers trying to make the three friends as they patched up their own issues, leaving Alexander to the cruel whims of Ivy and the bored pranks of Soren.

No amount of apologizing from his father would ever make it right. It seemed nothing could garner their forgiveness and Alexander was not keen to try. 

One day Ivy would have to interact with him when she was High Lady and he High Lord. He intended to repay her for her kindness then. Still, at times Alexander couldn’t help but envy her and the life she led. It was clear no one cared if Ivy accepted the magic or not and was content to let her decide how her future might play out. Her brother Soren was given free reign to chase his own pursuits. Alexander would have committed an unknown number of atrocities for such freedom. 

He’d never been to Day Court before, having always hosted the Vanserra's in Spring. While his father made the rounds and Finn vanished, likely chasing the first pretty female he laid his eyes on, Alexander had gone looking for a quiet nook in which to find some peace. He’d thought he’d found a little patio high up on the third floor was decent, having tried the garden only to find Elain Archeron strolling the winding path. She'd been nothing but polite, had offered to show him around but Alex had panicked. He wanted to see it, loved the glowing peace and couldn't risk her eldest daughter stumbling in to survey him with her mocking eyes.

So he'd gone up for the open veranda of windows. He should have known Nyx would be waiting. He’d retreated before he could be the butt of any of Nyx’s sharp words, catching sight of the sprawling city from a window just outside the hall. He’d paused, drinking it in. The city was beautiful, set atop a hill overlooking a vast, sparkling ocean.

And then Ivy had arrived. Every inch of her was a Day Court princess—his eyes snagged against the glowing brown of her skin, contrasted with the wine red of her tumbling red hair. Russet eyes widened with surprise, assessing at him just as carefully. She was stunning, daylight personified. If anyone had ever been born to live beneath the sun, it was her. He'd had the most curious urge to reach out and run his fingers through her hair.

She said nothing, to his relief, foregoing her usual taunts. He turned away from her, a mixture of relieved and disappointed when he heard the slap of her sandals taking her away. Something soft snagged in his chest, fluttering gently like a feather. He couldn’t help but watch her go, eyes lingering on the sway of her hips. She hesitated at the sharp corner of the hall, looking over her shoulder.

Their eyes met for another moment before she vanished entirely. She was going to Nyx, her counterpart in Night. He had no intention of sticking around for that. Alexander turned on his heel, wondering if it made him a coward. 

He didn’t get far. Soren caught him on the steps, a basket of curling ivy in his hands. Soren paused, sinking to his knees when his eyes frosted over. He was a Seer, famously so just like his mother. Alexander had heard the stories but to see it in person was something else. He lunged on the steps, banging his knee roughly on the marble to keep Soren from smashing his head open the same way.

The male was out for only a moment before he blinked, laying amid his overturned basket. Alexander let him go carefully, stepping around his limp body before he could be accused of hurting the Day Court prince. Soren rounded on him, abandoning his plants to follow just behind. 

“Can I help you?” Alexander demanded, reaching the bottom step with a racing heart.

Soren shook his head, watching Alexander curiously.

“My sister means well, you know,” he finally said. “You should go easy on her.”

Alexander scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Soren only shrugged, clearly finished with their exchange. “It’s only a thought.”

Soren vanished without another word, leaving Alexander to wonder what, exactly, the younger male had seen in his vision. Alexander knew one thing, though. Going easy on Ivy was like dipping a bloodied hand into shark infested waters. If she sensed any weakness at all she’d strike, demolishing him before he had a chance to blink. 

He found his father wrangling not just Finn, but Saoirse too, just outside the large meeting room they were all expected to sit in. “This is not the place,” Tamlin warned, his finger too close to Finn’s scowling face. “You know what they think of us.”

“I don’t care,” Saoirse replied, her pretty voice a near match for their mothers. Finn knew better than to anger their father but Saoirse’s temper was legendary, matched only by little Aine. Speaking of—

“Where is Aine?” Alexander asked, drawing the attention off his younger siblings and on to himself. 

His father’s face darkened and Alexander understood his blunder. The assumption was they’d been together. 

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Finn said quickly, eyeing the carved, golden doors behind them. “This court is crawling with children.”

There was no time to argue, not when Helion arrived. He was cordial, kind even. His Autumn Court wife never stopped smiling, her pretty face sweeping over the four of them as thought to assess the interlopers standing in the hall. Tamlin quickly informed Helion of his missing child and her unfortunate habit of shifting into a bear when the mood took her. The High Lord’s wife slipped from his side after caressing his arm with reassurance.

“Amera is an expert in tracking wayward children,” Helion assured them with a twinkle in his amber eyes. Alexander almost smiled at the sight before remembering who Helion was to Ivy and Soren. He didn’t trust any of them. 

Helion pushed open the door, letting Alexander and Finn take a seat as far from Rhysand as they could. Tamlin didn’t seem to care as much, sitting just beside Finn a mere four chairs from the General of the Night Court. Cassian and Nesta. Lord and Lady Death. He knew them all by virtue of his training to be High Lord. Their eldest daughter Elyn had her wings tucked tight against the navy blue of her high collared dress. She was the spitting image of her father, from her long, dark braided hair to her hazel colored eyes. She was talking quietly to the shadowsingers son Auden, watching at whatever he scribbled on a nearby piece of paper.

Nearby, Yvette from Winter Court was sandwiched between her parents, relaxed as she listened to them catching up with Morrigan. Helion took his place at the front of the table just beside his son Lucien, murmuring whispered words. The other Archeron women– Elain and Feyre–stood beside a large, arched window talking animatedly, unaware of how their mates eyes continued to dart towards them, just to be sure they were fine.

Nyx swept in first, dropping beside his father with a grin. They were an identical pair save for Nyx’s icy blue eyes. Maybe that was, in part, why Alexander hated him so. Nyx was merely a minature version of his asshole father, born it seemed just to taunt Alex. Ivy was the last in, practically apologetic, a blonde child resting on her hip. Alexander knew that little girl, arms twined around Ivy’s neck, a protruding bruise marring her otherwise pretty face.

“I found a bear,” she told her father, sitting on the other side of Helion with a pretty smile. “I didn’t know bears were allowed to roam the halls of Day Court.”

“That’s Aine,” Alexander said before he could stop himself. For the second time that day, Ivy looked up at him with those unreadable eyes. Aine, hearing his tone, buried her face further against the slim, flawless neck of Ivy Spell-Cleaver.

“My apologies, lord, but I’m certain you’re mistaken. This is a bear,” Ivy argued, eyes narrowing. Aine giggled, not daring to look at him. The sight of Ivy holding a blonde child was making his chest ache though he didn’t understand why. He looked away towards his father, who was smiling with a soft sort of fondness Alexander didn’t see very often. 

Still trying to untangle his weird feelings around Ivy, who switched between rapt attention and softly tickling his little sister, Alexander hadn’t absorbed a word being spoken. He had no interest in any of this, couldn’t understand how anyone did. Soren hadn’t been made to participate, didn’t need to care about any of it. Beside him, Finn at least jotted down notes, ever the studious scholar. Alexander felt adrift in his own life, a leaf on the wind. He’d done everything his father ever asked by virtue of being the eldest. He’d led war bands, he’d learned a multitude of languages and the history of Prythian. He knew which fork to use depending on the food being served and how to himself among courtiers and High Lords. Sometimes he thought every inch of him was just his fathers design. What, he wondered, did he really know about himself?

Alexander sighed softly, suddenly aware every single eye was looking at him. He blinked, looking to Ivy who stared back expectantly, still holding his youngest sister in her lap.

“Tell them, son,” Tamlin prodded. 

“About the border,” Finn added with a sharp elbow. 

“Ah…” he began, still staring at Ivy. Something sparked in russet-colored eyes and she nodded her head as though encouraging him to say anything. He wanted to impress her so badly that something overcame him.

“The humans have abandoned their iron weapons for ash and have found a way to produce faebane without conducting raids. Whether the continent supplies it to them or they’ve found a way to grow it, I’m not sure. What I do know is one of my better skilled units was ambushed in the night….ten were killed. No humans were injured per our laws, and we were unable to take any hostage. They’ve become more sophisticated, bolder.”

It was Rhysand that drew his eyes from Ivy. “One random contingent of—”

“It’s not random,” Alexander interrupted with frustration. “It’s regimented and well organized and the attacks are increasing. They’ve destroyed several villages…they’ve taken hostages.”

“I want to see it,” Rhysand drawled. “Would you agree to showing my son?”

Alexander nodded tightly, his mood lightening ever so slightly when Helion added, “Send Ivy, as well.”

He looked back up at Ivy, unsurprised to see the disappointment on her face. 

Alexander should have felt it, too.

*

“Don’t make me go,” Ivy pleaded with her dad as her mother packed for her. “I hate Spring. Send Soren.”

“The other courts trust you more than they trust Nyx,” her father explained patiently. “They trust our family. It’s important to know what, exactly, is happening. I trust you. This will be good practice for your future.”

Her chest ached. Alexander had left the day before without so much as a word, taking his delightful sister with him. All the other courts were still here, would remain for the rest of the week. Just Spring felt themselves above everyone else, too good to mingle with the common folk. Perhaps she ought to be grateful for that given how pulled she felt to Alexander. It wasn’t just her, either. Soren, after years of helping her taunt Alexander, had spent the evening with Finn, of all people, creating mischief in Rhodes. 

“Can’t you—”

“No,” Lucien Vanserra’s eyes were cutting. She wanted to be High Lady, had begged and pleaded for the best education Prythian had to offer. Her father had taken her up on it and now Ivy would be made to prove it hadn't been wasted. . Nyx, at least, would be joining her, though she knew she would be expected to behave herself like a future High Lady and not like a wild child running barefoot through the countryside with her favorite cousin.

Nyx said nothing when Ivy found him the next morning, picking a piece of lint from his black tunic. She stepped beside him in her long, white dress with a sigh.

“Two days, max,” Nyx told her with a grimace. “Father swore it.”

Nyx looked glumly over the city rising with the dawn. “He thinks I don’t comport myself like a future High Lord ought to. Uncle Lucien is supposed to shape me up.”

“You and me both,” she commiserated. “I can be nice if you can.”

Nyx scowled, wiping the expression from his face the moment their father met them at the top of the steps. Lucien glanced outwards, dressed in pristine white from head to toe. “Ready?” he asked.

Nyx and Ivy nodded wordlessly, clasping hands so Lucien would be forced to winnow them all. Darkness gobbled them up, taking them from the oppressive morning heat of Day Court summer to the fresh, warm lilac breeze of early morning Spring. It was jarring to Ivy, who hadn’t seen the rolling, grassy hills in a good decade at least. Nyx, too, blinked against the pinkish glow of morning, his black boots crunching against the gravel drive. 

Her father was already walking towards the sprawling ivory manor, his former home once upon a time. Nyx and Ivy trailed behind him. How had he stood it, she wondered? How had this place been home for over a century? Even Autumn made more sense to her. Ivy preferred the blistering heat of Day Court to every other place and struggled to picture the severe, brutal Alexander frolicking in this place.

The Lady of Spring was waiting, her pretty lilac dress floating on a breeze. Soft brown curls blew about her lovely, fair face and Ivy wondered if she was happy. She could tell, from how still Nyx stood, that he wondered the same. She certainly looked it, beaming with pleasure as she led them in. Ivy had heard she was a commoner, had met the High Lord by accident and wondered if that was true.

“Welcome,” she murmured, so soft spoken her voice was practically lost to the lilac scented air around them. “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Ivy looked up at her cousin, aware her face must have the same skeptical look to it. Beside her, Lucien bowed gracefully before stepping into the estate, leaving her and Nyx to fend for themselves. They both gaped for a moment before Ivy remembered this female had done nothing wrong. She didn’t deserve to be on the other end of their feud with her husband. 

“You’re kind, Lady,” Ivy finally murmured, drawing on her training. She was, after all, still her father’s daughter and somehow her father had lived with him for a century or more before he’d met her mother. Nyx was clearly thinking the same, his blue eyes looking around, stunned perhaps that his mother had ever spent a minute somewhere as placid.

This place makes me uncomfortable, Nyx’s voice floated through her mind. She’d forgotten he could speak to her like this.

It’s so quiet, she agreed.

The empty halls unnerved her, too. Day was bustling, busy, and full of talking, of laughter, of music. 

“Please. My name is Adelina—”

“Lady Adelina,” Tamlin’s voice interrupted as he turned a corner. Both Nyx and Ivy stopped, confronted with the man who had done so much harm to their mothers. He assessed them, too, as though looking for any of the defiance that marked the Archeron’s. He knew Ivy well enough, paid her only a passing glance before his eyes settled firmly on Nyx.

I hate him, Nyx snarled. Ivy said nothing though she shared the sentiment. 

“Welcome to Spring,” Tamlin told them, the warmth in his voice unmatched by the coldness of his eyes.

Nyx cringed softly beside her. Ivy could do this. She was the daughter of Lucien Spell-Cleaver after all. Had Lucien ever once let his personal feelings get in the way of duty? Ivy smiled sweetly.

“We promise to take up as little of your time as possible. Truly, High Lord, this is too generous and we are forever grateful.”

Her words caught him off guard. “It…it’s nothing,” he replied and Ivy could see how her father had managed to live so long with Tamlin. Tamlin had none of her fathers talent for words, for social graces. 

Alexander is just like his father, she thought with more than a little wonder.

Why does that matter? Nyx asked, still in her head. She shoved him out before he gleaned any other information. 

“I have given you your fathers old room,” Lady Adelina informed them, smiling sweetly at her husband. “And your mothers. I thought perhaps…you might like to know more about them and their time here.”

A muscle worked itself in Tamlin’s jaw but he stepped aside and allowed his Lady to continue their descent upwards. Ivy took her room first, momentarily stunned at how much of her father still seemed to linger. It smelled just like him. Nyx, too, peered inside with curiosity before walking away, down the opposite end of the hall. 

It was strange to imagine a life in which her father was Autumn or Spring. To her, he’d only ever been the son of the High Lord of Day. Her father, happily married to her mother. He was the male who’d carried her atop his shoulders and thrown her off cliffs into sun warmed sea water. The male who built sandcastles and taught her how to lace her sandals. Who’d shown her how command wind and fire and sunlight, who taught her to read and to determine who lied and who told the truth. 

How had he stood it, she wondered not for the first time, running her fingers over dusty books stacked on shelves? She picked up an old forgotten dagger when a knock on the door turned her around.

“Can you believe our parents—” She froze, because it wasn’t Nyx who stood in the doorway, but tall, foreboding Alexander. She swallowed, watching his eyes drift from her face to the knife in her hand. 

“Can…do you have a moment?” he asked, quietly closing the door behind him. 

“I suppose,” she replied, that same strange pulling tugging in her gut. Alexander didn’t move an inch. It was as if she repulsed him. It hurt her feelings a little. Surely he couldn’t do better?

He didn’t speak. Silence stretched around them and finally, “Do you and Nyx plan to share a tent?”

“Oh.”

Confusion flitted over his face and, annoyed with herself, Ivy took the opportunity to make him feel bad about himself. “Where else would I sleep? With you?”

His eyes darkened. “By yourself,” he shot back. Suddenly it was Ivy who felt dumb. 

“Oh…by myself is fine,” she decided, glancing down at her feet. Alexander said nothing else, sliding from the room with disgust on his face. She supposed she deserved it. After all, it would be him, Nyx, and her alone for a day and a night and he was trying to be accommodating. 

Ivy sighed loudly, pushing herself from the bed and back into the early morning air. She was greeted by Aine, grinning brightly in a pretty dress of blue. 

“You’re back,” she said with a grin, offering up a chubby, sticky hand. “Let me show you the garden. Papa says good hosts do things like that.”

“Your papa is a smart man,” Ivy agreed, happy to be led through the same halls her father had once roamed. In fact, she caught sight of him in a parlor with the High Lord of spring, grinning ear to ear, a glass of brandy in his hand. He winked when he saw her but did nothing to intervene. Ivy wasn’t even sure she wanted him to, surprised as she was to see how easy going her father was. 

That was the courtier in him, she supposed. Lucien could stare down the person he hated most with a smile. Ivy was still struggling with that. 

“Do you love it?” Aine asked, weaving through glass doors towards the beginnings of a sprawling, lush garden. Ivy paused, momentarily stunned.

“It’s beautiful,” she finally said, ignoring how the little girl was jumping up and down.

“Will you chase after me again?” Aine asked, revealing her true motivation for bringing Ivy out to the garden. “Please? Please please please plea—”

“Are you going to be a bear again?” Ivy demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes.”

Ivy pretended to think about it, a finger pressed to her chin. Aine clasped her hands, holding them to her cheek.

“Okay. You better ru—”

 Aine had already shifted and was snorting through the garden, trampling a row of lovely irises as she went. Ivy smiled, hiking up the side of her dress to give chase. 

She supposed Spring wasn’t all bad.

*

Alexander was tasked with bringing Ivy in for dinner. She’d been out in the garden with Aine all day, far better than spending it indoors with Nyx. Alexander had caught Nyx in his fathers study, snooping through carefully organized documents and maps.

“What are you doing?” he’d demanded. Nyx had looked up, eyes flashing with guilt before settling into loathing.

“Looking for my grandmothers wings,” he finally said. 

“You’re grand–what?” Alexander demanded. 

“Your grandfather killed my grandmother and aunt,” Nyx began while Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. He’d never heard this story. “And pinned their wings up somewhere in the house.”

“He’s dead,” Alexander reminded Nyx. Nyx sneered.

“You don’t keep trophies?”

It had taken every ounce of Alexander’s willpower to keep him from hitting Nyx in the face. “Who would? There’s no honor in killing females.”

“And yet, your family did.”

“Did your grandfather not?” Alexander shot back. He knew who had killed his grandmother. They stared the other down for a moment, neither wanting to admit that perhaps both their families had done heinous, unforgivable things. Alexander’s eyes drifted to the map behind his fathers desk, trying to picture wings hanging there like some kind of disgusting trophy of war. He shook his head.

“Look wherever you like. Nothing like that exists anymore.”

He’d been grateful when his mother asked him to track down Ivy and Aine in the garden, brooding over that new information. He’d almost asked her before stopping himself–if he didn’t know, perhaps she didn’t either. Why dredge up that horrible piece of family history? 

Lucien Vanserra was standing in the drive, face bright with amusement. The sound of soft bear snufflings and loud laughter told him Ivy and Aine were playing Aine’s favorite game—the one in which she was a bear and everyone chased after her. Alexander didn’t have to do much to get Ivy. She emerged, her dress tied between her legs in a big knot, revealing slim, tawny legs that gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Her hair stuck against her pretty face, sweaty and still somehow lovely. She practically glowed, a princess of all the light that touched her.

Beside him, Lucien Vanserra cleared his throat loudly, eyes sliding towards Alexander. Too late, he realized his scent must have shifted and the elder male had caught it on the wind. Embarrassment crawled over Alex's skin, forcing him to look anywhere but at the red head grinning as she approached her dad. As if Alex were the first male to find Ivy appealing.

Ivy walked to her dad, who put his arm around her shoulder just in time for Alex to say, “Dinner is ready.”

He caught Aine with one arm before she could sneak off. She writhed, teeth sinking into his bare arm.

“You’re feral,” he complained, turning his back to the Vanserra’s to drag her inside.

“You’re a brute,” she retorted, blood staining her teeth. 

“Don’t you dare shift,” he hissed, tasting the magic in the air. His own claws punched through his knuckles in warning, just in time for Nyx to see. He smirked, as though every thought he’d ever had about Alexander was confirmed. Alex dropped his sister to the floor, angry that someone assumed he would hurt her just because she was annoying.

“Maybe the magic won’t choose you!” she screeched, dirt smudging her cheek. “Maybe I’ll be like Ivy and it’ll pick me!”

“I wish it would,” he snapped back just in time for Lucien and Ivy to see. Ivy’s eyes followed after Aine’s retreating form. Lucien put a hand on his back, apparently willing to overlook his momentary lapse of judgment in the garden and how he’s been all but ogling his eldest daughter.

“They grow out of it,” Lucien murmured, as if Alex hadn’t meant every word he’d said. He wished the magic would choose differently, that any one of his siblings might inherit Spring’s magic. It was mere guesswork that it might one day be him—he was strongest, had shifted youngest. Aine, though, was strong too and her magic was far more specific. Let her take over.

Alexander certainly wanted nothing to do with ruling.

Dinner was a tedious affair. Nyx and Ivy sat with Lucien between them to act as a clear buffer, His mother made the majority of conversation though occasionally Lucien would offer up a piece of long forgotten history and his father would smile softly, remembering those times. It was strange to see Tamlin that way and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. 

The only positive was Ivy and Nyx, forced by Lucien to keep their mouths shut. If they talked quietly in their heads between each other, Alex didn’t know. Didn’t care. He helped his mother clear the table before dropping them off to the servants in the kitchen. With nothing else to do, Alexander went outside to prepare for the coming morning. It was one day, one night, he told himself. He could manage that. He could handle Ivy and Nyx all on his own, could prove to his father he was High Lord material.

Tamlin was waiting when Alexander returned closer to midnight, standing just outside his study. “Take them nowhere else,” his father warned. “To the villages on the border and then back. I don’t want Rhysand’s eyes anywhere else on this territory.”

Alexander nodded, though he hesitated for a moment. “Did we used to display Night Court wings in this home?”

His father flinched. “I burned them.”

“Do they know that?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

“They are not innocent of the atrocities committed,

“I never said they were,” Alexander protested, well aware pushing would only make things worse. “But an explanation might go a long way towards fixing things between—”

“There is no fixing,” Tamlin interrupted. “Only control. What more can I do to show I’m not a threat to them? You’d think, from how Rhysand and his son act, I am still chasing after…” he couldn’t say her name. “It’s over. I’ve let it go. If they are unable…that’s not my problem anymore.”

Alex heaved a sigh. “Right.”

“Nowhere else!” Tamlin called after his retreating back. As if Ivy or Nyx would even want to see anything else.

*

After a quick goodbye with her father, Ivy mounted the butter yellow mare Alexander had provided for her. They wouldn’t be alone. Besides her and Nyx, he was bringing a guard of ten. It was a surprising mix of both males and females, apparently the first Spring had ever seen. Tamlin had explained almost apologetically at dinner, saying they respected females as gentle creatures in their court, and recognized some wanted to fight. Both Ivy and Nyx had kept their mouth shut over eggs, well aware their own mothers would have had something to say about gentle creatures.

Alexander had gruffly introduced them to each member in turn. Nyx, ever the politician, had gone around shaking hands as if he needed their approval to one day be High Lord. Ivy suspected he wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, they’d have his back. She was far more optimistic that soldiers followed orders, offering a polite bow all at once. 

Alexander had tied his shoulder length blonde hair into a ponytail, a baldric of knives over his oak brown tunic. His arms were bare, muscles flexing as he moved. Ivy had to wipe her palms on her own tailored black pants, unsure why the sight of the Spring Court prince armed to the teeth was making her so nervous. 

There were plenty of handsome males back home. Day Court had no shortage of them and yet no one had ever made her feel so out of sorts like this. It was disorienting and beyond that, upsetting. It wasn’t just any male—it was Alexander. They’d never had one good conversation. She could take some of that blame but he’d never tried very hard, either. Sh couldn't remember having ever felt so drawn to him, to wanting to touch him with her traitorous, twitching fingers.

Ivy decided to focus on the sprawling countryside. It was so lush here, so green and bright. The air had that same lilac scent to it, fluttering against the braid of her hair as though it were an old companion. It was odd how much nothing there seemed to be. For several hours they sat in those saddles. Ivy ignored how badly her thighs had begun to ache, drinking in the surroundings. 

The road shifted from dirt to gravel to paved asphalt as the air, too, gave way. No longer did flowers hang on the breeze but a choking ash filled her nostrils. It took clearing a small hill to see why. Just beneath in a bright valley, lay the ruined, smoldering remains of what had likely been town large enough to practically be a city. Miles stretched in every direction, pouring smoke up towards the sunny sky. 

Ivy slid from her saddle, the first to hit the ground. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important to be on the ground as she strode through the once lovely archway. Alexander came next, his feet practically echoing beside her. The world seemed to groan at his presence, as though it recognized him, bowing to the future High Lord. 

“How close are we to the border?” Nyx asked softly, tucking his dark wings tight against his body.

“Hours, still,” Alexander whispered softly, the anguish on his face plain. Ivy couldn’t help but fall into step with him. They weren’t friends, weren’t even friendly. She could set it aside for this.

“How many people lived here?”

“Ten thousand,” he murmured. Nyx choked behind him, finally coming to the ground, reins in hand.

“Where did they all go?”

Alexander didn’t speak. None of them did. Nyx knew as well as her that no one had been spared. If the humans could come this far inland, could so easily decimate an entire city, what else might they be capable of? Not even the children had been left alive. It was stunning, the savage cruelty.

Ivy wasn’t prepared for the horror of the day. Each new, ruined village weighed heavily on her shoulders. Alexander explained not everyone was accounted for—some had been taken, though to what purpose, he could only guess. 

The border itself stood between the last small village and a dense woodland. “It should be impossible for them to cross,” Alexander told them as dusk began to fell. They were setting up tents just outside the village though the smell of smoldering wood and despair hung thickly in the air. Ivy felt exhausted, her mind blank. 

“A village so closed to the bordered might be considered provocation,” Nyx murmured, eyes staring into the darkness of the trees. She wondered what he saw. 

Alexander only shrugged. “And the others?”

Nyx didn’t have an answer to that. It was just like Nyx and Ivy to want to give humans the benefit of the doubt. Both their mothers had once been human. Those sympathies ran deep. Even now, Ivy tried to consider the fears of the humans. Maybe they thought it was better to attack first than be caught in whatever war they imagined was coming.

“They had to have known this was farmland,” Alexander was telling Nyx. “And families, females and their children—”

“How would they know that?” Nyx asked haughtily, turning his starry eyes towards Alexander. Ivy watched Alexander’s claws peek through his knuckles even as he swallowed his anger.

“I assume the screaming females attempting to flee with their young would have been the first indicator this was not a garrison.”

Ivy pressed her fingertips against her lips. “We need to speak with Vassa,” she murmured to Nyx. She was Queen now, was supposed to be overseeing these things.

Alexander scrubbed a hand down his face, the faint hint of stumbling gracing the strong cut of his jaw. She wanted to comfort him and didn’t know why, felt that strange pull again.

Ivy waited through dinner and drinking for his soldiers to retire. Alexander, too, slipped between the flaps of his tent until it was just her sitting in the dark. Nyx had left, his eyes farway. She knew he was communicating with his father in that strange way of his, connected despite the distance. 

She waited until clouds covered the moon, stealing the last little moonlight left. Ivy made her way to Alexander’s tent, pushing aside the flap. He was still dressed, lounging against his bedroll, one arm tucked behind his head. He went still when he saw her.

“Come in,” he offered dryly when she stepped inside. Ivy kept a healthy distance between them.

“How do you know this isn’t revenge?” she asked by way of greeting, vocalizing the thought she’d been keeping tucked tight in the back of her mind. Alexander’s handsome face immediately twisted to a scowl.

“Are you insinuating my people deserved what happened to them?” 

Ivy exhaled through her nose. “Perhaps the humans haven’t forgotten what your father allowed.”

He rose to his feet, so tall he had to duck at the tallest peak of the tent. “Oh? You know what my people haven’t forgotten? Your aunt destroying their home as an act of revenge.”

Ivy felt as if he’d punched her in the chest. She knew so little of that story, admittedly. Her father had always been sparse on the details that led to him fleeing Spring and she knew that bad blood had persisted long after Tamlin remarried. To hear Lucien Vanserra tell it, he’d gone on a harrowing mission to find his mate. 

“Maybe the humans are angry about that fucking wall. It doesn’t give them the right to murder innocents. Not when my father did his best to protect them and has aggressively punished any faerie caught crossing the border.”

Ivy took a step back as he came towards her. It had been a mistake to try and speak with him.

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Didn’t you, though?” he interrupted with a dry laugh. He came closer still, his body practically sucking up all the available space. Too late, she realized just how cramped the tent was, how close they truly were. What was she doing? Why had she come in here at all?

“I’m not my father,” he added after a moment. “But would it be so bad if I was?”

Ivy felt a punch of heat splinter at her back. “Oh,” she gasped, falling forwards. He caught her easily, holding her in warm arms. He smelled nice, of woodsmoke and pine. She took a breath, unable to understand why standing felt so difficult. The magic in her body lashed wildy before stuttering with a violence that made her choke. 

“You’re bleeding,” Alexander murmured, his hand on her back. “Ivy there’s an—”

Another arrow whizzed through the air, slicing through the tent and catching him roughly in the shoulder. Alexander roared furiously, waking his soldiers from their slumber. The two stumbled from the tent to find utter chaos. Choking, sickly sweet fog was racing towards them. She threw her arm up against it, blasting a pulse of white hot light towards the line of trees. Nyx was somewhere in the distance, weaving his own night kissed power blindly.

“Go!” Alexander roared again, realizing what was happening. Faebane in the arrows, mingled with the smoke, was choking the life from them. “Ivy, Nyx, you need…”

She never heard what she needed. She should have winnowed away even as she sank to her knees. Everything slowed, their voices distorted like she was underwater. It was all she could do to lay down and gasp desperately for air. Darkness seeped at the edges of her vision.

She was grateful to know nothing else. 

-

Ivy awoke to shooting, blinding pain. She groaned, twisting to touch her back. Chains rattled, iron digging into her wrists. She heard someone sigh.

��You’re awake.”

She opened an eye, and then another, disturbed to find herself in a cold, dark dungeon. Her arms were pinned up over her head and her back throbbed. She exhaled as Alexander came into focus. While just her arms were tied, he was chained at the neck, the wrists, and the ankles. His blonde hair was wild around his bruised face, his tunic torn at the shoulder. It was obvious he’d put up one hell of a fight. 

“What happened?” She croaked, tugging at her hands.

“We were betrayed,” he replied, his green eyes flashing dangerously. “Your cousin went for help but who knows where he landed when the faebane set in.”

“Who betrayed you?” she asked, resting her head against cool stone. 

“I don’t know,” Alexander replied. “But they’re owed a conversation with my sword.”

His voice was cold, dripping with promise. She shivered. “And if we don’t escape?”

His eyes found hers. “Do you doubt me?”

“I hardly know you,” she admitted. Alexander’s expression didn’t change.

“I’ll have my revenge.”

Ivy didn’t know how long they sat in silence. At some point Alexander fell asleep but she could not, kept awake by her aching back and her fear. Alexander was the warrior, she the politician and though her father had taught her to use a blade she would need Alexander if she had any hope to escape. That seemed unlikely given how Alexander was literally chained at the neck. How did he plan to escape? 

While he slept, Ivy thought. Perhaps she could lull their captors into a false sense of security. She could convince them she was harmless, nothing to be worried about. Alexander certainly seemed terrifying. He was six feet, five inches of pure muscle but Ivy was small, petite, and unassuming. The humans didn’t need to know that, of the two of them, her magic was stronger.

She heard them coming from somewhere above, heard them talking.

“…Surely the female must be awake.”

“Careful, she might bite.”

There was laughter. “The male went feral when we pulled her out of that tent. If he tries anything, put a knife to her throat.”

Alexander peaked open one eye to look at her before closing it again, his chest barely moving. A moment later the heavy iron door opened and two human men came in carrying water and stinking food. 

“Well, look who is awake,” the uglier of the two crooned. “How are you feeling?”

She didn’t respond though she jerked her head to the side when the other, just as ugly and reeking of blood and rotting meat, touched her face. “She glows.”

“Why do you glow?” the first asked, his brown eyes leering. She was dressed in pants and a fitted white shirt, stained with blood and dirt and yet might as well have been naked for how their eyes roamed against her.  

“Please, let us go,” she whispered as she tried summoning her magic. Nothing came. The faebane hadn’t worn off. “We’ll do anything—”

“That one will kill us,” the second reminded her, jerking towards Alexander. He flashed his teeth, his eyes lethal. “But maybe we’ll let you go…if you do something for us?”

A bargain. Humans didn’t understand fae bargains. She could use this to her advantage. “What?”

They both chuckled. “Hows about you touch our cocks, hm?”

Stupid. Alexander didn’t move, didn’t dare react. He knew, just as she did, that bargains with the fae needed to be specific. “And if I do, you’ll let me go? Immediately?”

They laughed again. “Right away,” they agreed.

“It’s a deal,” she replied, catching how Alexander’s eyes closed for a moment. He didn’t like it, didn’t like the implication of the what she'd agreed to, but Ivy didn’t care. She’d rip their genitals from their bodies, which counted as touching, and then she’d be free. Even without her magic she trusted she was strong enough to best a couple of dimwitted humans.

“Get your strength up, then. You have a long day ahead of you,” the second said. To her surprise, he unchained her hands before shoving a cup of water into it. One sniff told her it was laced with more faebane.

“Feed that one,” the first barked, tossing a tray of rotted food at Alexander’s feet. She waited until she couldn’t hear them any longer before skittering across the damn floor for the chain around his neck. She’d never been so close to him before and the scent of him was staggering. Alexander watched, eyes huge.

“That was a clever,” he murmured as she wrenched against the restraint.

“Would you like me to torture the name of your leak from them?” she asked dryly, sitting beside him when she realized the iron holding him wouldn’t budge. He grimaced.

“Only if you feel compelled to do so. When you’re freed…don’t come back.”

“I’m not leaving you—”

“Yes you will.”

She scowled. “You think you can tell me what to do because—”

“Because I’m my father?” he interrupted, irritated. She felt a prick of guilt because yes, that was exactly what she’d been about to say. He knew it, too. 

“How long do you think it takes the faebane to wear off?” she asked instead, holding that cup in her trembling hands. 

“Longer than it’ll take us to starve to death,” he replied grimly, nodding towards the cup. He opened his mouth and she poured water in, ignoring the way her whole body seemed tighten. She sniffed the food, splitting what was edible between them before settling back against the damp, stone floor. Alexander couldn’t move and Ivy was too tired to try. There was no way out but the door, besides. The room was so small, with the tiniest, barred window just overhead.

“Do you think Nyx got back okay?” she asked.

Alexander closed his eyes again. “Let's hope so.”

“I can’t leave without you,” she whispered, the truth of the matter. “We have to work together.”

“Whatever you say,” he replied with a voice that very much betrayed his belief that he would not be leaving at all. 

Ivy could still hear the humans talking just outside the door, describing how feral Alexander had gone when they tried to take her. How he’d fought with all those protruding arrows, even when he could have escaped himself. How he’d crouched over her body, half beast, half man, until he’d been felled himself. Alexander could hear it too, his arched, pointed ears twitching softly in the dim light. She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t dare ask what had provoked such a reaction. 

Why hadn’t he tried to escape? 

She didn’t think she wanted to know

*

Alexander woke to Ivy’s head on his chest. She was asleep, one hand curled against his chest, the other resting on his thigh. Something tugged in his chest, a feeling he was becoming too familiar with. He couldn’t bury it like he’d done back at the estate even as he ignored what he knew was barreling towards him. Seeing Ivy collapse in his arms, watching how she’d fallen to the ground had made him insane. He’d been unable to think of anything but protecting her, even at the expense of his own safety. It had been irrational, utterly stupid. He might have winnowed them both out if he’d kept his head on straight. 

He held himself still so he wouldn’t wake her, even though his spine ached from sitting so rigidly on the unyielding ground. Her hair spilled over his legs. It would have been an erotic sight if they’d been anywhere else. Even there, barely able to move, he felt taut and too fascinated. He shifted slightly, trying to take some of the pressure off his back. 

“You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice thick. 

“Go back to sleep,” he replied, aware it was practically impossible to sleep on the hard, stone floor. The only light they had was coming from her skin, marking her the undisputed Heir of Day Court. Dim, dull night poured through the window. They were in the human lands somewhere. That hardly bade well. 

Overhead, the humans were restless. Word had spread of Ivy’s willingness to touch them. They were all talk for the moment, boasting of all the ways they’d enjoy her. When Ivy slept, it hardly mattered what they said. Alexander had buried his hatred deep, deep down. Now, though, she stirred, pushing upwards to listen. Neither moved when their footsteps began to move towards the stairs. They were drunk if the jangling, fumbling keys in the door were any indication. Ivy looked to Alexander, who had nothing to offer her. 

“On your feet, whore,” they taunted. Ivy stood slowly, eyes shifting from their faces towards the open door. She could have run—even without magic she would have been faster than their eyes could track. She didn’t. She wasn’t leaving without him. Alexander almost hated her for it. 

There were two of them, older males by the looks of it, with graying brown hair and eyes that wrinkled at the corners. They leered at Ivy, likely the most beautiful female they’d ever seen in their lives. Alexander growled when they put their hands on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees.

“He doesn’t like that,” one taunted, pulling a knife from his ill-fitting brown pants. “I hear your lot claims their women.”

Ivy’s eyes burned with hatred when the first grabbed her wrists and pushed them back into the iron manacles. 

“He’s gonna watch me claim her,” the first laughed, drawing his own sword. “You know what else they say about your kind?”

He was too close to Ivy. She reared her head back and slammed it into his own. Blood poured from the human males face. He hit her roughly, over and over until Alexander was snarling, pulling against his chains as hard as he could. The iron groaned loudly but didn’t budge.

“That’s iron,” the second said, holding his dagger close to Alexander’s cheek. “You ain’t getting from it.”

Ivy gasped, spitting blood to the floor. Her russet eyes were glassy and bright, the glow of her skin dulled. Both men rounded on her, clearly thinking her weaker. “They say your kind heals real fast,” they told her. Ivy shook her head back and forth, hands clenched to fists in her manacles. “Is that true.”

“Get fucked,” she replied furiously. Alexander could do little more but watch that blade slice brutally sharp over her forehead, taunting as it just narrowly avoided her eye to dig against her cheek, kissing over her jaw before trailing down her neck. He struggled until the iron cut brutally against his wrists, unyielding despite his strength. She gasped softly when the sharp knife trailed down her neck, avoiding the pumping artery to slide fully into her shoulder. She cried in pain, throwing her head back, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Guess they feel some pain,” the second chuckled when the knife cut from her skin, dripping red with blood. Alexander was losing himself, could feel how desperately his body wanted to shift into a beast and rip them apart. 

Ivy’s screams filled the air as they tortured her, finding sick satisfaction as they broke her leg with a vicious stomp, as they slid her shirt up over her skin to poke their knife between her ribs and beneath her breasts. Alexander snapped when he watched one of them reach for the ties of her pants, ripping one his chains clean off the wall. 

It was his chest snapping, he realized, the other hand coming loose. Both men were looking at him with fear. “It’s iron,” one said to the other, his knife clattering loudly to the ground. Alexander pulled the restraint from his neck off with ease, rising to his full height so they could soak in their fear one final time. The scent of their arousal immediately shifted to piss and fear. He didn’t need to free his feet to catch the first, the one who’d begun touching her.

Mate, instinct screamed. Touched his mate. 

Alexander ripped his head off his body without a second though, tossing the body limply to the ground. The other tried to duck past him, losing his head the same way. Blood sprayed through the room, coating them both. Ivy was panting—staring.

“Oh no,” she whispered, staring up at him. She felt it too, felt that cord that tied them together. He said nothing, too keyed up to do anything but free them both. He’d worry about the rest when they made it out. Stealing the keys from one of the headless bodies, he undid the shackles at his ankles before staggering towards her. She might have already begun to heal if their magic was restored. Her own blood dripped from her still open wounds, her leg bent at an unnatural angle. Alexander undid the irons holding her, catching her before she fell. For as aching as he was, he knew he had nothing on her. 

“Can you walk?” he asked, ignoring the obvious question between them. Touching her was a new kind of torture, equisite and terrible by equal measure. All he wanted was to touch her, to smell her, to taste her—

“No,” she grimaced, leaning heavily against him. He crouched, gesturing for her to hold his neck so he could carry her against his back. Ivy didn’t complain, didn’t protest. He could feel the hammer of her heart against his skin, thrumming painfully loud in the silence. He hooked her legs around him, ignoring the hiss of pain against his neck. 

“You can’t fight like this,” she reminded him, her mouth inches from his ear. He was going insane. She was right about that, though for the wrong reasons. If she kept talking to him like that she was going to give him an erection. Alexander was certain he couldn’t do anything when he was fully hard and aching for her. 

“I’ve fought under worse conditions,” he lied, bending for one of the blood stained knives. He pushed open the door, the ring of keys in his pocket, and began walking the pair up the winding, narrowed stairs. He felt her nose run along the skin behind his ear, causing his knees to nearly buckle.

“Stop it,” he demanded roughly, adjusting the weight of her. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, maybe for the first time in her life.

“Don’t get soft on me now,” he retorted, listening for more humans. How many could he take like this? They were surprisingly fragile, soft and breakable in his hands. If he’d had his magic, it would have been no contest—but then, if Ivy had hers, there would be no need for him to shift at all. He’d heard rumors of her, of the blend of Day and Autumn Court magic thrumming through her veins. It made the other courts nervous. They kept to their own for a reason, not wanting to share their secrets. Eris Vanserra didn’t seem to care, at least. What would they say when they realized hybrid Ivy was mates with the Spring Court.

“You’re grinding your teeth,” she whispered. “Stop it.”

It only made him grind them harder. Clearly being mates hadn’t softened her feelings towards him, which was just as well. Alexander wasn’t faring much better. Wanting to fuck her and wanting to spend the rest of his life with her were two different things. She’d made his life hell for longer than he cared to admit. 

“When I’m well, I’m coming back to kill them all,” she whispered when Alexander wrenched open a door forcefully, spilling the pair into the cold night. 

“That’s the spirit,” he mumbled, surveying his surroundings. Something were innate and his good vision was one of them. He supposed he ought to thank his father for forcing years of tracking on him, of all those nights on his own with nothing but a weapon. Of course, he’d never been responsible for another injured person who was, for practical purposes, defenseless. Still, Alexander stepped into crunching snow. They were atop a mountain and no where close to home. Winnowing would be impossible. Their only option was to run. 

“Hold on,” he ordered. Ivy’s arms tangled tightly around his neck, her body taut against his own. Alexander swallowed the urge to shove her against something and take her in favor of breaking into a sprint. He needed to burn his new, restless energy. Just in time, he thought, as he began making his way down the mountainside as carefully as he dared. An alarm sounded behind him, warning the humans the fae were on the loose. Alexander almost smiled.

He hoped they were scared. 

*

Mates. Ivy turned the word over and over in her head for the duration of the night. Alexander didn’t falter though he did begin to slow as dawn approached. They were stuck atop a mountain she’d never seen before, far above a pine forest she could see lingering below. How close to Spring they were after that, well…only Alexander knew for sure. 

So they ran, faster than any human could catch, putting days between them and their would-be captors. She understood now why he assumed someone must have sold them out. If they stopped now, the humans might catch them in two days assuming they didn’t stop for breaks. By the time Alexander’s steps slowed to a plodding stop they were at the treeline. The ground was still covered in snow, still bitingly cold but better than the high elevation from before.

The fact that Alexander had run it was a testament to his training, if nothing else. He hadn’t complained, hadn’t set her down. He set her down as gently as could atop a cold, jagged rock beside a stream, dropping to a panting crouch to gulp down clean, clear water. He said nothing for a moment, working to catch his breath. 

Ivy scooted along the edge, fingering the bloodied scar over her face. It was hardly her worst injury but aesthetically, it was the most noticeable. Staring at her reflection in the rippling water, she thought she’d never looked more like her father. It was a comforting notion. Ivy couldn’t crouch like Alexander for water, could barely move her body at all. The knife wounds sliced along her body still oozed blood, battling against the shattered bone of her knee. 

He noticed, nostrils flaring. His own exhaustion was apparent in his grassy green eyes. Ivy said nothing as he paced towards her, hands clenched at his sides. “Do…do you want water?” he finally asked. 

“I can do it,” she lied, pushing herself gingerly to her feet. There was no lying between them now. He could feel her pain without having to guess, traveling down the line, golden cord now tethering them together. He hesitated for a moment, watching her balance on one foot before scooping her up like she was nothing. “I don’t want to be carried,” she complained, twisting in his arms. He grunted in response, kneeling beside the bank of the creek and setting her along the rocky shore. 

“Of course not, lady,” he offered sarcastically, scooping water in his broad, tanned hand. She drank, swallowing her dignity along with it. He helped her wipe the blood off her body, keeping his eyes to himself which she appreciated. She wasn’t ready to talk about what happened in that fortress. He’d ripped iron from stone to get to her, had torn two humans apart just for touching her. What else might he do?

He sat beside her for a moment, taking a long breath. “We should keep moving.” “Can you?” she asked. He scowled but Ivy hadn’t intended to be anything but genuine. He’d been running with her on his back for hours. Surely he was exhausted.

“I want…I need to put more distance between us,” he finally said, glancing over his shoulder. He presented his back to her and, gingerly, she climbed back on.

“I’ll try not to jostle too much,” he said after adjusting her weight. She rested her chin on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. 

They lapsed back into silence. The continued steps rocked his body, almost lulling her to sleep. Alexander seemed to notice, perhaps because her hair had begun spilling down his chest. “Are you still bleeding?” he asked her. “Yeah,” she admitted, her clothes.

“It should have slowed by now,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder. It was a mistake. His mouth was suddenly inches from her own. He jerked back, eyes wide. Her heart pounded, desperate to just know. What would it have been like if he had kissed her? He was clearly wondering the same. 

Thinking about him made it easier to forget the pain in her body, if nothing else. “So…High Lord, huh?” 

His whole body went stiff beneath her as if he’d been electrocuted. “So they say,” he finally agreed. She remembered Aine screaming that she might steal the High Lordship from him and Alexander’s bitter words hoping she would. Careful as she dared, Ivy asked, “Do you want to be High Lord?”

“Worried about becoming Lady of Spring?” he shot back. “I’m sure my mother could give you some pointers.” “I’ll break the bond before I go to Spring,” Ivy shot back angrily. Alexander relaxed then, as if that was what he’d been hoping to hear. She’d said it to get a rise out of him, to make him angry. Knowing he didn’t want this at all filled her with dread. 

“Do whatever you want,” he said simply. 

“Glad we agree,” she hissed, her feelings hurt. 

They made it until noon without saying another word. Alexander was coated in a slick sheen of sweat while Ivy, despite being carried, was panting against his neck. “Please,” she whispered, unable to bear another step. “Please put me down.” She had her face buried in his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers rubbed her legs reassuringly. “Soon.”

“Alex–”

“I swear,” he growled. “A few more minutes.”

It could have been hours for all she knew. She was whimpering by the time he gingerly set her to the ground. She curled on her side, inhaling through her nose and out through her mouth. She had the sense that he’d left. Good. He could go ahead and get help. She’d be alright. Her magic would return to her eventually. 

She heard his boots crunching and his soft breathing. “I thought you left.”

“Why would you think that?” he grunted over the sound of rough scraping.

“You’d be faster without me,” she murmured, sighing when a blast of heat covered her body. She thought it was her magic warming her—Ivy had always run hot—but when she opened an eye, she realized he’d found a cave and had built a fire. 

“I’m not leaving my mate–not leaving you behind,” he said fiercely, settling to the ground gingerly. 

“But you might leave me if I wasn’t?” It was supposed to be a teasing joke but her voice was too pained and soft to sound anything but pathetic.

Alexander sighed, scooting until he was just beside her. He lifted her head so she could rest it in his lap.

“No, Ivy. I wouldn’t leave you, regardless of how much you hate me.” “I don’t hate you,” she admitted. 

“What do you feel?” he pressed, fingers carding through her hair. She exhaled a pained breath.

“Drawn to you.”

“Ah,” he murmured. 

“And I suppose I’m the bane of your existence?” she tried to tease, perring up at him. His expression was unreadable, dark and soft in equal measure.

“You are the loveliest female I’ve ever seen,” he finally said, each word forced from his mouth as though it pained him to say it. “That has always been true.”

He leaned against the rocky cave wall. “Your father is going to kill me.”

She couldn’t argue with that. It wasn’t that he was Tamlin’s son as much as he was just any male who felt he had a claim on Lucien’s daughter. While Soren had been given a longer leash to galavant about, Ivy had always been her daddy’s little girl. He didn’t like the males of his own court sniffing around.

“Helion will be worse,” she finally said with a soft smile.

“And your uncle—”” “Eris will think it’s funny,” she interrupted, certain of that. “He loves these kinds of cosmic jokes.”

“I meant your uncle Rhysand,” Alexander finished, his thumb trailing over the gash across her eye. 

“Oh. Well…him and my dad tolerate each other at best…so you don’t have to worry too much. It’s not like you’re mated to Nyx—”

“Cauldron save me,” Alexander mumbled. There was more silence and then, “Does that mean you’ll accept the bond?”

“You said you didn’t want it,” she winced, rolling to her back. Ignoring Alexander’s heavy gaze overhead, she pulled her shirt upwards, horrified by what she saw. Instead of healing, like even a humans wounds might have done, hers were festering. Puckered and greenish around the edges, Ivy knew what she was looking at.

“Fuckers,” Alexander swore, hands hovering over the inflamed wounds. “They poisoned the blade.”

“How far are we?” she asked, pulling down her shirt. Her heart pounded a frantic beat in her throat, washing her blood with panic. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“You have to go ahead,” she gasped, grabbing his hand. “Leave me here, I’ll—”

“Absolutely not,” he snarled, his body practically vibrating with rage. 

“I’m slowing you down,” she protested. Alexander shook his head, blonde waves framing his wild face. 

“I’ll leave you over my dead body,” he swore. “Don’t ask me again.”

His words settled some of her fear. She curled closer to him, eyes heavy. “Will you wake me in an hour?”

His fingers brushed her cheek. “Of course, lady.”

She barely heard him at all before drifting into sleep.

*

Alexander let Ivy sleep longer than hour, checking her forehead for a temperature every couple minutes. Her skin was blazing hot, her face far too pale for someone with her golden complexion. He left her more than once to collect water. He told himself it was the bond demanding he care for there, that instinct made him want to care for his mate. It was flimsy in his own head. She was delirious, talking about being drawn to him and still it gave him far too much hope.

“Hey,” he murmured as darkness began to settle around them again. He wanted to keep moving, to get out of the cold if he could. “Ivy, wake up.”

She roused but just barely. “Are we home?” she asked him sleepily, nuzzling her head further into his lap. He had to move her, wondering if he was a monster for feeling so aroused while she was so badly injured. 

“Not yet. Come in. Can you climb on my back?”

It was easier to run when he didn’t have to carry her in his arms. Ivy nodded, pushing herself upwards on trembling, weak arms. He was concerned about the state of her wounds. The one on her face was bright red—it would scar if he didn’t get her to a healer. The thought of anything marrying her lovely face was sacrilegious. 

She held herself on his neck, head resting against his shoulder. Alexander had put out the fire before he left. Their tracks would be easy to follow in the snow even for clumsy, slow humans. Alexander ran again, sliding down the mountain with practiced ease. She didn’t move or speak like before. Her head bounced off his body, arms slackening only to retighten when she realized she was about to fall. Over and over, Alexander felt her grip him only to nearly slide off his back.

He’d be lucky if she managed another day like this. As he ran, he battled with his insides, trying to find even a kernel of magic he could use to get them back to Spring and to healer. It was all he thought of through the night, racing through a dark, endless sea of pine trees. He hated the cold, hated how it bit against his skin until it was all he could taste.

The dawn brought a shift in the treeline, warming the air noticeably until he was certain he must be close to Spring. Maybe not his Spring, but a human Spring none the less. They were nearing the base of the mountain and Alexander found himself facing down a new worry. Humans were likely to be lurking nearby. What would happen if they came upon their pair of them, starving and injured and newly mated? 

It was well past noon by the time he tracked down another cave for them to take shelter in. He left her long enough to build another fire and stalk after a lean looking deer, bringing it down with bare, bloodied hands. While Ivy slept on the cave floor, he carved it up carefully, roasting and eating until he felt almost settled.

“Ivy,” he tried again for the second time that day. She was harder to rouse, her lips chapped, skin ashen. Even her pretty hair seemed duller than it had before. She managed to open her good eye, peeking up at him with listless eyes.

“Are we home?” she asked him, reaching for his hand.

“Not yet,” he replied, hauling her into his lap. “You need to eat.”

She shook her head no. “No food.”

“Yes, food,” he insisted, pressing a piece of meat against her lips. “Open your mouth.”

It was the fever that made her complaint. She let him push the food against her tongue, unaware of how his fingertips lingered against the soft skin of her mouth. He swallowed hard. 

“It tastes like ash,” she complained, swallowing anyway. Alexander chuckled.

“Well, I’m not known for my cooking.” She pressed her head against his shoulder, inhaling again. One hand curled over the neckline of his shirt, fingers brushing over his skin. “What are you known for?”

“I…” he didn’t know. “My bees.”

That caught her attention. “Bees?” she questioned, nose nuzzling against his neck. He had to shift, to move her face to keep himself from hardening against her. He couldn’t help it—she was hurt, was seeking comfort the only way her inflamed brain knew how—instinct was screaming for him to claim her before another male did. 

“Spring is filled with flowers, as you may have noticed,” he murmured, rubbing his hand over her cool arm. “And flowers bring bees. I…” he’d never told anyone this, felt almost ashamed to admit it. “I keep bees.”

“You should see mama’s garden,” she murmured sweetly. “You’d be drowning in bees.”

“Oh?” 

“I’d keep away from Soren’s garden…he’s always planting poison but mama’s garden rivals your fathers. It’s so big and beautiful…I’ll bet she’d love it if you gave the bees a home.”

“That would mean coming to your court,” he reminded her. She smiled faintly.

“As consort. The first ever…male, anyway.”

His heart pounded roughly as he pushed her hair off her face. “I would, Ivy.” Her eyes were fluttering shut again, brushing sweetly against her cheek. “No male wants to play second to his female. You’re going to be High Lord, remember?” “No,” he replied, his voice insistent. She peeked back up at him, her hope so plain it made his chest ache. “I don’t want it. I never have.”

She sighed softly. “Remind me if we survive.”

“Don’t go back to sleep,” he tried, but Ivy was asleep again, her chest rising and falling slowly. “Ivy.”

She didn’t rouse, not when night fell and he needed her to climb on his back. She was burning hot despite the faint blue of her cheeks of how violently she was shivering. He dared to look beneath her shirt at her wounds, almost sick by what he saw. They were more than just inflamed but festering, slowly killing her in the most terrible way he could imagine. He could do nothing but watching, cradling her against his chest as he willed himself to winnow home. His magic was but a small flame, practically useless to him other than to verify it existed at all. 

She groaned when he stood, carrying her while he walked. Night had fallen yet again, giving him the cover he needed to stalk through the woods. They reminded him of home, had that same feeling of creeping magic. He ran as best he could, unable to keep himself from jostling her still bleeding body. Only once did he stumble on a pair of hunters, human males with bows and sharp hunting knives.

Alexander froze, holding Ivy closer to his body, teeth bared. He was vibrating, the urge to shift into a beast rippling just beneath his skin. 

“Your kind isn’t supposed to be on this side of the wall,” the first, palms raised outward defensively, was obviously nervous.

“We were brought here,” Alexander growled. “We don’t want anymore trouble.”

The second was peering at Ivy, his eyes too curious for Alexanders liking. He yanked her away, causing Ivy to moan softly in pain. 

“Looks like your friend is hurt,” the second said gently. He crouched to the ground slowly, slinging a leather bag off his shoulder. “I’ve got something that could help.”

“It’s your kind who did this. Why would you help?” he snarled. The second tossed a pouch halfway between their bodies before slinging the bag back over his shoulder.

“We’re not all monsters,” the first murmured, his dull eyes sympathetic. “I imagine your lot isn’t, either.”

“We don’t want any trouble,” the second added. “Wall is about two days walk east, if you’re trying to get back.”

Alexander waited until they crunched away, neither looking back. He had to set Ivy against a nearby tree to snatch the pouch. He inhaled it, recognizing some of the spices within. It wouldn’t fix her—nothing but a healer would—but it would slow her building infection long enough for Alexander to get to the wall.

He wasted an hour creating a poultice, using leaves and the tattered edges of his shirt to create a bandage. He pressed it against her wounds, careful to touch no other part of her. She whined more than once, twisting against the sting. 

“You’re hurting me,” she complained, reaching for her face to pull off the concoction. Alexander swatted her hand away.

“We’re two days from the wall,” he told her, hoisting her back into his arms. “According to humans. If we run, we can be there by morning.”

“I can’t run,” she protested. He almost laughed.

“I know you can’t, sweetheart. Just hold on, okay?”

“To your back?” 

He hesitated. He could move much quicker if he didn’t have to carry her. “Can you?”

“I’ll try,” she whispered. Using the sturdy, rough trunk of a tree, Ivy braced herself on one leg, wrapping her arms around his neck while he held her legs. 

“Good?” he asked, squirming against her mouth, touching his neck.

“Good,” she agreed. Relieved, Alexander took off with a burst of renewed energy. He could have done a full day like that, despite his lack of sleep. Knowing they were so close to the wall—close to home—made Alexander almost giddy with relief. Ivy, for her part, held tight just as she’d promised. Alexander vowed to find the humans who’d helped them and repay their kindness someday. 

“Look,” Alexander told her when that shimmering border to stone and metal came into view. Ivy practically sobbed her relief. Alexander maneuvered through it with the magic that had begun to return, undulled behind the dam. Ivy took a breath the moment they were out of the human lands, holding a hand in front of his face. Pale skin glowed again. 

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “It’s almost there.”

Alexander, too, thought they were probably a full day or so before the magic returned to them. They pressed forward, both conscious, both hopeful. He’d been so afraid she might die out there that Alexander could have laughed his relief into the lilac scented air of his home. He knew where he was now, recognized the hilly plains in front of him. Pink and yellow tulips swayed gently in the night air, dancing beside welcoming blades of grass. 

He saw the estate gleaming in the distance just as the sun broke the horizon, illuminating the gleaming ivory orange and pink.

“Father!” he roared, his steps slowing. Ivy’s arms tangled tightly around his neck, held at the wrist by one of his hands. He used his other arm to hold up her bad leg, letting her hold the rest of her body herself. “Father!”

It wasn’t Tamlin but Lucien Vanserra who appeared at the edge of the drive. The male looked haggard, his face nearly as pale as his daughters. He caught sight of them first, darting across the lawn for Ivy.

“What happened?” he demanded, prying Alexander’s hand off her to pull her gently against him. 

“We were ambushed,” Alexander said as his father approached. Tamlin seemed better rested, perhaps less concerned of the horror that might befall his son. “She needs a healer.”

Ivy reached for him limply, her pretty face half covered in a stinking poultice. The wind ruffed against them, bringing more than the smell of their unwashed bodies with it. Lucien turned furiously, snarling his rage at Alexander.

“What did you do to her?” he demanded, as if Alexander had any say in the matter at all. 

“Daddy,” Ivy murmured. “It was an accident.”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Lucien retorted, taking one step backwards before winnowing into darkness. Alexander lunged as if pulled by a string, furious another male was carrying away his mate. His father caught him before he could create a scene, letting Lucien and Ivy vanish in a cloud of smoke.

“You need to bathe,” Tamlin murmured. “And sleep before you do anything else.”

Alexander rounded on his father. “I’ll do as you ask. But when I wake, I want you to know I’m abdicating my place for High Lord. I don’t want it.”

“Don’t throw away your life on a female—” his father began, speaking from a place of too personal experience.

“I never wanted it,” Alexander snarled, stalking towards the front of the manor. “And the cauldron must have known it.”

After all. It had paired him with the future High Lady of Day. Only one of them could rule.

It would not be him.

*

“Just pry open her lips.”

“You pry them open, I’m not going to hurt her.”“Fine, I’ll open but you pour.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’m starting to think you like insufferable—”“Over your dead body, Vanserra.”

“How many times do I have to remind you? I’m not a Vanserra, I’m a Spell-Cleaver–”

“Stop it.” Ivy moaned, opening her eyes to see who was squabbling at her bedside. Soren was sitting on the edge, his auburn curls flopping obnoxiously into his fawn brown eyes. On the otherside was a female she’d never seen before—pretty, with her long curtain of jet black hair and her soft, upturned brown eyes. She was glowing the way both Soren and Ivy did, though the light was a brighter white. Ivy knew that glow.

“Dawn?” she asked stupidly, looking up at the olive skinned female peering down at her.

“I’m Mei,” she explained, holding out a vial. “This is for the faebane that might be lingering, and this is for your wounds.”

“Who did you piss off?” Soren asked, eyes twinkling. “You were half-dead when dad brought you in. He’s raging, by the way.”

Ivy took one of the glass vials and swallowed, choking against the strong minty flavor. The other was easier, a bright citrus that was almost sweet. Ignoring the strange female, Ivy pushed the blanket off her bed and yanked up the fresh shirt she wore. Thin, white scars cut across the brown of her skin, forever etched in reminder. Soren grimaced when her fingers reached for her face. “How bad is it?”

“It looks cool,” Mei said quickly, glancing at Soren. “Like you survived something.”

Ivy noticed the gold of her hand, clicking softly the same way their fathers eye did. Her eyes slid to Soren, who pressed his lips into a thin line. “I told you. Dad is in a rage. Mom practically chained him to the wall.”

Ivy took a breath, sitting up against a wall of cream colored pillows. “How long have I been asleep.”

“A week,” Soren offered, scooting closer on the bed. “You know, there are some things even I can’t See…like your death, for example. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I suppose not,” Soren agreed as Mei made a quick excuse to leave. Ivy watched the slender female slip from the room, catching the all-too familiar scent trailing after her. The moment the door shut behind her, Ivy punched Soren in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” he protested, rubbing where she’d hit him.

“A mate?” Ivy demanded. Soren grinned.

“Ah, well. It’s going about as well as you might expect. She’s not exactly thrilled with the prospects. Our family reputation precedes us.”

“Have you tried being nice?”

He tapped a finger to his chin. “Nice…nice…no, can’t say I’ve ever thought of that. Speaking of which…a certain Spring Court warrior is making the wildest claims about you…”

“Like you didn’t already know,” she grumbled. “Why don’t you spare me the trouble and tell me how it all ends.”

“You know how it ends,” Soren replied serenely, flicking her in the cheek. 

“And you?” Ivy couldn’t help but question, resting her head on her brother's shoulder. “How does it end for you.”

“If I told you, I’d spoil my own fun,” he replied with a sigh. “Mom’s baking tonight, by the way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me because I look underfed?”

He shrugged. “I’m saying maybe you should wait another day before you go racing out of here to make an impulsive, highly questionable decision.”

Ivy glowered, her insides warming at the thoughts. “It all works out, in the end, doesn’t it?”

Soren bumped her shoulder. “I told you, Ives. Some things even I can’t See. I have faith, though. You should, too.”

“Be nice to your mate,” she told him, poking him hard in the ribs. Soren scowled.

“Has it ever occurred to you that it’s her being mean to me?”

“If she is, I have to assume you deserve it.”

“A fair conclusion,” he murmured. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll let mom and dad know you’re awake.”

Ivy didn’t think she could sleep anymore but as she so often was lately, she was wrong. She woke with a jerk to fingers touching her face. Night had fallen and her father was there, replacing the space her brother had occupied. He was illuminated beneath soft fae lights, his face one of anguish. 

“Your pretty face,” he murmured, his golden eye clicking softly.

“It’s still pretty,” Ivy assured him sleepily, sliding back into a sitting position. She bent her knee, relieved to find it intact and unbothered. 

“Your mother will be right back. She went to check on her bread. She bakes when she’s nervous.”

Elain Archeron was always baking. Ivy didn’t bother telling her dad that her mom baked to give him something to do, and that of the pair, he had always been the one who worried. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“No?” her father arched an eyebrow. “I take my eye off of you for one minute and you get captured by humans and mated to one of Tamlin’s sons…”

Ivy looked down at her hands. “He saved my life.”

“So I’ve heard. Your cousin went through his mind—”

“He had no right,” she hissed, furious Nyx would do such a thing. Her father sighed.

“Alexander demanded it. It was good to know, though…good for us to see. Elain and I met with Vassa this morning to discuss it…she’s sending your Uncle Jurian out to deal with them.”

“And the leak—”

“Handled.” That was all Ivy would ever get to know from her father. She was sure Alexander had in his brutal, unyielding way. Her father shifted, holding out an arm so she could rest against his chest. “You know, you don’t have to make any decisions today. Or even this century,” he added after a moment. 

“Did you say the same thing to Soren?” she demanded.

“Mei is far too good for your brother and she is well aware of it,” her father replied easily, a fond smile over his face. “I don’t have to worry about him…he has that Vanserra blood, whether he wants to admit it or not but you have your mothers soft heart.”

“Seems like it worked out all right for you,” she reminded him pointedly. 

“In retrospect, a little suffering was good for me. Humbling, even,” he added as the door opened. Elain Archeron slipped in, lovely as the first light of dawn, her eyes reproachful.

“That’s not how I remember it,” she murmured playfully. “And you promised you weren’t going to bother her about her mate. 

“So I did,” he agreed sheepishly. Her mother set a tray of food on the edge of the bed, reminding Ivy that her mother showed love this way. Giving some something tangible–a meal, a good gift—was almost better than hearing her say she loved them. Not that her mom had ever been stingy with that, either. 

Her mother kissed her forehead sweetly. “Eat and ignore whatever your father has romanticized about the past. I assure you, he enjoyed none of it.”

“It was good for me!” Lucien protested, letting his mate tug him off the bed. He also pressed a swift kiss against Ivy’s cheek. “You’re beautiful, still,” he told her quickly, fingertips brushing her jaw. “Let Alexander suffer for a while.”

“Lucien!”

“What?! You’re ready for some frenzied male to come snapping in our home? You know how feral they can be! She’s still a baby—”“I am not!” Ivy protested, arms over her chest. Her mother shoved her father from the room playfully, listening to his complaints echo down the hall. There were a million things to consider, things she had no plan for. Ivy thought maybe she didn’t need any of those things.

All she needed were a few bees.

Ivy dressed the next morning just as Soren suggested she ought to. Her dress was perhaps a little risque for Spring, the criss-crossing gold fabric covering her breasts but leaving a triangle of her stomach and all over her back exposed. The skirt of it trailed to the ground, hiding the sandals she always wore. She’d taken great care with her appearance, making her face seem as if it glowed beneath the oppressively bright sun. 

She managed to avoid her parents simply by getting up before dawn and stealing to the kitchen. Just as Soren claimed, there were baked goods along all the surfaces. The staff worked around them without complaint, used to the Day Court princess and her strange ways. Ivy stole a slice of lemon poppyseed bread, wrapping it carefully in a piece of beeswax before leaving the palace behind. She’d be back.

She hoped she wouldn’t be returning alone. Buoyed by that thought and so wildly nervous she could have vomited on the marble steps leading into Rhodes, Ivy winnowed away, hitting the gravel of Spring before her stomach had a chance to catch up. She crunched up towards the estate, heart leaping into her mouth when the High Lord himself walked to the porch. His pine eyes were unreadable, face impassive when he saw her. It was technically forbidden to trespass this way—she should have written head and requested permission. Tamlin would be well within his right to send her home.

His eyes drifted towards the beeswax in her hands, nostrils flaring at the scene. She didn’t have to say a word. Tamlin spoke first. “He’s in the forest.” “Thank you,” she whispered, turning towards the forest at the back of the house. She had to cut through the garden to reach it, catching sight of Aine watching in a pale pink dress on the back terrace. It was Saoirse who drew her in, Finn just beside her. Did they all plan to watch and see what happened? No pressure, then. 

The only person seemingly unaware was Alexander himself. Ivy had hoped he might meet her at the tree line. She inhaled the sweet, floral air, catching the scent of warm pine on the air. She followed it, surprised that she could just follow the bond between them like a rope along the ground. She went in deeper, sandals catching on every stick strewn about the ground. The soft thwack of an axe grew louder until Ivy, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress, found Alexander shirtless in a clearing, splitting an absurd pile of logs. She hesitated, eyes lingering on his taut, rippling muscles as he brought that axe down.

She cleared her throat and Alexander went still when he saw her. “You’re alive,” he said, eyes sliding up and down her body. Ivy was scared suddenly and wondered if her father hadn’t had a point. She’d come all this way for what? To give him a piece of bread and ask him to move in with her? She barely knew him. 

“I uh…thank you,” she finally said, catching how his eyes snagged on the parcel in her hands. He knew why she’d come, then. She could practically taste his relief, more than a little awed at how it flooded her chest. Alexander took a step forward, reaching for the sword he’d tossed beside his shirt on the ground. She didn’t know what to expect when he unsheathed it, only that he probably wasn’t going to stab her.

He knelt at her feet, bowing his head in front of his hilt. “I know you’re worried my male pride will get in the way of your ambition,” he told her, shoulders bunched tightly. “I meant what I said, though you might have been to delirious to hear it. I don’t want any piece of your power…or my own, for that matter. I’ve told father I’m renouncing my claim as High Lord.”

“You shouldn’t do that for me,” Ivy murmured, resisting the urge to touch his hair. 

“It’s for me,” he admitted, finally looking up. “I never wanted it…I was only too much of a coward to admit it. It was a choice I made for myself…I want you. And I’ll wait, if you’re unsure, but you need to know that even if you wait a century, I’ll never claim the Spring Court throne.”

Too handsome, her mind screamed as she stared into his eyes. Take him, he’s yours. She’d been so sick during the first days of the mating bond snap that everything felt brand new and overwhelming. Instinct coursed through her, demanding she reach for him. 

“And what happens the first time someone has a snide thing to say about your status as consort?” she asked, fingers slightly smushing the bread in her hands.

“I trust you can handle yourself,” he replied with a shrug. “And if you can’t, they’ll taste the steel of my blade.”

“Okay, alright,” she grumbled, holding her slice of bread out to him. Alexander looked at the waxy piece of beeswax, unwrapping it with trembling fingers. It was strange to see him so easily undone. He looked as if nothing scared him. She supposed that was a good quality to have if he was going to join her family. He’d need more than a little nerve.

“This is forever,” he told her breathlessly, fingertips brushing the yellow loaf in his hands.

“Good thing, then,” she agreed. “I’m terribly jealous.”

She knew what he wanted to say but Ivy could not make herself say it first. Alexander stood, letting his sword fall to the side. “And you love me.”

“You ripped four iron rings from a wall to save me,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his chest. “It would be hard not to love you.”

The corner of his lips twitched. “And I’d do it again.”

“Eat the bread, Alexander.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He shoved the entire thing in his mouth like a wild bear, his eyes flashing as if to say no take backs.

She took a breath at the feeling in her chest. That thread became gold, solidly tied to her ribs. There would be no breaking it now. She didn’t move when he came closer, his fingers threading through her hair. “I love you too, Ivy.” “This doesn’t mean I’m going to be nicer, you know,” she murmured, heart stuttering in her chest.

“I’d be disappointed if you were.”

*

Of all the things Alexander had done that Lucien Vanserra might kill him for, fucking his daughter on the woodland floor was likely at the very top. Over the past week, he’d imagined every single possibility in which she accepted the bond and he sank into the frenzy. Most of them involved bring her back to his suite while occasionally going to hers. All of them had a bed and someplace soft, someplace quiet. Fucking outdoors was for Calanmai and the common people. It certainly wasn’t for a princess.

It couldn’t be helped. He’d taken all of one step, meaning to grab his shirt when Ivy said, “I’ve never had sex before.”

He froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge. She might as well have begun running the way that predators instinct raged through him. Every inch of him was suddenly on high alert, as if a parade of males were lurking in the forest, thinking of stealing her from him. He knew it wasn’t logical.

Alexander couldn’t help himself. He suddenly understood what everyone meant when they talked about frenzied, irrational males. He turned to look at her, forgetting his shirt and his sword. “What?”

She took a half step backwards, nearly touching a tree truck at the edge of the clearing. “I just thought you should know…”

“Why not?”

Ivy shrugged, stepping back again, her russet eyes wide as he approached. She was so small, her head easily tucked beneath his chin. She didn’t need to be protected and still he wanted to. The fact that she’d waited was almost too much. Day Court was famous for their orgies. He had no illusions she hadn’t participated at least once. 

He reached for her face, thumb caressing the thin, white scar streaking down her golden brown face. “You’re too sweet,” he told her.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, lips parted. Kissing her would be enough, he told himself. He’d kiss her, he’d get his shirt, and he’d take her inside. His parents would know to vacate his siblings for the evening. He only needed her once to clear his head. “I just thought…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Good,” he growled, pulling her forward. Every thought flew out the window the moment her lips touched his, arms twined around his neck. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach him, her whole body pressed against the length of his own. Alexander’s eyes practically rolled in the back of his head at the heady, soft sunlit taste of her. He felt starved, needed her like he’d never needed anything in his life. His hands gripped her waist tightly, wanting to see that dress on strewn over the ground. He wanted to see her spread out over the ground, bathed in grass, her back pressed into the dirt.

His tongue swept into her mouth, eliciting the softest little moan from her throat. Alexander’s fraying restraint snapped. He couldn’t help himself. He needed more of her, needed to hear her make that noise over and over. She tasted the way magic felt, her body warm and pliant beneath his hands. He didn’t know who dragged who to the ground though he was aware it was him pulling her into his lap so he could grind her against him. 

Her hands rubbed against his chest, creating near burning friction. Her magic was bad, causing sparks of heat and light to jump over the surface of his skin. He groaned, twisting so she was laid over the ground just as he’d imagined moment before. Leaves immediately tangled in her wine red hair, making her look like some goddess of light, coming to earth specifically to bless him. 

“This wasn’t what I imagined,” he told her desperately, getting the fabric of her dress off around her head. He was careful not to tear, aware he’d have to walk her back to his court or hers. He’d be damned if he let any other male look at her naked body. 

“What did you imagine?” she asked breathlessly, her naked breasts rising and falling rapidly. Her head lolled to the side, breath hitching when he grasped them, fingers massing the peaked, dusky nipples. 

“A bed,” he replied, kissing the length of her neck. “Time to have you in all the ways I want you.”

“Tell me,” she breathed moments before their mouths collided with another messy kiss. Her legs hooked around his waist, dress pushed down to her hips. He was achingly hard and desperate for relief. There were things he needed to do before he could bury himself within her, before he could mark her thoroughly with his scent. He caught one of her legs, sliding his hand up her thighs towards the heat pooling between her legs. Her arousal perfumed the air, driving him half wild. 

He couldn’t tell her anything while he kissed her, even as he slid his fingers towards that heat. She writhed, her body moving on instinct. Her knees fell apart, giving him unparalleled access. 

Ivy might not have sexual experience but she knew exactly how to drive him over the edge. He slid a finger inside her body, his mouth trailing down her body so he could kiss each of those scars, making them his.

She gasped, squeezing tight around him. His eyes practically rolled inside his head at the silky soft feel of her. He was so utterly fucked and he knew it. If he lasted longer than a minute when he got his cock inside her, it would be cause for a parade. He worked in another finger just to see if he could, pressing his forehead between her breasts to gather himself. 

“Is this what you imagined?” she asked him sweetly, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He pumped his fingers in and out, pushing them apart if only to get her used to the stretch. She arched her back for him, his own little private show in that grassy clearing. He withdrew his hands, desperate for a taste. Ivy watched with dark eyes, shaking her head back and forth when he put them in his mouth.

“You’re filthy,” she murmured.

“You have no idea,” he agreed, pulling her back to his lap so she could straddle his chest. “Touch me.”

He slid further down until her cunt was positioned just over his face. She squirmed against him, lifting a leg in an attempt to escape but Alexander held firm.

“Touch my cock, Ivy,” he demanded before licking up the center of her. She gasped again before leaning forward, her fingers clumsily untying the laces of his pants. He was distracted, lapping at her slowly, drinking in the musky taste of her.

Cool air danced over the overheated flesh of his cock. Her sweet, sharp intake of breath pleased him. 

“Stop smiling,” she snapped. “I have nothing to compare it to.”

“And you never will,” he assured her, kissing her thigh. She gripped the base of him, fingers unable to touch and Alexander redoubled his efforts. He wanted her to come on his tongue before he had her, wanted to feel how she might break apart against his lips and his penis. Her hand was unsure for the first few strokes, pumping and gauging with almost academic interest. Alexander curled his tongue inside her body, dragging a loud moan out of her, while prompting her to press her own lips to the beaded moisture at the tip of his cock. 

It was his turn to shudder a groan. “Did you imagine this?” she asked him, gliding the flat of her tongue up his shaft.

“Yes,” he admitted with a ragged breath. 

“I can’t take all this,” she murmured, as if he cared at all.

“You have centuries to practice,” he replied, too pleased when her teeth lightly nipped at his skin. She could take hardly more than the head without gagging, saliva flooding her mouth. Alexander groaned loudly, disturbing a flock of birds roosting overhead. He’d forgotten what he was doing for a moment, head thrown back, eyes closed.

“That’s perfect,” he praised. “You’re perfect.” She didn’t stop though she hummed a whine, the reverberation settling in his balls. She’d make him come with those little noises, with her wet, warm mouth sucking him. He redoubled his efforts by way of distraction, desperate to be fully seated in her, to know nothing but the feel of her body squirming under him, meeting him thrust for desperate thrust. He knew he had her when her mouth stopped working him, her hand falling from his shaft to his stomach to hold herself in place. Her hips ground against his face desperately, voice rising with each new stroke of his tongue. He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking softly just in time for her to come apart, screaming loud enough for everyone at home to hear. The forest went silent for a moment, listening to the pair of them with interest. In Spring, two fae fucking in the woods was hardly cause for concern. It was practically his birthright.

He flipped her over rather than impale her, pushing her knees wide apart while she still came down. He pulled the swollen lips of her pussy open, watching her ride out that orgasm desperately. Alexander took himself in his hand, rubbing his head over the slickness, reveling in the undulations of her aftershock. He gave her no time to adjust at all, sliding the full length of his long, thick cock wholly into her body.

She arched hard off the ground, fingers scrambling for his shoulder. He kissed her, holding himself still despite every nerve begging him to move. Her heartbeat banged against her ribs, the feel of it a flutter against his own bare chest. He kissed her, tongue delving into her mouth so she could taste herself, until she lifted her hips. She was an offering and he was far too weak to resist. That first slide was heaven and hell all mixed together. Nothing had ever felt half as good in his life. He might have died for all he knew.

She exhaled softly, her nails dragging down his back. “This is what I want,” he told her, grunting the words between thrusts. “This is what I imagined.”

“Just like this?” she asked as he pulled himself back. He wanted to watch, fascinated by how accommodating her body was. She squeezed, sucking him deeper, taking everything he had to give. 

“Just like this,” he praised. “You take my cock so well.”

It was the only place she’d ever let him talk to her like this. He’d take it, take all of her and still beg for more. As release began to rise through him, tightening in his sac, Alexander knew there would never be a moment where he’d had enough. His thumb rubbed circles over her clit, dragging her back up with him until she was writhing, her rhythm non-existent as she brought herself to climax. He went with her, the roar of release almost embarrassing if he cared who overheard him. Let the whole fucking world know he’d pleasured is mate and he’d pleasured her well. 

He lowered himself back to the ground, stroking her hair and kissing her. He alternated between the two until the bright flush of her cheeks slipped away and her eyes lost their lusty haze. Only then did he pull himself from her body, revealing in the rush of fluid that escaped her. She was marked now and everyone would know it, would scent it. It was more than the bond between them but the completion of this act—followed by more sex, preferablly until the end of time. 

“I think there’s a rock in my back,” she said, pushing him back so she could sit up. The mere act piqued his interest all over again. She watched him warily, slowly reaching for her dress. He growled.

“One more time,” she whispered, her swollen lips parting ever so slightly. “But then we go home.”

He didn’t agree to that.

They’d be out here all night. 

*

Ivy managed to convince Alexander they ought to go inside for something to drink after twelve hours of nothing but fucking. Her back was dirty and scraped raw, her body somehow both aching and desperate for more of him. The frenzy had her by the throat in a way Ivy had not been prepared for. She’d thought it a mere excuse for a new couple to lock themselves up for a few days and avoid well-wishers. 

By the time they reached Day Court, she felt snappish and moody, frustrated by even strangers who looked over at the Spring Court prince. Her father was waiting, arms crossed over his chest with very obvious disappointment. Had he really expected her to wait a century? She’d been lucky she waited a full week.

Beside him, her mother’s excitement was undiminished. Nothing could disappoint Elain Archeron. At least, not where her family was concerned. She reached for Alexander, pulling him into a hug before immediately stepping back, nose wrinkled.

“Let's try again in a month,” she joked affectionately, her cheeks flushed darkly. Even after nearly three decades as Fae, she had all her human sensibilities. 

“Your room has been moved,” her father told her. “For larger accommodations.”

Far away from his own room was what she knew he hadn’t added. Tamlin, too, had discreetly taken the rest of his family when he saw the two of them approaching, packing up for their water estate and, more practically, avoiding overhearing what they’d surely known was happening in the woods.

Ivy raised her eyebrows, forcing her father to look at Alexander. “Welcome to Day Court,” he grumbled, clearly displeased with this turn of events. Alexander was absurdly kind, bowing with a grace her father absolutely did not reserve.

“I’ll endeavor to make you happy about our marriage,” Alexander informed their father, winking at Ivy’s grinning mother. He slipped an arm around her waist, letting her lead him into the palace with big, wonder-filled eyes. Day Court’s palace was twice as big as Spring Courts and the last time he’d been inside, he’d hardly had any time to appreciate it. 

“Where is Soren?” she asked, well aware her parents were skulking just behind her. There was a pause long and loud enough to make her turn. 

“Your brother is exactly where he wants to be,” her father finally said. That was true enough, she supposed. Soren was obnoxious with Sight in a way their mother never had been. He just knew, and if he didn’t like what he saw, he simply did not go.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, arms over her chest. Her mother stepped forward.

“Vassa asked him to see if he might uncover the gas the humans used on the pair of you,” she said earnestly.

“And we haven’t heard from him since he left.” Ivy frowned. “What are you worried about? Soren isn’t the letter writing type.”

“He took Mei with him and she’s the one no one has heard from. Thesan is concerned.”

“We’ll find them—” Alex began but Elain held up her hand.

“Soren is exactly where he wants to be,” she repeated. “He’ll return in his own time.”

“With Mei?” Ivy demanded, echoing Alexander’s sentiments. “How important is she to Dawn?”

“He won’t return without her,” Lucien said tightly, a reminder that a male wouldn’t abandon his mate. Soren would come back, limping, bruised and utterly unrepentant in a few days with his female in tow or they’d find his body scattered across Prythian. Ivy didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

“You’re in no condition to go after him,” her father added. “He’s likely to kill every male in sight which is hardly the promise I made to Vassa.”

Alexander merely shrugged. What did he care about diplomacy anymore? That was her problem. 

“Two days,” Ivy conceded. “Two days and then Aunt Vassa be damned.”

Her parents couldn’t argue, in part because Ivy didn’t give them a chance. She strolled away, sliding her hand in Alexanders as she went.

“Are you really giving him two days?” Alexander asked, guessing her thoughts before she ever had a chance to vocalize it. Ivy looked over her shoulder as she tugged him up a sweeping staircase.

“No. I’ll give him twelve hours while we get ready.”

He grinned. “And if I do kill some unfortunate male that gets a little too close?”

“Do your best not to,” she instructed. “But we did promise those humans a little retribution. Lets give it to them.”

*

Soren:

Soren stared up at the grated top of the pit he was trapped in. He’d seen the fall of course, had known he’d end up down here. He’d even brought rope in his bag to pull himself back out. Sight was a tricky thing—it didn’t show everything as it was. Little pieces, pictures of a larger puzzle, was all he ever got. He gambled on the rest. He’d never once been wrong until today.

Mei sat opposite him in the dirt, her pretty face streaked with mud. He was here because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d have come with or without him. Better to be with him. After all, he had the sword hidden beneath his tunic, strapped at his back. He’d been trained by his uncles from the time he was a boy, knew his way around a sword. He also had the same Day Court magic Ivy boasted of, though hers was stronger, more heavily concentrated in light than the fire coursing through his veins. 

Mei accused him of being a Vanserra. Maybe she was right. At least neither of them were injured beyond a few bruises and still had their magic. He didn’t know if he could carry Mei down a mountain. He certainly didn’t want to find out.

Her eyes found him, narrowing to slits. “Why does it seem like you’re enjoying this?” she demanded. 

Because I am. “Is it so wrong to enjoy your company?” he replied smoothly. 

“At the bottom of a ditch? Yes,” she hissed. Soren shrugged casually. Humans would come checking on their Faerie traps. He needed to end his little game. Standing, Soren stretched long legs before pulling his long, auburn hair off his face with a leather strap. Standing on his tiptoes, he could reach one of the wooden bars preventing them from escaping. Humans were so stupid. They’d used iron on Ivy and Alexander—perhaps they’d learned their lesson though it would have been harder to pull apart an iron grate. He didn’t possess the Spring Courts supernatural strength. He reached for his boot, keeping his sword hidden for now. He didn’t need her knowing he’d come a little too prepared. He pulled out a curved, sharp dagger he’d snatched off Finn during the week the courts had come traipsing about Day Court. Spring had the most fascinating weapons.

Mei frowned, rising to her feet to watch him leap up, gripping one of the slats, dagger held between his teeth. Swinging, his feet scraping the earth, Soren hacked a whole big enough to swing his muscular body through. Bright light shone through the edge of the forest overhead, the same place his sister had been stuck in. He could see the mountain he might be dragged up looming above him. 

He’d fail Aunt Vassa by not figuring out what that gas was. He didn’t care much, wasn’t interested in being used like an experiment. He reached down a hand, thrilling when she touched him. Mate, mate, mate, his blood seemed to chant. He stuffed it down even when the soft scent of cherry and vanilla invaded his senses. He yanked her up, unprepared for how her lithe body would flop on top of his. 

“This is more like it,” he teased, enjoying how her cheeks flushed darkly.

“In your dreams,” she mumbled, scrambling to her feet.

“Too true,” he agreed, surveying their surroundings lazily. He knew they were lost, had known when they came in they’d end up this way. “C’mon,” he told her, gesturing for her to follow. “This way.”

Mei did as he said, trotting after him in her tailored black pants held up with suspenders, muddied from their fall, and her form fitting white shirt, tucked into the waistband. Her left her thick curtain of straight black hair hanging down her back, the tips nearly touching her hips. Soren was mesmerized by the swing of it, how the light caught blue against the glossy strands. 

“I can feel your staring,” she complained, those dark, almond eyes reproachful. Soren shrugged. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told her not for the first time. She dipped her head, clearly embarrassed. Her heard her hand click softly, that golden piece of machinery clenching to a fist. He wanted to know what had happened though he didn’t dare ask. He knew it bothered her, that she expected it to bother him.

Meeting his father had been good, he thought. Some little part of her had softened considerably, though it was an icy thaw. He’d need more than his dad’s missing eye and his sisters near death to make her melt. Preferably into his waiting arms. 

Trees thinned overhead, taking him to rocky shoreline. If he’d walked the other way, he’d have ended up in Spring Court in three days time, likely slamming into his sister and her mate. What he wanted was time.

Mei didn’t know that. She paused at the expanse of ocean ahead of them and the little boat pushed against the rocky coast.

“Are you serious?” she demanded, arms crossed over her chest. Ignoring the way it made her breasts swell beneath the open button of her shirt, Soren only grinned.

“I would never joke about seafaring,” he insisted, one hand pressed against his chest. “Where is your sense of adventure.” “We’re supposed to be doing a job,” she complained, following after him when he began walking towards the boat. It was big enough for two people to navigate, assuming both those people knew what they were doing. He did, of course…but judging from Mei’s wary expression, this was all new territory for her. 

“I know,” he told her, turning and holding her by the shoulders. She twisted for a moment, her eyes darkening. He never tired of seeing her own arousal and how she fought against it. What he needed was a little forced proximity. “Do you want to end up like Ivy? Or worse? Do you want to end up like Alexander, carrying my body down the mountain?”

She looked up behind him, heart shaped face glowing in the sun. She was so beautiful it threatened to sink him. He’d never wanted anyone more. 

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen a human.”

“When we get back we’ll reconvene with Aunt Vassa,” he swore. “She owes my dad a favor, I think. Or maybe it’s the other way around…I can’t be sure.” His mother had told the story of Koschei more than once, for all Soren remembered. “You’ll get your antidote. I swear it.”

“Swear on our bond,” she said softly. She so rarely acknowledged the snapped mating bond between them that Soren, for all his jokes, would have done anything she demanded to hear her say it again.

“As you mate, I can deny you nothing.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I swear it. Now, come on. Do you trust me?”

He held out his hand to help her up, intending to push the ship out to sea himself. She hesitated for only a moment.

“I trust you,” she finally said. He grinned, pulling her close and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. 

“I won’t let you down.”

Soren didn’t need the gift of Sight to make that promise. He’d fail her only over his own dead body. 

Of that, he was sure.

#idk how to even tag this #next gen acotar? #truly self indulgent fic writing??? #ivy x alexander #with elucien appearances #lucien as the over protective dad we all know hell be #elain just vibing like: hes like that sometimes #shes made her peace with it #i know we agreed soren was a sweet bean like his mom but hear me out #what if he was a chaos demon like his uncle?? #unclear if ill ever put this on ao3 #this is for me and the other 3 of you interested in these people

[raayllum]

for @jelzorz

Soren has always been quite charming, thank you very much.

He has great hair, and a dazzling smile—if he does say so himself—and a swaggering air where he can convince anyone to do just about anything. He'd gotten Callum to lift up logs for shining gemstones knowing very well there'd been nothing but gross bugs underneath just for his own amusement. He'd pulled puppy-dog eyes at Claudia and she'd always, inevitably, help him dye his hair. Even Ezran, on days he had to be very kingly and stoic, couldn't say no to a jelly tart heist if Soren asked for one.

Still, Soren can admit that Opeli can sometimes be a tough nut to crack.

She's traditional, and stern faced, and secretly funny, and she has to be the adult at the table most of the time—especially after Corvus leaves (because Soren is charming, but he can't convince him to stay—not when Soren's half-assing it and knows it) and someone has to hold down the fort.

Now she's insisting that no, they don't have time to go to the Banther Lodge and build snow forts, because they have a delegation to greet in Del Bar in two weeks, and going to the Lodge will add another few days of travel.

"It's Del Bar," Callum says. "They have bad weather that delays stuff all the time."

"It is important to make a good impression," Opeli counters, unwavering even if it's Callum and Rayla's first time back in Katolis in a little while.

"Come on, Opeli," Rayla says. "We can build snow-elves."

The cleric presses her lips together. "I'm afraid that—"

"Breaks to avoid burnout are important, though," Soren chimes in, and Opeli stops and stares at him. He won't lie and say he doesn't act more outlandish sometimes, ever so slightly—to be ridiculous but not immature—just to have her eyes on him a little longer. He leans back in his chair for said reason, hands folded behind his head. "And being fashionably late is Del Bar politeness, you know."

"Soren," Opeli sighs, wavering.

"The best mead is at the Banther Lodge, too," he continues, 'musing.' We'll want to bring something good as a present. Even if we sent a runner now, it'd only really save us a day, maybe two. With no vacation. So..." He grins at her, waggling his eyebrows. "Please?"

Opeli stares at him for a moment, and then a moment longer, before rubbing at her temples. "Fine. Fine." A chorus of cheers, starting with Ezran, sound around the table. "You may go," she relents. "But you better start packing soon. You'll want to leave in the morning."

There's a hasty scraping of chairs as people rise, Ezran scooping up Bait and Callum and Rayla exchanging excited looks. Soren remains as Barius leaves to start baking, watching as Opeli gathers up the paperwork.

"You're coming too, right?" he checks.

She stops, startling like she didn't realize she was still there. Then she focuses on shuffling her papers. "Someone must look after the kingdom—"

"There are other advisors who can spare a few days."

"Soren—"

"You'll be handling things on your own here when we go to Del Bar. You deserve a break too."

Opeli glances down. "I'm not sure—"

"I'd wish you come," he chances, ignoring the sudden lump in his throat. He's supposed to be charming, not sincere. He scrounges up more of a swaggering grin as she blinks, face otherwise unreadable beneath her circlet. "Things are always more fun when you're around."

Opeli lets out a wonderfully undignified snort. "I don't know about that."

"It's true. You're the only one who can stump Callum's snarkiness. And Rayla's surliness."

"I suppose so." She squints at him, mouth pulling up reluctantly into a smile. "You're sure I won't be a killjoy?"

"Not entirely," he says, "but—" and she laughs.

"I thought you were supposed to be charming."

He picks up a loose paper and hands it to her, fingers brushing. Soren tries to talk like his heart isn't beating too fast. "Can't be all the time, I think—although I didn't know you thought so at all."

Their eyes catch. She looks away first, clearing her throat but saying nothing.

Soren lets his gaze linger this time and pushes just a little. "So—you'll come with us?"

Opeli holds her paperwork to her chest. "Yes," she answers at last. "I think I will."

#sorpeli #ficlet #my fic #fic #the dragon prince #jellyjay #don't blame me when this turns into a oneshot

[jelzorz]

176.

**Reminder that the crack quartet can only ever happen years and years into the future when everyone is a fully consenting adult**

Opeli sees it happening early.

She has known Ezran since he was born. She was the one who anointed him on his name day, and she's been guiding his leadership since he took his father's crown and watching over him for longer still. She knows what he is like, and she knows what boys are like when they fall in love, and she knows, almost immediately, when Claudia catches his eye.

It's a shock to her as much as it would be a shock to anyone. It hardly makes sense: Claudia, the traitor, the witch, the mage that almost brought forth the end of the world, with her bone-white hair and her bloodied hands, and Ezran, her youngest ward and noble king. She almost can't fathom it.

But it's something she should investigate. Something to bring up with Ezran, probably, and something she should bring up with Claudia for certain, because Ezran's safety is paramount, and it's not a good look at all for him to start courting a pardoned criminal. Opeli believes in him and his judgement, but her concern around Claudia is not unfounded. To be so close to power is a dangerous thing, and even if Claudia means him no harm, his reputation hangs precariously in the balance.

(Hypocrite, she calls herself. How rich of her to be concerned about Ezran's reputation for his burgeoning relationship with Claudia when she's been gambling so wantonly with her own. No matter—)

She puts her foot down when she catches Ezran helping her tidy the barberry hedges. He looks very pleased to be doing it. It's not at all his job to do so but he has been seen helping in the kitchens and in the stables too, and this is not out of the ordinary for him. It's Claudia that strengthens Opeli's resolve: it's that quiet little smile and that barest hint of a flush and the way Claudia lets her elbow brush his as she clips away stray branches, even as the spines in the hedge catch against her sleeves.

"Opeli," greets Ezran happily. "What are you doing out here? I thought you and Soren were supposed to go and oversee the harvest in the vineyards this morning."

Opeli keeps her face determinedly straight. "We've been," she says evenly. "They're going well over there. One of us will check in again this afternoon. I wanted to have a word, actually.'

"You're welcome to it, as always," says Ezran, but Opeli shakes her head.

"With Claudia."

Claudia blinks. Ezran furrows his brow.

"We talked about this," he says, a warning in the pitch of his voice, but Opeli offers him a (wan) smile and insists.

"I don't distrust your judgement, Your Majesty," she says carefully. "It's just a word."

Claudia meets her eyes, and to her credit, doesn't waver. She touches Ezran's elbow and nods. "It's fine, Ez," she says quietly. "Just a word, right?"

"Yes," promises Opeli.

Ezran glances between them warily, but nods all the same and sets down his secateurs. Opeli waits until he's out of earshot before she turns to Claudia, her lips pressed thin.

A pause passes between them. Claudia does not look away.

Opeli clears her throat. "I don't want to pry," she begins, "but you and His Majesty have been... rather close since your pardon. My loyalty is to him and all things aside, there are other things that must be considered. I have to ask: is there something I should know?"

Claudia sets her jaw. "That depends," she says quietly. "Is there something I should know about you and Soren?"

Opeli's heart thuds heavily in her chest. Her face warms. Her throat closes up. Something like panic wells between her ribs because no one is supposed to know, and surely Soren wouldn't have said anything, and yet—

"He didn't tell me," says Claudia. "He's my brother, and I know him better than he wants to believe."

Opeli bites back the cold in her chest and wills herself to be calm, to be collected under Claudia's stare. "And Ezran might be king, but he is still one of my wards," she says levelly. "I don't believe I have to tell you but he's lost enough."

Claudia wrinkles her nose stubbornly. "So has Soren," she points out.

Opeli bites back a scowl at that. "Yes, I know," she says sharply. "He came to me to work through it. He mourned your mother, and your father, and you when he deserved more than what any of you could give him and I'd rather be dragged through the mud myself let him lose anything else. What can you tell me about whatever it is that's going on here?"

Claudia ducks her head at last, and Opeli tries not to feel too much satisfaction in it. But when Claudia looks up again, there is only honesty in her eyes.

"He's safe, Opeli," she murmurs. "I don't have it in me to betray any of them again, but him most of all. And if I did—" She snorts and shakes her head. "Ez is kinder than I deserve. I'll owe him that debt forever and I would die before I let anything else happen to him. I know you don't trust me but—you have to trust that, at least."

"How can anyone possibly trust that at face value?"

"You can't," says Claudia. "But I—" She cuts herself off, but she does not need to finish the sentence for Opeli to know how she'd wanted to end it. "You know what it is," she says. "You know what it feels like."

Opeli says nothing for a moment. She looks away. "Perhaps I do."

"Then you know I could never hurt him," says Claudia. "Not again. The same way I know you would never do anything to hurt Soren."

Another pause. Another breath. When Opeli looks back at Claudia, she is staring at her shoes helpless in the same way Opeli is when it comes to her brother.

"We understand each other, then," she says primly.

Claudia nods. "Yeah," she says. "We do."

Opeli nods back. "I'll leave you," she says. "And I'll send Ezran back to you when I find him."

Despite herself, Claudia cracks a smile. "Thank you," she murmurs. "And—" Here she pauses, and Opeli waits, wondering what else there is to say. "Your secret's safe too," she says at last.

"That is much appreciated," says Opeli, incling her head. "You've done lovely work on the barberry hedges, by the way. It must help that the spines are not as sharp as they seem."

#sorpeli #claudiez #canon crack quartet #ship one get one free #two for one deal what a win #in anticipation

[sweet-vanilla-sims]

Year 1630

TW/CW: Death Mention

Osana's fifth birthday had hardly passed and she was already excitedly talking about how she looked forward to her sixth. She was clearly a big girl now but for some reason Giulia was insistent on treating her like a baby until she was six at least. Somehow Osana got the impression though that Giulia would treat her like a baby anyways but that was a problem for later.

By April it was clear that Giacomo was growing up healthy despite the ongoing famine. The family found news of Aurelio's latest marriage a welcome distraction from the gnawing hunger especially after learning that Soren had passed from the lack of water available.

Time had not soured Osana and Giacomo's relationship to the relief of their parents. In fact the pair only seemed to grow closer each day. Osana liked having a baby brother though Tala wondered if she really should be calling him a baby when she isn't that much older than him herself.

Still the lack of food was apparent as Giacomo rapidly shed what little baby fat he had which brought more worry as May brought with it resurgence of plague which claimed the life of Sofia Laurent.

It felt like a slap in the face after losing more people in town to plague and thirst or some horrid combination of the two that rain fell. It gloriously fell enough for a small collection of crops to grow before the ground became too waterlogged to support growth. Of course then the rain stopped but the relief it brought, small as it was, was plenty.

As Giacomo's second birthday rolled around, Tala noticed herself feeling more like herself again. While she didn't want to jinx herself, she felt that whatever rut she had fallen in after the birth of her son, was over for now. She feared that another pregnancy would shove her right back into that hole but on that front she and Vincente had decided that there would be no more babies until the famine was gone from the land.

Vincente had never been the most studious in terms of learning magic but after the frenzy of plant caretaking passed following the bought of rain, he had little else to do. The animals that had wandered back for the rain had fled again in search of food and the wood for carving was of little use since no one cared much for furniture when their stomachs weren't full.

Osana celebrated her sixth birthday surrounded by her family's love. With fears for the future, a milestone birthday was more than enough reason to hold their loved ones close while they could. Especially after hearing that the Maeda family across town had lost two adults that year, the wife to plague in the summer following the birth of their daughter and Carlo in November just a month after remarrying, orphaning both their children. Vincente and Tala felt the loss of a young life even more at the news of Alice Markovic's passing in August.

With crops not growing it certainly felt like a joke when the garden was plagued with weeds. Vincente couldn't be bothered to deal with them since nothing was growing anyways but now that Osana was older she couldn't just let that stand. Giulia called her a perfectionist because of it but Osana didn't really see how that was intended to be a bad thing and went about weeding the garden as the year came to a close once more.

#Vincente Carlisle #Tala Carlisle #Giulia Carlisle #Osana Carlisle #Giacomo Carlisle #The Carlisle Chronicles #Decades Legacy Challenge #tw death mention #cw death mention #1630 #1630s #ts4