Hi, I'm Lia, She/Her | I write for HP, Kingsman, ASOIAF, Marvel and other Fandoms | Masterlist | Fic Request OPEN | Ship Request OPEN | Follow my side blog @ardentinspirations for fic recs and such | Buy me a ko-fi
hi there Ardentmuse(idk how to address you properly) I am a complete stranger. Which is I am mwehe, I just,, I do wonder why your latest update was 2022,, I am worried, yess, or maybe you just forget the email password that you use for Tumblr or something. Idk before like back then, I used to see your Tumblr post on chrome, mostly about Kingsman and yeah I do adore your writing! But it keeps me curious why you'd stop all of a sudden in the middle of 2:18 am and say this but yeahh,,
I hope you're doing well buddy!! Good nighty
Hi! No, I'm still here! I'm just a mom to two little ones and I don't have time to write much anymore. We live far from our families or any support network, so I'm just in the thick of childcare and homecare in this chapter of my life. The day ends and my cup is empty. I also was writing professionally so it was hard to be motivated to write outside my job.
But I still see every like and comment. I'm so glad my Kingman writings brought you some joy. I sincerely hope I can come back to all this someday when my youngest is in school full time. I've been dabbling in a longer ASOIAF piece for a while now but I don't have the consistent time like I used to.
Summary: When you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione disappear after Bill and Fleur's wedding, George laments that he hasn't been able to tell you that he loves you. (Requested by @jenniweaslee for welcome back celebration. Prompt 24. Of course, I’m being irrational, I’m in love! for George Weasley.)
Wordcount: 1.5k
Warnings: angst, pining canon-typical talk of violence and death
Masterlist
A/N: Thanks for your patience with these. My work absolutely exploded (a lot of our team was let go so I'm taking on a ton of work plus I added on an additional freelance project). Also, my husband accepted a new job so we're preparing for moving! Requests are still open. See the celebration post for details.
“Where are they?” George screamed at no one in particular as he burst through the kitchen of the Burrow long after midnight.
In the immediate aftermath of the chaotic and terrifying events of Bill and Fleur’s wedding, all he had thought about was survival. Fred had pulled him hard out into the orchard to tackle the incoming attack head-on. And the fighting had been nothing short of vicious. The death eaters truly thought that taking the wedding party by surprise was a guaranteed path to maximum devastation. But what they seemed to underestimate was just how fiercely those in attendance would fight to defend their own— the people they love.
It was Molly who answered George as she sat at the dining room table patching a cut on her husband’s brow.
“Who, George?”
George looked at his mother in pure bewilderment. He knew his appearance was one of utter dishevelment. His clothes are muddy and his hair a mess. He still clung to his wand with a white-knuckle grip, more to keep himself grounded to some sort of reality so he wouldn’t spiral out of control.
“They’re gone,” came the faint, quiet sound of Ginny’s voice as she stood in the archway wiping tears from her eyes. “They fled and, well, we knew they were leaving after the wedding anyway. I just didn’t think it would be so sudden.”
George felt a guttural scream starting in his chest but he swallowed it as best he could. He had no right to be this upset. He had no right to be more upset than Ginny. She was actually in a relationship with one of the foursome that fled in the middle of the night to do… well, they never really made their plans that clear. They had a mission, and for it they had to stay hidden, but that was all any of them really needed to know.
But it wasn’t all George needed to know. Before the wedding had been interrupted, his arms had been tight around your waist. He held you close as you danced to music he could barely hear, and not because of the damage to his ear. No, for the past year he had trouble with acknowledging anything but you when you were near. You rendered him utterly useless.
The words had been on his lips, words he had bottled up for far too long, too scared for what you might say. The fantasy of eventually having you in his arms, in his bed, buried in his heart for the rest of his life, was far too precious to give up. And if it meant leaving it nothing but a fantasy for a little while longer, he was willing to do it. But last night had been his last opportunity. With what was to come — and it was clear now things were going to get much, much worse — who could say if you both would be alive this time next year to say those words again.
“I love you. I have always loved you. And I always will love you,” were the words George had planned to say. He had practiced them in his own head all night, had imagined how he’d lean forward and capture your lips for the first of what would be many kisses once all of this was behind you.
He had only got as far as your name by the time Kingsley’s patronus had breached the wedding tent.
Tears began to prick in his eyes, but he wiped at them with the hard flick of his wrist. He wasn’t a man for moping. He was a man of action.
With closed eyes, he flicked his wrist and cast his patronus out into the world. He said out loud to his magpie, and to his whole family present in the kitchen, the words he had wanted to say for so long.
“I love you. Always. Be safe.”
And with a flick of his wrist, his bird flew out of the open kitchen window and into the dark, cold, and now lonely night.
“George…” The frown in Ginny’s voice was clear. She had known. And if the look on his father and mother’s faces were any clear indication, everyone had known. But had you? His heart clenched far too hard for his liking at the thought that he might never get an answer to that question.
You had been a staple in his life for as long as Harry and Hermione. After the events of your first year, you were a quad as thick as thieves. So when only Harry and Hermione came for the summer, George was confused, especially given how clear it was that Ron had a massive crush on you. But when Ron had mentioned that your family didn’t take too kindly to your friendship with a Weasley, he only then realized how he knew your last name. Your family was as deep a lineage as they come. Old money. Pure blood. Strict rules. How you ended up so… you was a complete mystery. And that confusions wasn’t helped by your own mother tossing curses at your head tonight.
And it was only when Ron’s crush had ended during your fourth year when you had been his date to the Yuleball that George allowed himself to see you as someone he could love. Still to this day, he didn’t understand how seeing you looking so stunning that night, like a literal angel choosing to move among the mortals, had done anything to Ron other than make him fall hopelessly in love. And while Ron never so much put it into words, George always suspected that Ron’s attention was much more on Viktor Krum’s date than his own. You had seemed so dejected that night. George found you alone close to tears at a table by yourself as the dancing came into full swing. And when you asked if you had done something wrong, George didn’t have words. Of course you did nothing wrong. Ron was being Ron, brilliant and stupid all at once. And in that moment, George vowed to never see you hurt again.
When had that innocent feeling become love? Had it always been love? And had it ever truly been innocent?
Suddenly, he was in the entry and grabbing his coat from the hanger. Ginny followed.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” George said, matter-of-fact as he screamed up the stairs for Fred.
“But where?”
George snapped in frustration. “I don’t know. I just know it’s not safe out there for Y/N right now and I can’t just sit here and do nothing while death eaters hunt for them. I can’t do nothing.”
“But there’s nothing to do,” Ginny pleaded, her lip quivering.
“Maybe you’re comfortable just sitting here and crossing your fingers that Harry comes home alive, but I’m not about to do the same. I’ll lose my fucking mind with worry. I’d rather die myself than feel like I did nothing to help keep Y/N from any harm.”
This time it was Arthur who interrupted George.
“Son, listen to me. Y/N wants you safe. You can fight for them. You can. And today you did. And now you need to rest.”
George threw his coat on with swift movements. “How can you say that? I know you’d do anything for mum.”
“I would, but you’re being irrational.”
“Of course I’m being irrational. I’m in love.” And with that George swiftly opened the door, ready to flee into the darkness of the night just to not feel this uselessness anymore.
But his movement was stopped by the fluttering wings of his magpie and the striking form of the one face he’d longed to see more than any other.
“Y/N?” George whispered.
“I couldn’t go.” You voice was as quiet and low as his, riddled with guilt he wanted to take away. “I know Harry needs me, but I couldn’t go.”
You fell into George’s arms and he caught you easily, engulfing you in his arms so tightly that it’s clear he has no intention of ever letting you go.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
“I just couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you,” you cried into his chest, breaking George’s heart.
“You’ll never lose me. I’d wait. I’d wait forever,” he whispered into your hair.
“I’d lose you if you die. You’ve already lost an ear, George. If I go hunting—“ you cut off your words. “If I go and you die and I never got to—“
Your voice was frantic, and soon George’s mouth was on yours, kissing you urgently. His hands gripped the sides of your face, keeping you close. And when you sigh at the taste of him, your body going slack in his hold, he’s never felt more love for you.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he breaths against your mouth.
“And I you,” you promise in turn.
“It’s late,” George says as he pulls away. “Let’s get you to bed. We can come up with a plan tomorrow.”
George pulls you into the house, only now realizing his family vacated the space around you. But you tug on his hand, stopping him.
“George, I love you, too.”
He kisses your forehead and leads you up the stairs. His bed is yours tonight. If he’s going to dedicate himself to protecting you, he has to keep you close. And that doesn’t sound like a hardship in the slightest.
So excited about your welcome back celebration! I’d love it if you could write prompt 29 (Of course I'm being irrational, I'm in love!) for George Weasley. Thanks! 💕
Incoming finally! Work has been so swamped, so thanks for your patience.
https://ardentmuse.tumblr.com/post/685881401338445824/id-wait-forever-george-weasley-x-reader
Hi! Congrats on 7k ❤️ would love a male Jane Austen and MCU if possible.
I'm Lia, ENFP, Gryffindor, physical touch love language. I'm a professional interactive fiction writer with a background in entertainment and psychology. I'm a people person, very relationship-oriented, romantic, and self-reflective. I love hosting parties and I have big caregiver energy. If I'm not reading a book or playing a video game, I'm sewing or engaging in social endeavors. I talk far too much. I'm a committed partner and a loving mother. My comfort show atm is Taskmaster and my comfort music will always be Fleetwood Mac, though I do love a ton of female indie pop artists. In partners, I like logical thinkers, affectionate souls, and dry senses of humor
Thanks again and congrats, love! So proud of you! 💜💜💜💜
For Others: Ships are now CLOSED!
---
Thank you! I LOVE Fleetwood Mac!
Your ships are under the cut, I hope you like them :)
Jane Austen:
I ship you with Henry Tilney.
He loves your outgoing personality and how well you get on with everyone. He admires and encourages your writing, and is your number one fan. He is super caring and loving, and definitley a romantic. He enjoys nothing more than making you smile, and being with you, no matter what it is you are doing.
Best-Friend: Crossover! I can imagine you being great friends with Emma Woodhouse. You are both outgoing and love hosting, so the two of you can arrange the best events and dinners.
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Marvel:
I ship you with Steve Rogers.
He is a people-person but can get overwhelmed sometimes,so he leaves the entertaining to you sometimes. He can never just sit around doing anything so he likes that you are an active soul and are often open with doing things with him, no matter if that's just working around the house, going on walks, getting food, etc.. He enjoys reading your writing, and is always excited about what you will create next.
Best-Friend: Maria Hill. I can see you two having met through Steve, and becoming close friends. Meeting outside of work, and being there to support each other.
Summary: After participating in the Battle of the Eight Potters (yes, you read that right), Talbott wakes up to a welcome surprise in the form of the love of his life. (Requested by @bluediva and @justducky0423 for welcome back celebration. Prompt 24. I know who you are. You’re the woman I’ve waited for my entire life. for Talbott Winger.)
Wordcount: 1k
Warnings: fluff with angst, talk of death (and maybe a bit of glamorizing of death, though not intentionally), canon-typical talk of violence
Masterlist
A/N: First of these celebration prompts! Requests are still open. See the celebration post for details.
The last thing Talbott could recall seeing was the deep navy blue of the night’s sky, dusted with the tiniest hints of stars that shone through the faint London fog.
It hadn’t been an entirely unpleasant feeling. Dying was, inherently, more pleasant than it seemed. It was the moments right before that were filled with fear. No, falling off the edge, giving himself over to the peaceful void was like coming home. But those moments right before — the shriek of death eaters overhead, the blasts of green and red filling the space between their brooms, Ron’s white knuckle grip into his stomach — were more frightening than any he could imagine.
But not because he feared his own demise. He only feared for you. And given that you looked just like seven other individuals flying tonight, he couldn’t find you in the sea of moving bodies to confirm to himself that you were okay before he took a shot from Rodolphus Lestrange right in the chest.
So when white began to creep into the corners of his vision, Talbott was thoroughly confused. He had accepted the void— welcomed it, truly. It wasn’t that he wanted to go. Far from it, in fact. But after losing his parents, it almost seemed fitting that the end would feel like a warm hug rather than a cold abyss. Though such a thought was laced with its own kind of guilt. You were still on this earth, living as you should, and to be without you, even in the great beyond, was the emptiest feeling he could imagine.
But slowly the white spread, turning black to grey until the vision was so bright it almost hurt.
Perhaps there is a heaven, after all, Talbott thought.
And then he heard a voice calling to him, chanting his name in whispered tones. At first, he thought it might be you, his afterlife brain conjuring for him heavenly choirs of your voice to herald his arrival, but he was sadly disappointed. The voice is far too gruff, far too sharp, too weathered. It was cruel beyond measure for his heart to feel this warmth that he associated only with you. but his ears to be assaulted by a sound in such stark contrast.
Perhaps there is a hell, after all, Talbott thought.
But then the white receded again, but this time in its place came the blinking of his own lashes and the rich pine of a timbered ceiling. The soft orange glow of a fire cast everything in an otherworldly light, like the soft sepia of a photo of old. Comfort— comfort consumed him. And suddenly he understood that he had gone nowhere, or rather to no other realm. That warm hug was the lick of a fire against his cool skin and a knitted blanket across his chest. And that mock of a heavenly choir was the gravelly voice of Hagrid, who loomed over him with a bright smile.
“Thought we lost you there for a second, Talbott,” Hagrid chuckled. “Good thing ya had Ron there to fly the broom for ya. Had you been with someone less capable, well… I don’t even wanna think about it.”
But before Talbott could respond, the door to the Burrow burst open and Harry stood at the door, his mouth open in shock.
“Hey, there, my love.”
At once, the Harry before him quivered his lip and soon ran headlong into his arms.
It was a strange feeling at first. The form was all wrong against his own. The hair didn’t tickle his neck the way it should have. The smell was far too… plain. But the way you moved — the way that all wrong nosed nuzzled exactly right into his neck, the way those too-different hands gripped his shoulders just so, the way that far too masculine voice chanted just the right words in his ear — made that strange feeling disappear and be quickly replaced with one of love and longing.
“How did you know it was me?” you whispered to Talbott as tiny bits of your hair started to poke through. Talbott stroked your cheek that slowly morphed under his touch until he was staring into eyes he knew better than any other, ones he loved far more than he had thought possible.
“I know who you are. You’re the woman I’ve waited for my entire life.”
You spit out a laugh, your hand resting on his chest, which was still sore from the blast it received.
Seeing his pain, you tried to pull your hand away, but Talbott grabbed your wrist, holding you close. He pulls you towards him until his lips met yours in a soft, but necessary, kiss.
“I mean it, Y/N, truly,” Talbott whispered.
“How could that be true? I’m yours, Talbott. You aren’t waiting for me. I’m here,” you said, your voice a whisper, your eyes still trained on his chest. Though you couldn’t see the wound, Talbott knew you were trying to envision the damage.
“I have been waiting. Far too long, in fact.”
Talbott pulled your hand to his mouth and kissed the fingers with reverence.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life to make you my wife. And I can’t wait anymore,” he said, unsure how you’d take the words.
A soft smile crept across your lips. “Because we might get blasted out of the sky tomorrow?” you asked. And though you passed it off as a joke, Talbott knew what you were really asking.
“Reach into my pocket,” Talbott said. When you didn’t move, he flicked his eyes down to his pants, which somehow were still on his body despite the rest of him being bare, presumably to clean his injuries.
You followed his gaze with your fingers, finding a hard lump at the end of his pocket. When you pulled out the ring box, Talbott offered you a warm smile.
“Told you I’ve been waiting.”
Tags are open! Just comment, message, or ask me to be added.
This blog is officially ACTIVE. And I couldn’t be more excited to getting back to writing for pleasure.
As many of you know, a few years ago I took a leap into writing professionally and now I am a full-time interactive fiction narrative designer, writer, and editor. While I adore my job, I also spend most of my time writing things based on storylines designed by others, few things solely of my own invention. And writing begets more writing. The more you do it, the more you want to do it, the more you are stimulated by the act itself. And so, even though my writing schedule is more busy than ever, I need to counter it with writing that is strictly for fun, otherwise I am going to burn out completely.
So thanks for your patience on this journey. I am SO THRILLED to celebrate with you.
To celebrate, we’re going to do some stories based on prompts and add some new fandoms to the mix.
(yes, the good place gifs are back)
The Rules:
Must be following me (@ardentmuse)
Must submit me an ask with a number of a prompt and a character
Must like this post
Please reblog, but this isn’t required :)
Only one submission per person, please!
Block “#ardentmuse welcome back” if you don’t want to see these for whatever reason (though some of my best work comes from prompts)
Each ask will become a reader-insert imagine. Aiming for ~1k words for each of these, but we’ll see where the spirits take me.
Note that these will be slower than my previous turn around on these. My goal is one per day, to be cut off in ~3 weeks, so it is likely I won’t get to every prompt. I’ll do my best.
This blog is officially ACTIVE. And I couldn’t be more excited to getting back to writing for pleasure.
As many of you know, a few years ago I took a leap into writing professionally and now I am a full-time interactive fiction narrative designer, writer, and editor. While I adore my job, I also spend most of my time writing things based on storylines designed by others, few things solely of my own invention. And writing begets more writing. The more you do it, the more you want to do it, the more you are stimulated by the act itself. And so, even though my writing schedule is more busy than ever, I need to counter it with writing that is strictly for fun, otherwise I am going to burn out completely.
So thanks for your patience on this journey. I am SO THRILLED to celebrate with you.
To celebrate, we’re going to do some stories based on prompts and add some new fandoms to the mix.
(yes, the good place gifs are back)
The Rules:
Must be following me (@ardentmuse)
Must submit me an ask with a number of a prompt and a character
Must like this post
Please reblog, but this isn’t required :)
Only one submission per person, please!
Block “#ardentmuse welcome back” if you don’t want to see these for whatever reason (though some of my best work comes from prompts)
Each ask will become a reader-insert imagine. Aiming for ~1k words for each of these, but we’ll see where the spirits take me.
Note that these will be slower than my previous turn around on these. My goal is one per day, to be cut off in ~3 weeks, so it is likely I won’t get to every prompt. I’ll do my best.
Character list and prompt list below the cut.
Hugs,
Lia
Characters:
Note: all responses will be reader inserts (no x ships). Also, this list is off the top of my head so if I missed anyone that you really want to see, let me know.
*Bold represents characters I am absolutely in love with writing at the moment, so those requests would make me so happy
Harry Potter:
Bill Weasley
Charlie Weasley
Percy Weasley
Fred Weasley
George Weasley
Ron Weasley
Harry Potter
Neville Longbottom
Draco Malfoy
Cedric Diggory
Oliver Wood
Severus Snape
Sirius Black
James Potter
Remus Lupin
HPHM:
Bill Weasley
Charlie Weasley
Talbott Winger
Barnaby Lee
Murphy McNully
Orion Amari
Andre Egwu
Jae Kim
Diego Caplan
ASOIAF / Game of Thrones:
Ned Stark
Robb Stark
Jon Snow
Bran Stark
Tyrion Lannister
Jaime Lannister
Robert Baratheon
Stannis Baratheon
Theon Greyjoy
Gendry (Waters)
Podrick Payne
Sandor Clegane
Petyr Baelish
Kingsman:
Harry Hart
Merlin (Hamish Mycroft)
Eggsy Unwin
Tequila
Whiskey (Jack Daniels)
James Spenser (Lancelot)
Love Island: The Game:
Jake Wilson
Bobby McKenzie
Gary Rennell
Henrik
Lucas Koh
Ibrahim
Noah
Bruno
Will
Lovelink:
Antoine Dawson / Noah Cruz
Brett O’Hara
Cianán Ó Faoláin
Dr. Vile
Jay Perry
Gabe Scott
Garrett Brown / Rory O´Brien
Hugo Hornsby / Marco Bottazzi
Taylor (Hugo / Marco’s route)
Nicholas Adley
Nick Klaus
Nori Cove
River Nightshade
Salvatore Luciano
The Prompts from Futurama:
Good news, everyone.
At the risk of sounding negative, no.
I love Y/N, always and forever.
This is it. The moment we should have trained for.
For a split second, my common sense was overwhelmed by pity.
I never even told her I loved her.
Well, you obviously won’t listen to reason.
It’s when women are polite to each other you know there’s a problem.
...plus some other emotions which are weird and deeply confusing.
When you look this good, you don’t have to know anything.
Hey, sexy mama.
This is the worst kind of discrimination. The kind against me.
Thank you all for the inspiring advice, but I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is.
Life is about decisions.
Oh wait, you’re serious.
You leave me breathless.
Everyone, I have a very dramatic announcement.
We can all fight when we’re drunk.
It’s all so complicated with the flowers and the romance and the lies upon lies.
I’m feeling a strange new emotion I have never felt before.
You lost the woman of your dreams but you still have [xxxx].
Let’s knock this up a notch!
Gimme your biggest, strongest, cheapest drink!
I know who you are. You're the woman I've waited for my entire life.
You know what cheers me up? Other people’s misfortune.
I really ought to do something but I am already in my pajamas.
Valentine’s Day is coming up?
I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.
Of course I'm being irrational, I'm in love!
Let's get the hell out of here already!
What the hell is that thing?
You know, someone ought to teach you a lesson.
You should say something else.
It really makes me happy to see you right now.
What kind of party is this?
I can explain.
But of everyone I ever dated, you're probably in the top ten.
It's been quite a journey.
What a thoughtful and considerate thing for you to say.
Look, I know it's not much consolation. But, I understand how you feel.
Summary: A trip to visit you and Bill in Egypt leaves Charlie feeling like he’d never be able to escape Bill’s shadow. Bill has always had your heart, as long as Charlie could remember. But maybe he’s wrong.. and maybe he just needs a little encouragement to see it.
Word Count: 2.8k
Masterlist
A/N: Angst and fluff. Charlie is a bit of a sad sap for a lot of this, but it resolves itself. It’s nice to get back into Charlie writing. I’ve missed this man. MC is the MC from HP:HM.
Wind blew sand across his heated cheeks, each grain leaving microscopic scratches that brought water to his eyes. The exertion of the hike through the desert shouldn’t have left him as breathless as it did, given that Charlie prided himself in his physical stamina. Years of quidditch practices, and now all the time he trekking the Carpathians chasing down dragons, had given him hardened muscles and strengthened lungs. He was in peak physical form.
But sand… few things can prepare you for sand.
“How much further, Bill?” Charlie asked as he wiped his brow.
Bill’s voice was light, “Not long at all, brother.”
But it was a second voice that left Charlie far more breathless than any hiking could.
Over the cresting peak of the next stand dune, holding a scarf tight to your head against the prevailing winds, stood a figure fully in shadow. But it was a figure he’d know anywhere— a figure he memorized for years, one that haunted his dreams with regrets. That figure that he’d memorized with his eyes, he had longed to memorize it with his hands, too. But he never said a word. No, and he probably never would.
“William Arthur Weasley! I thought you were the good brother.”
You let out a laugh and Charlie heart did flips— backwards and forwards, the oscillating making him a little ill. It was a confusing feeling. The beautiful sound of your voice made his stomach fill with butterflies. But the way in which you purred Bill’s name with such intimacy stabbed him in the deepest parts of his chest.
Back at Hogwarts, your admiration of Bill had been secret to no one. But Bill’s love of you had been a secret only Charlie had known. But Bill was two years older— which now seemed silly, but when you were teenagers seemed like the biggest chasm in existence. So Charlie shut his mouth and let his big brother flirt with the only person whom ever had piqued his interest.
“I am the good brother!” Bill called as he jogged up the next dune like it was nothing. He scooped you up into a hug and Charlie tried not to groan out loud.
You patted Bill’s arm to tell him to put you down. And when your feet hit the ground, your eyes finally found Charlie’s.
Now that you were closer, Charlie could make our your face. Your smile was bright and your face a little dirty, but nothing else was different than he remembered. Truthfully, it had been less than a year since he had seen your face, but if his time at Hogwarts had taught him anything, it was that a lot could change in a year.
“Would a good brother force their sibling to trek through the desert when there is a perfectly functioning portkey back at camp? One that I painstakingly set up for Charlie last night?”
Bill chuckled and threw an arm around your shoulders. “How’s Charlie supposed to appreciate this place if he doesn’t earn it?”
With a roll of your eyes, you moved to Charlie. He watched as your smile grew. And did you bite your lip? No, he must be imagining things.
You opened your arms, “A hug for your favorite curse-breaker?”
Charlie heard Bill grumble as he pulled you into his arms, warmth immediately spreading through his chest. You clung to his back as you rested your head in the crook of his shoulder. He felt your breath on his neck, turning the sweat coating his collar into a conduit for the perfect trail of goosebumps. And when you sunk even further into his arms, he closed his eyes.
“I’ve missed you, Charles,” you said so only he could hear. But Bill’s voice pulled you away before he could return the sentiment.
“We should probably get into these ruins before the sun gets any higher.”
“Yes, sir,” you called to Bill, though you rolled your eyes so only Charlie could see. He laughed, a real genuine laugh, the kind he forgot you often gave him.
Since Charlie had really only made the trip down to Egypt to spend time with his brother, he didn’t focus much on the tour of the ruins that you gave him. He knew vaguely of the work you did, the kinds of treasures you found and the curses you had to break along the way, but the specifics were lost on him. He had never been particularly skilled at ancient ruins and the histories of the magical world were just as boring to him as the teacher that taught them.
He did focus on how you spoke about everything though. There was a lightness in your voice that somehow made all the danger and the drudgery seem commonplace. There was an excitement in each new thing you shared that reminded him so much of how his own voice must sound when discovering a new nest of dragon eggs. And more importantly, there was a softness in your eyes when you looked at him, gauging if he was paying attention, that made him feel like a boy again— not a man grown but a young teenager making some excuse about not being interested in dances just so he wouldn’t have to deal with that pang of rejection when you inevitably invited Talbott, Penny, or, Merlin forbid, Bill.
It wasn’t until later that night, when you were back at your tents that Charlie fully processed the situation he found himself in. Yes, you were both here as part of a larger Gringotts team, but the rest of the team was staying much closer to town, in a camp set up for easy community between the markets and the excavation site. But you and Bill, as the leads and as the primary magical line of defense, were staying in tents right beside the ruins. It was just the two of you, alone, with only the stars and each other for company, for weeks on end.
And now Charlie would be sleeping here beside you both.
The bonfire was burning high as Bill recounted a story from your last expedition. Charlie smiled along as he should but it didn’t meet his eyes.
“Then Y/N here had the brilliant idea of just pushing on the stones,” Bill laughed.
“Hey, you thought it was brilliant, too, at the time, until that doorway started to collapse.” You cast more fire upon the embers in front of you before standing to grab more food. But before you could pass, Bill grabbed you around the waist, pulling you into his lap and causing you to fall into a fit of giggles.
“Bill!”
You fell back into his arms, kicking and squirming, but less from the hold he held on you and more from the way his face nuzzled into you neck.
Charlie watches on at the intimate display, hating how his brain computed how this scenario might play out if he hadn’t been sitting right here. Bill would grab you close, nuzzle into your neck until those giggles turned to sighs. His brother was so good at totting that line between playful and sexy. He always drew potential partners to him that way, with a cool exterior that could turn fiery on a dime. And once that first sigh left your lips, Bill would carry you back to his tent and well— he couldn’t let his mind continue. It hurt far too much.
When he opened his eyes again, you were swatting Bill away with your hand as he reached once more for your waist. You were standing now and gave Bill a look of warning, one finger raised, that Charlie would recognize anywhere.
“You try anything again, William, and I’ll—“
“And you’ll what, my love? You’ve got nothing and you know it. You’re stuck out here with me, good or bad.”
You shake your head. “You’re lucky I like you.”
You turned to Charlie and offered him a genuine smile. He did his best to return it.
You spoke to Bill as you walked to the blanket upon which Charlie was sitting. Your eyes stayed on him, even as you spoke to his brother. “Charlie here came all this way just to spend time with you, and you’re boring him to death with flippant ramblings. Don’t be rude.”
And then you sat down beside Charlie, your legs touching as you somehow managed to take up as little space in the giant blanket as possible. Your eyes turned to the fire as you spoke only to him. “Apologies for Bill. He gets a little over-stimulated when we uncover a big find. He’s been so excited for you to get here. Hasn’t shut up about it all week.”
You kicked a bit of the sand and Charlie watched the small cloud it made move over the fire.
“Don’t worry. Bill has a few days off. We’ll get more time together this week.”
You reached over and squeezed Charlie’s hand. It felt nice so he didn’t let you. And you didn’t pull away either.
“Well, I was hoping I might be able to steal at least one of the days you are here… if you want to spend it with me,” you said, again your eyes never leaving the fire.
Charlie looked at your joined hands, and then caught his brothers eyes across the bonfire, and immediately dropped yours from his grip.
“We’ll see… I think Bill has a busy schedule for us.”
You sighed and the sound alone gripped Charlie in the chest.
“Sure, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Charlie, take a walk with me,” Bill’s voice called over the fire. It was stern, the kind of voice Bill used with Fred and George, never with him.
“Didn’t we walk through the desert enough today?”
Bill was beside him in a flash and pulling him by the arm. You looked up at both men with a quiver of your lip.
Once Charlie was standing, Bill leaned down and spoke, “Mind setting up the tents, my love? Charlie can have his own or he can stay with me, whichever is easier.”
“I’ll make sure Charlie is comfortable, don’t worry.”
“Good,” Bill said before kissing your forehead. Then he turned and was heading into the dark, assuming Charlie would follow him.
The brothers sat together on the stone edge of what once must have been a beautiful statue, but was now only rubble. In the distance, the bonfire was a dot of bright and your form could be seen moving about fabric and linens moving through the air with a wave of your broom.
Bill crossed his ankles and looked up at the stars.
“This is not the Charlie I thought was coming to Egypt.”
“What does that mean?”
“Where’s my cheerful, excited, nerdy brother who loves being outdoors almost as much as he loves spending time with me?”
Charlie sighed, “It’s hard to be cheerful when—“ Charlie cut himself off. There was no point in saying it.
“Charlie, talk to me.”
“…when I have to watch you and Y/N together.”
There was silence. A long silence.
“You love Y/N,” Bill finally said, more statement than question. Charlie didn’t respond.
After a moment, Charlie finally said, “I know I have no right for it to upset me. You can date whomever—“
“Whoa,” Bill blurted, turning to his younger sibling. The taller of the two, Bill really towered over Charlie now, his chest puffed out. “You think— oh, shit, Charlie— no.”
Bill shook his head, his long hair falling in front of his eyes as he let out a laugh.
“Y/N is my best friend. You know that. I trust no one more in this world, other than you and mum. And I spend every day with them. They’re family.”
Charlie still didn’t say anything. Instead, he watched your form in the distance, patiently setting up his tent.
“We tried dating once, you know?”
“Really?” Charlie turned to his brother now, focused but cautious.
“Yeah, like a year ago. We went on, I don’t know, three dates, maybe four, but I tried for a kiss one night and our noses bumped. We both thought it was hilarious. We just kept laughing. And soon we both realized we cared far more about laughing than kissing. And we just dropped the whole thing. I won’t pretend I wasn’t a little disappointed. Y/N was right, though; we make much better friends. But Charlie—“ Bill cuts himself off with a laugh, “Well, I guess you know just as well as I do that there’s probably not a more attractive person, in appearance yes, but in heart and soul, that either of us have ever laid eyes on.”
Charlie slowly began to speak, “I was hoping coming here I might find the courage to… I don’t know, say something for once. But then you shared that hug when we arrived and… I just lost all confidence. I can’t compete with you, Bill. I’ll never win,” Charlie’s last words were strained, more groan than language.
“I’m not competition here, Charlie. I’ll be honest with you and say I don’t think I ever have been. If you had been the Weasley attempting that kiss, I don’t think a little nose bump would have deterred Y/N.”
Charlie’s eyes scanned his brother’s face for any sign of deception. But this was Bill. There wasn’t a more honest man alive, and not a bone in his body would ever dare be so cruel.
“You know, Y/N hasn’t shut up about you coming. Apparently there is some ancient dragon breeding ground not far from here. They made me promise not to take you there because they wanted to witness your face when you saw it for the first time. Y/N has been a complete mess of nervous energy. I believe the exact words were, ‘I’ve missed him so much, Bill, so much it hurts.’”
“Y/N really said that?”
“Yeah, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but after seeing the complete sadness that crossed Y/N’s face when you let go of their hand… I guess it finally made sense.”
Bill gave Charlie’s back a good hit, pushing him off the stone.
“Think you’ve found your courage now?”
“I’ll try.”
The brothers walked back to the campsite just as you were sliding into your tent.
“Charlie, the one on the left is yours. I tried to make sure it was warm enough for you, but if you need any more blankets, let me know. Bill… goodnight.”
Just as the curtain to your tent was about to close, Charlie called out, “Wait, Y/N…”
You turned and offered Charlie a sad smile.
“Would you stay up a little longer with me?”
You looked at Charlie and then at Bill. Whatever was on Bill’s face must have encouraged you because you stepped out of the tent.
Bill nodded in parting before heading into his own tent for the night.
The fire was just embers now as Charlie took one of the blankets to make a seat for you both.
You sat down, this time much further away from Charlie than you had been before.
“What’s up, Charlie?”
Recalling the confidence Bill had instilled in him, he reached over and took your hand in his. He squeezed, and surprisingly you squeezed back.
“I’ve missed you,” Charlie breathed. “I know you told me that earlier, but I didn’t get to say it back. So this is me letting you know that I’ve missed you, too. So much it hurt.”
Your eyes shot over to his. He held your gaze, needing you to see the honesty there.
“Oh, Charlie,” you sighed. And before Charlie could process it, you were falling into his arms. That same warm breath found his neck, but it wasn’t laced with any of the fear or shame it brought with it this morning. No, this embrace was pure bliss.
He kisses your head, holding his lips there for a long moment, before finally pulling away.
“Hey, can I try something?” Charlie asked.
You looked into his eyes and nodded.
His hand slid to the base of your neck as he leaned forward to kiss you. You didn’t pull away. No, you leaned forward into his touch. But just as your mouths were about to meet, he turned his head and let his nose bump yours.
You pulled back a little shocked, and a small laugh left your lips.
“How about we try that again?” you whispered before guiding his face back to yours. Charlie didn’t stop it this time. He couldn’t if he wanted to.
My favorite thing is that now that I'm actually posting fics again, I'm losing followers.
I'm thinking people didn't realize this was a multi-fandom blog and now that they are seeing ASOIAF fics instead of HP, Kingsman, etc. they are leaving.
THIS IS STILL A MULTI-FANDOM BLOG.
Fics are incoming for many favorite characters. Charlie Weasley and Harry Hart have not been abandoned ❤️
A/N: Part 2 is finally here. Again, this is a thing that has been half-written in my drafts for so long, and rereading it reminded me just how much I love this story concept. It’s a bit OOC, but only because our sense of Ned as a character is colored by experiences that will not happen in this AU. He’s still honorable, kind, sharp as steel, but he’s also a boy, and a boy in love at that. I hope you enjoy this!
The first feast night at the Eyrie is quite a combination of emotionally draining and incredibly uplifting. The knowledge that you are about to be served up as a broodmare to a man who, despite being pleasant and respectful, is old enough to be your grandfather and desperate to produce living offspring, rattles in your brain, tainting even the most positive aspects of your visit. And the most positive, without a doubt, is the company of your brother’s best friend, Ned Stark.
In your room that night, you recall the feel of his hand low on your back, how warm his fingers were when they curled into your skirts bunching attractively at your waist, and how sweet his words had been. Ned Stark treated you like an equal, like a woman with thoughts and feelings worth knowing. And in a world like the one you live in — cruel, cold, and unforgiving — having someone like Ned whose soft grey eyes look on you with kindness and curiosity feels like a dream.
In your maiden tower, stripped down into your shift and enjoying the pale moonlight that pours through your window, you try to imagine a version of your life in which you aren’t a high born daughter of one of the most powerful lords in the seven kingdoms, but instead a serving girl or a baker’s daughter, free to love with your soul and your body, to choose and be chosen in turn.
But then you think of the way your brother treats low-born women, his hands constantly grabbing at parts of their flesh that aren’t his to own, and you reconsider.
Ned isn’t like that, you think, though you realize you have no real basis to know if that is true. It’s just a gut feeling, something in the way he talks, in the way he moves, and in the way his eyes shine with encouragement instead of lust. It had been a long time since any man had looked at you with anything but lust.
The following day, as your handmaidens braid your hair, a loud knock at your door startles you.
“Come in!” you call, trying not to turn your neck.
Before you even finish the words, Robert enters and throws himself down in the settee beside your fireplace.
“Welcome to my home, dear sister.”
He plucks grapes from the tray brought to you so you might break fast, though you hadn’t had the stomach to touch anything, not when the women swept into your room and had you corseted before the sun rose.
“Isn’t it strange a boy of the Stormlands finding home in such mountains as these?”
“What am I but a storm all on my own? Lands or no, I carry the storm with me.”
Only then do you turn your head to take in your brother. He is clad in his training clothes — loose-fitting garments with more dirt and sweat than seems feasible for something freshly laundered — and his boats are strapped high up his shins. Across his lap sits a wooden training hammer with metal rings lining the handle, adding more weight than Robert might ever need to wield.
“You look like a storm. More debris and wreckage than person.”
Robert spits out a laugh and pulls at the collar of his shirt, ripping it a little at the seam and giving his broad shoulders just a little more room.
“Care to come see my wreckage? I’m heading to the training yard this morning with Lord Arryn.”
At the mention of your host, bile rises in your throat, and you try to swallow it down. It does not go unnoticed.
“Hey,” Robert says, moving into your space with no regard to the young woman still twirling your hair just so, “Nothing is set in stone, but he’s a good man. Better than most, I promise. And if the rumors are to be believed, he was quite the handsome youth. Would give you beautiful babies.”
You laugh, at first a little and then a lot, at your brother.
“You really think my chief concern is how attractive my children will be? Are you forgetting the act that it takes to make the children? How’d you feel if father expected you to bed a woman old enough to have nursed you?”
“Aye, that’s the difference between you and me, dear sister. Close your eyes and you could be rutting into anyone. A bar wench can be the most beautiful Lyseni whore if you have enough imagination.”
“Gross.”
“Only gross if you want it to be, Jewel.”
Your handmaiden finishes securing the final braid of your hair, leaving you and your brother alone.
“Come watch me, please?” Robert smirks at you, clearly something else on his mind, but you don’t indulge him.
“I’ll think about it.”
Robert huffs but he kisses your head anyway. He rubs your shoulders and heads out the door, his heavy swayed steps echoing through the stone castle.
After a moment of thinking, and with a bit of bread in your belly, you wander out in the same direction your brother went, past the beautiful marble pillars and tapestries that line this mountain fortress.
Outside in the courtyard, you find the gardens overlooking the terraces of training yards and stables that lead down the cliffside. You find a seat beside the mountain lilies and watch your brother take up hammer against your father, each clashing together with the strength and virility they bring to everything. Your father’s laugh as your brother knocks him on his back makes you laugh, too.
“And what has you so happy, dear lady?” calls a voice behind you. Lord Arryn is dressed in fine leather armor with his hair pushed back from his face. He’s surprisingly muscular for his age. You see how Robert has grown so strong with him as tutor.
“My family seems happy,” you tell him as he takes a seat beside you.
“Your family is a source of great happiness for many. This place is brighter for having you all here.”
Lord Arryn runs his hand through his hair. He looks out on the forest and area beyond. You try to follow his eye line, but your attention is caught by the clanking of swords below and the sway of long dark hair as a knight pushes forth with great force.
Ned Stark — though perhaps its best to think of him as Lord Eddard — looking all the knight you imagined he might be, surges forward in a clash of swords, sweat coating his brow. His shirt is rolled up at the sleeves and his arm muscles ripple in exertion. The sight of it alone makes you sweat, eager and hot like you rarely felt before.
“I’ve always wanted a family of my own,” Lord Arryn says, drawing your attention again, “But the gods have not graced me with such a blessing yet. Your father gave me a gift by asking me to take your brother as ward. He’s been like a son to me, but it will never be the same as my own flesh and blood.”
Your body curls at his words, a little bit of fire lighting in you at the thought of just where his conversation is going.
“And does that make me a daughter to you, Lord Arryn?”
He turns to you with a bit of a scowl, his blond-grey locks falling in front of his eyes. He doesn’t answer you and you feel a bit of victory at that.
Below, your brother laughs as Ned spins behind him, blocking a fearsome swing. Ned bulks under the weight of his shield and pushes up against Robert’s weighted ax, straining to defend himself. Your brother leans forward and whispers something to Ned and his eyes shoot up the hillside towards you. You smile and offer him a tiny wave of your fingers and before he can even respond, Robert knocks him full force into the dirt.
As Ned spits and rubs the dust off his body, his cheeks a deep crimson, flush covers your body. Maybe Ned is that kind of boy that can succumb to your womanly wiles. And in that moment you feel powerful— so powerful and beautiful and capable that Lord Arryn grabbing your hand doesn’t even faze you.
The next day, you enjoy quiet time in the gardens. Your father has taken your brother on a hunting trip, a Baratheon family tradition— one that oddly doesn’t seem to include you.
You stroll around the manicured pathway when a snapped twig pulls your attention.
“I’m sorry.”
You turn to see the handsome chin and warm, sweet eyes of Lord Eddard. You stare at each other for a long moment before he bows his head.
“May I walk with you, Lady Y/N?”
His smile is sincere. A warmth spreads through your chest.
You reach out your hand and Ned offers you the crook of his arm. You slip effortlessly against his muscular forearm. Your shoulders brush as you roam deeper into the curated gardens.
“You had quite the form yesterday,” you tell him.
Ned chuckles and then adds under his breath, “Doubt falling on my rear is good form.”
“No, no—“ you squeeze Ned’s arm as you round the azaleas, “I don’t mean to joke. You truly were a sight to behold before my brother frazzled you."
And now Ned is the one squeezing your hand, the two of you locked together in some enjoyable union of spirits.
“Well, if we’re attempting honesty here, then let me assure you that your brother was not the Baratheon that has me frazzled.”
It’s hard not to let his words ease your soul. You walk together in silence as you let the smile spread across your lips.
“So, my lady, why do you find yourself alone today?”
You explain to Ned the strange sexism of your family and the bonding they have over the hunt and the fight. And the sadness in your voice — not just at the exclusivity but at the fact that your family was slipping away from you — just comes pouring out.
“Well, I could teach you how to fight, if you’d be interested in it.”
You find yourself at the end of the gardens, now in a stone courtyard, though given the steep cliffs around you, any gardens feel like a blessing. But just outside the gates, in your vision, sits a few trees, shady and inviting, just out of eye line of the castle’s walkways.
Ned holds your hand against his elbow as you look out on the small sanctuary the trees create.
“Yes,” you say with a smile. “I’d really like that.”
Ned meets you at the same time in that same clearing the following morning. You expect him to come with practice swords and loose clothes but he doesn’t. Instead he comes in some of his most courtly attire, carrying nothing but a picnic basket. You feel quite out of place in your riding skirts and loose braids.
“Are we not—“
Ned cuts you off with a wave of his hands.
“We’re still training, don’t worry, my lady”
He sets down the basket and opens it, revealing not just the typical lunchtime foods but a shiny set of daggers with tiny gems encrusting the golden handles.
“But the kind of fighting you see in the training yard isn’t the kind of fighting that will ever be asked of you. Your fight, my dove,” Ned pauses for a moment to pick up the longer of the two daggers with a shining gold handle and places it in your hand, “Your fight won’t be the kind with knightly courtesy.”
The tiny knife is heavy in your palm. You take in its beauty with patient eyes, never having seen anything so delicate and yet so deadly. You slide your finger across the edge of the blade, marveling at how the sun shines off the slick edge.
“My lord, where did you get these?”
Ned’s fumbling through the basket, but at your question, he turns to you with a nervous smile.
“My sister, Lyanna, enjoys playing with the boys, herself. She’s quite the talented equestrian and can use a bow better than Winterfell’s master-in-arms. She could hit a target with her eyes closed if father would ever let her try.”
Ned stands, his forearms now covered in guards, and walks towards you, taking the second dagger out of its sheath.
“I had these made for her next namesday, though the more I think about it, the more uncertain I am that I could ever get them to her,” Ned says, following his long sentence with a deep sigh. “It’s not just that I suspect my mother and father might confiscate them, but I just doubt I’ll be headed north anytime soon. And sending home something like this… can’t exactly attach these to a raven.”
Ned takes a step toward you, his eyes on the daggers, one in each of your palms. His body is close, your breath mingling in the small space between you.
“Those grey gemstones are quite dark, almost black. And with the gold accents, well—“ he looks down into your eyes, his thick lashes making his grey eyes almost the same color as the stones, “well, these feel much more befitting a Baratheon lady.”
You offer him a smile. You take his unoccupied wrist between your fingers. His pulse presses swiftly against your fingers.
“And the direwolves engraved in the blades?”
“A reminder of the man who gifted them to you, my dove.”
It’s a long moment where your sole focus is on where your fingers touch. Ned rotates his hand, interlinking your fingers. Your breath catches as he squeezes, the pressure sending a tingle up your arm. Time feels to slow as you learn every callous covering those strong fingers.
It’s only the sound of the sheath falling out of Ned’s other hand and hitting the ground that breaks you from your daze. Ned jumps away from you as though you are made of fire.
He coughs hard before picking up the discarded artifact. You take the moment he is looking away to take your own deep breaths, needing to regain yourself from the intensity of your closeness.
I’m the Jewel of the Stormlands, you think, the words said in your head more in anger than encouragement, like a reminder that men are supposed to stumble over you, become putty in your hands, not the other way around. Lord Eddard making you forget how to speak is a new feeling entirely. No, you are an enchantress. The same power that Robert has over women is the same spell you cast over lords all over the Stormlands and throughout King’s Landing. And that power is yours to yield as you see fit. But Ned, this second son, green behind the ears when it comes to wooing women — and pretty much everything else for that matter — is doing things to you that the most roguish and charming Dornish princes could not. He is making you soft.
But storms are not soft. Storms are furious, fierce, powerful. Storms do not yield to a kind smile and sweet touch. They never yield.
With Ned’s back turned, you hold the dagger in your hand, hike up your skirt, and take an offensive stance.
“You know, its bad form to turn your back on the enemy, my lord.”
You swing your arm, and, with speed you didn’t know he had, Ned turns and catches your wrist with his hand. And with strength you didn’t know he had either, he pulls you by the wrist until the blade falls from your fingers are you are hard against him. Your free hand comes to rest on his chest as his other arm snakes around your back, holding you close. Again, he interlocks your fingers.
Breathing hard, you look up into his eyes. There’s a passion there that wasn’t there before. And this is the dichotomy of Ned Stark. The man you saw on the dance floor two nights before, the one who flirted with you with confidence, is somehow the same man who turned beet red at a few words in his ear from your brother. And suddenly, it all makes sense. Ned is a reserved man, a man of honor and measure. But he’s a man of passion and emotion, too. He is not shy or quiet the way your brother always seemed to imply in your letters. No, Ned is precise. He shows what needs to be shown, when it is appropriate to do so.
And right now, he needs to show you just how much he desires you.
“My dove,” he purrs into your ear, “I believe you saw my bad form on the training ground yesterday. What you just saw was perfect form.”
You laugh, “Perfect form to be taken by surprise.”
He tugs you even closer, his lips brushing against your cheek.
“But having you take me, by surprise or otherwise, is as perfect a situation as I can imagine,” Ned says, the heat of his breath heating your cheeks beyond their already flaming temperature.
And when Ned’s eyes find yours, the question they ask is so clear in how they penetrate you. All you can do is move forward, seeking his lips with the kind of wantonness you scoffed at in others. It is the kind of wantonness you saw in your suitors, but never had you felt that tug yourself.
And when your lips meet, Ned’s move with a hesitance that makes your knees weak. The confidence combined with this tenderness— it is a deadly combination, one that would leave your heart completely broken if you let it. Ned moves with a certainty of his own desires, but with a reservation about yours. Certain he should ask, but unsure the answer. And your lips give the answer— yes to anything, yes to everything, yes as long as he keeps touching you with those soft hands, those sweet words, and those welcomed lips.
“Lady Y/N!” Lord Arryn’s voice calls from the castle gates.
Quickly you pull away from Ned, though a quick look around makes it clear that Lord Arryn has not seen you yet, but is merely searching.
Ned seems to jump out of his own skin before catching his footing. With a deep breath and a straightening of his own doublet, Ned slips the daggers back into the picket basket and takes your arm.
“Just follow my lead.”
You take the crook of his arm and let him walk you toward the castle.
“My lord, I believe I have the beauty whom you seek right here,” Ned says to his ward, though the reference to Lord Arryn’s interest in you makes you squeeze tighter to Ned’s side. He brushes his fingers against yours in understanding. “I was just showing her some of the trees that manage to grow this high up the mountain.”
Lord Arryn seems to take in the picnic basket, his eyes traveling between it and your hand in the crook of Ned’s arm. He gives a pained smile.
“I had been hoping I might join you for a midday meal, but that seems to be covered. Then let me take this opportunity to formally ask you to join me for our feast tonight.”
“Of course, Lord Arryn. That sounds lovely.”
Lord Arryn gives a stiff nod. “I’ll come by your room to escort you around sundown.”
He turns on his heels, his body forming a hard straight line. As if remembering himself, he turns back to you and Ned.
“My lord, my lady,” he huffs before heading inside the castle. Ned walks you back to your room without a word, maintaining the same practices reservation that clearly made Ned a mystery to so many… except you.
That night, just as your maid left your room after helping with your hair before supper, there is a strong knock at the door. With a sigh, you open the door. But Lord Arryn is not there.
Instead, on the floor sits the same picnic basket from the afternoon. Pulling it inside, you close the door, knowing what must be within the wicker.
When you have the daggers in your hand again, you let out a hum of satisfaction at their beauty. But below the daggers is a note, in a beautiful script so different from your brother’s chicken scratch.
Tomorrow after you break your fast, meet me at the stables, my dove.
There is no signature. There doesn’t need to be.
And with a rub of your fingers over the fine script, you read the words again before tossing the note into the fire.
Hey, I back read your asks and I just wanna say CONGRATS ALSO ON THE NEW BABY!!! Hope your doing alright over there! Sending love, (gentle) hugs and kisses to both you, your son and the unborn baby!
Thank you!
That baby is over a year now and she's pure joy, just a complete pleasure. She's so silly, really clever, and full of affection. She and my son love each other too. They are always playing together, hugging each other, and taking care of each other. It's beautiful.
Don't get me wrong. Parenting, especially in a pandemic, is so hard and isolating (I have very bad PPD this go around, yay meds). But seeing the joy amidst the chaos is a learned skill, one I'm getting better at daily.
