lost lamb. @moonbranded - Tumblr Blog

the lord commander's demeanor always intrigued him. lysain members were used to slipping into the shadows and going to go unnoticed. aren always stood his ground firmly.

it was a good trait to have.

some people were probably envious of him and nosherwan could easily see why.

he was his own man.

others would have changed themselves time and time again to fit a new mold.

“and you do it well.” the compliment wasn't empty.

it was just a matter-of-fact.

an obervation.

a glimmer flashed in his eyes. an unspoken challenge. “you're right. i wouldn't. which speaks volumes to all of us that are still on the council.” if he was no longer a fit himself, nosherwan would see his way out.

they all fit their roles.

the repitition did not gain a response from him. at least not a verbal one. instead, he tucked his hands behind himself and looked around the area. it was hidden. most would have missed it if they didn't know what they were looking for. which again, brought him back to how aren had found him there.

they were meant to be there.

to talk business away from the palace.

he was sure that not even the master of whispers would have been made aware of this conversation. which was a good thing. he didn't want to be labeled as a traitor, asking about the crown and heirs.

a keen observation. one that nosherwan couldn't exactly fight in any way. so he just nodded slightly. “while dangerous, it was the best that i could pick for the information that i need right now.”

his body was no longer moving too much. he was standing proud and tall, but his eyes were glued on the commander. “that's good to hear. i always did think that they were quick studies. even in politics.”

which didn't always translate to the battlefield, so he was glad to see that this time it did. “it is not, but that's why there's a whole small council preparing them.” he was handling the political aspects.

“i hope time doesn't demand it too soon. it's one thing to rule, it's another to defend.” hopefully the peace would still live for another hundred years and beyond.

a chuckle crawled out from his throat.

the question was interesting. especially with no one else around. “prying ears lead to gossip.”

which he couldn't have.

this stayed between them.

“mainly as a mentor, but both. i need to make sure lysain is in good hands, whatever happens.”

aren regarded him quietly as the answer settled between them, the breeze stirring faintly against the dark fur at his shoulders. there was honesty in nosherwan’s concern — not just for the princes, but for lysain itself. he could hear it beneath the politics, beneath the carefulness. for all the hand’s sharpness, there was still loyalty there. perhaps even affection for the kingdom he served.

that, more than most things, earned aren’s respect.

“then they are fortunate to have you guiding them,” he said after a moment, voice low and even. the words were not offered lightly, nor simply to return the earlier compliment. “many heirs are taught how to inherit power.” his gaze drifted briefly toward the water, watching sunlight fracture across its surface. “very few are taught how to survive it.”

his attention returned to nosherwan then, steady as ever. “peace rarely announces when it plans to end.” there was no fear in the observation. only experience. “but the princes are not blind boys playing at court and war. they ask questions. they listen. they fail, and learn from it.” most of them anyway. the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth. “which already places them ahead of many rulers i’ve known.”

for a brief moment, silence settled again between them. not awkward. not empty.

comfortable.

“and gossip,” aren added at last, quieter now, “has a habit of turning concern into conspiracy.” his brow lifted slightly, something knowing passing through his expression. “i understand why you chose the desert over the palace walls. besides, it… is peaceful out here.”

veilboundhollow

open to: all location: the solstice games

hollow told the warden he'd ditch his entire scouting party if he was assigned one, so he did soon after they entered the mountains south of feranthor. it'd been months since he last checked in with any field outpost at all. hollow had been targeting the rift corruption he prioritized all the way to a rather noisy isle.

he spent a day watching the festival from the sea, another up close from a hidden vantage, and by the third he had actually considered joining the crowd at the stadium. however, day three was when hollow finally realized why this garish event he had no awareness of caused anger to broil in his gut for the past few days. people never changed. they were still as loud, drunk, and hedonistic as always, no better than wild boars. he despised their revelry, but found his own fun in their depravity.

hollow didn't even have to try to find a thief, observing through closed eye as they snuck into a tent beneath the veil of magic. he was there as the thief exited, invisibility spells rendered useless, and captured them before they could pull cheap tricks. hollow left his captive bound and gagged by shadow tendrils right at the tent's entrance so he could cling to the shadows and wait for his moment. "don't know the laws here, but thieves are like vermin. kill them now so they can't scurry back later," he said as he stepped into view, hood pulled over his head of course. this particular game was only entertaining if he played the role of the mysterious stranger, which wasn't difficult. hollow was rather shy and had already swiped the parcel the thief stole for himself. "caught him in the act. you should do the honors, if not to send a message then for your safety. what if he did some spooky shit in there? could be dangerous."

#veilboundhollow #veilboundhollow (001)#hope this works!!

the solstice noise had long since become background irritation; music bleeding through canvas walls, drunk laughter echoing too loudly through the cooling night air. aren had only stepped away from the festivities after hearing the commotion near the tents (precisely, lysain's royal tent), boots quiet against the packed earth as he approached. what he found was a bound thief trembling in the dirt and a stranger half-hidden beneath a hood, shadow magic curling unnaturally at his feet.

aren’s gaze lingered first on the tendrils. then the hood. then the parcel that had very clearly changed hands before this little performance began. his expression remained unreadable, though something wary settled behind his dark eyes. the wolf beneath his ribs stirred uneasily at the sight of the other man; instinct recognizing something dangerous before reason could catch up.

“interesting solution,” he said at last, voice low and controlled. the serpent guard crest stitched into the leather across his chest caught briefly beneath torchlight as he stepped closer, posture steady and unhurried despite the tension hanging in the air. “though where i’m from, we usually question people before discussing executions.” the muffled panic from the thief earned little attention from him for now. instead, aren’s focus stayed fixed on the hooded ranger. “you caught him,” he continued evenly, the faintest edge of dry amusement touching his words, “and retrieved what he had robbed before turning him in. efficient.”

his hand settled loosely near the hilt at his hip, not quite a threat yet, but close enough to become one if necessary. “so tell me,” aren said after a brief pause, dark eyes narrowing slightly beneath heavy brows, “do feranthor always lurk around festivals waiting for excuses to kill people, or are you simply a special case?”

Cassius was no stranger to admiring beautiful things from afar.

But, with Aren, he felt he had to do so from a nearer distance.

He'd been correct.

Here and now, in the damp, abandoned corridor, with wind howling past them and thunder rolling overhead -- it was the lightning that illuminated Aren’s face, that caught in his eyes in fleeting flashes.

He had wanted him before…

But now?

Now the want coiled deep within Cassius’ gut, tightening, urging him forward as though it were something alive -- something insistent, daring him to touch, to consume, to ruin.

A low, pleased hum settled in his chest as Aren’s hand came to rest at his hip -- gentle, almost uncertain -- the weight of it sending a sharp pulse of heat right to his cock.

It made him --

Cassius drew a slow breath through his nose, steadying himself, though the impulse did not fade. If anything, it sharpened.

He wanted to stake claim... to descend on and devour his mouth until the Lord Commander forgot how to breath. He wished to bite possession into that pale skin, to suck at it until it was left wet and worried raw under his attentions.

Most of all, he needed his fingers tangled in those dark curls as he took and took and took.

Aren’s hand shifted, and Cassius tracked the movement, his focus narrowing, the sound in his ears no longer the storm but the thundering rush of his own blood.

At Aren’s words, Cassius paused, the faint curve of his mouth deepening as something darker settled behind his gaze -- no less controlled, but far more intense.

His hand left the stone.

It moved to Aren’s face instead, knuckles brushing lightly along the line of his jaw, the touch deliberate -- gentle, almost reverent.

“Am I an exception,” he exhaled, “Lord Commander?”

Only then did Cassius allow himself an indulgence -- his hand shifted to cup Aren’s face, fingers curling possessively at the nape of his neck. The gesture was devastatingly intimate, intentional in its softness, and laced with a quiet, unmistakable dominance.

He lowered his mouth then, closing the distance without ceremony as he captured Aren’s soft, plush mouth in his own. He bore down on him with careful insistence, the wet slid of his tongue finding easy access as he deepened the kiss into something sweltering, demanding.

the moment the distance vanished, aren felt it — not simply the contact, but the possessive intent behind it. cassius did nothing carelessly, and this was no exception. the hand at his neck, the quiet dominance of it, the way the choice had already been made before aren had the chance to name it — it was decisive in a way that sent a jolt through him, heat pooling low in his belly.

for a heartbeat, he remained still.

not out of hesitation, but because the sensation demanded recognition before response. it was unfamiliar in a way that unsettled him — not the closeness itself, but how his body responded to it, the way his instincts warred with discipline, how little urge there was to step away. his awareness sharpened, narrowing to the point of contact, to the steady presence of cassius before him, to the subtle shift in his own breathing as it quickened without permission.

and still, he did not pull back.

the hand at cassius' chest remained, but the pressure changed — grounding rather than passive now, fingers spreading slightly as if to confirm what stood before him was real, chosen, happening. the control he so carefully maintained did not fracture, but it bent, just enough to allow response where there might once have been refusal.

then, deliberately, he answered.

not with the same consuming insistence, but with something measured and no less intentional. his head angled, the contact shifting as he met the kiss on his own terms, allowing it to deepen only as far as he chose, controlled even in participation.

his other hand lifted, coming to rest lightly at cassius' wrist where it held him, not to remove it but to acknowledge it — to feel the quiet certainty there, the weight of the choice that had been made. his fingers settled, firm but unchallenging, a balance struck between them that neither fully claimed nor denied.

when he finally drew back, it was not far. just enough to allow breath, to create a narrow space between them that did nothing to lessen the tension. his hand did not leave cassius' chest, and his thumb brushed against the fabric there, a small movement that spoke volumes.

his gaze, however, remained.

steady. closer now. sharper for it.

"you assume," aren said quietly, his voice lower than before, touched with something that had not been there moments ago, “that the distinction is so easily made.” a brief pause followed, his thumb shifting once beneath his palm — small, almost absent, and yet entirely deliberate. "but yes," he added, more quietly still, the admission measured, intentional — given, not taken.

his eyes did not waver. "you are."

He noted the simplicity of the answer -- the absence of embellishment, the deliberate choice of restraint. It was… consistent. Expected, perhaps. And yet, there was something in the way Aren held his gaze now that made the lack of elaboration feel less like evasion and more like intention.

Despite that -- or maybe because of it -- his anxiety spiked, dancing in rhythm with the steady thrum of his heart, and his fingers answered the call, seeking grounding as they spun the rings on his dominant hand, his mind working quickly.

It was a simple dilemma.

Risk versus reward.

“Rarely,” Cassius echoed, almost absently, in regard to shortcomings. “Though I find most people are far more generous in their assessments than accuracy warrants.”

All the while, he silently weighed his options, calculated the risk, and knew, by the slow thrum of desire roiling beneath composure and duty, the avenue he would inevitably choose.

He was, after all, but a man at his core.

“You are efficient with your time,” Cassius said at last, voice even, though quieter now -- less distant, less performative in a way that might have gone unnoticed by most. “I would not have taken you for someone inclined toward… misallocation.”

The storm rolled closer, thunder threading through stone and air alike, the corridor narrowing not just in space, but in sound -- in focus.

He made his decision then.

Cassius advanced without urgency, allowing space -- time -- for Aren to refuse him, to step away should he choose. He closed the distance, the hand at Aren's back slipping lower to ensnare the Lord Commander's waist and pull him dangerously close. At the same time, his body turned, free hand lifting to brace against the cool stone beside Aren’s head, effectively caging him in against him.

Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating the corridor.

"I wonder," he murmured, gazing down wantonly at Aren, "if we share the same definition of productive."

the shift was, once again, unmistakable.

not in movement alone, but in intent — the careful allowance of refusal, the deliberate closing of distance, the quiet certainty behind it. cassius did not rush. he did not force.

he chose.

and in doing so, he made the moment impossible to ignore.

aren did not move when the hand at his back slipped lower. he felt the pull, the narrowing of space, the press of proximity that turned awareness into something sharper and more immediate. the stone at his back registered dimly beneath it all, cool against the heat that now existed between them, grounding in contrast.

he could have stepped away.

the space had been given.

he didn’t take it.

his gaze held cassius’ without wavering, steady even as the lightning fractured the corridor behind him, casting brief, stark light across sharp lines and shadowed edges. there was no startle in him, no visible shift beyond the subtle tightening of focus — as though everything else had simply… fallen away.

the question settled between them.

not unexpected.

not entirely.

aren’s breath left him slowly, controlled, his head tilting just slightly as if considering the angle from which cassius now regarded him. there was no retreat in the motion. if anything, it closed what little distance remained, deliberate in its restraint.

“i suspect,” he said at last, voice low, even, carrying none of the urgency the moment might have invited, “that our definitions differ in method more than intent.”

a pause.

his gaze did not drop.

“efficiency,” he continued, quieter still, “rarely requires excess.” the words lingered between them, measured, composed — and yet, they did not undo what had already been set in motion. because, after a beat too long to be accidental, aren moved.

not away.

his hand lifted, slow enough to allow interruption, deliberate enough to deny hesitation — and came to rest lightly at cassius’ side, just above the hip, where the line of his body curved beneath fabric and tension alike. the contact was brief in pressure, but certain in placement, fingers settling as though testing something unfamiliar rather than claiming it.

not instinct.

choice.

his thumb shifted once, barely perceptible, as if grounding himself in the reality of it before stilling again.

“but,” he added, voice quieter now, the word carrying more weight than it should have, “i find there are… exceptions.”

he did not pull him closer.

did not increase the pressure.

but his hand slid up the prince's side to settle flat against his chest.

notbuckybarnes

KIT HARINGTON Industry 4.06 "Dear Henry"

#;physical #usfw

Cassius didn't immediately respond.

He noted the dryness in Aren’s tone, the deliberate neutrality of the words -- and, more importantly, what sat beneath them. It was not subtle.

Aren rarely was, when he chose not to be.

The ring between his fingers turned once, then stilled.

“Engaging,” Cassius repeated, as though considering the word for the first time. His tone remained even, though something faint -- almost imperceptible -- threaded beneath it. “I will endeavor to ensure the rest of your morning meets that standard.”

Cassius shifted his hand from Aren’s shoulder with quiet intention, fingers trailing along the crest of it, before they descended, settling in the dip of his of back -- touch warm and grounding. Casual enough to be dismissed. Deliberate enough not to be accidental. His pace didn't falter as he guided them further along the path, stone giving way to a narrower corridor where the wind pressed closer against the walls.

“You give our council too much credit,” he added after a moment, tone dry. “They are persistent, not inventive.”

A beat.

His gaze flicked briefly toward Aren -- not lingering, but not quite avoiding.

“You will find the distinction matters.”

The storm rolled closer, low thunder threading through the distance, the air tightening with it. Cassius exhaled softly, more a measured release than anything resembling tension.

“I assume your intent to seek me out was not solely to assess their shortcomings,” he continued, voice quieter now, though no less precise.

His words weren't a question.

They were an opening.

His steps slowed just slightly -- not enough to stop, nor enough to force the moment -- but enough to acknowledge it.

"You have my full attention, Lord Commander."

In more ways than one.

the shift in contact was… noted, though not in a way that demanded comment. it was not the movement itself, which could have been dismissed as incidental, but the intent behind it — deliberate, chosen, and unmistakable. cassius rarely moved carelessly and aren recognized this immediately. the warmth at his back was grounding, pressing lightly against him without intrusion, a presence that both anchored and unsettled in equal measure.

he did not pull away, nor did he look down to examine it. the acknowledgment existed purely in awareness, folded seamlessly into the rest of his focus. each step alongside cassius felt measured, natural, as if the subtle narrowing of space had always been intended, as if the quiet intimacy of the moment was something they had rehearsed over countless similar mornings in thought, if not in deed.

aren’s voice came low, even, threading faint dryness through the words but softening the edge with the acknowledgment of what was happening between them. “i’ll keep that in mind,” he said, “it would be unfortunate to misjudge them so early in the day.” his gaze flicked toward cassius at that, catching the near-look that had been offered and withdrawn with careful precision. deliberate. measured. familiar, yes, but not entirely — there was something new beneath it, subtle enough to be easy to miss if he had not been paying attention.

the corridor narrowed around them, the stone walls pressing closer, the wind threading through in restless currents, and aren matched cassius’ pace without thought. he did not resist the deceleration, did not push ahead; he allowed the rhythm, acknowledging it, letting it exist as a shared, silent conversation in the way they moved through space together.

when cassius spoke again, it was in that quieter tone, precise and intentional, offering an opening rather than a question. aren considered how to answer, weighing the parts of himself he could afford to show. “no,” he said simply, measured and deliberate, then added, a fraction more direct, “though assessing shortcomings is rarely a wasted effort.” little chuckle accompanied his words.

his gaze settled fully on cassius now, steady and unflinching, no longer fleeting, no longer skimming over the surface. he did not look away as he added, quieter still, “i had other reasons,” words contained in the space between them, not offered lightly nor withdrawn. the storm pressed closer, low thunder rolling through the corridor as the air tightened, yet aren held his focus, letting the moment linger with a faint, almost imperceptible warmth threaded beneath the composure.

“you seemed the more productive use of my time,” he concluded, voice even, practical in surface, and yet carrying everything else unspoken.

There was an ease to being in Aren’s presence, though Cassius didn't allow himself to dwell on it too long. It pressed at the edges of his composure all the same -- an unfamiliar steadiness that threatened, briefly, to loosen the careful distance he maintained. But habit, as ever, prevailed. The mask held -- steady and unwavering, as it always had.

His eyes crinkled faintly at the edges as a small smile touched his lips, his dominant hand lifting to card through wind-swept mahogany locks, the gold of his rings catching the light in quiet flashes. He glanced away from Aren momentarily, his attention shifting instead to the storm gathering along the horizon.

"Yes," he affirmed, his tone carrying a quiet, wistful edge.

Cassius may have haunted the halls of Regia Ignis from infancy until now, but it had never quite felt like home -- not in the way the open air did.

"The strong winds make for good training weather," he commented offhandedly, lost in his thoughts for a moment.

When Cassius' gaze returned, it did not linger where it might have once. It moved with quiet precision, taking in details without pause: the set of Aren’s shoulders, the steadiness in his stance, the controlled way he occupied space.

Less obviously, he noted the rest: Aren's eyes framed softly by dark lashes, the bow of his mouth appealing in both curve and color, enhanced further by the masculine cut of his jaw.

Observations.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Varyx's tail slashed violently behind them, thumping on the grown in obvious impatience.

"Is this all you're going to do, Still One?" he complained loudly, disgruntled rumble vibrating the stone upon which they stood. "Make moon eyes at the Lord Commander?"

Cassius’ expression didn't shift, though his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Shut it, lizard,” he replied in Draconic, the words clipped as he tore his gaze away -- not abruptly, but with intention -- to fix Varyx with a brief, warning look.

Varyx, of course, didn't heed it.

Petulant brat.

And so, as expected, he retaliated.

The dragon’s snout dipped forward without warning, nudging -- no, bumping -- firmly into the back of Cassius’ head with all the grace of something that knew exactly how much force it was applying.

Then, just to be insufferable, Varyx exhaled.

A hot, forceful rush of air tore through carefully arranged strands, thoroughly disheveling dark hair in an instant, undoing what little order remained from the wind.

A low, pleased rumble followed.

Cassius' expression tightened.

“Ignore Varyx,” he said, scowling, stepping slightly toward Aren --unintentionally closing the distance between them to something far narrower than intended.

He stilled.

A blink -- subtle, but there.

Then it was gone, his composure snapping back into place, though his heartbeat lingered just a fraction too fast.

Briskly -- without acknowledgment -- Cassius laid a hand at Aren’s shoulder, guiding rather than pressing, gesturing toward the shelter of the reach and away from the approaching storm.

“I shall have to take advantage, then,” he said, clearing his throat lightly. “Before the council manages to bore you to death with its tedium.”

the impact of varyx’s interference did not go unnoticed.

aren did not react to it immediately, but there was a subtle shift in his attention — not toward the dragon, but toward cassius. the disruption, the correction that followed, the way composure was reclaimed with practiced ease. it was… telling, in its own way. he said nothing of it. it wasn’t his place.

though curiosity was no stranger to him.

nor, he realized, was a certain quiet appreciation for the control it took to recover so cleanly, as though nothing had happened at all.

when cassius stepped closer, aren felt it before he fully registered it — the change in distance, the brief narrowing of space that neither of them had intended. his gaze dipped, just slightly, to the hand at his shoulder. not enough to draw attention, not enough to make it something.

just enough to note it.

guiding, not pressing.

careful.

his attention lingered there a fraction longer than necessary, not on the contact itself, but on the intent behind it — the absence of force, the quiet assumption that aren would follow.

he did.

without hesitation, falling into step beside him as naturally as if it had been his own decision to move. there was no resistance in it, no second thought. only an ease that settled more readily than it should have, and one he did not examine too closely.

“i’m not so easily bored,” aren replied, voice even, the faintest trace of dryness threading beneath the words. “your council would have to try considerably harder.” his gaze shifted then, briefly, past cassius — not to the horizon this time, but to varyx. the dragon’s satisfaction was unmistakable. aren held that look for a fraction of a moment longer than necessary, as if acknowledging the creature’s awareness — and choosing, just as deliberately, not to challenge it.

“though,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “i suspect i’ve already been afforded a more… engaging start to the morning.” the remark was mild. neutral, on the surface.

it wasn’t.

by the time his attention returned to cassius, there was no sign of it — only that same steady composure, as if nothing at all had been implied. and yet, his gaze did not move on as quickly this time. it settled, briefly, in quiet study — the wind-touched disarray of dark hair, the lingering tension at the edges of composure, the way cassius carried himself even in the aftermath of interruption.

it was… difficult not to notice.

aren drew his attention back with practiced ease, letting it fall instead to the path ahead, where the storm pressed closer with each passing moment, the air heavy with anticipation.

“lead on, then, prince,” he said, quiet, certain.

and followed.

open to: @moonbranded setting: drakereach, regia ignis, early morning

As the first rays of light breached the horizon, illuminating the sky in soft yellow, Cassius caught sight of the foreboding thunderclouds rolling in. He could smell the salt in the air, feel the static rising -- building and building -- as the storm edged ever closer.

Perfect flying weather.

At least, in Cassius’ opinion.

He relished the icy prick of rain pelting against him, the wind howling as Varyx pushed his wings to their limits -- testing Cassius’ core strength as he dipped and dove, flipping in rapid circles while making goading remarks.

Cheeky brat.

Said brat was stretched out before him now, lazing beneath a willow tree, having happily gorged himself on sheep not an hour earlier. His black scales winked with iridescent purple under the dappled light filtering through the leaves.

“Careful,” he said to Varyx in Draconic, “eat too many sheep and you might just become too fat to fly.”

Varyx let out a derisive puff of smoke through his nostrils, tail flicking to and fro in clear irritation. “Vissai would run out of sheep long before I became too fat to fly,” he sniped back. He tilted his head, mouth parting to reveal rows of intimidatingly sharp teeth, a low rumble sounding from deep within his chest. “You would do well to watch yourself, Still One. If you grow too fat, I may decide carrying you is too arduous a task.”

Now it was Cassius’ turn to snort. “Is that your way of telling me I’ve been partaking in too much sweetmeat as of late?”

Varyx chuffed. “Your words, not mine.”

A small, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Had today been any other day, Cassius would have been content to banter with his dragon until the sun set. Today, however, was not any other day.

No, two days prior, a delegation had arrived from Lysain. Among them had been a familiar -- and very welcome -- face.

The Lord Commander of the Serpent Guard, Aren Brook.

Cassius was not known for his friendly demeanor, nor for any great social adeptness. No, that was where Umberto reigned. Despite that, he found himself daring to think of the Lord Commander as a… comrade. And, with a little coaxing, perhaps… a friend.

His life as third prince, the spare of the spare, had been a lonely one. He had long since grown accustomed to being dismissed -- overlooked in favor of his brothers and their larger, more demanding personalities. Even when his words carried the weight of truth, the warning of misfortune, they fell on deaf ears.

But, Aren had been an… irregularity.

When Cassius had unraveled their enemy’s strategy, had seen the rear assault before it came, and relayed it to the Lord Commander, there had been no hesitation, not even for a moment. No -- Aren had taken him at his word and acted immediately, his voice ringing with certainty, with a trust that had cut cleanly through Cassius’ carefully guarded distance, his commands followed without question -- a true leader.

And, as he so often was, Cassius had been right.

Aren’s decision to trust him had saved lives that day.

In that alone, he had earned Cassius’ respect.

“Daydreaming about the Lord Commander again?” came Varyx’s mocking tone, accompanied by a chittering chuff -- his dragon’s version of laughter.

Cassius scowled, annoyed at having been so accurately called out, his fingers unconsciously fidgeting with his rings -- an obvious, anxious tell.

“Shut up, you overgrown lizard.”

“So, I take it you didn’t want me to mention he’s awake -- wandering about the courtyard, alone?” Varyx asked, head cocked, the picture of innocence.

Cassius’ scowl deepened, though something sharper -- quieter -- flickered beneath it. His fingers stilled against his rings for only a moment before he turned on his heel.

“Not a word,” he muttered.

Varyx’s answering rumble was suspiciously pleased.

The dragon rose without further prompting, unfolding to his full height in a smooth, practiced motion. Wings stretched wide, catching the shifting air as the first low roll of thunder echoed somewhere distant. He lowered himself just enough Cassius to mount him in one fluid movement.

The moment his weight settled, Varyx launched.

They cut through the air in a sharp ascent, wind rushing past in a familiar roar as stone and terrace fell away beneath them. The courtyard came into view quickly -- far too quickly for anything more than a short flight -- but Varyx angled his wings regardless, drawing the moment out just enough to be irritating.

“Show-off,” Cassius muttered under his breath.

Varyx didn't deny it.

They descended in a controlled sweep, the dragon folding his wings at the last possible moment before landing with a heavy, resonant thud against the stone of the courtyard. The impact echoed outward, earning a few startled glances -- but Cassius paid them no mind.

His attention had already settled elsewhere.

He dismounted without ceremony, boots striking the ground with quiet certainty as he straightened, gaze lifting -- finding Aren easily.

He looked just as Cassius remembered: of dark hair and darker eyes, skin pale, a contrast to Cassius' own, wearing far too many layers for the warm morning. He stood only slightly shorter than Cassius, though his presence bespoke of a quiet strength.

For a brief moment, Cassius said nothing.

Then, measured as ever -- “Lord Commander.” He paused, and then, with a crooked grin and a low, friendly tone, he continued in Common, “You rise early.”

"Smooth," Varyx teased from behind him, rumbling low in his chest as he tucked his wings away.

#thelonelyspare #thelonelyspare (001)

the days in vissai had been full, as expected. meetings that stretched longer than intended, voices layered in careful diplomacy — the crown, its advisors, its ever-watchful court — dissecting strategy, weighing alliances, testing intentions behind polite smiles and measured words. aren had endured worse. this, at least, followed a kind of order, a structure he understood.

still, it was not the councils that lingered with him once they ended, nor the negotiations, but the spaces between them. the quieter moments, where observation mattered more than speech, where people revealed themselves not through what they said, but what they allowed to slip. this morning was one of those. no summons, no obligations, just the courtyard caught in the fragile balance between night and day, the air sharp with the promise of an approaching storm that pressed faintly against the skin, a subtle tension building.

aren had taken the reprieve without hesitation. he stood alone when the sound reached him, distant at first and then unmistakable — wings, weight, intention. his gaze lifted just in time to see varyx cutting through the sky with practiced ease, dark against the paling light, the kind of presence that demanded attention whether one wished to give it or not. aren watched the descent without moving, tracking the angle, the control, and the deliberate delay before landing. showmanship, predictable and infuriating. though his lips curved regardless.

his attention shifted before the dragon had fully settled, to the rider, and there, briefly, something in aren stilled. it was not surprise or uncertainty, but a quiet acknowledgment layered over years of familiarity. recognition had settled into something else, something calmer: a pattern he had come to understand and rely upon. cassius was precise in thought, in movement, even in silence, and aren respected that more than he often allowed himself to acknowledge.

“your highness,” he said, inclining his head, measured but not distant. his gaze flicked to varyx, lingering just long enough to register the dragon properly, respect without deference, and then returned to cassius. this time, it did not shift away as quickly. “you've been up in the air already, have you not?” he remarked with a warmth to his voice that only few people knew. looking at him up close, aren noticed the small details without seeming to — the set of cassius’ shoulders, the way his weight settled after the dismount, the faint movements of his hands at his rings. familiar, unchanged, grounding in a way he did not examine too closely.

“and you call this early,” he added, threading dryness through the words, the faintest edge of familiarity sneaking in. he allowed his gaze to drift past cassius toward the horizon. the storm was gathering, no longer distant but charging with intent, the air carrying that electric stillness just before the first strike. aren exhaled quietly, noting the appeal of it not for the flight itself, which had never drawn him, but for the control required to move through something volatile and emerge unshaken. when his attention returned to cassius, it remained. there was no hesitation when he stepped closer, no calculation in the distance he closed. whatever had once required thought between them had long since worn into something more instinctive. it was not careless, but certain.

“convenient,” he murmured, glancing briefly at varyx before settling his gaze fully on cassius. the pause that followed was brief, but intentional, a quiet weight pressing between the two of them. “i was planning to find you before i meet with your small council once more.” he did not elaborate, nor did he need to. the words were simple, yet deliberate. aren could have spent this morning elsewhere, reviewing reports, preparing for the next round of negotiations, ensuring nothing had been overlooked and yet he had chosen this. his gaze held, steady and just a fraction more attentive than necessary.

while nosherwan on the surface was welcoming of everyone, there was something under the surface that was challenging. he couldn't trust everyone. that was the case because he wasn't always trustworthy.

on some levels, he was a snake.

on others, he was a pair of open arms.

people picked which one they would get by their actions.

aren was lucky. he never gave him any reason to question him. even his loyalty, which was rare to say for someone that was from another kingdom. somehow, he had gained the hand's favor throughout the years.

maybe it was because he acknowledged how observant the other was. a trait that was good in the small council. one that would keep them all alive. “they're all hidden.” the prying ears, that was.

a part of him realized that he sounded quite paranoid, but it was necessary as the right hand to the king. he stayed on his side of the roof, not reaching out to help yet. “you should and you are.” a simple and quick nod from his side. “you bring a lot to the table and you're a killer on the battlefield.”

even though he wasn't a changeling, the sun caught him the same way. the armor was good for that. which always intrigued nosherwan. could he manipulate the rays around it somehow?

“remind me of that when i need to find someone.” not all had that trait. “i'm sure it's led you to some good places.” both private and open.

“as long as it's the truth, who am i to question your answer?” brows pushed up together as he asked his own question.

“i would think that you already knew.” no judgment from his end, though.

instead, he just slowly stepped closer.

“the princes' training. do you think they are ready to take over for the king?”

aren watched him approach, though he did not move to close the distance himself. it was not avoidance — merely the quiet stillness of someone accustomed to holding ground rather than shifting it.

the compliment did not go unnoticed.

most men would have answered it quickly. with pride, or denial, or some polished modesty learned at court.

aren did none of those.

his gaze rested on nosherwan for a moment longer, measuring the words behind the words.

“i do what the position requires,” he said simply.

not false humility. not dismissal.

just fact.

a faint pause followed, then the slightest tilt of his head. “and i suspect you would not keep a man at the king’s side if he brought little to the table.” though he couldn't deny that one thing clung to him more than anything else could have in that moment.

recognition.

“hidden,” aren repeated quietly, as though weighing the word. his gaze flicked once toward the rocks surrounding them, the narrow path, the quiet water beyond. a habit. confirming what he likely already knew. then his attention returned to nosherwan. when the question finally came, aren did not answer immediately.

his pause was deliberate.

the princes.

it was not a small subject to raise in the middle of the desert, even in a place meant for solitude. his hand rested briefly against the hilt at his side — not out of tension, but familiarity, before falling away again.

“ready,” he said after a moment, voice even, “is a dangerous word.” the corner of his mouth curved faintly, though it held little humor. “most men who claim to be ready for a throne are the ones who should be kept farthest from it.”

his eyes remained steady on nosh now, gauging the man’s reaction as much as answering him. “they are capable,” aren continued after a brief pause. “they learn quickly. they listen more than many men twice their age.”

that alone was not praise he gave lightly. “but a kingdom is not inherited the moment a sword is held correctly.” his gaze softened just slightly, thoughtful rather than guarded now. he ..knew very well how that went.

“they will be ready,” he said calmly. “when the time demands it.” personally, he didn't see that to be any time soon. though he knew time was fleeting at best.

a small pause.

then his brow lifted again, echoing the earlier tension between them. “an interesting question to ask away from the palace.”

not accusation. not quite curiosity.

something in between.

“should i assume the hand of the king is asking as a mentor… or as a man measuring the future?”

#quillsandcrowns (001)#quillsandcrowns; corvus #quillsandcrowns

@quillsandcrowns

the message reached aren while the day was still settling into its usual rhythm — reports, patrol rotations, the quiet tension that lived in any place responsible for keeping a city safe. nothing about it seemed unusual at first. delegations came and went often enough, especially in a place like lysain.

but then the messenger added the detail that made aren pause.

kaleris.

and with them, the master of war.

for a moment, the name alone was enough to stir something old and half-buried beneath years of distance and different loyalties. corvus. kaleris felt like another lifetime now — not forgotten, never that, but set somewhere behind him like a road he had chosen not to walk again.

aren dismissed the messenger with a brief nod, though his mind lingered on the thought longer than he expected. corvus coming here wasn’t insignificant. the master of war did not travel without reason and certainly not cross borders unless something worth attention had brought him.

business, the messenger had said.

maybe.

or maybe kaleris simply wanted to see what had become of the bastard who had once prowled its training yards like something half-feral and unclaimed.

by the time aren made his way toward the main hall, his expression had settled into the calm composure most in lysain knew well. the doors stood open, voices murmuring inside, the quiet rustle of maps being shifted and discussed off the side in the war chamber. familiar sounds. grounding ones.

he stepped through without hesitation.

for a brief moment his gaze moved over the gathered figures — soldiers, officials, the shapes of foreign armor and banners that carried the unmistakable mark of kaleris. it was strange how quickly the eye recognized those details, even after so many years away from them.

and then, inevitably, his attention found the one man who mattered among them.

time had done what it always did, carving small changes into the people aren remembered from younger days. but corvus was still unmistakable. the same steadiness in the way he carried himself, the kind that had never relied on loud authority to be felt.

aren slowed slightly as he approached the table, the distance between past and present narrowing with each step.

it had been years.

and yet some part of him recognized the familiarity of this moment almost instinctively — standing across from a man who had known him long before titles like lord commander had ever been spoken in the same breath as his name. aren stopped near the table, his gaze settling on corvus properly now, measuring, taking in what time had changed and what it hadn’t.

“kaleris must be in a generous mood,” he said after a moment, voice calm but carrying easily through the room. “sending its master of war all the way to lysain.”

his eyes held there, steady, a quiet recognition passing through them that hadn’t needed to be spoken aloud.

“been a long time.”

the gaze on him did not go unnoticed and it was not a rare sight. although, in his older age, nosherwan had grown a stranger to physical attention at times, attention in general was still something he attracted. as a changeling, he didn't fight it either. he basked in it like the morning sun.

sometimes, he felt like he needed it to survive.

maybe that's why he was out in public.

not an outright denial of his offer, but one that showed this man had more resolve than most. a challenge.

“while you are here, know that i am here to help in anyway you may see fit.” lysain was known for several things, but nosherwan had been hard at work making hospitality one of them. “you can stay clothed however, i would not fight it.” his tone was always soft, almost velvety in nature.

while the armor was out of place, the way that it reacted to the sun was truly a sight. the hand of the king could appreciate beauty in all of its forms. even when it came to clothing or metal that clung when people walked around in it. aren might have been right. as the man's eyes fell over him, he had to admit that the clothes fit him like a glove. like they were a part of his skin.

as the man studied the area around them, the changeling studied him. always aware of their actions.

“i know these sands like the back of my hands.” something that he was quite prideful on. “so i like to pick a place that would bring solace.” he brought his eyes up from aren's armor and back to his eyes (and those beautiful lashes). “which leads me to wonder how you found it. a good sense of direction, i assume.” he wasn't going to pry too much on that. “we each have our role to play.” and as a lord commander, his armor seemed like home.

a taunting smile formed on his face as the question was asked. he walked along to rest on one of the four ledges, palms pressing flat against them. “maybe i was hoping to have a conversation with the lord commander away from prying ears.”

aren listened without interrupting, which in itself was a habit that had unsettled more than one courtier over the years. many men filled silence too quickly. he preferred to see what a person chose to reveal when given the space.

nosherwan revealed quite a bit.

the offer of help. the hospitality. the curiosity.

and the quiet challenge beneath it.

aren’s gaze remained steady on him as the changeling moved along the ledge, the pale stone catching the sun behind him. there was something deliberate in the way the man carried himself — not just comfortable, but aware. of being watched. of what that did to people.

aren noticed things like that. it was, after all, part of how one survived command. when nosh finished speaking, a quiet breath of amusement escaped through aren’s nose. not quite a laugh. “away from prying ears,” he repeated, voice thoughtful.

his hand rose briefly to the edge of the fur at his throat, fingers adjusting it almost absentmindedly before dropping again. a practiced motion. “that would imply i am someone worth ambushing in the middle of the desert.” the corner of his mouth tilted faintly. “i should be flattered.”

he shifted his weight slightly, armor giving that quiet, familiar sound again as he settled more comfortably near the pool’s edge. the sun caught along the bronze plates, but the shade from the rocks softened it.

“as for how i found it,” aren continued, glancing briefly toward the narrow path behind him, “a good sense of direction helps.” his eyes returned to nosh. steady. measuring. not unkind.

“though i suspect that is not the answer you were hoping for.” a small pause followed — long enough that the water beside them settled into quiet again.

“so,” aren said at last, voice calm, “if this was not chance…”

his brow lifted slightly.

“what conversation could the hand of the king possibly hoping to have with me?”

to him, the sun and hot sand were as common as water was in ritrinc, mountains in vissai, roads in varlinnis and kaleris, caves in chasque, and the forest in umoria. all of them had their distinct tales. something that made each kingdom its own. even feranthor, with its thick wall that seemed to be impossible to penetrate. so he often didn't notice the heat.

slipping away from the palace and finding some recluse in by the pool was just his way to unwind. when there was no political duty he needed to uphold, he liked to just be alone with his own thoughts. sometimes, he forgot that these places weren't a full secret. that even some traders knew where to find the small coves of water if they looked hard enough.

so the company was a surprise, but not to be unexpected.

he studied the man as he came into the light, watching how the armor moved along with him. in his land, it might have been a good idea to wear so many layers. in lysain, he couldn't begin to imagine what the fur was doing to him.

did he even feel the heat? he had to question if the man was okay, both physically and mentally, to be walking around like that. some people were able to withstand intense temperatures. he was sure that he would look out of place in chasque. one where he would assume the cold followed everyone in the shadows. still, he couldn't help but feel concern for him.

his face twisted into an offended expression, although it was mainly feigned. he placed his hands over his heart to add onto the facade. the hand of the king was not above a simple task. he was hurt at the insinuation.

“i know this place just as well as the king and queen. does that not make me fit to be a good escort?” his brows pushed up as he asked aren the question. “my duties are done for the day, unless you bring news of war.” nosherwan hugged the robe closer to him, stepping forward.

this man was observant.

he didn't know if he liked that quite yet.

“you're more than happy to join me, but only if you let me help you out of some layers. i'm heating up just looking at your fur.”

aren regarded him for a moment longer, grey eyes settling on the robe gathered close around his frame and the easy confidence behind the offer. there was humor in it, certainly — but also curiosity. the kind that lingered just beneath the surface, waiting to see what a man might reveal if pressed the right way.

nosherwan was not the first man to question the layers.

he would not be the last.

still, the lord commander’s expression remained composed, the faint suggestion of amusement lingering at the edge of his mouth.

“a generous proposal,” he said at last, voice calm and unhurried. “though i fear you would be disappointed by how little i am willing to part with.” his brow lifted ever so slightly. “and i would hate to give the hand of the king such a frustrating task.” the words were dry, but not unkind.

aren stepped forward then, the armor shifting softly with the movement as he crossed the remaining distance toward the rocks. the shade there was thin but welcome, breaking the worst of the sun as it spilled across the pale stone and quiet water. he paused near the edge of the pool, the dark fur mantle settling more firmly along his shoulders as though it belonged there as naturally as the armor beneath it.

his gaze drifted briefly to the water, watching the slow ripples where nosherwan had disturbed the surface.

“you choose a good place to hide,” he observed, tone thoughtful. “quiet. out of sight of the palace.” for a man whose shadow stretched across half the kingdom’s politics, it was not the worst place to disappear for an hour. his attention returned to nosherwan then. “though i suspect a man in your position does very little without reason.” the corner of his mouth curved faintly. “even when claiming to unwind.” the observation was gentle, but deliberate.

aren folded his hands loosely behind his back once more, posture easy despite the armor. “so,” he continued, calm gaze settling fully on the other man, “should i believe i’ve interrupted your solitude… or was the hand of the king hoping someone might wander into his hiding place?”

✍︎ status ➜ open ✍︎ location ➜ lysain, small nook with water near sandsreach ✍︎ estimated time ➜ right before noon

basking in the sun was something that most people from lysain were quite familiar with. so why did nosherwan feel like it had been eons since he got a chance to do so? he had left the palace to find a place where he could feel that once more.

white fabric adorned some parts of his body even if he wasn't closed, making sure he was still appropriate if somewhere were to stop by. head rested on his right palm as his left foot dipped into the pool beside him. a pleasant noise slipped through his lips as he felt himself slipping into comfort.

then he felt something, or someone, block the sun briefly. the changeling was quick to open his eyes and sit up. nosh moved to cover himself with the white robes and stood up on the ground. “apologies, i did not know i was in such pleasant company.” he bowed slightly. “did you need an escort to sandsreach?”

#prodigysang #prodigysang (001)#prodigysang; nosherwan #let me just ramble ur bum off ig

the heat of lysain was a constant companion, but even aren knew there were places where the sun felt kinder. the small pools hidden among the rocks outside sandsreach were one of them. he had not come searching for company. truthfully, he had come searching for quiet — a rare luxury for a lord commander whose days were usually spent beneath armor, issuing orders or listening to reports that rarely carried good news.

the armor in question clung to him now, dulled bronze plates layered over desert-dyed cloth, the weight of it familiar enough that he rarely noticed it anymore. leather straps crossed his chest, securing the cuirass in place, and a sword rested comfortably at his hip. heat gathered beneath the metal, trapped there, though aren bore it with the same quiet tolerance he gave most things.

the only indulgence he allowed himself was the dark fur mantle draped around his shoulders.

it was ill-suited to lysain’s relentless sun — thick, soft, and far warmer than anything a sensible man would wear in the desert. yet it remained there regardless, the collar rising high around the back of his neck, shadowing the skin beneath. few questioned it. fewer still were permitted close enough to see why.

but the moment he stepped around the bend of sun-bleached stone, the quiet he had come seeking was already occupied. aren slowed, eyes settling on the man. the figure beside the water was unmistakable, even before the man startled upright and hastily gathered the pale fabric around himself. the white cloth caught the sunlight, the surface of the pool rippling faintly where a foot had disturbed it.

nosherwan.

for a moment, aren simply stood there, arms loosely folded behind his back, as though he had every right in the world to be observing the scene. his shadow had been what betrayed him. a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as nosh bowed.

“if i required an escort,” aren replied, voice calm and touched with quiet amusement, “i suspect the hand of the king would have more pressing duties than offering it.” his gaze flicked briefly toward the water, then back to the other man. “though i admit,” he added, tone lightening just slightly, “i did not expect to find you hiding out here.”

a beat passed.

then his brow lifted ever so slightly.

“should i pretend i never saw you, or may i share the shade?”

legendsvng

open to: anyone . setting: blackspine throne, a royal banquet is being hosted by house pierrescel, in honour of some newly arrived guests; early in the evening .

　　perhaps it was not proper for the lord commander of one of the great kingdoms of liathra to be engulfing pastries as if he had never eaten before in his life. but it was worth pointing out that tovyr was a big guy. and as such, his hunger was quite big too. he had strictly followed through with his duties all day, standing in place and making sure the reception of their guests went as smoothly as expected.

　　chasque could seem like quite a hostile place, mostly because it was. from its place on the map to the nature of its structures. even so, the atmosphere of the castle was warm and inviting, candles burning vividly and bathing the hall in a cozy, golden glow which tovyr found fascinating. even if he preferred the coldness of the night, he could not deny the comforting charm of the room. music played, people talked and laughed and sang along with the bards playing. all while the starving giant bit down on his third (fourth? fifth?) tart of the evening.

　　shame had not crossed tovyr's mind until he could feel the presence of someone else right next to him. staring as the knight had his mouth wide open, with half of the tart already in. tovyr stared back, cheeks warming up before he locked in on his bite and awkwardly chewed what he had managed to take in.

　　jam dribbled down to his chin, and tovyr licked as much as he could off of him. his back straightened, then cleared his throat while keeping the crumbling treat in his large hand. the music was suddenly muffled by the deafening silence between the two. the best tovyr could think of in that moment, was taking another one of the tarts, and offering it to the stranger. perhaps they wanted one, too.