Solar ▪︎ 24 ▪︎ she/her ▪︎ aromantic ▪︎ asexual ▪︎ gemini sun ▪︎ aquarius moon ▪︎ cancer rising ▪︎ pretends to be fluent in English ▪︎ doesn't know how to talk to people
a few people have asked about Something Special recently, and I just want you all to know that part 6 is coming. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, but it is definitely coming.
I just finished Golden Crown of Sorrow and I have so many feels rn 😭😅😍😱 I really hope you continue it!
I'm so happy to hear that you liked it! I'm always a bit nervous about one shots that are essentially pieced together by a bunch of little scenes, so I'm really glad that you enjoyed it 💕 I've been thinking about continuing it and writing a second or maybe even a third part (which is why I've been avoiding this ask for two weeks straight now since I couldn't really answer it and I also just found out that I can't continue with university this year because of some weird bureaucracy bullshit issue and I've been loosing my mind over it). I think after I posted my current wip I'm gonna attempt to write a second part and see how it goes and if it goes well the next post after could be a part 2 for golden Crown of Sorrow 😊
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!Princess!Reader
Summary: After sending dozens of letters begging your father to help you flee from your betrothed and his family, someone finally comes to save you
Warnings: domestic abuse, neglectful/abusive parents, sexism/violence against women, mentions of suicide, murder, mentions of child murder, mentions of getting attacked by an animal (if you get bitten by something, even a human, get checked by a medical professional), Fjerda slander, mention of pregnancy
Word Count: 4k words
Authors Note: This was originally part of A little loss of Innocence but it works way better as it's own one shot. Also, please pay attention to the warnings. English is not my native language and I didn't edit this
"Did my father send you?" You ask as you settle in the carriage, voice timid and quiet in a way that is so unlike the version of you that he knows that it throws him off for a second.
You haven't spoken at all during the ride here, contempt in burying your fingers in the mane of his horse or sleeping as he led it away from the house of the family you were promised to, and starring at the forest or the small fires he lit to cook food during the breaks.
His gaze wanders over you, taking in the way your shoulders are pulled together to make you appear smaller, the small, almost invisible cut on your left cheek, the way you keep wincing when the carriage shakes a bit, and how your eyes keep jumping around, gaze always flickering between the window and the position of his hands.
He can't lie to you, he realises. You're suspicious and filled to the brim with fear and paranoia. Whatever happened in Fjerda has shaken you to the core and thrown you right into survival mode. If he lies to you and you find out, you will never trust him with anything ever again.
Because even if you recover from this, you will always remember the fact that he lied to you when you were in your most vulnerable state. And Aleksander needs the trust of the royal family, as much as he might despise that fact.
"No"
You bite your lip harshly, teeth digging into the chapped, dry flesh before you nod, eyes finding his. The suspicion in them is stronger now, accompanied by a bit of confusion.
"Then why did you come? What's in it for you?"
Aleksander frowns. "Excuse me, your highness?"
"Why are you saving me? Why did you decide to come here instead of letting me die in Djerholm? My own family was ready to watch me perish there after all."
There is no anger in your voice, no sadness, nothing. Just this monotone, quiet, submissive voice that doesn't fit someone born into the status of royalty.
But your gaze is scrutinizing, clarifying that every question you ask is a test designed to make him trip in hopes of revealing his true motivations. You're expecting him to lie to you. In the back of your mind you're probably already planning how to weasel the truth out of him, so all he can really do to take control over the situation and reassure you into trusting him is to reveal the truth and in turn his playing cards for this specific game.
You want him to lie, and he has never enjoyed doing what the royal family wants.
"Glory"
Your surprise is like a shooting star: Visible for a singular heartbeat, then gone forever.
"Glory?" Your eyes look back down to your knees, your hands playing with the fabric of the skirt of your dress while the volume of your voice drops into a whisper. "You won't achieve glory like this. You will most likely be punished for saving me, and I'll be sent back."
Your behaviour is starting to bother him. It was a welcome change when he first got you out and traveled through Fjerda with you on the saddle in front of him, but now all he wants to do is shake you until the words start falling out of your mouth.
He thought you were just quiet because you were scared of being caught, but evidently, nothing has changed for you after he led you across the border to Ravka.
Maybe it would've been better to lie? To tell you that he was some kind of chivalrous knight in shining armour who had come to Fjerda out of the goodness of his own heart to save his struggling princess?
"I doubt that you'll be send back, your highness," he responds carefully. He never thought about the fact that your family might be upset about him saving you. They did give you away after all, and he simply acted on the assumption that they love you and want you to be safe, like all parents should. He should know by now that many parents don't love their children.
"I hope you're right," you mumble, averting your gaze to look at the scenery of Ravka rushing past the window, "For the sake of both of us."
You sink back into silence after that, and the letter still stuck in a pocket of his kefta is suddenly heavy as a bag of bricks. It's a short one, written on a scrap of paper that you must've somehow smuggled out of the house of your betrothed. It had ended up in his mail one day, either through an accident or through a servant who couldn't continue to watch the king ignore your cries for help.
Please father. I don't know how much longer I can survive this. I dream of taking a knife to my throat every day. I'm not strong enough for this.
The next time you speak, you're less than ten minutes away from the town where he planned to take a break, your quiet voice piercing through the air like an arrow.
"Do you have to bring me to my father?"
Aleksander looks up from the documents he had been reading, a deep frown on his face. "Where else would I bring you, your highness?"
You mirror his facial expression. "You could hide me at the Little Palace."
"No, I can't. What if someone catches you?"
"Nobody would catch me, I promise. I would be so quiet, I would never leave my rooms I would-"
"No. End of the discussion, or I'll tell the coachman to turn around and bring you back to your betrothed."
His voice is sharp and cold, the stress from the last few days finally boiling over, and you flinch back from him so harshly that your head hits the wood behind you. Fear burns like a small fire in your gaze, your frame curling in on itself even further.
You don't talk at all for two days straight after that. The only time he hears your voice is when you scream and cry at night, probably due to nightmares.
Looking back, he probably overreacted a bit.
The next time you talk, it's only because he asks you a question.
You're both sitting in a tavern, quietly eating together, and while your gaze keeps jumping from the three other people around you to the door and the windows, his is glued to you.
He has collected a thousand questions on his tongue in the last few days, and his mind works overtime trying to discern the differences between you now and you before all of this. Before the betrothal, before your travels to Fjerda.
"What exactly happened to you in Fjerda?"
Your attention shifts to him, brows furrowed.
"The same thing that always happens when a woman of Ravka gets betrothed to a man of Fjerda."
In the back of his mind, he remembers the death of Princess Fruzsina. How her brother, crown prince Konstantin, didn't let anyone see her or her newborn daughters corpse when they were transported back to Ravka, not even her own parents.
"Nobody needs to see this. It's better to remember her the way she was when she was still here."
He feels acid rising in his throat.
You talk again a few hours later, attention flickering from the window of the carriage to him and back a few times before you finally manage to find your voice again.
"Why did no one ever betroth you to someone?" You ask carefully.
Aleksander looks up from the book he has been reading, a small spark of annoyance visible in his eyes at the interruption.
He regrets it as soon as he sees you flinch again, his mind immediately travelling back to that young woman completely wrapped in shroud, her small babe right next to her. Just bundles of linen, not a milimetre of skin visible.
"Excuse me, your highness?"
"Why did no one ever betroth you to someone?" You repeat, "Or one of your ancestors at least. Wouldn't that make sense? Tie you and the Darkling line to the royal family through marriage and kids, force allegiance that way?"
Closing the book slowly, he lets your words roll over in his head.
"The Darklings have been loyal to the Royal Family since the Black Heretic died."
"Yes, but wouldn't it be better to tie the families together forever? It would also help to smooth over past animosities, I think. Suddenly, the king isn't just a stranger. He's the current Darklings father in law or uncle. And the Darkling is no longer a random stranger to the Princes and Princesses either. He's their cousin."
The idea is simple and logical, he has to give you that, but he has also spent the last two centuries making sure he wouldn't be betrothed to anyone. It kind of ruins his whole "faking his death and pretending to be his own son" ruse, after all. But he can't explain that to you, can he?
"No ravkan king would ever betroth their child to a Grisha, your Highness. Not when all over the country highborn children are still drowned in lakes and bathtubs as soon as they show their abilities." The words come out harsher than originally planned, but he doesn't correct himself. "Why are you thinking about this? You've never shown interest in Grisha, me, or the politics surrounding us."
He has to wait almost thirty minutes for an answer to that question. He's gone back to reading, carefully annotating his thoughts and questions, when your voice rings through the carriage once more, almost getting swallowed by the noise of the horses outside.
"At night, when I couldn't sleep, I often asked myself if I had other options. If I could've gotten betrothed to someone else. One of the only men I could think of that were still eligible is... you. And as soon as I realised that, I also noticed that the Darklings have never married someone highborn."
There's something else, he can tell by the way you speak, slow and careful like you're holding something back, but before he can even think to push you the carriage shakes and your face contorts into a pained grimace.
He doesn't have to see the skin hidden by your clothes to know that you're probably covered in bruises and cuts, maybe even some animal bite marks.
You should rest, and he can still interrogate you later, so he slowly nods and returns to his book, his eyes gliding over the paper without absorbing a single word. His mind stays with you.
You start having an easier time moving and walking a week after escaping your betrothed and his family, but you're still visibly keyed up and stressed. Everything scares you, everything wakes your suspicion, everything worries you.
He hears you mutter under your breath sometimes, especially during the late hours of the night and the hours before sunrise, convinced that he must be asleep. He can never quite understand what you're saying, only catching a few words at a time when it happens. You whisper about wolves following your scent, of someone sending you back into the north, of shoving a knife into your neck, deep enough that not even a well trained healer would be able to save you in time.
Your lack of sleep worries him as well. The only times he has seen you truly sleep well were at the beginning of your travels. You almost slept for two days straight, sitting in front of him on his horse, his arms keeping you stable in the saddle, only waking up after he made camp for the night and forced you to drink and eat. Now, the only sleep you get is through small involuntary naps in the carriage, when the exhaustion claims you like it did in those first two days.
The nightmares that wake you as soon as you fall asleep don't help either.
You're petting and brushing the horses while the other Grisha accompanying you fill the water bottles at a nearby river, your only guard being the General himself sitting a few metres away, eyes on the forest surrounding you.
"I was surprised how much I missed you," you say after a while, your attention still fully on the beautiful horses in front of you, carefully brushing the dust and dirt out of their fur in hopes of making them a bit more comfortable, "I missed my brothers, of course, and my friends and servants as well. I missed the gardens of the Grand Palace, the beauty of Os Alta, my own bed. I missed being home and not being scared for my life. But I also missed you a lot more than I thought I would."
You don't look at him, your voice light as if you were talking about the weather.
"I kept thinking about how much time I spend bothering you, how much my own parents brainwashed me into disliking you, and how much you must've suffered because of that. I was a brat before I was sent north, I know that now, and I want to apologize for my behaviour. I can't thank you enough for coming to save me despite everything."
Aleksander is speechless for longer than he would like to admit, starring at you with visible shock on his face. It takes him a while to shake it off, to find the right words to respond to you.
"You were a child for most of it, Your Highness. It would be stupid of me to hold a grudge because of that."
He has held grudges because of less, but you don't need to know that. You're the first member of the Royal Family to actually apologize to him. Sure, you're probably only doing it because he saved you from your betrothed, but he can tell that you genuinely feel bad.
"It wouldn't be. I was a terror as a child and grew up to be a brat."
The Darkling frowns weakly, watching you carefully as you move onto the second horse to brush it.
"I was a brat, and stupid too. I heard the story of Princess Fruzsina a thousand times. I even dug through the archive to read the reports from the Healers. I know everything they did to her. I'm probably the only person alive that actually still knows, since no one ever bothers to read through those documents... and I went north anyway. I betrayed her memory. She begged in her last letter before she was murdered that they could never send another ravkan girl north, and I went anyway."
He shakes his head, responding to your words before he even realises that he opened his mouth. "You did what your parents wanted from you. They were the ones suggesting the betrothal, and they encouraged you to go through with it. If anyone betrayed Fruzsinas' memory, it's them, just like they betrayed you when they suggested the betrothal without educating you on the sensitive political climate in Fjerda and their exact traditions and rules."
"I'm a woman grown, General, and I did research on Fruzsinas murder on my own. I should've done the same with the treatment of women in Fjerda instead of blindly believing my mother when she assured me that the men in the north don't hit their wives anymore. That they wouldn't dare to hurt a girl from a royal family. I'm a stupid little girl, nothing more."
"You believed that your parents would keep you safe instead of selling your life away for a political alliance. You assumed that your family would do what they're supposed to do. That's not a sin, your highness."
"Oh, but it is!" You bite back, eyes finally meeting his. There's anger and hate flickering in your irises, but he knows it's not directed towards him. It's directed towards yourself. A weapon pointed at your own heart and soul instead of his head. "I'm old enough to think for myself, to make my own decisions. People expect it of me, but instead of using my head I follow my mother and father around and copy them in everything, playing the obedient little princess instead of developing a personality and beliefs of my own. It took a man beating me half to death in front of his men to change that, to free me of the shackles I put onto my own wrists and ankles."
Your voice is sharper than a knife, colder than the permafrost up north, and your breathing is getting harsher. Gone is the sumbissive, quiet thing he pulled out of that house in the middle of the night. "I did everything to apease my parents, to be the perfect princess in their eyes, in everyones eyes. I loved what they loved, hated what they hated, and did what they did. And for what? To be sold off like an animal to a slaughterhouse?"
A scoff escapes your lips, an unladylike sound that you would've never let yourself make before. He guesses you stopped caring. There are many unladylike noises that you've probably made while laying in your own blood, cowering from the man who was supposed to protect and cherish you.
"That's what I meant when I said that they will send me back. I had the help of two of the servant girls. They smuggled letters out for me and sent them off to my parents, but no answer ever came. The only reason why I got out is because you somehow knew that something was wrong and wrongfully assumed it was an opportunity for you to gain glory."
He doesn't mention that he knew of your predicament because one of your letters ended up with him on accident, nor does he disrupt you for any other reasons. This is the most you've spoken since he dragged you out of that forsaken house in Djelholm and smuggled you out of the city. It would be insane to cut you off now and risk never hearing of your thoughts and opinions ever again.
"It's ridiculous. Even if a miracle happens and I don't get sent back immediately, they will simply betroth me to someone else from Fjerda, like that's somehow going to fix the years of tension between our countries. I will never be safe again. I will never be allowed to stay here. I will never be free the way I was before all this. I didn't even realise how privileged I was."
There is a way to save you from that fate. Several, actually, but one of them would play right into his hands if he simply played his cards right.
Aleksander suggests it two days before they reach Os Alta while they sit in the carriage.
He doesn't do anything special, doesn't prepare anything or bothers to give a speech. It would be filled with lies and manipulation anyways, and you would probably be able to tell. He hasn't officially accepted your apology for your past behaviours, after all. He just says what he wants you to do, nothing more.
"Marry me."
Your head whips up, attention dragged away from the book you had been reading.
"What?"
He smiles. "Marry me."
The carriage is currently driving through a town, the noise of children playing and people talking filling the silence between you two.
"Why?" You finally ask, suspicion barely hidden in your body language.
He has many reasons to make a suggestion like this, of course. Tying himself to someone, an otkazat'sya no less, is incredibly risky for him, after all. It needs to be thought through carefully, which he has.
Aleksander feels like he has done nothing else other than think since your rescue.
You're popular with the people, ravkas beautiful rose, kind and sweet and obedient. If the commoners found out what happened to you, what your parents knowingly put you through with this betrothal, they would riot in the streets. It would only get worse if they found out that they sent you away from your lover.
The story basically writes itself. It would be easy to plant rumours amongst the merchants and peasants, make them believe that you were in love with him and planned to run off with him, knowing that the king and queen would never allow for your love to flourish. That your parents found out and sent you away for a betrothal to a harsh and violent man as a punishment. That he saved you because he loved you so deeply, marrying you on the road back to the Grand Palace in a small chapel, hoping that the marriage will tie your souls together forever even if he gets killed for disobeying the wishes of the king and queen.
If he does it right he can claim that your father attacked you and that he killed him and the rest of the royal family to defend you, or that Fjerdans assassinated the royal family in revenge for the failed betrothal and that Aleksander somehow managed to save you, placing you on the throne, him right next to you.
He would no longer be General, then, but king consort. Your reputation should be high enough with the otkazat'sya to balance the hatred they have for him out as well. The rose of ravka would never fall for an evil man, after all.
Of course, this plan could backfire horribly. What if you hate him after he slaughters your family? What if you don't want to be queen? What if one of your relatives manages to kill you before he can kill them? He would have to claim the throne through right of conquest, and the people would hate him for it, would turn your family into martyrs and put his Grisha at even more risk.
But the risks might be worth it. He just has to be smart.
And he'd be saving you from an awful marriage. He could be a god husband to you. He could make you happy.
Probably.
Of course, he can't confess these things to you. The best way to force you to participate in his plans is if you don't know that he's planning anything at all.
"They can't send you back if you're married. You'll be mine. I'd be able to hide you away in the Little Palace, just like you wanted."
You make a face, clearly not convinced.
"They'll just order a priest to annul it or kill you to make me a widow and renew the betrothal," you warn.
"Your highness, as much as I respect the swordsmanship of the guards, I sincerely doubt that they would be able to kill me. Besides, I don't think that they would be able to betroth you to a fjerdan man after we consummate the marriage."
The book you've been reading drops to the floor of the carriage with a quiet thump, but you don't even notice that it has left your grasp, your full, undivided attention on him.
You're probably trying to discern if he's serious, and if you should slap him for even suggesting something like this.
"There's a chapel in this town, and a small tavern right next to it," he murmurs after a while, offering his hand to you, "It wouldn't be like the royal wedding you probably dreamed of, but you would be safe. I swear it. I protect what is mine."
He watches you swallow, traces the movement with his gaze, gleeful at the visible effect his proposal has on you. He can see the temptation in your eyes, the battle you're fighting in your head.
Are you willing to go behind your parents' backs to marry him? Are you willing to become the Darklings wife, to carry his children?
You grab his hand slowly, the look in your eyes vulnerable.
His smile widens when his fingers wrap around yours, his hand moving to knock against the wood of the carriage to get it to stop.
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader
Summary: When you finally wake up and the joy of seeing your husband alive and well dies down you have a conversation you've always wanted to avoid.
Warnings: mentions of death, murder and violence, mentions of grisha persecution, this is not a healthy relationship but they love each other very much, slight gaslighting, mentions of human trafficking
Word Count: 3.6k words
Authors Note: I really thought I would never write this, but I'm having a rare moment where I crave comfort. Also, a few people asked for this (and apparently, some people cried after part 2??? I'm so sorry about that I hope you guys are alright now!). I think this is the end of this? Its not the ending I expected when I first wrote the A lost embrace one shot but it is where we ended up. I hope you guys like it :) I'm not a native English speaker and this isn't edited.
The title of this part (and the name of the series) is from Cosmic Love by Florence + the Machine
Previous Part | Masterlist
When you wake up, it's to the sound of a few birds chirping outside and waves crashing against rocks. You don't open your eyes for a while, instead choosing to enjoy the soft atmosphere around you, letting yourself glide into consciousness slowly and carefully.
It's warm and soft, wherever you are. You feel safe.
Your arms and legs still feel a bit sore even without trying to move them, so you simply breathe in and back out, enjoying the fresh air that faintly smells of lavender, salt and rosemary.
With every minute you spend laying there, eyes still tightly closed, you notice more things around you.
A weak breeze moves the leaves on a tree outside. Occasionally, you can hear muffled steps coming from somewhere other than wherever you are right now. Someone other than you is in the room, fabric rustling quietly when they move. You're not afraid.
It takes a while until you feel ready to try and open your eyes, and when you do, your gaze imediately and instinctively move to the chair next to your bed where your husband is waiting for you, his dark eyes glued to your face and a glass of water in his hand. He's not wearing his kefta, you notice. Just a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Not a single speck of gold is visible on him.
A small smile charms itself onto your lips before you can stop it.
"Do you feel ready to rejoin the world of the living?" he asks quietly, waiting for your nod before reaching over to hold the glass of water against your lips.
You empty the glass quickly, your dry throat desperate for any kind of liquid. He takes the glass away slowly, moving to fill it up with more water before placing it back against your lips.
You drink three glasses of water that way. That's how much you need to drink to banish the itching from your throat. Damn those soldiers.
"How long... how long was I asleep?" You ask after Aleksander places the glass back down on the nightstand next to the bed. He doesn't respond for a while, instead moving carefully to check if your body is fully tucked in and warm under the thick blanket covering your body.
"Two weeks," He answers finally while he shuffles around. "You were woken up a few times to make sure you eat and drink, but I doubt you remember that. Fedyor thought it was best if your body got time to recover energy on its own. The two weeks in the cage, the torture, the starving and dehydration, lack of sleep, and even the healing took a huge toll on your body."
The Shadow Summoner moves back to his chair, but before he sits down, he checks if your pillow is fluffy, his gaze awfully serious considering his current task.
Letting the information settle for a bit, you look around in the room you're in. You don't recognize where you are. The old, dark wooden floors are new to you, just like the walls decorated with small drawings and letters you're too far away from to read. When you look outside, you see the ocean.
"Where are we?"
Your hand moves to grab Aleksanders wrist before he can step back to sit down on his chair again, carefully pulling him closer towards you. He looks tired, deep shadows visible below his dark eyes. He needs to rest, probably more than you do, considering you apparently slept for two full weeks. A small, amused smile finds its way onto his lips before he carefully moves to sit down next to you on the large bed you're occupying. You move to give him space, encouraging him to lay down instead of sitting.
"I'll be more relaxed if you're next to me," you reason when he tries to argue, and the mighty, dangerous Darkling gives in, slipping under your blanket and resting his head next to yours on the pillows. You're still mad at him, a deep-rooted hatred for him burning deep in your chest, hotter than the sun itself, but feeling him next to you is nice. It almost feels safe.
Once he settles down, he answers, his voice even quieter and softer than it was before.
"In Fjerda. Kenst Hjerte, to be exact."
Ulla. You're with Ulla. Outside of Ravka. Away from everything he has built. Away from his sun summoner.
"Ivan is still in Ravka with a few others to make sure that no Grisha are left in cages. The rest is up here."
You want to say something, like acknowledge the fact that it must've been almost impossible to move a large group of Grisha through Fjerda undetected, but you don't want to interrupt him. He has that far away look in his eyes, and you assume this must be the first time he's letting himself actually work through and think over the events of the past month.
"Ulla wasn't particularly excited to see such a huge group, you can probably imagine. She has never been fond of company, after all, but she accepted it as long as she could stay away, and I don't tell anyone about her presence."
A smirk appears on his lips, and his eyes find yours. "The last bit that convinced her was the absence of Baghra, of course. As soon as she found out that she was still in Ravka, she was suddenly alright with everyone staying as long as the group doesn't pull attention towards the islands, and no one get's close to her."
Mirroring his smile, you watch him for a few seconds, carefully turning your body to lay on its side.
"So we're hiding again."
Aleksander opens his mouth to respond, probably ready to justify his decision, not realising that he doesn't have to. You're glad. Disappearing back into hiding is arguably the first sensible decision he has made since the sun summoner showed up. You're just surprised that he got to this decision himself. He's usually not someone who admits defeat, at least not without you forcing him to. You expected him to do something stupid, like try to fight the entire First Army and the Sun Summomer on his own and get killed in the process.
"I've never really been in hiding before, not since I was a child, at least. Most of the others never had to be. This will probably be really weird, but I'm excited to learn. Are we going to stay here or move somewhere else?"
He seems a bit surprised by the fact that you're not against his decision, pausing for a few seconds to study your facial expressions before he answers.
"I hope to stay here as long as possible, but we have to be prepared to leave any minute. I hope that Ivans group can collect the last Grisha that don't want to serve Vasily and come up here without attracting too much attention, but it's impossible to tell if that will work out."
You nod slowly, carefully putting together a picture of what has happened in the month that you've been out of the loop.
"Do you think there's a risk that Vasily could find out that we're hiding here and tell the Grimjer family? Maybe as an offering of some kind to kindle peace between Ravka and Fjerda and end the war?"
The darkness that flickers in his eyes for just a second makes clear that he has thought about that possibility as well. It would make sense, after all. Give up the Darkling, his wife, and the Grisha that side with them in exchange for peace. You are all considered enemies of the ravkan royal family anyway, so it wouldn't be a loss for Vasily.
"The risk is always there, but I have hope that the preparation of the royal wedding will distract everyone enough to make sure that we can get everyone out of the country without anyone noticing. The people want to celebrate their sun queen and hope for a better future. It should be easy for skilled soldiers to get through and out of the country unnoticed."
It takes you a few seconds until you realize what he just said, and when you finally do, a confused frown appears on your face.
"Sun queen? Is Vasily marrying Alina?"
Aleksander nods.
"And you're not... you're not on your way to rip him to shreds and take her for yourself?"
He let's out a long, loud sigh and turns his head to look at the ceiling, choosing to stay silent for so long that you start to believe that he's not going to respond at all. The only proof that you have that he's actively thinking about his response are the shadows slowly crawling over the floor and walls, swallowing the room and covering you under the familiar blanket of his very own darkness.
You have spent many private moments like this, cloaked by his powers, including your first kiss, your first time sleeping together, and your wedding night. As long as he controls his shadows, you will always have a home.
When he finally does speak, it's soft and light as a feather, his voice drifting through the air like an ancient melody.
"In those two weeks where I was convinced I would be too late, that you were dead, I learned something very important about myself."
Behind him, the shadows crawl up to cover the window, swallowing the last bit of light in the room.
"You are part of me the same way the shadows are part of me. Even if I hate you and you hate me, I can't change that. Losing you would be like losing a vital organ. Even if you chose to despise me for eternity, to never speak to me again, I need to be around you. I'm not fully myself if I'm not with you, sweet girl. You are part of me, just like I hope I am part of you."
You can't see him, but you can hear how he turns his head to look at you. "You can hate your heart and your powers as much as you want, you can't get rid of either. You need both to survive. And I need you the same way."
If anyone else, literally anyone else in the whole world had said this to you, you would've laughed so loud that you could still hear it in the Fold, but hearing those words come out of Aleksanders mouth, especially in that tone, makes you pause.
You know how he sounds when he lies, how his tone shifts to make every word sound just a bit smoother, a bit more convincing, but none of those signs are noticeable now. It's just his voice, in the same, normal, serious tone he uses during important discussions. The same tone he uses when he marries you once every hundred years.
"I have waited many centuries for the sun summoner. I can wait a few more if that means I can keep you with me."
The shadows retreat from the window, letting sunlight back into the room, but they continue to cover the walls, floor, and ceiling.
The light shows you his facial expression, the warm smile that softens his features and smooths the wrinkles in his skin.
"And what if I don't want to stay with you?" You ask quietly, afraid that you could shatter the atmosphere if you speak too loudly. "You hurt me a lot, Aleksander. I don't think I can do this again. What do I do if you randomly decide that you actually want the sun summoner more than me? If you leave me behind? What do I do if she dies and a new sun summoner appears in 300 years and you fall in love with them as well? I can't be your little bed warmer that fills the space next to you until your sun summoner comes back. I'm not strong enough to go through this again. Not tomorrow, not in twenty years, not in a thousand years. I can't do it again."
You try to turn away from him, but before you even get the chance to move, he wraps his arm around your torso and pulls you on top of him, every inch of your body touching his. His large hands cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"What can I do to prove to you that I will never leave you again?" he asks earnestly, and you can't stop yourself from whispering as you harshly move your head to escape from his grasp, your voice so quiet that it barely makes a sound at all.
"Kill Alina"
Your husband laughs, this time louder, amusement clear in his gaze as he grasps your face once more to make sure your eyes meet his.
"What was that, little wife?"
"What?"
"What you just said. You said something about Alina."
"No, I didn't. What are you talking about? Why would I talk about her while I'm lying on top of you? You must be hallucinating because of how exhausted you are." Your face contorts with mock concern, and Aleksander scoffs, swatting your hand away when you try to touch his face the way he's touching yours. "You should really sleep, my love. This isn't healthy for you at all. Come on, let's sleep. Good night."
You lean forward to press a quick good night kiss onto his lips – more of a peck than a kiss, really – when his grip on your face suddenly tightens, a loud squeak leaving your lips as he pushes you off of him and positions himself above you, switching your positions.
For a few seconds, you just stare at each other, taking each other in for a few seconds until Aleksander slowly bends down to press his lips against yours.
It's a soft kiss. Slow and sweet with an underlying bitterness that you want to ignore but can't.
His weight on you is familiar despite the fact that he isn't crushing you into the mattress the way he usually would, holding himself up with his arms to keep the majority of his weight off of your still recovering body.
When he finally lifts his head and ends the kiss, you smile at him for a second before seriousness washes the softness from your face.
"I'm serious, Sasha. You hurt me. A lot. And I'm not strong enough to withstand this again. If you want your sun summoner, tell me now. I won't even leave, I promise, so you can just tell me. I just want to be prepared, please." Unshed tears fill your eyes, turning your sight blurry as you stare up at your husband who simply watches you, his own face focused solely on you, face blank like a sheet of paper as he listens to your words.
"You left me. After more than 200 years together, you left me for a child. You lied to me and deceived me, pushed me to the side, and ignored me. Two centuries of partnership thrown away because of her. How am I supposed to ever trust you again?"
You regret letting him turn you now. Sitting on top of him gave you a bit of strength, made you feel stronger and bigger than you really are, especially right now in your weakened state. Now you feel small, caged in by his body and his watchful gaze that you're unable to escape. Pathetic, that's how you feel. You should be stronger than this by now, yet here you are, fighting back tears like a child.
"What if you suddenly decide you want her instead of me in a year or two? Do I have to put myself into a life-threatening situation just to remind you that I'm apparently important to you? What will it take next time? All of Fjerda hunting me? Getting sold like cattle in Ketterdam? Experiments in Shu Han? Is that what needs to happen to keep you interested in me? Because that's not worth it, Aleksander. I love you, I do, but I deserve better than that."
He doesn't react for a while, his eyes simply studying your face while he thinks over his response. After a few minutes, he lets himself sink down next to you, laying back on his side, his gaze still glued to you.
Aleksanders dark eyes do not move from you for what feels like hours, taking in every pore, every wrinkle, every bit of texture, taking his time to catalogue every single milimetre of your face in his mind.
He watches how you try to blink away your tears, angry at yourself for showing weakness in a moment where you have to be strong, and he hates himself for pushing you so far away from his heart that you feel like being vulnerable around him, showing weakness in from of your own husband, is a mistake.
He watches you bite your chapped lips, tearing the flesh and covering your front teeth with a bit of blood. An act of self-punishment or a nasty habit you may have developed while he was occupied with Alina? He hates himself more for not being able to answer that question.
It takes a while, but then his hands move to cup your face, holding you like a precious gem, his rough hands suddenly softer than cotton.
Aleksander doesn't tear up like you do. His hands don't shake, and his voice doesn't break when he speaks, but you can feel his sincerity ringing in the air like a bell.
"I'm sorry."
He apologized several times when he found you. Panicked, pained apologies filled with dread and relief and more fear than anyone should be able to feel. But now he's calm. He's not scared of death ripping you out of his grasp in the next minute, isn't trying to lift some of his own guilt off his shoulders before you die in his arms. He had two weeks of processing his thoughts on his own. He had time to think over every mistake he has made, and he intends to right them, starting with you and what he has done to you.
"I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren't enough. I'm sorry for acting like you aren't enough. I'm sorry for forgetting how much greater you are than me. You are and will always be the most precious thing in my life, the most wonderful thing the making could've ever given me. I am a foolish man, but I should know better than that. And you shouldn't forgive me. I do not deserve forgiveness, but I can't help but hope for it anyway. I pray that you find it in your endlessly kind heart to give me one last chance. If you do, my love, my beautiful, wonderful, perfect little wife, I swear I'll make you queen. I will end the Lantsov line and kill the sun summoner and give you the country we once called home. I will give you anything you want, I promise it."
A loud sob tears through your throat, tears running freely over your face and soaking into the pillow below you as you listen to him bear his old, rotten heart and soul to you.
"I don't want the throne," you rasp out. "I just want you. That's all I've ever wanted."
"I know. And I failed to give it to you, but I promise that this will never happen again. Kill me if it does. Stab me in the heart while I sleep, poison my food, slit my throat. I swear that I will not defend myself. Bring my head to the Apparat and let him turn you into a Saint if I betray you again, my love, but please give me this one chance to prove myself to you. I will not fail you again, I swear it."
You almost laugh at that, but the shimmering in his eyes stops you before you can even smile. It's like he's fighting himself to make sure he doesn't cry, reminding you that this is serious.
"I will actually do it, you hear me? If you betray me again, I will rally the Grisha against you. Ulla, too, while I'm at it. They like me more than you anyway. I'll chop your head off and give it to the Apparat and become Sankta Y/N of the dawn or whatever they end up calling me. I'll make sure there are thousands of paintings of how I murdered you. And I'll make it seem like it was easy, too. I'll tell them I overpowered you effortlessly and cut your heart out while you confessed your love to me or something. All of Ravka will make fun of how you died. It'll overshadow the horror stories about the Black Heretic. You will become the joke of a whole nation."
He smiles softly. "I would expect nothing less of you, my love."
You mirror his smile weakly, eyes flickering down to his lips twice before slowly leaning in. Aleksander waits for you, refusing to move while your breath ghosts over his lips.
"Are you sure?" he asks, waiting for you to decide what to do. The tension between you two is heavy, your nose filling with his oh so familiar scent with every breath you take.
"I am," you answer almost silently. "I don't forgive you, not yet. But I think I can give you one last chance. I think I can do it."
Laughing weakly, you continue, "Especially now that I'm allowed to murder you if you betray my trust again."
He hums, his nose brushing softly against yours as he waits for you to confirm your decision.
When you do, your lips pressing against his, it tastes like ash and death, like destruction and poison and chocolate and peace and promises.
It tastes like sin. It tastes like coming home. It tastes like love.
You're not sure how long you can continue living like this. How long you can pretend that everything is alright. Like you can't feel your soul rotting in your chest.
Status: finished
Warnings: betrayal, gaslighting, unhealthy relationship, murder, canon typical violence, canonical persecution of grisha, mentioned death of children, sexual harassment, slutshaming, suicidal thoughts, mentions of sex and cheating
Hi 😊 love your back from the dead story. Please part 2 for dear reader ? 😆
Hello! ☺️ I'm happy to hear that you liked it :)
I have an idea for a part 2 for back from the dead but I'm gonna be completely honest here: I don't think anyone is gonna like it. It's just more hurt with almost no comfort, so I think it might be better to just leave that story untouched.
this way everyone can imagine a happy, fluffy ending where Reader and aleksander reconnect and love each other again and everything is sunshine and rainbows and baghra makes a cake to celebrate or something
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader
Summary: When the Royal Family finally turns on the Grisha, you find yourself caught in the crossfire. Alone, of course. You're always alone, it seems.
Warnings: murder, death, canonical persecution of Grisha, violence, mentioned death of children, sexual harassment, slutshaming, mentions of sex and cheating, suicidal thoughts, self hatred
Word Count: 6.6k words
Authors' Note: I DID IT! HERE IS YOUR PART TWO FOR A LOST EMBRACE! IT ONLY TOOK 76 YEARS! BUT I GOT IT DONE BEFORE THE END OF APRIL (this is also very not edited, and I'm still not a native English speaker).
Also, funfact: I cut the ending of this, just like I did with part 1. There was a whole other ending, but that was basically just a lot of fluff. I wasn't sure if people would want that from this series/twoshot specifically so I cut it. I can't tell of cutting the ending is a good or a really bad habit.
The title is from Lights are on by Tom Rosenthal!
Part 1: A lost embrace | Masterlist
The universe is filled with light. Billions of beautiful stars, all different sizes and temperatures, burning brightly and sending their energy out into the universe to bring warmth and light.
But there is even more darkness in the universe than there are stars, filling the space between the celestial bodies. An all surrounding nothingness that acts as a playing field for all of the beautiful, weird and wonderful things hiding in the endless sky. A canvas for everything else in the universe that hugs and surrounds all.
And one day, at least according to the most popular theories, the last stars will die and the universe will be entirely engulfed in darkness.
It began with a loud burst of light, and it will die quietly in shadows.
That knowledge used to bring you comfort and a feeling of belonging. The darkness became your new home, a special, safe place right next to your husband, but there is no safety and love to be found in the darkness now.
It was predictable, honestly. You should've known the second Vasily allowed the Darkling to travel Ravka to search of the Sun Summoner with only a few First Army soldiers for protection, but you simply didn't pay attention to the signs, too caught up in your own frustration and bitterness.
He didn't realise it either, it seems, because he simply left without even saying goodbye, leaving you behind to run the Little Palace in his absence. One night you fall asleep next to him, back turned towards him to visibly reject his presence, and the next morning he is gone, his side of the bed made and all of his most important belongings gone. No letter, no announcement beforehand, nothing.
Maybe his head was simply too focused on Alina to even remember that he still had a wife.
It doesn't matter anymore.
You're still awake when they come, three nights after the General left the Little Palace.
You're laying in bed, humming an old lullaby – one of the really old ones that you learned because he sometimes sings them to you when you can't sleep – while working on fixing the embroidery on the kefta of one of the younger students.
The disappearance of the Sun Summoner has led to chaos in all of Ravka, and there hasn't been a calm moment in the palace in weeks. You are forced, just like everyone else, to work until you pass out while keeping up appearances in front of the royal family. Everything needs to be immaculate despite the fact that the whole country is in a state of emergency, so you push small detail work like this into every free second of your day in hopes of doing something good.
You're so focused on your project that you don't even hear them approach your windows from the outside.
They sneak around, quietly taking out the guards until they're sure that they won't meet too much resistance, and then, suddenly, everything is very loud.
You don't remember what happens. Just flashes of memories. Little pieces that simply aren't enough to form a full picture, as if your body simply wasn't able to take it all in. Or maybe it refuses to remember.
Glass shatters, loud and unfamiliar steps echo like thunder through the halls of what was supposed to be your home, men with bad intentions are in your bedroom, in your house, in your garden.
And your husband is nowhere to be found.
The air smells like fire, panic and fear crackling in the air like electricity and the screams of the Grisha you swore to protect as if they were your own children echo through the building and outside.
Shots are fired in the distance, you're on the floor, the barrel of a gun pressed tightly against the back of your head.
There are more screams slicing through the night. You think you hear someone yelling your name, but before you can answer, one of the men who broke into your room slams their heavy gun against your head, and darkness welcomes you into it's familiar embrace.
When you finally wake it's to the sound of a gun shot ringing through the air, and though the bars of your new cage you watch through bleary eyes how one of your fellow Grisha runs away, his bright purple kefta unfortunately doing very little to hide his movements between the trees. You can't tell who it is, not in the dark.
A second shot gets fired. You see how it hits the Durast in the head, his body falling to the ground and staying there, unmoving. Nobody goes to check if he's dead or to drag him off and bury or burn his corpse. It's just left right there, next to a large ash tree.
Someone whimpers and sobs, begs for their life, but you can't take your eyes off the corpse. The way it just lays there, like it's nothing.
You haven't seen an actual battle in centuries. The Darkling is too paranoid to let you go, convinced that his enemies will target you in a fight and take you away from him. The thought alone used to turn his eyes cold and hard like ice, his whole body shaking with anger at the idea of you being in a dangerous situation. You haven't seen death like this, so fast and seemingly insignificant, in forever.
There is no triumph visible in the body language of the soldier that shot the Durast, but no shame either. A job done, nothing more. He doesn't celebrate or pat himself on the back. He just sits back down next to the fire in the middle of the camp and takes a sip of water, like the life he just took was worth less than even the life of a rabbit.
The other guards move to check the handcuffs of the others after that incident, making sure that everything works and no one is able to use their powers. Your heart races so fast it makes you dizzy, the fog in your head thickening and threatening to drag you back into unconsciousness.
It's hard to stay focused enough to take the whole situation in, but you try anyway, tearing your gaze away from the corpse. There are nine cages, including yours, one of them now empty.
The Grisha in the cages are, just like you, handcuffed with their hands far apart. Three of them are wearing their keftas - two of them being Alkemis, and you ask yourself if the Materialki were all still down in the workshops when the raid began - but the others, including you, are wearing whatever you wore to sleep that night. All of you are dirty, and you pray silently that none of them are hurt. It's hard to see with the lack of light. The cages all stand a bit too far away from the fire to truly see much.
The men who guard you, on the other hand, all look like they dressed up for a military parade. Their First Army uniforms sparkle almost, their faces clean shaven or decorated with carefully trimmed beards. This was planned. This whole raid was planned, probably for weeks, and you didn't notice. The idea most likely came up as soon as the General returned from the Fold, and no one ever picked up on it.
It feels like a relic from a time you're supposed to have left behind, a time you didn't even experience and only heard about from the Darkling and on rare occasions his mother.
The First Army doesn't hunt Grisha anymore. The king doesn't put you into cages. They just hate you, insult you, and harass you, but they don't physically harm you anymore. Yet... here you are.
Ravka isn't supposed to be like Fjerda, like Shu Han, like Kerch. The Darkling had made sure of that, worked for this one singular goal for centuries, and dedicated his whole life to it.
The thought of him makes your heart sting painfully, and you suppress the urge to worry for him, to wonder where he is and if he's safe. You have bigger issues than him right now. He's fine. There's no room for argument. He has survived wars and centuries of persecution. This won't kill him. He's probably out there somewhere, completely safe, trying to track down his sun summoner while you rot in this cage alongside the others.
After the handcuffs are checked you watch as four of the five soldiers walk to the cages of the two Alkemi, Ivanna and Ole, and pull them out, the fifth still sitting at the fire and watching the whole situation with mild interest.
You hear one of the guards make a suggestion on how to deal with them, and your stomach turns.
In your mind, you are 12 years old, hiding behind your mothers skirt. Her hand rests on your head, trying to soothe you as you watch with the other people your village how a woman gets dragged out of the cage they kept her in. You remember her face. She works as a seamstress. She gives you pretty ribbons to tie around your wrist or into your hair whenever your mother buys something from her.
The man – was he the mayor? The village head? You don't remember what he called himself – who pulled her out of the cage pushes her to the ground, right in front of a large rock, and motions for someone hiding in the crowd to come closer.
Another man steps forward, the blacksmith, in his hands the biggest hammer you have ever seen.
The woman starts screaming now, her voice breaking under the force of her violent sobs. Her body shakes horribly, and your own shaking hands dig deeper into the material of your mothers skirt.
"Please, please, I swear it. This is a misunderstanding. I did nothing wrong. I swear it. Please, just listen to me," the woman begs while the mayor grabs the thick rope attacked to her handcuffs and pulls her arms and hands to rest on the rock.
The noise the hammer made when it slammed down on her hands haunts you for centuries, just like her screams do.
Just like the screams of the Materialki probably will if you survive this when the guards push them to the ground. The only difference is that the soldiers have no large hammers to break their hands.
You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything, completely frozen in fear while the soldiers hold them down, each of them pressing an arm down onto the cold ground. The two have no chance to defend themselves.
The man at the fire finally stands up slowly, grabbing one of the rocks lining the fire to prevent forest fires, and walks over to the six people on the ground.
You watch him do it. You have to. You failed to protect your Grisha, and the least you can do is witness the horrors they have to go through because of your own mistakes.
Because you should've known. You should've known. Of course the royal family would turn on Grisha. Of course they would send the Darkling away before they raided the Little Palace. He is the last line of defence for the Grisha in this country.
You should've noticed the signs. You should've talked to the General about it, maybe even with Baghra. You should've started to prepare to evacuate the whole Palace, organized a place to hide with food and beds and water.
But you didn't. You didn't because you were too blinded by your own stupid quarrel with the Darkling. This is your fault. Every drop of blood that was shed that night, every bit of pain and suffering that your Grisha experienced, clings to you.
It's all your fault.
When the soldiers are sure that they broke every bone in Alkemis' hands, they put the cuffs back on and throw them back into their cages.
And then they walk back to the fire in the middle of the camp and begin to eat, ignoring the sobbing of the Grisha only a few metres away from them and the corpse still peacefully resting between the bushes and trees.
You wake up the next morning with aching muscles and the knowledge that you probably won't get out of this camp alive. Because as much as you would like to pretend otherwise, these people know you. If Vasily gives the command to have you killed, these men know that you're their target. And he would. You can't even blame him for it. You're the wife of the General, just as much of a symbol for the Second Army as the Darkling. Killing you would be a message to all of Ravka.
They don't treat you much differently than they treat the others, to your surprise. You get starved like the others, glared at like the others, and dehydrated like the others.
You could almost believe that they somehow don't know who you are if it wasn't for the insults.
Every Grisha gets insulted, some more creatively than the others. Especially the two Alkemi get made fun of for their broken, swollen, and discoloured hands by the soldiers, like they aren't the reason why they look like that. Other insults directed at other Grisha in the camp, on the other hand, are overused and boring, like when they asked Lena, an Inferni, where her spark is, why her fire has disappeared.
"I thought Infernis are always so hot-headed? Come on, give us a show!" One of the older men in the camp says to her on your second day awake, and it makes your skin crawl. You wish you could claw those mens eyes out, make them bleed.
But the insults they direct at you, those are personal. They prove that they know exactly who you are despite never saying your name once.
The Darklings slut. That's what you are to them.
His favourite toy. A bedwarmer. A plaything. A whore to entertain him. A distraction from the war. A thing he can let his frustrations out on.
That's who you are in their eyes. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that deserves respect or should be feared. The fact that you and the other Grisha can't use the small science makes them braver.
The worst insults are the ones they come up with after the third day in the cage, right after the soldiers get a quick visit from one of Vasilys messengers, because their words are suddenly no longer insults. They are observations and a horrible, new truth that convince you that their earlier insults are true, working hand in hand with the thoughts and fears you had before any of this even started.
"Don't look at me like that, whore. Everybody, even us fools in the First Army, know how enamoured your husband was with the sun summoner. How many times do you think he fucked her before she ran? Probably did it right behind your back in your shared bed, you stupid thing. I bet she was the last thing he thought of before the guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."
The soldiers celebrate the news of the Darklings death like they just won the wars with Fjerda and Shu Han and tore down the Fold with their bare hands, drinking alcohol and eating freshly hunted deer meat while you and the other Grisha grieve and starve. You don't allow yourself to cry like the others, but you can feel your soul rip itself apart.
You begin to lose yourself after that.
Your sanity runs through your hands like sand, your mind desperate to escape the smell of the Durasts rotting corpse that the soldiers never bothered to remove, the insults, the screams of the other Grisha when they get pulled out of their cages (one a day, always only one a day, like they're trying to drag it out), the desperate hunger that burns in your stomach, the thirst that tears your throat apart, the death of your husband: reality in all it's horrible shapes and colours.
First, you spend a few minutes caught up in a nice memory, like a short conversation in the gardens of the Little Palace, drinking tea and leaning on his shoulder while he tells you about his day. Then the daydreams get longer and take more control over you until you spend days staring at nothing, buried so deep in your own mind that you're no longer aware of what happens around you.
A small part of you hopes that they'll kill you while you're in that state, caught up in the past. Everything is better than reality, and with every second that passes when you're fully aware of your surroundings, that reality becomes more unbearable.
You love remembering the time before Alina the most. You know that her only sin is shining a light onto the lies, destruction, and rot surrounding you, but without her light, you were able to pretend.
You are good at pretending.
The light just makes it harder, and sometimes you slip up and accidentally sink into a more recent memory, your mind racing through different thoughts so fast that you're unable to stop it.
Like how the girl whose kefta you repaired that night, little Bibi, probably ended up dying without it after working so hard to prove to everyone that she earned it. And now her corpse lays somewhere in Ravka with no one to take care of it, to lay it to rest.
The kids are easily the worst thing to remember. Every time you do, it feels like the guilt eats your heart or whatever is left of it right out of your chest, ripping and tearing on the muscle like a wolf on a bone.
How many of them got out of the Palace in time and are now hiding somewhere, probably scared and alone with no one to help them and no idea how to get to other Grisha or back to their families? How many of them are stuck in cages just like you, starving and terrified of the First Army men who are only waiting to get the command to kill them? How many of them didn't even make it out of the Little Palace and died at the hand of the soldiers during the raid?
How many children were buried and burned that night?
Your husband isn't much better to remember either. The words of the First Army soldiers burn themselves into your mind like hot coals. You don't want to think about it. You've never wanted to think about something less in your entire life, but no matter what you do, the pain of losing someone you've known for almost your whole life feels like a knife stuck in your chest.
"... guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."
It's odd, really, how all consuming grief can be even if a part of you hates the person you lost. Almost surreal.
There have always been chapters of your life subtitled with "before the Darkling". There aren't supposed to be chapters subtitled "after the Darkling", not even a single one. It's wrong. It's entirely wrong. He's supposed to be a constant. Something that doesn't move, doesn't change, doesn't leave. He was supposed to be here until the end of everything.
He wasn't supposed to leave you behind. You can't do this without him. You can't lose him. This isn't right.
It's the last piece. The last drop required to convince you that giving up might not be the worst option. If they succeeded in killing the Darkling... what can truly be done anymore? What can you do? You can't free the Grisha in your camp, not with your hands cuffed so far apart from each other that your arms regularly start cramping, and a stomach so empty that it feels like your entire body is trying to collapse in on itself to fill the void. You can't convince the soldiers to free you. You can't save the children and rebuild Ravka into a safe place once more, not alone. You can't do anything on your own. You are nothing.
So why shouldn't you die? Why not join your husbands soul, wherever it may be now? What is left for you to do here? What can you do?
Death haunts your sense of smell and vision. It haunts your mind, and it haunts all of Ravka. Why not let it carry you off? Away from the pain, the suffering, the fear and grief and rot.
There is only more to come. More horrors that linger in the unpredictable future, and no one left to fix it. You certainly can't do it, Baghra - if she still lives, that is - doesn't care enough about others to even attempt to fix anything, and the sun summoner evidently can't do it either. All she can do is shine light on the evil lingering in the dark, but she's not strong or persuasive enough to improve and change the nightmares she exposes.
The Darkling could've done it. He would fight tooth and nail, drench his hands in blood and ash to free the others. He has fought his whole life, after all. He could've done it again.
But you can't. You can't take his position in this war, as much as you wish you could. You can't even get your hands out of your stupid cuffs, no matter how hard you try.
Baghra was right in the end, it seems. You really are too weak to stay at her and her sons side as their equal. You are dust, nothing more.
Now that you're here, stuck in a cage and unable to defend yourself in any way, you ask yourself once more how she and her son could've possibly survived this long. How did they not give up? What do they have that you lack?
"When the entire world hates you and wants you dead, the best thing you can do is live."
That's what she said back then, but you simply don't understand how she found the strength to keep going. You can't find it in you, no matter how much you look. Your whole life is gone. Your friends are probably all in cages or dead. Your husband is dead. Your home is gone. There is nothing left, no reason for you to continue.
Your husband would want you to keep going, a voice in the back of your mind answers, and you can feel the sharp stinging in your chest return at the thought.
You miss him. You miss him so much that it feels like you're being torn apart from the inside. And if you're really honest with yourself, you have to admit that you have been in this state for a while.
All of that anger and jealousy was just your bodies way to avoid facing the fact that you were lonely. No wonder you immediately fell back into routine like a desperate little cat when he finally gifted you some attention after Alina fled. Your entire being was begging to get him back.
And now you will never have him again because you were both too stubborn to simply talk with each other. He will never understand how much it hurt to see him obsess over someone else, and you will never know why you suddenly weren't enough for him anymore.
You will never hear his voice again, or knit him a new scarf for winter, or wash his hair for him after an exhausting day. You will never be comforted by him when you have a headache or watch the first snow of the year cover the grass outside of the Little Palace. You will never fall asleep next to him again, his arms wrapped around you and your face pressed against his chest as his heartbeat and calm breathing lull you to sleep.
He will never hug you again or surprise you with breakfast. He will never help you choose jewelry for an event again, give you his cloak when you're cold, kiss you, laugh at your horrible jokes, or moan your name into your ear, his voice raspy with love and desire while he tries to bring you to another orgasm before his own crashes down on him.
You will never do anything with him ever again.
Turning your head slightly, you stare at the soldiers sitting at the fire, eating some form of stew. You can't smell it. The stench of the decomposing body is too strong, and you wonder how the soldiers can stomach food in this environment.
You can barely breathe on some days without gagging every few seconds. It's so horrible that it drives tears into your eyes.
They talk and laugh about some servant girl, and you silently ask yourself what fate the servants of the Little Palace met. How many of them died that night? How many fled? Did any of them try to help the Grisha that might've fled? And saints, what happened to the Oprichniki?
Slowly closing your eyes again, you pray that the wind changes direction and starts blowing the smell away while you try to think of something that gives you strength.
The first thing that comes to mind is your amplifier.
You haven't thought about that day in a while, not since Alina came to the Palace and your heart and soul drowned themselves in jealousy and hate.
But it's not right to forget something so special. You should remember.
Who else in all of Ravka got proposed to, not with a ring but with a barn owl and a knife?
He has been gone for months, looking for something in West Ravka, choosing to trave through Fjerda and around the Fold to avoid going through it, and the constant worry that he would be discovered keeps you awake on some nights. He sends a letter once a month and promises you over and over that he would be back in the spring, but you still end up surprised when one of your friends drags you out of your bed in the middle of the night and ushers you towards the Generals quarters.
And when you open the doors you find him leaning against his desk, a knife next to him on the table and a barn owl sitting quietly in a cage, large eyes looking at you curiously, but you don't even see those things. Not at first, at least.
You just see him.
"You're back!"
Quickly jumping over to him, you throw your arms around him and press your face against him, a deep laugh bubbling in his chest as he moves to embrace you tightly.
"Careful, my love," he murmurs, his hands finding the back of your neck and pressing you closer to him.
You stay like that for a while, holding each other tightly while he whispers soft words into your ear.
"I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much, little love. I hope you weren't too lonely without me," he coos, pressing a long kiss onto your head.
You're about to answer him when the bird finally makes himself known. Turning your head quickly you look at it, and the owl turns it's head to the side as if it's trying to do assess you carefully as well, it's dark eyes looking you over a few times. You feel a bit self-conscious in your night dress, but instead of shying away, you decide to let it look.
"Is that what you were looking for in West Ravka?" you ask, gazing back up at him.
"I did a lot of research over the past year, and I think this amplifier would be strong enough," he explains, his voice as soft as a feather.
"Strong enough?"
"To keep you with me. I didn't believe it at first either, but this little bird could give you forever. Time would no longer be able to take you from me. I could keep you for eternity."
Tears well up in your eyes, your hands moving to hold onto the front of his kefta as he reaches over to the knife and holds it out to you.
"You don't have to do it right now. You can get to know the owl and see if it feels right. Think about it for a while. It's a big commitment, after all." His empty hand moves up to cup your face, and the tenderness in his gaze makes your heart race. "If you chose the amplifier, I will stay with you. I will be at your side until the end of everything, I promise it. I will take care of you when you're hurt, hold you when you're sad, and laugh with you when you're happy. I will fight at your side, protect you with my life, and take care of you until I die."
Biting your lip weakly, you look up into his eyes, somehow darker than the night sky. "And if I don't choose to take the amplifier?"
"Then I'll still do all of those things. I will just have less time by your side, but I will cherish that time just as much, sweet girl."
You don't know when it happens because you start to loose track of time after the first week is over, but at some point in a random night one of the soldiers goes into the forest to get fresh water from a nearby river and doesn't return.
You're not conscious enough to notice it, and the soldiers are too caught up in their preparations for tonight's entertainment.
You don't even notice how they move through the camp, their eyes looking at each and every grisha they have, and judging who would be able to provide the most fun tonight. You just wish you were lying on the floor.
If you laid down, you could pretend that the heaviness on your chest is your husbands weight and not a heavy mountain of grief that tries to drag you down into the heart of the world.
He liked to do that. Lay on top of you to make sure that every single centimetre of you touched him in some way. You used to jokingly complain about it, but he never stopped. Every time he knew you needed comfort he would lay down on top of you, his heavy, strong body pressing you deep into the mattress while he talked, either asking questions about your day and whatever might be bothering you, or telling you about his, always carefully pressing small kisses onto your face and neck.
He must've known that his weight comforted you, made you feel safe. You've never wanted to be crushed into a mattress by him so badly in your whole life.
You don't hear it when they discuss if you're weak enough now to remove you from the cuffs. You don't even hear it when they open your cage, the old metal screeching loudly.
You don't realize that anything is wrong until one of the soldiers unlocks the cuffs and your body falls to the floor like a wet sack of flour. A loud groan leaves your mouth, your voice rough from lack of use.
The soldier grabs your ankles and drags you out of the cage, your upper body dragging over the floor. After being hung up for so long, you realise very quickly that you can't move your arms at all. The muscles start twitching as soon as you even attempt to bring them together, and a horrible, sharp tingling sensation makes itself noticeable. You bite your teeth together to stop yourself from screaming out.
A wave of panic crashes over you as soon as you fully understand what's going on, trying to kick the man dragging you closer to the fire, but none of your movements seem to really bother him.
As soon as you're close enough to the fire, someone flips you onto your stomach and buries their hand in your hair to pull your head up. Your back bends horribly, and you hiss out in pain as your eyes find those of the soldier who broke the Alkemis hands with a rock.
He doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, eyes taking in every flinch and twitch in your face.
You stay like this for a few seconds staring at each other, when he suddenly spits directly into your face, a wide grin splitting his face into two a few seconds later before he slaps you. Your head drops to the ground quickly.
"Let's get started. Markus can join us later when he's done," someone says. Three seconds later, before you have time to register what he means, you have a small knife in your back.
A blood curdling scream leaves your throat and tears well up in your eyes. You want to beg, to humiliate yourself even further and kiss their shoes in hopes of escaping this, but the last shred of pride left in you won't let you.
One of the soldiers steps onto one of your hands, twisting his shoe a bit in the process to make it hurt more. Someone else grabs your other arm and twists it behind your back until you scream out once more. This time, you scream your husbands name, unable to stop yourself in time. It's a broken, pathetic sound that echoes through the trees like a gunshot.
You know he won't come, but something about saying his name again feels almost cathartic, so you continue to scream it out with your full heart and soul. With every hit, every kick, and every stab wound, you scream the real name of the black heretic out into the endless night and beg death to bring you to him.
When the first gunshots get fired into the forest, you mistakenly assume that they're shooting at you and tightly close your eyes. Your heartbeat rushes loudly in your ears, and your mind replays the events of the first day when the Durast got shot. You can't even stand up and run. Your whole body is consumed by pain.
This is it, you think. Loud screams pierce through the air, gruelling, blood curling screams that scare you half to death.
Your mind races, trying to quickly find a last memory to remember before a bullet pierces your chest or head and kills you, something sweet and soft and perfect, like your wedding night, or your first kiss, or your-.
A loud scream rips itself out of your throat when a bullet hits you right into your leg. The man who shot it is dead seconds later, torn to shreds by darkness itself, but you don't see it, your eyes still rightly closed as you wait for the next bullet to hit you.
It never comes.
Instead someone yells your name, and you think it sounds familiar.
"Ivan!" the man screams, and a second later, someone carefully turns you onto your back and falls to their knees next to you, pulling your head up into their lap, their large hands cupping your face.
You don't want to die. You're not ready.
"My love, my love, it's me. Can you hear me?," he speaks. Fabric ruffles and something wide is dropped over your shaking, weak form, and your whole body feels warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent enters your lungs, somehow overpowering the stench of rotting corpse and fresh blood.
"Sasha?" Squinting your eyes, you look up, trying to focus on the blurry face hovering above yours. He's easy to recognize. The ink black lines over his face are unique to him, almost out of place in this world, just like him. You want to reach up and touch him, but you can't. Your muscles won't cooperate.
"I'm here, my little love. I'm right here. I found you. And I'm so proud of you. So, so proud of you. And I'm sorry," Aleksander answers. His eyes sparkle like stars, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto yours like raindrops. In the back of your mind, you realize that you've never seen him cry in front of people like this before. Only ever in private. Now his voice is almost breaking, his sobs so loud it drowns out the noise of your own hammering heartbeat. It must be a dream. He would never allow himself to show weakness like this.
Ivan appears next to him like a ghost, his hands covered in blood as he carefully lifts the thick black cloak Aleksander covered you with from your legs to look at the injuries there.
"Sasha," you rasp out again. You want him to hold you so badly, but you can barely speak. All you want is to be held by your husband.
"Right here. I'm so sorry, sweet girl. So sorry. I promised I would protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry, I will never make that mistake again, I swear. I'll never take you for granted again. I'm so sorry for being late."
You want to respond, to calm him down, but he doesn't give you a chance to talk. He just continues with his panicked, slightly hysterical rambling, his whole body shaking under the force of his sobs.
"I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're safe, and I will never leave your side again. No one will ever hurt you again."
His thumb strokes your cheek gently, and the love in his gaze almost feels like a punch in the gut. He looks absolutely in love and absolutely devastated as well. "I thought I lost you. I kept looking for you in every camp I found, but you were never there, and none of the soldiers would tell me where you are. I was so sure they killed you. I was so scared. I thought-"
Aleksanders voice shatters like glass, his body almost curling in on itself as he presses his forehead against yours. You recognize the breathing pattern he uses, an old trick he taught you a few years ago when you were still new to your position as the Darklings wife. He's trying to stop a panic attack from taking over.
"I'm so proud of you. You're so strong and brave, my darling girl. My lovely wife. I love you so much. You're so good, so good for me. I don't know what I would do without you. What I would do if they... I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry."
He sounds broken, you notice. You've never heard him like this in your entire life. Tears flood your eyes, and you take a deep breath, more of his familiar scent entering your lungs. Rosemary and ash, with a hint of something sweet.
"I'm never going away again, I promise. I will never leave you again, sweet girl. Never again. You will never be able to get rid of me. I will bind myself to you, body and soul, until the end of everything, I swear it."
You're starting to get dizzy. Everything is so overwhelming.
"Am I dead?" You hear yourself asking, your vision dimming slowly, and you're sure you will be dragged back into unconsciousness by your body soon. Aleksander laughs, and it's oddly light and relieved, considering the context.
"No. No, you're alive. You survived. We both survived."
Ahh that’s exciting that there will be a part 2 for a lost embrace. I think either way is cool! Doing canon could be a good opportunity for aleksander to realise his wrongs when Alina betrays him and you could have his wife locked up for being grisha. But making something up also gives way for you to do whatever you want!
I want to see aleksander sufferrrrr and then we get reunion fluff because I am sucker for the darkling.
I'm glad to hear that you're exited :) I started writing Part 2 a few days ago, and I can tell you one thing: There's definitely suffering.
It's so much suffering that I feel like I have to remove some. it feels like overkill.
Seriously, it's awful. Everything is so awful.
I'll try to get it done quickly :) I really hope you'll enjoy it! I'll try to include a lot of fluff!
Part 6 of something special is done. it has been done for like a week now. I just don't like it. It's boring and while I do think that the series needs to calm down a bit before the finale, especially after the chapter where Reader kills and eats three wolves, I don't want it to be boring.
Reader is also a bit too sane for my personal taste (especially considering they're kind of hallucinating, maybe, in previous chapters), and I really need to fix that.
Ahh that’s exciting that there will be a part 2 for a lost embrace. I think either way is cool! Doing canon could be a good opportunity for aleksander to realise his wrongs when Alina betrays him and you could have his wife locked up for being grisha. But making something up also gives way for you to do whatever you want!
I want to see aleksander sufferrrrr and then we get reunion fluff because I am sucker for the darkling.
I'm glad to hear that you're exited :) I started writing Part 2 a few days ago, and I can tell you one thing: There's definitely suffering.
It's so much suffering that I feel like I have to remove some. it feels like overkill.
Seriously, it's awful. Everything is so awful.
I'll try to get it done quickly :) I really hope you'll enjoy it! I'll try to include a lot of fluff!
Please for all that is holy do a part two of back from the dead
maybe. if I find inspiration and time. I have lots of stuff to write (including a part 2 for something else) and I really can't promise anything. it would be unfair to everyone if I did promise it.
Hey, I just came across ur writing and ur such a great writer. Just wanted to know if u would be writing chapter 2 of Back from the Dead??
Regards
An anxiously waiting reader
hello! thank you very much :)
I really don't know, to be honest. Like I said before, it's a maybe. If I find the time and the inspiration to write a part 2 I will, but that would probably take a while. We'll see, I guess.
hiii! i absolutely love back from the dead, and was wondering if there was going to be a part 2 for it? no problem if there isnt, and i dont wanna pressure u, just asking!
loved it so much tho <3
hi!! Thank you so so much!! I'm so glad to hear that you liked it. 💕
There's currently no second part planned for it. I could definitely write one but I'm not sure if that would be a good idea for reasons I explained here but can also be summed up with the words "I write like a snail and I'm not sure if I could get a good part 2 out in a reasonable time span."
I'm definitely thinking about it. Many people want one after all, and it would probably be fun to write. I really enjoyed writing Part 1 but I don't want to promise a part 2 because there's a very real chance that it would come out in a month or ir two or maybe even later.
I'm really really sorry. I wish I could say more but this writing slump is eating me alive 🐌
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