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azukiel · 5 months

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Nightfall Heir Chapter 1

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Kidnapping, Pregnancy and Childbirth

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

Summary: Two years have passed since the events surrounding the destruction of the Absolute. Baldur's Gate is slowly rebuilding itself from the rubble, and you and your companions have established yourselves within the city to help in its restoration.

You and your vampiric lover, Astarion, had been nigh inseparable since coming back together. Yet a certain turn of events saw to your kidnapping and then... to your unexpected pregnancy.

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

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As you lay in Astarion’s arms, you relished in the bliss that coddled your heart.

Alas, your mind wandered. It had not always been like this.

Blissful.

Your memories vividly recalled the time you had first laid with him, the time where the soft glow of fireflies had danced in the air, casting shadows that whispered secrets into the grass beneath you. The subsequent times thereafter had also been a symphony of sensations - feverish rustling of bedsheets, and the intoxicating scents of his cologne mingled with the musky aromas of passion. Back then, Astarion had always assured you that your very essence would be enveloped in a euphoric blend of pleasure and ecstasy. However, beneath the surface of those passionate encounters lay a web of deception. Your trysts had been nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask to conceal the collective traumas that haunted you both. Astarion had sought protection and trust from you, while you had yearned for a semblance of true companionship and belonging from him.

Still, the scars you both carried were etched into your souls, impossible to conceal. They were etched into the very fabric of your beings, leaving invisible wounds that refused to heal.

You flinched at the painful recollections as you looked up again at his peaceful, sleeping face. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took in a deep breath. His scents of bergamot, rosemary and aged brandy eloped you with a warmth like a midsummer’s kiss. His enchanting perfume restored a sense of peace. Yet, the darkness that still lingered in the back of your mind clawed its way into your consciousness once more.

Shuddering, you pressed yourself harder against his body to shield yourself, and though, in his sleep, he tightened his arms around you, you felt your walls again crumble. As the salt of your tears stung at the corners of your eyes, your unscrupulous mind continued to ravish your heart…

You were flung back to your childhood, vividly recalling the relentless barrage of blows, the sound of bones cracking, the scathing verbal assaults, and the relentless condemnations. The overpowering stench of sweat and blood used to fill your nostrils as you were forced to confront opponents far stronger than yourself, all for the perverse amusement of the masses... enduring unspeakable torment that had assaulted your body and mind alike. Such was the brutal reality of the Drow society that had shaped your upbringing. And yet, your tortures were not so different to that of which your lover had suffered at the hands of his old tormentor, Cazador.

The torment you had both endured had left deep scars, which had resulted in your eventual separation. The memory of it lingered, triggering a silent sob from you. In the past, you and Astarion had made the mutual decision to remain ‘just companions,’ driven by guilt over having used each other as shields for your sufferings. It had seemed like the ideal solution, a way to aid in healing. But unbeknownst to either of you, it had only exacerbated the anguish, a truth you both refused to acknowledge, even to yourselves.

At least, not until the events in Cazador's gloomy prison had unfolded.

Your mind, shrouded in darkness, conjured up a vivid and haunting replay of the events...

Your heart had been torn asunder as you had watched Astarion confront his old, wicked master. The anguish inflicted upon Astarion had been unbearable, a raw wound visible in your eyes. Alas, the hunger for power had consumed him, a voracious appetite for ascension that had wrapped around him like a suffocating web. In a mere breath, the Astarion you had known and loved had vanished. The vibrant essence of the witty, sassy, and flamboyant Elven vampire you cherished had been replaced by a feral beast. The sight of his former slaver, now succumbed, bloodied and kneeling, blurred the line between captor and captive.

You recall having exerted every ounce of your strength, having plead with Astarion to resist the seductive pull of power, to spare the lives of the countless thralls and spawn. The weight of this decision had threatened to consume his true self, which would have rendered him unrecognizable. Unimaginable sorrow had consumed you as you had contemplated the magnitude of such a loss.

The anguished cries that had escaped him as he struck down Cazador had reverberated through your being, threatening to shatter your very core. Even though Astarion had eventually yielded to your pleas, a deep resentment had grown within him towards you.

Your mind then shifted to when you and your companions had returned to the Elvensong Tavern nigh your vampiric companion. Your body had trembled uncontrollably, with tears streaming down your face, your sobs wracking your entire being. The weight of your despair had felt like an unbearable burden, threatening to consume you entirely. You remember the painful pounding of your heart in your chest, the rhythm deafening in your ears, and your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to regain control. Halsin’s sudden powerful embrace had provided a sense of stability, and his firm hold had offered a sense of security that you had desperately needed in that moment. He was, in fact, the only companion strong enough to hold your arms to prevent you from burning down the place in your despair. You recalled the surrounding room blurring as your vision had become clouded by tears; the world reduced to a haze of pain and anguish.

The others, your companions, had surrounded you, and eventually their presence had become a comfort amidst the chaos. Their words of reassurance and support had washed over you, their soothing voices attempting to ease the torment that had consumed your mind. Though their words had been barely audible through the fog of your despair, their presence alone provided a sense of unity and shared strength.

Sighing inwardly as you nestled yourself in the crook of Astarion’s shoulder, you remembered that back in that tavern on that night, time had seemed to lose all meaning to you. You had continued to tightly cling to Halsin as he cradled you, and your body had gradually succumbed to exhaustion.

After what had felt like an endless stretch of time, Astarion had finally returned. You recall that the room had been dimly lit by then, and the dancing candle light had cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor. You had heard the faint echoes of his fervent apologies, his voice trembling with remorse. The weight of his rage, which had been directed solely at you, had torn through your heart like a sharp knife. Truly, you hadn’t blamed him. It had been a battle within himself, a struggle to maintain control. Nevertheless, it had still shattered your already delicate heart and mind.

And then you recollected, amidst the heaviness of the situation, he having expressed his gratitude. The words had hung in the air as he had thanked you for rescuing him from the brink of losing his very self. You had saved him from becoming a reflection of the one he despised most in the world. Cazador Szarr.

Late that same night, under the glowing moonlight, he had guided you through the calm silence of the local cemetery. After having reached a secluded plot, he had unveiled a tombstone that had been crafted for him upon his ‘death’ as a mortal elf. The tombstone had stood there, adorned with weathered vines, a testament to the passaging of two long centuries. The air surrounding you both had carried a hint of mustiness and an earthy scent, mingling with the faint aroma of decaying leaves. A chilling breeze had whispered through the graveyard, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Astarion’s voice had broken the silence then, and he described how this tombstone represented not only the end of his previous life in Cazador’s clutches, but also the death of the creature he could have become had he ascended. In that moment, he had realised he was no longer a mere spawn, but finally, truly free.

And as he often reminded you, even now, it had all been because of your unwavering perseverance, infinite patience, and resolute devotion. Your enduring devotion to him. For that, he had fallen profoundly for you and had not hesitated to confess his adoration right in front of his grave. He had not hesitated to guide you down onto the mound of earth, where your bodies soon intertwined with an intense fervour, either.

You remembered the fierce emotions that had flooded your body. Every touch and every caress from Astarion had sent shivers down your spine, electrifying your skin and loins with an unbearable ecstasy. The air around you had seemed to crackle with an intoxicating energy, as if the gods themselves had acknowledged the depth of your connection.

Your breath had hitched with each movement, the anticipation coursing through your veins. The taste of passion had lingered on your lips as a mix of desire and a hint of rebellion. The gritty texture of the earth beneath you had only heightened the rawness of the moment, grounding you in the physicality of your love.

You bit your bottom lip with the memories which now overwhelmed your senses. You felt it all again. With each feverish thrust, the passion had intensified. The heat between your bodies had grown to burning new heights and had wrapped you both in a cocoon of shared desire. Astarion’s touch had ignited a fire within you as his hands had explored every inch of your body with a frenzied hunger. The world around you then had faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you entangled in a dance of unbridled passion.

In that moment, the boundaries of time and place had ceased to exist. Moans and gasps had mingled in the air, a symphony of pleasure and longing as you had moved together with an unspoken understanding.

It had been just you and him in that graveyard, your souls entwined as one. The world could have crumbled around you once again, yet you would have remained oblivious, lost in the sheer intensity of your love.

You trembled at the memory of the last echoes of ecstasy fading away, and the intense heat between your thighs after he had filled you. You had found solace in the knowledge that your devotion had been reciprocated with equal fervor.

As your mind floated back to your present time, you shivered again at the sudden delicious tingle at your junction, a soft moan escaping your lips. You froze, glancing up at your sleeping lover, hoping you had not been loud enough to stir him, but he was as still as the tombstone that adorned his grave. Which brought your salacious thoughts back to that night. That night had cemented your relationship once and for all. He was now yours and you were now his and the both of you had been inseparable since that night two years ago.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #astarion daddy #Astarion as a daddy #Astarion and Tav have a child #Nightfall heir #bg3 #dadstarion #astarion x halsin x tav #astarion x dark urge #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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itsgrimeytime · 3 days

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The Lover || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!reader

1...

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

The Sequel to The Nurse (my series masterlist)

Summary: A long time ago, you were Rick Grimes's nurse. Now, you loved him, and he loved you. Or at least that's where you left it off. With Judith safe in your arms and Rick distinctly not by your side, you could only hope his feelings stayed the same because they sure as hell did for you.

TWs: blood, inhumane rage (you're kinda crazy in this one ngl), threatening someone's life, vague mention of murder, blades, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: heyyy, it's finally here!!! it's going to be less of Rick in this one for obvious reasons. At least for now. Looked it up and it took 10 days to get to Alexandria for the main group, so I'm going to be writing those for these first few chapters. Thanks for reading!!!]]

It had been two days since the prison -you could only count by the sun setting and the nightfall. You were running on autopilot, step after step; periodically feeding Judith because she wasn't crying anymore. You hadn't had any run-ins, not yet.

Your hand clenched against your side -tight on your axe. It was still the same fire-axe that you'd gotten at the hospital -blood ingrained in the blade and handle from your entire journey. You weren't sure it would wash off at this point.

It felt like a part of you now. Always there, familiar.

Like Rick had, or Carl, or Judith, or anyone at the prison-

You swallowed, they're alive. You know it.

You didn't, but it helped to think so.

If they get hurt, they've got Hershel, they'll survive, you assured, trying not to let the guilt bubble into your stomach.

Judith fussed a little then -the gentle pull of her eyebrows and squirming in her makeshift carrier. Your hand immediately came to soothe, smoothing against her head -gently whispering to shush her.

You were hidden away in a shack -somewhere along the road. It provided shelter, and that was enough for now. Pulling out a can of... something, you couldn't remember, you stabbed your knife through and opened it up. You'd been rationing, only eating when necessary; in the case that Judith's formula ran out, you wanted to keep her fed.

The first thing you'd noticed was the snap of a branch, just a single branch. It singled out in the night. Walkers would break more than one, you remembered.

Judith was asleep on your chest, you didn't dare move her; she was safer with you than without you. You knew that well.

Carefully, you put the can by your side, gently as if to not make any other sounds that would bring attention to you. You or Judith. All that you were running on was adrenaline, and just the urge to protect, protect, protect-

If whoever this was tried to lay a hand on Judith-

You carefully stood up, pulling your axe off the ground with you. Swinging it around in your hands, it was so familiar now. Attached to you. You weren't sure how to feel about it, but you couldn't really feel anything now -your mind was focused. Shelter, food, water, and Judith.

There was nothing else in this world for you. Not now.

With a breath, you slammed the door open -axe at the ready. You didn't catch on anyone at first, but then you heard it again and spun on your feet. You eyes settled on someone.

Their hands were shaking, but they held a gun to you -metal tip pointing and glinting in the sun. Your jaw tightened, as you gnawed on your lip, hands solid on your axe.

"Drop it," they spoke, but their voice was shaky. You could physically see their hands shake, something in your stomach steeled, "-or I'll-"

"I wouldn't," you remarked, bitterly -not an ounce of anything but anger melding along your words.

They pressed their lips together, seeming to gain a little more confidence, "I have a gun, I will shoot-"

You spoke again, tone sharp -something flashing behind your eyes.

"I wouldn't."

Protect, protect, protect-

They stared at you, something smoothing through their eyes. Something flashing, their lip trembling ever so slightly. You didn't flinch.

"What, all you have is an axe-"

"Did you know-" you hummed carefully stepping toward them, voice measured and careful, "-there are 1.5 gallons of blood in the human body?"

They snapped their lips shut, as you roamed closer, pressing the blade into their space. Tantalizingly close to their neck.

"And it only takes one little slice to lose it all?"

They froze for a moment, just one second. And you reacted instinctively, elbowing the gun out of their hands. It flew off into the bushes (snaps of branches telling you it did), but you kept your eyes solely on them. Lips pressed into a thin line.

"Look," they retracted, something pleading in their eyes, "-all I want is some food. I just- I haven't eaten in days."

You stared at them, axe still close to their neck -the vein that would do the job. You knew that, you'd read it in textbooks, seen bloody hands try to apply pressure, but it was too quick. Too fast.

"You threatened to kill my baby," you tsked, jutting the axe forward a little more. It was just a hair away and something in you was angry, so angry. Just an inch, just an inch, just an inch-

Protect, protect, protect-

"I wasn't going to! Not really, I just-" their eyes sunk to the blade, teary now, "-Please, I... I don't want to die like this-"

Protect, protect, protect-

You took a heavy breath in, eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching your axe so tight your knuckles were white. Something in you recentering, coming back to earth.

You pulled back the axe, but didn't let up your stare, growling, "If you ever try and hurt her again, I'll snap your spine myself."

They swallowed, blearily.

Motioning to the shack, you spoke -sharply, "There's some leftovers in there, take them."

They scrambled then, for the can, but you took pause a second. Carefully putting your axe back in place, you asked, "Have you seen a man and a kid? The kid, he... he wears a sheriff's hat."

The person seemed confused, maybe from so blatant of a switch, with the can gathered up in their hands. Still, they pressed their lips together, and answered, "I haven't."

Your heart stung, and you swallowed, nodding. With a breath, you set off to start walking again, it was morning -you needed to be productive in the daylight. But they stopped you.

"For your good, and the kid's," they warned, "-don't go to Terminus."

"Terminus?" You questioned.

"You're heading that way," they continued, eyes portraying a seriousness, "-they say it's a safe place. It's not. Don't go there."

"And," you breathed out, "-where should I go?"

They seemed to pause, scanning you over, "I don't know for sure, but I hear there's a place called Alexandria. It's good there, safe. Safe enough for a baby."

Your eyes darted down to Judith, still sleeping soundly against your chest. Your hand came up to rub against her hair -smoothing it down in place. She was your whole world now. If it was safe for her, it's where you'll go.

"Why aren't you there?" You questioned, "-If it's safe?"

"Looking for someone," they answered -briskly.

"Me too," you took a shaky breath in, your hands were shaking by your sides, "-I'm sorry about-"

They shook their head, cutting off your words, "It's your kid, I'd do the same."

You nodded once solidly, "Thanks."

They didn't say a word, and you decidedly moved forward. Keep moving.

They're alive, they're alive, they're alive-

You ended up near a few stores -walkers roaming around the strip.

You'd been keeping your eye out for signs, you saw them a lot. Different places offering safe havens, you hadn't seen one for Alexandria yet though. Had seen one for Terminus, and you had the brief thought that maybe Rick had been there. Were they okay? Did they come back from it?

You swallowed, not wasting time thinking about it. You couldn't, not anymore. You had Judith, you'd focus on Judith.

Inhaling, you roamed along the strip, pulling your axe into your hand again at the few walkers who roamed nearby. There wasn't enough that it was concerning, but you still didn't like them being anywhere near you. Especially with Judith held to your chest.

Quickly disposing of the one right by the door (lodging the blade through its head), you slowly made your way inside. It had a glass exterior, but all of it was smashed; it cracked under your feet, as you kept a hand on the back of Judith's head -just in case. The store, what looked to be some sort of convenience store, was raided pretty heavily only a few cans of what looked like alphabet soup on the food shelf.

Without hesitation, you took off your pack and shoved the cans into it. You didn't have much space, not with all of Jude's stuff, but you worked with what you had. Only finding two water bottles, you stashed one away for bottles and the other brought to your lips, before shoving it away.

You went through a few shops like that, some novelty shops with little trinkets and toys (you took just one for Judith), some snack shops where the aisles were completely cleaned out. And then, you stumbled upon a clothing store.

You stared at it, a little dumbfounded.

It was relatively untouched, sans the broken glass along the front. You figured that clothes were that important in the grand scheme of the apocalypse, so maybe it had just never been raided. Wanting to, one, get out of these clothes and, two, get some extra fabric for bandages, you neatly stepped inside.

You ended up finding an assortment of clothes, and for once you actually got to pick. Grabbing a bag off the floor that could hang across your chest, you filled it with fabric (including little onesies you'd found). And right then and there, you stripped down, slipping both new clothes on you and Judith.

It was refreshing, not really like a shower would be at this point but... close enough.

Slowly exiting, you took out two more walkers and continued out of the street -generally in the same direction the stranger had provided you with. You were just going by roads and by paths. Assumedly, if this place was safe, it would be some kind of substantial building.

Like the prison was, your mind chimed. You bit back the bile in your throat.

It went on that until night fell, there was no shelter nearby, so you continued on foot. Not that you'd sleep anyway, especially with Judith. You couldn't chance a wink.

It was the early morning then, and you felt the heaviness in your eyes. But you'd experienced much, much worse. You were kind of running a little on the adrenaline of everything. That being said, you had slept a little.

You'd found a house, boarded up. For safety reasons, you walked all the way up the stairs to the furthest bedroom and locked the door. You woke up to Judith crying and hadn't slept since.

What you hadn't expected, was to see two men walking along the road -crisply dressed and oddly clean. You hid behind a tree, peeking out at the two of them -they were talking about something.

"I think we'll give it another few days."

"How many?"

"Maybe two," one of the men spoke, "-we have to get back to Alexandria at some point-"

You stilled, hands brushing up against the bark of the tree. It scraped your fingers a moment.

You tailed them for a bit, watching what weapons they had (if they did) and figuring out what they were doing in general. They seemed to be limited to this area, like they were expecting something or maybe watching something, you didn't really know. They didn't say much.

You waited for them to completely let their guard down. Realistically, you could've taken them, probably. But you didn't chance anything, not with Judith; if you died, she would have nobody. Or at least, right now she would.

It was later in the day, lunch maybe based on the fact that they were eating. One's back to you, you realize this to be the perfect moment. You could take a hostage and demand answers.

Gently kissing Judith's head, you took a deep breath.

And you acted instinctively, pulling out your axe, and jumping behind him. With one fluid move, you pulled your axe in front of his neck. The vein, the vein, the vein-

The other man jumped, "Shit-"

"Don't move," you warned, and the man stalled in place -hands gently raised in the air.

He looked so unaffected from the world, how was he even-

"What do you want from us?" He nearly pleaded, and something in your resolve faltered but you stayed firm, "-Food? Weapons? We- Shit, take it all-"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying to control your emotion. Judith, Judith, Judith-

"Where is Alexandria?"

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #the nurse #nurse!reader #doctor!reader #the lover

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moonlightazriel · 1 year

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⋆⁺₊⋆Son of The Darkness Masterlist ⋆⁺₊⋆

Summary: Hidden for so long The court of shadows thrived, and things were great until the high lord's death, now the next in line should assume the crown of high lord of shadows, will he accept his duties?

Pairing: Azriel X Female OC Reader

Warnings: Smut, war, blood, death, use of alcohol and mature language.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Chapters ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 1 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 2 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 3 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 4 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 5 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 6 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 7 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 8 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 9 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 10 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 11 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 12 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 13 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 14 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 15 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 16 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 17 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 18 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 19 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 20 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 21 ☾₊ ⊹ Chapter 22 ☾₊ ⊹ Epilogue

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Characters aesthetic ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊ ⋆

☾₊ ⊹ Evanore Sephiran: The Good Witch

☾₊ ⊹ Y/N Daera: General of the Nightfall Army

☾₊ ⊹ Azriel Malthalion: The High Lord of Shadows

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Locations ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

☾₊ ⊹ Thera

☾₊ ⊹ Tornan Manor

☾₊ ⊹ Kincardine Club

☾₊ ⊹ Yrila Forest

☾₊ ⊹ How I picture Y/N and Evanore!

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #angst #azriel #azriel x y/n #velaris #night court #moonlightazriel #son of the darkness #masterlist

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 4 months

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Se Zaldrizoti' Prumia - Chapter 9: The Ticking of Time

Chapter 9: The Ticking of Time

The primal urge to survive oft drives decisions made in haste.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Slight angst, Otto Hightower, flashbacksssss

Word Count: 8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: Happy Christmas Eve to all who celebrate! Finally, the long awaited chapter 9. I hope you enjoy! (and psst, a small Christmas surprise coming soon! Unfortunately, it's not chapter 10, but hopefully you'll be as happy ;)

lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics !

The smell of rose oil permeated the air of Queen Alicent’s chambers, and the sounds of Aegon smashing his wooden dragon toy against his wooden tower toy could be heard, as the boy made roaring noises. Alicent watched the scene with slight amusement, as Helaena sat on her lap, docile, a rare moment of serenity. It was much needed, especially after the recent scandal that rocked the Red Keep and her contentious conversation with Rhaenyra a week prior.

Speaking of serenity…

Alicent trailed her gaze to a forlorn looking figure, sitting next to Aegon on the lushly woven Myrish carpet, her skirts splayed as she absentmindedly fiddled with a wooden dragon toy.

“You’ve been quiet,” Alicent noted, trying to breach your diminished figure. She hesitated on whether to verbalise what she knew your mind was occupied with, “Are…are you still angry at Prince Daemon’s latest transgressions?”

Once again, the tranquillity of nightfall had descended upon the Red Keep. The King’s solar was empty after the boisterous dinner that Viserys was lording over, elated to have his brother by his side again. Viserys and Rhaenyra had long since retired to bed, and now, there was only you and Daemon.

Daemon lay sprawled on the large settee, looking bored as he twirled a newly forged dagger in his hands, gifted by his ever generous brother to celebrate his return. The firelight glinted off the large ruby set in the pommel, and he weighed it between his hands. Not Valyrian steel, like Dark Sister was, but he tended to cherish any gifts his brother gave that were not disappointment or frustration. Which was a rarity.

Daemon’s bored gaze trailed to your figure, looking far too relaxed as you sat on the other end of the settee, face burrowed in a heavy tome. Daemon groaned, trying to get your attention and stop reading that godsforsaken book, but you only hummed, nonchalant, flipping to the next page. Daemon narrowed his eyes.

Your attention was fully invested in a chapter about the medicinal properties of hemlock in the newest tome you had successfully bribed the maesters for, when a sudden poke at your cheek caused an indignant noise to be elicited from your throat. “What in the Seven Hells,” you snapped your tome shut to glare at Daemon’s smug face, resting so close to your lap it made your heart thud in your chest. “Are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention,” he said simply, putting his dagger down onto the tea table.

You levelled an unimpressed look at him. “And that required you to poke me in the cheek? What are you, five?”

“Perhaps.”

You huffed, vexed, picking up your tome again. “Byka zaldrizes, I gave up precious time that could be spent doing something else just to spend it with you. Surely, you can spare this forlorn prince of yours some of your attention.”

“Well, no one asked you to,” you said drily, your eyes flickering as they darted between the lines. “And we all know that your time will be spent mucking about in the Street of Silk, in some unlucky whore’s bed or getting drunk in your cups like some undignified ruffian.”

“Anyone who has the good fortune of bedding me is touched by the gods themselves,” Daemon’s snarky tone made you roll your eyes. Him and his overinflated ego. “And your assumptions wound me, byka zaldrizes. Do you not trust that my time in the Stepstones have made me more mature?”

Daemon was delighted by you putting your book down again, only to be greeted by your deadpan stare. “...are you still in possess of a cock?”

Daemon cocked a brow, eyes shifting down as if pretending to check. “I do believe so, yes. It would be a tragedy if I wasn’t.” You flashed him a sweetly sardonic smile, “Then I do believe no more needs to be said.”

Daemon groaned when you returned to reading your book, debating on the merits of just slapping it out of your hand. It would result in some very colourful language bursting from your lips, but it would be fun.

“Truly, your faith in me is awe-inspiring,” Daemon remarked sarcastically. “And what if I said that this time I promise to stay for the foreseeable future?”

You tilted your head to the side, detracted from your book once more. “Somehow I do not believe that. Trouble always seems to find you one way or another.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, flashing you a devastatingly handsome grin that you had to fight a strange squirming sensation in your stomach. “Then I swear to the Seven Gods that I will stay out of trouble. I won’t curb my excursions to Flea Bottom of course,” Daemon added, seeing your incredulous look. “A man does have his urges. And you know of my nature.” Daemon smirked. “But I think I’m capable enough not to commit another act that would warrant exile. Don’t you think?”

Your answering laugh echoed throughout the solar. But for a brief moment, you had believed him. After all, what more trouble could Daemon possibly incur?

You finally broke out of your empty daze, letting out a low, slightly hoarse laugh. “I am. But he is not the only object of my ire,” you admitted, sighing as you lowered your eyes to where Aegon was banging his wooden dragon against the carpet. Thank the Seven it was soft or he would’ve dented the dragon by now.

Confusion wrinkled Alicent’s features, but then her eyes shone with comprehension. “...are you perhaps feeling some anger towards Rhaenyra?”

Your head snapped up, a slightly horrified look painted on your face. “No, of course not. Daemon is fully to blame for this situation.”

You took a deep breath, feeling shame course through you like boiling water through your veins. You had known, that in some awful way, your conversation with Rhaenyra had indirectly led to the explosion of this scandal. Now, Daemon was exiled again - though you couldn't care less about that - Rhaenyra’s virtue had been called into question, and she was forced to hastily wed Ser Laenor. And the guilt had been eating you alive ever since. But you had not known your harmless words would lead to such a catastrophic end. ‘I am not cut out for this,’ you thought glumly to yourself. ‘That wise paragon of advice I was trying to emulate. I never was any of that.’

‘How foolish of me to play at a role I lack the foresight for.’

Nonetheless, your thoughts returned to the person who is mainly to blame for this situation.

‘Stupid, stupid Daemon,’ you cursed in your head, fingers tightening around the wooden dragon toy. ‘How stupid of me to believe that he could’ve changed, that he couldn’t sink any lower. Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

At least one somewhat good thing had arisen out of this mess. The ‘resignation’ of Otto Hightower.

Though many knew it was just a term meant to preserve the dignity of the former Lord Hand.

You were not sorry to see the man go - you had disliked him ever since his orchestration of the debacle with Alicent and Viserys years ago. However, you were sorry to see Alicent’s distraught state for the past few days. You understood her - she was all alone now, this was almost as great of a loss to her as Aemma’s loss to you was. Being bereft of a figure of comfort and support.

You studied Alicent, noting the slight eye bags under her eyes. You made a mental note to brew her a stronger chamomile tea - both to alleviate her stresses after pregnancy and to improve her quality of sleep.

A sudden knock sounded at the door, and Alicent’s older cousin and one of her ladies-in-waiting, Malena Hightower, entered the room, curtsying. “Your Grace,” you were surprised when Malena turned to you instead.

“Lady Y/N…a messenger came by earlier. He wished for me to convey the Hand…I mean, Ser Otto’s,” Malena recovered from her bluster with a slight flush, but you noticed Alicent’s face briefly crumple when she heard her father’s title reversion back to Ser. You felt a twinge of sympathy. “He wished for me to convey that Ser Otto wishes to have a discussion with you.”

The clattering of a teacup on the floor startled the both of us. Alicent looked embarrassed at her clumsiness, as a servant rushed in upon hearing the noise. “Pardon me. Malena, did my father disclose the reason why he wishes for an audience with my chief lady-in-waiting?” You were unnerved by Alicent’s uncharacteristic sharp tone. It was like…she was angry at her father.

Malena looked similarly unnerved. “Your Grace, I apologise. I do not know. The messenger just said that Ser Otto requested for Lady Y/N’s presence in his study whenever she was available.”

Alicent kept a calm facade, but inside, her heart was thumping like a surge of wild animals. ‘Is what I have been fearing about to come true? Y/N-’ Alicent swung her gaze to yours, where you were conversing discreetly with Malena.

“Thank you, Malena. If the messenger is still there, tell him I will be with him momentarily.” Alarm surged through Alicent’s body. She quickly handed Helaena over to the startled servant who had just finished picking up the shattered cup and disposed of it, stepping towards you.

“Y/N, I do not think you should go.” The words were out of her mouth before she could suppress them. Perplexed, you stared at the younger girl, noticing her panic. It unsettled you.

You tried to shoot her a reassuring smile. “Alicent, Your Grace-” Alicent immediately motioned for Malena and the servant holding Helaena to retreat out of the room when she noticed you addressing her by her title. They evacuated the room with haste.

Alicent seized both of your hands in hers, a gesture that startled you with its intensity and urgency. “No, do not go. Please,” she begged, her eyes flickering with a violent storm of conflicting emotions. She knew she should be obedient to her father, and that the meeting could be harmless, but a wrenching gut feeling told her it was not so.

You looked worried: what exactly had gotten into Alicent? It was unlike her to break her composure, and by such a simple request. Alarm bells began tolling in your head, and just as you were about to tell her that you wouldn’t go, a knock sounded at the door, and you and Alicent promptly broke apart from your intimate stance.

Malena re-entered the room, along with a man you recognised as one of Otto’s household knights, Ser Garrick Pommingham. This was bad. Alicent made a strangled noise in her throat as she beheld Ser Garrick. It was serious enough that her father had sent a household knight to deliver the message, but Ser Garrick? He was one of her father’s oldest household knights, and fiercely loyal and trusted by Otto. It was clear that the invitation was not one that both you nor Alicent had any say in.

“My Queen.” Ser Garrick bowed reverently to Alicent, before turning to you and giving you a smaller bow. “Lady Y/N. Shall I escort you to my liege?”

Any of Alicent’s protests were immediately silenced, as she wrung her hands helplessly. There was no fighting against Ser Garrick, who was an extension of her father, and a bull-headed man at that - always priding himself on completing all his tasks to perfection.

You knew as well, so you could only give Alicent a small, reassuring smile, trying to comfort her. Steeling yourself, you turned to Ser Garrick with a composed smile.

“Lead the way, Ser.”

The Tower of the Hand had been the site of a flurry of activity over the past few days, as various servants and household knights bustled in and out of the rooms, carrying and loading up boxes of belongings into carriages to be transported back to Oldtown.

Otto watched his servants move his things out of his nearly vacant study with an oddly impassive look, as he stewed in his own thoughts at his dismissal. He never thought that he would take up residence in Oldtown ever again, but how quickly the tide could be changed here in King’s Landing.

The sound of a knock at the door roused him from his thoughts, and soon enough, his loyal household knight, Ser Garrick, showed in the guest he had been expecting.

“Ah, Lady Y/N. I thank you for coming on such short notice.”

You entered the room, the skirts of your rose pink gown swishing as you moved into the study. Wariness was woven in every bone of your body, your muscles taut with tension. “Ser Otto,” you nodded at him, not missing how the former Hand’s frame turned stiff at the reversion of his title back to Ser.

“What matter has caused you to ask me to your study at such a busy time?”

Otto took a seat at the lavishly appointed chair at his desk. The same desk where he had spent so many nights toiling for King Viserys. Though the chair could no longer be called rightfully his, he leaned into it, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you did so, though not without reluctance.

"I do not wish to take up too much of your time, as my own time is precious too," Otto stated, his voice blunt as he leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the oak of the desk.

"I have a proposal for you."

A frown furrowed your eyebrows, but you tried not to show it, smoothing out your skirts instead. “And what is that proposal? I am most interested to hear it.”

Otto smirked slightly at the small note of sarcasm he detected in your voice. Normally, he would be irked at such disrespect, but it was evident from this that you wished not to play any games. ‘A woman who cuts straight to the chase,’ he thought to himself. ‘No wonder Prince Daemon was drawn to her.’

It made things much simpler anyway.

“I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage,” Otto stated bluntly as he waited for your reaction.

Meanwhile, you were frozen, as if roots had suddenly sprung from the ground and trapped you in the chair. ‘My hand in marriage?’ The words echoed through your brain. You suddenly recalled Alicent’s guilt stricken expression as she watched you leave her apartments.

“Ser Otto,” you said quietly. “Surely you are jesting.”

Otto looked unruffled at that. “I do not jest about such matters, Lady Y/N.” You let some of the incredulity you were feeling slip into your expression. “Allow me to explain the merits of our match,” Otto said calmly, leaning back into his chair.

“Though I am ashamed of having done so, I had overheard your shouting match with your father at the Kingswood many moons ago.” This made you wince. You did not blame the man, the both of you probably shouted loud enough that those at the Wall could hear you.

“I understand you are seeking a match, by the end of this year in fact. Which is less than two moons away,” Otto observed you as you tried not to squirm under his intense gaze. “Quite a pressing predicament.”

Otto sighed. “I know, my dismissal has not made me the most…appealing of matches. What with my status as a second son, standing to inherit nothing short of some wealth and meagre land holdings. However, as you well know, you are not the most appealing of matches as well.”

When you looked offended, Otto only went on blandly, “Please, do not take offence, Lady Y/N. My words do not come from a place of malice. It is true though, is it not? While you are lovely, your age is not one to be overlooked. You are turning- twenty six? Twenty seven this year? Many lords in Westeros consider this to be well past your prime.” Otto’s eyes glinted. “And the reputation of your…ah, headstrongness, is well known across the Seven Kingdom. As well as your long string of marriage rejections.”

Otto shrugged, “That aside, think pragmatically. I am moving back to take up residence in Oldtown once more. Should you go with me, you would be much closer to home than here in King’s Landing.” Otto could still see the dubiousness in your eyes, and he knew he had to sweeten the deal up a little more. “And besides, I would not require any children of you.” He knew he had you again when your gaze shot up from looking down fixedly at the wood of his desk. “I am already a widower, with a daughter as Queen and four other strong sons. You would be under no pressure to produce heirs for me. And as a second son, my children stand to inherit next to nothing anyway. Moreover, if you are worried of any mistreatment, fret not. You are my daughter’s dearest companion, and a mother figure to her too. I will treat you with utmost respect”

You eyed him warily, finally speaking up. “You’ve stated many demerits of this match as well, Ser Otto. Do you truly think it worth it for the both of us to pursue such a match?”

Otto’s eyes glinted. She was more crafty than he thought. He would have to hammer down the point a little. “Though my inheritance is not rich in titles, I can assure you, it is not something to be overlooked. You would live comfortably, and be free to pursue any of your interests. I heard from the Maesters that you have an interest in healing and scholarly affairs. What better place to expand your knowledge than in Oldtown, home of the Citadel and some of the finest minds in Westeros?”

Your gaze sharpened at that, he clearly had been keeping tabs on you for a while now. Though his offer was not without temptation of its own. “But why me?” you pressed. “As you have said, I am past my prime and have a wild temper at that. The only merits I possess are my lineage and heirship to Highgarden, and my father has already taken a new wife, so that hangs in the balance as well.”

Otto smiled, “And that alone is enough.” Otto stood up, slowly walking over to your chair. He took your hand gently, and kissed the back of your hand softly. A frown was etched on your lips, and Otto knew it was best to let the matter go. For now.

“I shall give you some time to consider it,” Otto rumbled softly, helping you out of your chair. “But the clock is ticking, Lady Y/N. Both for you and I. Once I depart for Oldtown in a few days, the offer shall be rescinded.” His expression was one of faux concern. “And do you truly believe that you would be able to find any other man of suitable standing to court you before your father’s deadline?”

‘Even now he was not telling the truth, and trying to use wily means to stoke your deepest insecurities to his own gain,’ you thought, regarding the man before you in disdain. The both of you knew the truth of why he sought your hand, not out of compassion or sympathy, but to climb his way back up the political ranks. All of court knew how close you were with the members of House Targaryen, and that you were an ear of the King. otto was clearly trying to use you for his own designs, the same way he had used Alicent, and foist Aegon up onto the Iron Throne, whilst gaining more influence over Viserys - as if he hadn’t have enough already. Disgust pulsed through you.

You shot Otto a haughty look, brushing off his hand. “This is still a personal matter, Ser Otto, and I mislike the tone of your voice. As a stranger, you would do well to refrain from making comments on my personal life.”

Otto nodded stiffly. “Of course. I apologise. I overstepped. Shall I escort you back to my daughter’s chambers then?”

“No need, thank you.” You were eager to put as much distance between you and Otto as soon as possible. And you couldn’t possibly see Alicent with your mind in such a jumbled state. You bowed your head stiffly, “I bid you farewell, Ser. I will…consider your proposal.” He nodded, but you could see his gaze was filled with calculation as you turned your back on him and walked away.

“Lady Y/N.” Otto’s voice halted you just as your hand was on the door handle. “Just a question.”

“Do you really think that staking your bets on Prince Daemon would result in a good end?” You stilled, turning around to face him yet again. Your eyes met his cool green ones. “I do not understand what you mean, Ser Otto.”

“What I meant was,” Otto’s voice was blunt. “I do not think marrying Prince Daemon would bode well for you, if you wish to be closer to the centre of power.”

You stared incredulously at him, swivelling around to face him fully once again. “I’m afraid you have it all wrong, Ser. I never had that sort of intention.”

“Ask yourself, do you really believe that?” Otto’s voice was challenging. “Because I do not think you know your heart well enough..”

Astonished and angered by his boldness, you took a step back closer to the door. “Forgive me, Ser Otto, but I do not think you would know my heart better than I do.” You turned to leave, pulling open the door.

“Search your heart deeply, Lady Y/N,” Otto called out. “You will find my words will ring true.” You didn’t respond, instead choosing to shut the door firmly behind you, leaving Otto Hightower and his delusions of grandeur behind.

The Red Keep was blessed with a particularly pleasant chill this day, in the midst of a harsh autumn and an impending harsher winter. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admire the red and russet leaves as you normally did, instead wandering aimlessly around the Red Keep like a wraith.

It was completely absurd for Otto Hightower to think that you got close to Daemon for ulterior motives. Marriage? With that insufferable punk? You snorted. You could barely stand his presence most of the time, let alone marriage.

It was strange, however. Daemon had always been handsome, dangerously so, and charming, and that had never had an effect on you in the least. But ever since Aemma’s death…ever since his return from the Stepstones. You couldn’t lie, there was something there. The first stirrings of a fire.

Well, that fire would never burn on damp logs anyway, and that was all thanks to Daemon’s stupidity. You grumbled to yourself, shuddering that you might have carried a torch for Daemon fucking Targaryen.

You decided to venture into one of the courtyards found in the Red Keep. Perhaps some greenery would restore your senses, and provide a balm for your dilemma. Whatever were you supposed to do? There was no escaping the fact that it was nigh impossible to find a good match within two moons, one that would satisfy both you and your father’s expectations. But was marrying Otto Hightower really your only option? In all your worst nightmares, you never imagined that it could get so bad. While you did not share Daemon’s intense hatred for the man, the man made your skin crawl, with his pleasantries disguising a shrewd mind of warped traditional beliefs.

‘Could I really be happy with a man like that?’

Lost in thought, you didn’t realise you had company until you caught sight of a tall figure with blonde hair, sitting under the shade of a huge willow tree, an intent expression on his face as he sketched away on a piece of parchment. Curious, you approached the lone figure to get a closer look. As you stepped closer however, your heel crunched on a branch, causing the mysterious stranger’s head to snap up. Your eyes snagged onto the sigil pinned to his tunic.

A Beesbury.

You inclined your head apologetically, “Beg your pardon, I did not mean to disturb you.” The young man from House Beesbury laughed, scooping up his parchment before walking towards you and bowing. “Lady Y/N. Do not apologise, my day has been made infinitely better by your presence.”

You let out a small chuckle at his flattering, giving him a discrete once over. Exactly who was this man? Clearly you were not subtle enough, given the fact that he bowed once more, placing a hand to his chest as he did. “You must forgive my rudeness, my lady. My name is Alan Beesbury. My father, Lord Lyman Beesbury, serves on the Small Council as Master of Coin.” You let out a surprise “Oh!” before dipping your head politely. “Ser Alan. You must forgive me, I did not recognise you.”

Ser Alan smiled brightly, unbothered. “Tis alright, my lady. Granted, I have never been introduced to you in a formal setting, so it is understandable you do not know me.” “How did you recognise me then, ser?” you inquired. “I visited Highgarden with my father a few years ago, and caught sight of you with your lord father. I deeply regret that I was not able to make your acquaintance then. Although it seems,” Alan grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief, “That I am lucky enough to behold your beautiful visage once more, my lady. You have only grown lovelier throughout the years.” You couldn’t refrain from snorting lightly, “You have quite the honeyed tongue, ser.” “Well, it is a useful skill at court. And to charm the ladies I have taken a fancy to.” he winked. “Would you grant me the honour of your company, my lady? It has been naught but two days since my arrival, and I find that I am in need of a guide to this vast keep.” An amused smile graced your lips, as you thought about his offer. He might be a flirt, and awfully forward, but he seemed a jolly enough fellow, and it would be rude to reject his company. And…it would be a good distraction.

“I am at your disposal, ser.” He gallantly offered you his arm, and you took it. As you strolled through the hallways of the Red Keep, passing servants shot you strange looks, but you ignored them. “So, what brings you to the Red Keep, ser?” “Ah, my lord father summoned me to court to attend the upcoming nuptials for Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon.” Alan made a face that was so offended you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “He also thought it a good window of opportunity for me to find a lady wife.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your mind going back to your unpleasant conversation with Otto Hightower. Not wanting to seem impolite, you quickly added, “I wish you luck in your search, ser.” He smiled, although the joy did not reach his eyes. “Thank you, my lady. You are too kind.”

Ser Alan halted abruptly, startling you when you noticed you had stopped next to a flowering bush. Carefully, he plucked a gorgeous, striking yellow rose, moving to tuck it behind your ear. “A magnificent rose, befitting a charming lady as yourself, my lady.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his spontaneous show of chivalry. “I have to admit, ser, that you are the first man who has shown me this courtesy. I thank you most humbly.”

“My father has always educated me about the importance of courtesy, especially to a lady.” Ser Alan shrugged, a sheepish grin painted on his features. “So long as it makes you happy, milady.” You strolled through the garden, chatting as he inquired about your life at court, which you happily indulged. Gradually, you forgot about Otto Hightower and Rhaenyra and Alicent as you conversed with him, too lost in trading anecdotes and playful jabs with each other about some rather insufferable personalities at court. You realised you found his company rather pleasing: he was attentive, and clearly a gentleman, but not to the extent where it was ridiculously cheesy. He wasn’t dreadful company either, he seemed sincere to get to know his talking companion, instead of endlessly bragging about himself or his long list of achievements. And behind his sweet words, he also hid a sharp sense of wit and humour. He was an ideal husband, the thought struck you like lightning. You could feel the cogs in your head begin to turn. You might have just found a way to escape Otto Hightower’s offer after all.

“May I confess something, my lady?” Ser Alan’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You may speak freely with me, ser.” you hesitated, before asking him, “Is it alright if I call you Alan, instead?”

Ser Alan’s eyes widened, and you were a little afraid you had pushed your boundaries a little too far, but he soon broke out in a genuine smile. “If only I can call you Y/N in return, my lady.” You found yourself returning his smile with one of your own. “Then it is settled then. What were you going to say, Alan?” “To be honest, Y/N, I was extremely elated to run into you today.” Catching sight of your puzzled face, he hurriedly rushed to explain, “You see, I had sent a few marriage proposals to you before. Well at least my father has. I thought you quite brilliant despite my brief encounter with you at Highgarden. You radiate warmth, even at first glance, and I was rather drawn to you. Which was why I was so happy to have been able to have the fortune to bump into you here today. The Seven have truly blessed me.”

“I see…” you murmured. “You are rather forward, aren’t you, Alan?” Alan looked unashamed of that. “I am a firm believer that being coy often robs us of opportunities in life, Y/N.” An amused smile twitched at your lips, “A bold philosophy, though certainly a wise one.” You took some deep breaths, debating on the gamble you were about to take. It was risky as hell. You barely knew anything about the man. It could end in disaster. But then again, your recent track record of decisions had led to bigger disasters than this.

‘And do you truly believe that you would be able to find any other man of suitable standing to court you before your father’s deadline?‘

How life could change with just one decision.

“Alan.” you began slowly, swallowing as you braced myself.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“...does your marriage proposal still stand, by any chance?”

Throughout your time at court, you had not been well acquainted with Lord Lyman Beesbury. A jolly enough man, and sharp of wit and tongue despite his old age was all that you knew of him.

What you did not expect was how excited the man could be.

“Oh, this is fantastic, wonderful news,” Lord Lyman exclaimed, grabbing your hands and shaking them vigorously. You looked over to Alan with a bewildered expression, and he simply smiled and mouthed, ‘He’s always like this. Don’t mind it.’

“To think my son would finally settle down, and to Lady Tyrell at that,” Lyman continued to ramble on, and you were a little worried that the old man might collapse from the joy. “A fine, fine choice you’ve made, son. A fine choice. I couldn’t be prouder…”

You were mortified at how eager Lord Lyman seemed to be at the prospect of your marriage, but inside, you were secretly relieved. Otto Hightower had not sent word after news of your engagement with Ser Alan had disseminated through the castle, in no part thanks to the gossips who sniped at how the two of you barely had a courtship before your engagement. You had heard many whispers and murmurings of how desperate you must be to be driven to this point, but you didn’t care. You would take marrying Ser Alan any day over Otto Hightower.

No one was, of course, happier than Lord Matthos Tyrell at the word of his daughter’s engagement. From the way the reply to your letter had a few suspicious stains here and there, it seems a few tears had been shed. You could only muster a small smile at that, however.

Alan had been the perfect gentleman over the past two weeks, showering you with gifts such as flowers or jewels - as fitting a suitor does to a lady - spending time with you, taking strolls with you, oftentimes visiting you while you were carrying out your duties as lady-in-waiting to Alicent and the like. Time after time, you would find Alicent’s gaze trailing across Alan doubtfully, like she was trying to scrutinise him for any signs of ill will, but you had reassured her in private that he was wonderful. But all she had to say was:

“It is in human nature not to show who they truly are until later on, Y/N. I am just concerned.”

Alicent’s words made you a little ill at ease, as you knew as much. You’ve heard so many horror stories over the years from ladies whose husband’s affections for them evaporated like morning dew upon their marriage after all, and seen enough examples.

But you had made your gamble, and you must live with the consequences. No matter how dire they may be.

The candles in the King’s private bed chambers and living space flickered as the doors opened with a loud creak, and you stepped in quietly. The room looked empty, and so you decided to walk around for a bit.

And that’s when your heart nearly stopped.

There she was.

Rendered in vivid oils, the likeness of Aemma stared out at you with that gentle, comforting smile. Her visage encased within an intricately carved gold frame with dragons, and a makeshift shrine with candles decorated her portrait. Your heart was suddenly gripped with unbearable pain.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Viserys’ voice rang out from behind you, as he walked slowly to stand next to you, staring almost reverently up at her portrait. You couldn’t speak, your throat was closing up at the threat of tears that threatened to overwhelm and spill out from your eyes. You tilted your head down, unable to look anymore at that familiar, haunting smile.

The press of a small white candle into your hand startled you. Viserys regarded you with a knowing sadness. “I thought you might like to honour her. We haven’t…done so in a while. Together as a family.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now. Gingerly, you reached over and lit the candle, placing it on the shrine. You bowed your head, thinking of how much things have changed ever since her passing. How much you have had to change.

“She would be so pleased to know that you were getting married,” Viserys lamented, gently touching oil-painting-Aemma’s hand. “From what I can recall, it had always been one of her greatest wishes to see you happily married.”

You offered him a hollow smile at that. The joys of marriage had not yet made itself known to you, if you were even capable of it. And now, your head was too occupied with memories.

“You’re in a terribly grumpy mood,” Aemma commented, as she reached for a roll of warm buttered bread to go with her third cup of tea. Her light blue eyes were filled with amusement as she watched you prop your head up from where you had lain it on the table, a disgruntled expression on your features. “Dare I inquire for the reason?”

“Father has sent me another list of eligible bachelors,” you grumbled, helping Aemma refill her teacup, which she sighed exasperatedly at that. When it was just the two of you alone, she preferred for you not to serve her as lady-in-waiting, instead being more at ease and natural with her as her friend. But despite your attempts at overturning this habit, you found yourself unable to. Touch and small gestures were how you expressed your feelings after all.

“From which kingdom is it for this time?” Aemma asked in a joking tone, putting a strawberry tart in her mouth as she stroked her small baby bump that had begun to show after four moons.

“The Stormlands this time,” you sighed, dispiritedly popping a tart with an unknown yellow fruit in your mouth. The tangy sweetness, yet slight sourness of the fruit made you cheer up a little.

“That’s a mango tart. Some merchants from the Summer Isles exported it to us,” Aemma explained, carefully noting your expression.

“I wish I could live in the Summer Isles,” you sighed, popping another one of those tarts into your mouth. “And be done with all this bother. For Seven’s sake, I’m only twenty one. There’s still plenty of time.”

“Yes, for you to develop wrinkles,” Aemma jested, letting out a laugh at your mortally offended face. “My queen, is it customary for you to insult your subjects in their time of distress?” You asked with faux hurt in your voice.

“Perhaps I am a secret tyrant,” Aemma smirked slightly, lifting her teacup to her lips. “I am serious though, Y/N. You've been by my side as my lady-in-waiting for nearly two years, and we have known each other since we were children. You watched me get married to Viserys, be crowned as Queen, and giving birth to Rhaenyra. When will I get to witness some of your happy moments?”

You gave her a deadpan look. “Aemma. I truly see no joy in getting married now. I’m still too young.” Aemma tried to hold in a sigh. “”And when will that be? Moons later? Years? A decade? When you’re old and grey?”

“When I am ready, Aemma.” You stated, voice tinged with determination. “But when?” Aemma pressed. “Not to fear, I will definitely get married sometime during your lifetime,” you reassured her in a joking tone. “Perhaps when you’ve lived to seventy years…”

Aemma threw the throw cushion she was holding in her lap at you, and you caught it, laughing, as Aemma shook her head in fond exasperation. “You’re insufferable.”

Aemma looked at you, laughter dancing in your eyes as you changed the topic back to how you were going to answer your father’s newest letter. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Do whatever you want, Y/N. I just hope that you will never sacrifice your happiness for the sake of something else.

A small tear plopped to the weathered ground of the King’s chambers as you managed to choke out, “She would be. I just wish…she could be here to see it.”

Viserys had a slightly guilty look on his face as you turned your gaze back to the portrait, confronting all the painful, bittersweet memories in all their blazing intensity.

It was time to stop running.

“When did you get this portrait commissioned?” The small semblance of a smile appeared on Viserys’ face again. “It is a story in itself, actually. Back when Aemma was…” Viserys’ voice hitched. “Pregnant…with Baelon, I had commissioned an artist from Volantis to paint it, as a gift to Aemma. Honouring her for giving us our-” Viserys choked up, his voice cracking. “For giving us our son.”

Your fists clenched slightly. “And then when Aemma…I was so lost. I couldn’t bring myself to look at any portraits of her, so I stopped work on the painting.” Viserys looked like he wanted to pull portrait Aemma out of the frame she was trapped in, by sheer will of anguish.

“But I had a change of heart. Three months after I named Rhaenyra as heir, I had moved on. I finally felt…peace. Like I have taken a step to atonement. So I gave word for the artist to continue, wanting to place it in the Gallery of Dragons after it was done.” The Gallery of Dragons was an art gallery in the Red Keep which honoured previous Targaryen rulers and royals who had passed. “But then he died when Alicent and I married.”

“Oh dear,” you murmured softly under your breath, and Viserys let out a ragged laugh, before bursting into a fit of coughing. You moved to help him to a chair, but he held out a hand, his focus on Aemma.

“I thought it a sign from the ancestors, from the Gods, that I should let go,” Viserys voiced out tiredly. “And so the painting remained untouched, and I thought I’d never see it to its finish. That the chapter would remain closed forever.”

“Then when Helaena was born, the head royal artist decided to take on the job.” “Why?” You asked. You knew that the head royal artist, an old kindly man, had deeply revered Queen Aemma, for he was of the Vale and Aemma had brought him to court as part of her entourage, where he quickly rose up in the ranks. His previous occupation as a woodworker apparently served his artistic abilities well.

“He was in his final days, and he wished for that to be the last painting he ever did.” Viserys smiled, his head drooping. “And I am glad he did.”

Silence fell over the room as you two continued admiring the painting of your beloved Aemma. “Her eyes seem imbued with life, don’t you think?” You mentioned in a soft voice. “It’s like she is about to start talking any second now.” Viserys let out a hoarse sounding laugh, coughing again. This time it sounded more serious, but he waved away your concern all the same. “They are. The artists did a good job.”

You were surprised when Viserys shuffled away to a chest on a table, rummaging through it before taking something out. It turned out to be some strange looking thin red sticks.

“In Old Valyria, while there were many gods that people worshipped, the way they honoured their dead were the same,” Viserys explained quietly, handing you a stick, which you took, bewildered. “They would light it, then bow three times before the deceased’s portrait. It was said that a soul connection would then be forged between you and the person you were mourning, and you could convey a message to them.”

“It sounds…” you tried to find the words to describe it. “...poetic.”

“I thought so too. Shall we?”

The two of you lit up the sticks, and a sweetly smoky smell emitted from them as they were lit. you followed Viserys’ lead, bowing your head three times, before closing your eyes.

You hesitated on what to say, but eventually settled on, ‘I’m getting married, Aemma. I wish you were alive to witness it…but I know you would be delighted in the afterlife. I hope you are doing well.’

‘I hope you’ve seen how much I’ve grown. I hope you’re proud of me.’

“Are you happy, Y/N?” Viserys’ voice broke you out of your thoughts. For a moment, you look lost at what to respond. Were you happy? Though you didn’t feel the typical, dizzy excitement that the poets talked about when getting married, you felt something steady, something reassuring. Contentment.

“I am.”

“Truly?” Viserys’ pressing made you hesitate a little, but you pulled a smile on your face and answered. “I am. Really. Alan is a good man, and I am ready to begin a new chapter in my life.”

Viserys finally began to relax, the tension visibly seeping out of his muscles. “Then I am most pleased for you. Though I never envisioned you to marry, and a selfish part of me wishes you would not have to leave this court, I am happy for you.”

You bowed, a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Viserys. It means a lot to me.”

His next words made you temporarily stunned into silence however. “Of course, I have also prepared your dowry. I have made sure that while it is lacking compared to Rhaenyra’s, that it is not to be underestimated. A ransom of jewels and gold as well as some antiques - Lord Beesbury does love his antiques. Some of those diamonds and sapphires are the finest I have ever seen.”

Your mouth was agape. “Viserys, there is no need for you to-” Viserys talked over you, taking your hand. “But there is.” He looked at you with heartfelt gratitude and affection. “You are family to me, Y/N. It is the least I can do for you, for such a momentous occasion.”

Your gaze softened as you began tearing up. “I cannot accept this. My father is already-” “I know, Y/N,” Viserys silenced you again. “But it’s not just for your dowry. Majority of the jewels and gold are for you.”

You were now even more horrified and confused than before. “For me?” Viserys regarded you with a fond exasperation that almost made you weep at his similarity to Aemma’s. “For you, you silly goose. In the event…you are unhappy with your match, those jewels and gold should be sufficient for you to start a sizeable fund of your own. And of course, I will welcome you back to court with open arms at any time.”

You couldn’t see past the blurry haze of tears and the painful throbbing of your heart, but the next thing you knew, Viserys was hugging you tightly back as you embraced him, choking with quiet sobs. He was crying himself a little too. “I only hope that you will be happy for the rest of your days, Y/N,” Viserys murmured, gently patting your back. Your body shook with violent sobs. “I…will. I promise. I thank you most gratefully for your generosity.”

The two of you stayed like this for a while, before you awkwardly broke apart when the tears had stopped flowing. “The hour is quite late,” Viserys noted, feeling a little fatigued. You smiled weakly, still reeling from the shock. “That it is. I should be returning to my chambers then.”

Viserys nodded, looking at you with fondness in his gaze. “Of course. You must still help me plan for Rhaenyra’s upcoming nuptials. And for your own. I would not want to impose on you any further.”

You curtsied slightly, “Then I shall retire for the night then.” You hesitated, looking at Aemma’s portrait one last time, many thoughts running through your head. A final goodbye. “Good night, Viserys.”

Viserys watched her leave, and the world suddenly seemed darker, much heavier. Like it had been since Aemma died. Coughs shook Viserys’ body, and he wearily took out a handkerchief to cover his mouth, careful not to let his spittle fly. A crimson stain slowly pooling at the white cloth was all he saw when he removed the handkerchief from his mouth.

‘And now, I am alone once more.’ Viserys thought grimly, looking back at Aemma. ‘My last reminder of you is gone, and only Rhaenyra remains now. My strength, and my consolation. And my regret.’

Somewhere far away in Pentos, the squawks of a raven could be heard as first light broke across the city. Daemon Targaryen awoke, hair tousled and a disgruntled expression on his face, despite last night’s pleasures. He had dreamed of her. Again. It seemed she was a wraith plaguing his mind ever since that fateful day in Flea Bottom.

His annoyance rose tenfold when he stalked up from his bed to receive the messenger raven. Unfolding the parchment, he took note of the familiar, rather wonky scrawl of someone who had only learnt to write recently. His eyes trailed over the words ‘the Hand has fallen from his high horse’, and he scoffed, smugness lining his features. The next two lines gave him pause, however.

‘The Princess has been betrothed to Ser Laenor.’

‘Lady Y/N Tyrell has been betrothed to Ser Alan Beesbury.’

‘From your loyal companion, Mysaria.’

Se Zaldrizoti' Prumia Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666 @saay-karani @dumbhxeredrose @syviiss @nyenye @ahristata @hiraethrhapsody @babypink224221 @mckenziewhite2005 @justrybca @omgsuperstarg

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those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form!

A/N: One more chapter until the end of Act I!!! AAAHHHHHH. I deeply apologise for my repeated promises to publish only to chicken out at the end, so I shall now refrain from making promises that I cannot make 😭 I hope to get Chapter 10 out before 2024 officially hits (new year new me lol), but no promises there. I'll do my best, however!

As always, thank you for reading this far! Let me know what you thought about this chapter in the comments 💕

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verai-marcel · 2 months

Text

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 22 of 28)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

AO3 Link is here, darling.

Word Count: 4,003

—————————————

Act III, Chapter 1 - The Gate

As you entered the outskirts of the city, you, Halsin, and Karlach split off from the main group to secure your next campground, while the others started looking around for Astarion’s siblings and for Lae’zel’s contact.

You offered a small girl, Yenna, some food and a few coins, but when she asked to join your camp, you looked at the others and you all agreed it would be safer if she didn’t stay with your group.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you said, kneeling down so you speak to her face to face. “It’s dangerous to stay with us. We have enemies, and they could hurt you.”

The little girl nodded. “All right. I understand.”

“We’ll walk with you to the temple, perhaps? Find a safe place for you there,” Karlach said.

You took her to the temple nearby, only to find it closed off.

“Murders? At the temple?” Karlach muttered.

You looked down at the girl. “Perhaps… somewhere else.”

Wandering into the refugee area, you eventually ran into some of the tieflings you had met back in the grove. They agreed to take in the human girl, feeling sorry for her having lost her mum.

“You haven’t seen Mol on your travels, have you?” one of the tiefling children asked.

You shook your head. “No dear, I’m sorry.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for her, alright? I bet she’s alive, that li’l rascal,” Karlach assured them.

“Of course she is! She’s tough,” one of the other kids replied, as if it was obvious.

Leaving Yenna in caring hands, your trio wandered a little further and found an abandoned farmhouse off the beaten path, with a large yard and ruined buildings.

The three of you looked at each other and grinned.

“Perfect.”

***

You had set up nearly everyone’s tents, while Karlach had wandered off to let everyone know where the camp was. Halsin was setting up his own tent, while Scratch & Owly were already running around, sniffing the perimeter and chasing each other around. Owly had certainly grown bigger in the weeks since he had joined your merry little troupe, and you couldn’t let him sit in your lap anymore. He had grown too large and would probably crush your legs at this point.

But he was still lovable and huggable, so when he nearly ran past you, you leapt upon him and hugged him tight. You could hear his childish giggle in your head as you rubbed his belly.

~~More, more!~~

~Me too, me too!~ Scratch added as he joined your puppy pile.

You played with your beloved friends, not realizing that Withers had appeared. His shadow spooked you, and you turned with a gasp.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Hmm.”

“How… do you always find us? And why don’t you just walk with us to our next destination?”

Withers stared at you for a few moments, making you feel uncomfortable. “Thou needest not know.”

You shrugged. As per usual, his non-answer gave nothing away. “Fine.” Giving the two furballs one last pat before shooing them away to play elsewhere, you slowly walked with Withers as he claimed a spot in front of a boarded up, half-ruined building.

“So… You once said that fate brought me here, but it was up to me to stay, right?”

He closed his eyes slowly, then just as slowly, opened them. “I believe I said the rest was up to thee.”

“The rest of what?”

He did not answer.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

You swore you saw a hint of a smile flicker on his dried up lips before he returned to his neutral, almost bored expression.

***

It was nightfall before the others returned, gathering around the campfire and trading stories. You overhead quite a bit, and realized that there was a lot going on. As you flitted about, you could hear fragments of conversation, discussing their next moves.

“Oh, we ran into Orin today.”

“Really? So did we!”

“Wait, who’s Orin again?” you asked, coming closer to the campfire.

They described her, a changeling woman in a red outfit, murder in her eyes and a dangerous aura.

“If you think she’s nearby, just run,” Shadowheart said. “Find one of us if you can.”

You gulped and nodded.

Gods, is it really alright for me to stay with them? If she can impersonate anyone, she could…

You shook your head. You’d just have to stay vigilant.

***

As you finished all your prepwork for the night, you found Astarion sitting by the fire, tossing the feywild bell idly as he stared into the flames. You immediately grabbed it out of the air and clutched it close to your chest.

“Careful with that!” you nearly screeched.

He looked at you. “Calm down, did you really think I would drop it?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

He shrugged.

You suddenly had an idea. “You don’t need this feywild bell anymore, right?”

“I suppose not.” He cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. “You want it so badly?”

“I don’t want anyone else to be tempted to ask her other questions,” you replied. “It’s bad news, messing with a pixie.”

He shrugged. “All right. I guess it doesn’t serve much of a purpose now that we’re here.” He waved a hand dismissively towards you. “You can have it. Just remember that I was nice to you.”

You grinned. “How could I forget? It happens so rarely, it’s like a little treat.”

“Cheeky kitten.”

“Stingy cat.”

***

A few days passed in the relative calm in Rivington, with the others investigating their various leads and returning at night to share notes. They hadn’t gotten much further to figuring out how to get close to Gortash without basically fighting the entirety of the Flaming Fist, nor finding out where Orin was hiding. Lae’zel had been close to getting answers about her issue, but you had overheard them talking about finding another way, because she had been considering making a deal with Raphael.

“You want to sign your soul to a devil?” you had asked Lae’zel later that night.

She had looked away. “I must do what must be done. The Comet will fly free again.”

You sighed. “Don’t throw away your soul so quickly when there may be a better way, with some effort and some planning.”

To your surprise, she had listened to you, and the next day, you had overheard them talking about finding a way into Raphael’s home to steal some kind of weapon.

Okay, not quite what I had in mind, but at least her soul will stay free.

***

On the first day of autumn, the others came back during the middle of the day, to your surprise.

“We found a little place along the harbor,” Jaheira said. “I pulled some strings, so we can use it as our base of operations for now.”

You nodded. “Alright, let’s get going.”

***

Walking through Basilisk Gate and into the city, you couldn’t help the chill of anxiety running through your veins.

The Zhentarim are here. They barely looked for me before, and I doubt they’d even remember the bounty on my head now, even if it was still available. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

And yet despite your logic, your anxiety wouldn’t go away.

You followed the others as they led you and the floating disc full of backpacks, bedrolls, and rolled up tents to the water’s edge. As you approached what appeared to be a dilapidated archway, you didn’t bat an eye. After all, you were used to such shitty locales. However, as you walked through, your jaw dropped. The harbor site was ridiculously huge. It spanned several buildings, an abandoned chapel amongst them, with a magnificent view of the water.

“A little place, Jaheira?” you asked her as you set up the main area up within a large veranda. “This is practically a mansion compared to where we’ve been staying before.” You sidled up to her and eyed her curiously. “What kind of strings did you pull? Garrotes?”

She laughed. “Don’t underestimate the power of a few names,” she said as she took her pack from the floating disc. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pick a good spot for myself.”

You shrugged. Ever since she had permanently joined your group, she had declined your offer to cast your cantrips on her gear, and you respected that. She seemed a relatively private person; you could relate.

Setting up the veranda as the communal area, you hummed peacefully as you worked. A shadow overhead blocked the setting sun for a moment, alerting you to some welcome visitors. You walked over to greet Isobel and Dame Aylin as they landed on the lower level, near the water.

“Do you mind if we stay in your camp for a bit while we get our bearings?”

“Not a problem, although I’m sorry to say we don’t have any spare tents. We do have a couple of extra bedrolls though.”

“They can use my tent,” Shadowheart said. “I… can find other accommodations.”

You blinked. Then you grinned like a cat that had just caught a mouse.

She glared at you.

The others politely said nothing at your silent banter, but you resisted teasing her in front of your guests. “Well, since Shadowheart is being so kind, let me prepare the tent to your preferred temperature.”

***

You entered Astarion’s tent to see him reading that creepy book again. He closed it and heaved a huge sigh.

“Did… did you finish reading it?”

There were shadows beneath his eyes and he looked a bit weary. “Yes, finally.”

“Did you get what you needed out of it?”

He shrugged. “Yes? No? I’m not sure. It is full of terrible secrets, including Cazador’s bloody ‘Rite of Profane Ascension’, but it told me nothing new.”

Then he grinned. “Then again, it was filled with otherworldly power. Which I am more than happy to wield to my advantage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alright, well, as long as the price isn’t too high.”

“And what price would that be?”

“Your soul. Your freedom.”

He put the book away and patted the bedroll beside him. As you knelt down, he promptly laid his head onto your lap. You automatically began to run your hands through his hair, feeling his contentment through the soft touch of your fingers on his scalp.

If he were a cat, I bet he’d be purring right now.

“What if the price was souls other than ours?” he said slowly.

You looked down at him. “This is about ascending, isn’t it?”

“Yes, naturally.”

You blew out a breath. “I don’t think giving a devil any souls is good for anyone, even the contractor.”

Astarion frowned. “I thought you were with me on this. Besides, I’ll need something to protect me from the sun if things don’t work out with our parasite friends. This ritual could set me free.” He sat up and took your hands in his, meeting your eyes and looking a little vulnerable. “And you want what’s best for me, surely?”

You almost wished he was being manipulative, but from your touch, you could tell that he truly thought this was the best way. It would be harder to change his mind since his convictions were true. “Of course I do, but I don’t think it’ll be best for you in the long run.”

“There won’t be a long run if I die in the sunlight,” he replied harshly.

His frustration with you felt like a hot iron pan on your skin, and you flinched, pulling your hands away. He immediately softened his expression.

“I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we’re both safe. Forever, for good.”

“We can be safe if Cazador is killed. Your… colleagues… need not be sacrificed.”

“They’re not sweet innocents. They brought him just as many victims as I did.”

You frowned. Doesn’t that make them the same as you? Or even me, when I had to kill to keep my own life? “You don’t think any of them would spare you, if the situation was reversed?”

“No,” he said definitively. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me.” He paused, taking your hand again. “You’re the first one to care. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re… you. No one is like that.”

“I’m not—”

“Ah, don’t sell yourself so short.” He gently caressed your cheek, a strum of possessiveness plucking its way through the tenderness of his touch. “You’re the only thing in the world I care about. And that’s all that matters to me.”

Warning bells went off in your head as that hum of covetousness grew louder with each caress. Did he just call me a ‘thing’? “Then listen to me. Don’t lose yourself just to gain power.”

He frowned. His hand, which had been gently resting on the back of your neck, suddenly tightened ever so slightly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to see you safe, even if you don’t appreciate it.”

…mine… MINE…

Your heart pounded in fear at the intensity of his emotions, though you could tell that he didn’t realize how much he was projecting. “I… I need some air.”

His anxiety peaked, but you couldn’t deal with it as your own unstable emotions began to make your heart pound. You pulled away from him and left the tent, not letting yourself look back.

Outside in the night air, you took a few calming breaths as you walked toward the edge of the water. The moon shone brightly in the sky, its reflection a silver disc shimmering on the surface of the river.

What is happening to him? Am I really the first person he’s ever cared about? Is that why he’s so focused on keeping me safe?

Staring out toward the horizon, you wondered when he began to see you as more of a possession, and no longer an independent person.

I need to set things straight.

By the time you came back into the tent, Astarion was already in a trance.

Perhaps tomorrow, then.

***

The next morning, bright and early, you awoke alone. Coming out, you noticed that your companions had already left on their adventures, having eaten some cold cuts and fruits.

Missed my chance to talk to Astarion. Dammit. I’ll do it tonight. I hate confrontations, but… I can’t let this slide.

As you were cooking a small breakfast for yourself, you saw to your surprise that Gale had returned.

“How would you like to come with me to Sorcerous Sundries?”

“I thought you and the others already got what you needed from there.”

He shrugged. “Well, yes, but there could be more information there that might help.”

You looked at his hopeful expression for a moment. “No one else wanted to go again, hm?”

He frowned. “I just thought you might want a chance to get out of camp, that’s all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not even Shadowheart wanted to go?”

Gale sighed. “No, not even her.”

Laughing, you patted him on the back. “I’ll accompany you, my friend. After all, I have a few things I’d like to research.”

***

Staring up at the huge tower, you realized that calling it a bookstore was disrespectful. The place was a treasure trove of tomes, a wondrous collection of knowledge and lore that you could barely comprehend. It was hard not to wander off and get lost in all of the aisles, just reading all the titles. Gale told you he was going to have a look around and ask an employee for certain texts, and that he’d meet you at the front desk when he was done. So you wandered off to look for books about songs and the Sylvan language.

My mother may have never taught me Sylvan, but I can at least try on my own… if there is anything here.

After some searching, you managed to find a thin book that had a rudimentary translation of a Sylvan poem. It would have to do for now.

You also found a book from the School of Song that Gale had mentioned a while back, with some introductory songs. Purchasing the two books ate into your gold pouch quite a bit, but it was worth it.

You were already working through one of the songs in your head when Gale came to the front desk.

“Oh? Found something you liked?”

You nodded. “Yes, a book from the School of Song. Hopefully I can learn some new musical spells.”

Gale took you back to the harbor before heading off to find the others. You spent the rest of the afternoon doing some chores around the camp.

By the time the sun set over the water, you could hear some of your companions entering the campsite, sharing their stories of the day.

You realized that Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion hadn’t returned with them.

“Do you know where the others went?” you asked.

Wyll scratched his chin. “Shadowheart mentioned something about finding a lead while searching for her parents.”

You closed your eyes and tried to find that dark purple strand of power that you associated with Shadowheart. Now that you had subtly tried it a few times this past week, analysing the feel of each of your companions’ powers, you could quickly feel them out without having to see them. After half a minute, you gave up. She was too far away.

“I hope they’re okay,” you said.

Wyll patted your shoulder. “They’ll be fine. Karlach is with them, after all,” he said half-jokingly.

You smiled. “You two have gotten along quite well, considering how things started.”

“And to think I was going to kill her, assuming she was a devil of the hells.” He scoffed self-deprecatingly. “She’s a breath of fresh air at the end of a long day. I…”

You watched his eyes widen before his whole expression softened oh so tenderly. “Well, I respect and admire her a great deal,” he finally said.

Gently touching his arm and squeezing it reassuringly, you confirmed your suspicions. You love her. “I’m sure she’d love to hear that from you directly, once she comes back.”

Wyll smiled and nodded. “Once she comes back,” he repeated softly.

Supper time came and went, and the others were still gone. You prepared their tents and set aside a portion of cheese and cold cuts for them in case you were asleep when they returned. As you were cleaning up after the evening meal, you felt a sharp sting to your seal, one you hadn’t felt since…

Oh no. “Wyll!”

He came to you just as Mizora appeared, rising from a hellish portal in the ground, along with two other devils. She gave him an ultimatum, and with you by his side, he stared at the contract, torn between freedom and family.

You grabbed his hand, letting his fear and dread wash over you. Fueling your seal with his emotions, you searched for the right way forward. Please, please help him, guide his path to the happiest possible ending.

“Wyll,” you finally whispered.

He turned to look at you, conflicted.

“Save yourself.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “But… my father…”

“Yes, his father,” Mizora repeated with a mocking sneer, gaining a glare from Wyll.

“You can save your father without her help. But you can’t save yourself alone.” You squeezed his hand. “The others will help you find him, you know they can.”

Closing his eyes, his face in great pain, Wyll took a deep breath.

Please. Please take my advice.

He turned to the she-devil. “You wretch. Do it. Break the pact.” His face crumpled. “Father…”

Mizora grinned before reciting the words to break the pact, and stubbornly decided to stick around in camp as a mostly impartial observer. Setting herself up in a corner of the harbor near Wyll’s tent, she summoned a glass of wine and cast her eyes around with an arrogant sneer.

Gods, I hate that she won’t go away. You turned to Wyll. “Come with me, I have an idea.”

You guided him to the edge of the water. Taking out your dagger, you cut your palm, dripping five drops of your blood into the water.

“I learned this from a book,” you told him when he looked a bit surprised. Then you turned to stare into the surface of the water and began to sing.

Use my voice and my song

To guide my vision far, far beyond

Take my blood, a gift to thee

To unveil a sight unseen…

The blood swirled and suddenly an image appeared in the water. You were not familiar with the locations, nor the man being pushed into a metal container of some kind, but Wyll clearly recognized him.

“Father!”

The vision disappeared after a minute. You turned to him. “Do you know that place?”

Wyll shook his head. “No, but I can talk to the others. Perhaps they’ve seen something similar.” He pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You’ve given me another path.”

…grateful…anxious…guilt…

You hugged him in return. “You deserve to be free, Wyll. Don’t ever feel selfish for wanting that.”

His hold on you tightened, and you felt him tremble slightly before he took a deep breath and stepped back, his hands on your shoulders. Giving you a wan smile, he walked back with you to the campfire before heading back to his own tent.

You headed toward Astarion’s tent to heal the cut on your palm with some potion before going to sleep, but you heard your alarm bell chime on your belt. Hurrying to the entryway instead, you realized that it wasn’t the others.

“Who… who are you?”

A tiefling woman and a human man, their eyes glowing red, walked down the path towards you. You knew the signs now, so you could tell right away.

Vampire spawn.

You backtracked as you tried to head back to where everyone else was, but you stumbled over your feet in your panic. In a flash, they were upon you, the man’s arm wrapped around you in a chokehold, covering your mouth to prevent you from screaming. You stomped down hard on his foot and bit into his hand, which bought you a split second of freedom before the woman pinned you down, shoving your face into the dirt.

“She smells of Astarion,” she said as she leaned over, sniffing your neck.

“If we take her, he will come to us.”

“Leave him a message.”

As you struggled futilely in the tiefling’s iron grip, the man carved letters into one of the crates nearby. Helplessly, you watched as he walked up to you, raised his fist…

Then darkness.

***

It had been a hellish day and a half. Astarion didn’t expect to be playing rescuer, but here he was, helping Shadowheart bring her parents home, walking with them through the lower city to the harbor where their camp was.

Where she was. His mind wandered, imagining her smile at his return, his worried look as she fussed over him, her gentle touch as she washed and brushed his hair. He wanted to set his little witch onto his lap and languidly sip her sweet blood and fall into a lovely trance, her scent wafting around him…

As he stepped through the entryway, he immediately saw the struggle in the dirt, his witch’s footsteps, and the footprints of two others.

Oh fuck no. Nobody takes what is MINE.

“You all you better come see this,” Karlach said, standing next to a crate.

His stomach dropped as he came closer. The poorly carved message was as bright as day.

‘WE HAVE HER’

“Fuck,” he muttered. He turned to the others, scowling. “I know where she is. But we have to go in the daylight when he’s weakest.”

Shadowheart came back from settling her parents into her tent to rest. “When who is weakest?” she asked, not having caught the first part of the conversation.

“Cazador.”

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

Act III, Chapter 1 End notes: Oh no, what will happen to our dear hearth witch? We’re hurtling towards the end, six chapters to go. Let me know in the comments what you think of this turn of events!

Tag List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

#bg3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x f!reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #writing #female reader #bg3 spoilers #your hearth is my home

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys X (Chapter 71)

Surprise, crazy survived. For now.

The hill was a stony island in a sea of green.

It took Dany half the morning to climb down. By the time she reached the bottom she was winded. Her muscles ached, and she felt as if she had the beginnings of a fever.

Well looky here! First paragraph.

Miss thing has a fever before wandering in the sun, drinking muddy water, and eating strange berries. Why's that?

The Blue Grace called Ezzara folded her hands. "My queen," she murmured, "his fever was not brought on by the arrow. He had soiled himself, not once but many times. The stains reached to his knees, and there was dried blood amongst his excrement." - Daenerys V, ADWD

He felt her brow. Is it hot in here, or does she have a touch of fever? He dared not ask that question aloud. Even hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. - Tyrion XII, ADWD

I've seen many people argue Khaleesi can't have the bloody flux because she's been gone for close to a month. I don't know how they reached that conclusion, but it's bonkers. The chapters aren't in chronological order. Surviving on that hill for a month while starved, burned, cold, and half naked is not realistic.

Bacillary dysentery symptoms can sometimes appear 10 days after exposure. There's nothing in the text suggesting she's been on this hill longer than that.

+.+.+

The rocks had scraped her hands raw. They are better than they were, though, she decided as she picked at a broken blister. Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing.

Remember this. It will be worth it.

+.+.+

The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she'd been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one.

Wait until she finds out Drogon's hill is nicer than Dragonstone.

+.+.+

The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him.

It's hilarious how simple and concise the messaging is when it comes to dragons. And yet so many people ...

+.+.+

Once she found the Skahazadhan she need only follow it downstream to Slaver's Bay.

She would sooner have returned to Meereen on dragon's wings, to be sure. But that was a desire Drogon did not seem to share.

"There is a reason. A dragon is no slave." - Daenerys III, ASOS

I bet a direwolf would help a Stark get back to Meereen. Maybe the bond between dragon and rider isn't so special after all.

+.+.+

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns. Daenerys made do with a word and a whip. Mounted on the dragon's back, she oft felt as if she were learning to ride all over again. When she whipped her silver mare on her right flank the mare went left, for a horse's first instinct is to flee from danger. When she laid the whip across Drogon's right side he veered right, for a dragon's first instinct is always to attack. Sometimes it did not seem to matter where she struck him, though; sometimes he went where he would and took her with him. Neither whip nor words could turn Drogon if he did not wish to be turned.

+.+.+

And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.

You could always conquer it.

Khaleesi is wavering on where exactly she belongs. I could tell her.

The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany's sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. - Daenerys III, AGOT

She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. - Daenerys III, AGOT

"Once," said Ser Jorah. "No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world." - Daenerys V, AGOT

+.+.+

Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.

Keep walking. If I look back I am lost.

Are you ready for some first-rate literary analysis?

Drogon's scorched and blackened Dragonstone hill represents her violent impulses, and thirst for war. In other words, fire and blood. Khaleesi will spend almost the whole chapter convincing herself to walk away from it towards Meereen.

$5 to anyone who can guess what happens at the end.

+.+.+

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch.

Horses getting the ant treatment.

+.+.+

She had to don her crown again and return to her ebon bench and the arms of her noble husband.

Hizdahr, of the tepid kisses.

Yeah, cause I'm sure you're always dripping wet.

Sorry.

+.+.+

One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon's cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod.

Drogon, her Prince Charming.

+.+.+

I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze.

That's not going to work, winter is coming for you.

+.+.+

Hers had been a lonely sojourn, and for most of it she had been hurt and hungry … yet despite it all she had been strangely happy here. A few aches, an empty belly, chills by night … what does it matter when you can fly? I would do it all again.

Keep walking, Khaleesi.

+.+.+

One morning she had found some wild onions growing halfway down the south slope, and later that same day a leafy reddish vegetable that might have been some queer sort of cabbage. Whatever it was, it had not made her sick. Aside from that, and one fish that she had caught in the spring-fed pool outside of Drogon's cave, she had survived as best she could on the dragon's leavings, on burned bones and chunks of smoking meat, half-charred and half-raw.

The food she's been consuming for days has not made her sick. That's not why she has a fever.

+.+.+

Though she walked through a green kingdom, it was not the deep rich green of summer. Even here autumn made its presence felt, and winter would not be far behind. The grass was paler than she remembered, a wan and sickly green on the verge of going yellow. After that would come brown. The grass was dying.

The dying grass is heavily emphasized throughout the chapter. It might be important, we'll cover it later.

+.+.+

She'd had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.

What might it say about Khaleesi when it's the Dothraki culture and customs that make her happy?

+.+.+

But in the Red Waste, all her joy had turned to ashes. Her sun-and-stars had fallen from his horse, the maegi Mirri Maz Duur had murdered Rhaego in her womb, and Dany had smothered the empty shell of Khal Drogo with her own two hands.

Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. - Daenerys IX, AGOT

+.+.+

Afterward Drogo's great khalasar had shattered. Ko Pono named himself Khal Pono and took many riders with him, and many slaves as well. Ko Jhaqo named himself Khal Jhaqo and rode off with even more. Mago, his bloodrider, raped and murdered Eroeh, a girl Daenerys had once saved from him.

Thanks for this quick breakdown of Dothraki characters we haven't seen in ages, George.

+.+.+

Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo's funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen.

The fire burned away my hair, but elsewise it did not touch me. It had been the same in Daznak's Pit. That much she could recall, though much of what followed was a haze.

Oopsie daisy, someone is losing their fucking mind.

Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing.

I agree with the people who say we shouldn't attribute her actions in King's Landing to being mad, but I think it's a mistake to completely dismiss the fact that she's slowly losing it like her father.

She can be responsible for her own actions, and also not right upstairs. See: Cersei Lannister.

+.+.+

From below a spear came flying, followed by a flight of crossbow bolts. One passed so close that Dany felt it brush her cheek. Others skittered off Drogon's scales, lodged between them, or tore through the membrane of his wings. She remembered the dragon twisting beneath her, shuddering at the impacts, as she tried desperately to cling to his scaled back. The wounds were smoking.

We love Dragon x Other parallels!

When he opened his eyes the Other's armor was running down its legs in rivulets as pale blue blood hissed and steamed around the black dragonglass dagger in its throat. It reached down with two bone-white hands to pull out the knife, but where its fingers touched the obsidian they smoked. - Samwell I, ASOS

It's not terribly important, but I would think the membranes of their wings are vulnerable. Why only the eyes?

+.+.+

Dany saw one of the bolts burst into sudden flame. Another fell away, shaken loose by the beating of his wings. Below, she saw men whirling, wreathed in flame, hands up in the air as if caught in the throes of some mad dance. A woman in a green tokar reached for a weeping child, pulling him down into her arms to shield him from the flames. Dany saw the color vividly, but not the woman's face. People were stepping on her as they lay tangled on the bricks. Some were on fire.

Would you like to express any regret or guilt for this?

+.+.+

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought.

Oh.

+.+.+

North they flew, beyond the river, Drogon gliding on torn and tattered wings through clouds that whipped by like the banners of some ghostly army.

It would be easy to mistake this ghostly army for the Others.

Same with this,

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. - Daenerys III, ADWD

But we know better, don't we?

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. - Jon XII, ADWD

+.+.+

The sun grew hotter as it rose, and before long her head was pounding.

Fever, and headache.

+.+.+

Dany's hair was growing out again, but slowly. "I need a hat," she said aloud. Up on Dragonstone she had tried to make one for herself, weaving stalks of grass together as she had seen Dothraki women do during her time with Drogo, but either she was using the wrong sort of grass or she simply lacked the necessary skill. Her hats all fell to pieces in her hands. Try again, she told herself. You will do better the next time. You are the blood of the dragon, you can make a hat. She tried and tried, but her last attempt had been no more successful than her first.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Dragons sow sew no hats.

That might be an Egg reference. Hey, didn't he go mad and burn Summerhall?

+.+.+

It was afternoon by the time Dany found the stream she had glimpsed atop the hill. It was a rill, a rivulet, a trickle, no wider than her arm … and her arm had grown thinner every day she spent on Dragonstone. Dany scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on her face. When she cupped her hands, her knuckles squished in the mud at the bottom of the stream. She might have wished for colder, clearer water … but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

I don't think you want to be doing that.

"Clean fresh water, as much as he will drink."

"Not river water," said Sweets. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

+.+.+

Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario … Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Lmao.

Jaime may yet come. She pictured him riding through the morning mists, his golden armor bright in the light of the rising sun. Jaime, if you ever loved me … - Cersei II, ADWD

But it wasn't Jaime who came to Cersei's rescue after her big walk of reflection and self-discovery, was it? No, it was her monster, Robert Strong. :)

+.+.+

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai'i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr's kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released. But …

She wondered if her captain's blades still hung upon the wall beside her bed, waiting for Daario to return and claim them. "I will leave my girls with you," he had said. "Keep them safe for me, beloved." And she wondered how much the Yunkai'i knew about what her captain meant to her. She had asked Ser Barristan that question the afternoon the hostages went forth. "They will have heard the talk," he had replied. "Naharis may even have boasted of Your Grace's … of your great … regard … for him. If you will forgive my saying so, modesty is not one of the captain's virtues. He takes great pride in his … his swordsmanship."

He boasts of bedding me, you mean. But Daario would not have been so foolish as to make such a boast amongst her enemies.

She hung his knives beside her marriage bed? God.

Based on this passage alone, I'm going to guess the Yunkai'i know everything there is to know about Daario and Khaleesi. Good luck, Daario.

+.+.+

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai'i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

Oh honey, wait until you hear what grandpa's been up to.

+.+.+

She turned back the way she'd come, to where Dragonstone rose above the grasslands like a clenched fist. It looks so close. I've been walking for hours, yet it still looks as if I could reach out and touch it. It was not too late to go back. There were fish in the spring-fed pool by Drogon's cave. She had caught one her first day there, she might catch more. And there would be scraps, charred bones with bits of flesh still on them, the remnants of Drogon's kills.

No, Dany told herself. If I look back I am lost.

Good Khaleesi. Keep walking, don't turn back.

+.+.+

It was quiet on her sea. When the wind blew the grass would sigh as the stalks brushed against each other, whispering in a tongue that only gods could understand.

And Bran.

+.+.+

Once she came upon a rat drinking from the stream, but it fled when she appeared, scurrying between the stalks to vanish in the high grass.

Those things are hard to catch.

+.+.+

Sometimes she heard birds singing. The sound made her belly rumble, but she had no nets to snare them with, and so far she had not come on any nests. Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I've flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. "Men are mad and gods are madder," she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

Hoo boy, I'm desperately searching for a different interpretation of this passage besides the obvious, but I'm not coming up with much.

"Alas," Xaro sobbed, "that was not the word I meant."

"Would you ask a mother to sell one of her children?"

"Whyever not? They can always make more. Mothers sell their children every day." - Daenerys V, ACOK

A king must have an heir. - Catelyn II, ASOS

I'll let you reach your own conclusions.

+.+.+

Thrice that day she caught sight of Drogon. Once he was so far off that he might have been an eagle, slipping in and out of distant clouds, but Dany knew the look of him by now, even when he was no more than a speck.

An eagle! Drogon's an eagle!

Something was moving atop one of them, he saw. A dragon, but which one? At this distance, it could as easily have been an eagle. A very big eagle. - Tyrion II, TWOW

Love when we draw that comparison.

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun . . . - Jon VII, ACOK

Excited to see where this might be going.

"Look," she said, pointing at the sky with her frog spear, "an eagle."

Bran lifted his head and saw it, its grey wings spread and still as it floated on the wind. He followed it with his eyes as it circled higher, wondering what it would be like to soar about the world so effortless. Better than climbing, even. He tried to reach the eagle, to leave his stupid crippled body and rise into the sky to join it, the way he joined with Summer. The greenseers could do it. I should be able to do it too. He tried and tried, until the eagle vanished in the golden haze of the afternoon. "It's gone," he said, disappointed.

"We'll see others," said Meera. "They live up here."

"I suppose." - Bran II, ASOS

+.+.+

The second time he passed before the sun, his black wings spread, and the world darkened.

Lightbringer brings equal darkness and light.

He slipped Lightbringer into its scabbard, and the world darkened once again, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. - Jon III, ADWD

And when I say light, what I really mean is fire.

+.+.+

The last time he flew right above her, so close she could hear the sound of his wings. For half a heartbeat Dany thought that he was hunting her, but he flew on without taking any notice of her and vanished somewhere in the east. Just as well, she thought.

It's just like the Starks and their direwolves!

You might have noticed Drogon shows little interest in assisting Khaleesi when she's pretending to care about Meereen.

+.+.+

Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon's back. Will they think he ate me? She wondered if Hizdahr was still king. His crown had come from her, could he hold it in her absence? He wanted Drogon dead. I heard him. "Kill it," he screamed, "kill the beast," and the look upon his face was lustful. And Strong Belwas had been on his knees, heaving and shuddering. Poison. It had to be poison. The honeyed locusts. Hizdahr urged them on me, but Belwas ate them all. She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead.

Amazing, right? Khaleesi is more rational than Barry while half delirious.

+.+.+

She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead. Yet who else could it have been? Reznak, her perfumed seneschal? The Yunkai'i? The Sons of the Harpy?

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry.

How stupid do you have to be to not understand this? How did they pass any class requiring the study of literature?

Anyway, there's levels to this that I never put together.

Who poisoned the locusts? Who could it have been? Off in the distance, a wolf howled.

<- The Queen's Hand

Skahaz was clad in his familiar garb of pleated black skirt, greaves, and muscled breastplate. The brazen mask beneath his arm was new—a wolf's head with lolling tongue.

+.+.+

She dreamed. All her cares fell away from her, and all her pains as well, and she seemed to float upward into the sky. She was flying once again, spinning, laughing, dancing, as the stars wheeled around her and whispered secrets in her ear. "To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

"Quaithe?" Dany called. "Where are you, Quaithe?"

Then she saw. Her mask is made of starlight.

"Remember who you are, Daenerys," the stars whispered in a woman's voice. "The dragons know. Do you?"

Notice how Khaleesi is hallucinating, and floating in the clouds long before berries enter the picture?

Let me tell you, people struggle with the order of events in this chapter.

There's no comparison to be made between the effects of drinking whatever Mirri Maz Duur gave her, and the berries in this chapter, because THEY HAVEN'T BEEN CONSUMED YET.

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

I've yet to see an interpretation better than the following:

To go north, you must journey south -> Sansa.

To reach the west, you must go east -> Arya.

To go forward, you must go back -> Bran.

To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow -> Jon.

+.+.+

The next morning she woke stiff and sore and aching, with ants crawling on her arms and legs and face. When she realized what they were, she kicked aside the stalks of dry brown grass that had served as her bed and blanket and struggled to her feet. She had bites all over her, little red bumps, itchy and inflamed. Where did all the ants come from? Dany brushed them from her arms and legs and belly. She ran a hand across her stubbly scalp where her hair had burned away, and felt more ants on her head, and one crawling down the back of her neck. She knocked them off and crushed them under her bare feet. There were so many …

It turned out that their anthill was on the other side of her wall. She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he'd built it himself.

Easy to mistake those ants for wights. Almost a little too easy.

Unfortunately for Khaleesi, George has been consistent when it comes to ants.

The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes stood sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walked men in black as small as ants. - Jon III, AGOT

Soldiers crawled over the city walls like ants with torches, and crowded the hoardings that had sprouted from the ramparts. - Sansa IV, ACOK

He watched as a swarming mass of riders charged a shield wall, astride horses no larger than ants. - Jon VII, ACOK

Across the river the south shore was black with men and horses, stirring like angry ants as they caught sight of the approaching ships. - Davos III, ACOK

"An ant who hears the words of a king may not comprehend what he is saying," Melisandre said, "and all men are ants before the fiery face of god. - Davos V, ASOS

Around the walls the hosts of Lords Declarant were stirring, emerging from their tents like ants from an anthill. If only they were truly ants, she thought, we could step on them and crush them. - Alayne I, AFFC

From on high their garrons looked no larger than ants, and Jon could not tell one ranger from another. - Jon VI, ADWD

It's the people of Westeros.

+.+.+

Dragonstone was still visible above the grasslands. It looks so close. I must be leagues away by now, but it looks as if I could be back in an hour.

No! Don't look back.

+.+.+

The sun was only just coming up.

[...]

She wanted to lie back down, close her eyes, and give herself up to sleep. No. I must keep going. The stream. Just follow the stream.

Tired. So tired.

"I'm sad." She yawned again. "And tired. So tired."

Tired or sick? - Tyrion XII, ADWD

If you think the fatigue is simply Khaleesi being hungry and walking too much in the sun, I want you to think back on Arya's travels in ACOK, and tell me if it feels the same.

+.+.+

It would not do to walk the wrong way and lose her stream. "My friend," she said aloud. "If I stay close to my friend I won't get lost." She would have slept beside the water if she dared, but there were animals who came down to the stream to drink at night. She had seen their tracks. Dany would make a poor meal for a wolf or lion, but even a poor meal was better than none.

Is that a second wolf? And a lion!

What's with all the ominous wolves?

+.+.+

Dany cupped her hands to drink. The water made her belly cramp, but cramps were easier to bear than thirst.

Uh oh! Cramps!

Yezzan's other slaves had refused to go near the overseer once the cramps began, so it was left to Tyrion to keep him warm and bring him drinks. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

And still no berries.

+.+.+

As she walked, she tapped her thigh with the pitmaster's whip.

The stream bent this way and that, and Dany followed, beating time upon her leg with the whip, trying not to think about how far she had to go, or the pounding in her head, or her empty belly.

Her whip slapped softly against her thigh, wap wap wap.

What is this? Trying to tame herself or something?

+.+.+

One step at a time, and the stream would see her home.

↓

Every step brought the Red Keep nearer. Every step brought her closer to her son and her salvation. - Cersei II, ADWD

↓

Cersei looked behind her. She could still see the great dome and seven crystal towers of the Great Sept of Baelor atop the hill. Have I really come such a little way? - Cersei II, ADWD

This is so funny.

+.+.+

Just past midday she came upon a bush growing by the stream, its twisted limbs covered with hard green berries. Dany squinted at them suspiciously, then plucked one from a branch and nibbled at it. Its flesh was tart and chewy, with a bitter aftertaste that seemed familiar to her. "In the khalasar, they used berries like these to flavor roasts," she decided. Saying it aloud made her more certain of it. Her belly rumbled, and Dany found herself picking berries with both hands and tossing them into her mouth.

Okay! After the fever, after the fatigue, after the cramps, and after the delirium comes the berries.

Bullshit. She had cramps before the berries. I don't know how you miss that.

Reading commentary on this chapter drove me insane. I'm not denying she's had a miscarriage, but why are people so insistent she doesn't also have the pale mare? It's not like she's going to die, what does it matter?

"Yezzan must live. Or we all die with him. The pale mare does not carry off every rider. The master will recover." - Tyrion XI, ADWD

She'll survive. She'll live. Everything will be okay.

Honestly, when she's this deluded about her own invincibility and ancestry,

"I am the blood of the dragon," Dany reminded him. "Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?" Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

When she's been promised a mount to dread,

three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed (Silver) and one to dread (Pale Mare) and one to love (Drogon) - Daenerys IV, ACOK

And when Quaithe warns her of what's to come,

"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal." - Daenerys II, ADWD

SHE'S PROBABLY GOING TO GET THE PALE MARE.

+.+.+

An hour later, her stomach began to cramp so badly that she could not go on. She spent the rest of that day retching up green slime.

Slime.

His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Vomiting is obviously a symptom of dysentery. It's also possible the berries were inedible.

Either way it doesn't matter, she has the pale mare.

+.+.+

In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here? My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.

THREE? Three big bad wolves?

+.+.+

Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water.

Those afflicted by the pale mare were always thirsty, drinking gallons between their shits. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

"The pale mare," the man told Sweets.

What a surprise, Tyrion thought. Who could have guessed? Aside from any man with a nose and me with half of one. Yezzan was burning with fever, squirming fitfully in a pool of his own excrement. His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … and it fell to Yollo and Penny to wipe his yellow bottom clean. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

+.+.+

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

"You are dead," Dany said.

Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned.

"I loved you once."

Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother's crown to keep you fed.

"You hurt me. You frightened me."

Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you.

"You sold me. You betrayed me."

No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

"You could have had your crown," Dany told him. "My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited."

I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.

I don't care enough to comment on any of this, but I will point out Khaleesi hearing his voice is turning into a disturbing trend.

Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother's voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire. - Daenerys III, ADWD

Mad.

+.+.+

Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo's khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.

"You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited …"

I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon's eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I'd had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words. Viserys began to laugh, until his jaw fell away from his face, smoking, and blood and molten gold ran from his mouth.

Don't worry, it's not like Khaleesi is ever influenced by Viserys.

His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it "waking the dragon." - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

Daenerys pushed her hair back. "Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy's Sons what it means to wake the dragon." - Daenerys I, ADWD

The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one. - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper's hired knives. - Daenerys I, ASOS

For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian. - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

+.+.+

When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.

For a moment she did not realize what it was. The world had just begun to lighten, and the tall grass rustled softly in the wind. No, please, let me sleep some more. I'm so tired. She tried to burrow back beneath the pile of grass she had torn up when she went to sleep. Some of the stalks felt wet. Had it rained again? She sat up, afraid that she had soiled herself as she slept. When she brought her fingers to her face, she could smell the blood on them. Am I dying? Then she saw the pale crescent moon, floating high above the grass, and it came to her that this was no more than her moon blood.

If she had not been so sick and scared, that might have come as a relief. Instead she began to shiver violently. She rubbed her fingers through the dirt, and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe between her legs. The dragon does not weep. She was bleeding, but it was only woman's blood. The moon is still a crescent, though. How can that be? She tried to remember the last time she had bled. The last full moon? The one before? The one before that? No, it cannot have been so long as that. "I am the blood of the dragon," she told the grass, aloud.

Once, the grass whispered back, until you chained your dragons in the dark.

[...]

Her belly was empty, her feet sore and blistered, and it seemed to her that the cramping had grown worse. Her guts were full of writhing snakes biting at her bowels. She scooped up a handful of mud and water in trembling hands. By midday the water would be tepid, but in the chill of dawn it was almost cool and helped her keep her eyes open. As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow. Could it be the water? If it was the water, she was doomed. She had to drink or die of thirst.

Khaleesi doesn't currently know left from right, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here. It probably has been months, and that would indicate she's currently miscarrying Daario's baby. Yes, Daario's. Not Hizdahr's. Daario's baby. It's not up for debate.

Reznak mo Reznak bowed and beamed. "Magnificence, every day you grow more beautiful. I think the prospect of your wedding has given you a glow. Oh, my shining queen!" - Daenerys VII, ADWD

Melisandre had thrown back her cowl and shrugged out of the smothering robe. Beneath, she was naked, and huge with child. Swollen breasts hung heavy against her chest, and her belly bulged as if near to bursting. "Gods preserve us," he whispered, and heard her answering laugh, deep and throaty. Her eyes were hot coals, and the sweat that dappled her skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. Melisandre shone. - Davos II, ACOK

What does this mean for the future? Nothing. She's never having a baby, the dragons will always be her children.

Love the shivering by the way.

+.+.+

"Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons."

Aye, the grass said, but you turned against your children.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Hazzea, Hazzea, it rhymes with Himalaya! You must remember the name, you fucking hypocrite.

Dany listened quietly, her face still. When he was done, she said, "What was the name of the old weaver?"

[...]

"Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman." - Daenerys I, ADWD

+.+.+

In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.

Except it wouldn't, not truly.

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

+.+.+

Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you.

The voice was no more than a whisper, yet somehow Dany felt that he was walking just behind her. My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest, but she knew that if she turned around Ser Jorah would be gone. "I am dreaming," she said. "A waking dream, a walking dream. I am alone and lost."

Lol.

+.+.+

Lost, because you lingered, in a place that you were never meant to be, murmured Ser Jorah, as softly as the wind. Alone, because you sent me from your side.

[...]

I gave you good counsel. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, I told you. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and go west, I said. You would not listen.

I know this doesn't need to be said, but I'll say it anyway. There's no glass candle, there's no sorcery or magic brewing.

Quaithe, Viserys, and Jorah aren't talking to her. She's hallucinating, but the most important thing here is that Khaleesi is hearing what she wants to hear. She's talking to her innermost self.

+.+.+

You took Meereen, he told her, yet still you lingered.

"To be a queen."

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros.

"It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl."

+.+.+

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.

"Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass.

+.+.+

From the corner of her eye Dany saw the grass move again, off to her right. The grass swayed and bowed low, as if before a king, but no king appeared to her.

Hizdahr, you mean? Am I forgetting someone?

+.+.+

The world was green and empty. The world was green and silent. The world was yellow, dying.

Through the grass came a soft silvery tinkling.

Bells, Dany thought, smiling, remembering Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, and the bells he braided into his hair. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

Everywhere you look, dry dying grass.

I came across an interesting theory when researching this chapter. Mirri Maz Duur's words weren't a prophecy, but you could make a few connections to what's currently happening.

When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.

Quentyn Martell dying in Meereen.

When the seas go dry.

The change of seasons. The dying grass in the Dothraki Sea.

Mountains blow in the wind like leaves

Potentially something related to Mother of Mountains.

When my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

Potentially something related to Womb of the World, and Drogon. Or maybe the miscarriage.

I'm guessing Khal Drogo returning to her is figurative, and means Khaleesi finally embracing being a powerful khal and warlord. I bet she even picks up a few bells along the way!

We'll have to wait and see if the upcoming Vaes Dothrak storyline fits with the above.

+.+.+

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. "Aggo," she whispered. "Jhogo. Rakharo." Might Daario have come with them?

Silly Khaleesi, bells don't sing happy songs.

Remember when Game of Thrones totally botched this, and now a bunch of desperate morons are clinging to the idea that the climax of A Song of Ice and Fire is JON CONNINGTON burning down King's Landing?

"The thunder of his hooves!" the others chorused.

"As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The old woman trembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world." - Daenerys V, AGOT

Hilarious.

+.+.+

Dany watched him go. When the sound of his hooves had faded away to silence, she began to shout. She called until her voice was hoarse … and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him.

Oh right, him.

The grass swayed and bowed low, as if before a king, but no king appeared to her.

Her real king.

Drogon's finally paying attention to her. Must mean fire and blood is on the mind.

+.+.+

Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. "To go forward I must go back," she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon's neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone. Drogon went willingly enough; perhaps he smelled the rider's fear.

No, no! I think Meereen's the other way! You got yourself turned around.

You thought she'd turn back to Dragonstone, didn't you? Nahhh. That's not home, that's not where Khaleesi wants to be.

+.+.+

A vast herd of horses appeared below them. There were riders too, a score or more, but they turned and fled at the first sight of the dragon.

[...]

Soon one horse began to lag behind the others. The dragon descended on him, roaring, and all at once the poor beast was aflame, yet somehow he kept on running, screaming with every step, until Drogon landed on him and broke his back. Dany clutched the dragon's neck with all her strength to keep from sliding off.

Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch.

↓

I could try eating ants. The little yellow ones were too small to provide much in the way of nourishment, but there were red ants in the grass, and those were bigger.

↓

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands.

Yeah, for sure, they totally represent wights.

+.+.+

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario …

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

I don't know, looks like the bride of fire already found a king to eat with.

+.+.+

As the western sky turned the color of a blood bruise, she heard the sound of approaching horses. Dany rose, wiped her hands on her ragged undertunic, and went to stand beside her dragon.

That was how Khal Jhaqo found her, when half a hundred mounted warriors emerged from the drifting smoke.

What a reunion. What an ending! Can't wait to see what happens next.

If I look back I am lost. "It was a cruel fate," Dany said, "yet not so cruel as Mago's will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh." - Daenerys IX, AGOT

Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her khas to guard the entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside. – Daenerys VII, AGOT

Final thoughts:

Lots to say.

Let's start off with the opening and closing (excluding the epilogue) chapters.

AGOT

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS

Prologue: Cursed snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

Sansa VII: Drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

AFFC

Prologue: Pig boy Pate.

Samwell V: Pig boy Pate, back from the dead.

ADWD:

Prologue: Starving, barely alive, slightly mad Varamyr wanders a cold barren land, talking to the elements while narrating his life, then he dies and is reborn as his beast.

Daenerys X: Yup. Same.

Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. "Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again. I know skinchangers who've tried hawks, owls, ravens. Even in their own skins, they sit moony, staring up at the bloody blue. - Prologue, ADWD

Ha!

+.+.+

Next I'll make a few fun predictions I didn't have the opportunity to make anywhere else in this post:

Drogon kills Viserion (Daenerys kills Aegon), Rhaegal is shot with a scorpion in the eye (Jonnel One-Eye things), and Bran's going to handle Drogon somehow.

Kind of like the show, right? Kind of.

+.+.+

Lastly, I've been waiting for @agentrouka-blog to make a more eloquent post regarding this topic, but my peer pressure has not worked.

Let me steal her thoughts and quickly say the reason the theory that Daenerys will be given a redemption arc after burning King's Landing is such dog shit, is because Meereen is supposed to be the redemption arc. She violently destroys Slaver's Bay, creates a power vacuum, but is given the opportunity to stay, rule, and make it right. To her credit, she does. For nine chapters. Then she chooses fire and blood.

Why would the author do it all over again in Westeros? Meereen was the second chance. She failed.

Goodbye, Khaleesi.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #daenerys x

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 9 hours

Text

Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons Chapter 4

Any Viking/Norse words and customs were found on Google, so if it's incorrect please educate me!!

Viking!Bucky Warnings: eventual smut, abuse, violence, animal attack, blood

Y/N and Bucky learned more about their now shared power together as the months went on. She was able to teach him what she already knew, and with the help of Winnifred and the other Seer woman who married them, Wanda, they were able to learn how to use their powers more effectively. They were moved into their own longhouse, where Y/N got into the swing of being a wife. Since she had lived the privileged life of a princess she was not used to cooking or taking care of a house on her own, but had immense help from her neighbors and Bucky. She practiced their language and was coming along with it nicely, although she had trouble with some words and phrases. Bucky also taught her how to use a sword and a bow and arrow, both for fighting and for hunting.

She killed her first deer within a few months of learning and was able to skin and prepare it all on her own. Bucky was extremely proud of her for working so hard to become accustomed to this new life. Y/N was quick to make friends and get along well with the people. She was a born diplomat, and he caught himself smiling while watching her constantly.

The next winter was fast approaching. The village had been able to stock up on meats and other foods for the cold, but the season came raging in without warning. The snow seemed constant, temperatures dropping to levels unseen in decades, freezing the water and making it hard to travel with hardened snow and ice everywhere. Bigger animals were becoming more desperate for food as the weeks went on, with wolf prints getting increasingly closer to the village.

Y/N was helping one of her neighbors, Laura Barton, bring in some kindling and wood that they chopped up. Laura had three children, all of them under the age of 10, rowdy, rambunctious and forgetful. She and her husband Clint tried their best but were outnumbered. As they finished near nightfall Y/N turned back to the wooded area where they had been and saw the youngest, Nathaniel, toddling back towards their longhouse holding a big stick. Y/N’s eyes widened as she saw a large, black wolf less than 50 yards away from Nathaniel, the hairs on its back standing and its teeth bared.

“NO!” Y/N took off towards Nathaniel without a second thought. Laura looked towards Y/N and started screaming when she saw the wolf. Clint and Bucky, who weren’t far off, heard the screams and came running towards the commotion. When Bucky saw what Y/N was doing he roared, trying to catch up and run after her.

The wolf started running towards Nathaniel, a menacing growl ripping through the air as it hunted. Nathaniel looked back and saw the wolf, then started running towards Y/N. She reached him first, grabbing him and throwing him backwards into a snowbank. As she faced the wolf she unsheathed the sword Bucky gave her that she had on her hip at all times. The wolf sped up, undeterred that the easier prey was gone. She ran towards the wolf, raising the sword and screaming. Bucky was running but knew he wasn’t going to make it. “Y/N! Don’t!”

The wolf leaped at her, the loud bark and her screaming mixing in a horrific ring as they collided. Bucky couldn't see what happened as the wolf and Y/N fell to the ground, a flurry of fur, her dress and the snow picking up around them. He bounded up to them, sword drawn, but slowed when he saw the wolf on top of her lifeless. Her sword was sticking up through its neck, keeping it lifted.

“Y/N? My star, please,” Bucky cried as he fell to his knees next to the wolf. “Please,” he said as he tried to look under the wolf’s body. There was a long pause, then he heard a sputtering sound, her leg poking out from underneath it and trying to push the body off of her. “Oh, thank the Gods,” Bucky sighed as he stood up and pulled the wolf’s body up off her sword and pushed it away. It thudded onto the snow, its blood seeping into the white, as Y/N panted next to it. She was covered in its blood, spitting it out of her mouth as she struggled to sit up since it crushed her deep into the snow. “You scared the shit out of me, Y/N,” he pulled her up to her feet then grabbed her shoulders. He shook her, “What were you thinking?!” he yelled, his eyes overflowing with tears. “You could have died! What would I have done without you, Asynja?”

Y/N stared at him as she tried to regain her breath. She looked at the wolf, a bewildered look on her face, then wiped the blood away from her mouth and eyes as she looked behind Bucky. Laura was holding Nathaniel, kneeling in the snow crying as Clint prayed to the sky next to them. “I…I couldn’t just watch him die,” Y/N breathed, her eyes finding him again. Bucky shook his head then pulled her into his embrace. He shook as he pet her hair, hugging her too tight and kissing the top of her head.

“You crazy woman,” he sighed as he pulled back. He looked down at the wolf. “You just survived your first battle. My little Valkyrie,” he smirked at her.

Y/N snorted at him. Bucky pulled the wolf by its leg with his metal hand and wound his flesh arm around her, guiding her back to the village. By this point a crowd had gathered and seen the aftermath of what had happened. Laura ran up to Y/N, still holding Nathaniel. “Thank you, Drottning!” she cried, hugging Y/N with one arm and kissing her forehead. Y/N checked on Nathaniel, who was crying but overall physically unharmed. Winnifred came forward from the crowd and raised her hands towards the sky.

“Our warrior queen!” she shouted, and the people behind her cheered. Y/N ducked her head, feeling overwhelmed by the attention and still reeling from the near death experience. “You have done well, my child,” Winnifred walked over to them. “We will have it skinned and its body used as your adornment. Then you are ready to receive your first marking.”

“Marking?” Y/N asked.

“Like mine,” Bucky reminded her.

Y/N nodded, still in a daze. “Will it hurt?”

“Probably,” Bucky tightened his hold on her. “But you just survived a wolf, I think you can handle a sharp point.”

Y/N sighed heavily. “I just need to wash,” she quietly whined so only he could hear.

Bucky gave her a knowing smile and nodded. He let his mother and a few others take the wolf’s body and led her through the people to their longhouse. As he prepared some water over the fire to warm up for the bath Y/N was outside using snow to get as much of the blood off as possible. Her hands shook, both from the cold and from the shock. She hadn’t even thought through what she was doing when she saw the wolf hunting Nathaniel. She knew it was dangerous, had maybe a flash of a moment of self-preservation, but her feet had moved faster than her mind. She walked back into the longhouse once she got most of it off then stripped out of her clothes as Bucky filled the bath with warm water.

He helped her ease into the water and reached for the washing bar. He helped lather her, cleaning her body and her hair, making sure to help her get any remaining blood off. The warm water helped her muscles ease and she felt like she could breathe normally again. As Bucky washed her back she brought her legs up to her chest. Her body shook with sobs as the events unfolded in her mind, replaying the fear over and over, the feeling of the wolf’s heavy body tackling her, the screams, the growling, but most of all, the feeling of rage that licked through her veins as she had run towards the wolf. She had scared herself in that moment, not knowing what had come over her.

“My Asynja,” Bucky leaned forward and kissed her back. “It’s alright. The first battle is always the hardest to recover from.”

“I wasn’t scared of the wolf,” Y/N whispered. Bucky moved so he could look at her. “I was scared of me,” she looked at him. “The…anger, I felt. The rage. It was blinding. Overpowering. I didn’t…recognize myself,” she sniffled as her hold tightened around her legs.

“Hm, the berserker,” Bucky nodded. “You really are learning our ways quickly.” His metal fingers caressed her arm. “It’s something I’ve only ever felt a few times. It is…like a trance. I didn’t feel like myself for a while,” he leaned forward and kissed her shoulder. “But you used it to save someone and protect your people. Just for that you’ll be welcomed into the halls of Valhalla, as the Valkyrie, the shield maiden, that you are.” His eyes became sad again. “But…I can’t lose you my Drottning,” he said quietly.

Y/N watched him. They had been married for almost a year now, had shared their bodies with each other frequently, and became good friends. Love had never crossed Y/N’s mind growing up because as nice as that would be, it was rare when she knew she would be married off to a man she didn’t get to choose for the sake of an advantageous match, or like in this case, a kind of peace treaty. Love was few and far between for arranged marriages. But she had been feeling something blooming between them, even from their first meeting when he had recognized her as the one with real power. It was deeper, encompassing, and after her power had been shared with him, at times it felt like she could feel him in her mind, even when he wasn’t nearby.

She reached a hand out and cupped his cheek. He nuzzled her palm, his eyes closing at her touch. Her power slipped into his mind. His thoughts were replaying the wolf attacking her, his fear and worry etched into the lines of his face. What surprised her was the deep despair she felt from him when he thought she was dead, the sound of his cry resounding in her head.

“Bucky,” she breathed. Her fingers scratched his beard softly as he met her gaze. “I love you.”

Bucky froze, his eyes widened and his breathing stopped. Y/N waited for him to process. His eyes fluttered shut and he suddenly grabbed her and hauled her out of the tub. She yelped as he carried her over to their bed. He sat her on the edge of the bed, dripping all over the furs and blankets, looking at him questioningly.

He kneeled in front of her and lifted up her feet. He kissed the top of each foot before kissing a line up one leg and then the other. His hands softly skimmed her skin following his lips as he traveled up her body. He reached her hands and kissed the tip of each finger, something he did often as a display of affection and respect for her power. By the time he reached her neck she was panting, her hands clenching the wooden frame of the bed. “To be loved by a goddess,” he whispered against her neck, “is one of the highest honors I could only ever hope to achieve.”

“I’m not a goddess, Bucky,” Y/N said as he kissed her jaw.

“You are, daughter of Freya,” he kissed her cheeks. “My Drottning,” he kissed her nose, “my Asynja,” he kissed her forehead, “Astrid, my star,” he tipped her head down to kiss the top of her head. He skimmed his lips back down to the corner of her mouth. “My love,” he whispered, his eyes looking between hers. “I love you.”

Y/N rushed forward and kissed him. He returned it passionately as he pushed her back onto the bed. He quickly rid himself of his clothes as he crawled on top of her. As much as they had been together before, none of it seemed to compare to this time. The love encircling them was making it feel like this was fated from the beginning of time. Bucky made love to her over and over, holding off his own pleasure until he had her begging for him to fill her.

For the first time Y/N found herself on top of him, gripping his shoulders as she rolled her hips on him. “That’s right, my love, take what you need,” Bucky groaned.

“Buck…” Y/N whined, her pace staggered as he reached even deeper. He flicked her little spot with his metal thumb, the cool metal against her heated core making her see stars. “You were made to be inside me…”

“Gods yes,” Bucky held her hips tightly as he thrust upwards into her. Y/N shuddered.

“My sun, my moon and stars,” she leaned down and kissed his chest as he kept thrusting into her. His eyes rolled in his head as the pleasure was rapidly becoming too much. “You were destined for me, and I for you,” she gasped. Her fingertips started glowing green as her hands were keeping her upright on his chest. Bucky’s flesh hand started to glow as well as his thrusts hurried. “My love, my life…”

With a few more quick flicks to her spot Y/N was cumming, her body shaking over him as her pussy squeezed him, a low whine passing her lips. Bucky groaned, his back arching as he finished and filled her. There was a low rumble from the earth underneath them, the wind whipping what sounded like a cheer through the longhouse. Y/N felt a strange tingling sensation inside her as Bucky’s cock pulsed inside her and looked down. A light glow was shining at the bottom of her stomach. She stiffened as she looked at it. Bucky followed her eye line and saw it before it vanished, his eyes widening. They looked back at each other.

”Do you think—“ Bucky started.

”Maybe,” Y/N whispered.

Bucky laughed, his hands squeezing her hips lightly. He rolled over so she was laying on her back with him still inside her. He started kissing her all over her face. “My wife, my love, carrying my baby,” he said breathlessly.

”We don’t know for sure, love,” Y/N giggled as he continued kissing down her jaw and her neck.

”My baby,” Bucky’s metal hand slid down to her stomach, resting where he was deep inside her. He smiled, his eyes meeting hers.

Y/N smiled back at him, knowing he was probably right. “Our child.”

**picture is A.I. from Pinterest, unknown original "artist" or "creator"**

One more chapter after this!

@wintrsoldrluvr

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #smut #viking!bucky barnes x reader #viking!bucky barnes #viking #medieval #chapter 4

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oubliette-odette · 5 months

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The Reluctance of Love Pt. 20

Guy guys guys, I'm really excited about this chapter.

Please enjoy, hopefully your patience is rewarded.

And then also my apologies for what's about to happen...

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 Content Warnings: mention of mating, homophobia, fantasy racism. All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

I was losing my sense of control around Altan. I started to notice how he was teasing me with slight touches as we walked next to each other and how when he would start to tell me a joke, his hand would suddenly be taking hold of my forearm and brushing his fingers down it familiarly. I was startled each time and my mind would be empty of any ability to speak. When we would stop to eat, I would find him sitting so close next to me that he was leaning against me and he would pass me his waterskin to share after he had drunk from it, his eyes like fire as he watched me drink from it.

I at first was ignorant of what he was doing, but when he set his bedroll closer and closer to me each night, I started to piece together that he was teasing me. He was purposefully crumbling my sense of resolve. And I didn’t know how to stop him now that it was starting. I liked it too much to tell him to stop. We had stopped two more nights where I stayed up to keep watch. It was a gift from my ancestors, but it did have a slow drain on my body and I was losing the discipline that I normally had.

Altan was about to become my ruin and I was terrified of it.

I had the feeling that we were close approaching my people - I could smell the faint waft of the smoke of the camps and hoped that we would make it before nightfall. And then I could get some sleep, get a hot meal in my stomach and regain my composure, maybe spend some time away from Altan to clear my head. Though Gruumsh be damned because I knew the moment I brought Altan into that camp that my family would throw us into a tent together and wouldn’t let us free until we finally mated. And I wouldn’t put it past any of my siblings or even my father to be sitting outside the tent listening in. I was mortified at the thought. Did they not know this was already more than I had ever bargained for?

I had a feeling that I was greatly outnumbered when it came to whether or not I should sleep with Altan as soon as we were safe - Altan’s vote was also likely against me.

I groaned inwardly and ran my hand through the hair that fell loose from my topknot and took a deep, strained breath and kept my feet walking. I hadn’t seen a sign of anyone pursuing us in the last two days and I dared to believe that we were safe, but I wasn’t ready to relax yet. My senses were focused as much as they could be on catching any signs of someone nearby: smells, sounds, sights - I was trained to find them through any means if I needed to.

“Drun!” Altan exclaimed excitedly, breaking my thoughts and I looked down to see him pointing. “Water!”

I followed his direction and saw a pool of clear blue water. It was being fed from the river that we had followed for a short time until our path strayed towards the Fields of the Dead where my family was. It was wide and looked to be deep enough for a swim, but not much deeper, its waters a pale sky blue that honestly looked inviting after the dust and sweat of days of travel on me.

“I’ve been longing to clean this stench off of me.” He said, lifting the black robe that he had been wearing when we ran away. “I’m going to burn this thing when we finally get to your home.”

I looked around, assessing the options. I was eager to be moving, but I also couldn’t deny that I was eager to wash off the sweat and stink on my body.

He grinned up at me, “It’s safe, yes? It will be fast.”

I did one final sweep and I nodded in assent.

He whooped and was suddenly breaking into a run. The image of him, dancing and careening with that golden light that seemed to follow him in any weather or condition, left me breathless and I found myself stumbling in pursuit of that light.

Our packs were left at the edge of the water and I saw that Altan had already flung his boots from his feet and he was shedding the dust-coated black robe that he had been wearing. I was caught where I was, my feet suddenly stone and unmoving, watching breathlessly and anticipating the visage I was about to be blessed with.

I saw golden brown skin that looked warm to the touch. Oh gods I was lost in the smooth, vastness of his back, his lithe frame that inspired sinful thoughts in my mind. He was standing at the pool’s edge, barefoot, and only wearing a pair of cream-colored braies. He stretched his arms out high and I caught the slight, gentle curve of his waist. The reflection of the water in front of him danced and rippled across his soft stomach and I pulled in my breath as my eyes wavered and followed it down to where his hips slanted downwards before I couldn’t see anymore.

He was sculpted elegantly and with sophistication where it counted - giving him a look of someone royal, fit and austere, but there was also the overwhelming softness that pervaded all of that. He was quite possibly the trap that would send me to damnation and I was prepared to descend to whatever depths I had to to get a taste of such temptation.

“Fuck.” I breathed. I was doomed. Damned. Fooled. Sinking deeper and deeper into this fever dream. Lordhovid may have had me burning for Altan, but even with it gone I still felt something deeper that was buried inside me that left a primal thirst for him. This wasn’t about lust anymore. It was a need to be reunited with something that belonged to me.

He whipped his gaze to me and his eyes were alight with something victorious and exultant as he caught my frozen stance. His lips teased into a smile and I caught the glint of the sharpness of his teeth as he tossed his curls behind him and he began to step into the water. His eyes were still on me, tempting me, pulling me.

He had wanted this. I was sure of it and I fell right into his game.

Was I upset by that, though? My brain was too unfocused to know what to think.

“Are you going to take a swim or not?” He called, the water was now to his waist - gods that waist why did it haunt me so - and his fingers were dancing over the surface, leaving gentle ripples that spread out and stretched towards me.

I don’t know how, but somehow I managed to clumsily step towards the water’s edge and I fumbled with my boots, my pants, my shirt until I was bare of anything except for my underclothes.

Altan’s eyes were locked on me, fiery and wanting. I returned the want in my gaze and I was suddenly being pulled to him. I was in the water, wading towards him. I could feel the coolness of the water on my skin, but I didn’t recognize it as I took each step closer to him.

“You temptor.” I breathed, disbelief in my voice.

He grinned. “Yes, me.” He winked and beckoned me closer with the slight curl of his finger. “Perhaps I wasn’t only wanting to wash myself.”

I stopped just short of a few feet and I held myself stock still. “What do you plan to do?” I couldn’t deny the slight fear I was feeling. I couldn’t deny what I was wanting - I wanted Altan, I wanted him, oh gods I needed him - but I still was scared of what was happening to me, happening to us and I was scared of where it was leading. My hands were caught in fists at my side and I struggled to hold his gaze as the reality of what our bodies were leading us towards was more clear. There was no question we were both breathing harder, but also holding our breath, holding back the urges our bodies and our hearts were pushing us towards. We were standing at the edge of a cliff, one more step and it would be the tipping point that would send us both over the edge to somewhere new and entirely unexplored.

He closed the distance, I saw his eyes take me in and I felt the bubbling sick sensation of shame. I was nothing like he deserved, I thought. I was brutish, I was scarred across all parts of my body from the spars I had as a child. There was a dent in my stomach from when I was gored by a boar during one of my hunts as a young boy, now only a white patch of hardened scars remained. I itched to put my hand over it, to hide it. My tusks suddenly felt too big, my skin felt rough and hideous. I wanted to hide.

But Altan’s eyes met mine and I wondered what he saw, because in his eyes I continued to see the wanting, the desire to be with me.

His hand was suddenly on my stomach, water was slipping free and trailing down from his hand and down my skin. I shivered, but held my gaze.

“Drun.” He breathed, he seemed to be almost out of breath as he pressed his hand further against my abdomen and then his other hand was reaching, raising up and caressing the side of my face.

I was lost in his golden gaze. His eyes - now heavy and weighed with desire - were like pools of warmth - reminding me of the dizzying dance of our campfires. I couldn’t look away. My breath was catching as I felt his hand on my stomach trail up towards my chest. I was caught in his grasp. I was nothing more than a marionette, and he controlled the strings.

“Altan.” My voice hitched and I was embarrassed at how apparently aroused I was. I felt the heat between my legs and I was grateful the water covered anything I didn’t want him to see.

His eyes crinkled as he grinned.

He pulled back and turned away from me. “I’m so sorry, love, I couldn’t help myself. I think I’ve teased you enough, my dear.” He dunked his head under the water and I saw bubbles on the surface.

What? My mind stuttered.

He breached the water and flung his hair back and he was now standing, staring at me, dripping wet.

What the fuck was this man doing to me?

I shook my head, “Enough teasing.” I waded towards him and reached for him, snatching his arm and pulling him towards me. He was weightless as he eagerly let himself be pulled into my arms. Suddenly my arms were around him, his bare chest, wet and dripping pressed against me. His golden eyes looked at me with such intense want. My one arm was around his waist and I let out a gasp as I took in everything I was feeling, everything I was seeing.

Gods, I could have died at that moment.

“What will you have from me?” I gasped, my eyes searching his.

“If we’re lucky, I will have all of you.” He said, his voice teasing, but then he sobered and his eyes fell on my lips. “But for now, I will have a kiss.”

I bit back the refusal. Orcs do not kiss each other; tusks against tusks were uncomfortable and so it was only ever done during angry sexual encounters as a way to show dominance - some of my siblings had chipped their tusks from tussles with their mates that way. But Altan was not an orc, and as my attention fell to his lips, I wondered if they would feel as soft as they seemed.

Suddenly I was carrying him, I had lifted him and held him up to match my gaze and his hand was suddenly caught in my hair, pulling my topknot free and his lips were on mine. I felt his legs wrap around my waist and his hips rocked forward and I swear I saw stars. I wasn’t sure if I was standing anymore or caught underwater, I was too lost in feeling everything, savoring this moment. His lips, his lips were so soft, yet so earnest as he tried to pull himself closer to me, even though we were chest to chest and I was holding him against me. We were eager to draw each other into one another’s space, there was no such thing as too close - too much. He pulled back and ran a finger down one of my tusks before placing a gentle kiss on it. I shivered. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath and smell the earthy clean smell from the pool. The hand still caught around the back of my head pulled me close to him. His eyes closed and we were kissing again. He was good at it and I was losing myself to it. His tongue was suddenly in my mouth and I could taste him. He tasted sweet, warm and my breath hitched again as I heard a gentle whimper escape his lips. His fingers curled and pulled my hair tight.

“Drunrag.” His voice was nothing more than a whispery breath. “I love you.” His lips brushed against mine as he spoke and I felt the words. Felt them and knew them to be true. That feeling that he was some other part of me that I needed to be whole thrummed with confirmation that yes, he was mine. He was mine and he would complete me.

“Nod merad.” I growled. “Nod djenifad. Nod sanitrash.” I slipped into orcish and my voice came out low and desperate. “Na dovid dra ek na kamiam weltha dra. Dra duwam. Nod raebukam.” Every possible confession I could make, I whispered against his lips and I drank the way he clung to me. I held him close and I poured everything I wanted him to know into my words. “Na wukka tompa zak dra.”

He sighed and pulled himself back, taking in the sight of me. “Are you going to tell me what any of that means?”

I smiled, and shook my head. “Not tonight, no.”

He feigned disappointment then ran his finger down my tusk. “You will teach me?”

I nodded. “Yes. Once you learn to behave. You have been teasing me these last two days.”

He at least had the decency to look coy. “I’m sorry, my love. You…” He chewed on his bottom lip. “You have no idea how hard it is to be next to someone as handsome as you and not be able to do or say anything.”

I jerked, “Handsome?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You do not think you are handsome?”

I shook my head, “Not even by orc standards. I’m rather average.” I couldn’t begin to wonder what those not of my kind see in me.

His jaw hung low and he vehemently shook his head. “False. You are lying to me. There is no one as handsome as you. My Drun.” He said, his finger was still stroking my tusk again and I was struggling to stay focused. “Perhaps you really were made for me.” He said, wistful.

I shook my head. “You have strange ideas.” I ignored the pulsing deep inside me that confirmed what Altan was saying was true. I slowly lowered him back down to the ground, the water rippled around us. “We should be moving on soon if we want to get to my father’s camp before it is late. Wash up quickly.”

I knew it was abrupt, but if Altan continued to tease me with his golden aura, I would have found myself on top of him and taking things further well into the next day. I waded away from him and dunked my head into the water and held myself there.

Gruumsh please keep me strong. And promise me that I will have sleep tonight or else I will break.

Altan looked reluctant to wear the black robe when we stepped out of the water - I made it a point to not stare at the way his now wet braies clung to his hips and thighs and…everything else. I reached for my shirt and held it out to him. “Here, take it until you’re fully dry.”

It was a big mistake to offer it, because as soon as I saw Altan wearing my tunic, there was a dangerous sense of possessiveness in me. My mate, wearing my shirt. It was far too large for him, but it also looked right for him to be wearing it. The inner voice in my head purred with delight at the sight.

We were relaxed on the last leg of our journey. I - now lacking a shirt - and Altan carrying our boots in his hands as we both walked barefoot. Something eased between us and we found each other trading soft gazes at each other and I found myself drifting closer to him just so I could brush against him. He hummed next to me and I closed my eyes and let my feet guide me as I listened to the melody he crafted.

At the end, I opened my eyes and found his eyes on me.

“Your voice is beautiful.” I said, and I leaned down to kiss him. I admittedly enjoyed kissing - I don’t believe anyone else could have made it as nice as Altan did.

He hummed in approval as I found my hands holding his waist and pulled him towards me, my arms slid around him perfectly and I wondered if maybe we really were created for one another. I leaned down, cupping his face with my hands and letting the light of his golden love warm me inside and through me. I pressed my forehead to his, holding each other still for a moment. And then my lips found his and we savored the taste of each other. He was sweet and lovely and I loved him. The word I had skirted around, tested and wondered until finally I knew it's truth. I loved him completely.

I didn’t smell the humans until it was too late.

I heard the quick sharp thwip of an arrow just before I felt the hard impact on my thigh and suddenly a dull, throbbing pain. I grunted, stepped back and looked down to see an arrow lodged in my leg.

“Drun!” Altan yelled, his hands clinging to me. We both whipped around to see at the crest of a hill three men, all of them pointing arrows at us.

“They found us.” He breathed.

Want to be updated on new chapters? DM me to be added to the tag list!

@eltrolodecadadia

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pro-logue-epi-logue · 9 months

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The way these two talk about each other is sooo precious, like mind you they are not even dating.

I am totally sold on willemmy.

Every reader has a couple that are THE COUPLE for them right?

I have a felling Willemmy is going to be that for me.

#i love their love #will grayson iii #emory scott #willemmy #nightfall #nightfall chapter 10 #jo read's nightfall #the devil's night #the devils night #devil's night #devils night #the devil's night series

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azukiel · 5 months

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Nightfall Heir Chapter 9

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Kidnapping, Pregnancy and Childbirth

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

You and your vampiric lover, Astarion, had been nigh inseparable since coming back together. Yet a certain turn of events saw to your kidnapping and then... to your unexpected pregnancy.

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost dawn by the time Astarion and the others returned to the house. Of which day, though, you were not to know. You had been still slipping in and out of consciousness. Halsin put you into a deeper, more restful slumber so that your dreams would not torment you and you could heal better.

Astarion and the others were visibly exhausted as they stumbled in through the front door, their armour dripping with sweat and copious amounts of sanguine fluids. The others in the group, however, looked paler than the vampiric-elf himself.

“What happened? Are you all ok?” Shadowheart’s voice was full of worry.

Gale nodded, his hands were still trembling. “Our bodies are unscathed, mostly. But... it is going to take a while longer to erase what happened from our minds.”

Shadowheart and Halsin looked at them, confused. Astarion’s gaze was austere and brooding.

“Carnage. Pure, bloody fucking carnage!” Karlach piped up then, her voice rather one of excitement, as she was still giddy from the event.

“Honestly, Astarion,” Lae’zel continued, a somewhat proud look on her face, “I knew all had reason to fear you, but this night truly emphasized that fact.”

“They had it coming.” Was all Astarion replied as he looked over at you, his eyes drooping with a deep anguish.

“How is she?” His voice came out small, almost meek.

Halsin looked sympathetically back at him. He put his hand on his younger counterpart’s shoulder and squeezed gently, trying to calm his nerves. “As well as could be expected. She should recover.”

Astarion’s breath escaped him, and tears began to cascade down his pale features, streaking rivulets through the caked blood and grime on his face. The others looked at each other knowingly before looking back at Astarion, their eyes full of sympathy and understanding.

“We will go to barracks and clean up there.” Wyll spoke once more. “We will return later, after we’ve all had some rest and recuperation.”

Halsin nodded in agreement to Wyll’s suggestion, and as they all filed back out the door, they either patted Astarion on the back or shoulder in reassurance, showing their understanding.

“We already bathed here. I hope you do not mind.” Shadowheart spoke up after a few moments when Wyll, Karlach, Gale, and Lae’zel had left.

“No..no, of course not.” Astarion smiled faintly, attempting some form of decorum. Yet, he could not help but sob within his attempts to remain composed.

“It is alright to weep, my friend.” Halsin patted him on the shoulder again. “It’s healthier to let it out than to keep it all pent up inside.”

“I know...” Astarion seemed more frustrated by himself than anything. “We could not find her...” His teeth gritted as flashes of what had occurred that night flooded his mind.

“Who, Astarion?”

“Faceless.” His tone was bitter, angered and frustrated as he balled his hands at his sides. “She escaped... that fucking murderous bitch escaped... left the remnants of her coven to meet my blades. And meet my blades, they did. I gorged on their blood and left their innards sprawled along the walls and their limbs strewn along the floors. Faceless will have nothing but the entrails of her comrades to return to. And when she returns, I will hunt her. I will hunt her to the ends of Faerûn and rip her fucking throat out.”

With each spoken word, his anger only intensified. Shadowheart put her hand upon his arm to calm his ever-growing ire. The tears only cascaded faster down his cheeks then, creating muddy paths from their mingling with the crimson life force of the fallen.

“She will pay, my friend,” she tried to soothe him, yet even her voice shook with rage. “But now you must clean yourself up and get some rest. I am sure Tav will recover quicker with you close to her.”

Astarion wiped his wet face roughly, not bothering to address his utter shame at his outbursts. In a way, he found it almost relieving that his companions saw his weaknesses and felt them as he did. After all, they had been through countless trials together. He knew their allegiance would never wane. That thought alone caused his sobs to abate and gave way to some semblance of peace.

“Indeed,” Halsin concurred. “Rest yourself for now. Shadowheart and I shall rest soon after.”

Astarion nodded. “The guest rooms are at your disposal. And thank you. Thank you both for everything you have done for her. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Repayment is not needed. It’s what friends are for.” Halsin responded with a kind smile.

“Exactly.” Shadowheart reiterated. “You both would not hesitate to do the same for any of us.”

Astarion flushed through the blood and grime that streaked his porcelain features. “Indeed, we would. Now please, go rest. I will wash up and take vigil over her.”

Halsin nodded in agreement as he stifled a yawn. Looking out the doors of your balcony, he could see the hint of sun coming over the horizon.

“Lathander is bringing upon a new day, Astarion. Did you happen to find her ring?”

Astarion’s tired eyes shot open in remembrance. Shoving his hand in under his leather Drow armour, he bought out the ring... still attached to a rather pointed finger. Halsin and Shadowheart’s mouths dropped agape.

Astarion pulled the ring off the finger and stared at the finger with disgust.

“I was able to cut it off the bitch’s hand before she escaped,” he explained. Taking a deep waft of the finger’s scent, he promptly threw it out the open door with such force it flew far enough to fall into the river, which flowed at the far end of the garden.

“Now I will remember the cunt’s scent. I will hunt her down and destroy her if it is the last thing I do.” His face once more filled with rage and resolve, causing Halsin to look at Shadowheart with a concerned expression. They knew Astarion would keep to his word. He was resolute and stubborn like that. Alas, Astarion now, of all times, needed to be re-centered, especially now that you, his beloved, were with child.

“Astarion,” Halsin began calmly, “go and clean yourself up. When you’re done, you and I need to have a talk.”

Astarion’s expression turned to one of confusion then, but he did not question the Archdruid’s command, and went to do what he was told.

When he returned after a while, Shadowheart was now downstairs in one of the guestrooms asleep, and Halsin was sitting on the chair he had brought into the main bedroom, watching you as you slept. Upon entering the room, Halsin looked up at him with a tired but warm smile.

“Take a seat,” he motioned to the side of the bed. Astarion did so, looking down at you for a moment before he refocussed his attention on the much bigger elf.

Halsin leaned forward and gently placed the palm of his hand on your stomach, and this time, Astarion noted his action.

He squinted slightly as he spoke, “What... what are you doing?” Astarion asked, confused.

Halsin smiled broadly this time, making Astarion suddenly grow uneasy at his obvious joy.

“My hand is not merely upon her stomach...” the druid began, smiling calmly.

Astarion blinked hard, still very befuddled. “Speak plainly, Halsin,” he demanded, a slight frown knotting his brow.

Halsin tilted his head for a moment before answering. “There is something you need to know about Tav, something she was not aware of, or too shocked and afraid to tell you.”

Astarion’s mind had churned rapidly, all of Halsin’s words spinning into a chaotic clutter in his head.

“Is she dying, Halsin?! Is that what you are telling me?”

Halsin could not help but chuckle softly at Astarion’s conclusion.

“No, my dear friend,” he reassured. “She is quite the contrary.”

Astarion blinked hard again. “What, Halsin?! What in the Nine Hells is it?”

“She is with child.”

Astarion just stared at Halsin in pure and utter disbelief, and Halsin kept a level and sympathetic gaze with him as the news settled upon Astarion’s fraying senses.

“How is that... that possible? I’m technically... dead!”

“Undead.” Halsin corrected with a grin. “But undead can procreate when coupled with life.”

“Wh... what?” Astarion stuttered, his eyes wide and still clouded with confusion.

“Dhampir.” Halsin stated.

Astarion’s lip drooped as he continued to look blankly, the words not yet settling in his tired mind.

Halsin cupped Astarion’s shaking hand with his large palm and guided his hand to the very tiny bump of your abdomen, leaving Astarion’s cold fingers resting gently there.

“Close your eyes, my friend. Let me guide you.”

Astarion complied with Halsin’s request. As instructed, his eyelids fluttered closed.

“Focus all of your senses on her. Feel every sensation within reach. Close yours around your little babe here inside; let nothing else distract from their presence.”

It was barely perceptible, but to a vampire’s keen wits and the help of Halsin’s magic, the ever-so-faint essence of a new soul graced Astarion’s senses. His eyes shot open, his mouth fell slightly agape. How had he not sensed this before? Had he been so wrapped up with his carnal pleasures with you for him to have noticed? Then why had he not noticed during normal times? Surely he had not been that distracted?

“Now the real work begins, my friend.” Halsin grinned.

Astarion snapped back to reality, the daze within him beginning to lift. His face still looked stunned, like an anvil had slammed into his forehead. Were those tears he could feel stinging the corner of his eyes?

“What exactly are you insinuating?” Astarion queried hesitantly, afraid of what Halsin may reply, feeling nervous about whatever news the Archdruid was about to relay to him. Astarion knew almost nothing of children, childbirth, or even child-rearing. Whatever little he had learnt was from all your previous interactions with them back in camp and at the new orphanage Halsin had established in what were the old Shadowlands - now Lightlands - as Halsin had nicknamed it. But babies? No. Absolutely nothing. Though contemplating, or perhaps lamenting at the inability to have children with you had crossed his mind on more than one occasion.

“Besides hunting down and destroying that woman that haunts us all... you will have to be the spearhead that guides and supports Tavrin through the emotional and bodily changes she will experience with her pregnancy and then the pains of childbirth, for her sake, and the safety of the babe’s.”

Halsin’s words came down like a sledgehammer. Astarion’s jaw clenched immediately. He suddenly found himself dumbfounded, his speech almost robbed by the notion of becoming a parent. Him, a parent?

He looked between your sleeping form and Halsin, who was now eyeing him inquisitively.

“Is...is this real? There’s absolutely no mistake?”

Halsin sighed and his jaw tensed. “Of course, this is no mistake, Astarion. You are going to be a father.”

“Me?” Astarion’s voice quivered coarsely.

Halsin chuckled. “Of course, you. Who else?”

Astarion then eyed the Archdruid, causing the bear of an elf to blush and clear his throat.

“My friend, the three of us have not continued our secret tryst in quite some time. Of course you are the father. Tav would have it no other way.”

“I...am going to be a father...” The words rolled out of Astarion’s lips as easily as the salt of his tears that now rolled down his cheeks. He broke into a bright and joyful smile as the tears kept flowing. Leaning over, Astarion embraced Halsin tightly, making the larger man blush furiously. But he did not repel from the embrace, but rather relished in it. He cared deeply for the both of you, and perhaps missed the naughty nights the three of you spent with each other on the odd occasion. Halsin hoped, truly, that you would find yourselves living in peace with this child and that Faceless would no longer hound you and continue to threaten the happiness you two had built together. But the threat she still posed lingered darkly in all your minds.

Both pulling away gently, Astarion wiped his dampened eyes with his sleeve. “I’m still having a hard time believing it. I mean, I do now but... everything I had learnt about vampirism and my kind, which was very little, came from Cazador. He ensured the shroud was kept pulled well over our eyes. Being undead and all, I thought it would be impossible for us to conceive children. I now stand corrected.”

Halsin nodded, relieved that he was gradually opening up about it.

“There is one thing I know, though.” Halsin began. “Only true vampires are able to conceive with other humanoid creatures, and now that Cazador is out of the picture, well, technically, you are now a true vampire.”

Astarion pondered on Halsin’s words for a moment. “You are right...”

“Have you and Tavrin discussed offspring at all before, by any chance?” Halsin smiled softly. “Even briefly?”

“No...” Astarion paused for a moment, gazing tenderly at the smooth features of your bruised and battered face, “But honestly... it has crossed my mind on more than one occasion.”

“This can only mean one thing,” Halsin deduced as he shifted to take hold of Astarion’s chin, forcing him to avert his loving gaze away from your body to meet his. “The gods have spoken.” Halsin let go of him, a mischievous grin slipping across his broad chin.

Astarion could not help but chuckle. “I did not take you for being the teasing type, Halsin.”

“I guess the children’s humour has rubbed off on me,” he laughed as he referred to the many children that were keeping Thaniel and Oliver company back at the orphanage. “And soon there will be the pitter-patter of a little Astarion and Tavrin running around! Gods be willing, perhaps many pitter-patters of tiny feet to fill your new home!”

Astarion sat back and blinked. “Multiple offspring?”

“If you both remain busy.” Halsin teased further.

Astarion gulped. “Ah.. well, then I hope I shall live to see these ‘pitter-pattering of feet’, as you put it.”

Halsin laughed and clapped Astarion across the back jovially. “Don’t be so forlorn, my friend. All will be well with us watching over each other.”

“I know. It’s just that... I’m still reeling from all that has happened and now with this bombshell... I don’t know what to think. But I have to thank you again, Halsin, for everything. I have to thank all of you, to be honest, but you especially. I never would have thought I would have bonded with a bear of a druid so well.” He laughed at the motion, causing Halsin himself to chuckle.

“And me being a disciple of the Oak-father, never would have thought I would have coupled with an undead and a drow from the Underdark, for that matter, but here we are!”

Astarion went silent and looked thoughtfully towards his love. “Speaking of couplings...” Astarion trailed off. “Would you endure one more favour for me?”

Halsin blinked. “Oh?” He looked at Astarion curiously, his own heart beginning to pound in his chest. “A-another threesome?”

Astarion chuckled cheekily, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, I would not say no to that, but we must wait to see what our beloved Tav has to say.” His eyes narrowed on Halsin, and his grin turned salacious. “Though I am sure she would not abhor the thought. The nights the three of us have spent fucking till the morning birds sang sure were deliciously fun.”

Halsin felt his cheeks heat at the memories. They had been, indeed.

“But that is a favour for perhaps another time,” Astarion continued, his tone becoming more serious once again.

“All this cultist blood I gorged on has made me feel somewhat sick to the stomach. My palette needs cleansing and well,” he looked back down at you. “With Tav in such a state, obviously I cannot feed from her...”

“You want to feed from me?” Halsin raised a thick eyebrow.

“Only for a few moments. Just enough to get this foul blood flushed through my system and to curb the worst of my hunger. And well, with our history of the three of us... I thought perhaps you might be willing to share just a little of your healing with me?”

Halsin’s smile then took Astarion aback. He was not expecting the Archdruid to actually agree.

“As a druid, it is my duty to regenerate life. If I can give you life anew, then I will do so by whatever means necessary, my friend.”

“I never would have imagined the Oak-father to endorse such decadence between us...” Astarion started, unable to hide his amusement, yet his voice turned grave. “That is, if he actually does, of course. Not like I care, but you…”

Halsin drew Astarion in close then, much to the vampiric-elf’s shock. He pulled away just far enough to stare Astarion in his faint crimson eyes.

“Life is life, Astarion,” he murmured, a low growl entering his voice. “To celebrate giving life in whatever form one might encounter should be reason enough to bring a smile to anyone’s lips.”

The fire in Halsin’s voice stirred both fear and lust in Astarion. Yes, the three of you had some... heated interactions in the past, but this time... something felt different. Was it perhaps the emotions stirred from discovering about the unborn child, or was it merely because Halsin and his power were both desirable and dangerous and incredibly alluring, or a bit of everything, really? Either way, his cock was starting to feel tight.

Halsin placed his finger firmly beneath Astarion’s chin. “Tavrin is fast asleep and well,” his finger left his chin then and traced a trail along your elegant jaw.

His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “As the Oak-father made me a protector and a healer of the woodlands, it would be an absolute sin not to bless your carnal thirst with my own essence of life.”

Astarion squirmed in his spot and gripped his thighs tightly. That sentence alone was enough to make him grow fully hard beneath his leather trousers. Halsin, knowingly, grinned.

“That will have to wait until Tav gives us all permission, if she has the will or needs to do so,” he added as he looked at Astarion’s growing arousal.

Halsin looked away then, pushing down his own growing lust that he felt towards you both. He could not help but reminisce on the beauty of you taking hold of him, and the desire to embrace you again as he had the past times the three of you were in bed together. He could not help but shiver at the desire to have Astarion covet him with affections once more. The three of you in a sweaty, tangled mess, riding each other into oblivion, moaning and crying your praises of each other. How his mind wanted him to believe it could happen then, but with your safety a constant priority, and you currently teetering between the Abyss and the divine, Halsin would not break his promise to the Woodland Whisperer to look after you and the child within your womb first.

Astarion nodded, and a sudden guilt gripped him. “I won’t feed from you without her permission, despite my own predicament right now.” He looked down at his hardened member as it pressed against its trappings, and his brow furrowed. “I do not want to betray her. I would never...”

“I understand your sentiments,” Halsin reassured gently.

“Though I must remind you rather amusingly that it was her who initiated our little... understanding.”

Astarion could not help but chuckle then. He could remember it well. “Oh trust me, I know. And I’ll have you know, that of all of you that had tried to woo her and get into her panties at one point or another, which is all of you to be honest, you are the only one I was willing to accept aside from myself, of course.”

Halsin laughed jovially. “And I am honoured, my friend.” He glanced down again at Astarion’s tented crotch pressing up painfully under those tight leather pants. He fought his continued urges to ease the Elven vampire out of his troubles.

“Now, I think we all need to sleep,” he began, once more pushing such lurid thoughts from his mind. “Put the Eclipsed Radiance back on her finger lest you lose it and then get some rest. We can all talk again after we’ve rested enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Astarion cleared his throat as he took the ring from his clean shirt pocket and slipped it back onto your ring finger. As he did so, Halsin had stood to close the doors and curtains.

“Sleep well, Astarion.” The bear of a druid squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “And remember, all will be well.”

Astarion nodded. “Thank you again, Halsin, for everything. I owe you all a great debt.”

Halsin smiled gently. “You owe us nothing, my friend.” And with those words, he left your bedroom, closing the door behind him gently.

Sighing, Astarion slipped under the blankets and curled up beside you, watching your plump chest rise and fall from your breathing. Though your breath was still somewhat laboured, Halsin and Shadowheart’s healing was repairing you slowly. And for that, Astarion was eternally grateful.

Gently, he reached his arm over you to place his hand once more upon your stomach, focussing his senses and energy as Halsin had shown him.

After a few minutes of silence, you inhaled deeply and groaned, but remained in slumber.

Astarion stiffened as your breath rattled against his ears, and his senses focused back on your breathing.

“Just sleep, my dear. Sleep.” His words came out like a gentle plea.

With your steady and comforting breathing resuming, he felt assured that everything was finally calm. As he pressed his chest up against your sleeping form, his face rested gently against yours. Again, he focussed his senses to where his hand rested upon your belly, and a great warmth filled his entire being. He could feel them; the life that grew in you. He could now smell them, too, and tears welled up in his eyes again at the notion that all this was possible. Even though he had considered offspring before, he had never thought to bring it up to you, as he had always thought it impossible. You yourself had never mentioned children, either. Perhaps the both of you were too afraid or embarrassed to discuss it.

But it was real now, and his happiness swelled in his chest and he smiled at you sleeping beside him. If you would let him, he would love nothing more than to father more children with you one day. How he would manage running around with a gaggle of mini versions of you and himself he could not quite comprehend yet, but if it was with you, then he would manage. And with that thought lingering on his drowsy mind, he would strive to be the best father and partner that he could be.

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omgkatherine01 · 1 year

Text

Heart of Darkness: Chapter 1 - Danes

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Pairing: Osferth x female reader

Please comment, like and share

"Y/n, look." You turned from the waves of the ocean to your big brother, Osbert as he approached to you by the rocks. He sat down and took off his necklace, showing you the shiny orange stone he received from your father. "Look through it."

You held the stone closer and peered through it, looking at the castle you live in, through the orange stone. You grinned at the colour and moved the stone away. "It looks pretty," you said and he smiled at you.

Due to your young age, Osbert and your older brother, Uhtred, realized that shiny items attract you, and get you distracted pretty easily, to their amusement.

Despite the three of you don't share the same mother, you were very close to your brothers, unlike with your parents, and loved them dearly.

Your father, Lord Uhtred moved his eyes to his two children, seen you two a little away. He frowned as his seven year old daughter and 10 year old son were now sitting by the rocks where the tide would surely strike, "Osbert! Y/n!"

You and your brother turned to him and his men, and your father continued, "The tide is on the turn."

Osbert frowned and let out a sigh to move to follow but stopped when you didn't follow and just turned to watch the ocean. "I'll not warn you again!" your father called.

You frowned when you spotted ships approaching and turned to your father, "Ships! There!" you said, pointing.

Your father followed your finger to the ocean. His frown disappeared and worried expression appeared on his face. "Danes," he muttered, "The devil's turds."

"Are they traders?" Osbert asked, taking your hand and led you back to your father.

"No!" your father answered, "They come as Vikings!" He turned to his horse. "We go!"

You looked to the ships before been pulled by your brother to his horse. He helped you up to his horse before climbing behind you. You rode after your father, uncle and the rest of the men that came with you, back to the Bebbanburg gates.

When you reached through the gates, your father shouted, "Where is my son? Uhtred." Your older brother appeared from the balcony. "Take half a dozen men ride to the river. There are pagans there. You watch them, see how many there are."

Your brother nodded, "Of course, father."

"Do nothing more, you understand?"

"Yes, father."

You and Osbert got off of his horse and moved to your mother. "Mother," you said.

"Y/n, Osbert, what is it?" she asked, gently placing her hands on your shoulders.

"Ships," you answered, "I saw them first from the beach."

Your mother frowned, "What ships?"

"Danes," Osbert answered as he rushed away, "They're heading for the river."

Your mother gasped and pulled you closer by her side as she looked at your father when he approached. "God and the saints preserve us. They have no soul. We must pray."

"We must act," your father said as his Hawk landed on his arm, and he turned to your older brother as he walked past him, "Uhtred, do not fight them." Your brother stepped closer. "Not a single one. Be back by nightfall."

Your brother nodded, "Yes, father."

"I want to come," you said as you tried to step forward but then your mother pulled you back closer to her side, "Absolutely not!"

"I'll be back," your brother assured you as he placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Be careful," you said, and he gave you one last smile before leaving your and your parents side.

Your father moved to the steps, and your mother followed by his side, making you follow as she pulled you, like she knew if she would release you, you would go after your brother out there.

"They are sent by god to punish us for our sins," she said.

"Our sins be damned," your father said, "They're here to support the Viking army at Eoferwic." You frowned and your father turned away, "Aelfric!"

"We must instruct the priest to pray for our deliverance," your mother insisted.

Your father looked annoyed and ignored her to speak to your uncle, "Aelfric!"

Your uncle turned to him, "Lord?" He walked over while your mother pulled you away with her, "Come," she muttered.

"We take in as many women and elders as we can," you heard your father saying, "The rest to higher ground and out of sight."

"But mother, I want to help," you said. She nodded, "You can help, we must pray."

You threw your head back, "No! I want to help fight." Your mother stopped, making you stop as well since she was still holding you. She looked at you with a look you didn't see before on her, "You're a lady, y/n, enough with that nonsense."

You frowned, "It's not nonsense," you muttered.

"You do not know how to fight," she said and pulled you down the hall. You pulled yourself out from her grip and ran back outside. "Y/n!" she shouted but you ignored her.

You ran up the stairs and toward Osbert, who was looking outside. "What is it?" you asked and peered outside through the small hole as the bell was ringing. You watched as men, women and children running to the castle.

"Y/n." You and Osbert turned to your father as he approached. "Go to your mother. Now." You rolled your eyes and walked past him, annoyed.

You went against his order and walked under the stairs to look outside again. It didn't take long to see a few horses with unfamiliar people riding them.

"Horsemen approaching!"

You recognized one of the horses.

It was your brother's horse, and it had blood on it.

Your body froze as it approached with unfamiliar man. He removed the fur to show his face as he stared up. He slowly hold his arm up, and to your horror, he was holding the head of your older brother.

"No..." you found your voice and raised it along with Osbert, "No!"

"You will pay for it!" you screamed before you were pulled back. You blinked your angry tears away and looked up to your mother. She pulled you to her arms, but you quickly shrugged her off. You didn't mean to, but you were angry that father send him to his death, and that man killed him, and you were devested that he was now gone.

Uhtred was now dead. And you blamed your father for it.

Hours past since Uhtred was killed.

Since you were given his head, you haven't spoken a word to your father, nor your mother. The only once you spoken to were Osbert and the priest you and your brothers liked dearly, Father Beocca.

You and your brother were in his room, choosing to ignore the outside world until Father Beocca came to collect your brother, saying your father wanted to see him.

Without much of a choice, your brother left you in his room for a little while, until you were told that your father given Osbert a new name; Uhtred, son of Uhtred.

Now, he was the new Heir.

And Father Beocca wanted to baptist him for the second time, so your mother led you outside where it would happen.

"Come on, quickly," your mother said to two men that were carrying a bucket of water.

Your brother was standing in a huge bath, naked with only his necklace on his neck, shivering from the cold water that was pouring inside.

"Hurry, please," Father Beocca said. You stood by your mother, behind Uhtred. Father Beocca looked around the people before at your brother, placing his hand on top of his head. He looked away and up, nodding, and Uhtred understood and lowered himself under the water.

"Heavenly father, receive your servant Uhtred into the holy kind of saints and into the ranks of the most bright angels. Let your holy waters cleanse him and make him worthy of your blessing." You tugged on your mother's sleeve, nodding worriedly toward the bath when she looked at you. Clearly worried as well, she looked at the bath watching Father Beocca was still holding your brother by the head under the water.

"Make him your instrument and your rod," Father Beocca continued after a pause, making your mother's eyes dart to him and then the bath. "Let him realize the significance of the written word so that he may learn of Your glory, and in turn, may spread Your word."

He paused, and your mother watched as the water started bubbling. "Beo--" she started, but Father Beocca continued again, "Let him grow in wisdom and in respect so he may lead in a godly manner--"

"Beocca, he's cleanse," your mother managed to interrupt.

Father Beocca glanced at the bath and then up, "Amen." You let a relief sigh while your mother breathed out as Uhtred was released and he gasped for air the second he resurfaced.

Everyone cheered and your mother smiled proudly. "Uhtred, son of Uhtred of Bebbanburg... welcome to the Christian world. Behold, your people and your land." Your brother smiled, and you couldn't help but smile as well.

After the night celebrations, you woke up to discover your father had already left to battle, along with the men, and to your shock and horror, your uncle told you he found out your brother went after them.

"You have to go and get him back," you said.

Your uncle looked away from the outside toward you and let out a soft sigh as he approached. "My dear niece," he started and kneeled down in front of you, placing his hands on your arms. "I can't. I must stay here, and protect the people that are here in this castle. That includes you."

"Uhtred is the Heir," your mother spoke, tugging you back to stand next to her. To your surprise, she was glaring down at your uncle, and her body language was showing she didn't trust him like your father did.

Your uncle stood up and stared at your mother. "I know," he said after a moment, "But, it was his choice to leave and follow. If I knew what he was planning, I would have stopped him."

Your mother stared at him for a long moment, questioning his words. "Of course you would," she agreed, but with distant.

You looked between your mother and uncle as they stared each other down. You frowned and looked at your uncle, speaking quietly, "Uncle..." Your voice made him look down at you. "What is going to happen now?"

"We will wait, and pray for your father and brother to return with the rest of our men," he answered as he kneeled down again to look at you better. He placed his hand on your cheek, brushing away a tear that slipped and your mother's grip tighten on your shoulders, as if she was holding herself back.

"Do not fear, my sweet niece, everything will be alright," he assured, but deep down in your gut... you weren't feeling comfort by his words, or his touch.

#the last kingdom #osferth imagine #osferth x reader #osferth #osferth x you #osferth fanfic #osferth x y/n #baby monk #uhtred imagine #finan imagine #sihtric the last kingdom

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kpforpresident · 1 year

Note

NY clexa prompt: Stolen kisses between the library stacks during an all nighter

A tiny, adoring smile quirked the edges of Lexa's mouth as she fought the urge to grin dopily, love dripping from every pore. An amorous pair of lips continue their slow but intentional ascent up her forearm, lingering for a moment on the scar that marked her right hand, a remnant of a wild-child youth in the country. Lexa clears her throat in mock-stern repremandation as she bends even closer to her thick Ethics textbook, the lines blurring slightly as she blinks repeatedly to clear her eyes, propping her one free elbow on the sturdy oak desk. Her textbooks lay haphazardly around the large surface, free sheaths of paper covered in highlighter, margin annotations, and neon highlighter sticking out of random pages.

What is it in contact lenses that make them fuse to your eyes the second it is anywhere close to 10 pm? I want to chisel my goddamn eyes out, Lexa thinks absentmindedly as she scrubs tiredly with her free hand at at her face, other hand a willing captive to a certain loving blonde.

The sun had set long ago, casting long shadowy, sooty fingers over the beautifully domed ceilings of the library as the clock ticked slowly towards nightfall. Lexa had headed for her favourite back desk among the tall musty law stacks, settling in for a long evening of source gathering as beautiful books dating back over 100 years stood silent vigil around her. Unless you bent down and squinted, she was hardly visible in her little sanctuary, amidst some of the greatest law minds that New York had to offer.

“Baby…” Lexa begins, feeling the soft pair of lips slow as they hover close to her bicep, a cool set of fingers twining through her left hand as Lexa manages to wrangle her highlighter from her bag and uncap it with her teeth and free hand. She manages to spit the cap delicately on the library carrel, painstakingly relocating the needed sentence to highlight it in neon yellow.

“Yes, my life?” Comes a sweet voice from somewhere around Lexa’s navel, Clarke’s head now almost parallel to Lexa’s lap. She’s has slumped so far forward in the little chair she nudged up next to Lexa’s study space that their knees knock every time Lexa leans forward to re-examine her textbook, Clarke’s grey paint-coated sweatpants a bright spot in the dark and quiet Law library.

“C, we’ve had this convo before, you can go home and be with Sadia for now. Draw a bath with lots of those bubbles that make it smell like there’s been a nymph woodland gangbang in our bathroom. I just need to get through this chapter and then I can come home and hopefully join the sex- I mean, bath–” Lexa stammers as she runs a hand over her face again, seeing a quicksilver smile steal over Clarke’s face as she buries her head into Lexa’s stomach to conceal her laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort.

“It’s late, Clarke, you know my brain doesn’t work past nine pm,” Lexa grumbles in an attempt to save face, already feeling a flush crawl up her collarbones to lick at her cheeks.

“I know, beautiful, that’s why I think you should come home to me and our fur baby and the bath,” Clare’s amused voice, muffled by the way her face is buried in Lexa’s shirt floats up softly. “I know that your ethics prof is a hardass but you’re not going to cram any more info into your brain for your policy analysis tonight, it’s already past eleven and I know that all you’ve eaten this afternoon is that sad apple that was kicking around at the bottom of your bag.”

Lexa mumbles a sheepish affirmative just as her stomach rumbles, right on cue to damn her for her lack of nutritional intake. Clarke nuzzles into her belly one more time, blowing a hot stream of teasing air into Lexa’s middriff before sitting up again and pressing a sweet kiss to Lexa’s still-reddened cheekbone.

Lexa tries to ignore the way her stomach swoops to hear Clarke say the word baby, even if it is in referal to their extremely rambunctious little black kitten that Clarke had found in the art studio parking lot a few months ago. Lexa shoves that feeling into a secret little part of her heart to be further examined at a future point in time, maybe when said girlfriend isn’t peering inquisitively into her visage, bright blue eyes scanning her expression with calm inquiry.

“Do I win, love? Can we go home?”

Lexa nods a loving affirmative as she tucks her arm around Clarke’s shoulders, nosing aside the golden blonde tresses to inhale the comforting scent of the art studio, which always presented itself as wood shavings, turpentine, and the fresh linen that Clarke draped the cement floor with prior to her hours-long painting sessions. She tries not to think too much into the fact that this is the smell that comes to mind when someone asks her about home.

Battle won, Clarke wastes no time in scrambling to quickly albeit neatly pack away all of Lexa’s belongings into the worn backpack that slumps at their feet, pressing a smiley kiss to Lexa’s lips as she nudges her to her feet.

“I made stir fry with that chili crisp you like, Lex- the really smiley fruit stand owner also gave me a handful of dragonfruit for free because she said she sees us at the shop more often that her own daughter, we have to google how to cut and store it later–”

Lexa, half listening, only notices that Clarke has stopped her determined beeline for the large wooden library doors because she almost trips over her. At this late hour, they are almost alone in the cavernous room, save the warm glow of the security desk lamp where a bored looking co-ed sits, slumped over their phone with the bright glow of their screen casting a ghoulish pallor over their face.

“Wha–”

Clarke presses a mischievous finger to her lips and tugs Lexa down a shadowy row to her left, just out of view of the little desk.

Lexa’s mouth dries out as Clarke tugs her backpack off her shoulder, it hitting the ground with a soft thump as Clarke crowds her into the metallic bookshelf, hip to hip as she laces their fingers together to wrap Lexa’s arms around her achingly familiar figure.

“We are the only ones here- wanna make out in the library for a little bit first?”

Lexa can never refuse the excited gleam that shivers through Clarke’s eyes, nodding yes as she feels a thick swatch of lust paint its way down her spine.

They leave as the large grandfather clock in the hallway chimes midnight, giggling as Lexa presses an adoring kiss to the back of Clarke’s hand.

They make their way through the inky spring night like this, joined hands swinging between them all the way home.

#ny au #clexa #kpwrites #listen i am nowhere near as good at moodboards as @crimsonknight is #but i am trying ok

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foundtherightwords · 2 months

Text

The Firebird - Chapter 10

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: violence, injuries, blood

Chapter word count: 6.3k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - The Tsar's Offer

Over the next few days, while they were making their way to Tsar Afron's fortress, Paul felt rather sorry for Ilya Muromets. The knight was trapped, as it were, between two pairs of lovebirds, who kept darting glances at one another, only to look away shyly when the other caught their eyes, kept finding ways to touch one another's hand, and kept smiling idiotically (or at least Paul did) at one another. But either Ilya didn't notice anything, or he was too tactful to mention them, for he said nothing at all.

To be fair, Paul wasn't quite sure if he and Zhara could be called lovebirds, although she was, quite literally, a bird half of the time. Elena and Dobrynya—there was no doubt about it. One evening, while he was gathering firewood, Paul happened upon them standing close together under a birch. They both had their eyes closed, so neither saw him, and he quietly retreated, feeling almost envious of how easy it was for them.

For himself and Zhara, it was not quite so. A part of him was walking on air, reliving the kiss again and again, feeling those warm, velvet lips on his again, dreaming of snatching a moment alone with her. She feels the same! She wants me! But another part of him, the part that still remembered what it was like to be the tsarevich of the Empire of Russia, told him that perhaps she wanted him simply because there was no one else—Dobrynya only had eyes for Elena, and Ilya had eyes for no one. And there could be no future for a mortal and a half-fae princess, to say nothing of her murderous brother who wanted her dead, who wanted all of them dead. He forced himself to remember these things, so he could keep his wild longing in check, so he could turn away from Zhara when she perched on his shoulder during the day and avoid her came nightfall. He hated doing so, hated dimming the tender, hopeful look in her eyes, but he told himself he had to do it, to protect both of their hearts.

And perhaps it wasn't as easy for Elena and Dobrynya as he thought either. That same evening, after he caught the two of them together, Paul saw Zhara talking to Elena, shaking her head vehemently as Elena said something. "No, I won't let you make that sacrifice," Zhara was saying. "We'll find another way." Perhaps Elena was offering to marry Afron to secure the horse for Zhara. Paul found himself thinking of those princesses whose portraits were sent to him, wondering if any of them also felt that marrying him was a noble sacrifice to be made for the greater good.

Ilya suggested he and Dobrynya could accompany Zhara and Elena to plead their case to Afron, but Dobrynya prudently pointed out that Afron may see their presence as a threat. It would be better for the two princesses to go with Paul alone.

As before, they waited until nightfall so Zhara would be in her human form before presenting themselves at the main gate of the fortress. Paul was worried about Zhara. When he first met her, she'd transformed the moment the sun set, but now, it had to be fully dark before she emerged as human, and even then, her eyes kept darting around, and her steps remained jerky for a while before returning to normal. It was as though she'd been a bird for too long that she was gradually forgetting how to be human. The faster they found Baba Yaga and undid this curse, the better.

Soon, too soon, the town appeared like a stain on the meadow, and the gingerbread towers of Afron's castle loomed above them. Paul could see Dobrynya tighten his grip on the reins and slow his horse down, trying to stall a little.

"May the gods be with you," Dobrynya said to all three of them, though his eyes stayed on Elena for a moment longer, and then he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Elena's lovely face was pale, but it bore the same determined look she'd had when she stood up to her mother.

Afron was even more colorless, if possible, than the last time Paul saw him. Paul wondered if the tsar was ill, for his face was ashen, and despite the stifling warmth of the throne room, he wore a kaftan buttoned up to his chin. Still, he was as unctuous as ever in his welcome, even more so now that Elena was with them. He openly leered at her while congratulating Zhara on the success of her quest, and clapped his hands for the servants to prepare a feast to celebrate their safe return and to serve as a wedding banquet as well.

"My lord, if I may," Elena spoke up before Afron could give the order. "I was greatly flattered when Lady Zhara brought me your offer, but"—here she glanced at Zhara, who gave her an encouraging nod—"I cannot in good conscience accept it." Afron's face hardened, and Elena quickly added, "I have nothing but respect for you, my lord, but respect alone is not enough in a marriage, and I'm afraid I would not be the good wife that you deserve. I wish to come here and give you my answer in person to show that I am not unaware of the honor you have bestowed upon me, and to convince you to lend Lady Zhara your valuable assistance in her quest."

Paul had to admire Elena's way with words; she was being courteous and deferential while remaining firm. Strangely enough, Afron didn't seem to be listening. His eyes had turned glassy, and he was fingering the neckline of his kaftan in a distracted manner.

"My lord?" Zhara prompted.

Afron startled out of his trance. "Apologies, ladies. I'm having a lot of my mind." He forced himself to return his focus to Elena. "Lady Elena, I would be lying if I said your rejection didn't sadden me, but I understand and thank you for your honesty. I would be honored to help Lady Zhara with her quest."

The three of them looked at each other, surprised. Could it be that easy? Hope blazed on both Elena and Zhara's faces. They could have the horse, and Elena could be with Dobrynya.

"Words cannot express my gratitude, my lord," Zhara said. "The horse with the golden mane—"

"All in good time, Lady Zhara," Afron said, holding up a hand. "Let us discuss it after the feast."

"I do not wish to further impose upon you, my lord," Zhara said. "If we could just have the horse—"

"Oh, but I already have them prepare a feast. It would be a pity to let all that food go to waste!"

"I have some friends waiting at the gate outside, and it is urgent that we continue on our way as soon as possible."

"What friends? Bring them here, I shall welcome them!" Afron nodded to the servants waiting by the door. "The more the merrier! Any friend of yours is a friend of mine! Yes, a friend in need is a friend indeed—"

The tsar was rambling now, his eyes turning feverish, his hand tugging more insistently at the neckline of his kaftan. Something was very, very wrong. Paul, who had been standing behind the princesses, pulled Zhara closer to him. She pressed his hand in understanding.

"Thank you, my lord, but we really must go," she said, slowly stepping back and signaling for Elena to beat a retreat.

"Go?" Afron repeated. His voice had lost its ingratiating quality and was now cold, brittle. "I'm afraid not, Lady Zhara."

The neckline of Afron's kaftan finally fell open under his restless hand, and what Paul saw underneath it turned his blood into ice.

There, glinting on Afron's chest, was a medallion made of a polished stone, swirling green like malachite.

Zhara saw it as well. Her face went white. Clutching each other's hands, the three of them turned on their heels and rushed toward the door, but it was too late. Their way was barred by a line of soldiers. More soldiers swarmed into the throne room. Paul felt brutal hands seize him and bind his arms behind him with ropes. Zhara tried to start a fire, only for her hands to be wrapped tightly in iron chains.

Afron stood up. Gone was the glassy look in his eyes. They were now a cold gray, hard like two marbles.

"You should think twice about doing that," he said to Zhara, fingering a jeweled dagger at his belt, "or your friends here shall suffer greatly." His hand moved to the medallion at his throat. "How do you like this, Lady Zhara? Your brother kindly had it delivered to me with a very... worthwhile offer. Unfortunately, it arrived several days after you left, but I thought, since you were already bringing Elena back to me, why not wait and kill two birds with one stone?"

There was a commotion in the hallway. More soldiers came in, dragging along Ilya and Dobrynya, who were also chained up. Ilya's nose looked broken, and Dobrynya had a bleeding gash on his forehead, though judging by the looks of the soldiers, both knights had put up quite a resistance.

Elena cried out at the sight of Dobrynya's wound. Afron looked at them, his eyes turning even colder.

"Take them to the dungeon and prepare for a cavalcade to leave for Arthania on the morrow," he ordered. "And you, my dear, fair Elena"—he brushed a knuckle along her jaw and her throat, making her squirm against her bond—"I shall see what it takes for you to accept me."

"No, you brute—!" Dobrynya shouted hoarsely and lunged at Afron, but his chain was yanked back, making him stumble.

Afron's hand landed on Nightingale's feather, tucked into Elena's belt, and his cold eyes lit up with interest. "What's this? Could it be a feather from our friend Nightingale? Well, well, well." He pulled the feather out and stuffed it into his own pocket. "You have brought me far more than I could even imagine, Lady Zhara. Thank you kindly."

While Elena struggled against Afron in vain, the rest of them were marched forcibly out of the throne room, and the last thing Paul saw was the medallion on the tsar's chest, winking at them in the candlelight like the malevolent eye of some Cyclops.

***

The dungeon of Afron's fortress, where Zhara had once threatened to leave Paul, looked like it was dug straight into the base of the mountains. A single door made of solid steel led down a seemingly endless flight of stairs bathed in the murky light of smoke-filled torches. At the bottom of the stairs, a bored-looking old guard sat by a table heaped with the knights' confiscated weapons—Dobrynya's spear, Ilya's bow and arrows, mace, and sword. More fitful torches illuminated rough stone walls covered in slime and a filthy stone floor strewn with damp straw. Iron bars as thick as Ilya's forearms lined either side of a cramped path, dividing the dungeon into numerous cells. Each cell had one window, but it, too, was barred, and was so high up and so small that the moonlight could not penetrate the darkness.

"What's this?" The guard looked up, annoyed, as the prisoners were dragged in. A soldier tossed Paul's broken sword on the table.

"Keep a close eye on these prisoners, Kouzma, they're very important," the soldier said, clapping the guard on the back and putting a flagon of wine on the table. "Only until the changing of the guards in the morning, there's a good man. Our tsar will reward you handsomely."

Kouzma grumbled something about how he'd been looking forward to a quiet night, but he took a bunch of keys off the hook on the wall and went ahead to open the cells.

Paul, Ilya, and Dobrynya were shoved unceremoniously into one cell. Paul's knees slammed into the bare ground, sending a jolt of pain through him. His hand landed on something soft and wet, and when it scampered away with a squeak, he realized it was a rat. He barely had time to feel disgusted, for his attention was all on Zhara, who was thrown into the next cell. He shuffled over, trying in vain to reach her through the iron bars separating them. He and the knights had had their bonds removed, but Zhara's hands remained in chains. She didn't seem to care, and sat slumped on the ground, unmoving.

"Zhara?" Paul called to her, his voice shaky. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"I'm so sorry," she said from under her hair. "This is my fault. I dragged all of you into this."

"No, don't say that—"

Behind him, the knights also spoke up.

"We pledged ourselves to your cause, Lady Zhara, of our own volition," Dobrynya said. "We understood the dangers and don't blame you in the least."

"You cannot know that the bastard Afron would betray you," Ilya shouted, his voice muffled due to his injured nose. "Wait till I get my hands on his skinny neck—I'll wring it like a chicken's—"

"He may not be aware of what he is doing," Dobrynya chimed in, ever the voice of reason. "He may be under Illarion's influence, like poor Alyosha."

"He looks pretty aware to me," Ilya said.

To all this, Zhara made no reply. She only mumbled, "We're all going to die."

"We're not dead yet," Paul said. "We're still here."

"Not for long. Once Afron delivers us to my brother, we're all going to die."

"We'll escape," he said stoutly.

"How?" It came out as a sob.

"I don't know. We'll think of some way."

She said nothing, only kept shaking her head. Her hair came loose from its braid, spilling on the ground like a pool of blood.

Paul couldn't bear to see her so broken down, so in despair, when she had always been the bravest of them all. Holding on to an iron bar with one hand, he reached through the gap with the other until his fingers found hers.

At the touch of his hand, she looked up. Some of the dazed look faded from her eyes as she slowly inched closer, holding on to his hand as though it were her anchor.

When she got close enough, Paul put both of his arms through the bars, cupped her cheeks in his palms, and placed a kiss on her forehead. Then, after checking behind him to make sure the two knights weren't looking—they weren't, as Ilya was busy rattling the bars in the hope of loosening them, while Dobrynya was gazing at the window, fists and jaw clenched in helpless frustration—after making sure nobody was paying attention to him and Zhara, he kissed her again, on the lips this time, gently, carefully, through the bars of their cells.

"Take heart, my dear Zhar-ptitsa," he whispered, the pet name coming to him so naturally that he realized he had been calling her that in secret, in his heart, for a while now. "We shall get through this together."

His words, or his kisses, or both, seem to revive her. Leaning into his hand, she gave him a smile, a tired and trembling smile that nevertheless still lit up her whole face like the sun. Paul smiled back in relief, and because he couldn't help himself when she smiled at him like that, kissed her once more, briefly.

And, at the thought of the sun and her pet name, an idea occurred to him.

"If we can hold out until sunrise," he said, turning to Ilya and Dobrynya, taking care to drop his voice so the old guard couldn't hear, "we may be able to get out of here."

"What do you have in mind?" Ilya asked.

Paul put his thumbs together and fluttered his fingers like wings. Understanding dawned on the others' faces, and Zhara's eyes brightened with renewed hope.

"But the guard—he sits right under the keys," Dobrynya said.

"True." Paul recalled the keys dangling from a hook just above the guard's table. "If we could distract him somehow... or make sure that he is asleep when she..." He nodded at Zhara and at his fluttering hand again.

"You heard them, the guards change in the morning, he's unlikely to be asleep then," Ilya pointed out.

"I think I know a way to keep him awake until then, or close to then," Dobrynya said. He nudged Ilya. "Remember, brother? How we aggravated that jailer in Volhynia so much, he had to kick us out?"

Ilya's bearded face broadened with a knowing grin. "Oh yes, that was a hoot! Shall we?"

The knights' plan, as it turned out, involved singing drinking songs at the top of their voices and making such a ruckus that it would be impossible for old Kouzma to get any rest that night. Zhara joined the fun by rattling her chains across the bars in time with the music. When Kouzma shouted at them to be quiet, they shouted back, "We're marching to certain death on the morrow, would you deny us the chance to have some fun? The cruelty!" When Kouzma threatened to gag them or cut out their tongues, they said, "Your tsar will be most displeased to know that you've hurt his important prisoners!" The knights taught Paul the songs, though some of the lyrics were so ribald that he blushed to sing them out loud. They sent Zhara into fits and fits of laughter, which annoyed Kouzma even more.

This went on all night. They kept going on pure nerves, and long after the fed-up Kouzma had stopped shouting at them, they were still singing and rattling the bars for all they were worth. Dobrynya kept an eye on the window, and when the darkness outside started thinning, he signaled for them to stop. To avoid raising Kouzma's suspicion, they kept singing for a little while longer, before pretending to drop off. "Thank Perun!" shouted Kouzma, and he, too, fell asleep. Silence reigned in the dungeon once more, broken only by the hissing of the torches, the fake snores from Ilya, and the very real snores from Kouzma.

Eventually, the little patch of sky through the window lightened up. There was a soft rustling of fabric as Zhara shrunk into bird size and out of her clothes. Paul held on to her chains so they wouldn't clank as she shook herself free of them. Then, noiselessly, she flew through the bars toward the door, where Kouzma lay with his head on his arms, fast asleep. Paul watched, his heart in his throat, as Zhara, with great care, used her beak to lift the ring of keys off of its hook. It was too heavy for her. Her wings dipped, the keys clinked, and Paul clutched the iron bars in fear. Luckily, it seemed Kouzma was sleeping too heavily to be awakened by that small sound. Zhara raised herself again with the key ring around her neck, and Paul breathed a sigh of relief.

She flew back to their cell and gave the keys to Paul. After some agonizing trials and errors, he managed to fit the right one in the keyhole, and with a tiny click—Paul was eternally grateful to Afron for keeping his dungeon in such good shapes that the lock and the door hinges were all well-oiled—the cell opened, and they were free.

Well, not quite. There was still the main door to unlock, and the weapons to retrieve. They no longer bothered to keep quiet now. Ilya and Dobrynya jumped on Kouzma before the old guard even had a chance to stir from his dreams, wrapped him in Zhara's old chains, gagged him with a belt, and tossed him into one of the cells.

Dobrynya led the way up the stairs, with Paul following closely behind, clutching the broken sword, Zhara hovering over his shoulder, and Ilya bringing up the rear. The moment Dobrynya cracked the door open, Zhara flew out like a fiery arrow and shot to the sky, so fast Paul couldn't see where she'd gone. She was going to find out where Elena was being held and signal to them so Dobrynya could free Elena, while Paul and Ilya would make their way to the pasture and retrieve the horse with the golden mane.

It was early still, but the fortress was teeming with life, as servants ran in and out of the many buildings and back and forth across the yard, preparing for the trip to Arthania. With their faces hidden behind visors—the knights wearing their own, Paul in a helmet he took from the hapless Kouzma—the three of them tried to blend in with these people, walking as nonchalantly as they could, while discreetly keeping an eye out for Zhara amongst the rooftops. Paul prayed that nobody would think to look up, and even if someone did, they would not know what they were seeing. He caught some fleeting glimpses of fluttering red and gold here and there, but it was only because he knew what to look for.

Then the fluttering stopped. A spot of red could be clearly seen hovering over the highest tower of Afron's castle, turning in agitated circles.

"That's my signal," Dobrynya said, gripping his spear more tightly.

"May the gods be with you, brother," Ilya said.

"And you two as well." With a quick parting nod, Dobrynya moved toward the tower.

A line of servants was carrying crates and boxes of supplies toward the gate. Ilya picked up a barrel, lifting it to his shoulder as easily as one lifted a cat, and joined the line. Paul tried picking up a sack of grains, staggered under its weight, and had to settle for a bulkier but lighter bundle of blankets instead. After looking back once more to make sure Zhara was still safe, he followed Ilya outside.

"So, how are we going to get this horse?" Ilya asked Paul out of the corner of his mouth.

"I—I don't know," Paul replied, too aware of how inept he sounded. "But the last time we were here, it seemed to take a liking to me, so if we can take care of the dvorovoi, I can get close to it. We're going to need a saddle though."

Ilya shrugged. "I can ride without a saddle. And as for the dvorovoi, leave him to—"

He was interrupted by a terrible roar coming from the tower, followed by Afron's voice, screaming, "Guards! Guards!"

The servants whipped their heads toward the commotion. Most seemed frozen in place, either by fear or surprise, but several soldiers rushed to the castle. Paul and Ilya exchanged terrified looks. To Paul's horror, a streak of red dashed through the open window of the tower.

"Zhara!" Paul screamed, throwing his bundle down and starting for the tower. Why was she flying into the tower? Why wasn't she flying away?

"Wait!" Ilya seized his arm. "You get the horse, I'll help them!"

"I'm not leaving without Zhara!" Paul shook Ilya's hand off with a strength he didn't know he possessed and ran to the tower, ignoring the bewildered looks from the servants around them. With a curse, Ilya followed.

At the entrance to the tower, they overtook the soldiers. Ilya threw the barrel at them, knocking down several. The rest of the soldiers were taken care of by the content of the barrel—a pungent fermented milk, which spilled on the flagstones, turning them slippery. Ilya and Paul jumped over the soldiers and made their way through the door. A huge bronze statue of some god holding a lightning bolt in one hand and an axe in the other—Perun, from what Paul remembered Zhara had told him about the namesake of the mountains—stood just behind the door. Ilya knocked it down and used it to block the entrance.

They took the stairs two at a time. Only one room occupied the very top of the tower. Bursting through the door, they found Afron cowering on a bed, Dobrynya's spear pointed at his neck. Elena, her hair coming loose like molten gold, was standing in a corner, watched over by Zhara. All three pairs of eyes—Dobrynya's blue-green, Elena's emerald, and Zhara's amber ones—were fixed on Afron with hatred.

Dobrynya's eyes widened at Ilya and Paul as they entered.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Where's the horse?"

"Soldiers are coming!" Paul said, running over to Zhara. She seemed fine, blessed be the Saints.

Afron seemed to regain some bravado at the mention of the soldiers. "That's right!" he crowed. "My men are going to have this place surrounded! You cannot esc—"

"Shut up!" Ilya roared, and Afron ducked his head between his shoulders again.

"We've tried to find Nightingale's feather on him, but no luck," Elena explained.

"I can help with that." Ilya stormed over to the bed, seized Afron's neck between his huge fingers, and squeezed. "Where's the feather, you no-good horse's pee-hole?" When Afron said nothing, Ilya squeezed a little harder. "Talk, or I shall kill you!"

"No, Ilya," Dobrynya said, putting a hand on his brother's arm. "We do not kill." Turning to Afron, he said calmly, "Tell your men to stand down. Let us leave, and we'll spare your life."

Ilya reluctantly loosened his hand. Afron looked from one face to another, then put his arms over his head and started crying. "P-please, y-you don't understand," he blubbered. "It's Illarion! He's keeping me under control with this medallion. He is able to spy on me somehow. I cannot take it off! If he knows I let you go free, he'll kill me! Please, have mercy!"

Ilya and Dobrynya glanced at each other, conflict showing on their faces. From below, came the shouts of the soldiers and the metallic sound of the statue being pushed away from the door. Any minute now, the soldiers would break down the door and storm the tower...

"We should destroy the medallion then," Ilya said.

"No!" Paul said quickly. "That will only make the chain strangle him."

"Please, help me remove the chain! Save me, and I shall do anything!" Afron practically threw himself at their feet.

Paul looked at the glinting medallion on its chain around the tsar's neck, remembering how a similar chain had tightened around Alyosha's neck, killing him. Afron may be repulsive, but he didn't deserve such a fate. No one did.

Ilya still looked dubious, but Dobrynya dropped the spear, moved closer to the trembling tsar, and tugged at the chain, trying to pull it apart with his hands. It didn't budge.

"Please," Afron gasped. "I can feel it moving already—please, help me!"

Dobrynya grunted and pulled harder.

Afron's hand reached into his boot, then he flung up his arm up in a blur. There was a flash.

Nobody saw the knife until Dobrynya staggered back, clutching at his neck. Blood welled up between his fingers.

"No!!!" Elena screamed and ran toward Dobrynya.

Afron caught her by her hair and placed the knife, still red with Dobrynya's blood, at her throat. He looked at all of them, his marble-gray eyes glinting coldly.

"You fools!" he spat. "You think a little boy playing with magic could control me? Of course, when he delivered the medallion to me, I was intrigued—but I was far more intrigued by his offer to give me Elena, along with her kingdom as well—"

"Murderer! Blackguard! Scum—" Elena bit out through her tears. Afron pressed the knife a little harder against her skin, cutting her off.

"Hush, my dear, or I shall have to slit this pretty little throat," he hissed. "Oh, but you would like that, wouldn't you, my fair Elena? You would love nothing more than to be able to join your brave knight..."

Paul's eyes caught something gray at the top of the boot where Afron had kept the knife hidden. The feather! Not stopping to think, he dove for it. With a growl, Afron tossed Elena to the side and lunged at Paul with the knife. Paul rolled over, but a sharp, searing pain in his forearm told him that the knife had found its target.

Zhara flew at Afron, flapping her wings furiously. Fire erupted. Afron reeled back with a scream, clutching at his burned face. Ignoring the piercing pain in his arm, Paul snatched the feather out of Afron's boot and held it up to the fire. The feather caught immediately and burned to cinders.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as they held themselves alert and breathless, waiting, waiting, while all around them, every sound, every scent increased tenfold—the sound of Elena sobbing over Dobrynya's inert body, the metallic smell of blood mixed with the scorched odor of the feather, and somewhere, far down below, the distant crash of the door coming down and the rumble of hundreds of feet on the stairs.

Then came the screams.

Screams of panic and fear sounded from the yard, along with the whizzing of arrows, as the dark silhouette of Nightingale soared through the sky. A moment later, the bird-man came in through the window, shattering its frame. Afron shrank back.

"Get us out of here!" Paul shouted. "Quickly!"

One look around the room told Nightingale all he needed to know. "Lady, get on my back," he said to Elena. "You two"—this to Paul and Ilya—"hold on to my legs."

"No, we can't leave him!" Elena said, tears streaming down her face as she kneeled over Dobrynya's body.

"He's gone, my lady," Ilya said, shedding his own tears for his fallen brother. "There is nothing more we can do for him. He would have wanted us to save ourselves."

"At least we can give him a proper funeral," Elena insisted. "Please, Nightingale."

The footsteps from the stairs were getting closer.

"Fine," Nightingale grumbled. He lifted Dobrynya's body into his arms, while Elena held on to his back, and Paul and Ilya each clung to one of his legs. It seemed impossible that a man could carry so much, but then again, Nightingale was no ordinary man.

As Nightingale started toward the window, the door to the chamber burst open. Soldiers streamed in.

"Seize them!" Afron screeched.

Calmly, almost casually, Nightingale turned around and gave a short, shrill whistle. A powerful blast of air gusted out, blew all the soldiers down the stairs, slammed the furniture against the far wall, and put a crack in Afron's medallion.

The tsar stared at the medallion, his eyes widening in horror. "No..." The chain began tightening around his neck, despite his frantic attempt to claw it away. "Help me, please—" Afron wheezed, crawling toward them on his knees, one hand reaching out, the other tugging in vain at his neck. A plume of green smoke rose from the cracked medallion. Before Paul could find out if that smoke had any message for them, as it had with Alyosha, Nightingale had glided out the window with his passengers, Zhara following behind.

As they flew away, Paul looked over his shoulder. Afron's limp body was hanging half out the ruined window, his face a deathly shade of ash gray, his eyes protruding and unseeing, a warning to anyone who dared question the power of Illarion.

Paul didn't have time to dwell on this horrible sight, for arrows were whistling by his ears, and Nightingale was lurching and listing like a ship on a violent sea, trying to dodge the attack. It was all Paul could do to hang on for dear life.

The bird-man growled in annoyance, as though he was being pestered by a swarm of flies, and took a deep breath. Paul could see his chest swell as the force of the whistle built up within him.

"Zhara, stay close!" Paul shouted. She flew to him, and he tucked her under his kaftan, lest she got caught in the squall. It was just in time. Nightingale let loose a mighty whistle. Paul couldn't hear it, but he saw it as the roofs of the buildings below were blown off, several trees were torn up by the roots, people and animals were flung across the yard, carts were upended, and the water of the moat surrounding the fortress shot to the sky as though a giant rock had just been thrown into it.

No more arrows came at them as Paul directed Nightingale to fly them to the pasture. The bird-man alighted outside the fences so as not to spook the horse. They thanked Nightingale, who said, "You spared my life, and I have saved yours. My debt is now paid in full." He then bowed and took off into the sky, leaving them on the meadow.

Nobody came for them from the fortress. Elena bound Paul's wound with more of the same herb she'd used on Zhara, and the bleeding stopped instantly.

Ilya found a boat, which must have come loose from its moorings after Nightingale's second whistle. They built a funeral barge for Dobrynya out of it. As with Alyosha, they laid the knight to rest on a bed of fragrant herbs and flowers and set it on fire before sending it on the water. Paul's chest was heavy with sorrow, though it was less for Dobrynya himself than for Elena, who was weeping as though her heart were breaking. Even Zhara's soft cooing and caresses couldn't console her. In the tales, the hero was always miraculously revived by the Water of Life. Where was that miracle now? Where was the happily ever after?

"Two brothers I've lost to Illarion," Ilya said darkly as they watched the burning boat disappear down the river. "I swear to you, Lady Zhara, I shall not stop until he is destroyed, not while there is still a breath left in my body."

Ilya gave Elena a ring which he removed from Dobrynya's finger, and to Paul, he gave Dobrynya's spear.

"But I don't know how to use it," Paul protested.

"You'll learn fast enough," Ilya said. "Lady Zhara is going to need all the help she can get."

Ilya broke down the gate of the pasture. The horse with the golden mane was still there, serenely grazing, oblivious to the chaos just beyond its fences. As they entered, it gave a whicker of recognition and started trotting toward Paul.

Just as before, the dvorovoi jumped out screaming, "Thieves! Villains! Stop them!" A swift kick from Ilya took care of the creature, and it slunk away into the grass, whimpering and mumbling curses under its breath.

Paul slowly put out a hand toward the horse. It pushed its nose under his palm, and he carefully scratched its head and its ears. "Can you carry us all?" he asked. "Take us to your mother?"

As though it understood, the horse nodded and even crouched down so Ilya could climb on its back. The knight then helped Elena sit in front, while Paul took the place behind, holding on to Ilya's cape with one hand and keeping Zhara close against his chest with the other.

"Go!" Paul said.

The horse took a few tentative steps toward the gate. The wary way it sniffed at the air outside made Paul wonder how long it had been imprisoned within those fences. It tossed its golden mane, gave an excited whinny, and broke into a gallop, carrying the four of them with ease, as though they weighed nothing at all.

Paul had never been on such a horse. As it picked up speed, the ground practically flew beneath them. Wind whipped at their faces, and forests and mountains and rivers rushed past them in blurs of blue and green, with the occasional gray-and-brown smudge that was a village or town. Paul wondered what they must look like to the people in those towns and villages watching them go past. It got colder as well, though he didn't know if it was because they were going further north, or simply because the sun was getting lower.

They must have ridden for hundreds and hundreds of versts. Right at sunset, the horse stopped at a clearing in the middle of a dark, dense forest, where it stood looking about expectantly. They had barely gotten off when there was the sound of a horse's hoofs in the distance. Ilya raised his bow, and Paul, feeling rather foolish, gripped the spear more tightly. The horse with the golden mane, however, seemed more excited than frightened.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a horse galloped past them. Its coat was milk white, so bright that it hurt Paul's eyes to look at it. The golden-mane horse let out a whicker that sounded like a greeting, rearing up eagerly. The moment the white horse disappeared into the dark woods, twilight lowered its veil over the clearing.

Before they could understand what this meant, another horse came past. This one was coal-black. Again, the golden horse greeted this strange apparition like a long-lost relative, and again, the black horse disappeared into the woods as though it had sunk through the ground. At the same moment, darkness fell.

Zhara returned to her human form and joined them in silent, fearful sentry of the forest. They didn't have to wait for long. A terrible wind rose amongst the trees, setting the branches creaking and groaning and the leaves rustling. Along with the wind came a strange voice, raspy yet resounding at the same time.

"Foo! Foo! What's that smell?" it croaked from the dark. "Smells like Russian! Who's there that giving himself up to Baba Yaga?"

Chapter 11

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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