big shout out to tumblr for being the first major site in like two years to implement an ill-advised "feature" nobody wants, likes or respects that doesn't involve AI
Sir Riley had sometimes wished heād met you earlier in life. If he had known your tender heartedness, perhaps he wouldnāt have spent so much of his youth steeped in blood. But then again, had he met you then, he might not have grown into the man you needed. The hellhound at your beck and call.Ā
Yes, when Sir Riley met you, heād already seen his share of battle. A couple of wars. His younger self might have thought his new positionā guardian helm to the princessā to be a joke. A waste of his talents. Glorified babysitting. An attempt to spurn him, perhaps. But seasoned as he was, he understood why his captain had regarded this task with such severity.Ā
He saw the way people leered. How they tried to corner and goad you. Even other knights looked at you like you were something to be savored in the back of the throat.Ā
And there were other threats that came from the castleās inner walls. Sole heir to the throne was a title that came with countless jealous relatives, political enemies, spies, zealots and more with daggers aimed against you.Ā
In a way, heād always known this would be his ultimate assignment. More than just his muscle was needed to protect you. He needed to keep tabs on court intrigue, point you in the right direction, protect not just your body and your honor, but also your best interestsā your future, your happiness. Yours was a lonely, fragile existence.Ā
Heād only wished heād had more timeā time to prepare you to face that loneliness again. To be without him.Ā
It had been a poisoned blade. A blow meant for you. His hands carved with defensive wounds. Your attackers laid dead in your bedroom, but his blood had already been tainted. He was lost before morning.Ā
Inconsolable didnāt begin to describe it. The wailing. The starving. It went beyond grief. It was a howling plea up towards indifferent stars. It was an unanswered swan call. A dark cave that makes no echo.Ā
The craft had always been a dark stain rubbed out from the parchment of your lineage. A faint afterimage was all that remained, but it was obvious to those who cared to look. Simon was able to tell right awayā that there was a little arcane seed deep in the folds of your organs, waiting to act as a conduit for the unseen. Encouraged you to follow the trail it bled into the earth.Ā
The winter bought you precious time. It brought merciful, nearly timeless cold in which to keep him while you gathered reagents. By spring, youād only wished you had more to show for your effortsā a handful of frogs, a couple of rabbits, a deer, and a horse were risen by your hand. Of course, they were not precisely as they had been in life, but results were results. You didnāt have time to perform endless testsā nor did you have the subjects.Ā
Eagle feathers. Fly amanita. Belladonna. Tears in a phial. The first crocus of the season. The heart of a wolf (that was a tough one to getā you had the scars to show for it).Ā
And a healthy smattering of virgin blood for good measure.Ā
Honestly, the hardest part was hauling his massive frame out of the ground and onto the ritual circle. Your new horse and some clever rope tying helped with that with surprising effectiveness.Ā
Your eyes were tired. Your knuckles had dried and split from so long working out in the cold, late into the night. Your frame suffered from how little you saw to yourself. But this small sacrifice in vitality was one you would make a thousand times over.Ā
Because Sir Riley opened his eyes. A long, hollow groan followed as he overcame rigor mortis, sitting upright. You waited for just a moment before you could contain yourself no longerā scrambling to his side and throwing your arms around him, sobbing with relief.Ā
The voice that comes from him does not come up from his diaphragm. His chest does not expand and contract with his breath. But you know it to be him, all the same.Ā
āPrincessā¦ Youāre safe,ā he murmurs gratefully, despite the fact that he would never have allowed himself to die if there had been any doubt.Ā
āSir Rileyā¦ S-Simonā¦ā you mutter, breath hitching with your hiccuping sobs. He overcomes the stiffness to bring a hand to your back, stroking gently. Over your shoulder he sees the bandages you used to wrap his palms. They smell like rose water and balsam. They shake as the feeling comes back into them, his feeling his pulse travel consciously along the vessels to make them contractā to cup your shoulders and push you further into him.
It was a scarce few times that Simon had seen corpses risen in his life. They had always been shambling, creaking, sloughing things with groaning spiritsā souls unwilling, but flesh forced to serve. They were frail as anything, not built to last, but didnāt have the mortal constraints of pain or fear keeping them from continuing on until not a shred of sinew remained to propel them. They were cut down easily, but their sheer numbers and determination were nothing to scoff at.
He had always been pale, but he had never been so blue. He had always felt drawn to you, honorbound, perhaps even lovelorn and fixatedā but he had never felt this cold, rushing grip from within. Like a chain around his heart was threaded between your fingers.
As you cried against his chest, he could make but one conclusion.
You were his necromancer.
And yet, he did not feel weak. His will did not thrash against the binding pins that knit his consciousness back into his once-abandoned skin. His cartilage didnāt slip from splintering joints.Ā
No, Sir Riley felt sturdier than ever. And his eyes that had stared clear across the river styx could see your vitality glow in front of himā more unyielding and vibrant than ever.
Yes, the cold had preserved him. Even more than that, you were a savant.
Most of all, he wanted to return to you. Obols dropped in his palm before he clawed through the soil with spectral fingers, hearing your voice so infuriatingly clearly. As if you waited for him behind nothing more than a gossamer veil.Ā
āP-Please. Donāt ever leave me again,ā you begged quietly. His sternum rattles as he wills the words to come from him.
trinity santos is a study in fandom misogyny because they gave her all the characteristics fandoms usually salivate for in men, being gruff, quippy and misunderstood with a tragic backstory but a heart of gold beneath it all. they put all this into her AND let her be a lesbian. she's everything you could ever want in a character but she's not a man so half the fandom either hates her or constantly mischaracterizes her as petty, callous and aggressive while doing mental gymnastics to baby the male characters around her
fucking trinity santos being so so gentle with that sweet 12 year old boy, oh, oh.
softening her tone, holding onto his hand. "hey, look at me." fighting for him not to be taken from his sister. trinity santos is such a beautiful, kind character, and her strong moral code is so enticing again and again and again. where some people (cough Robby) get this helpless, hopeless nature of "nothing really we can do"... she steps up to bat. she is a fighter and she does not let her patients slip through the cracks if she can fucking help it. she will fight tooth and nail for what is right. I love you trinity santos.
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