Forsake Me

{ Independent. Highly Selective. Private. Canon Divergent. Reflet. Fire Emblem Awakening. }

[devour-the-crooked]

hananokishi: 

     ❝W-Wait a minute…!❞ This man brought much to attention–almost too much for Cali to follow. Her sight follows his seating, and she swiftly shakes her head in response. ❝King?❞ she mutters, but that is not what she was mainly concerned about. Words she desires to speak thump against her head, and she has trouble speaking out on what irks her. ❝Y-You’re going to observe me?❞ There is a reason why she comes alone to train. She cannot take the jests aimed at her technique when around others. The proclaimed problem Pegasus was assigned to her when enrolled; the higher-ups thinking they would be a good match. Troublesome, indeed, but a good match. The knight loves her Pegasus, of course, and once they are in the air they are an unchallenged pair. For now, however, they need to get used to the actual mounting process. Having eyes bore into her will just make her feel uncomfortable, however, there’s a feeling eating away into her self-confidence that the stranger will not move an inch. The Pegasus kicks up her front legs in defiance, whinnying and huffing at the decision as if she understands. Snow white wings are gently stroked to ease insecurity. ❝Fine then. But before I continue–who are you?❞

     “Yes, girl.” There’s nothing to identify him as a member of royalty, much less a king: no crown, no holy weapon, only the faded, cracked brand of the Fell Dragon that still distorts his scaly skin, tucked beneath frayed gloves and stained sleeves. But his features alone are enough to claim his position within Plegia’s walls; to bring his people to their knees when he walks among them. But to her, a stranger to this land, he imagines he looks far more like the wicked monster who comes to whisk away the fair princess than the ruler himself. However, she seems to collect her thoughts on the matter rather quickly, as her questions slips out. “Do you enjoy making me repeat myself? Yes, I fully intended to observe you while you skulk about on my land.” Absentmindedly he traces nonsensical patterns into the dusty earth with his boot as he speaks; at this rate he was going to be here until the sun tossed itself into the jaws of the moon as it swallowed all of the light from the sky. His gaze rolls lazily over to the Pegasus when she kicks up her legs, and huffs, but doesn’t her anything more than an unblinking glance. He’d still prefer not to earn a hoof to the face from the beast, and he has little desire to antagonize the animal (though it’s difficult not to do when his appearance is so very striking) as a result. A dark chuckle exhales against his chapped lips when the demanding question strikes the air. “Aren’t you bold? It’s polite to give your own name before asking another for theirs, but I suppose I can humor you. I am Reflet, the current king of Plegia. I do expect you to repay me in turn with your own name.” 

[devour-the-crooked]

hananokishi: 

      ❝…Eh?❞ The sudden voice causes her almost instantly to spring up from the ground. As the source grows closer and closer, slender fingers inch towards her lance equipped on her backside. Although it may be a statement of concern from the stranger, perhaps there were other underlying tones she misunderstands. She turns, standing near her now-calm pegasus. ❝I can protect myself, you know. I don’t need more people telling me the obvious.❞ Such stubbornness. While it is true, she has many higher-ranked sky knights telling her how to fly, she tries her hardest to train herself.   ❝With the way you lurch, you almost make me believe you’re the bandit you say will come…❞ And there she notices the strange appearance of the man–something she has never seen before–and shifts the weight on her feet. A defensive stance she takes, watching him and her words. ❝I come here to train.❞

      “It’s merely a suggestion, do with it what you will.” She reminds him of the varying Pegasus knights he once fought beside. Was stubbornness somehow a necessary trait of becoming one? The last thing he needed was for something to befall her and have the blame fall on his country; Pegasus knights, after all, were mostly unheard of in Plegia, the dry heat and unholy grounds hardly suited such divine beats (a beast he would rather not receive a swift kick from even if it was incapable of doing much damage to him). But he can’t exactly allow her to carry on heedlessly with everything that lurked about; her life held little value to him, but he hardly wanted another tally to be added to his neighbor’s lingering resentment towards this land. Even if being compared to a bandit was enough to grate his nerves.“I would ask you not to equate me to miserable thieves,” he growls, “You should mind your tongue, I may not be one for formalities, but I am still a king, there’s only so much abuse I’m willing to put up with.” He ignores the way she shifts; how she watches him and waits, like he can waste his energy fighting with her when he hardly has any to spare. “Very well; however, I will observe you. I don’t need your blood on my land.” Folding his legs beneath himself, he flops down onto the earth gracelessly (a safe distance away from the winged horse he’s still trying to avoid).  

[devour-the-crooked]

hananokishi:

@devour-the-crooked  ❤ ‘d for a starter !

     ❝Easy girl, steady–!❞ Thump. A pure white pegasus flaps her wings, kicking dust into the air. Her supposed rider coughs as she sits in dismay.  ❝C’mon, why won’t you just…?❞ A sigh. Used as training grounds, Cali comes to these plains to better herself with her steed. A stranger has never been encountered before… at least, until today. 

    It’s a rarity for him to venture out too far from the palace walls, the dusty remains of the slums, and the looming ruins that span nearly the length of the desert. But he would wander near the border from time to time to keep a leery, watchful eye on the soldiers still stationed there. It was typically a quiet trip he made on his own (there was no need for guards when he held force enough on his own to topple the country if they tried anything), but today a grating voice rubbed against his keen ears as torn boots struck the dry plains that parted the two lands. And it takes a moment for six eyes to roll in the stranger’s direction, tugging at the scales lined sloppily beneath them as they adjusted to the light. “What are you doing out here, girl?” His strained voice came out in a hiss that wasn’t necessarily intended, but he couldn’t have cared much about it. He ignores the willy pegasus beside her; animals have never liked him, especially now that he radiated ash and decay from his very being. “You’re going to attract wild animals, or bandits like this.” It really only dawns on him after the words slip from his lips that he probably could have counted himself as ‘wild animal’ what with the horns that neatly wrapped about his head, the dark scales marring and cracking his skin, and the three sets of eyes that decorated his face all fixed upon her (at least his thick cloak hid some of his more outlandish features, but he really couldn’t do much about his face).    

[flamingopuuuunch]

The Robins’ came up with a new, fool-proof strategy to infiltrate enemy territory

I honestly have no explanation for this

i will be making the Morgans/Marcs version soon~

[devour-the-crooked]

awakenfate:

          ❝ I know you might have reason to believe this had my fingerprints all over it, but it wasn’t me, honest!! ❞

      “Lissa, this is a 400 year-old journal documenting the events that resulted in the advancement and expansion of magic for military purposes that formed the backbone of the system we use today. And for the record, I happen to have the fingerprints, blood types, and physical conditions of every single member of this army stored away in my own work. I’m more than willing to dig out your file if need be. Besides, what in Naga’s name were you hoping to accomplish by going through my things?”    

[devour-the-crooked]

@echoingalone

     Calloused, cracked fingers clutch tightly at the tattered hem of his rolled up cloak; folded rather measly over his arms and held close to his chest as he tip-toes his way through the palace halls, avoiding the glances of timid maids and watchful soldiers as the consistent beat of thunder struck the earth and the drone of heavy rainfall slammed against the high walls. His soggy boots leaving a watery trail in his wake, and his were pants coated in mud where they weren’t torn by seemingly a collection of small claws, and caked with small slashes of blood (that was clearly his own: a hint of black mixed in with the dark crimson). And his bare arms were littered with small scratches that, at first glance, could have been mistaken for the usual cracks and dips in his skin where scales were seeping through, but were far too tiny upon closer inspection to be the doing of his other half (and a set of tiny teeth marks could be made out if one peered closely enough at the wounds). With damp, silver locks hanging lifelessly in front of his eyes, all three pairs glanced wildly about him; eyeing every person that he passed as he made his way towards the kitchen. 

         “Keep quiet,” he croaked at the bundle of fabric cradled far too carefully in his mutilated arms, but the hiss of his voice only seemed to make the cloak bunch up and struggle against his grasp with a loud, high-pitched meow that hummed against his skin and made his pointed ears tremble. Quickly, he shoved the hidden animal closer to his chest, and glanced wearily over his shoulder at the lingering guards, but they paid him little mind. It had been two months since he had reluctantly returned to Ylisse at Robin’s request (or rather her convincing; he would be damned if he allowed that bastard to have a third child with his sister), and when he hadn’t burned the castle of kingdom down within the first week of his stay, he had become old news to most of the soldiers (perhaps out of respect for their Queen or simply because their worthless Exalt had ordered them to leave him be). But the thoughts didn’t have time to linger; a dull pain flooded through his arm as tiny teeth managed to find flesh among scales and fabric and sink in like a beast choking its prey.  

        His tongue clicked harshly against the roof of his mouth, but he didn’t wince or release the wiggling wad of drenched fabric from his arms as he continued down the hall. It was late; the cooks were gone for evening by the time he had managed to reach the kitchen, pressing his back against the weak doors, he easily slipped inside. His eyes needing no time to adjust to the darkness as he skirted around the counter; already cleaned with not even a sign that a meal had been prepared upon its top less than a few hours ago. Moving over to the pail in the back of the crowded room, he shifted the bundle to his right arm and gracelessly fished a wooden ladle out from the shadows beside it, wrapping thick claws out its worn surface and carefully drawing a spoonful up. Taking the ladle into his mouth (and nearly snapping it in half with sharp fangs), he rolled the bundle in his arms until he could get his fingers around it to unwrap it. 

       Revealing the small, orange head of a frightened kitten that greeted Reflet’s face with a low hiss and another scratch at his cheek. “Hey, cut it out already,” he growled, trying to keep the feline from clawing at his face again while trying to shove the ladle in its face. Wet to the bone, the last thing the poor creatures needed was water, but Reflet’s understanding of animals had never been anything to write home about, and now they were horrified of him. And this kitten was certainly no exception to that rule; her dripping fur standing on edge as low hisses vibrated in her throat without the hope of stopping. Still trying to wiggle free of Reflet’s grasp, she reached up and smacked the ladle with her paws, long claws tearing it out of his clumsy grasp and sending it onto the floor before his feet. “I’m-”

       Without missing a beat the cat slammed her tiny head into his chin, yanking herself free from his grasp and bolting beneath the low-hanging counter. “Hey,” he hissed whirling around to chase after the creature. “Are you trying to get caught?” Probably (anything would have likely seemed better than having a man less human than the kitten herself chasing her around with sharp fangs, massive horns, and claws that threatened to put her own to shame, but that hadn’t really dawned on Reflet when he had picked the pathetic creature out of the trash in the middle of the storm on his way back to the castle). Tossing himself onto the ground; his eyes dilated to see the bright ball of fur tucked in the deepest corner underneath the counter as his palms pressed to the cold stone of the floor. 

         “Come here,” he tries to whisper softly, but it spills out in a raspy snarl that does little to help his cause as he leans down under the counter, earning a sift claw to the face from the terrified animal, nearly catching his lowest eye in his grasp. Yanking back, he held up his hands to shield his face from her angry paws, and thrust himself on his knees, slamming his thick horns against the bottom of the counter with a loud thud, and sending the vibrates of the impact straight to his skull as he pulled away. With an annoyed hiss, he prepared himself for diving beneath the counter to grab only for his keen ears to rattle at the sound of approaching footsteps, scrambling to his feet, he smacked his back agains the counter to hide the shivering bundle from view just as the doors creaked open, flooding the room with light. 

        “Sister,” he awkwardly forced out; dry lips stretching into a smile that reveled sharp fangs and creased his eyes. “You uh - you should be resting,” he wheezed, but the loud meow that followed his words effectively sealed his fate. Slamming his palms down on the counter in an attempt to cover up the noise, he coughed loudly into his fist. “Nice weather we’re having,” he heaved between his fake coughs against the chorus of meows echoing from behind him.            

[devour-the-crooked]

@echoingalone

       “If you value your lowly lives, you’ll allow me through,” his hoarse, cracked voice slipped from the depths of his dry throat and into the frigid air in a tepid stream that rolled from his bitter tongue. Chapped lips pulling back into a snarl to reveal sharp fangs already drenched in blood with the hot sensation of dark fire burning at their backs as six eyes danced about the panicked faces of measly servants and knights alike; tugging at scaled and marred skin, tearing chips of skin from his face as the crimson markings beneath his eyes burned, and surged all at once. With their trembling hands wrapped tightly about lance, sword, or axe, they remained in place; whispers shifting through the crowd like a poison while the dying light of day sank behind the pristine walls of the palace. The cold ate away at his exposed skin, rustling the worn and tattered remains of his old cloak until it had seeped into his stiff bones, but even as it threatened to turn his human flesh black and blue it compared little to the heat of his wrath and the inferno that was his unbridled rage. 

         “You will let me through.” But their ashen faces only regard him with fear and the obnoxious sense of loyalty that kept them six inches deep in the snow and staring down the shell of a man that remained (there was no reasoning with him when he was angry) with a conviction that only served to grate him all the more. His lips tugged into a frown, a low growl vibrating from the back of his throat as his fangs rubbed together; his bare feet trudging forward through the thick layer of snow that had covered the land, rattling the worn, grimy chains that still tethered them together, turning the skin around his ankles raw and bloody. His attention following to a lone knight who worked his way through the army, sword clutched in hand as he approached slowly.  

         “Sir, I’m afraid we cannot allow you in on orders of the Exalt, as we’ve been trying to tell you, Lady Robin is no condition to see anyone.” Dreary pupils dilated as the words struck his ears, calloused fingers curling into trembling fists as elongated nails dug trenches into the palms of his hands; yanking at the thick chains still binding his hands together and knocking against his thing wrists. His canines dug into his lip, oozing the sweet taste of copper onto his tongue as he tightened his fists, the back scales protruding from beneath his torn clothes burning as steam rolled from them. The muscles in his arms contracted as he forced them apart, snapping the rusted chain in two before leaning down to grasp the shackles upon his feet and crushing them within his claws. And may the Gods have mercy because there was in his hollow heart of those who would fling lies about his sister at him (she doesn’t remember anything; not even you - lies, every last one of them, she could never forget).        

           “To Hell with your Exalt,” he growled, “I won’t let anyone hurt her again, and if you stand in my way of saving her, I’ll erase you.” The hard soles of his feet pressed into the earth, and before the man could ready his weapon Reflet’s claws had dug into his face, piercing through his skin and deep into his skull. “Please, sir, we’re telling the truth, she doesn’t even remember the Exalt!” Another soldier pleaded beside him, but his voice turned into a pathetic gurgle as Reflet rounded on him; lashing out and taking his throat within his hand, crushing his windpipe and tossing him into the snow. 

          “Liars, all of you, you’re just out to use her again.” He plunges forward, the snow melting beneath his feet as the shadows about him simmer into dark flames and pour out around him; consuming steel and cloth and flesh alike as they devour the poor fools stupid enough to wander too close to him, turning them to ashes before they even had the chance to scream as he reaches out to pull oncoming knights from their steeds, and tear through the skin and muscles and bones with his claws and fangs. Pushing forward with ease into the castle gates, settling them aflame, as he enters its familiar halls. “Do you understand now? I’ll obliterate your entire kingdom unless you return my sister to me,” he hissed, gaze darting about the hazy room to the terrified faces of the maids and guards that stood within the castle’s walls; blood dripping from his mouth and fingers onto the velvet rug, his chest heaving and his lungs ached, but none of that mattered (to Hell with everything they had gone through, he would be damned if he allowed Robin to be used by these people again).  

         He turned to the staircase in the heart of the room when no one dared to raise a weapon against him, dragging himself upwards until his filthy hands rested upon white doors, and he flung them open; slamming them against the walls and snapping their hinges. The anger fading from his muscles as sleek, white hair, gathered into two long, but low ponytails, greeted his blurring vision. “Sister,” he heaved, stepping forward into the bright room (the maids and soldiers that had been attending to her fleeing the moment their eyes fell upon him). “Are you uninjured?” The heat oozed out from his body; quelling the fires he had set and calming his rage. No claim of Chrom’s devotion to her or of his grief could change his mind; he would never trust the man who had lost her in the first place, the man who had made her go through all of this. No, this time he would save her. This time he would make things right, and no army, no country, and no part their shared history would stop him (he’d failed her once; he would never fail her again).  

[devour-the-crooked]

@echoingalone

      Clear, shallow waters lick at his bare feet; smothering the ornate, golden chains wound loosely about his ankles in its cool, crisp kiss. Billowing out in gentle ripples about him as he sinks deeper into its depths; drowning the thin, silk robe that hangs from his slender waist, blending black fabric into the crystalline waters, ignoring its pull as it fans out about him and nudges at the marble sides of the decorative pool. Flowing easily into the deep grooves and careful bumps that carve out images of the Fell Dragon and the former glory of the ruined country. Extending his bare arms to the side; purple and black scales glisten beneath the heavy, bright rays of the sun that hangs high overhead as golden bracelets knock against his bony wrists, swaying loose chains in the breeze as they dip into the holy water hugging his waist. And his above it, his skin is bare; exposed for all the world to see. The intricate, complex markings on his back glowing beneath the sun’s touch; devouring every inch of his rigid spine with the shape of Grima, and dipping about the six, dark bones that poke out from his flesh.

      Two years ago, he would have never set foot outside with his hood down; revealing sharp, tangled horns that curve about his eyes, and three pairs of crimson eyes that burn against patches of dark scales that further mar what remains of his more human features. In the depths of a secluded prison beneath the impressive walls of Ylisse as he morned his sister’s death, and felt rage pulse through his bones at every word that fell from Chrom’s blasphemous lips; to be bathed in the light of day again had never once crossed his wild mind (it never would have when the only person who had ever mattered to him was dead and gone). And then she stumbled back into the world like she had never been gone in the first place; both ruining and saving his life in the same breath, and with it he found atonement and salvation in the sands of his devastated, hideous country (he couldn’t save his sister when she needed him; he had accepted what remained of the Fell Dragon within him like it was the missing piece of his soul, but he could save what was left of his ailing home, and shelter it from the hands of that worthless man). 

         He can hear the muffled prayers and whispered words from the war-torn civilians gathered about him; their voices strained and timid against the gentle breeze that nips at his silver locks (there’s fear in the strangled voices of the elderly who have lived through too many wars with Ylisse to feel safe on the graveyard that composes Plegia now, and hope in the excited whispers of the children who heralded him a God among men; their savior, but if the Exalt ever dared step foot on his land again, his people would not need to weep tears of fear for Hell and all of its furry slumber within him). And it’s a simple thing to see the crisp lines of their faces from where he stands despite how his vision threatens to seep from his human eyes as they regard him; packed together tightly with their hands reaching out to grasp at the marbled edge of the pool for a chance to study him more closer; to stare at ugly the ugly cracks in his flesh and the dark scales that tear his skin apart with wonder. He would not be a king that stood idle, or a prophet who refused to walk amongst them. 

         The soft hum of a flute drones on in the background to the eerie cry of a lone drum, and the careful chants of the guards positioned beside the pool (though they were hardly needed); one clasping his neatly flooded cloak in his arms as he lead the group in prayer. It meant little to Reflet (though there was a part of him that was greedy for the sense of power and control it instilled in him), at least in the same sense that his people regarded the ceremony with, but following such traditions helped unify what remained of the country. It was a simple prayer: one he’s lead a dozen times since claiming the fallen crown, though today he remained quiet. His voice too hoarse and too strangled to reach the distance the crowd spanned, but his presence alone was enough. To an outsider, it must have looked strange, but religion had always been tightly woven into Plegia’s politics, and Reflet was more than willing to make use of it to keep everyone at peace (to free their minds from worry when they still shied away from foreigners and went rigid at the sight of soldiers, the occupation had not been kind and Reflet had only rid this land of the lingering men a few days ago, and exhaustion still licked at his bones from the display of power he had given them to prevent the desire of returning to ever cross their minds again).     

        His arms fall back to his sides as the guard finishes, watching as the citizens collect themselves, all standing nearly at once. And he wades his way to the pristine walls of the pool, easily lifting himself out over the edge, accepting his cloak from the guard, and quickly tossing it over his damp shoulders (ignoring the slight sting of his palms as the cuts made there yank; used to dye the clear waters a murky red). Normally, he lingers, but he doesn’t have the energy today, yet the guard is quick to stop him from leaving, leaning forward to whisper something gleefully into his king’s ear. “Robin? Are you certain?” He nods, a grin slipping onto his features as he pulls away from Reflet (Ylisse’s Queen she may be, she’s still their lord’s sister, and holds much respect in the eyes of the people here, regardless of if she’s aware of it). 

       With soaking fabric mudding and collecting the sand scorching his bare feet, he exchanges a few quick words with the men before moving through the crowd that parts easily for him, even as the calls of joyful children ring in his ears and words of gratitude mix in. He would have stopped to address them normally, and his quickened pace makes them curious (poor Robin, by the time he reaches her, she’s going to have her own, personal welcoming party, which he would have gladly thrown had he known she was coming - wait he had forgotten about the upcoming festival in his haste to rid the land of the unwanted soldiers and bandits, he could drown himself for not being more prepared). 

        “Sister,” he calls as he spots her white hair fluttering behind her (while trying to subtly send one of his subjects to gather up his men to prepare a room for her; nothing less than the best would do). “It’s good to see you again,” he heaves; boiling lungs taking a moment to collect his words on his tongue as he reaches her, as his calloused fingers dig into his knees, catching his breath before he finally manages to look up at her. “I’ve missed you.” He wants to reach out, and embrace her; to feel the thud of heart against her chest and the dull heat of her breath just to ensure she’s still alive; that she’s real and here and not slipping through his fingers all over again. But he hesitates; he’s never once been worthy of touching her, not when they had been children and he couldn’t keep her out of trouble, and especially not now when he had failed to protect her. But it’s been months since he had left Ylisse behind; unable to remain in the stuffy, crammed air of its streets, and he can damn the thoughts in his head just this once. So, he steps forward, gingerly bringing her into a loose hug, careful not to cut her with sharp scales and bladed horns.     

[wreathmoon]

[devour-the-crooked]

Gravity~Henry & Reflet

[raven-winged-seraph-blog]

Despite their current dire situation, Henry couldn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes from wandering. He told himself it was his insatiable curiosity that fixed his gaze along the sleek scales that rippled down Reflet’s skin. He inwardly rejoiced when Reflet had come to lean against him, giving him a good reason to wrap an arm around his shoulders and allow his fingers to trail gingerly across the sharp edges of the scales thereupon. He wondered vaguely how sensitive they were. Did they act like armor? Could he even feel Henry’s softest touch as he tested how likely the scales were to cut him? Much to his delight, the red line of blood slicing across his finger was enough to attest to the scales sharpness. He gazed at it for a moment over Reflet’s head, glad that the other had chosen to bury his face where he couldn’t see how he bit his lip in an effort to restrain his ecstasy.

If he had been any more caught up in the sensation of Reflet’s skin on his then he might have missed the words the other had spoken next. They were almost inaudible, uttered into his chest and muffled by layers of blanket. But Reflet’s hoarse laugh caught his attention, and the following phrase was therefore unmistakable.

Henry laughed softly, but with much less humor than his already joyless laugh usualy contained, “Even I know that’s a bad joke, Reflet.” The hand that had been wrapped gently around Reflet’s shoulders moved to run its fingers through the hair that lay at the nape of his neck, gripping it tightly. Not to be cruel, but more as if it were the one way to remain anchored in the moment. As if the pressure of Reflet’s horns digging into his chest weren’t enough proof that he hadn’t imagined the tactician in his arms “To say something like that, when I’ve been in love with you since Valm, that’s positively cruel.”

“Reflet,” Henry moved his free hand to cup Reflet’s chin, leaning back to tilt his face upwards to look at him without slitting his chest open on his horns. He was struck again with wonder, marveling at how much color managed to permeate the skin of his cheeks even as they were split by sclera and scales. How Reflet could think that just because his features were monstrous meant they couldn’t be beautiful was beyond his comprehension. His heart gave an unprecedented jolt, and Henry for a moment contemplated whether or not it would explode if he acted on its sudden and insistent urgings. An average person might have decided that this was neither the time nor the place for such things, but Henry had never been graced with such things as common sense or tact. “You’re really awful at telling jokes.” And so Henry bridged the gap between them, carefully threading between Reflet’s horns to kiss the blistered and broken skin of his lips.

[devour-the-crooked]

A shiver ran along his crooked spine at the sensation of Henry’s fingers trailing along his scales. A muffled moan slid past as lips, as he pulled slightly away from the other man’s touch. The skin unused to the strange excitement that ran through it when Henry brushed against it. Claws dug against the blankets for a brief moment while Reflet willed what little strength he had left into his arm in order to reach up, and clamp his bony hand around Henry’s wrist. “Stop,” He breathed, attempting to wiggle out of Henry’s grasp, but his body was too weak to manage anything other than shifting himself more against the other man. “They’re sharp.” He’d seen his fair share of soldiers get caught on them when attempting to capture or kill him, and the results were never pretty. But even more so was the fact that he disliked the feeling that spread through his body when Henry touched them the way he was, so unused to anything getting within a mile of his ungodly appearance that having someone so close felt awkward to him now.      

The dryness of Henry’s laugh made his gaze shift to the other man’s face. A bad joke. More like a dream; a wish; a desire. A selfish one. Henry had always been kind to him. And from the very beginning Reflet had always been attracted to him. In more ways than he cared to admit, and years he had spent in agony whenever he saw the other man. War was difficult, protecting Robin with everything he had was even more so, and struggling to keep the camp from turning on him was nearly impossible. But the man before him had always kept him alive; always made living slightly easier.

Now? Now, though, he made living harder. And he felt a lump form in his throat when Henry spoke those damnable words. His heart must have stopped, but it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes, as if to hide from the mage. If he had the energy he was certain he would have pushed him away. No, he would have run away. Henry was one of the two people he had never wanted to see again. And looking at him now was so very painful. He so badly wanted to reach out, and embrace him, but that was selfish. To touch him, to love him, was selfish now.

“No,” Was all he managed to choke out before Henry grasped his chin within his hand. He felt his body grow warm, and his heart spiral. He was completely at Henry’s mercy regardless of what he wanted at the moment. And he lacked the strength and will to pull away when Henry leaned in. His lips brushing against the mage’s in return, carefully, gently, pressing against them until his weak lungs gave out, and he was forced to break off. Breath creeping past his lips, as he tried to look away from the other man. Hands fumbling about beneath him to press against Henry’s chest in protest.

“Henry, stop,” His nails pressed slightly into the other man’s bare chest, as he tired to collect his own thoughts. “I’ve loved you for a long time.” But this was mistake. “But…” His voice cracked with his breathless words, body aching and throbbing, as he tried to ignore the constant pain that plagued him. “Telling you that now is selfish. I’m sorry.”

[devour-the-crooked]

Back To You~Henry & Reflet

[raven-winged-seraph-blog]

“Concerned about me?” Henry scoffed, “Oh, please. You’re the one with the fell dragon poking through your skin.” He stifled a snicker. That really wasn’t much of a laughing matter but he couldn’t help it. The flowers really had worked their charm, and Reflet looked positively adorable. Why he was getting so flustered by them was beyond Henry’s comprehension. But it was beyond obvious that the pair of them had wildly different ideas about the nature of Reflet’s transformation.

“You’d better not leave me,” Henry replied, his tone still light despite the seemingly heavy words, “but even if you did, I tracked you down once, I’d find you again.”  He laughed again, as if the circumstances of their first reunion had been something more like a picnic and less life threatening.

Henry hummed disbelievingly at Reflet’s assertion he wasn’t hiding something. He really had been teasing about it, but after that stammering reply he had gotten it seemed like he might have been on to something. Maybe he really would ask the ravens if anything had been suspicious lately with Reflet, his newly developed self-sacrificial tendencies would have turned henry’s hair grey if it weren’t already white. He sighed, “such a problem child you are.”

[devour-the-crooked]

A harsh sigh managed to slip past his lips when Henry felt the need to comment about the current status of the annoying dragon. Reaching a hand up, he toyed the various red flowers the other man had strung around his horns in a pitiful attempt to cover them better. But even his best effort wasn’t going to get the flowers to hide these damn things. Granted, he wasn’t terribly certain hiding Grima’s horns was really Henry’s intention when throwing flowers upon them. What it actually was, he hadn’t a clue, but the man had taken his transformation extremely well. For better or worse.

A smile stretched across his mouth at the comment; one that looked far more like it belonged to the fell dragon than its master. “That is assuming you would be lucky enough to find me alive again.” Even if he had been just barely alive last time. How close to death had he been, he wondered, how close had he been before Henry had to go ruin it. Probably not very, he mused, Grima wouldn’t have let him die there. The dragon had stopped blow after fatal blow he’d dealt to his own body in an attempt to drown the dragon with him. Stubborn beast didn’t know when it had lost. Then again, perhaps, he was the one being stubborn here.

“I’m the problem child?” A brow rose at the statement. Actually, yeah, he probably was. He couldn’t argue too much with that when he constantly frightened off the castle staff with his appearance, and couldn’t be in the same room as a certain moronic traitor without having to suppress Grima’s going desire to devour the foolish man. But that was Robin’s fault for him to come back to the castle. Well, forced was a strong word, but what was he supposed to do when he found out his sister had a second child with that bastard.

He found his clawed hands forming a painful fist before he even resisted it. Nails tearing easily into the flesh of his palm, as blood leaked out across his fingers. Loosening his fest, he relaxed the best he could. Sure, that asshole was spending the day with his sister, but he owed Henry enough not to go storming off on the mage in order to strangle the Exalt. “Anyway, where exactly are you planning to take me?” It was both curious and mildly distrustful. Sure, he loved Henry with all of his heart, but that didn’t mean he trusted the man not to come up with something crazy.

[challengeroffate-blog-blog]

Hello, Uncle...

[challengeroffate-blog-blog]

The sight of her uncle made all of Lucina’s worries clamp down in her gut. She was very nervous of this outing, but she would do her best not to let it show on her face. Or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, what she knew she needed to do was crush the feelings entirely and more on to a new way of looking at things. He was family, and that was so important. She wanted to love him like she did her aunt Lissa, but…he was so resistant to it. To everything, really, that did not involve his own suffrage. In that sense, he was…pitiable.

Her resolve steeled, Lucina was given no further time to doubt herself before Reflet appeared, looking as grumpy as usual. What she could see of him, anyway. He had, perhaps wisely, decided to go with a heavy cloak and hood to hide his admittedly twisted form. She knew the pity was showing on her face as she stepped after him, and made no real effort to quash it. He would probably be angry, but…she did care. He had paid this price to earn her mother’s freedom. He deserved some affection, even if it was pity and sadness.

It was all he would let her offer.

“Uncle?” she finally said, hurrying after him. “I had mounts prepared.” The walk to town would be long otherwise, so they might as well ride. Waving the grooms over, she took the reins to her own horse and swung into the saddle, settling into place while she waited for him to do the same.

She would do her best to be as amicable as possible, but…it was so much more difficult when faced with the real man, and not her own thoughts. It was hard to forget how much he hated her and her father, and those facts did burn, even if he loved her mother dearly. And Mother loved him.

She was here for her family, however, and family he was, no matter how much a black sheep. If only she did not feel so much like he would love to see her vanish. She had no place here as it was, despite her parents’ wishes, and his hatred was not helping. It left her with a feeling of…dissonance as to whether she should be staying or not.

For now, she would simply do her best. Maybe if she could help him feel more like he belonged…he could lose some of his hatred. It seemed like a long shot, but she would try. That was what she always did.

[devour-the-crooked]

For a moment, he made a small effort to acknowledge her existence by glaring in response to the look that had settles on her features. It was similar to the one her father often tossed his way when the two bothered to spares one another a glance. And, he was, in fact used to the pity that devoured the faces of the people he cared for when they looked at him now. Even Robin looked at the same way her daughter and husband did. He’d grown used to it, though he still disliked it. Pity wasn’t something he felt was needed. Grima was far from blessing, yes, but the dragon also wasn’t a curse. At least not in his twisted opinion.

But it was only a fleeting moment, and it broke from it quickly. He couldn’t say he cared when he had no desire to befriend his sister’s daughter or husband. His hatred of the girl’s father extending to her simply by association, and despite this little shopping trip Robin had sent them on he had no plans to get to know her. All he wanted was to make this field trip end as soon as possible. He hated going into town. Granted, he hated being at the castle, as well, but Robin was apparently more stubborn than he was.

“What?” He responded bluntly. At least he answered to uncle that in itself could have been considered progress in the right direction for the grumpy man. His face, however, hardened considerably at the mention of mounts. An expression that quickly turned to dread upon seeing the horses. Fantastic. He hadn’t ridden a horse in years, perhaps even in his entire life from what he could remember of it. And why did it have to be a horse? Dragons tended to like him better. Well, actually, dragons were the only creatures that liked him.

“This is not a good idea.” He’s rather walk, even if the trip wasn’t exactly a short one. But with a sigh, he slowly made his way over to the horse. Whispering,“ This is for Robin,” under his breath. However, no matter how many times he repeated the words to himself they didn’t seem to ease his nerves. Did he even know how to ride a horse? No. He did not. Sure, he’d looked over a boon or two about it, and had a basic idea, but reading, and actually attempting to ride the foul beast were two different things. He could feel even Grima laughing at him from within the confides of his mind.

“It’s okay,” He tried to calm the creature, as he went to take the reins, but his voice was raspy and harsh, probably closer to the way Grima sounded than an actual human being anymore. And the moment he had taken the reins, the horse reared up, and took off, yanking them from his scaly hands with ease, and darting as far as away it could manage.

[naiivekindarchive-deactivated20]

devour-the-crooked

[naiivekindarchive-deactivated20]

“Ehh?” Growing more confused by the minute, who was this man in front of him? And why did he bare resemblance to his mother? Morgan’s eyebrows began to furrow trying to think of possibilities and reasons to why there was an individual bearing similar appearances. 

Hearing the other man before him, inquiring to what was wrong; Morgan’s mind went blank. What should he say, what should he ask; the tactician had too many questions unanswered. Leaving him to answer the other with “U-Uh.” and nervous laughter. 

“H-Hi..” Finally able to formulate sentences, scratching the back of neck; laughing awkwardly..

[devour-the-crooked]

Blinking a few times, he caught sight of the child starring at him. He hadn’t expected anyone to be out, and he supposed he looked rather strange. Oops. Too little, and too late, he awkwardly lifted the good of his cloak over his head, and allowed it to drape across his horns in a pitiful attempt to cover his face. If he gave some kid a heart attack, well, his sister would murder him.

When he asked the child what was wrong, as if he wasn’t clearly aware of his own appearance, he received a nervous laugh, and, eventually, even more awkward greeting. Staying away from people hadn’t done wonders for Reflet’s awful people skills, and he shuffled a foot against the dirt briefly.

“Hello,” He responded back. Not sure how to respond to the other. “I’m sorry about that.” For what? Existing? Yeah, probably.

[challengeroffate-blog-blog]

Hello, Uncle...

Lucina could not believe this. She was too much a sucker for her family, though, so here she was…back in the castle and unable to find it in her to depart once again. This was her home. Who was she to argue that point? The last thing she wanted to do was upset her parents again.

…she also did not mind helping them out with things. Really. Her toddler self and baby brother were the most important people in the world to her, and she would do anything for them. Even if anything included going shopping with her uncle. Why it was so urgent they go to the market for baby clothing when they had a perfectly good seamstress in the castle, Lucina had no idea. But she would do as asked.

She paced in the grand entrance to the castle, waiting for Reflet. She has not seen her uncle in…years, and frankly she was not certain that was a bad thing. Her uncle hated her father, and that made her uncomfortable. He had to dislike her, also, and he was…unhinged, thanks to Grima. Nothing about this situation was good.

Her hand clasped the hilt of Falchion, closing and opening as she kept one eye watching for Reflet. The sooner they left, the sooner she could return and put this behind her. Though, admittedly, she should make an effort to get along with him. For Mother’s sake. She loved her brother very much, and Lucina did respect that. She, too, loved her brother very much. How would she feel if her daughter hated Morgan? She would undoubtedly be greatly upset by that.

With that thought in mind, she took a deep breath, steeled herself…and prayed to Naga for the strength to live up to her silent ideologies.

[devour-the-crooked]

Tired palms shoved themselves into his broken visage, as he resisted the urge to bash his head against the wall.  Why had he agreed to this? Why did he give into Robin so easily? All she had to do was look at him, and he would agree to anything. It was curse. A groan released from his mouth, as his mind wondered over the events that head lead him to agree to such a horrific task. He hated people. And his face was hardly something fit for the public eye. Nothing about this was a good idea, but now he was stuck. He couldn’t refuse his sister’s request; he didn’t have the heart to say no to her.

So, he shoved himself off of his bed, and yanked the hood on his cloak over his head. The thick fabric fell awkwardly over the horns attached firmly to his head, but it was better than just walking around without any attempt to cover his face at all. Well, it could have been worse. Robin could have asked him to go shopping with Chrom. The thought alone was enough to bring a frown onto his features, as he slipped out of his room to make his way to the front of the castle. With that image lingering in his mind, it somehow began easier to imagine himself shopping peacefully with the man’s daughter instead of the dreadful nightmare that completing the task with her father would have been.

He took a deep breath. Nothing about this was reasonable, but he hoped the faster they got this over with the sooner he could lock himself back into his room, and pretend his sister hadn’t managed to drag him back to this place. At least, thankfully, Grima was calm today. The beast hadn’t felt the need to bother him yet, and he simply assumed it was because the dragon was tired. He rarely slept well, and its numbness hadn’t found him in days now. If that was enough to keep the fell dragon quiet for a few hours in town than he was now grateful for the pain that kept him awake at night.

Shoving aside his thoughts for the dragon, hoping thinking about him wouldn’t tempt it to show its face, he quickly slipped out of the castle. Spotting the blue-haired girl the moment he stepped out onto the gravel. It had been years since he had seen her, and he couldn’t claim that they had ever been on good terms with one another. But he would put forth his best effort to avoid arguing with her. She was his sister’s daughter, after all.  

“Let’s just get this over with,” He sighed, closing the distance between them. He must have looked a bit odd with a hood up in the middle of the day when it was sunny out, but better than dealing with the questions and concerns that came when his horns were showing. Not that they were easy to hide, and one could still their tips poking out from beneath the cloth if they looked at him longer than a few simple seconds. He wasted no time in greeting her, walking past her, and towards the town.

[devour-the-crooked]

I Bet My Life~Robin & Reflet

[black-crow-droning-on]

Robin was starting to lose the battle with herself even though at the moment she had the upper hand against Reflet. Was it really alright to be so selfish again? No it wasn’t, but nothing about this situation was right or fair. Robin was ready to challenge fate all over again if it meant saving Reflet. Even though what he was saying was true she still had to look out for her family as well. Even though she was separated from Chrom and Lucina again as well as Morgan. “You’re my brother Reflet, even though I’m Queen and have my own family to look after, I don’t want to lose you,” she said her voice faltering. “Chrom has everything under control until I can return, he knows how important you are to me.” Robin probably shouldn’t have mentioned her husband since Reflet wasn’t fond of him but it was the truth. Even though she did leave Chrom alone with two children and a entire country to rule. Hopefully he was doing fine…

Reflet tried to wiggle out of her arms again but she still held onto him tightly.  Part of her didn’t know if she was still holding him so he wouldn’t escape or if she needed the comfort. He then went on saying it as better to keep the dragon away and then he said it. Reflet’s words stabbed through any emotional defense she had left and stung her in the heart. Robin’s chest felt heavy and her grip around Reflet loosened significantly. Everything sounded like white noise to her, even as he threatened the soldiers. Every action just felt so empty now and Robin tried hard to gather enough composure to move. She was being selfish, she was always being selfish.

Moving slowly, she managed to get out from under Reflet without pushing him too far away or injuring either of them. Even as she got free she didn’t stand up, she didn’t think she could at the moment. Robin couldn’t face her brother or the soldiers, not with the weakness she was showing. It was pathetic, but the truth was crushing with the unbearable guilt she felt. Everything bad that had happened to Reflet was all of her fault.

“I’m sorry…” she whimpered out hating how weak her voice was. “I-I’m s-so s-sor-ry,” she choked out as she lost the battle as her shoulders shook violently. A sob escaped her throat and her hands formed fists into the snow as she kept her head down low. “Y-You stayed b-because of me… you s-sacrifice s-s-so much j-just t-to keep me h-happy.” Robin tried desperately to stop trying but the sobs only got harder and she tried to at least hide behind a curtain of hair to hide a shred of weakness. She tried so hard to stay strong, but she wasn’t. It was sickening how pathetic and selfish she really was.

“I-I t-tried t-to s-save you, t-tried t-to save everyone. I-In the e-end I-I I just…” Robin couldn’t even think straight anymore. Was Reflet even there anymore or had he left since he was free. She couldn’t tell from staring intently at the ground with blurred vision and the sounds of her sobs covering everything else. She couldn’t stop though the words just kept falling out of her mouth in sobs. “I-m s-so s-sorry R-Reflet. It’s my fault. I-It’s a-all my f-fault! I w-was so sel-selfish and w-weak and… I’m s-orry, I’m s-so sorry…” Robin kept repeating her apology as she finally gave up trying to hold back the rest of the sobs. She wouldn’t blame him at all if he left, he deserved to do one thing for himself other than staying because of her selfishness.

[devour-the-crooked]

He felt Robin’s grip around him weaken until she finally released him. The soldiers were enraged now, barely held back by their commander’s former order, as Reflet quickly stumbled onto his feet. He heaved a pained breath out into the chilled air, chest struggling to regain composure. And he swallowed thickly, legs shaking, and pain surging through his tired body. A hand reached up to grab tightly at the clothing over his chest, claws shredding the fabric, and digging into his skin in an attempt to ease the pain of his throbbing heart. His body felt hot, and he could sense Grima’s desire to take over and protect his current host, but he fought the dragon’s will back. The dragon could smell the anger and rage boiling within the bodies of the men gathered around Robin. But Reflet couldn’t blame them; he could never blame anyone for hating him so.

Dislodging his nails from his chest, he rose his hands slowly to grip his head between them. Lowering his gaze to the snow, as he forced his blurring vision to focus on the drops of red that collected upon its frozen surface. Panting hot breathes into the air, as he felt his heart begin to slow to a normal pace. The scales on his body burned, and he could feel the cracks on his skin become warm and sticky with the sensation of blood. Grima was, well, pissed. And he placed more pressure against his head, as he tried to soothe the dragon’s growing rage. But he understood. He had a strange bond with the monster now, and, at times, it was hard to part the beast’s own wishes from his own.

But Robin had given up. Now was his chance to escape. He couldn’t go back to the castle now; he never could. He was too much of a threat to the safety of others. More than once he’d lost himself to Grima, and he wouldn’t allow himself to put Robin in danger. Feeling Grima give into his own desires, he relaxed his tensed muscles, and dropped his hands from his head. He was tired, so tired, but this was fine. Grima would ensure his safety, and, well, if the dragon didn’t, it would be a gift.

Yet, the sound of Robin’s voice echoed in his ears, and he bit deep into his lower lip. Nothing. There was nothing she needed to apologize for. He had given her an impossible choice knowing it would hurt her. He turned away from her when began to sob. It was hard. It was impossible. He wanted to comfort her, but he needed to leave now while he still had the chance. If he didn’t leave her now, he would only end up regretting it. He would get in the way of her happiness. That’s how things had always been, and now, well, now he actually looked the part of the monster he knew he had always been.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” He breathed. “Everything is fine, Robin. You’ve already saved everyone. If anything, this world owes its existence to you.” He sighed, speaking was difficult for him, and he found his voice cracking with a cough. Everything was taxing on this body now. It hurt. But there was no pain that could compare to what he felt when Robin had vanished before his eyes. Even if he could never see her again, and no matter how much that thought hurt, he knew he had leave. Turning on his heels, he faced Robin in all of her agony.

“Robin,” He spoke carefully, voice a harsh whisper, as his own tone mixed with Grima’s hoarse voice. “I am your family. I am your brother. I will always love you, and I will always be with you. I can’t be saved for I already have been. There is nothing left you can do for me, and nothing left that I can do for you.” He turned around again, a hand brushing over his cloak to search for a tome nestled within its thick fabric. “Our paths are no longer the same, and never again will they cross. We have both done all that we can. Now this is your reward. Live a long life for me.”

Running his fingers along the edge of the book, he felt a powerful rush of wing kick up around him, creating a flurry of snow between them. “Goodbye, sister.” He ached and throbbed so terribly, but this was pain he was used to now, as he took a step forward, and began to walk away.  

[devour-the-crooked]

I Bet My Life~Robin & Reflet

[black-crow-droning-on]

Robin tried to catch her breath as she continued lying in the snow keeping her grip on Reflet. He was trying to struggle out of her grip at first but was slowly giving up. Her cloak was now soaking went and her face felt numb as she was laying in the thick snow. Still she refused to loosen her grip on her twin brother even as his back had some hard protruding bumps that were digging into her.

He pleaded for her to not do it again and she shook her head while in the snow. “I didn’t plan for that to happen,” she tried to defend herself pouting a bit. It was his fault for using the fire in the first place. At least they managed to avoid crashing into the solid ground or that would have really hurt. He then told her he doubted he had much time left and she shook her head.

Robin knew from Chrom that Grima had destroyed Reflet’s body and that it would likely kill him. She didn’t enjoy hearing that though and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Even more reason to spend your last moments with your family then…” she answered quietly refusing to loosen her grip or to let Reflet go.

“I don’t want you to die alone somewhere in the snow,” she added on trying to keep her voice level. Her husband’s hope had rubbed off on her and part of her believed that there was a chance to save Reflet. If she was saved maybe he would be too. Even if their situations were very different. She had to believe that there was a chance to save her twin brother. And even if there wasn’t she wanted to spend as much time as she could with him. Even if he didn’t like Chrom or her children she still wanted him nearby. Robin felt horribly guilty for being so selfish but it was the only thing she could do to keep herself from falling apart.

[devour-the-crooked]

       Attempting to dislodge them had only resulted in him becoming more entangled in his sister’s stubborn arms. Painting a distinct frown across his broken and scarred features, as his mind began to toss out ideas as to how to force her to release him. But everything he managed to come up with only ended up getting shoved aside out of fear of injuring her in the process. A low, muffled curse left his lips, one that only a dog could hear; almost anyone else, and he would have had no issue with killing them in cold blood. Hell, if not for her, he would have gladly fought the small army still seated behind them with a mix of confusion and disgust distorting their features. He could kick himself for running out of energy, and for the numbness that had made his formerly aching legs next to useless now. Not like he could have outrun a horse to begin with, but he damn well could have tried.

      “And I didn’t plan for you to come looking for me. You’re the Queen now. You have more important tasks to attend to, and this world is still recovering from war. Your position is important, and you should take it more seriously. What will people think when they learn you left it to come looking for the man who harbors Grima? Nothing good for Ylisse, that much is certain,” He breathed out. Voice a bit harsh considering who was aiming the words at, but his aim was for her better good, and he allowed annoyance to seep into them. He couldn’t risk trying to separate them with a good burst of magic again. Because that had gone so well the first time.  

        He gritted his teeth, and attempted to wiggle out of her grasp without smacking her with his horns, but it limited his movement. His body was already exhausted from the pain placed upon it from Grima, and his aimless wondering across the world didn’t exactly do wonders for it either. “No, even more of a reason to keep this dragon as far away from anyone as possible,” He hissed. “What you want from me, and I want from the reminder of my time are two different things.” Great job. Make your sister feel worse than she already does.

      If he had to make Robin his enemy to ensure her safety, well, he would. Harm her he might not be willing, but murder those men behind her? Well, there was nothing stopping him from attacking them other than the fear of hitting Robin in the process, and that fear was gone now that she was latched firmly onto him; away from the gawking soldiers.

       He felt the hard weight of his tome against his chest still, nestled neatly against his shirt, as he moved. A hand shifting to free its aim from the woman, as he chanted the spell beneath his breath, and felt the warmth in his palm increase before it exploding into a powerful blast of fire towards the soldiers. “Decide now, Robin, your people, or the brother who already has one foot in the grave,” He threatened.

[devour-the-crooked]

Gravity~Henry & Reflet

[raven-winged-seraph-blog]

Henry laughed softly as Reflet squirmed out of his clothes.It wasn’t really fair to make fun of someone who was still threatening to die of hypothermia, but it was hard not chuckle at Reflet’s less than graceful movements. He would have been happy to help him under normal circumstances, but there was something incredibly entertaining about watching him determinedly struggle to do it himself. He moved to pick up the sopping wet clothing from where Reflet had abandoned it, laying it out so that it had some vague hope of drying.  

“Just what are you trying to pull, hmm? I know you said you’d so anything, but you don’t need to do that.” He looked back fondly at the tactician now huddled in blankets on the floor, chuckling at his own joke. But despite his teasing, Reflet had had the right idea. Henry pulled off his own cloak, stiff with ice, and shortly after the sweater and kilt he had worn underneath. Laying them neatly next to Reflet’s clothing, he returned to sit by his side again. He felt immensely better without his own soaked through clothes, the sheer fabric of his black mage linens providing enough warmth to make sitting by the fireside comfortable.

Reflet turned his face to address Henry, and now, with the immediate threat of death removed, Henry was allowed to fully admire the changes that had transformed his friend’s features. Everything about it was horrendous, and therefore beautiful. The sixfold eyes he had worshipped as the symbol of his deity for most of his life were now perfectly a part of the face he had come to know so well, though their irises were red, they were still very much Reflet’s eyes. The scales that had erupted from his skin were exquisite, a perfect amalgamation or shimmering iridescent black scales and the dried blood they had drawn when they had broached the surface of his skin. Reflet had clearly never bothered to take care of them, but with the proper care, Henry was certain they would shine more beautifully than any gem the continent had seen. And of course the true prize of such a transformation, those magnificently elegant sweeping horns that graced Reflet’s skull. Henry’s hands twitched longingly beside him. He had already let temptation get the better of him in the snow, but in this moment he resisted the urge to take the protruding bones into his hands again.

A shudder having nothing to do with the cold ran up his spine. What a blessing, how amazing was this? If only it weren’t so clearly causing the one who was bearing it pain, then this new face would be perfect. But was it only the face? Reflet’s hands had certainly been scaled, if Henry recalled, but what of the rest? How far did they go? How many of Grima’s features had Reflet inherited? Aaah, there were more questions running through Henry’s mind than he could ever put voice to.

He became vaguely aware of Reflet addressing him again. Oops, he shouldn’t have let himself get so absorbed in that beautiful face. It was perhaps lucky that his expressions lended themselves towards hiding where he was looking. He couldn’t have Reflet knowing just how often his gaze lingered on him, even in the times before he bore such an enchanting visage.

“Apologizing again,” he sighed, “You need to have a thicker skin for these kinds of things.” He held back a jibe of how his new scales gave him a thick enough skin already. Reflet didn’t seem to be appreciating his little quips about his new appearance as much as he might have hoped. The joke did a good job of killing itself in his throat, however; as Reflet shifted covers in what was clearly an invitation to join him under them. More of his skin was exposed, and Henry was blessed with a view of the persistence of purple-black scales down the other man’s side. Henry swallowed hard. This was getting dangerous. But he’d made his decision when he’d come back to search for the runaway war hero.

Henry smiled, or rather, continued to smile as at this point his face refused to betray any emotion that wasn’t placid curiosity. He obliged, slipping deftly underneath the proffered blankets. He reached around Reflet to ensure that he was tucked in snugly around all sides, at the same time both very aware and very nonchalant about how sheer the fabric of his own clothing was, and how it felt brushing against Reflet’s scaly skin. Henry returned back to lay beside him, stretched out on his side so he continue to admire those incredible horns. He laughed softly, unable to resist teasing him one more time. “Look at you, inviting me to bed like this. What are you, my wife?” He laughed at his own joke for a moment before settling back down again. Coherent conversation staters chased themselves around his head for a moment, but he lost them gazing into the three sets of Reflet’s eyes. Instead he only sighed gently to himself, whispering in a voice barely intended to be audible, “Wow, you certainly are something incredible.”

[devour-the-crooked]

       A scowl formed on his cracked features when Henry commented on his pitiful attempts to struggle out of his frigid clothing. His eyes rolled back awkwardly, and out of time with another at the sound of the other man’s restricted chuckle at the joke he had made just moments ago. One would have assumed him to be more used to Henry’s jabs by now, but their time apart had done nothing to increase his tolerance of the other man’s poor sense of humor. If he had more energy, he would have taken a shot back at the mage, but as it stood, he was more focused in shoving himself as far underneath the blankets as he could possibly manage without suffocating himself. Not that he was against the idea of doing so, but as he could feel strength slowly returning to the parts of his body that weren’t nearly frozen solid, he could feel Grima’s own strength returning as well. He doubted the dragon within him, or the mage beside him, would let him rob his lungs of air.

         “Maybe you should take advantage of it while you can,” he managed to mutter out weakly, eyes struggling a bit to remain open, but he could feel the four extra ones he had shifting around far more easily. Grima’s strength was pouring into keeping him awake, and he could sense the monster’s desire to keep him alive. But while the sensation of the dragon exerting itself normally made his stomach churn, and body hot, he felt oddly calm. Perhaps because the dragon appeared to have no desire to harm Henry, which, in the end, he supposed make sense. After all, Henry had worshipped the dragon in the best. But no matter the reason, it was blessing. Fighting Grima took energy out of him that he didn’t currently have.

        Blinking hard in an attempt to assist the dragon for once in his life, he allowed his gaze to travel tiredly across the floor, and towards Henry. Noting the collection of icy, and soaked clothing that had been spread out over the room while he had been overthinking the motivates of an annoying dragon. In the time he had been caught up in his thoughts, Henry had slipped, probably far more gracefully than himself, out of the majority of his chilled clothing. His gaze lingered on the mage’s thin body through the sheerness of the fabric that remained on Henry. He could see the folds of his slight muscles through the cloth as the other moved, and found himself staring. But even as the realization came to him, he didn’t bother to look away. Time had passed him by so slowly these past few years that he couldn’t even count the days that had passed since he had last seen the mage. As much as he hadn’t wanted to run into the other in this condition, he couldn’t deny how overjoyed he was to be able to beside the other again. And the thought of glancing away from him was almost terrifying, as if Henry would leave if he did so.

         “I’m afraid that I don’t,” He stated. His voice was quiet, but so was the room, and he assumed Henry could hear him just fine. But he still found himself distracted, even as he addressed the other. If he was being honest, he wanted to hold Henry; to be close to him; to touch him. And he swallowed thickly, as the thoughts began to linger in his mind. Hesitating to complete the sentence he had begun not long ago. “You should know that better than anyone,” He managed to tack on. Trying to refocus his brain on keeping his body from shutting down rather than on the form of the man in the room with him. There was a lot he hadn’t had the chance to say to Henry, and they were words he would probably not be able to say now. Words he would feel to guilty to say when he knew his time on this earth was ticking away. But words he wanted to taste so sweetly regardless of the shadows they would cast.

        Instead, he wrapped the blanket tightly around his shaking fingers, and shifting slightly beneath the covers in order to yank them downwards slightly; too weak to pull them anywhere after the effort it had taken to move them in the first place. A shudder ran across the skin that was now exposed to the room. The warmth of the blanket barely kissing his hipbones. Revealing the neat set of scales that wrapped carefully around the exposed flesh that covered those visible bones. Kneading down beneath the blanket in a random pattern that mixed with his skin. Breaking, and cracking in scaly lines along his stomach. Exposing a bit of skin at his abdomen that wasn’t scaled or broken, but around it were more breaks. His rip cape could be been slightly through his skin as he breathed slowly, he hadn’t done much to take care of himself, and the dried blood that clung to the scales upon his body was proof enough of that. The red liquid followed along beside a trail of more recent scales lingering beside his fine collarbones, and neck. Their dark color contrasting against his pale skin, and shivering body.

         Despite what he would have considered to be his unsettlingly appearance, Henry slipped into the covers beside him, tucking them around much to Reflet’s relief. He could feel the soft sensation of the sheet fabric rubbing against his body, and unconsciously leaned into Henry’s body for warmth. The scales on his hips rubbing against Henry’s thighs, as he leaned his head towards the other’s chest. The smooth, but sharp texture of the scales pulled at the sheer fabric, ripping into it slightly without Reflet’s notice. His head shifting so the top of it was carefully touching Henry’s chest. Horns pointed downwards in the direction of his head, as he carefully shifted them to avoid hitting Henry with them.  The thick center of their bone gently pressing against the mage’s skin.

         The other man’s comment didn’t go unnoticed to him, and he felt a heat rise onto his features. He hadn’t exactly been aware of the position he had place them into until the other had spoken. A hoarse laugh left his chapped lips,” I would be, if you wanted.” And he spoke the words faster than his brain could stop them, and he tried to pull his face out of Henry’s gaze when he felt it flush, but at this point, there weren’t too many places he could hide. And then he heard the soft words he was certain he probably wasn’t supposed to. If his face had gone completely red before, it had now.

        “Henry,” he breathed, “I…no, I’m a monster,” He managed to say, as he choked back his feelings for the other, and tried to shove his desires to the back of his mind.