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lotrmynewobsession · 4 years

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Marry me

This takes place post LOTR, This is an ANGSTY mofo

Thanks to @Holy-Tolkien ‘s lovely article about Tolkien elves, I know that elves in fact do not have arranged marriages, but consider this a kind of AU.

Warnings: arranged marriage, dead Tauriel, slowburn?

summery: you and Legolas agree to be in an arranged marriage

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Legolas stared blankly ahead of him, wind fluttering strands of his hair around his face.

He did not know if he could love anyone like Tauriel, she still possessed him, body and soul. Even after all these years after she’d been gone. When they’d found her body in the edge of Mirkwood’s forest, deathly still in a patch of daisies beneath a great oak, he’d fallen to his knees, all color draining from his face. His father feared he would not make it.

He never fully realized how deeply her love for the dwarf ran, that when he fell so would she, crawling to the edge of their homeland, dying alone. He shook the memories away, swallowing against the tightness of his throat. He would meet his bride today.

He took in deep breaths to try and calm the waves of anxiety rolling through him. Lord Elrond had been gracious enough to host the meeting in Rivendell. Mirkwood Guards surrounded the courtyard, jst far enough to have range, so it could be as private a meeting as it could be. He could see a handful of travelers in the distance coming around the mountain, which was surely to be you. He sucked in air through his nose and straightened his shoulders. His father was oddly silent as he watched his son’s turmoil.

“Legolas.” He murmured tenderly, tilting up his chin with a steady finger “Your mother and I were united this way. I would not have suggested it if I did not think you could be happy.” Legolas’ lips pursed, looking into his fathers ice blue eyes, usually empty filled with empathy. They had suffered the same loss, only Legolas had had lost twice. He nods, looking back to the road. “I will try, Adar.” He promises. The corners of Thanduil’s lips quirk up. “she may be a blessing to us both.” He says stepping back as the sounds of clomping hooves reach them.

Legolas did not know what to expect, but it was not this.

He had envisioned an ornate carriage, some proper lady is a sweeping dress stepping out, sour look on her face.

Instead, a group of riders quickly reign in their horses, an elf with [h/c] hair jumping down and passing across to the girl on a horse parallel.

You smile down at your Adar as he carefully helps you down, your eyes shooting to the two pale figures waiting a few yards away. Your stomach tightens.

“Earendil.” Thanduil greets, stepping forward, two guards immediately flanking him on either side a step behind. Your father smiles, bowing his head slightly. “Your Majesty, thank you for meeting us in person.” “certainly, why don’t we negotiate the details while my son escorts Y/N inside.” Thanduil suggests, tilting his head towards the palace. Your father nods, eyes shooting to yours. You nod, silently trying to assure yourself. You internally brace yourself, eyes flashing to the young prince.

He forced a smile you could feel wasn’t genuine. Your own wavering smile showed your nerves. After a thick silence he clears his throat, coming closer, smiling a bit more genuinely this time. He introduces himself in a soft voice. “nin-est-na- Legolas.” His tounge wraps around the words beautifully, and you feel the tight ball in your stomach relase just slightly. “ nin-est-na- Y/N” you say, lightly looping your hand through his offered arm.

You both trail far behind your fathers, both not knowing what to say to each other. Silently you watched your bags being taken by Mirkwood guards to what you presumed to be your room. Entering the threshold of the palace doors you see your fathers disappearing into a meeting room. you and Legolas craned your heads to look, seeing a table with scrolls rolled out, as well as a jug of wine, Thanduil pouring it into goblets. Legolas tugged you along before you both could get caught. You glanced at his face, jaw clenched and eyes wide as he stared ahead. It seemed you weren’t the only one that was terrified. He forced eyes down to yours. “surely you are tired after your journey, might I take you to your room?” you nodded- a bit too quickly. “yes, that’d be lovely.” Your voice was strained, even to your ears. He snaps his head back to it’s earlier position, the air unbearably awkward between the two of you. He leads you up a wide staircase to a hall of rooms.

He stops in front of the first door, one he’d chosen so you’d have the best view of Rivendell. When you both stop, he staes intoyour eyes for a moment before picking up your hand to lay a kiss on your knuckles, bowing deeply before briskly walking away. You sigh, opening your door and shutting it, sliding down to curl up, hiding your face in the crook of your arm. “this is a disaster.” You mutter.

Tomorrow would be even worse, Your father had travelled with you most of the journey, but had his own affairs to attend to, so soon he leaves after the first day, and the prince and king take her back to Mirkwood to spend more time together for a period, see if they could work together, to see if you could love eachother. Your eyes filled with tears and spilled over as the orange sun fell through your window, soaking you with color. Your tears glittered on your cheeks.

You thought of your father again and panicked. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye would he?

Tap tap. Your brows furrow as you stand, wiping your face with your sleeves before opening the door. You flung your arms around your father, who readily embraced you. “I don’t know.” You whisper, another tear escaping “I don’t know if I can do it.” You father shushed you gently, taking your face in his hands. “you are strong of will, with a loving heart, even if this doesn’t fall through, you have a home waiting for you. Send a message and I will arrive within a week.”

Your breathing calms and you smile, feeling calmer. “thank you Adar.” He hesitates. “I will be leaving shortly, are you sure you want this?” You think of Legolas’ face, and Mirkwood, a place you’d wanted to see sense you were small. “yes, I will try.” You decide. With another tearful goodbye you watch from your window as his party disappears onto the winding mountainside trail.

After a fitful sleep, a Rivendell sevant helps you dress, brushing out your hair. She quickly leaves once your ready, bidding you a safe journey.

Once you’d arrived in Mirkwood, you’d been whisked away to your room, Legolas trailing behind silently as a servant showed you around. She was far too chipper for your taste, but you found it amusing. “and here we are!” she sang, throwing open your guest suite. The left wall led to a large balcony, in the center of the room was a huge canopy bed, crème colored duvet contrasting well with the deep ochre floor.

“thank you.” You say, turning to look at Legolas. Your caught off guard when you gaze deeply into his eyes, like his icy blue eyes Drawing you in, your breath is sucked from your lungs. Your lips part and he seems to snap out of his daze. He clears his throat, folding his hands behind his back. “I was wondering…” “yes?” you prompt. “if you would accompany me in the forest, for target practice.” “oh, well yes.” You say “just let me change.” You say. He nods. “I’ll be back.” He promises

-------

“So who’s idea was this? Yours or your fathers?” you say you release an arrow, it sailing past the target. Legolas stifles a laugh at your cocked head and annoyed expression. “My fathers, but..” he comes closer “like this.” His warm breath raises the hair on your neck. He corrects your form and you blink to bring the target back into focas. You pull the arrow back, and relase. It embeds itself into the outer ring and you grin. Legolas smiles staring at you. “so it was your fathers idea?”

“I agreed, eventually.” “why?” you ask. “why did you?” he counters. “your young, why the sudden need for a husband?” you both stare at eachother. You lower your eyes “I wanted to fall in love.” Your eyes go back to his, immersed in his knit brows and questioning eyes. “I thought this was worth a shot.” You look away and his face softens. A humbleness settles in his chest as he locks eyes on his tarket, and hit’s on mark.

Mereth Nuin Giliath; The Feast of Starlight

A week later was the annual feast of starlight, You and Legolas had spent every day together, and every day you both fell deeper into each other. The feast was a gala of dancing and feasting. Your cheeks heated up as you recalled how Legolas had held you close, asking in a whisper in your ear if you would accompany him.

You were no fool, you knew what it meant, going to a public, sacred event side by side. It would bring gossip and whispers; it would silently solidify your claims on each other. You envisioned both of you dancing, in the face of stares, bodies close together. You smoothed your hands down the red silk of your dress, the skirt just slightly jutting out from your hips, before smoothly running to the floor. There were golden swirls decorating the bodice and back of the dress. The last detail was a dainty crown of golden leaves in the back of your pinned-up hair. There was a sharp knock at the door and the maiden that had helped you dress peeked open the door before opening it fully, bowing. “Greetings, cin highness.”

She says quickly darting down the hallway. You meet his eyes in the mirror and Legolas seemed to lose his breath for a moment, eyes trailing your form. After a moment he steps behind you, fingertips grazing your arms, trilling goosebumps before gently placing a kiss on your shoulder, glittering blue eyes meeting yours “cin beautiful, nin mel.” (your beautiful, my love) your jaw drops. He had never called you that before now. Your fingers trail his jaw, and he unconsciously leans forward before he catches himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “they will be waiting for us.” He reminds himself, cracking his catches himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “they will be waiting for us.” He reminds himself, cracking his eyes open. You laugh breathless and let him lead you downstairs.

The sight was something you’d never forget.

There were millions of candles hanging from the ceilings, mimicking stars as far as you could see, tabels stood overflowing with fruit and vegtables, jugs and trays of goblets ready to be distributed. “I see some of your men are already enjoyng themselves.” You say, motioning to the tabel of Mirkwood guards, a few of them passed out, but most of them shouting and howling with laughter. You gasp and stunt a giggle when one of the men go flailing out of their chair, crashing onto the floor. Legolas good- naturdly rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. More and more guests filled in through the hour, and soon the palace was packed body to body. You both nudged past people in search of the king, the official celebration couldn’t begin until he and the king commenced it. Thanduil lounged on his thrown, empty goblet clutched in his hand. Seeing Legolas approaching he swiftly set the cup down and stood, a hush falling over all of the guests.

“May the festivities begin.” He said shortly, sitting back down and slumping. Legolas’ eyes meet yours as he descends. “he always did these things with my mother.” He says “this was her favorite time of year.” You frown, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looks at his father from the corner of his eye.

“Let’s give him a reason to smile.” He said picking up your other hand, heading you to the floor. He stopped, twirling you and catching your waist, squeesing your hip with a grin. Your eyebrows shoot up as you both dance, and whispers start like fire lapping up gassoline all around you. A few couples join in, thankfully, but all of the stares are on the prince and his unknown elleth. Bodies twirled around you as Legolas stopped, taking your face in is hand. “Marry me.” A smile spread across your face.

“yes.”

#legolas x reader #legolas fanfiction

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iwhumpyou · 4 years

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Respect

Masterlist. Rhiya.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Adar knew that this was going to go wrong from the moment that Baroness Riker had demanded a horse, and his uneasy feeling only grew stronger and stronger as they rode. He exchanged a nervous glance with Tikal as the baroness strode for the most guarded tent in the camp, not a break in her stride, with a face that could’ve been carved from stone. He almost had to jog to keep up.

The guards, fellow members of the Elite, stared at him in confusion as they approached, automatically barring their way. He knew what they were thinking – he was supposed to be guarding the baroness, why was he at camp, and with the messenger they’d kicked out a couple of days ago.

He could pinpoint the exact moment they noticed the crown and realized exactly who was stalking towards them – their faces cycled from confusion to disbelief to fear. They shot each other a glance and straightened, letting them pass. Adar gave a half-shrug as they neared, an ‘I don’t know either’ gesture.

Baroness Riker entered the tent first, so the place was silent by the time he and Tikal ducked through. An array of generals surrounding a table with plenty of maps, all staring at them. Draven was on the other side of the tent, looking at them like they were ghosts.

His gaze sharpened on the baroness, and his eyes widened. “What happened to your stomach?”

“My lord?” the baroness replied, carefully measured politeness. Adar fought the urge to wince. Oh, she was angry.

“What happened to the baby?” Draven strode forward a step, his face torn between anger and despair.

“I gave birth, my lord,” Baroness Riker said quietly, “That is typically what happens when a woman is pregnant.”

An answer to the question and no more, and Adar tried to remain still, because he knew there were two named heirs gurgling in their cradles at Riker Fort.

(The dowager had made a sound of protest when the baroness insisted on naming the children – it was tradition that the ruler of Skalid named their heirs – but anyone else who wanted to voice a protest abruptly fell silent as the baroness said, her voice as soft as steel, that if her husband wanted to name her children, he should’ve been there for their birth.)

Draven stared at her, mouth agape, and several of the others in the tent began fidgeting. One opened his mouth, presumably to offer congratulations, before another, who read the room better, elbowed him silent. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Draven settled on.

“I am here now, Your Grace.” Adar sucked in a sharp breath at that change in title and he wasn’t the only one. The ones closest to Draven began edging away from him.

“You didn’t need to come here,” Draven looked lost as to what was going on, and made up for it by yelling, “Why didn’t you send a bird?”

“I would’ve loved to, Your Grace,” the baroness tilted her head to one side in a facsimile of innocence, “But unfortunately our last bird didn’t return.”

She was leaning on the table now, and Adar hoped it was sturdier than it looked because the last thing his lady needed was to collapse on the floor trying to make her point. He looked at Tikal, who nodded a fraction and inched a step closer.

“You could’ve sent a messenger,” Draven growled, because he may not have figured out what was going on, but he could read the tone of the room. And even an idiot could tell that the baroness was furious.

“I would’ve loved to, Your Grace,” and this time there was a bite in her words, “But the last messenger you banished. Apparently he did not provide sufficient proof. I wanted to ensure that you would actually get the message.”

Draven scowled at her, and at Tikal, who huddled in himself upon receiving the baron’s angry glare.

“So you rode all the way here to inform me of the birth of my child,” Draven said, his voice rising as he prepared to shout.

The baroness neatly took the wind out of his sails. “No, Your Grace, that would’ve been a foolish waste of time and energy.” No one quite dared to breathe as Draven stared at her, shocked beyond words.

His brother stepped in neatly in the silence. “So why are you here, my lady?”

“The proof you asked for,” she said coolly and turned to Tikal. He passed the bundle to her and she threw it across the table to land in front of Draven. Adar hoped no one caught her waver.

“A few weapons?” Draven scoffed, clearly jumping at the chance to switch tacks, “This is your proof that the Red Tide is at our gates? How does this prove anything?”

Aster had opened the bag and withdrew a sword with no small amount of disquiet. “Brother…this is the Raptor’s sword.” Everyone stared at it in shock and disbelief.

“That’s not possible,” Draven said. “That’s not possible,” he turned to his wife, shooting her a look that would’ve curdled milk. “The Raptor would never give up his sword. You would’ve had to pry it from his cold, dead hands.”

The baroness said nothing, because that was exactly what they had done.

“Your proof is a fake sword?” Draven asked, glaring.

“My proof is my words,” the baroness said, and that was definitely a snarl in her voice, “I am the Baroness of Skalid and I am telling you that the Red Tide is coming –”

“You,” Draven cut her off, his eyes glittering, “Are my wife. And I have no time for your flights of fancy.”

Adar thought the baroness was going to leap across the table and claw his eyes out. Several people edged away from her, but she crafted that murderous intent into a glittering shroud of dignity and straightened up. She turned away from her husband and the council without another word and tilted her head at Tikal.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you before we set out,” she said formally, “You were right. My husband will not listen.”

Tikal, caught between an apology from the baroness and insulting the baron, squeaked.

“I’ve wasted what little time I will have with my children for a fool’s errand,” she said, and began walking out.

“Children?” Draven half-choked.

The baroness turned on one heel and gave him a look so cold it could’ve frozen steam. “You can count what you’ve lost when you decide to return,” she said, every word a dagger.

She turned away again but they had scarcely taken a step when guards materialized to block the entrance of the tent. Adar placed a hand on his sword and stepped in front of his lady as she spun to confront her husband, Tikal neatly sliding in to watch her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Adar stood his ground in front of his lord’s furious glare.

“You told me to protect the baroness,” Adar said simply, and twisted the dagger his lady had thrust. “Unless those orders have changed?”

No one spoke. No one moved. Adar wasn’t even sure if anyone was breathing.

“Brother,” Aster said carefully, placing a hand on the baron’s shoulder. The baron who looked like he would be perfectly content tearing them apart and setting each piece on fire. “Perhaps we should hear Baroness Riker out? After all, we are not at Riker Fort and it is possible someone may seek to take advantage of that lapse.”

“Riker Fort can withstand any siege,” Draven almost hissed.

“With what men?” the baroness snorted. The tension rose.

“Out,” Draven said, and it was only because it was so silent that they could hear him, his voice was barely a whisper. “Out,” he repeated, louder. The generals gave confused glances to each other and began to edge to the door.

“I will speak with my wife,” Draven said through gritted teeth, “Everyone else, out!”

That broke the dam and most of them fled immediately. Aster paused to murmur congratulations to the baroness and Tikal hesitated a beat before a particularly fierce glare sent him fleeing. Adar met Draven’s furious scowl and swallowed.

“Was there a particular part of the order you failed to understand?” Draven asked icily, “Was it ‘everyone’ or ‘out’?”

It was the part where Adar was expected to leave his exhausted and injured lady alone with a man who looked like he was ready to execute her where she stood.

“I do not need protection in here, Adar,” the baroness placed a hand on his arm. Adar wondered if he had to ignore how it was trembling. “You can protect me by standing guard to the entrance.”

He looked into her eyes, saw her resolve, and left with great reluctance. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

~#~

“You don’t need protection in here?” her husband repeated her words with a mocking sneer.

Rhiya fought the urge to cry and placed her hands flat on the table, where they wouldn’t shake, where he wouldn’t notice she was bracing her weight on them.

“Will you make me a liar?” she asked, not looking up because she wasn’t ready to stare into those hate-filled eyes. Just yesterday, she had kissed Nyalene goodbye and saw that she had her father’s dark eyes.

She could hear Draven round the table and fought the urge to tremble. She hurt all over – her thighs had been torn up by the births, a short labor and one birth after the other. They hadn’t even healed halfway when she’d gotten on the horse and walking straight from the entrance to the tent had nearly broken her. She could still taste blood from where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek in pain.

And the exhaustion – the pregnancy had been difficult enough when Draven was there, the constant illness, her increasingly frailty, the mutters that she was not strong enough to be their baroness. But after he’d left, after he’d left her to run the fort and his kingdom on her own – well, the dowager had not been surprised that the babies had come early, after all the stress she’d been under.

Hearing that her husband refused to even entertain the notion that the Red Tide was there was what had broken her. Hearing that her husband called her a fool and a liar, a little girl jumping at shadows.

She’d killed the Raptor almost in a stupor and the only thing keeping her awake and on her feet was her anger. She was running out of things to stoke it with though.

“How did you get the Raptor’s sword?” Draven asked, his voice striving for calm and falling short. She tried not to jump – he was much closer than she’d thought.

“You said it yourself,” she replied dully, “We had to pry it out of his cold, dead hands.”

There was a long beat. “The Raptor is dead?”

“Yes,” she said, and she was so, so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep for an eternity. At least a week. Couldn’t she even have that?

“You saw him die?”

Rhiya roused herself at that, straightening up enough to shoot her husband a vicious glare. “I killed him,” she hissed, because she was a warrior and just because her children (her two perfect children, her Korver and Nyalene, she should never have left them) had taken almost every scrap of energy she had didn’t mean that she wasn’t a warrior. She wasn’t his consort, she was the Baroness of Skalid, Lady Riker, and sometimes she thought that Draven was the one who forgot that the most.

Draven raised his eyebrows at that, looking at her in mild disbelief. Rhiya was too tired to correct his opinions. She was almost too tired to stand upright. And then his face suddenly blanched, eyes going wide as he reached a hand out for her.

Rhiya tried very hard not to cry, because his warm touch on her shoulder felt like an anchor.

He took a step closer and closer, until she could feel the heat from his body, and he folded her into his arms. She let him, because she did not have the energy to stop him, and when he braced her against his body, she sagged against him. He was warm and that was about the extent to which Rhiya’s mind could reason. If he decided to let go, she would fall, and there was nothing she could do about it.

It wasn’t trust. It was a bone-deep weariness. It was if-you-forsake-me-then-I-am-done.

“What happened?” Draven said, his grip tightening around her. Not dropping her. Not yet.

“I told you,” Rhiya mumbled into his shirt, “Gave birth. Red Tide. Raptor managed to scale the outer walls. Challenged for single combat. Fighting him gave the others the time they needed to set up archers on the walls. Killed him. Killed his men.”

“All of this in the three days since you sent Tikal.”

“Mmm,” Rhiya responded, because words were too much effort.

“How did you even manage to ride here?” Draven asked, and he was shifting. Rhiya didn’t move, didn’t tense up because her legs were protesting at the thought of being asked to bear her weight, but he didn’t drop her. He merely shifted enough to pick her up fully.

“With great difficulty,” Rhiya said, sounding out each word. She sighed as Draven gently put her down in a chair, cushioned by furs. His furs. This was his chair.

“The Red Tide,” Draven muttered, straightening up and staring at her.

Rhiya curled up further in his chair, shifting until she was leaning on the arm of the chair, her weight off her hips. “They’re coming,” she said, but she had no energy for persuasion, “Riker Fort can’t hold a siege with only forty warriors.”

Draven was leaning against the table, just staring at her. Rhiya stared back. She wondered if she could take a nap in this chair. Where did he get all these comfortable furs from?

“Children,” Draven said in the smallest voice she’d ever heard him use.

Rhiya couldn’t fight the smile, because even tired and hurt and angry, the memory of her two angels made her heart glow. “Twins. Korver and Nyalene.”

“Twins,” Draven repeated, a small smile appearing. “You aren’t supposed to name them, you know, I –”

“If you wanted to name them,” Rhiya hissed, because she had gotten this from everyone and she had labored alone and in pain to birth her beautiful children and this particular idiot had been nowhere in sight. “You should’ve been there.”

Draven raised his hands in surrender. Rhiya watched him with narrowed eyes before subsiding back into the warmth of the soft chair.

“You look tired,” he said quietly and she hummed.

“Are you sure it’s the Red Tide?” he asked and Rhiya had had enough. She sighed, long and deep, and sank into the chair, curling up and resting her head on her hands.

“There is an army a day’s ride to the north. The Raptor was part of their forces. I’m assuming that they’re the Red Tide, but does it matter what flag they’re flying?” Rhiya looked up at him, and she didn’t have the strength to maintain a neutral expression. “Come home,” she said, in a quiet voice, “To your children. To me.”

She didn’t know what Draven saw but his face twisted up and he dropped to his knees so that he would be at her level. He raised a hand, slowly, like he was worried she would bolt (she barely had the energy to move – if her husband wanted to strike her, there was little she could do) and pressed a warm hand to her cheek. He stroked a lock of her hair and, in a choked voice no amount of gruffness could hide, said, “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Rhiya felt a part of her heart unclench and she closed her eyes.

“This campaign is important to me and so many people told me to give it up that when you said the same, I thought it was a manipulation. I didn’t listen to you and I yelled at you, and I’m so, so sorry, my love. I’m sorry I left you at Riker Fort by yourself. I should’ve been there for you while you were carrying our children. I should’ve been there while you labored to bring them into this world.”

Rhiya cracked her eyes open and scowled, “You don’t get to change their names.”

Draven laughed but his eyes were suspiciously moist. “That isn’t what I’m after, my lady,” he caught ahold of one of her hands and pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’m sorry I insulted you in front of my council. You are the Baroness of Skalid and sometimes I forget that.”

“What are you after, then?” Rhiya murmured.

“A possibility of earning your forgiveness at some point in the future,” Draven said quietly, “I swore to you, the first day we were married, that I would never dishonor you. I am ashamed that I went back on those words.”

Rhiya looked at him for a long moment. “I will consider it,” she said, because her exhaustion and pain and the sheer relief that he was listening to her were not conducive to making important decisions.

Draven smiled and considered her for a moment. Rhiya was contemplating if she really could get away with a nap, but they had to head back to the fort as soon as possible. Draven seemed to read her mind. “If I get you a carriage, will you ride in it?”

Rhiya shot him a cold look and straightened in his – her – chair, “No.” She wasn’t letting Draven reach the castle – reach her children – without her there. She had to be there if he said or did something stupid and – and she wanted to be the one that placed them in his hands, the way it would’ve been if he had been at her bedside after she’d given birth.

“Very well,” Draven sighed, “But you are going to sleep when we get back to the fort.” He offered her a hand and she may have taken more than the requisite time arranging her clothes before allowing herself to be pulled out of the soft, comfortable chair. She winced as her thighs strenuously protested this change and Draven steadied her.

“Is that an order, my lord?” Rhiya bit out. Draven hadn’t let go and, truth be told, Rhiya’s legs were still wavering, like they would collapse at any moment.

“I’m pretty sure that if I dump you on the bed and order no one to help you out of it, that would get the job done,” Draven chuckled as he helped her walk to the tent entrance, step by step.

“Some of those people are loyal to me,” Rhiya said and did not pout.

“Those would be the same people that looked a half-step from lunging to catch you when you fell?” Draven raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think they’ll be helping you out of bed anytime soon, my lady.”

They reached the entrance and Rhiya bit down her scowl and wiped her face blank. She needed Draven’s arm to help her stay upright and that burned, because she knew what faces everyone would make when they saw that she needed her husband’s help to stay standing. They had made enough of those faces when she was pregnant and throwing up everything she’d eaten and having dizzy spells in the corridors.

The faces she saw, however, tended more to dawning relief than disgust. Adar was closest to the entrance and he looked at her, and his baron, and her again before sagging in what was definitely relief. Aster was next closest and she noticed how his hand slipped off the hilt of his sword as his eyes moved from Adar to his brother. It felt like an air of tension had dissolved.

“Pack up camp,” Draven said, looking utterly unconcerned by the fact that he was practically holding her up, “The vanguard will leave immediately for Riker Fort, the rearguard will follow once everything has been packed.” Tikal exhaled in a rush and she saw more than one happy face among those gathered. “And bring the baroness’ horse here.”

The camp erupted in a flurry of activity and Rhiya was too tired to look for condemnation on anyone’s face as she leaned against her husband. Aster approached almost silently, nodding to her before looking at his brother. “Congratulations, brother. And I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”

Rhiya didn’t need to look at him to know his scowl had intensified. She pushed herself up and squinted at him, “So when you said many people told you to leave…” Draven flushed and scowled harder.

“Many people tried to convince him, yes,” Aster looked at her, and bowed slightly, “Only one managed to succeed.”

Rhiya shot another look at her husband, but he was still red and still not looking at her. Her horse arrived then, though, and she faltered at the memory of saddle sores and undergoing the whole agonizing trek back.

“I will be right beside you,” Draven murmured as he stepped closer to her, “If you want, we can ride together.”

It was Rhiya’s turn to flush, as she remembered the first time they’d ridden together, her back a fiery mess as she huddled against Draven’s chest and tried to enjoy the warmth of his cloak while hating every second.

“We’ll get there faster if we ride separately,” she replied, and accepted his hands as he hoisted her up onto the saddle. She ignored anyone’s stray askance glance as she stayed sitting sidesaddle – riding a horse was difficult enough after giving birth, and this way at least she wasn’t trying to grip with her thighs.

She watched Draven alight on his own horse and let out a slow exhale. He was coming home.

#whump #whumpfic #rhiya #respect #alternative storyline #exhaustion

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