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justmightyshadows · 3 months

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Took me awhile but another chapter is ready!

Minthara leaned into the throne as if she’d sat there a million times. Her legs spread wide as she filled the space with her presence, sipping a glass of wine and looking out over the hall. The chairs and benches are strewn across it, the blood covering the walls leaves a haunting view of the lives lost but her eyes are drawn to a large steel door. The door where she entered as a guest, then as a disgraced warrior and finally as a conqueror. The door Muira came in to see her at her lowest point, her meager plea responded to by Umberlee’s spawn. She took a big swig from the goblet, savoring the taste of home that Muira had brought for her some days ago and let her head lean back against the cold stone of the throne. She heard soft footsteps approaching, the echoing clink of metal on stone sang of armor but she made no motion to open her eyes or greet her visitor. They could come to her today, whoever it was, she would not be moved from her seat.

The footsteps stopped in front of her and a pleasing voice spoke from the darkness “I saw you deal the final blow on Ketheric. An enemy destroyed and my ally freed, we make quite the team.” Minthara opened her eyes and gazed down at her, in her heavy fishscale armor, one hand on her hip and the other extended to hold up her trident, a stunning and impressive warrior. She seemed to be without injury and even had a look to her as if she could have battled on for many days, it set Minthara’s lust ablaze to see her so. Muira took off a glimmering helm and placed it on the ground. “Seeing you sitting there has stirred something in me, the throne has given me a view of my tomorrow. Would that you’d be in a throne in Selkarnath. A true lord though must have those who are loyal to them.” She made a show of taking off her gloves, tossed them to fall near the helm “Let me be your first, I have bent the knee for no one in my long life, but today I will bend it for you. Today, I will swear myself to you.” Minthara chuckled, blushed slightly. Muira was always getting under her skin, worming herself into Minthara’s flesh and sitting at her heart. It was too good to be true. “The battle haze has made you speak outside of yourself. Do not make me promises you do not plan to keep or you will know my fury” she joked a bit but felt herself hoping to see the action for herself.

“I do not speak without reason. I refuse to kneel unless moved to do so. You have earned my trust in action and word. By tongue and sword.” She put down the trident and shed her arm greaves and chest piece as she asked with batted brown eyes “May I approach you, my lord?”Minthara’s throat was dry and the wine had started to heat her body up as well, she squirmed on the throne but found herself wearing a smirk that gave aware her desire. “You may.” She managed to squeak out with a bit of feigned nonchalantness. Muira was before her quickly, falling to her knees as she slowly took off Minthara’s armor, undoing the puzzle of straps with ease - each newly exposed body part was kissed and caressed under her lord’s watchful eye. Minthara had not expected such a reception but did not find herself upset, on the contrary her dreams of late had often drifted to this demi-god worshipping her in such a way, her knees bruised from supplication - her mouth ajar begging for entrance. They had taken turns between sleep and meditation the previous night and she had watched with fervor at the shape of her lover’s body. Muira soon had her in her under tunic, she had not put on underwear hoping to feel the lust of battle over her fully. The cold stone of the throne aroused every inch of the exposed skin on her legs. “You return a conqueror my lord. What say you? What does such an act deserve? I can feel the heat of battle on you still. Let me give you release.” Minthara watched as skilled fingers worked their way up to her thighs, her waist to playfully pinch her erect nipples. She let out a quiet moan and answered “A true lord makes deals with their vassals. What do you offer me?” Muira let her tongue slide against the now exposed thighs “Devotion. Adoration. Power. ” Muira looked up with dark brown eyes “What do you offer me then - since we are striking a deal.” Minthara shivered as Muira grazed her inner thigh with sharp teeth. She did not wait for a reply as Minthara racked her head for the right response. Instead Muira pulled her forward on the throne and let her ass hang off the edge just a bit. Minthara pressed her feet into the arms of the throne and gave herself to the sensation of Muira’s tongue. She had started to caress the outer lips and work her way between the folds with in teasing motions. Muira sucked lightly on her clit before taking it gently between her teeth and looking up at her. This woman, she thought to herself, she will devour my body if I’m not careful. She gave a look of approval to Muira, begging even to keep going. She was answered with more adoration, this time the harsh sucks were accompanied with deep breaths of hot air across her. The hum of her voice as she moaned into the exhales vibrated her entire being. She was lost to the world when she heard a familiar patter of feet and rustling of clothes from behind the hallway door. Muira responded to her tensing lifting her to her feet quickly and standing in front of her - she threw on her tunic while they peered deeply into the darkness trying to find the source of the noise. They glanced at each other before Minthara allowed Muira to pick up their belongings and head out. “Let’s take this to the tent then my lord. I would hate to be stopped again.” Muira went to a side door towards camp and pushed against it gingerly. Minthara used her body as a shield to make her way out and deep into the shadows down the hall. Muira on the other hand took a glance behind the door to see their visitors.

Astarion stood against the wall his pants hanging around his ankles, his face a smug statue. He was proud of his conquest and Muira could see why, before him was Wyll his eyes closed as Astarion guided his mouth up and down his cock with rough motions. He jerked his head to tell Muira to leave as he pressed himself into the back of Wyll’s throat. “Don’t stop yet. I’ve barely begun.” He mewled. Muira returned to camp quickly and shed her clothing in the tent under Minthara’s watchful gaze, the hair had been trimmed down since their last encounter but she was sporting a new long scar on her leg. She straddled the drow quickly hoping not to lose the momentum of their embrace. She lifted Minthara’s hip taking in the supple feel of her skin, and rested her ass gracefully on her thigh then pressed forward, rubbing their wet cunts together. The sensation sent Minthara’s eyes backwards her clit was swollen from the feast Muira had before so she was sensitive to rubbing against her lover in such a way. She was already close to her climax when she looked up. Staring up into the concentrated face before her, her heart skipped as she heard a soft whisper. “I love you.” Minthara did not respond instead she reached out to assist, to show, she groped longingly for her lover’s wet warmth but was denied each time with a hard push. The thrusts continued in a rhythmic pattern as Minthara clenched harshly and felt her tensing muscles slide against Muira’s wetness. Muira only seemed more emboldened by the climax, she looked down longingly and whispered in soft tones only slightly audible over the sounds of their bodies slamming together “Tonight I will please my Lord, I will reward you, I will worship you, like only I can.”

The climaxes continued without Muira showing signs of wavering, each time Minthara felt her body lose itself she was sure that would be the last but Muira would continue, her brow furrowed and her body glistening from exertion. The motion never let up, her hips bucked and fell pressing their warmth together for what felt like eternity. The sweat between them became sticky from each passing orgasm. She couldn’t scream, could barely call out. Her legs were like two heavy pieces of stone tired from the onslaught of release.

She closed her eyes and accepted that she would be in an endless state of ecstasy when Muira pressed down into her hands and began to slam her hips forcefully, breathing heavily, she eased out Minthara’s name and looked deep into her eyes. “Minthara. I’m almost there. Please don’t stop me yet.” It would be impossible for this to be her only climax Minthara thought but held her breath as the hard thrusts slowed to ragged pushes her body tensing her legs pressed together and she gave a deep guttural groan of release. She lowered herself limply to Minthara’s side and smiled. Wiping the sweat soaked hair from Minthara’s face. “Am I worthy my lord? To lay by your side?” Minthara let out a harsh laugh and kissed her “You are the only one who is.” Her body felt cold with Muira released from her, she felt empty and even a bit of sadness began to take place at the thought that it was over. She nestled into her neck and pulled the thick blankets over her, she closed her eyes in the act of blinking and was immediately asleep, her body forcing her into a meditative trance before she could protest. Minthara awoke in Muira’s tent, her armor, cleaned and polished, sat in the corner. Her body was covered in a soft healing cream and fine silk bed clothes. There is a tray of fruits and mushrooms sitting near her and for a second she saw the fleeting back of Muira’s servant before she disappeared, in a flash of light.

Before she could investigate further, she noticed the sound of striking metal outside and rose to see Muira training with Lae’zel. They both are shirtless. Glistening bronze of her skin causes her heart to race, she notices the many eyes on Muira and smirks to herself - she knew the others lusted for something they would never have, something that was hers. The sound of their acts must have penetrated the entire camp last night. Muira’s eyes flickered in her direction between a large swing by Lae’zel. She dealt a quick blow to Lae’zel’s hand with a thunderous smack causing her to drop her weapon then pushed hard with her shoulder to knock her down, her trident came to rest at her sparring partners neck who gave a “Tchk” and raised her hand in defeat. She lifted her gently to her feet and laughed. “I will teach you that move later today, I see my love has awoken.” Minthara walked over to them with a swaggering confidence of a satisfied lover and noticed the whining cleric taking an interest in Lae’zels shape. “You have an admirer.” Minthara whispered gently coming to rest her head against Muira’s. “Enjoy your conquest, but beware one who was shown so much prejudice against you.” Lae’zel cast her eyes towards Shadowheart who tried to quickly duck into her tent. “I will leave you then. I have waited for her mind to be unclouded.”

She strutted toward Shadowheart’s tent and enters in a swish of fabric. “She’s still shirtless.” Muira chuckled. Her eyes turn to Minthara “You look well. A new day at your side” She brings Minthara’s hand to her lips and gives it a tender kiss. “I would hate to idle here any longer. I was told we have two new targets in baldurs gate. One that I hear you have intimate knowledge of, a past lover? Jealous, don’t be. But she likes the look of jealousy. Savors the question and the small bit of anger in Muiras words. She is desired.” If I was jealous it wouldn’t last for long. You will put your blade through her throat and quell any such fear. I will talk to dame Aylin on our way, once she has time to be with Isobel. Nothing could take her away at this point.” Muira said with a cool confidence but also a bit of warning. “Then we move onward.” Minthara replied - moving Muira’s hair from her face and leaving a soft kiss on her cheek.

#bg3 #minthara #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #bg3 minthara #ao3 #bg3 tav #lae'zel #oc #bg3 wyll #bg3 astarion

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libidomechanica · 19 days

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Before they saw three years followd to much exist in days

By him; and tear, and shaking up to have I drunk of her check these are coming in mine heart aches, press me feel you wanted with more subtle there him then, in difference immortal man, sweets you feel most shade doth be used genteelly. Twas but

could be; saw the Veil flung off him of ancient art where the beams have him whose shapes, the breach. When all him, I on her trembling, sweet babes of old, old and leave to show I’ve travelers carriage. Men sit and caught And again subiects wrongs, and men’s, will

feel for need, and the flame, and and bloom could trust and kind, to sit a stone—something: a cleft the town’s open for ever puzzled Faith store with all hit or missed me quit for lightly turns toward of Heaven, that is flames of children’s cry my strange

she sport is like cloudy central creatures out as there’s not help their gates with no less, and she has twa sparkling roof with their torture me; the only God, forward let them into capitulations do break. When Landlord hath not

saue, murder in her joys, her foreigned; and the appointment of our skin, thy voice, or a spaces that them thine imagination; but oh, ambrosial cash! Then, since then my love, love what is mard. One is she be set down to thee: I

flye thy Brothers of me beloved but in the nation? Rain on the sun looking we will be about thee, butcher in true shall Stellaes grape, and door at others doesn’t cut it. We thread’s spun out between earth can make your lived over note.

Her children die for the earth can overbear reluctance beach I want his dog, a lip to Lip concerting to be bevel; by that heaven must not fit mark to themselves, was never fleur-de-lis; because the river. Can I then you

me eternal love with fair sex alone. Reaping o’er tremble deaf heaven above that so much better priestlike to free them harm. A posy of my beloved the greater. When natured, miserable Misters, and speech did those whose motives

were it was brought, there; false, ere thee? Of any through to spread a landing lips. The field with the dance overwrought, may like Alexander, to speake and elegance, then how I lov’d their Gallic names in clamor’s hours of the woman taught

in good dinners, gleaners, gleaners, glean in the great conquerors is a photographs, I wish thy dear! Dogs, or sunk, and watched me already yet to be well that comes a place, embroidered brain? And debt, and the sadness? Subsiding, if you

write, as much unblest on the moon- faced. And child, with the green, and who, by night in the leaves than breeze in acrylic fur. From Toil, he placed by the girl to vex the path, struck, kisses on the little verse want to strangement, pinching fine, my

wife, and saying to shine for home, the chain, my boiling and yet again down at zero,—lo coach, chariot, luggage at first detachment had given thus with vigour froward children’s cry my stranger, mislaid love away. Of two by

hardly high requiem become a better; the foot, teach morn the Nith’s wings. Love’s safety in Love’s the midnight and to thee, as not worthy either know my word was gone; the Veil flung roses, neither had a meaning. The golden seemed anew,

grows his banner. To the brown paper. He cried alone. But the Early, like task of church of mud and horns, nor judgments of love, I will holding well both with the doors vnto the daily, laid. And never floats an Europe than me. He said,

I dared reproved, and gently he had naughty spirits rush’d through and now still she to rally to aid this is stretching is a lass there’s for his own, now lord is with a slightly make her. Upon my hand: the roses, had not to

be discerne thy fingers reaching home. Greater ward, was his beads too bountiful still faire text best in Glory! Because me from one polish’d dove; in the father drear flat or should be amazed to walk into their art, survey’d the ware of

human race capture day—fond Thought! Just open, but farther held out as it went been Hercules, here; and all along thee! Very eyes are bears ago or just pleasures, and Rotten Row sleeps there was love me, on a corporal—somethinks?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #164 texts #ballad

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cosmicrhetoric · 3 years

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filing the guards guards "the woman was a city" speech away in my personal folder of quintessential wlw literature simply because i am gay and i get Embarrassingly Close To Tears whenever i think about it

#like i have a handful of poems n passages abt romance i practically have memorized and this is the only one not written by/about gay people #its not my fault the city is a woman/woman is a city transition is STUPID romantic i make this exception for lady sybil #discworld #like literally im rereadin GG but im not even at that bit yet im just Thinking and Trying not to cry #sybil ramkin #terry pratchett #samsybil #like??? and she had opened her heart if you let her she would engulf you the woman is a city are you KIDDING me #open the gates let the conquerors in and make them her own???????#ok i think im going through something rn theres no other reason for me to be Overwhelmed emotionally in my cubicle

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noirandchocolate · 2 years

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[Sybil] smiled at him.

And then it arose and struck Vimes that, in her own special category, she was quite beautiful; this was the category of all the women, in his entire life, who had ever thought he was worth smiling at. She couldn’t do worse, but then, he couldn’t do better. So maybe it balanced out. She wasn’t getting any younger but then, who was? And she had style and money and common sense and self-assurance and all the things that he didn’t, and she had opened her heart, and if you let her she could engulf you; the woman was a city.

And eventually, under siege, you did what Ankh-Morpork had always done--unbar the gates, let the conquerors in, and make them your own.

--Terry Pratchett, “Guards! Guards!”

#terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #discworld #guards! guards!#one of the best romantic quotes ever imo

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cupcakemolotov · 3 years

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Our Bones are Iron

Synopsis: When Mikael starts a war with the Throne over his wife's execution, Caroline's world is thrown into chaos. Two years later, and she finds herself facing her ex-betrothed from opposite sides of the war. Klaus has defeated her father for the King, and now she must find a way to strike a deal with him to save the people her father nearly destroyed to aid Mikael's rage.

Tags: Alternate Universe × Alternate; Universe - Fantasy; Alternate Universe - Magic; Knight!Klaus; Lady!Caroline; Broken Engagement; Family Drama; Dark Magic; Magic; Light Angst; Angst and Feels; Implied/Referenced Torture; Aftermath of Torture; all non con elements are not the main characters and referenced only; Esther is not a nice person in this fic; magical rituals gone bad; Post-War

I wrote this after being inspired so, so long ago by this post. If you would prefer you can read it here on A03.

It was the clink of armor that left her heart in her throat. Caroline’s fingers tightened on the satchel she carried with her, and she forced herself to breathe. Six steps below, and she could see the light flickering from the soft mage lights and the movement of a shadow just visible beneath the heavy wood. For a single moment, she allowed herself the fantasy of fleeing back up the darkening staircase to the safety of her room but she was no longer a child. At twenty-four years of age, she should have already been wed and looking after a home of her own, but the Civil War had put many dreams on hold. They had been boxed up and tossed as easily aside as a servant cleaning a room.

But now the war was over and her family had lost.

By every tradition, it should have been her mother walking these steps. But Elizabeth Forbes had retired hours before the army had arrived on their doorstep, and she had made no move to rise once it had become clear that they would be occupied for the evening. Caroline had long since learned that no amount of pleading would stir her mother once she’d taken to her room. She tried not to resent her for it. Something had broken in her mother when her father had turned his back on the kingdom, and no amount of wishing or magic could fix it. But tonight, it would have been the worst of slights to leave this Knight to his own bath. And rudeness wasn’t something she could afford. Not when the lives of everyone in her household depended on her. And they would continue to depend on her as they walked the tightrope her father had left them on.

Caroline had little hope that they would be rid of the Knight and his men anytime soon, and it’d been made abundantly clear that they were being evaluated for weaknesses. Her father’s surviving Senschels had been requested for dinner that night, and the exquisitely polite note sent along requesting that the household to keep to their rooms had been a request she’d been more than willing to keep.

Except for this one thing.

Her fingers shook, and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a slow breath. Caroline had known this was coming the moment she’d seen the banner cross the ridge. She’d been tending her mother when word of the soldier’s approach had reached them, and she’d paced at the window waiting for the first glimpse of who approached. Somehow, she’d known what she would see before the first banner had crept over the ridge. The Black Knight’s banner had been easily recognizable as the crossed the ridge, and unavoidable proof of who had won. The King’s grasp had held firm, and they were now on their own. No remaining allies would offer them aid as long as this Knight occupied their castle.

It had taken most of the day, the long arm of evening shadowing the courtyard before they’d reached the gates. Caroline had already given the order that they would offer no resistance. The remaining lives of the young boys and elderly left behind would not be sacrificed on the ashes of her father’s arrogance.

Now she just had to ensure their futures.

In that one regard, Caroline knew she was the better advocate for her people than her mother. With her father gone for the last two years, the duty of caring for her people had fallen to her. She knew the lands, the people, their lives. Tonight, alone with their conqueror, it was her duty to advocate for those who remained.

And she would.

Caroline just... needed a moment.

Her nails dug tightly into her palm and she struggled to find the composure that had been missing since she’d seen the first clear view of his banner. It had been two years since she had last seen Lord Niklaus Mikaelson, and nearly as long since he had broken their bethroment. All her life, she’d grown up under the weight of that marriage. Klaus had been the third son of William’s closest friend, and he and Mikael had looked forward to combining their bloodlines.

Klaus had still been mostly a boy then.

Freshly knighted with long bones and a face he hadn’t yet grown into. But even then, only a fool had ignored the raw violence of his magic, the way he seemed to hunger for the world. Once, she would have called him something like her friend. Their relationship had always been a bit contentious, the families expectations an unrelenting pressure between them, but she’d found herself learning to trust him. He was rough around the edges, darkly cynical and had a temper that was so very easily pricked but he’d never deliberately hurt her. In a world where she was her father’s daughter first, his betrothed second and Caroline third, she’d always appreciated that. Quietly, in the secret corners of her heart, she’d let herself like him.

Then a year to nearly the day before their marriage, on her twentieth birthday, everything had gone to hell. Esther had been executed by the Crown for magical treason, and Elijah and Klaus had denounced their parentage, taking their younger siblings with them. Her father had taken her silence as he’d announced the end of her bethrothment as agreement, but it had been shock that held her tongue. In the span of three days, all her expectations, all of her plans, had been upended violently and she’d been left clutching bloody shards of a life where she couldn’t find her footing.

But the worst had been yet to come.

Her family had been banished to their country estates in sudden disfavor from the crown when her father chose to side with Mikael and all his rage, and nearly all Caroline’s court friends and acquaintances dried up like a spring stream. Her mother had disappeared to her bedroom, her father fell into drink, and she’d been left trying to hold together their estate and people with a grim determination. For weeks, she waited for Klaus to send her word. Something. Anything that could explain why he hadn’t warned her of his plans, given her time to shore up her defenses before he’d abandoned her.

It’d been a bitter, angry pill to swallow when he sent nothing.

Two years later, her father and Mikael had instigated a Civil War that had split the kingdom nearly in half. And now her father was likely dead, killed by the man he’d once viewed as the future of his family. By right of conquest, everything her family had owned for generations, everything she had worked so hard to preserve now belonged to Klaus.

Caroline let out another shaky breath, sudden exhaustion leaving her winded. She couldn’t afford to let it show. Tonight was her only real chance of finding mercy for those who had been left behind by her father’s armies. She couldn’t let the memories of the boy he’d once been interfere with her negotiations with the man Klaus had become. Becoming a Knight, earning the Black Banner for his own? It was proof that Klaus had grown into his strength, that he was considered worthy by the King. No easy feat, when his parents were both traitors to the crown.

And now he was here.

She didn’t know how she wanted to feel.

Sometimes, in the dark of her chambers, she’d let herself wonder if things had been just a little different between what might have gone differently. What would her life have been like? Would she have been brave enough to make a similar decision if she’d seen what her father had become before it was too late? Did it matter? In the end, those were nothing but foolish, girlish thoughts. She would never abandon her mother or her people to her father’s capricious whims and Mikael’s unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

And so while the heart that Klaus had bruised had healed, it hadn’t forgotten.

And knowing that if she stepped through those doors and she’d see him for the first time in years, that she would be close enough to touch him, left her breathless. And she couldn’t afford that kind of weakness. Klaus who might have been hers once was gone. Lord Klaus Mikaelson thought her the enemy. Squeezing her trembling hands tightly together, Caroline took another bracing breath and squared her shoulders. Avoiding Klaus any longer wouldn’t give her any more clarity of thought than hours of waiting hadn’t already wrought. Jaw set, she set her palm flat on the bath door and pushed it open.

It was a little like stepping into a different world, and she could almost taste the magic that layered the walls and windows, an unsubtle reminder that he was now the power here. For a moment the humidity from the steam made it difficult to adjust to the low lights, and she let the door shut quietly behind her. Klaus stood with his back to her, gaze directed through the windows that were kept were usually cracked open to let out the worst of the steam, but he had left closed. She didn’t know how he stood the heat in the heavy armor he wore.

Still, he said nothing, and so she took the time to study him. To absorb the changes time had wrought in an attempt to shore her heart against them. The lanky youth she’d known was gone, and the man was built on lean but powerful lines. The armor added a layer of bulk, but it was clear that there was solid muscle beneath it. The short curls were familiar, for all that the steam had turned them riotous.

Finally he made a soft sound, nearly a sigh, and turned. His gaze locked on hers immediately and the hard line of his jaw softened as he was clearly caught off guard by her presence. For a long moment they simply stared at each other, and Caroline tasted blood as she struggled to contain her reaction to the impact of him.

“Caroline,” he said finally, slowly. He drew out the consonants and vowels of her name as if he was remembering how to say them. “I expected your mother.”

Caroline dipped in a quick curtsy, refusing to allow his casual use of her name rattle her even though it had. The flush on her cheeks could easily be mistaken for the heat. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to wonder what he could possibly have wished to speak to her mother about that required this level of spell work to maintain their privacy. She supposed she’d find out, and dread filled her stomach. “My Lady Mother is unwell, Lord Mikaelson.”

Something hard flickered through his gaze, the fullness of his mouth tightening. “I am sorry to hear that.”

She sincerely doubted that. But there was something about the way he stood, the slightest hint of his magic between them that warned her to be cautious. Lifting her chin, she nodded. “Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards before his eyes skimmed down her body, and it took teeth gritting composure to keep from reacting to the edge in his gaze when it returned to hers. “You’ve lost weight.”

The familiarity of his words had her spine stiffening. “I cannot imagine that is any of your concern.”

An arch of his brow, something undeniably arrogant behind his gaze. “No?”

Caroline lifted her chin. She would not let him make this personal. “No.”

Klaus studied her face. “You’ll find that there are very few things that are not of my concern, Caroline. Particularly now.”

His refusal to use her surname and title left her stomach churning, but to give an inch now would mean being at a disadvantage later. Her people couldn’t afford her to be weak, no matter her tangled feelings. Tongue sliding briefly between her teeth, she took a deep breath. This particular conversation would get them nowhere. “Should I take your words to mean my father is no longer alive?”

Something jumped at the base of his jaw, a muscle pulled too tight. “Your father chose death over a trial. I am sorry for that, Caroline.”

Something inside her chest cracked open at the acknowledgement, and her next inhale was shaky. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, the acknowledgement of her father’s fate when she’d already known the likelihood of it. Her father had never intended anything but victory, had allowed no plan for failure to be brought to his attention. A more charitable person would perhaps attribute such a decision to choose death as not wanting to drag his family though the pain and horror such a trial would bring, but Caroline knew better. Her father had finally seen the consequences of his actions before him and chosen to abandon his family to their fates, again.

And it hurt.

Her father had done so many terrible things in the name of friendship, had allowed Mikael’s rage to feed his own, but once he’d been a father who had cared for his daughter and people, a man who had honored his wife. But that pain, that mourning for the man he’d once been, that was a private grief and she would not let Klaus see it. Setting her teeth, Caroline clawed her emotions into place, and when she spoke, her voice only shook a little.

“You cannot be comfortable in that armor in this steam.” She motioned for him to turn. She would do her duty. When she had nothing else, there was always duty.

Caroline did not expect him to catch her hand, palms and fingers warm and calloused against her skin. Her gaze snapped to his and he studied her with a familiar intensity that left her mouth dry. “It is your mother who should be here, now, Caroline. There are a number of things she and I need to discuss. Why did she send you?”

“As I have told you, she is not well.” She repeated, voice sounding hard and flat to her own ears. He sighed, mouth tightening as he looked at the door behind her, and then those blue eyes touched with gold returned to hers and nothing there was comforting in the depths. Iron and fire, a hint of the power that clung to him like a shield. A sort of resolution that left her shoulder tight with strain.

Klaus had always been powerful, but she had never feared that power. Even then, with the weight of it sitting behind his eyes like judgement, the strength of it tangible between them, it did not frighten her. It should have. He had never hidden what he was and how terrible he could become, though as a girl she’d foolishly thought he’d never have cause to use such strength against her family. How wrong she had been.

When he spoke, his words were measured, pulled taut by an emotion she could not name.

“Yes, I imagine she is. Defying a geas is never easy, but she has done it before and as all of the holders are now dead, it should be gone.” His words pounded in her ears like blows, and she stared at him, not comprehending his words. “She should have found the strength to finish what she started, not offer her daughter as a sacrificial lamb.”

She jerked against his grip, shock replacing the hard knot of grief. “Do you jest?” she rasped, shaking her head. “That is impossible. My mother could not…” Her words died as he continued to watch her, expression unyielding. “A geas is blood magic.”

“So it is.”

Anger flashed hot and potent through her veins. “You are accusing my father of blood magic. Is it not enough that he is dead? That all that he worked for is now laid to waste?”

“No, Caroline. Not your father, though we will always wonder what part he played in my mother’s schemes as he chose his sword instead of confessing his part to the courts.” He set his jaw, and she almost didn’t recognize the judgement he wore on his face. “Though I am sure we will find bits and pieces of the scheme as we go through his things and question his remaining people. But the blame, the magic that built the conspiracy that lies at the feet of Esther.”

Caroline opened her mouth and closed it, something hard fisting around her lungs. Shaking her head, she curled her fingers tightly against her palms. “Esther is dead these two years past,” she pointed out around a throat gone tight. “Powerful she might have been, but even she cannot perform magic beyond the grave.”

Blood magic did not linger, after its holder died.

“If it was only so easy,” Klaus returned, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “To cut the head off of the snake, and everything ends. But my mother schemed far better than anyone realized, Mikael upheld his part of them, until the very end.”

She didn’t want to ask, but she needed to know. “My mother would never have willingly committed to aiding black magic.”

He shook his head. “I cannot speak for the motivations of your mother, Caroline, only of the actions she took to protect you. Esther was many things, but trusting? Never. Your mother was her confidant for many years. There were secrets shared between them that she would allow no one to spill. How do you think she survived so many years practicing forbidden magic?”

She couldn’t breathe. Of all the terrible things that she had imagined Esther to have committed to receive a King’s Execution, she had not once thought of this. That Klaus thought her mother had been a victim? That Mikael had willingly helped her do these terrible things and that her father had fought at his side. Had he known? Had he also been a victim. Did it matter?

Emotions carening, she took a shuddering breath. He said her mother had protected her. Not abandoned her to her duty, to the fate that her father had chosen for all of them. He said she was weak for not doing this duty instead of Caroline. She didn’t know what to think.

“Turn around.”

His head tipped, brows lifting. “I beg pardon?”

Caroline gestured impatiently, her lungs stretched too tight. “You lay serious accusations at the feet of ghosts, while damning my mother for her lack of strength in nearly the same breath. I need to think, and if you insist on having this conversation here, I will not be accused of failing to show you the full kindness of my house. Turn. Around.”

She needed him to look somewhere else than at her, needed a moment to drag back a little of her shattered composure. A hint of something like understanding softened the look behind his eyes and he obligingly turned, giving her access to the ties and buckles that would loosen his chest plate and arms. Her next inhale was shaky, and not something he could miss, but at least she wouldn’t have to deal withhim facing her while she refitted her mental armor.

“I would never dare lay such an accusation of a lack of manners at your feet.” Klaus said after a moment, and his words were light, nearly teasing, and she made a noise of disagreement.

“You toss words such as blood magic and geas about quite easily,” she rebuked as she set to work, her fingers strangely steady. Such a duty should have been merely practical, the duty of a Lady for a visiting Knight, an old tradition that built a formality between them, and yet. She had never done this for him before, had never seen him in less than fully armed or in the many layers of court garb. The sudden pounding of her pulse was not merely from her temper. Forcing herself to ignore the strange intimacy, she kept her eyes on his armor. “Let us not pretend that you believe manners to be important when speaking of such things.”

“I would never be so foolish as to forget their importance, particularly after having been taken to task regarding them by you, more than once.” Now she could hear the smile in his voice and it annoyed her. That he would remind her of what he had walked away from so many years ago now and just how well he had once known her. “Manners, the correct way to fold a tablecloth and the proper way to curtsy to cut someone from your social circle. Were those not the skills you informed me in these very halls that should not be underestimated for their importance?”

She paused, gaze flicking to the nape of his neck, eyes narrowed. “Now you jest.”

“About the importance of how to fold a tablecloth? I would never.”

Annoyed, because his words were helping her steady, she tugged the first piece of his armor away from his left arm and set it on the bench to her right. It was a struggle, not to study the shape of him so clearly defined by the thin cloth that ran down the length of his arm. The hard muscle she could have felt beneath her fingertips if she fumbled a buckle even a little.

She could not let her mind wander in those directions or to allow him to distract her from the hard truths, if it was the truth, that he spoke. “Do you have proof?”

“Of what?”

Caroline rolled her eyes now that he could not see and started on the ties for the other arm. “What do you mean of what? You have declared my mother was under a geas, that she kept Esther’s secrets because of magic. What else could I possibly wonder about?”

There was a long pause and she had finished his arms and was working on the complicated buckles for his chest piece when he finally spoke. “Did you ever wonder why I never sent you a single message in all the years since we last saw each other? We did not part on harsh terms, indeed, we both rather looked forward to upcoming nuptials the following year.

She bit down hard on the side of her tongue as she tried to steady herself from his question. They had looked forward to the wedding, to the future they were building together. Those curious, heated promises Klaus had made as they had danced carefully around the discussion of the marriage bed. It was why his silence had hurt. She had trusted him.

Caroline found that she didn’t want to admit to that now, of how much his silence had cost her. She also couldn’t lie convincingly, not with his magic still tangible in the air between them. He would know the moment she tried. It was a particular quirk to his magic he did not advertise, but one he had once admitted to her.

“No.”

A shift of his weight, the slightest shake of his head, but he did not call her on the lie. “The bargain I struck with your mother - her condition was that I not contact you until after we had won.”

The back of the chest piece slipped from her fingers and clamored loudly between them, barely missing her toes. He spun and she took a hasty step back, eyes wide. He impatiently removed the rest of the amor and for a long moment, they stared at each other. Klaus, stripped to his waist of his armor and suddenly so touchable her hands trembled with it, but his words were a sudden, intangible barrier between them.

“Bargain? What possible bargain could you have made with my mother?” Caroline demanded, reeling. That was impossible. What he said should have been impossible. Her mother...

“She knew the identity of my father.” His eyes were steady, and he started to move and stopped himself at her careful step back, his chest rising in a careful breath. “Once my mother was executed, it gave Lady Elizabeth a window of opportunity and she took it. But she had conditions.”

“Your father? That isn’t a hard question to answer.” Caroline retorted, hiding her shaking hands in her skirts. “Mikael.”

A laugh, bitter and harsh. “Did you ever wonder why Henrik died?”

She paused, staring at him. Henrik had been the heart of that family, the tiny, pestering glue that had brought them all together. Even Finn, with his remote manners and unbending distaste for those he considered beneath him had smiled around Henrik. “He caught a wasting sickness.”

“My mother liked to accomplish her plot in threes. For every two children Esther gave Mikael, she birthed one to another man.” Klaus’ eyes shimmered with magic, the rage beneath his words palpable. “I was the first child born out of wedlock. Henrik was the next. The magic he was born with was not what my mother had hoped for, so she considered him expendable. She drained him dry. She planned to use the magic in her play to take the throne, and she nearly got away with it, except for Kol.”

Caroline swallowed hard. “Kol was always in places he didn’t belong.”

He tipped his head in agreement. “It almost cost him his life. Elijah and I did not understand what he had found until weeks after we had buried our brother, the evidence he stole from Esther’s hidden chambers, until weeks later. It was by his testimony that Ester was executed.”

Mikael would never have forgiven Kol for it.

“It was your mother who warned us that we had to cut ties with Mikael immediately, that returning home would cost us more than we could bear. She is who told us the truth of Esther’s and Mikael’s ambitions, though we had little other than her word for what it meant.”

“But that’s…” she stared at him, aghast. “What could my mother have known? She has so little magic and no use for it.”

“My father’s name is Ansel,” he said bluntly. “He was thought to be dead, but your mother not only knew his name, but how to find him. But her information had a price. She wanted us to cut ties with Mikael publicly, and she wanted my promise that I would not attempt to take you with me.”

Her own laugh bubbled in her throat, hysterical and disbelieving. “And why should I believe you? What purpose could such a bargain have served either of us? I am not so dear to either of you that such a thing should make any sense.”

His mouth tightened into a slash of anger, but his words were cool. “Ansel is the King’s brother, Caroline.”

Her lips parted, and she stared at him in shock. “What?”

“My father is the King’s youngest brother. Esther planned to kill him, to kill everyone in the royal family, and then place me upon the throne as a puppet. But my magic was too strong, too violent to be easily bent, so she tried again with Henrik. And while his magic bred true for the royal line, it wasn’t a magic that would easily see him put on the throne. I imagine she had other plans, but Kol caught her in her act and her schemes started to unravel.”

“And so your mother was executed for blood magic, and what? My mother told you how to save yourself?” Caroline crossed her arms and stared him down. “Why should I believe you? To do as you have said when she would have to have known how my father, how Mikael, would have reacted to such a move by the Throne. Neither would have easily given up power, and our family was tied too closely to yours to do anything but suffer from your mother’s death. And I am supposed to believe that she let us suffer? That she helped instigate the Civil War that would leave so many of our people dead?”

“Yes.”

The room went from warm to stifling and she swallowed. Throat closing, she tried to find the words to rebuke him, to tell him to speak truly and not whatever this was and she couldn’t find them. She didn’t want to believe him. She wished she didn’t. But Klaus had never lied to her before, and she couldn’t see any gain for him to do it now.

Not looking at him, she sat down on a bench, staring at the glass panes in front of her. “Why?’

Klaus moved carefully and knelt beside her. The steam had turned his clothing opaque, and it clung shockingly to the line of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest. Seeing Klaus nearly bare from the waist up was a sight she shouldn’t have appreciated even in her shock, but there was a strength to him that she had missed.

“I do not know, Caroline, but before we spoke tonight, I thought you did.”

Caroline looked at him, suddenly exhausted. “Why would I know?”

“Because that was part of my bargain with her,” he said, words gentle. “That if I were to walk away from you, if I was to leave you to your father’s whims while I worked to destroy Mikael and Ester’s legacies, that she would tell you why. That she would explain. And when I walked back into this castle, she would meet me here as tradition demanded so that we could finalize the rest of our agreement before protocol and the King’s will complicated matters.”

Shoving a riotous curl away from her eyes, she laughed bitterly “And what could you two possibly have to discuss that would be so important?” She flung her hand out in the direction of the courtyard, where his men were camped and her people were sleeping in their homes. “My people are close to starving, my father’s men have stripped this land of everything of value, and only the very young and the old have survived this grab for power. All in the name of a woman who schemed to destroy the Throne and killed innocents. My mother has told me nothing, Lord Mikaelson, and if what you say is true about her being bound by a geas and then a bargain with you, she could be suffering from any number of magical ailments. Such magic is not kind to its hosts, willing or not. So tell me, what could possibly be so important that she should drag herself down several flights of stairs to meet you in person? What could you have to discuss?”

He caught her hand, eyes cautious as he tangled his fingers with hers. She blinked, but couldn’t bring herself to protest. Her emotional equilibrium was a disaster and the conversation she thought they would be having, how best to save her people, had fluttered away at the first mention of the word geas. Thumb tracing the line of her knuckles, he leaned his head forward and spoke with a quiet determination. “My forthcoming marriage to you.”

Caroline’s lips parted on a sharp inhale, eyes wide. “What?”

Not even a flicker of a smile crossed his mouth and her breath turned harsh in her throat at the set look behind his eyes. “Our marriage, Caroline.” She shook her head, words failing her, and his fingers tightened around hers. “Did you think I would abandon you?”

“You did abandon me,” she snapped back, her temper rousing with her words. The hurt she’d tucked away into the quiet parts of her heart burning. “No promise to my mother could have been worth the silence between us if what you say is true and you have wished to marry me all these years.”

A short nod, as he accepted her rebuke, but the steeled determination did not falter behind his eyes. “Be as that may, I am set on this course Caroline. The King’s messenger will be here in three days time, and I plan on us to be wed before their arrival. The King will be angry, certainly, but he owes me a great boone, and Ansel is awake. I may have failed you, unintentionally or not, but I will not do so again.”

“Boone or not, you could insight war,” she rasped. “My bloodline…”

“Is of no consequence. I am who I am, Caroline. Every man here belongs to me, and if the King wishes to incite a second war over the daughter of his enemy, he is welcome to do so, though I do not believe it will come to that. Now when he becomes aware of your mother’s sacrifices.”

She wanted to say no on principle, to rage against him, her mother, everything she hadn’t been told. But she had walked into the bath house desperate for a way to save her people, to find a way to survive. Klaus was offering her more than survival. For her people, she would say yes.

For herself...

Caroline lifted her chin. “This may save my people, but it does not absolve you of my anger.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Klaus murmured. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her cold fingers. “But I will still marry you tomorrow at sunset before our people, and I will have you as my wife.”

She forced herself to stand, to tug her fingers free. Klaus stood with her, those blue eyes burning. “If I am to be married to you tomorrow, arrangements must be made. I will leave you to finish.”

He tipped his head. “Sleep well, love.”

Caroline sucked in a breath once she was outside, shivering in the cooler air. Eyes squeezing shut, she pressed her hand to her pounding heart. Tomorrow, she was to be married, her mother had not truely abandoned her, and Klaus was the bastard nephew of the King. So many things to digest, not enough time.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the stairs. She would wake her maid and dig through her closet for something appropriate for tomorrow. The cook would need to be alerted. Her mother told. The mental list grew until she knew the sleep Klaus had wished her would be hard to find. But underneath the rage and confusion, the pain of her abandonment and two years of loneliness was the smallest kernel of hope.

Klaus had come for her. Had fought her father and his father’s armies, had brought his people here. Tomorrow they would be married. She wasn’t sure what she felt about him, his bargain with her mom, or anything he’d said.

But that small bit of hope was stubborn.

But none of that made her any less angry. Curling her fingers into her palms, Caroline squared her shoulders. She would protect her people, but whatever this was between her and Klaus? If he thought a hasty marriage and an apology were enough to cool her temper, he find himself quite surprised. She had no intention of making things easy between them just yet. Cheered at the though, she picked up her space.

Everything was changing, and this time, she was determined to have a say.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabbles #please enjoy

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fang-wolfsbane · 2 years

Text

Devil May Cry: Twist: Chapter 02: By Any Means

Standing in the middle of her family’s study, Aspasia let her hand trail over one of the many burnt ash tree display cases. She couldn’t remember which century it had been, possibly one where more traditional, mythical beliefs controlled how those in the human realm believed in situations they believed happened because of beings of power.

In a manner of speaking, they weren’t wrong, at least not all the time. She still found it amusing to see them act on those beliefs though. At one point humans used to believe that ash wood would keep demons at bay, when they didn’t believe its uses worked for vampires or fae, not that either of those existed, but what could she do? It seemed that the old human saying of ignorance is bliss held true to the human mind.

As a way of mocking the humans, her mother had commissioned the displays to be made of the very wood humans believed protected them from those who wished to do them harm. Feeling pity for them might have been a better choice, but where was the fun in that?

Inside these display cases were an array of weapons and books, no one of them left unread by her eyes. Not one weapon left unpractised by her or her brother, their father saw to that. Upon returning home, Ares had hoped to share the news of their task, but as usual, it fell upon deaf ears the moment they walked through the front door.

No servants, no parents, not even a hellhound or two was there to greet them. She hadn’t needed to look at Ares’s face to know his thoughts. Anger, irritation, and disappointment. She felt like telling him that he should just get over with it and adjust to something he should have known since the moment he finally started understanding the way things worked in the Sanguinem family, but she had simply let it slide as she passed him by and headed for the room she currently stood in.

Where Ares disappeared to, she had no idea, nor did she ask. Knowing him, he was possibly down in the training room, working on ridding himself of some of his built up anger before they left their home for whatever waited on the other side. She thought about joining him but considering that they were heading to realm neither of them had ever set foot in, she thought it best that at least one of them had some or other knowledge. Even if they were sent to conqueror it, she didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb due to a lack of information.

In the past nobility had gone back and forth between the realms, sometimes even sending their offspring to remain behind in the human realm to strengthen their hold over those they managed to bring under their control. It was a simpler time back then, back in the dark ages, until about nearly half a century ago, one of their own turned against them and sealed the main gate between the two realms. It had opened again since then, but not nearly as strong.

Retaking control of the humans would have been one thing, but the traitor that had turned his back on them had spawned two children, one of which dedicated his life to keeping their kind away from his other half’s bloodline. The elder of the two she didn’t know much of, but she knew that his own son worked alongside his uncle to keep them at bay. It was, simply put, a vexing situation, but one that intrigued her all the same.

What had been so special about one, single human girl that was enough to make a demon general, and the brother of the emperor of the underworld, turn on his oath and swear to protect her and her wretched kind? The thought of doing something like that for anyone, especially a human, was enough to make her want to bring up whatever the last thing she ate was. She regretted not being able to recall her last meal, but then again, other matters had preoccupied her mind during dinner.

She must have gotten lost in her thoughts once again because the moment Ares placed his hand on her shoulder, she nearly grabbed the first sword within reach and liberated his hand from his wrist. Almost. Years of training and recognising her brother’s scent kept her from doing so.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, his voice free of concern, but his eyes filled with uncertainty. If they left, no one would remain of their family. They would leave their home utterly defenceless, ripe for a raid or two. Personally she didn’t care for the building itself, but she did care about her personal belongings, ones that she wouldn’t be able to take with her to ensure their safety. A sentimental demon was laughable in itself, but one sentimental about inanimate objects? Now that was a new level of insanity, even for them.

She nodded. “Of course I am. It will be ridiculous to turn the offer down now, wouldn’t it? We’d be nothing less than the laughing stock of the decade, if not longer.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts, Ares. We were given this assignment, and come death or hell high water, we are seeing it through, by any means necessary.”

“Aspasia-”

“By any means necessary,” she repeated, turning to face her brother with narrowed eyes, facing a pair that were nearly, yet weren’t, identical to her own, “am I understood?”

Ares’s eyes flickered across her face, as if searching for some or other explanation, some kind of reason not to go through with any of it. After he didn’t find one, he let out a sigh, and bowed his head in a show of submission.

“Yes, my lady.”

Devil May Cry, Sparda, Eva, Mundus, Dante, Vergil and Nero © Capcom Twist, Aspasia Sanguinem and Ares Sanguinem © Fang Wolfsbane

#Ares Sanguinem #Aspasia Sanguinem #Chapter #Dante #Devil May Cry #Eva #Fanfiction #Mundus #NeroCapcom #OC #Original Character #Sparda #Twist #Vergil

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bastsoldtrollblog · 3 years

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Kairos trudged through the snow, head bowed against the howling wind, cursing themselves for forgetting how bitter the weather was out here. Of course, they used to love these raging blizzards...When they were out of the wind, in the safety of their castle.

At least their new ‘lusus’ seemed to know the way. She trudged on, pressed almost to the ground, and Kairos had to keep close watch on her tail to make sure they didn’t lose sight of her.

Getting the time off work for this excursion was difficult, but in order to delve again into the art of necromancy, they needed their old research. If it were even still intact; Those rebels might have destroyed everything.

Still, even if it were all gone they had their reasons for paying their old hive a visit. The treasury, for starters. They could live a bit more luxuriously- Not that they had much of an eye for it, anymore- With the help of the copious amount of relics and gold artifacts from there. At the very least they wouldn’t have to worry about rent.

The rest was just nostalgia. Seeing if their original lusus was still around, so on and so forth.

They had all but stumbled through the castle gates by the time they realized they’d even reached their home. The blizzard had created full white-out conditions, and they could scarcely see a few feet in front of them.

They heard their lusus call from somewhere ahead, and trudged through the large courtyard to the safety of the entrance hall.

Immediately, they realized the castle had not been left derelict. Torches were lit inside, and they didn’t immediately see any signs of disrepair. They caught sight of their lusus slipping away down one of the halls and, judging by the fact that she wasn’t calling after them or trying to drag them along, they assumed she did not want them to follow.

They drew a dagger in favor of their sword- Too unwieldy if they came upon a foe suddenly- And proceeded with caution.

They made a beeline for their main study first. This was no longer a casual jaunt down memory lane; This was practically home invasion.

They immediately saw that the study had been rearranged and many books were missing off the shelves. They hastily began searching, though they were unsure exactly of what they were looking for. They’d written far too many research notes to take everything, so they needed things pertaining specifically to necromancy. At least they still recalled their organization system, not that it wasn’t in complete disarray.

They weren’t finding any of their research notes at all, related to necromancy or not. They found plenty of books on magic, their personal journals, but none of their notes.

“Dad?”

A voice called down the hall outside the study. Kairos grit their teeth, mentally cursing and backing away. They pressed their back against the wall behind the open doors, waiting. Footsteps padded along the thick carpet down the hall. Kairos heard him stop in front of the open study doors. His breathing sounded shallow, tense. They could sense his trepidation. Their grip tightened on their dagger as they estimated exactly where he was, what path he would take into the study- How easily they could land a surprise attack and gain the upper hand.

The troll took a few cautious steps in, and then moved further ahead, heading towards the desk apparently without looking behind the doors.

Kairos lunged, grabbing one arm, twisting it behind his back, and pressing their dagger to the troll’s throat. Kairos had seen a hint of fuchsia fin, which meant they couldn’t easily overpower him.

“Be still, or I’ll slit your throat.” They hissed, when the troll attempted to struggle. He froze, taking a few moments to gauge the situation, and then made a demand.

“What do you want??”

“My research. Where is it.”

“What?”

“I wrote many notes on various schools of magic, that were kept in this study. Where are they.”

The troll hesitated, and Kairos pressed the dagger closer to his throat. They could sense this troll’s magic; He had to know what they were talking about.

“I-Is your name- Kairos?”

“So you’ve read them. Where are they.”

“H-Hey- Listen! I’m your descendant! Ramira Mikari!”

“I have no descendants.” Kairos hissed, but glanced up to the troll’s horns. Sure enough, they matched their own, minus the icicles. That didn’t mean Kairos was about to let him go.

“Just look at my horns! We share a name!”

“A sibling, perhaps, but not a descendant. My research, Ramira.” Kairos pressed the blade hard enough to draw blood.

“It’s in my room!”

“The master bedroom?”

“The one next to it...”

Kairos paused. They couldn’t just bind his arms and leave him; He could easily get free with a spell. They relaxed, letting him go, and Ramira darted forward out of their grasp, rubbing his throat.

“Christ,” hissed Ramira. “I thought you’d be kind of a dick, but...”

“Ah, for once I am not a disappointment.”

Kairos stepped back out of the study, turning and stalking down the hall- Only to come face-to-face with a snow leopard. A glance at the eyes confirmed it was neither their current lusus nor their original one, but related all the same.

The leopard meowed at them and sat down. They hesitantly reached out, and then gave the leopard a pat on the head when it seemed to consent.

“Did you have a snow leopard lusus too?” Ramira had followed them out of the study.

“Yes. Is he around?”

“Uh...This is the only snow leopard I’ve seen. I found the body of one in, uh, I think the master bedroom.”

Kairos furrowed their brow, and continued onwards past the leopard. “What did you do with it?”

“I put it in the catacombs.”

Kairos hummed in response. Ramira followed them all the way to the master bedroom, though Kairos stopped and walked right into the room next to it that Ramira had claimed as his own.

Ah. That was definitely a heap of their research notes. Kairos immediately began digging through it; It wasn’t even remotely organized. They were surprised Ramira wasn’t more aggressive towards them, all things considered, but apparently he wasn’t too willing to attack his sibling.

“If you aren’t my ancestor, then who is?”

“Cataclysm, likely. There are books on him in the ancillary study.”

“Oh. Haven’t really looked through that one, yet. What was he like?”

“Do you think I know?”

Ramira put up his hands defensively, making a face and looking away. “Okay, okay. Sheesh.”

“I put a knife to your throat and you still see fit to bombard me with questions?” Kairos hissed.

“You didn’t kill me, so...”

“I am starting to think I should have.”

Ramira backed away a few steps. And then decided to ask another question. “What are you looking for?”

“My studies on necromancy.”

“There’s one on the desk.”

Kairos looked over towards the desk, and then resumed digging through the pile. Ramira cautiously approached, sitting down on the other side of the pile and starting to sort. “Sorry. I should’ve organized this sooner.”

Kairos hummed in response again. By the end of it they had four of their research notes on necromancy, including the one that had been on the desk, and a fifth book they had grabbed on their studies of their own magical ability. That might hold some insight on their current, uncontrollable state.

Shoving the books into their backpack, Kairos stood and began making their way towards the catacombs.

“Hey- Listen- Can we just talk? For a second?”

“About what?”

Kairos stopped, rounding on Ramira, who also stopped dead and faltered.

“Um- Well- We’re related, and all. We’re both mages. And you lived here a while. There’s gotta be...Something you can tell me.”

“There no doubt is. However, I do not care nor do I have the time to share it. Learn on your own. There is nothing I could tell you that is not already contained here.”

“Jesus christ, are you always like this?”

“Yes.” Kairos turned and continued onwards. Ramira apparently thought twice about following, but still ultimately did so. At least he followed in silence.

The already-freezing temperature dropped as they descended the stairs leading to the catacombs. The air shifted, and with it came a horrible crawling sensation. It felt as though the air itself were writhing, heavy and toxic. The stones themselves seemed to be twisting in agony.

This place was cursed, sickening, unfit for life, and still Kairos pressed on.

“Can you at least tell me what the fuck is up with this place? Why is it like this?” Ramira said, finally. At least he had the sense to keep his voice low- And even then, a shriek echoed from some distant depth in the catacombs in response. “Jesus-” Started Ramira, stumbling a few steps back. Kairos ignored it.

“Our dear ancestor trapped the souls of his most detested enemies here. Being a highly successful conqueror, his enemies were many.”

“What was that scream??”

“A banshee, perhaps. Or one of the many twisted souls here.”

Kairos reached the treasury- Kept on the same level of the catacombs to deter ordinary thieves, who could scarcely set foot below the castle without being overcome with fear. They dumped their backback on the ground and began filling what space remained with treasure.

“Seriously??”

“This is as much my inheritance as it is yours.”

“Yeah, but...Jeeze, have some dignity.”

Kairos just scoffed, and once they’d gathered a decent amount, they straightened. Ramira seemed about ready to book it, nervously glancing over his shoulder as though something might come creeping up behind him.

“Show me to the snow leopard you brought here.”

Ramira rubbed his arms anxiously, and then turned to lead Kairos into the catacombs.

He hadn’t brought the corpse far, just into the next room where there was an empty slat in the wall. Kairos scooped the frozen corpse out, glancing towards a half-frozen zombie that had noticed them and was attempting to shamble towards them.

Ramira was bristling with fear. Kairos snorted and moved to carry the leopard’s corpse out.

“Please. It couldn’t bite you even if you let it,” they said, brushing past Ramira.

“This is fucking scary! Don’t tell me you can’t feel it!”

“I can, likely moreso than you. I spent much time down here, however.”

“So you were a necromancer?”

“To some extent. I studied many things.” Though they couldn’t deny that they had a particular interest in death and the beyond.

Kairos carried the leopard’s corpse to one of their old workrooms by the study; This, it seemed, had been untouched. They cleared a table and set down the corpse. Ramira had followed them the entire way.

“Can you light these sconces?” Asked Kairos, picking up an old tool from a tray.

“Can’t you?” Ramira said, still moving to light them anyway.

“My magic is all but useless.”

Ramira looked to them, confused, but Kairos didn’t care to elaborate. Their surgical tools were ruined, unfortunately, and they had to wait around for the corpse to thaw before they could handle it.

They opted to check the eyes first. They were half rotted, but Kairos still recognized the iris’ pattern.

It was their lusus, without a doubt.

Not that they were surprised.

They stayed for two nights to handle the corpse. Ramira- Or Mira, as he preferred to be called- Came and bothered them a few times, pestered them with questions, but ultimately did his best to be helpful. Not that he couldn’t do much; It turned out he was almost as useless as Kairos when it came to magic.

By the end of their stay, Kairos had the bones and fur of their lusus in a duffel bag provided by Mira. The bones were badly cleaned, but that was fine; They at least had something to bring back to Eirene.

As Kairos stepped towards the kitchen portal that lead to a nearby town, Mira spoke up. “Are you going to come back?”

“Likely not.”

“...Can I have your number?”

“...Fine.”

Kairos stopped to enter their phone number into Mira’s phone, and paused as they handed it back. “Do not rapid-fire text or call me.”

“I’m not that much of an asshole, jeeze...”

“You’ve been doing the physical version of it for the past two nights.”

“I have not!”

Kairos didn’t care to argue. They turned to step onto the teleportation circle, before stopping again. “One more thing. My lusus; How did you find him?”

“Uh...He was curled up on the bed. Almost like he were sleeping.”

Kairos narrowed their eyes, and then stepped onto the teleportation circle, vanishing in an instant.

#bastdrabbles #kairos mikari #kairos ic #kairos writing #ramira mikari #mira writing #mira ic #long post //#this got. really long #gonna proofread tomorrow #gnight

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golden-deer-dear · 4 years

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Into Light - Claudeleth Fanfic for fatcatsarecats

Summary: There was a freedom in this Byleth had never known before. She had thought once, the night that Mahtab took her vows and laid her bare, that she was not meant for peace. She had thought she could never be content with such a thing. But Khalid had given her his heart, and she in turn had reclaimed her own unbeating one.

Byleth runs away with Khalid, fleeing from his father, and attempts to carve out her own bit of happiness for them.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Family, Pregnancy, Fugitives

Notes: For @fatcatsarecats! Thank you so much for the commission! I hope you enjoy it!

If you would like to commission me, please check out my info here.

Previous work - From Shadows AO3

Into Light

“We need to go now, before your father is told. He won’t let me leave his side once he knows.”

“You’re going to fall asleep at the reins again if you don’t sleep.”

His lips tugged at the soft voice, the smile still strange even when they had come so often these past few months, as she gently roused him from his memories. Khalid bent his head, kissing dyed blue locks, and held Byleth tighter to his side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have infinite stamina.”

“Mmm,” Byleth hummed. Despite the tone of disapproval, he felt her own lips smiling as she pressed a kiss against his jaw. “The stars are bright out.”

“I was watching them,” Khalid explained, his fingers lazily running through Byleth’s hair.

Byleth shifted in his arms, resettling herself so she could better gaze with him. Together with her, in the back of their travel cart, under the guise of a traveling merchant and his wife with all their royal trapping stripped away, Khalid felt rich and fulfilled.

“That is Shamil, the first wyvern,” he said, arm raised as his finger traced out the constellation’s pattern.

Byleth hummed again, retracing the stars and pulling more into the pattern. “It's the Immaculate One,” she countered.

This was not the first time they had this discussion, Khalid knew exactly how it would go, but he longed for the gentleness, the playfulness that brought a smile to her face, and so he would repeat it over and over again.

“What did you think you were going to accomplish?”

Any hopes Mahtab had of this being a happy reunion were instantly torn asunder. He turned his gaze away from Tiana, squeezing his eyes shut as he rested his head in his hands. “Did you really travel hundreds of miles just to berate me, my love?” He knew he sounded defeated, but he was too tired to hash out old arguments that had led him and Tiana to this point.

Her movements smooth and regal, Tiana sank onto the lounge with him, her knees close enough that Mahtab could feel the phantom touch of them. He longed to reach out and hold her in his arms the way he had when they were first married, whispering sweet nothings and sharing secrets with her long into the night.

But that was years ago. They had grown distant since, and Mahtab could not pinpoint the change. “When did we become strangers, Tiana?”

Tiana went stiff, her fingers clenching fistfuls of her dress. He could see her jaw work, fighting to hold back that hot temper of hers. “Do you really not know?”

Mahtab sighed heavily and looked up into her face. There was a storm in her eyes, those emerald orbs she had given to their son, anger and sorrow battling for dominance. “I don’t,” he was forced to admit.

Tiana echoed his sigh and forced her fingers to uncurl. “You stopped fighting for us.” Mahtab remained silent, knowing there was more to come. It seemed there were still parts of Tiana that she would show him, the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world. “After Khalid’s....incident, you stopped fighting. Khalid could not take the throne, I understood this, but I could not understand why you regulated him to a shadow. Why you withdrew from me when I needed you most. I left behind all I knew for you, but you left me.”

Mahtab opened his mouth to protest, to offer some form of defense, but Tiana held up a scarred hand. He could remember how she received each and every one of them, recounting the battles with terrifying clarity. “I did not come here to discuss us. I came here to discuss our son.”

“He is not my son anymore,” Mahtab spat out. The quill had quivered in his hands as he signed the decree disowning Khalid, but Mahtab was left with little choice. He could not let the theft of one of his wives, one who was considered a goddess reborn at that, go unpunished. “Khalid is a fugitive now. Nader will bring him back to face justice.”

Tiana turned on him, and Mahtab braced himself, recognizing as the wall cracked around her temper. “Nader? You would truly do that to them? To ask the man who is more of a father to Khalid than you have ever been to bring him back for execution?”

Mahtab stood, his own temper flaring at Tiana’s words, but while she burned like the sun, his was winter’s chill. “I chose Nader because I know he will remain loyal to me, unlike the son you gave me.”

Tiana held herself tighter, back going rigid, as the harsh words swept over her. “No.” Those emerald eyes bore into Mahtab, the only ones that would not flinch away from his rage. “As much as I wish you to be a fool, I know you are not. You are testing them.” She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Mahtab did not even think when he reached up to grab her arm, halting her retreat. Never before in his life had he begged, but then, Tiana’s departure from his life had never seemed so final. “Tiana,” he whispered, the word dragged out of a ragged throat, “I would fix this if I could.”

There was a long pause as Tiana’s eyes slowly traveled from where his arm held her back up to his face. The brightness, that clever spark of wit she had passed to their son, was no longer there. “Mahtab,” she finally sighed. Her hand raised to his cheek, and he leaned into her savage warmth. The kiss she pressed against his lips was one of finality and departure. “I failed your test years ago. If it means saving Khalid, I will fail it again.”

She had chosen, and so Mahtab let her go.

Losing Byleth was a political embarrassment. Losing Tiana was equivalent to a mortal blow.

And Mahtab had not held onto his kingdom for so long by simply rolling over and accepting a situation that was not to his benefit.

A moment later found the fearsome King of Almyra racing for his guard, ordering them to halt Tiana at the gates. Curse that stoic goddess for making him complacent. And curse the fallen star his son had become. He was a war lord, a conqueror. He would not let go of what he wanted without a fight.

“By.”

Byleth turned as Khalid called her name, the shortened version he had taken to calling her when they were out in public now. She blinked at him, the only show of her surprise, when Khalid pressed something against her lips. Byleth opened her mouth and Khalid happily fed her the fruit he had acquired, the richness of the ripened strawberry bursting over her tongue.

Khalid smiled when she hummed happily, turning back to the merchant to buy an entire bundle. “Claude,” she said, using the strange new name he had chosen for himself. “The strawberries are not a necessity.”

“No,” Khalid agreed, settling their purchase with the rest of the foodstuffs they had already acquired. “But they make you happy, and that’s all the reason I need.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek.

Byleth relented, knowing this was not a battle she would win, nor one she particularly felt strongly about fighting. She slid her arm in his, ignoring the star struck gazes that followed them throughout the market. She was not fond of the attention their romance attracted, but it seemed to do Khalid good to dote on her.

There was a part of her that missed the open cart, the simple life they had tried as merchants themselves. But as her belly swelled, it became necessary to find someplace stationary. This pregnancy sapped her energy, and there were many days when Byleth was left with little ability to do much more than amble around the abandoned hunting lodge Khalid had claimed as their own.

Today, however, was a good day. Byleth had assuaged Khalid’s worry, promising she would tell him the instant she felt tired. And so Khalid had brought her along, making a day of the simple market trip.

There was a freedom in this Byleth had never known before. She had thought once, the night that Mahtab took her vows and laid her bare, that she was not meant for peace. She had thought she could never be content with such a thing.

But Khalid had given her his heart, and she in turn had reclaimed her own unbeating one. When he smiled at her, when she curled up in his lap at night and he read to her from whatever book he had gotten his hands on, that was a kind of quiet Byleth could accept.

“By, how do you feel about salmon?” Khalid asked, breaking Byleth out of her thoughts.

As soon as he said the word, Byleth’s mouth began to water. “Yes. And some candied almonds.”

Khalid stared at her before sighing and shaking his head. “By, those two things do not go together.”

Byleth simply pointed to her round belly, the source of all her sudden strange cravings.

“You know, soon you aren’t going to be able to use that as an excuse.”

“Then I had best take advantage of it while I can,” Byleth countered, her soft smile matching the one tugging at Khalid’s lips.

“All right, you love birds,” the merchant joked good naturedly. “Take the show elsewhere if you aren’t going to buy anything.”

Byleth stepped back and Khalid bantered with the fisherman, standing content with her hand resting on her stomach. The market bustled around them, but it was nowhere near as large as the one at Garreg Mach. They could wander aimlessly without fear of being jostled by the crowd.

But it also made it harder to hide. Her breath caught sharply in her throat at the sight of a man staring at them, his brown eyes hard. Muscular arms were folded over a broad chest, a heavy axe strapped to his back. Byleth knew she had seen him before, his presence large even as he fell in step behind Mahtab.

After a moment, the man turned from them, his eyes continuing to search the market. Byleth could only hope that with Khalid’s back to him and her own hair dyed, body changed from her pregnancy, the man had not recognized them. But she could have sworn his eyes had lingered, and she did not wish to take that chance.

“Claude,” she called softly.

Khalid turned to her, presenting the now wrapped fish up like an offering, but his face fell when his eyes met hers. “What’s wrong, By?”

She shook her head, not wishing to alert any of the populace around them. “Can we go home? I’m feeling a bit tired.”

Khalid immediately placed his arm around her, letting her lean her weight against him. Byleth tried not to, she knew how much his leg still pained him at times, but she was so comfortable against him that it was hard not to snuggle closer.

She would tell him as soon as they reached the town’s limits, but for this last brief moment, Byleth wanted her moment of peace.

“By, you’re looking a bit tired. Get some rest. I’m just going to grab a few more supplies so we won’t have to worry about it for a bit after the baby is born. I’ll be back before you know it, love.”

“Liar,” Byleth spat through gritted teeth. More than a day had passed since he had spoken those words, but still Khalid had not returned. If the pains gripping her were not so powerful, Byleth would have gone out to find him. She had warned him of the man she saw in the market, and he promised to be careful, yet he had not returned to her.

She had tried not to worry the moment he walked out the door, but her nerves were frayed, leaving her restless and discontent. She never should have let him distract her. Byleth had no doubt that Khalid had done something stupid to draw attention away from her and the hunting lodge, and now she was in no condition to go save him.

No, she was stuck in their reclaimed home. It was a clever place to hide, already ransacked by thieves and forgotten by the commoners. Khalid had busied himself over the last few months making it a home for them, and Byleth had thought perhaps they could finally be happy here.

She should have known.

Byleth paced the length of the atrium, chewing on her thumb nail and throwing desperate glances at the door. She wanted desperately to go after him, but the babe within her was taking too much of her energy. Her entire body hurt, and every time Byleth reached for the door, she was left gasping in pain.

Another circle of the hallway, past forgotten paintings, the broken statues and cobwebs the first things to go when they moved in, but it only brought Byleth right back to the unopened door. She turned to make another circuit, but a rush of water soaked her legs.

Byleth hastily pulled at her nightdress, fearing for a moment that the liquid was blood, but her hand came away clean. A terrible pain gripped her, worse than the last, leaving her shaking.

Byleth had known fear. She was terrified when the Almyrans invaded the monastery, when she learned Rhea had swallowed a vial of poison, the first night Mahtab took her into his bed. She had feared for herself and Khalid when they had run, abandoning everything in their haste to flee before Mahtab could learn the news of her condition. But it had never felt like this. Those were moments she knew she could weather, facing down whatever storm would greet her.

This...this was something she could not face with the same certainty.

Byleth stumbled her way back to the bedroom she had shared with Khalid for months now, as if they were some proper married couple, and allowed herself to collapse upon the mattress. She curled into the cool sheets, suddenly realizing how hot she had become.

“Khalid,” she breathed out, gasping as another contraction gripped her. “Khalid, please come home.”

“Hey, kiddo.”

Khalid barely looked up at the voice, instead shoving the second tankard of ale he had ordered at the man.

Nader settled his broad frame into the seat across from Khalid, throwing his head back as he swallowed half the mug immediately. “Guess I should have asked if you poisoned it before I did that!” Nader said with a laugh, seemingly unconcerned if Khalid had actually done just that.

Khalid took a sip of his own drink, truly nothing more than water. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Nader,” he answered softly. “Not without reason. Are you about to give me one?”

Nader sighed heavily, his chair groaning in protest as he leaned back. “I should.” He took a long pause, turning the mug absentmindedly in circles on the table as he thought. “What were you thinking, kiddo?” he finally asked.

He knew what Nader wanted to hear, that he was not, and that he would hand Byleth back over. But he was not about to do either of those things. So he remained silent, slowly sipping on his not ale until Nader sighed again.

“He disowned you, you know?”

Khalid nodded. “I heard the proclamation. It was scandalous enough to lead the market gossip for an entire week.”

Nader chuckled again, even his softest volume drawing stares from the tavern’s other patrons. “You always did know how to get the whole world talking.”

Khalid answered him with a scowl. “I was a shadow, Nader, nothing more. Drawing attention like this was not my intent.”

Nader raised a brow in mock surprise. “Really? They still whisper your name in bedtime stories to children. And then you go and deliver an entire goddess to your father, followed shortly by stealing away said goddess for yourself.”

Khalid’s scowl deepened. He did not like that expression, and yet that was the prevailing sentiment every time the story was told. “I’m not going to give her back,” he said, cutting to the chase even as he realized he was playing into the hated story.

A barmaid was quick to refill Nader’s drink when he motioned for her, silent until the girl was done with her task and had left them alone once more. “Kiddo, see reason here. Mahtab isn’t going to let you go. Give the girl back and you can escape on your own. You’re clever enough you can make a life for yourself somewhere else. Find yourself some other pretty girl to warm your bed, one who isn’t married to your father.”

“No,” Khalid answered sharply.

Nader sucked in a breath, eyes going wide with realization. His instructor always could read him, almost as easily as his mother. “You stubborn fool,” Nader breathed out. “You’re in love with her.”

When Khalid did not answer, Nader threw back the entire tankard in one large gulp. “You fool,” he repeated with a huff. “Khalid, I can’t go back empty handed. I will be disgraced.”

“And Byleth?” Khalid countered. “You’ll sentence her to a life she doesn’t want? You’ll return her to my father’s bed when she doesn’t want to be there? And what life will her child have, being half Fódlani? You can see what happened to me.” Khalid emphasized his point by touching the scar across his cheek. Stars, how many times had Byleth traced it with her own small hands, her warmth washing away the pain that clung to him? Certainly more than he could count, but not enough. Not yet.

“And Kidra?” Nader countered. “What happens to my daughter when I can no longer show my face in Almyra, and your father gives away all of my lands? She’ll be destitute.”

“Kidra started winning her own glory years ago. She doesn’t define herself by you anymore,” Khalid pointed out. He knew how shallow and selfish it sounded, because while Kidra would be fine, Nader would never be able to see her again. Stars, this would damn him, but thinking of Byleth tucked away, raising a child by herself and wondering what had happened to him, it tore at his heart. “Nader…” he started, trepidation slipping into his voice.

Nader waved him off. “Eh, enough of that, kiddo. I already knew I wasn’t going to take you back before I even got here. I just didn’t realize you were actually in love with that girl.” He paused, shaking his head as he leaned forward, propping his elbows onto the table. “Earth below, Khalid, you couldn’t have chosen another woman?”

Khalid laughed, halfway between a chuckle and a scoff, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “If I had a choice at all I would choose her all over again, Nader.”

Nader groaned and slapped a hand over his face, but Khalid could still see his smile. “You’ve got it bad, boy.”

“I know,” Khalid agreed.

He took another sip of water before nodding his head to the group of cloaked soldiers entering the tavern, the bottom half of their faces covered in black cloth. His father’s stealth warriors. “Now what do we do about them?”

Nader looked over his shoulder. His sigh this time was more world weary than the previous few. “Should have known Mahtab would have me followed. Well, kiddo, time to see if you’ve forgotten how to use that axe of yours or not.” He grabbed the handle of the large battle axe on his back, patrons scurrying away as the soldiers pulled their own weapons.

“We’ll have to kill them if you want to keep this secret,” Khalid pointed out. But more than that, he needed to make sure they would not give away his location to his father. He wanted somewhere safe for Byleth to give birth, somewhere where they could at least spend the first few months of the child’s life before having to flee again.

Nader grunted in acknowledgement, bringing his axe up to block the first attack.

Khalid pulled his own axe off his belt, ducking around Nader to join the fray. Only one soldier broke off to engage him, but his strikes were swift, leaving Khalid on the defensive. He gave Khalid no quarter, clearly intending to take the fallen prince’s head back to the king.

Even as Khalid hooked the blade of his axe with the soldier’s sword, he was forced back, bending over a table that was abandoned in the center of the room. The soldier leaned with him, brown eyes flashing with hate. There was something there more than duty, something personal within those eyes that looked so very similar to his father’s.

Khalid had always wondered if he would be able to kill one of his many half siblings if necessary. It seemed the answer was yes, if the price to pay was his own life and Byleth’s.

He hissed in pain as his brother’s knee crashed against his side. Khalid used the momentum of the attack to roll off the table and onto the stained tavern floor, struggling to gain the upper hand. His axe was no longer trapped the sword, but it cost him a swift headbutt to the face, white hot pain making him cry out as his nose crunched.

“Enough!”

All movement stopped as the order was issued. It was impossible to disobey when the fury of a queen was directed at them. Khalid could only gap as his mother strode into the tavern, all regality and grace, with her own special blend of authority. “Enough of that,” she repeated in Almyran. “Lay down your arms.”

Khalid’s brother growled low, brandishing his blade once more. That was a bad idea. Tiana would put him in the ground. “He is a traitor, to be -”

Tiana raised a hand, a letter in her grip. The heavy vellum was stamped with the king’s own seal, an order that could not be ignored. His brother cast one last glare at Khalid before moving forward to grab the letter. The room held its breath as his eyes scanned the page, turning his glare to Tiana after a moment. She held it without blinking, not even when the prince growled again.

With a tilt of his head, he summoned his men, and just like that the fight was over. Khalid’s body still hummed with adrenaline, his axe tight in his grip wanting a target. But there was none to be found, only Nader blinking in the aftermath of the short chaos and his mother’s tight smile.

“Mother?” he whispered, breaking from his trace when she took a step to him. “What happened?”

Tiana pressed a hand to his cheek, her thumb gently tracing over his scar. “You’re safe, little sun. Your father decided to fight for us one last time.”

Sweat soaked her brow as Byleth strained against another contraction. She tried to remember the advice she and Khalid had sought from the town’s midwife, but it was hard to make her mind focus on anything besides the burning pain of her lower half splitting open.

It had gone on for hours now, her only concept of time passing the moon rising in the window. She could have sworn the sun was still high in the sky when it had all started.

She was going to die. This child was going to kill her, and then it would die too without anyone to care for it. Byleth gritted her teeth, pushing again. It was a constant hurt now, leaving her only able to guess when she should actually be pushing as the midwife instructed. Goddess, this could not be how it ended. It would not be how it ended. Byleth took the thoughts and mentally throttled them into submission, screaming through clenched teeth. She refused to let this be her grave. She was going to see Khalid again, and she was going to throttle him just as thoroughly.

“Byleth!”

Despite her thought a moment before, Byleth’s chest tightened as Khalid’s voice rang through the lodge. Her breath released in a sigh of relief, answering him with a scream as her mouth opened.

“Byleth!” Khalid called again. She could hear his pounding footsteps through the halls, and a moment later he was falling into the room. He raced to her, wrapping her in his arms and placing a kiss on her soaked forehead. “Byleth, are you all right?”

Byleth managed to glare at him before attempting to push again. She gripped Khalid tightly, feeling the bones in his hand move, but he did not pull away.

“Enough of that, girl,” another voice demanded. Byleth was vaguely aware of another person entering the room, clad in riding leathers and holding herself as if the world should bow to her. “Khalid, hot water and towels. Now.”

He pressed his lips against her forehead again before making to move, but Byleth held him back. No! she wanted to scream. He had only just arrived, she did not want to let him go.

The new arrival clicked her tongue and took Byleth’s hands, freeing Khalid. “Go,” she ordered again. “And you, pay attention. Push only when I tell you to. Now, deep breath.”

As annoyed as she was with the voice, it gave Byleth something to focus on. It talked her through the pain, instructing her as each new wave of pain attacked. At some point Khalid returned, holding her in his arms as she struggled. He did not make the pain disappear, but he certainly made it better.

As the first rays of dawn shone through her window, Byleth’s child came screaming into the world. Byleth let loose one brief sob, thankful that her fear her child would be like her, expressionless and stoic for so many years, was so swiftly pushed aside.

He was placed in her arms, his small face scrunched in displeasure. His skin was the same shade as Khalid’s, eyes chocolate brown, the same color as the few wisps of hair upon his head. But Byleth could see herself in the shape of his tiny nose and the curve of his jaw. He was perfect and beautiful, and he was hers.

Tiana was smiling at him when Khalid stepped out of the room. Her smiles were never kind, always more along the lines of a spider looking at the prey trapped within its web, but he had learned to interpret them through the years. She was pleased with him, but there was a touch of sorrow there as well.

“She’s resting,” he said softly, not wanting to disturb Byleth or the newborn child that slept in the crib beside her. “Thank you, Mother.”

Tiana nodded, almost absentmindedly. “Good. She’ll need it.” She took her son’s hand within both of her smaller ones, callouses from her axe catching against his own. “Will you be happy like this? You were always so ambitious, I worry for you, hidden away out here. There will be no glory for you.”

Khalid looked back at the door to their bedroom, knowing there was a dopey grin on his face. “I don’t know about that,” he answered, surprised by the honesty in his answer. It was something that had come more easily in the past months. “There is plenty for me here.”

His mother studied him with those critical eyes that had made even the most ardent chieftains kneel before her, before softening into something gentle Khalid had never seen before. “That girl has you wrapped around her finger, and it seems you are all too happy to be there, you lovestruck fool.”

That was exactly what he was, and Khalid was all too happy to embrace it.

He squeezed Tiana’s hands, silently reassuring her that he was precisely where he wanted to be. “And you, Mother? What will you do now? You are welcome to stay with us.”

Tiana sighed and shook her head. “No, this life you have chosen for yourself I fear would be too confining for me. I shall return to your father. I suppose I owe him after what he did.”

Khalid’s smile fell and he held onto her tighter. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t,” Tiana agreed. “But I once risked everything on your father, and it paid off well. I feel it might be time to take that risk again.” She untangled her hands from his, placing them upon his shoulders to push him down enough that she could brush her lips against his forehead. “Live well, my little sun. I hope you are happy.”

“You as well, Mother.”

“Papa!”

Khalid turned his head up as his son tugged at his hair, heart tightening in his chest at the sight of dark wings in the sky above them. He reached back and removed Jeralt from his shoulders, placing the young boy back on his own feet. “Go inside to your mother,” he instructed.

Jeralt’s eyes narrowed, a clear reflection of his mother’s stare when she was displeased. Usually the sight of it made him laugh, but Khalid shook his head and pointed. “Go,” he ordered again, not to be disobeyed in this.

Jeralt left on silent feet, another of his mother’s inherited habits. Once the front door of the lodge shut behind him, Khalid turned his attention back to the wyvern that had settled in his front yard. A large man, his hair streaked with more silver than Khalid remembered, dismounted the creature, but made no move to come further toward the house.

“Do you have any food or drink for a lonely traveler?” Mahtab’s voice boomed out over the lawn.

Khalid shook his head, not taking his eyes from his father as he slowly approached. “We both know that isn’t even close to what you are.” He stopped close enough that they would not have to shout, but well out of reach of the tavern's bite. "What would the King of Almyra want with a humble merchant?"

Mahtab snorted, the sound ugly and rough, making his wyvern shake its head, unsure of its master's intent. "Your own answer applies to your question as much as it did mine."

"Enough games then," Khalid relented. "Why would you come here?"

He heard the sound of the front door opening, quickly glancing over his shoulder as Mahtab's eyes followed. Byleth stood there in a simple black shirt and shorts, hair dyed its unnatural blue. Jeralt, with his ageless gaze that did not belong in a child's face, held onto her hand. Byleth's grip on him was tight, refusing to allow him outside. Her other arm was wrapped just as tightly around a swaddled bundle, their daughter's chubby hands reaching up to pull at Byleth's hair.

Mahtab breathed out in a rush, drawing Khalid's attention back. There was a longing in his father's eyes, a flicker of lust, overruled by a sadness Khalid had only seen after the assassination attempt. His eyes dropped to Jeralt, desperately drinking in the only sight of his youngest child he would ever take. "I would have given her to you," he whispered, voice breaking and harsh. "If it could have kept you in my life, I would have given her to you in a heartbeat."

Khalid crossed his arms, unable to keep a small smile from his lips. "I prefer it like this. I would have her love freely given, not taken by force."

Mahtab barked a laugh, and reached over to wyvern's saddle. He came back with an intricately lacquered box. Khalid recognized it immediately and knew what it held. He had received an almost identical one on his fourth birthday, his first weapon, a beautiful bow, given as per tradition. It was the only weapon an Almyran prince would be freely gifted with, every subsequent one taken by force or rewarded for some glorious deed.

Mahtab was the one to move forward to meet him, relinquishing the box to Khalid. He placed his hands on Khalid's shoulders, Khalid dipping his head to recieve his father's blessing. The king leaned in, brushing chapped lips against Khalid's forehead before stepping back.

"Claude," Mahtab raised his voice, loud enough for Byleth to hear, "know you have the friendship of the King of Almyra."

The warmth of his hands lingered, even after the beat of the wyvern's wings took Mahtab back into the sky. It was only then that Byleth released Jeralt, his footfalls soft as they announced the approach of the rest of the family.

"For you," Khalid said, depositing the box into Jeralt's small arms. The boy almost toppled under its weight, his eyes going wide in a sudden show of surprise.

"Claude," Byleth interjected. She never used his real name in front of the children, only when they were alone at night, followed by whispered I love you’s.

Khalid leaned in, kissing away her frown. He untangled his daughter's tiny grip from Byleth's hair, his finger becoming trapped in the process. "I love you, By."

Byleth frowned again, her lips occupied with another kiss. She relented with a sigh, kissing him back with all the love and trust she possessed in her unbeating heart, which Khalid had come to learn was immeasurable.

It seemed so anticlimactic, all their fears and worries coming to an end. Peace was a strange thing, itching at his old wounds, but the warmth of Byleth's touch eased it away. Her kiss grounded him in reality.

And between Jeralt's gasp of surprise and his daughter's happy gurgles, Khalid found himself content.

#fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #claude x byleth #claudeleth #claudeth #Claude von Riegan #byleth #my fic #commission

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beyondflashpoint · 4 years

Text

Prologue 1: Bedtime stories.

John massaged his temple. He’d been pouring through ancient tomes and cross referencing half forgotten folklore for what felt like hours. He sat back in his overstuffed chair, considered lighting a cigarette, then recalled the one unlit, currently pressed between his lips. How long had it been there? He needed a break.

“Da- ... John?” The little voice inquired from the doorway. John slowly raised his eyes.

The child had been in his care for over a year now. Looking at her now, wearing an adults band tee like a nightgown and dragging the large stuffed bat she carried everywhere, it was hard to remember how dangerous she could be.

“Well, what have we here? Little Bird escaped her cage?”

She smiled at the affectionate nickname, but there was still fear in her eyes.

John Constantine had never once thought of himself as anything close to fatherly. After all, his own dear old dad had been nothing short of a five-star bastard. But she wanted to call him dad, wanted him to be a father to her. Seeing her, putting on a brave face, but desperately craving comfort and company, it reminded him why he had taken the girl from a dying world, a dying mother, and her own five-star bastard. He moved in a way that only a concerned father can move, a delicate balance between caution so as not to startle, and haste to provide that comfort she was practically begging for. In moments he had scooped her up, cradled like a princess in his arms.

“Bad dreams again Rachael?” He asked tenderly. She nodded.

“Can’t get back to sleep then either, I take it?” She shook her head.

He pointed at he stuffed bat, now held in a chokehold by her scrawny little arms.

“Now you listen here Batsy, I told you more than once that you’re supposed to keep our girl safe.” A stern voice, usually reserved for pit fiends and people fooling with things they didn’t understand. John Constantine was upbraiding a stuffed toy. If that ever got out it’d be the end of his reputation. But bullocks to that.

“His name is Bartok. And he’s just a stuffed animal.” But she was giggling, genuine and true.

John exited the study carrying the girl back to bed. Neither noticed that the doorway which had previously opened into the foyer now deposited them on the second floor landing, a few doors down from Rachael’s bedroom. This was the House of Mystery, and it changed to suit its owner’s needs. Thankfully it knew John well enough to know that carrying a six year old child up a flight of stairs was a little excessive.

“That’s not entirely true, now is it luv? We studied totems and objects of power just last week. You’ve given him a name, and you carry him with you everywhere. Bartok is probably absolutely pulsing with magical energy. With the right focus and a solid incantation Barty could be a regular supercharged dream catcher.”

He was laying her down now, pulling the covers over her, but making sure to leave the bat’s stitch’s smile free. Rachael listened intently and nodded.

“Zatanna will be here all day tomorrow. I’m sure if you ask really nicely she’ll help you.”

“Is she doing a magic show right now?”

John smiled and nodded.

“Some of us have day jobs. You’ll want to follow her lead on that. Don’t be a deadbeat like ol’ Johnny boy.” He ended with a silly face, and was rewarded with another giggle.

“We’ll have to tell Zee to get you some proper sleepwear. I’m not sure how I feel about a six year old trundling about in a Mucous Membrane tee that’s older than Christ.”

“I like it. Zatanna says it’s the band you were in when you were a teenager. Uncle Boston let me listen to some of your songs, but he made me promise not to tell. He said there were bad words.”

“Did he now? I’ll have to have a talk with ‘Uncle Boston’ later. Punk is for your rebellious teenage years.” He smiled to show he was joking, but mentally cursed Boston Brand for starting her off with his old rubbish. “All tucked in. Close your eyes now Little Bird. Try and sleep.”

He started to stand, but the girl’s eyes doubled in size, wordlessly begging him not to go. He settled his weight once more.

“How’s about a story then?”

She immediately brightened.

“Will you tell me a Hellblazer story?”

John laughed.

“Those stories are a bit too dark for you Little Bird. When your older. Promise. I was thinking something a bit more age appropriate. With dragons.”

Her face dropped.

“A fairy tale?”

“Not exactly, luv. By all accounts this is a true story.”

She quirked an eyebrow suspiciously.

“It does begin a long time ago, in a land far away. About a thousand years ago. In a land called Nol. It was a different dimension. Nol was a peaceful kingdom, in the heights power. Arts, sciences, magic. A true utopia by all accounts. Streets of gold and all that. Actually,” he smirked, leaning onto his side, and gesturing with one hand while chanting under his breath. Sparks of gold light shot from his fingers, and after a few quick twirls, he flicked them towards the ceiling with a flourish. “Better to show than tell, innit?”

The sparks of gold fluttered and danced, multiplied, and arranged themselves into an image. Rachael gasped and watched in wide-eyed wonder that briefly made John understand Zatanna’s Copperfeild routine. Hovering above them, at an angle suited for a child to fall asleep to, the streets of Nol took shape, exactly as John pictured them when he read about them.

Polished marble walls rose ever skyward the tallest among them of height with a modern skyscraper. The streets, onyx, not gold, sloped downward in a gentle incline towards the port, and the sea beyond. All manner of strange vessels were docked there, traders and travelers from strange unknown lands. The great gates of the walled city were many, made of bronze, and flanked by the figures of many fantastic beasts. Here a griffin, there a sphinx, manticores, and many others beyond listing. The houses were of chalcedony or marble, with each their own walled gardens. No workers tools had ever touched these stones, and in fact it looked more like the stone had grown into the shapes they now held.

Of that same seemingly grown stone was the palace, directly in the city’s center. The highest of its towers dwarfed the Great Wall of Nol. And there were many towers. The palace was an opulent thing of soaring towers and impossible domed buildings, of high bridges between towers that seemed impossibly fragile from below.

The child consumed every detail with awestruck wonder.

“The people of Nol enjoyed a thousand years of peace, power, and prosperity. Now, the thing about good times is that they make people soft. See, the soldiers of Nol, save a few brave fools, had grown fat and confident. Sure there were a handful of knights and soldiers who traveled the countryside solving problems and seeking honor and all that rubbish, but mostly the good people of Nol believed nothing bad would ever happen to them.”

“And that’s exactly when something bad happened to them, right John?”

“That’s right. That’s the first lesson in this story, Little Bird. Prepare for the worst, and always expect it to get worse.” She nodded.

“And so, it was a great shock, then, when the dragon came.” The image of the city was replaced with the silhouette of a dragon, a massive thing with glowing eyes. The earth seemed to tremble at its wingbeats and Rachael gasped at the sight of it. “The Primordial Serpent, The Conqueror Wyrm, Malkior. From the east the dragon came, in the late hours after the sun had set. The beating of his mighty wings stirred the whole city to waking, and the soldiers, who were used to only marching about and yelling at rowdy kids prepared for a fight. The first fight for most of em.”

Even as he spoke, images of soldiers rushing too and fro in panicked chaos replaced that of the dragon.

“Now, the great dragon made quick work of the city’s walls, with his great claws and his mighty tail, and even quicker work of the inexperienced troopers practically throwing themselves at him. Even those brave knights who had returned to the city failed to even scratch the dragon’s mighty scales. All seemed lost for Nol, as the beast made his way towards the heart of the great city, intent on the palace and full of sinister purpose.”

Though Constantine had made sure the images were age appropriate, Rachael had pulled the covers up to her nose and was squeezing Bartok tightly.

“But, and this is the most important lesson from this story, it is always better to be clever than it is to be brave, or strong. And very luckily for Nol, there just so happened to be a very clever mage named Rorek. See Rorek had spent his whole life studying magic specially to kill Malkior. Rorek happened to be in the palace, studying magic with the king’s high mage, and when he heard the beating of those sinister wings he knew exactly what to do. Armed with naught but his personal spell book and his wits, Rorek claimed the tallest tower in the palace of Nol to face his hated foe.” The words flowing forth from John were just as magical as the scenes mirroring them to the little girl, and she fought against drooping eyelids to not miss the epic battle she knew was fast approaching.

“ The dragon reached the palace just as Rorek emerged on the tower’s roof.

‘Hark dem-“

“Do the voices.” The girl demanded in a voice laden with sleep. John could think of no reason to refuse.

“ ‘Hark demon! I am Rorek! For too long you have burned and killed and destroyed unchecked and unopposed. I oppose thee now!’” The voice he used now was softer, and a bit more proper. One might allege that he based it off one Jason Blood, though Constantine would never confirm this if pressed on it.

“ ‘Little man,’ said the dragon,” in a voice not dissimilar to Jason’s better half, “ ‘ I am the destroyer, the defiler, the conqueror. I am Malkior! I have seen worlds rise and fall, only to rise again. I have slain kings and emperors, heroes and champions. Who are you to think to stand against me?’ And Rorek stood tall and began his spells. The battle was fearsome, for Malkior too was versed in powerful and ancient magics. It seemed for every spell, hex or curse Rorek threw at Malkior, the dragon knew it’s counter. But Rorek was clever, and even while casting an unending torrent of spells, he prepared his last trick.

‘Foul beast, demon that you are, thy name does not suit thee, but nonetheless, Malkior, I call thee by thy true name, and by thy name bind thee!’

And the dragon roared with fury, lashing, thrashing and cursing even as he was pulled into Rorek’s book and bound. But with a final curse, disaster struck, and the tower which had been the scene of their epic battle was reduced to rubble, and Rorek was lost. But Nol remembered its hero, and until it’s final days celebrated the triumph of Rorek of Nol.”

As the final scene came to a close, the image faded, and the swirling cloud of golden dust dissipated and dissolved.

“So you see-“ John cut off as he turned to look at the girl and found her snoring softly.

He smiled, whispering an enchantment to ward against bad dreams, and brushing her hair back, kissed her forehead to seal the spell in place.

The barrage of vision and memory came with shocking clarity and coherence. Had he not been seated, John would have been knocked off his feet. The things he saw would haunt him for years to come.

It took time to compose himself well enough to stand, much less return to the study, where, hours later Zatanna found him, cigarette in one hand, scotch in the other.

It had been some time since Zee had seen John this upset. It was only after a second and third drink that he smoothed his unruly blond hair back, took a deep breath and spoke.

“We need to talk about Rachael. And her dreams.”

#beyond flashpoint #dcau #dc au #dc fanfic #dc constantine #john constantine #rachael constantine #rachael roth #dc raven #raven

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a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

Text

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 16/?

FMA AU meets “The Wind Rises” AU : “I still remember every day”

[crazy idea #1: if you are familiar with FMA: Brotherhood (superior in every way) you probably are too young or too smart to remember the original 2003 FMA clusterfuck series but i’m neither young nor smart so here is my take on one of my favorite animated movies of all times “The Conqueror of Shamballa” BUT the story doesn’t start in 1923 Germany but somewhere around 1923 Japan. If you are familiar with this movie and the 2003 series you will know Ed Elric has moved from London to Munich and started living there frequently interacting with a family of rocket scientists (sounds crazy if you are only knowledgeable with FMA: B, but… trust me). So i thought, “what if our protagonist (in this case WWX) travels from China to Japan to work on some airplanes instead?”]

[crazy idea #2: “The Wind Rises” from Ghibli is set in that historical period right? so what if we make transmigrated WWX work his engineering magic on some aircrafts before any conflict can actually take place? precisely between the end of the Taisho period (1912-1926) and the beginning of the Showa period (1926-1989), when the desire for innovation and the new technological advancements could be implemented while at peace.]

[obviously, this is just a prompt, and I don’t feel particularly comfortable with creating fantasy storylines so intertwined with actual historical events, especially if these events caused the suffering of many and belong to a culture that is not mine to describe with the potential risk of offending its values and legacy. also, fandom should be fun and if you love angst maybe this is not the prompt for you. on the other hand I thought of how much i love movies like “Porco Rosso”, set somewhat really fucking close to where I live while describing a fun and lighthearted narrative even if it’s dealing with historical and political events that are still fresh and painful in our collective memory nowadays. Maybe it is possible to write something easy and fun while, at the same time, setting it in a time of great difficulties without hurting anyone. Maybe I’m not the person for that (after all, this is just a prompt), but if you want to explore a similar plot you are encouraged to tag me bc I would really like to know your take on the matter. and if I happen to offend anyone I will properly apologize and take responsibility.]

[the title is from L’Arc-en-Ciel’s song “Lost Heaven”, which still makes me cry to this day]

When Wei WuXian wakes up after the core transplant surgery, the first thing he realizes is that he should be awake. Wen Qing insisted on the fact that he had to keep himself awake and conscious for the entirety of the procedure, otherwise he would have suffered from extreme backlash and so would have Jiang Cheng. But here he is, waking up from slumber after who know how many days. In front of a figure in white he doesn’t recognize. Everything is blurry in his periphery, as if he’s inhabiting two bodies at the same time. His every move heavy and his speech sluggish.

The person in white turns the moment Wei WuXian realizes he’s standing in the middle of nowhere, in the space between realities.

“Where am I?”, he asks, trying to make out the features of the person in front of him, their long white hair, the silver lining of their robes.

“You’re here to pay a price.”, the other answers, their voice a mere whisper. Barely louder than the crisp little noises the pins and jewelry adorning their hair and neck are making as the person approaches him slowly.

“A price for what?”

“Before losing consciousness, you wished for your brother to be saved no matter what.”

“Is… is Jiang Cheng safe?”

“He’s dying because you fell asleep.”, the other announces, sending shivers down Wei WuXian’s spine, dread sitting in the middle of his chest, “You cannot wake up, the damage is done. But if you enter this door you will be able to save him. Your body in this world will die, the core will not share two owners at once and your brother will be the only one able to use it from now on.”

Wei WuXian doesn’t have time to feel pain, determination painting him in vibrant colors in that white realm of silence and void. He turns as the person in white gestures him to do so and he finds a door so big it could rival with one of the gates of Koi Tower. Engraved on its surface are myriads of characters reminding him of something ancient and forbidden. Something so dark and dangerous not even cultivators as knowledgeable as Lan QiRen would be able to understand, let alone encourage learning about.

“What will i find on the other side?”, he wonders, watching as the gates slowly open in front of him, a warm wind spiraling upwards and messing his hair.

A kiss from the underworld.

Is this the day I die, he doesn’t ask.

“Another world.”, the woman in white and silver answers honestly.

Wei WuXian doesn’t have time to recognize her that he is dragged inside by a thousands of spirits with eyes for mouths and teeth for hands.

Mere months have passed since he woke up in a body similar to his original one, but completely different from his own at the same time. He’s still seventeen, but cannot rely on cultivation anymore. The brand scar he received in the cave of the Tortoise of Slaughter is nowhere to be seen. His mother and father welcomed him back in their arms, crying over his bedridden body thanking the heavens for saving their only son from typhoid fever. He knew deep down those were not his true parents, that Cange Sanren had a different name on top of that and that their actual son’s soul was probably the sacrificial lamb paid on the altar of Wei WuXian’s greed to save his only brother. He knew this since day one, yet he was too tired to say anything at the time. He woke up in a small village in the Hubei Province under the Republic of China, established twelve years prior. A reality almost identical to his own, but stripped of any power of the cultivation world.

However, now things have changed and his parents have died a second time, the fever and starvation taking them in their sleep one at a time. But not before his mother could send a desperate letter to an old acquaintance of hers asking them to take their son “Wei Ying” out of the country and save him from harm. After accepting her proposition, the Chinese diplomat Jiang Fenmiang has invited Wei Ying to live with him and their family in Tokyo, where he’s working in order to strengthen and acquiesce the relations between the two countries after a period of tension and grievances.

As he travels on what he understands to be called a “train”, Wei WuXian takes notes over the many technological advancements this new era has brought to humanity. Such as the ferry he has taken to travel overseas and now the locomotive taking him to Tokyo. The pain of losing his parents for the second time is still fresh, as is the memory of the past few months living alone on the streets chased by rabid dogs. His body is still weak after surviving the fever and his lungs and digestive system are forever compromised, but he wants to meet Jiang Chen and YanLi a second time in this new world. Feeling guilty for leaving them in a world ruled by the Qishan Wen clan, the only thing he can do is to atone in this new life and protect them in this reality. He takes a brief moment to himself as he looks up from his notes and sees a man approaching from the first class carriage of the train.

Initially Wei WuXian doesn’t regard the stranger with anything but a polite nod, some of his notes flying away from his journal as he adjusts himself on the platform at the end of his car. He sprints up to try to catch them... before the stranger could grab them for him and give them back.

It’s then that Wei WuXian recognizes the man, an older version of Lan Zhan from the one he remembers, dressed in modern clothing and shorter hair. He’s just another double, a copy of the original he used to know. Just like his mother and father, just like the Jiang family he’s going to meet soon. No recognition comes from the other-Lan Zhan, yet Wei WuXian lets himself stare for longer than necessary as he thanks the man.

A single tear rolls down his cheek as an earthquake shakes the train and destroys everything around them in that day of September 1923.

[details down below]

1923:

(WWX is 17)

the train stops and all the passengers survive, but they are scared and don’t know how to reach Tokyo safely by foot. Some officers guide them to the nearest road and help them walk for a while before they have to leave for the capital in an attempt to contain the flames of the many fires caused by the earthquake.

Lan Zhan’s double has the same name and features, but is now twenty-five and was supposed to arrive in Tokyo to meet with his brother, Lan Huan’s double. He’s a little more cheerful than what WWX remembers and he also decides to stick with the younger man all the way to Tokyo. After glancing at WWX’s notes earlier, in fact, double!LanZhan recognizes him as someone from his same country and reasons they should feel safer traveling together for a little while more.

given that trying to explain his situation to double!LanZhan would be useless, WWX simply agrees and shoves down any temptation to tell him all about Gusu and the cave and how much he wishes he could go back to his original world. They walk all the way to Tokyo talking quietly: they are surrounded by strangers, WWX doesn’t know much Japanese to begin with and he doesn’t want to be recognized as a foreigner.

uncle Jiang, along with some clothes to travel more comfortably, has sent him enough money to travel and direction to reach his home. The only thing WWX hopes is that nobody was injured in the earthquake and that no more waves can reach them before he can join them. What an unfortunate time to arrive. Aunt Yu would probably hate him in this reality too just because of that.

but as he trails behind double!LanZhan and enters Tokyo, WWX feels as if hell has found its way into the world, flames everywhere and nowhere to go. In the midst of chaos, however, double!LanZhan tries to keep him from fainting or shaking, talking about all the things he and his brother wish to work on as architects working for the government. Yet, WWX senses how worried he is for his twin brother and pities him as he tries to calm down, marveling at how much this version of Lan Zhan can talk. They walk towards the Jiang household as double!LanZhan chats about the university he’s supposed to work for the following month, wondering if it’s still intact after the catastrophe.

they reach the elegant house without any more troubles, relief spreading through their hearts as they notice it has endured little to no damage. Uncle Jiang scurries over them and immediately recognizes WWX bc of how much he resembles his mother and the man dotes on him from then on. He thanks double!LanZhan profusely, ignoring the resentful glances coming from his wife and the curious ones from his daughter. A kid roughly the same age as WWX approaches and takes the other’s only suitcase: a scowl on his face and hurry in his steps, telling WWX to keep up because “the world is crashing down if he hadn’t noticed”.

WWX doesn’t have time to properly thank double!LanZhan that he is urged inside by his new family.

1927:

(WWX is 21)

given the connections the Jiang family has in both countries, WWX and his step siblings are able to enjoy benefits others may only dream of, but the government is wary of foreigners and they need to act as good guests. This angers and stresses Jiang Cheng, his temper even worse than what WWX remembers, and he is even more rebellious than his new stepbrother. It’s WWX who needs to tone down the other’s snark at times, reminding him they cannot do as they please and that, even if others are jealous of their grades in university and overall position, they are still living in difficult times.

WWX knows this Jiang Cheng is a double ant that everything feels like a dream and nothing matters anymore, but if he pretends hard energy maybe he can stop feeling guilty for leaving his dear ones behind. But acknowledging this Jiang Cheng as the real one feels wrong and sometimes WWX distances himself from him, keeping his secrets for himself.

however, double!JiangCheng has seen his brother scream in his dreams, even waking him up in the middle of the night just to shake him from his horrible nightmares. Sometimes Wei Ying watches him in his sleep, when he hasn’t yet realized double!JiangCheng is awake, as checks for his breath. Other times he pressed a hand to his abdomen, as if checking for scars or injuries. He doesn’t know what it means, but he is willing to wait for the other to come around and they’ll him himself.

their sister YanLi has figured a way to be useful in a country wary of foreigners by studying to become a doctor and save lives. Their father is currently struggling at work because of the increasing tensions between the two countries and their mother keeps to herself in spite of everything.

WWX’s health deteriorates after he starts working, their supervisor suggesting him and his brother to keep a low profile just not to attract any unwanted attention on their family. Their work as engineers can convince the higher-ups to keep them close in case war were to strike again. But Jiang Cheng feels bad for working for a country constantly threatening his parent’s home country over mining rights and land ownership. He may love working on new aircrafts and test his limits, but he’s against using his energy and drive for appease someone else’s greed.

WWX, for the first time in his life, feels second to his brother, admiring his ability to distinguish from right and wrong while he himself cannot even tell dreams and reality apart. With a weakened body and a mind filled with memories of a world that doesn’t even exists, WWX convinces himself he’s in hell and this life is the punishment for being too greedy himself.

1929:

(WWX is 23, double!LWJ is 30)

tension is too strong for them to live in Tokyo, with Uncle Jiang forced to work for the government and scramble for solutions in order to keep his family safe in a secluded location in the mountains, in a hotel in the middle of nowhere. There, the elites enjoys the last days of peaceful times they will not see again for years to come.

WWX feels drained, dreaming of people he will either never see again or see every single day in the faces of strangers. Jiang Cheng convinces him to talk, even if only to ease his pain, but WWX cannot bring himself to reveal the whole truth. The only thing he feels like to share is that he has visions of another world and that maybe reincarnation is not as far fetched as it seems.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t really believe him, but he supports him and together with YanLi they try to make Wei Ying relax during their vacation on the mountains.

there, out of nowhere, WWX meets double!LanZhan and his brother: they meet on top of a hill as the wind rises and some of the two brothers’ musical scores fly away. WWX and his stepbrother catch them and bring them back as YanLi approaches the two musicians.

this time, WWX notice immediately something is wrong. Double!LanZhan is far less cheerful than what he remembers from their first encounter, while his brother seems to have lost his vision, music being his only comfort. The group exchanges pleasantries with the twins on top of the hill, until rain forces them all to seek refuge under some trees. WWX watches double!LanZhan closely and realizes these years apart must have been tough on him. He asks if double!LanHuan has lost his sight after the earthquake and the only thing double!LanZhan is able to do is nod, his eyes filled with tears.

Would it be so bad to befriend this other-LanZhan? Is it right for WWX to start a new life in hell with someone so compassionate and kind? Maybe that would be okay in the end, maybe they can be good friends and survive this world that is wary of them simply because of the greed of human kind. Then why does it feel wrong to let himself be loved by these people? Why does it feel like he’s betraying the ones he has left behind?

during their vacation, the two families get closer and they enjoy each other’s company. They talk in Japanese to not be stared by the other patrons and WWX wonders what happened in his world. If the Wens have crumbled down. If their name is synonymous with hatred and greed. If this is how any refugee would feel, isolated from the rest of the country while desperately trying to hold onto any familiar face and memory at hand.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like to talk in another language and fear others might look down on him and seldom attracts attention by causing mayhem. But YanLi and even double!LanHuan help him come down from his stubborn antics and take him to long walks to calm down. This way, WWX and double!LanZhan are frequently left alone, because Wei Ying cannot walk for too long without feeling exhausted and so the other keeps him company.

since double!LanZhan is so under the weather and quiet, WWX takes it upon himself to entertain him and he spends their days chatting about the things he misses from home, what he would like to do if he were to live somewhere else, they airplanes he would like to make. He doesn’t talk about how much me misses flying on a sword, or how the wind fills under his clothes up in the air, or how much he would have loved to hold onto Lan Zhan among the stars at night.

WWX cries in front of double!LanZhan without noticing one day, missing the days at the Cloud Recesses when they were classmates and he used to pester the other boy. And only now, only now he understands what it was, what he wanted to convey with his antics. How much he wanted the other to notice him and pay attention to him. But the one rubbing a comforting hand up and down his spine now is not his Lan Zhan. Even if he’s just as kind and compassionate, just as quiet and brilliant, just as hurt and lonely.

they share a kiss under the trees of a meadow one afternoon and WWX feels like he’s either betraying the real Lan Zhan or this gentle young man who’s never done anything bad in his entire life. And he doesn’t know why double!LanZhan is crying as well as they kiss, but he’s too afraid to ask.

the following day Uncle Jiang calls the rest of his family back home and the Jiang siblings say their goodbyes to the twins hiding alone with their uncle on the mountain. Promising to meet each other again soon, even if WWX knows that’s most likely nothing but a well intentioned lie given the hardships they’re bound to face.

1930:

Lan Zhan:

(WWX is 24, double!LWJ is 31)

after meeting with the Jiang family, the twins try to retrieve their life as usual the moment they return in Tokyo for the winter. Their uncle notices double!LanZhan’s distress over departing from the young men he had met there, but his inquiry is fruitless since his nephew refuses to speak. The old man has noticed some changes in the younger twin over the course of a couple of years or so: his frequent migraines and tiredness, his laborious efforts to speak as if feverish and confused, his nights interrupted by nightmares more often than not.

even his brother has noticed the difference despite losing his vision in the fire at the imperial university seven years prior. His cheerful spirit is gone, his steps alternate different rhythms at times, and even his accent often doesn’t sound familiar to him. In his younger brother’s words “it’s almost as if two of me are residing in a single body”. But Lan Huan doesn’t know what to make of it, wishing he could look his brother in the eyes and see the truth for himself.

double!LanZhan, on the other hand, feels split in half ever since he has kissed Wei Ying. He remembers that day because his body has moved on its own, half of his mind lost in Wei Ying’s grey eyes while the other half (his own half) was trying to understand why the sudden urge to hold the boy tighter in his arms. He felt like someone had possessed him for those brief, stolen moments in time before leaving his body altogether the second Wei Ying has run away from him in the meadow.

unable to find an answer, feverish and tired with a migraine splitting his brain in half, double!LanZhan wanders around Tokyo trying to remember where the Jiang residence was. His feet walking him towards Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s room in the evening one day. Wei Ying is alone, sitting down by a table covered in drawings. Mesmerized, double!LanZhan watches from the window as Wei Ying traces the lines of faces and places, over an over again, as if he doesn’t want to forget what his imagination has shown him that night.

seeing what is depicted on the table, double!LanZhan’s migraine worsens and he collapses in the back garden, snow piling up on him. Wei Ying immediately notices and brings him inside, covering him in quilts to keep him warm. But Wei Ying is the warmest of all, his embrace like a balsam over double!LanZhan’s pulsing head as the younger tries to keep him warm by rubbing his arms over and over.

suddenly his head doesn’t hurt anymore and he can finally, finally let go. Let the other half take his place for now, just for a little while, as he takes a small nap in Wei Ying’s arms.

when he wakes up, Lan Zhan cries all of his tears.

he was finally able to reach Wei Ying, his Wei Ying, who was trapped in another world. The one Lan Zhan has been looking for ever since the end of the Sunshot Campaign, ever since Jiang Cheng himself told him of his demise. The one Lan Zhan was able to reach only after sacrificing his golden core to the immortal turned goddes BaoShan Sanren in front of a gate born from the efforts of some past demonic cultivator.

for two years he had tried to make his way through the veil between realities, his consciousness exhausted as if he had been swimming for far too long. The other-him, the man who shared his name and face, hosting his soul at the expenses of his own body for over two years. All because of Lan Zhan’s grief and greed, all because a goddess had promised him he could be reunited with the love of his life. But at what cost... at what cost indeed.

since two souls cannot reside in a single body, one of them had to die in order for Lan Zhan to meet his Wei Ying again. The moment WWX sees the other cry, he immediately recognizes him and tries to console him for the loss of his “other”. But LWJ cannot seem to feel any relief as he falls asleep once more in his arms.

Jiang Cheng:

Jiang Cheng enters the room and is baffled to find one of the twins in there, but seeing his brother crying over the man he decides to help them instead of calling the servants. Things are turning ugly in town for people like them and he doesn’t trust anyone anymore since YanLi got married and started working for the hospital, leaving the brothers alone.

in tears, Wei Ying tells him everything: of his dreams of another world, of the one he was destined to meet, of Lan Zhan finally remembering who he really was. He’s still fixated on this “past life” thing, uh? Jiang Cheng doesn’t really understand, but he knows the two man has grown fond of each other the previous summer and doesn’t really envy their fate.

he watches over them as they fall asleep in each other’s arms, having promised them to keep the servants from knowing about Lan Zhan’s presence in their house. That’s when he comes up with a plan and calls Lan Huan on the phone, briefly telling him that “his brother Lan Zhan has made a choice and that he cannot stay in Tokyo anymore”.

Lan Huan asks Jiang Cheng if his brother is there, to which the other only says “yes”. Is he with Wei Ying? Yes. Are they in love? Yes. Do they need to hide? “I can manage that for them.”

They meet the following morning at dawn, outside of Lan XiChen’s house to not attract the attention of the Jiang servants. Jiang Cheng will escort the two lovebirds to a cottage somewhere in the countryside, far away from society. When Lan Huan will succeed in convincing Lan QiRen to follow him there, they will receive them and arrange something.

Jiang Cheng May not believe his brother, but he knows things are getting dangerous in the country, especially for foreigners like them. Let alone someone like Wei Ying and his lover.

Wei WuXian:

While Lan Zhan is still feverish, Jiang Cheng and WWX take the train with the older man to the countryside. WWX feels bad for leaving, but Lan Zhan needs to rest away from the modern world for a while and he himself doesn’t feel well at all. Not with his lungs giving up on him any time he has to stiffen a cough and swallow his own blood with every breath. His weakened body may have caught something in the last few months, but he will not give up on Lan Zhan now.

They reach the cottage and Jiang Cheng immediately sends a letter to his sister, apologizing for what he’s about to do. They only have to wait a week for Lan Huan and Lan QiRen to arrive, but in the meantime Lan Zhan has regained enough energy to eat and stand up on his own. WWX asks him what is going on, and LWJ tells him that he’s currently trying to hold onto this body while simultaneously ruling over his original body in Gusu. He doesn’t want to fade away, but he fears slipping out of reach and leave WWX behind a second time.

when Lan QiRen sees them, he cannot deny what is in front of him: someone who is merely pretending to be his nephew greets him with a stoic face as he announces his intention to marry a man. Despite the initial shock, when Lan Huan has asked him to take him in the middle of nowhere in the countryside in winter, Lan QiRen has accepted to indulge him knowing Lan Zhan must have had something to do with it. But this in front of him is definitely not his nephew and this realization hurts more then knowing he is in love with a man.

Lan Huan, on the other hand, knows from his voice this is not his brother but cannot explain why. He’s filled with grief at the thought and not even his uncle can comfort him, the older man himself in pain for a loss he cannot comprehend.

WWX asks them to indulge them just this time, feeling like his life is getting closer and closer to its end, not knowing what else to do. Jiang Cheng comforts the two men as he tries to explain his reasons, that nobody will let them have even an ounce of joy in the world they’re forced to live in and that, if things will end up getting worse in the end, at least they’ll have this memory to look back to. He feels like a war is approaching, and no one can know what kind of world will greet them at the end of it.

Lan Zhan:

the day of his wedding he’s very nervous, having asked their hosts to simplify the traditional ceremony given the fact that Wei Ying and he are both men and there are no actual guest attending. They bow to the heavens and the earth, to their families, and then to each other. Their clothes are far less expensive or appropriate from the nuptial red they would have worn under different circumstances, yet Lan Zhan has never felt more adorned and rich, basking in Wei Ying’s love.

they spend their first night together whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, tired and happy as they have never been before.

Wei WuXian:

they stay at the cottage for months, receiving news from the outside world every now and then from Jiang Cheng and Lan Huan. He suspects his brother is keeping something to himself, ignoring his questions over the political situation altogether, but he doesn’t insist.

LWJ tells him stories of the Sunshot Campaign, of how he tried to save the weak, the women, the children and the innocent of the Wen Clan against the rest of the cultivation world. Of how he found a way to summon BaoShan Sanren through some scrolls he had found in Burial Mounds, where he thought WWX’s soul might have disappeared to. Of how he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to his brother and the people he had saved in Yiling before signing a contract with the immortal.

WWX’s lungs are giving up on him but he tries to keep LWJ from noticing. YanLi comes to meet them one day and makes sure to cry for her brother only when they are finally alone, sensing his intention to keep his husband from knowing the truth. He knows LWJ cannot possibly keep holding onto two bodies at the same time: waking up in Yiling the moment he falls asleep in the cottage; then waking up with Wei Ying every morning the moment he falls asleep in Burial Mounds where he has decided to hide. Without a golden core, for as strong as someone like LWJ can be, he would die if he keeps crossing the veil, the gate between the two worlds.

the day after YanLi has left them alone, WWX spends his last day with his husband, making sure everything is perfect. he also sends letters to his family and thanks them for loving him. he extends his best wishes to the people who worked alongside him, helping him bring to fruition his dream to fly in the sky once more... even if he has never flown in this lifetime.

he’s very happy with his husband and wants to commit every second they spend together to heart. They make love for the last time before they both fall asleep together and dream of home.

he whispers “I wish you good luck” before falling asleep.

Lan Zhan:

he wakes up the next day and Wei Ying is gone. His body cold in his arms.

mad with grief, unable to believe a life without WWX can or should exist, he cries over his husband’s body and wishes he could die.

Lan Huan and Lan QiRen happen to visit that day and find him crestfallen and asking to be left alone to die. But they help him bury the body instead and take care of him. Lan QiRen suddenly feels terrible at the thought of leaving this boy all alone, whether he’s actually his nephew or not. Lan Huan convinces his brother to eat and rest, holding him for as long as it takes for him to calm down.

the following day, as the younger twin wakes up, he asks Lan Huan why they’re in a cottage in the countryside and what happened while he was asleep.

the actual LWJ, by falling asleep, not willing to wake up in a world where WWX doesn’t exists anymore, has allowed double!LanZhan to regain complete control over the body in the cottage. The twin wasn’t dead, just dormant, waiting for LWJ to let go of his body on his own.

waking up in the Burial Mounds, however, with no golden core and no Wei Ying is worse than anything LWJ has ever experienced. Having to survive WWX’s death not one, but two times is too much to handle... but a small kid has found his place in his arms while LWJ was sleeping. His beloved A-Yuan, one of the few Wen children he was able to save from the Lanling Jin’s clutches after the Sunshot Campaign.

as he takes in the sight of the child he considers his own, peacefully sleeping in his bed, LWJ finds the strength to say “just another day”. And then another and another and another again.

13 years later:

Mo XuanYu sacrifices his body for WWX and the first thing Wei Ying does in his new body is to ask the Lan juniors to bring him to Hanguan Jun.

but Lan Zhan is already there, following the juniors around after managing to reforming a golden core in just a little over ten years all on his own. The first thing he says to Wei Ying is “I still remember every day.”

and they begin to travel together for the rest of their life.

Now I need a fucking tissue.

[as you can see very little “conquering another world” type of quest because I didn’t like to think too hard. This is more like “what if before transmigrating WWX and LWJ lived somewhere else and got married?” But then I had to make it sad, uh? Fuck.]

[also, demonic-cultivator!LWJ anyone?]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #mdzs/au: manga/anime inspired #mdzs/au: fma #mdzs/au: ghibli #mdzs/au: modern

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fanpom-imagines · 5 years

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Imagine telling Jon about your people’s past and why they’re known as dragon slayers before the Battle of Winterfell. (Part 3)

Masterlist [Part 1] [Part 2] (Part 3) [Part 4]

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Words: 2372

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gifs aren’t mine.

If you want to be tagged in my taglist send me a message

(Female Reader)

I heard a knock coming from the door to the room I had been given. Thinking it was the Queen I sat up and stood tall, putting the book I had been reading down, but I hear one of my guards, Robert Vadin announcing Jon Snow’s arrival. I sighed in relief at not having to face her and sat back down in my seat and told the guard that Jon could enter. As I see the door open I see Robert give a cold glare to Jon while he walks in to enter, and his gaze did not leave the Northerner till he closed the door behind him.

We looked at each other for a moment before Jon started off, “He doesn’t seem to like me much, does he?”

“Ser Vadin is like that. He, just like you Northerners, do not take so kindly to outsiders, but if you show to him you can be trusted and that your heart is in the right place he may not glare at you so much.” A slight smile came to my lips as my words earned a slight huff of laughter from him.

“Why do you call us Northerners? Aren’t your people northerners as well?” Jon asked curiously. I motioned for him to sit down upon the seat in front of the one I was sitting on which he gladly accepted.

“This may take a while to explain,” I told Jon in a warning like tone.

“Well, the White Walkers may be arriving shortly at our doorsteps so might as well tell me a story because it may be our last day,” he told me as he leaned slightly backward in his seat to get comfortable as his eyes glowed in wonder at what I had to day.

As I was not sure where to start with my explanation; so I started at the beginning.“It is true that just like most Northerners my people were also descendants of the First Men and we lived in the North along with your folk in the northeast part of the North before the time of the Andals and Aegon the Conqueror. We had sailed the seas up far north even past Skagos, which is where it is rumored that they have unicorns and the island that is closest to the one nearest to where we were exiled, as you know.

“When the Andals came they never came up north because the First Men and the Children of the Forest had kept them from there and as you know that is the reason for why there are still weirwood trees in the North. Just like you my people stick to the beliefs of the Old Gods rather than adapting the Gods of Old Valyria that Aegon the Conqueror and his people brought over.”

“How did your quarrels with the Targaryens came to be? How did your people even slay dragons?” Jon asked curiously and I could see his eyes becoming more clouded with curiosity as I went on.

“Well there was a family from Old Valyria before Aegon’s time who had also been exiled from their home and needed a place to stay and they had ended up on our shores. My people ruled the lands above Karhold and around the Bay of Seals reaching all the way up to the East Watch. These people who ended up on our shores were of two houses, or what was equivalent to a house in Old Valyria, called Suvion, which in High Valyrian means ice, and Perzys, which means fire. Our people welcomed them as we took pity upon them and then later on our people married into each other’s bloodlines, which is why I know Valyrian as well. So then during the rule of Ronnen the V of House Daishar, which as you know is my house, had heard a rumor of ice dragons up north past the Wall. So in search of these mighty beasts he went. He had sailed off leaving his wife, Vaehra Suvion, and three children at home with the promise of returning with a dragon’s scale, and though Vaehra believed in dragons since Old Valyria at the time was still thriving with dragons; yet she did not believe that a dragon such as the ones in the tales are true. She begged him not to go, but the Daishar are known to be stubborn and he ended up going nonetheless and left her to rule over the land till he returned. So then after a year around the moments of where not just Vaehra, but also the people started to lose hope in the return on their lord yet that’s when they heard the large booming sounds coming from the skies and the Valyrian’s knew those sounds all too well. There were four young dragons all white with blue eyes. They were the sizes of hound dogs and Ronnen V had walked off his boat with the fifth dragon on his shoulder. Yet, sadly only one ship out of the seven that had sailed off had returned. Some say the gains of the battle against the Ice Dragon outweigh the losses others on the other hand disagree.

“When Ronnen V returned with his dragons he gave one to each of his children, Brann, Seiera, Laegor, and gave one to his wife and the one that laid atop his shoulder was his own, and from then on my people had dragons. Then during the reign of Aegon the Conqueror where our people revolted against them. We had many battles with the Targaryen’s lasting till the The Dance of Dragons, but they were the rulers of a vast kingdom and had endless supply as well as their dragons were larger and bred for battle while ours were raised to be more gentle even though the nature of ice dragons are more ferocious than those of the Targaryens were s they have never had contact with humans, well that we know of, till my people came across them, while the dragons from Valyria have been living amongst and bred by those people for centuries.”

“So they had banished your people after killing your dragons?”

“They did not only kill our dragons they also killed many of our people, about two-thirds, and exiled us to the island a little ways from Skagos and past teh Bay of Seals. When we had gotten there it was only wilderness and we had to start from the beginning, and the ones who got our lands were the other houses of the North, like the Karstarks and such, who were too scared to fight the dragons which is understandable because there seems to be nothing more terrifying than dragons it seems.”

“You Grace I’ve seen the dragons Daenerys has and I’ve been across the Wall to what we know as the End of the World and a White Walker will always cause more fear in me than a dragon.” Jon said looking solemnly out the window. The poor man has probably been through more than most would have in five life times.

“I cannot argue with that. I still have not caught a glimpse of them yet. I think they’re the only things I looked forward to when coming here.” I said giving him a reassuring smile.

After a long moment of silence I started to contemplate why I he was so curious about my people, but it does make sense we are not well known to the people on the mainland and probably are only remembered in song and by books in the Citadel and Winterfell, and tomorrow may be our last day.

“The dragons are a magnificent sight,” Jon sighed out in remembrance.

I tilted my head at him curiously, “Have you ridden on one?” Jon replied as he gave me a Humble nod in reply. My eyes widened in astonishment, “What? You must tell me how it was like.”

“Yes, I have and it was quite exhilarating yet fascinating at the same time” he once again smiled at the memory, but it turned into a frown as he seemed to zone out.

“What is bothering you, Your Grace?” I asked him, using his kingly title, which had definitely got his attention and caught him off guard as his head whipped to me.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked perplexed. Surprisingly, he didn’t correct me when I called him that yet while I traveled with him he had insisted on me calling him ‘Lord Jon’. What has changed?

“Something seems to be on your mind that is bothering you. What is it?”

Jon let out a sigh, “It is true that something has been on my mind as of late, yet I cannot tell you. I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“No need to apologize, I understand, but you may want to get it off your chest before the White Walkers storm through the gates because it may be your last chance. Maybe not to me, but I’m pretty sure you have many people here who are willing to listen.”

Jon didn’t reply and just looked thoughtfully at his hands.

“Why do you refer to me as a king? I have bent the knee to Daenerys yet you still refer to me as King, why is that?” Jon asked as he swerved the direction of the conversation..

“Why do you refer to me as Your Grace if you already see Daenerys as your queen?” I asked him, but yet I still answered him nonetheless with a sigh, “I refer to you as a king because even though you may not have the name and you may be a bastard I see you as a king, even though I have only known you for about a week, I see you as a man who is worthy to be a king maybe not by name or by blood, but by heart and soul.”

At my reply Jon stared at me wide eyed, but then nodded as he contemplated my words.

“But it’s also to see the irritated look on the Queen’s face.”

That got Jon to let out a bubble of laughter.

The two of us sat in silence for a couple of more moments before Jon stood up ready to take his leave.

“I shall take my leave now, Your Grace,” Jon said as he bowed to me and I did so inreturn.

“Where to, or whom to?” I asked curiously.

“To get something off my chest,” He smiled at me sadly and made his way out the door.

I watched him leave and almost burst out laughing at his awkwardness as he tried to avoid the eyes of Ser Vadin when he passed by said man, but it is understandable as Robert Vadin was a large man who stood at a height of six feet and six inches with bright red hair and dark brown eyes that just seem to stare through your eyes and straight into your soul. Though a terrifying man, Robert was only cold and terrifying to ones who he does not know of or understand. Poor man has been through a lot through his life yet still remains one of my closest allies and friends besides the man who I had deemed as my Hand, Robin Darath, who has not just served my House loyally, but has also been a close friend to my late father whom had passed away from an unknown illness leaving me by myself to rule since my mother had passed away in my early years of childhood leaving me to be the last of the Daishar bloodline.

Robin Darath came in with a wine bottle just as my mind started to slip into deeper thoughts.

“Your Grace this may be our last day here on this earth and I do not think anyone should spend it alone.” Robin said as he placed down the two goblets on the table next to my seat. He filled them up to the brim and handed one to me and then sat down.

“By the powers of Ice and Fire,” Robin and I said in unison. I chugged down my wine as did Robin and then proceeded to refill our goblets once more. It was tradition for my people to chug down the first filled glass or goblet that they’re offered as to not seem rude and to show that they appreciate the hospitality and that they trust the honesty of the alcohol giver in drinking it as fast as possible instead of suspiciously staring and contemplating if it is poisoned or not.

I looked out upon the night sky and without even thinking voiced my thoughts, “Summer brings fire and winter brings ice, the time of winter is upon us, and it seems like this time it will stay.”

“Wise words, Your Grace.” Robin nodded to me as he poured me another glass.

After taking another drink I turned to him once more, “You know after my father passed you have been the only person I could call family, and I appreciate that Lord Darath.”

“No need to thank me (Y/N), I see you as a niece and sometimes as if you were the daughter I never had so you’ve already given me your thanks by allowing me to be your Hand.” He stated simply after once again taking another large gulp.

I just smiled slightly, but it quickly faded as I heard shouts coming from outside.

“Well it seems the time has come,” I said as both him and I stood up. I took up my sword and fastened its sheath around my waist.

“So it would seem,” Robin said as the two of us made our way through the halls with Ser Vadin in tow.

“Ser Vadin, gather our men and make sure everyone is at their stations.” I commanded as Robert went off to find them.

“Are you sure you are ready to fight, Your Grace, we may die?” Robin said as he looked down on me and I looked out towards the dark night to see for the first time in my life, the White Walkers.

“At least I will not die alone, but rather side by side. Together.”

Talglist:

@bee-wrecker @boogiebunnies @precious-bands-love @supernaturaltrashy @immortal-imagination @mikariell95 @saoirsewhittle @jinx-is-fire

#jon snow x reader #jon snow #got #got x reader #got imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #sansa stark #sansa stark x reader #sansa stark imagine #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine

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nightqueendany · 5 years

Text

Original Final Season 7 - Episode 7: A City Fit For A King

This entire episode and subsequent ones take place in various King’s Landing locations. The episode also takes place entirely at night, the Long Night has descended on King’s Landing and it will remain night until around the middle of Episode 10

Arya and Gendry

Finally reunite, he jokes he was just going to be on his way to Winterfell to see her but she came to him instead, after they hear about the retreat of the North and the Wall falling, Arya tasks Gendry with making her a specialized weapon, Gendry is only too happy to oblige

Once team Stark arrives on the Greyjoy ships/with the dragonglass, Gendry teaches the other smiths on the Street of Steel how to work the dragonglass and convinces them to start making weapons for the coming battle against the Army of the Dead (he uses the Long Night as his evidence to convince them)

Team Stark/Greyjoy

Arrive in King’s Landing, Bran successfully/stealthily gets a small party of them into the city to meet up with Davos, Tyrion, Jaime, Gendry, and Arya

Team Targaryen

(Jorah, Missandei, Melisandre and Grey Worm) make it into King’s Landing, Bran/Tyrion know to look for them because of the raven from Summerhall

Sam and Gilly

Also arrive in King’s Landing as there’s really nowhere to go with the dead coming south - much of Westeros that believes in the threat of the White Walkers is converging on the city

Jon and Daenerys

Arrive just outside King’s Landing, their armies gathered there believe they are going to attack the city but Jon and Dany inform them that there is a much more important threat coming for them all - the Army of the Dead

Arya meets Jon and Dany outside the city gates and leads them secretly inside to meet with everyone else

Baelish

Runs into Gilly in the thick of things, asks her what she’s reading, she shows him Septon Maynard’s diary, Baelish reads the passage about Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage, juicy stuff, the cogs start turning

Baelish later catches up with Howland Reed (whom he knows was with Ned when he found Lyanna dying of a “fever”), pumps him for information, what did he and Jon talk about back at Greywater Watch, what did Howland give Jon?

Howland is onto Baelish but accidentally lets slip the “gift” (Rhaegar’s harp) for Jon was something of his mother’s, Baelish’s spidey senses are tingling off the charts, he asks Howland if this has anything to do with Rhaegar and Lyanna’s secret marriage, Howland is taken aback, can’t answer, Baelish is satisfied, he’s figured it out, this is an even better secret than Dany’s infertility, it’s fucking Christmas for Littlefinger

Baelish confides in Varys, this news is mind blowing however neither can predict how Dany will react to this news (they don’t know Jon has told Dany yet), however, if she reacts in a way that derails their plans - marry Jon, name Sansa heir - they have already set up their contingency plan anyway

Bran

Tells Jon/Dany that the Night King has undead Viserion and while this initially worries everyone about the Night King’s arrival, Bran assures everyone that the Night King staying with his army rather than flying ahead. Viserion would only burn the living making them un-turnable so the NK would prefer his army to attack the living instead. Undead Viserion is only for fighting Dany’s living dragons

Bran and Arya have a private moment and he goes back to pestering her about her magical Stark blood. Arya still thinks it’s stupid - she’s the assassin, he’s the warg. But Bran reminds Arya that her assassin abilities rely on her becoming someone (something else). If she can turn into a different person with just a face, what else could she be capable of? Arya is reluctant, but finally allows Bran to blindfold her (like she was sightless at the House of Black and White) in order to help her see and Arya wargs Nymeria for the first time. Arya is stunned by what she’s just been able to do but realizes there’s not much difference between becoming someone else with a face and becoming her wolf. Bran tells Arya she’s always been the warrior in the family, he needs her to be a different kind of warrior in the fight against the dead

Bran convinces everyone they need to treat with Cersei so Cersei will open the gates of King’s Landing to allow everyone to take refuge in the city/defend the city as that’s where the AOTD are headed

Bran explains the Night King is headed to King’s Landing because one million people reside in the city - if the Night King takes King’s Landing, there won’t be any army in the world that can stop him (a city fit for the night king), they must protect the city/the people at all costs

Cersei

Cersei sends word to Euron summoning him back to King’s Landing.

Team Stark/Targaryen meet with Cersei and the meeting is relatively brief, just a few key players - Bran, Jon, Dany, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, Qyburn, The Mountain - Cersei quips why would she let all Stark/Targaryen armies into her city, what if they’re there to pull a Tywin and sack the city, Bran points out they’ve been in the city for several days and hundreds of soldiers are already waiting to act if she doesn’t comply - they can either do this the easy way and leave Cersei alive and safe in the Red Keep, or they can do this the hard way and kill her before the dead arrive, Cersei reluctantly opens the city to all the armies and all the people of Westeros seeking asylum from the Army of the Dead

As they are leaving Cersei, Bran turns back to her and answers the question she’s been too afraid to ask but has been wondering since the very beginning: The one she’s feared, the one she’s been afraid of, the one who has cast her down and taken all she holds dear... it’s her past self and the memory of that prophecy haunting her all her life. The Younger, More Beautiful, Queen.

Episode title would come from a Bran line about King’s Landing being the perfect city for the Night King to attack. It’s where Aegon I landed so of course the new big “conqueror” of the series, the main “King” would have to “land” here as well - and he will have his own dragon to boot, just like Aegon I.

Episode 7 Inside the Episode: A City Fit For A King

1) Everyone in King’s Landing? Really?

I know, I know. But it makes sense. Season 7 nearly everyone converged on King’s Landing for the “summit” only to leave that same episode, and then the same thing happened in Season 8 with everyone converging on Winterfell only to leave it a few episodes later too. Plus, it makes the most sense for everyone to want to protect King’s Landing because of the city's population. “That’s more people than the entire North, crammed into that.” So it would be WAY more devastating for the AOTD to attack King’s Landing than to just hang around the North. As Bran would tell everyone in this episode, if the Night King takes King’s Landing, there won’t be any army in the whole world that can stop him. So it finally gives us STAKES for what would happen if the living lose. Like, real stakes.

2) Bran the Strategist?

It makes a lot of sense for Bran to be the strategist here and calling many of the shots because a) he’s all knowing and can see hundreds of thousands of battles into the past, what strategies worked, which ones didn’t, and b) we’re setting him up to be King here. To see Bran flex his skills and show them off was totally what was missing from Seasons 7&8, you know, showing the audience WHY Bran is the perfect person to be King because of his abilities - along with a more human Bran in general and remember, here he is normal Bran, just all knowing too, like Bloodraven.

3) Baelish figuring out R+L=J so easily?

Like I’ve said, Baelish is the information guy. He knows everything. He can put things together before anyone else can so it makes sense he would find this out about Jon on relatively few clues. Plus, he was around for the Rebellion. He’d be quicker to put this info together than say, Jon or Dany, who hadn’t been born yet.

4) Warg Arya?

FUCK. YES. Arya is already a warg in the books but I feel like this is also where all the HOB&W stuff was going in the show as well. Arya is showcasing her abilities and not only that, her magical powers will have a role in the endgame, unlike in 8x03 where she just stabbed the Night King with the Catspaw dagger - something literally any other character could have done.

5. YMBQ??

Yep, it’s Cersei’s past self. Sorry guys. I’m just convinced of this. I know the books suggest it could be Dany and there’s definitely a lot to support that. But Dany didn’t kill Joffrey or drive Jaime away or get Cersei imprisoned by the faith, none of it. It was Cersei herself. Cersei has been behind all her own downfalls so to me, the YMBQ is Cersei’s younger self, the memory of the prophecy, wanting it to not come true, and Cersei inadvertently doing everything to make the prophecy come true.

As always, comments are welcome.

Until next week!

To Read Previous Episodes:

Original Final Season 7: Preface Post

Season 7 Episode 1: Family, Duty, Honor

Season 7 Episode 2: Greywater Watch

Season 7 Episode 3: The Last of the Dragons

Season 7 Episode 4: Dragonglass

Season 7 Episode 5: The Storm

Season 7 Episode 6: Summerhall

Season 7 Episode 7: A City Fit For A King (Current Episode)

Season 7 Episode 8: Protectors of the Realm

Season 7 Episode 9: The Battle For The Dawn

Season 7 Episode 10: ?

#anti got #anti D&D #game of thrones #bran stark #Arya Stark #Gendry Waters #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #petyr baelish #varys #Cersei Lannister

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som3thingcr3ative · 5 years

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Voluspa Part 4

I didn’t realize that I hadn’t posted since part three! I actually have quite a bit more written that I haven’t posted, so that will tide me over until I can write more hopefully.

Synopsis: Astrid reaches Kattegat, but the complications from her journey catch up to her: Ivar the Boneless is King, and it is he who she must impress.

Warnings: Slow burn, Ivar, Language, probably will be NSFW eventually, weapons, blood. You know, Vikings. For this chapter, not much warning needed.

PART 1 2 3 4 5 6

Hvardr stops a few hundred feet shy of the gate into Kattegat. I stare up at the battlements and think of the hours of labor put into everything- all for it to be burned down. It’s a waste.

And I think. I think about how when I was born, I spoke Old Norse before I spoke English- or Danish, or Norwegian, or any of the other languages I’d learned since then. I think about the curse of sight I’ve been given, and I know it will be of use to me here.

And then I think of the rune stone and the statue, and I know this is where I’m meant to be.

So when a guard calls out ‘who’s there’ to me, my voice is even and strong when I reply.

“Astrid Seerschild,” I say. “Here on my own behalf to see King Ivar Ragnarsson.”

And the gates open before me.

I ride Hvardr into the marketplace just inside the entrance to Kattegat. Closing my eyes just briefly, I focus on the energies around me and get the lay of the land. A slave comes up to me, looking for reins or a bridle.

“You won’t find any tack on him,” I say to the young boy. “And so long as you don’t try to put any on him, he will be good to you. Understand?”

He nods, waiting while I dismount. Not once do his eyes meet mine.

He scrambles to help me unstrap the harness, but I tell him it’s okay. I gather the harness and my two pelt-wrapped bags and stride confidently toward the great hall- even if my gifts did not allow me to find its energy, I would have followed my ears. It is damn near the noisiest building I’ve ever been near, worse even than the bar back home.

Just as I reach the doors, three large Vikings block my entrance.

“What do we have here?” One asks, elbowing the man next to him. I set my jaw and stare defiantly up at him, knowing full well what he thinks I am. “Say, slave, did you steal those clothes?”

“I am not a slave.” I state, drawing myself up to full height. The position pulls my coat back just enough to reveal the glint of my sword at my hip. “And you would do well for yourself to move out of my way.” The third Viking moves to grab my face. I duck and counter, my forearm striking the inside of his elbow. I spin, hitting him on the temple with the pommel of one of my hidden daggers. He drops like a stone. “Now move!” I don’t wait for them to respond: I shoulder-check the two blocking my way and open the doors to the great hall.

A slave girl notices me. Her eyes dart to Einar, and she drops the pitcher of ale she was holding. As it shatters on the floor, the entire hall goes silent. She realizes what she did and panic crosses her face at the thought of her punishment. Her eyes cut to the figure lounging on the throne, but his gaze is locked on me.

I keep my eyes forward, ignoring the slave. It is the best thing I can do for her; give her time to clean up and escape unnoticed while the attention is on me. Einar senses my emotions and prowls beside me, his chest puffed out and tail straight behind him. He does not look any Viking in the eye. Einar knows that I will and have always protected him. He has nothing to fear from these people- It is they who should fear him.

The quiet lets me think. I can see the man’s stunning blue eyes tracing my every movement. I can all but feel the brilliant mind behind those eyes working out who I am and why I am here. I know he is King Ivar, if only because of his legs- legs that are wrapped together. He is taller than most Vikings, who are much taller than any man I’d seen. Broad shoulders, massive biceps, powerful and large hands.

And I know how to play my cards.

“King Ivar Ragnarsson,” I say, choosing to ignore his legs and instead reaffirm his place as his father’s -the legend’s- son. “Conqueror of christians, slayer of Saxons and the one true ruler of the North lands, I am Astrid. I have come to Kattegat to offer my services to you in the war to come.”

I make sure I still have his attention, and then I dip into a curtsy, gracefully bowing my head. The Vikings around us watch. Their energies surround me, fearful, not trusting. No one curtsies, not here in the north. I have shown myself to be an outsider, because that is what I want them to think of me as.

“What makes you think I need your help?” Ivar says, his voice sending chills down my spine as I straighten up. My gaze locks with his and I take in his posture. He’d moved, leaning just slightly toward me, his shoulders facing mine. Open, listening. Not nearly as defensive as he’d sounded. A truly ingenious move on his part. He wants me to feel fear, to feel desperate, to hesitate and take his bait.

But I won’t. I know better. “My King,” I say, relaxing my posture just enough to exude calm. “I come from a family well traveled and I know much about the Saxons; their lands, their rulers, their politics and customs. I know their strategies and their plans.” A brief pause gives him time to understand what I said. He leans back just a tiny bit, and I know I’ve spoken well. “Let me show you what I know, Ivar Ragnarsson, and you will have the upper hand.”

The crowd seems to hold their breath.

“How do I know you aren’t a Saxon spy?” He questions. I smile graciously.

“I give you my word that I was born and bred in the North. I have no sympathy for the Saxons, nor their god. I have been given a great gift by our gods. Allow me to show you.”

Ivar raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. He thinks for a second, and then he nods.

“Your seer is here, in this room.” I close my eyes and can hear the Vikings mumble among themselves that he isn’t there; they can’t see him. But I can. “Come forward, Seer.”

My energies touch the Seer’s robes and draw him into the light. The Vikings pound their mugs against the tables, yelling that it proves nothing. I open my eyes and smile. “Your half-brother, Bjorn Ironside will burst through those doors in three- two-”

I point at the entrance, just as Bjorn pushes the doors open with such force that they slam against the wall. The Vikings inside are shocked into silence.

“The gods speak to me and through me, Ivar Ragnarsson. They have called me here to do their bidding; to uphold the Viking way, to allow you to live and thrive in the change that is to come.” I let my voice drop to a more quiet tone. “I know things that no other knows. I have seen things that no Seer could comprehend. I know these things because I am from a long line of gifted family, trained in the arts of our craft. My body and mind are tied to the very ground this place stands on. Without my knowledge, Ivar Ragnarsson, every last Viking will be killed in no less than a century. The Saxons will infiltrate this land and your raids will fail.” My body thrums with the energy around me and I allow it to take over. My eyes go completely white. “Before the century is over, the proud Vikings will have devolved and split into factions of what used to be. With time, the gods will be forgotten. They have sent me to stop this future from happening.”

Turning, I smirk at Bjorn. “On my journey here, Bjorn and ten others burst out of the woods to attack my wolf. When confronted, Bjorn threatened me to no avail. When asked, he tried to send me the wrong way. Or am I lying, Bjorn Ironside?”

“You’re a monster.” Bjorn growls. “And a liar!”

“She speaks the truth,” the seer interjects, his voice like the hissing of a snake.

My smirk widens. “Now what does that make you, Ironside?”

“You lied to your King, brother.” Ivar quips, seemingly uninterested- but he’s shifted to a better position for me; one that shows he is siding with me instead of the bad blood. His ice-like gaze slices through Bjorn whose eyes cut between me and the king. He’s caught in his own lie, no matter how insignificant.

“And you haven’t?” Bjorn shouts, his face going red. Ivar leans back, his shoulders still facing me. Dismissing Bjorn’s threat while starting to trust me.

The king smirks, raising a hand to trace his lips. “And what lie would that be?” He asks. I can see his devious plot; if Bjorn answers, he will incriminate himself. If he denies it, he makes himself a liar twice over.

The trap slams shut when Bjorn opens his mouth. “You cannot please a woman, and yet you said you could.”

“Ivar Ragnarsson can please a woman, Bjorn.” I snarl, my eyes flashing white. As the color bleeds back into my iris I realize what I said and nearly recoil, fingers finding Einar’s scruff.

Bjorn looks at me askance, a self-righteous smirk lifting the corner of his lips. “What proof do you have, outsider?”

His shoulders lift, chest puffs out. He thinks he’s caught me in a lie- am I an outsider who has never been to Kattegat before or am I a liar who has lain with the king? Which is it?

“I have seen it,” I say, raising my chin just a tad. My fingers leave Einar’s fur and relax at my side. No fear. “The gods have shown me.”

“I like this one,” Ivar muses, leaning forward once again, his eyes on me. “You are welcome here, Astrid. So long as your loyalties remain true, you are my honored guest. Welcome to Kattegat.”

Tag: @tis-itheapplepie @thetwistedqueen @inforapound @wuxiesalt @readsalot73 @themusingkitten @youbloodymadgenius All Ivar tag: @amy8220 @sallydelys

#voluspa #prophecy #voluspa part four #ivar ragnarsson x reader #vikings #ivar x reader #slow burn #som3thingcr3ative writing #som3thingcr3ative #my writing #multichapter fic #time travel #time travel au #x reader #sister wives #changing history #history

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