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[emelkae]

Hey actually please rb if you're a writeblr who's 18+? I'm only following 50 people and my dash is so inactive.

Special bonus points I guess if you're:

- 21+

- A scifi, fantasy, and/or horror writer

- Posting resources and/or memes about writing

- LGBTQIA+

- Willing to interact beyond just liking and rbing each other's posts

[emelkae]

This has gotten zero notes so far, so...reblogging

[raevenlywrites]

Whoa yall! I know tons of my followers are like 25+ writeblrs, come on yall represent! XD

[theliteraryarchitect]

Fiction Writing Advice Posts

Hey all, Some of you know that in addition to this Tumblr blog I also keep a blog on my website. A lot of the posts overlap, but not all of them, so I’ve made this list for your reading pleasure:

How to Control Your Pacing

How to Write During a Pandemic

How to Read Like a Writer

What if Your First Draft DOESN’T Suck?

How to Do World-Building Research

How to Properly Format a Manuscript for Submission

10 Questions to Ask an Editor Before Hiring Them

Creating Character Arcs with the DCAST Method

How to Choose the Right Point of View for Your Story

A Beginner’s Guide to Multiple Point of View

Show Don’t Tell? Not Always. Here’s When to Use Summary

8 Ways to Improve Your Fiction Writing

How to Spot Bad Writing Advice: 6 Red Flags to Look For

5 Reasons to Kill Your Critique Group

Are You Using Too Much Stage Direction?

Why Nobody Cares About Your Plot

How to Use Adverbs Like a Pro

How to Activate Your Passive Characters, One Verb at a Time

3 Easy Ways to Transform Boring Descriptions

3 Ways to Increase Conflict in Your Dialogue

A Step-by-Step Guide to Getting Killer Feedback from Beta Readers

How to Know What Kind of Editing You Need

10 Best Books About Fiction Writing

How to Spot an Info Dump

Dealing With Procrastination

Want to make sure you never miss a new blog post? Sign up for my writing advice emails and get a new blog post sent straight to your inbox about once a month.

xoxo

[daybreakx]

[pb1138]

Seeking Truth in Song: Prologue

This is a sort of prologue to what will be another 6ish chapters of a romance between my Orlesian inquisitor Melodie Poulin and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. 

The title will probably change. I’m not digging it super well but I can’t think of anything better right now. 

Pairing: Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Inquisitor  Rating: I’ll set it as teen for now, but it may be upgraded to mature later. As of yet, nothing explicit is planned.  Word count: 1474 Summary: Melodie awakens in a cold, dark room to discover that she is alone in a frightening new world. 

Dripping. The chill in the air was worsened by the dampness of the room and the biting of cold metal about her wrists, but it was the dripping that woke her. The room was dim, the stone dark, the smell of mildew and stillness all around. If she had to guess, Melodie would say she was in a dungeon of sorts. A guard stood in the corner, watching her with arms folded across his chest. If she had to guess, she would say he was a Templar based on the Eye upon his chest plate.

Her arm felt strange, heavier and tingling as if it had been asleep. A sudden flash of light and a jolt shooting up her arm ripped a gasp from her throat, made her whole body shake. Maker, what was that?! Three more guards seemed to have materialized out of thin air, making four of them who all had swords caging her, ready for the kill. Melodie nodded once, slightly, and stilled her body in an attempt to assuage their paranoia.

The green light continued to flicker and crackle intermittently, casting an eerie glow about the room, and she observed it closely. Her hand looked the same. It was still clearly her arm, uninjured though her sleeve now hung loosely from her shoulder in tatters. A fog roiled in her mind, one that hung thick and unyielding over any memory of what brought her to this place, try as she might to cut her way through. Wherever this green light came from, she was sure that she did not remember.

A door across the room burst open, two women storming in behind it. The one who bore the armor of a Seeker of Truth walked deliberately about Melodie upon the floor, her hand resting casually but threateningly upon the pommel of her sword. The hooded one stepped into the light, a flurry of furious emotions upon her face and in her posture from her stiff shoulders to her clenched fists. Whatever had brought Melodie to this place had obviously caused quite a stir.

The Seeker leaned down, voice harsh as she demanded, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” She took a few steps, leaving no pause for Melodie to reply as she explained, “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” She stopped in front of Melodie, finger pointed as the two glowered down at her.

Conclave? thought Melodie. I do not even know what that is. The threat in the room stayed her tongue, and she chose to remain silent for fear of implicating herself in her ignorance.

The Seeker lunged, hand grasping tightly about Melodie’s hand, and lifted it to her face. “Explain this,” she hissed.

As if on cue, her hand lit up again, the green glow flickering brightly in the dim room before the Seeker threw her hand back down. Melodie looked down at her palm which had settled back to normal once more, brows furrowed as she tried once more to cut through the fog. “I… cannot,” she admitted lamely.

“What do you mean you can’t?” The two women were pacing about her now, circling her like lionesses circling prey.

“I do not know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re lying!” cried the Seeker as she leaned down to grab Melodie’s shoulders.

The hooded woman thrust her hand onto the Seeker’s chest and pulled her back. “We need her, Cassandra,” she said in an accent not dissimilar to Melodie’s. After a moment’s silence, she turned back to Melodie, her voice softer than the Seeker Cassandra’s but still dripping with authority and threat. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Melodie’s frown deepened as she fought against the fog. Bits and pieces shone through—traveling with Knight-Commander Marteau and his Templars on the long road from Montsimmard, slipping amidst the encampments to eavesdrop and gather what information she could, watching from the shadows as Marteau and the others first met with the Divine Justinia. She started to shake her head, to tell the hooded woman that she remembered nothing of extreme importance, but a few more bits came through—an explosion, screaming, and then she was running. “I remember… running. Things were chasing me. And then there was… a woman?”

“A woman?” repeated the hooded woman with interest.

“She…” Melodie shook her head. “She reached out to me… but then…” Her eyes closed as she fought to recall the face of the woman who had called out for her though not by name, but it was no use. Whatever had happened, the memory of the woman was overshadowed by the creatures that had been pursuing her.

The Seeker, seemingly quieted with this meager piece of information turned and guided the hooded woman towards the exit. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she said with no small degree of exhaustion in her voice. “I will take her to the rift.”

The hooded woman Leliana nodded once and started out the door. Melodie watched as the Seeker came back to her side and braced for a hit which never came. Instead, the chains connecting her manacles to the floor were removed. Melodie watched the gloved hands work for a moment before she met the Seeker’s eyes. “What did happen?” she whispered.

Strong arms lifted her to her feet before Cassandra turned to lead the way out the door. “It… will be easier to show you.”

The cold air struck her like a brick, immediately removing any last remaining bits of grogginess Melodie held in her bones, and the glaring light of the sun reflecting off the snow blinded her for a good long moment. When her eyes finally adjusted, she looked about to find Cassandra had stepped several feet away and was talking, gesticulating towards something in the sky. Melodie looked towards Cassandra’s attention and went rigid with fear. “—into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

Melodie swallowed hard as she stared into the raging maelstrom which turned the sky a sickly green just beyond the mountains. Though born from a mage, Melodie knew little to nothing about the world of magic. She did not even possess any understanding of the magic of potion making beyond which potions did what and to what extent. Standing here underneath this… what did Cassandra call it? A Breach? Melodie felt so small.

Cassandra, still talking, turned towards Melodie. “—caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” Melodie breathed, incredulous. She had never heard of something so powerful.

“This one did.” She looked on Melodie with some sort of expectation, hinting at something to which she was unaware. “Unless we act, the Breach will continue to grow until it swallows the world.”

No time was afforded Melodie to process Cassandra’s meaning. A bolt of what looked like lightning shot from the Breach with such force she could feel it in her feet, and at the same moment pain wracked her body as her hand began to glow in such a way that it mirrored the maelstrom in the sky. Her knees gave out beneath her before the electricity in her hand settled, and she was left breathless, mind racing with questions.

The Seeker seemed to give no concern as she knelt before her, tone as cool as the chilly mountain air. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Thoughts blurred through Melodie’s mind so fast she wasn’t sure she was actually thinking at all. There was nothing coherent to pick out, no one strand to latch onto. She could only look at the Seeker kneeling before her, waiting for some sort of response with such a forceful air of expectation and requirement.

 “I…” Melodie swallowed and shook her head to try to clear out the buzzing bees of unspoken thoughts rattling about in her mindspace. “I do not… understand. But if…” Her eyes flicked up towards the sickly green torrent of evil that hovered overhead, then back to the soft brown eyes of the Seeker. Though she could not say why, she found a comfort in them, some sort of safety despite still being this woman’s prisoner. If Cassandra’s words were true and everybody who had attended the Conclave was dead, then she had no one now, no one left to have her back, no one to protect her. For the first time in her life, Melodie Poulin was alone. 

Perhaps it was what the Seeker represented, the demand for truth and justice, the familiarity of the Chantry bared upon her breastplate which brought her to say, “If there is something in my power to do to help, I will do it.”

[pb1138]

Soft

A little drabble for my new Inquisitor and Cassandra. I’m not super happy with it, but it’s the first thing I’ve written to completion in... too damn long, and I know if I don’t post it now, I probably won’t for quite some time. So. It’ll have to do because I need to get out of this damn rut. (And also I REALLY have to go to bed.) 

Summary: Melodie recites a poem to Cassandra and an admission is made for the first time. 

Rating: Mature maybe? Teen and a half? Nothing explicit, not even heavily implied I don’t think. 

Fingers drifted lazily across bare skin, languid and gentle. A soft sigh escaped gently parted lips which tugged into a smile. “That tickles,” Cassandra whispered.

Melodie raised herself up onto her elbow and breathed a laugh though her fingers did not cease. Along the curve of the hip, across an expanse of soft belly, along firmly muscled arms, anywhere they could go, they did. Lips pressed to a bare shoulder, mumbled against the skin there, “I cannot resist.” The fingers continued their ghosting path, leaving nothing untouched, and the lips began their own path up to the crook of the neck. “’Her skin glows with the light of flame, more precious and fuller than brilliant amber’” she whispered, eyes drifting along her lover’s body which did indeed seem to glow in the flickering warmth of the fire.

“A poem? Now?” Cassandra huffed a laugh, and Melodie could practically feel the eye roll.

Melodie smiled and kissed Cassandra’s neck again, savoring the moment. Her hand came to rest atop Cassandra’s hip, her thumb drawing small circles against the skin. “Hush,” she chastised. Cassandra laughed again but conceded with a wafting of her hand. “Merci, mon ange.” Melodie moved to rest her cheek atop Cassandra’s shoulder, her eyes trained on the movement of her hand. After a dramatic clearing of the throat, she continued:

It is nearly impossible to put into words the breadth of her allure from those hazel eyes which bid me bonjour to the voice as welcoming as songbirds

“Ugh,” Cassandra huffed. “That is so cheesy.”

Melodie huffed back and flicked her lover’s hip. “Fiche-moi la paix,” she grumbled.

“What does that even mean?” Cassandra laughed.

“Mon dieu, Cassandra.” Melodie could not help the giggle that bubbled from her chest which was echoed in Cassandra’s own laugh. Clearing her throat once more, she exasperated, “May I continue?” with a broad gesticulation.

Cassandra snorted and cast a look over her shoulder. “Who is the author?”

Another huffed “mon dieu” and Melodia swatted Cassandra’s bare ass playfully. “I did of course.”

“Oh.” Warm hazel eyes blinked wide with surprise, cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “I…” A shy, warm smile spread against her lips while she lifted her hand to tuck a curl behind Melodie’s ear. “Then, please continue,” she whispered.

Melodie pressed a kiss to Cassandra’s wrist. The warrior turned onto her back to give her lover her full attention, her thumb caressing her cheek with all the tender affection she could muster. Melodie leaned into it, her eyes flickering about her face as she studied it a moment longer, her own cheeks a dark pink by now. With a confident but quiet voice, she continued:

To be in her presence is like no other. It is the same magic to urge les fleurs to bloom, the captivation of the ocean draws to her lips, et la mystique of les forests exists in her eyes. Her strength rivals that of les montagnes, infallible and breathtaking for it is in her embrace that one may find home.

It is by la grâce des dieux that I am able to say je t’adore, doudou.

“What did you just call me?” Cassandra lifted up on her elbows, pulling away with mouth agape in a poorly concealed unreleased laugh.

Melodie blinked, not understanding her folly for a long moment before, “Oh—I—mon dieu, Cassandra,” she huffed with exasperation. A swat to the shoulder pushed Cassandra back to the mattress. Laughter filled the room as Melodie swung her legs over Cassandra’s hips, her hair falling about them in gentle curls. “It is a… Maker, how do you say… an affectionate—no, a term of dearing?” she explained haltingly, blanking on the word.

“Endearment?”

“Oh, oui, that!”

Cassandra laughed unabashedly, her hands coming to rest at Melodie’s hips. “Somehow, I do not believe you,” she teased.

Melodie stuck her tongue out and huffed. “Truly, it is. It is like… Soft. Like a child’s toy, a soft animal.”

“Are you implying that I am a teddy bear?”

Melodie sat up straight on Cassandra’s hips, her hand to her chin in a dramatic display of pensiveness. “You are certainly soft like one,” she mused.

Cassandra gripped Melodie’s hips and held her tight as she sat up, her mouth coming to the base of her neck. “I will show you soft,” she threatened, her grip lightening as her arms snaked about Melodie’s waist. “Many things I have been called in my life but never soft.”

Melodie giggled, her arms coming to rest lazily atop Cassandra’s strong shoulders. Lips moved against flesh slowly and deliberately, eliciting soft sighs and breaths from Melodie who let her head fall back with a lazy grin. The hands about her waist moved up, fingers trailing long lines to come to rest against the back of her shoulders, cradling her close as the mouth at her neck trailed up to the chin then at last to the lips, those lips which she had savored endlessly for nigh on a year now. She pressed Melodie closer to her, their bodies flush against one another as their lips moved together, her hands finding their way into the other’s tangled mess of waves.

They parted breathless moments later, each as pink as the other. They both took each other in for a long while, their fervor releasing with each soft brush, each stroke, as they looked into each other’s eyes. Melodie brought her hand to Cassandra’s cheek and, as she had done thousands of times before, drew her finger along the length of her scar, her eyes trained on it intently, and Cassandra leaned as she had done thousands of time before into the touch, her eyes drifting shut.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though whether to Melodie or someone else, she could not be sure.

“But of course, mon ange,” purred Melodie in her thick accent. “I will have you know I spent a full hour to write that poem.”

“Oh my, a whole hour?” teased Cassandra, leaning back to look upon the woman in her arms. “However will I return the favor?”

“I am sure we could come to some sort of… arrangement.”

Cassandra laughed at her waggling brows, free and comfortable here in this room. “Maker, but how I love you.”

Melodie stilled, her blush returning full force. Cassandra blinked, only realizing moments later that this admission was their first. This was a truth both had known for ages, even before their first embrace, but never said aloud. It laid unspoken between them like the thinnest of glass, fragile and precarious, as if it would shatter if it were acknowledged. It lay now at their feet in millions of tiny shards, the veil lost, and she was left standing truly naked and vulnerable.

Moments passed in silence. An eternity, it felt, each second longer than the last as they looked at one another. Did time always move so slowly?

“Do you mean it?” Melodie whispered at long last.

Cassandra swallowed hard. Of course she did. They both knew it. To ask was pointless. “I…” She sighed, relenting to the moment. Her soul had already been bared, to hide it now would do no good. “Yes. I… do.”

And then Melodie smiled. Softly at first, then wider, and then she began to laugh. Cassandra, startled, could only watch as Melodie threw her head back, her body shaking in her arms, her laughter filling the air around them. The fingers against her scar moved to the back of her head, and a grinning set of lips were on hers. Tears were left on her cheeks as Melodie leaned back to beam brilliantly at her, still laughing as she cried. “I have waited so long to hear you say these words, mon ange.” Another kiss, this one lighter, hands cupping her cheeks delicately as if she too were made of glass. “I love you, Cassandra. Maker help me, I love you so much,” she mumbled in between kisses.

Cassandra’s strength seemed to fail her in her relief. They fell back in a fit of giggles, Melodie still crying, Cassandra’s own grin pushing the limits of what her face could muster.

The next hour passed in a blur of teasing kisses, soft caresses, surprise tickles, shrieking laughter, quiet admissions, and long gazes until they lay beside each other, everything to be said already said. They looked into one another’s eyes, hands held loosely between them their only form of contact, both wearing the same lightly dazed smiles.

“Melodie?”

“Mm?”

Cassandra raised a brow, her smile turning into genuine curiosity. “That thing you said before. What did it mean?”

“What did I say?”

“That… Fish mwah in pay or whatever it was.”

“I…” Melodie stared at Cassandra for a long moment before sighing heavily. “We have been in each other’s company for three years, Cassandra, how do you not know this yet?”

“Well? What does it mean?” she huffed.

“Leave me alone.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “You are not going to answer my question?”

Melodie’s stare only deepened. “That’s not…” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly trying not to lose herself as she bit back laughter. “That is what it means, mon ange,” she choked out, evidently pained with her efforts to keep her composure.

Cassandra’s cheeks darkened. “Oh,” she muttered lamely. “I see.”

Melodie giggled at her lover and stretched out to peck the tip of her nose. “Oh how I love you,” she teased.

Cassandra raised a brow at her and drew her hands away, folding her arms across her chest. “Fish mwah in pays, .”

The snowfall about Skyhold did little to muffle the Inquisitor’s laughter as it spread out into the night. Safe in the confines of her warm chamber, the Inquisitor and her Seeker would spend the next few hours poking and teasing and laughing together before they would fall asleep in front of the fire beneath warm blankets, nestled lovingly into one another’s arms.

[pb1138]

MASTERLIST

Note: All of my stories are either in 2nd person (x reader) or using my OCs for that fandom. There are no in-game-character x in-game-character stories within this list. Also, I accept requests! I am not limited to the characters or even fandoms on this list, so feel free to ask! I will go ahead and warn, I don’t know Star Wars enough to write about it (old and new,) neither do I know many animes. Dragon Age, Star Trek, and the MCU are my biggest fandoms so you’ll likely have the best luck there.

Keep reading

[pb1138]

I just wanted to say you’re wonderful and I hope you’re staying happy and healthy in these uncertain times. You’re an amazing writer! Have a lovely day!

😭😭😭😭😭 this is so sweet holy shit. Thank you, sweetie!! I’m doing just fine!! 

[pb1138]

Throw Him in the River

Super short little ficlette inspired by the quest “The Blood Price” with the mine in Cwenvar. Kurt x Remi de Sardet, but you really have to squint. 

“Please tell your cousin that I’d be happy to send him…. The gift of his choice.” The way he purred the last five words told Kurt all he needed to know, and from the look on Remi’s face, she understood, too. “Now, Your Excellency, if you’ll allow me, I have to get back to my activities.”

Remi turned an incredulous, exasperated look towards Kurt and Vasco before she cleared her throat and stepped closer to the merchant. “I’m afraid you don’t understand, Master. It’s not a money problem. That mine is dangerous! And you endanger the Congregation and the island by behaving this way with the natives!”

Kurt nodded in support, arms folding across his chest. That’s my girl.

The merchant, it seemed, was not only an oily bit of pond scum, but a complete imbecile at that. The tone he took with Remi set Kurt’s jaw clicking when he whined, “Come on, don’t be so serious, young woman.”

“Oh shit,” muttered Vasco. At the tensing of Remi’s shoulders, Kurt had to agree.

“I’m sure it’s nothing a small bonus can’t fix.” And then, dismissively, “Goodbye, Madame. Best wishes to your cousin.”

Kurt had to move quickly, because as soon as the idiot merchant had turned his back towards De Sardet, she took another step towards him, her fist outraised. Kurt stepped in fast, his arms snaking around her waist and pulling her quickly into the shadows of the alley, Vasco doing a quick glance about to make sure nobody saw.

“Let me go, Kurt, I’m gonna throw him into the river—” Remi growled, squirming in Kurt’s arms.

He chuckled, setting her back down on the ground but keeping his arms around her. “And how would that look, Green Blood? The Legate of the Congregation throwing a gentleman into the river over an insult? We’ll get him, don’t worry.”

She looked back at him, over to the merchant, back at him, over to the merchant again, and let out a deep sigh. “Fine, fine.” Once he was sure she’d cooled off enough, he released her and placed a rare, soft kiss to her cheek, and she smiled. Straightening her coat, she cleared her throat and moved behind him to start climbing the fence. “I suppose we’d better get to Sir de Courcillon’s office before I lose my steam, then.”

Kurt and Vasco shared a look and both released a sigh of relief before following after her. By the time they’d landed on the other side of the wall, Remi was disappearing around the corner, and Kurt could only smile at her tenacity.

[pb1138]

The Silence

Emmy shares a snippet of the life she’s always dreamed of with Vasco. 

Silence. It permeates the night air like freshly fallen snow silences footfalls in winter. Only the gentle, distant lapping of waves against the hull dares break it. No servants here, no whispered conversations passing by doors in the dead of night, no distant clamoring of kitchens preparing for the next morn, no wailing infants of servants. Not even in this early hour remain the sounds of drunken laughter from the crew, and any snores given by them are kept tucked quietly in their bunks like private operas of discord.

This night marks the seventh that Emmy has sought this mystic silence, has pulled herself from her restless sleep to greet the salty sea air and let it cleanse away the nightmarish visage of the unseeing blank eyes, of the pock-marked and rotten flesh, of the blackened finger nails that haunt her since her departure. For it is in these silent moments, sat atop the base of the bowsprit, her eyes closed as she breathes in the chilly morning air that those thoughts are behind her. The malichor and its victims a far distant memory washed away by the tides, the weight of responsibility lifted from her shoulders for there is no one to remind her of her promise, to muse about the existence of a cure on the new world. No, here in the silence, she is not Lady Emmalia De Sardet, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants, cousin to the Governor of New Sérène. Here, she is Emmy and only Emmy. And here, she’s can imagine what her life might have been like if she’d not been born the niece of a prince. A life of adventure, she likes to imagine. She’d not have been satisfied to be raised to become a baker’s wife, to be a mother to countless children. No, far from it. As now with her assignment as Legate, she would’ve felt the pull of the unknown. And in all eventuality, she’d have likely chosen a life with the Nauts.

“You know it’s quite dangerous up there. Bowsprits aren’t meant for lounging, milady.”

She does not start at the intrusion, but her eyes do snap open of their own accord. She’d not heard him approach, lost in her thoughts as she was. Without turning, she addresses him. “I suppose as ship’s captain you must see to it that I climb back down.”

There’s a slight moment of pause in which she can imagine him shrugging. “I’ve given my warning. That’s due diligence enough to satisfy.” And then a rustling of fabric and a slight grunt as he pulls himself up just behind her, taking a seat himself. “You seem far away, milady, if it’s not too bold for me to say.”

She smiles slightly, looks up at the nearly full moon hanging high overhead. “Just imagining a different life.”

He doesn’t sound surprised when he postulates, “A life of regency, wealth, and an amorous prince, you mean?”

Emmy snorts, casts a look over her shoulder at him but pauses just the slightest. He’s dressed down, not wearing his usual captain’s hat or coat. Instead he sits before her in a simple white shirt that reveals his form with the wind pressing back on it, his ghostly pale hair let down to flutter about his comely face. She fears she’s looked too long because he raises a sharp brow at her, and she turns away to look out over the pitch expanse before them. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Oh? Might I request an indulgence, my lady?”

“Emmy.” She blinks at herself, at her boldness at offering such a private name to this man whom she’d known all of a week. Only Kurt and Constantin call her thus, not even her mother or the professor.

“Emmy then,” he agrees, and her cheeks grow warm. “Was that a declination?”

“I… erm, well, no.” Clearing her throat, she sits up straighter, pulls her hair into her hands to begin to try to braid it. “I was just… That is… You see, Captain—”

“Just Vasco, if we’re to be familiar.”

Her blush spreads to her ears, and she’s thankful he can’t see, but his voice and the warmth of his body reminds her how close he is and does nothing to abate her nerves. Still, a lifetime in Society has provided her the means to hold her nerves in check, and she steels herself against them. “You see, Vasco, I have never been one to seek out luxuries in life. I know this may sound as though I’m just another noble who has never realized how good she has it, but I’ve hated many aspects of my life since I was very young.”

“In what way?” His question is genuine, but she can still hear the faint undertone beneath it, the one that tells her that that is precisely what he’s seeing in her now.

“I’ve… I’ve always wanted more. Or, less, as it were. Less supervision, fewer rules, fewer expectations. It has always been ‘Emmalia, a lady does not go round in stockings.’ ‘Emmalia, a lady does not scale the bannister.’ ‘Emmalia, a lady—’ just rules, rules, rules. Etiquette and manners and stuffy dresses and painful corsets.” She takes a breath to steel herself, to slow her whining, and her hands give up the pursuit of taming her locks. She’s never been very good at such things. “I’ve never wanted it. I recognize that to have so much and not want it is nothing short of privileged, and that my life is the dream of many others, but for me it has always been on par with a nightmare.”

He’s quiet for a moment, the silence stretching between them as vast as this ocean. She can only imagine the way he’s judging her now, what he’s thinking. The silver spoon in her mouth tastes more tarnished than ever, especially given that she’s tossing it aside in the presence of a man who, judging by his tattoos and callouses and station alone, has lived nothing short of a difficult life. And for a moment, she worries that perhaps she should not have told him, that whatever comradery that there might have developed between them was now forever dashed. But surely, a man as young as he should understand. Has he never wondered at the life he could have had?

“What is it you dream of then?”

It surprises her, his question. Part of her thought he would never respond, that he’d just walk away to leave the spoiled noble to her dramatic daydreams, but she’d not expected him to care enough to ask. “I…” She blinks, concentrates on the wealth of dreams stored in her mind. Which one was the one she sought the most? “Truth be told, Ca—Vasco, I um… It’s rather embarrassing actually.”

He chuckles, a dark, smooth sound that rumbles across her skin in a uniquely surprising way. Her hair which has fallen over her shoulder and been shifting in the wind, is taken into a hand, not roughly by any means, and the other hand accompanies it. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he purrs.

Emmy blushes furiously, even worse when she realizes his hands are moving, pulling her hair into the braid she’d been trying for. Against her better instincts, she leans into his touch, tilting her head up to assist his efforts. “I… Truthfully?” He grunts in affirmation. “I’ve always dreamt of… a life at sea.”

“You… want to be a Naut?” He sounds incredulous, and his hands falter for just a moment.

“I… I don’t know. I just… Look, I’m no child. I understand that it’s not all dashing swordfights and swashbuckling and jaunty sea shanties. Those are just stories we tell children. But… Nauts aren’t… Tied down. There’s very few expectations from them beyond reaching destinations in a timely manner. There’s no dinner versus dessert forks, no seasonal colors, no excellencies vs highnesses. It just… sounds so free. And the ocean, gods’ breath, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’d get into all sorts of trouble climbing to the top of the palace to look out at it or I’d sneak down to the docks to try to stow away on ships leaving for other worlds. No home but the ship, no mistress but the sea… It’s…” She swallows suddenly, realizing how carried away she’d gotten. Clearing her throat in embarrassment, she looks down at the hands clasped in her lap. “I told you it was embarrassing.”

He’s silent again, but his hands are back to work. A while later, her hair is draped across her shoulder, deftly braided and secured with a bit of string. “Not at all.”

The warmth leaves her back suddenly with a rustling of fabric before the sound of boots hitting the ground draws her attention. He is walking away from her, hands stuffed in his pockets, head down. “H-Hey!” She stands, frowning after him. “What about yours?”

He lifts his hand over his shoulder in a wave and keeps on his way. “Another time, milady.” And, with a flourish, he disappears below deck, leaving her alone in the silence once more.

Her fists clench a few times as she reels over what just happened before she finally turns back to the ocean and sits once more. Shaking her head, she admires the way he tied her hair and sighs mournfully.

The silence is far too empty now.

[pb1138]

Comforts of Home

Captain Kria has a fear of robots, and starting up the SAM unit has her running to some friendly arms. 

“Oh, lookit here.” Kria squatted down, taking a contraption off the shelf to look it over in her hands. She held it up for Max and Parvati to inspect. “An acid steeper.”

Parvati took it and looked it over, humming in appreciation. “It’s in good condition. With this, we can get that old SAM unit up an’ runnin’ in no time.”

Kria let out a nervous chuckle that drew Max’s attention. “Aha… yeah. Thank the gods I saw that then.” Max watched as their captain pulled herself to her feet and started picking through the rest of the room, far slower than usual as if she were holding off on returning to the town. Eventually though, with precious little left to ransack from the storage facility, they were forced to return and collect their reward, and thus their business around Rosewood was complete.

Far from loquacious, Max might not have thought much of Kria’s silence if not for the way her brow had ceased to unfurl even once as they made their way back to the ship. He’d intended to speak to her once they were inside and able to have some privacy, but she beelined straight for the cockpit to speak with Ada. A little dejected if still concerned, Max retreated to his cabin for the night.

Parvati had come and gone with an invitation to play cards down in the cargo bay, but he’d declined, too focused on his work. It was some time later, an hour, perhaps two when he noticed the captain passing his door. He jumped up to catch her, called a hurried, “Captain!” but by the time he poked his head out into the hall, she’d gone. With a heavy sigh, he sat back in his chair and stared down at the journal he’d been trying (in vain) to read, too frustrated to even try anymore.

A new voice echoed to him from down the hall, followed promptly by a shrill shriek that gripped his heart in fear. “Kria?” he yelled, throwing himself from his chair. A frosted-haired mass threw itself at him, hands gripping his arm as her slight frame tucked itself behind him. She dragged him a few steps back into the room and slammed the button to shut the door, breathing heavily. Max glanced through the peephole before turning to her, his hands going to her shoulders. “Kria, are you hurt? What’s going on? What happened?”

Breath was not coming easily to her. It shook and shuddered with the fear that was reflected in her rich blue eyes. “I—” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she shook her head, pressing into him, her arms going about his waist, her face pressing into his neck.

Blinking, Max faltered for a moment, confused and hesitant, but he gently acquiesced and wrapped himself around her. “I’m here.” He moved to brush her hair gently, soothingly. “What happened?”

Her hands fisted the back of his shirt. It took her a moment to find the words. “It’s stupid,” she whispered at last.

“Oh, I highly doubt that. Something has obviously got you spooked.”

She swallowed hard and pulled back a bit. “I… W… Oh for fuck’s sake.” She slipped behind him again and pressed the button for the door. It opened with a whoosh, and Max ducked his head out to take a look.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It… Left.” She moved a little to his side, her hands moving to clutch his arm.

Cautiously, Max moved on down the hall, Kria tucked right against his side. She stiffened upon seeing the green light of the final room spilling out into the hall and swallowed hard. Max glanced at her. “The robot?”

Nodding, she bit at the scar against her lip. “Mm.”

“You activated it?”

“Mm.” Her eyes remained trained on the door, wide with fright and unblinking.

“And… it attacked you?”

Her cheeks darkened. “N… Not exactly. I… Well…”

Max looked into the room. The SAM unit was sitting there, new lights blinking on its body. “Greetings, Customer!”

Kria flinched and hid her face behind Max’s shoulders. Max glanced back at her, a brow raised. “This is what has you so scared?”

“I’m…” She squeezed his hand and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m afraid of robots,” she admitted quietly.

Realization dawned on him. “Oh. I see.” Patting her hand gently, he smiled reassuringly at her. “Well, I won’t let it hurt you, hm?” She looked up at him, fresh tears welling within her eyes. A shaky smile crossed her lips, and she glanced at the unit. Max turned to it and cleared his throat. “Cleaning unit.”

“Greetings, Customer!” it repeated. “This SAM unit is unable to locate your registered information. Would you like to register your SAM?”

Max smiled slightly at Kria and pulled her forward a step. “If you register it, it will never harm you.”

“You’re sure?” she hissed.

He chuckled and patted her hand. “I’m sure.”

Kria nodded slightly. “Alright then. Yes, I’d like to register.”

“Registering new owner:  Captain!”

“O-Ok, alright…”

The unit stood and took two fast steps out, startling another shriek from Kria. Max stepped back with her, an arm held out to shield her from the unit as it started off down the hall. When he turned back to her, she was disappearing around the corner towards her quarters, and he hurried after her. “Kria!” He found her in the corner, squeezed between her storage locker and the wall, squatted down with her face in her hands. Max went back to shut and lock the door behind him then made his way back over to her. He knelt down in front of her, his hands carefully settling on her arms. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.”

She moved quickly, practically lunging into him, clutching at him like a life preserver. She wept against him for several minutes before, his legs growing tired, Max scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her bed. He sat down and settled her beside him, looking out at the world spinning below, content to let her work it out. She quieted rather quickly but did not loosen her grip on him, and he said nothing, content to simply be there with her. Finally, after an age, her hand moved down his arm to slip into his, her fingers entwining in his. “Thank you, Max.”

“Mm?”

She looked up at him, eyes rimmed with red, and smiled slightly. “Thank you for putting up with all that. I know it’s pretty ridiculous, someone being so afraid of robots in this day and age.”

He smiled softly and shook his head. “Not at all. I am rather surprised you activated it, though, given how scared you are.”

She snorted slightly and looked out the window. “Beats having to do the cleaning myself,” she mumbled.

Max blinked at that and laughed, a deep belly-shaking laugh that had her following quickly after. They sat together for a while longer before Max sighed, checking the clock on her wall. “I should get back to work.”

“…Oh.” She brushed a hand through her hair and straightened up with a fake smile. “Yeah, me too.”

He regarded her for a moment, studied the haphazardly covered disappointment upon her face, but she stood. It did not escape his notice how her fingers lingered in his for a touch longer than necessary before she pulled her hand away, and his heart fluttered a bit. He stood, too, and she walked with him over to the door and opened it. They stood there for a long moment, neither of them sure what to say, neither of them looking at the other. Finally, she whispered a quiet, “Thank you again,” and he smiled gently.

“Of course, Kria. I am more than happy to comfort you whenever you might need.” He reached up and combed back a short tuft of hair that had strayed to the wrong side. As he dropped his hand, she looked up at him, cheeks dark, and the breath was stolen from his lungs.

A little breathless herself, she whispered an almost shaky, “I think I might need some more… comforting, Vicar…”

Suddenly lightheaded, he nodded slightly and cleared his throat. “Of course, Kria.”

It was quick, the way her hand slapped the button to shut the door, her other hand fisting in his shirt as she lunged forward. His own arms wrapped around her, puling her into him as their lips met, and they groaned into one another. Lifting her easily, he carried her back towards her bed, all worries about the robot long forgotten.

[pb1138]

Fictober Days 9: Swing, 10: Pattern, and 14: Overgrown, ft. Lucio and Morgana

This. This was supposed to be quick. And Easy. Not… Well. This. Not 11k words. 

Goeugaf. This is kind of a companion fic to my Fictober Day 5 prompt. Ao3

There aren’t many people who know, but deep within the gardens, there is a rather large apple tree, and from this tree hangs a single, simple swing. Morgana stumbled upon it one chilly winter morning after getting lost in the wide expanse of greenery. Finding it a second time took ages, as if the gardens didn’t want to let her in on their secret and changed, but Morgana has always been blessed with a good sense of direction. Since finding it, she has made it a point to visit the space at least once every other day to detox from the dark, cramped, busy dungeons. Some days she feels as though she’s been down there so long, she’ll be blinded by the sun when she comes up for air. 

Today is a beautiful day. Spring is in full flourish now, flowers opening all across the gardens. The apple tree is a picture, branches filled with brilliant soft white flowers that seem to glow in the warm sunlight, and a cool breeze drifts through the hedges around the clearing. Morgana sits on the swing, the exhaustion from these past few weeks catching up to her as it usually does. The work she’s helping is worthwhile, she knows that, but gods if it wasn’t tiring. She doesn’t know how Julian does it, honestly. The man rarely sleeps, has to be reminded to eat, doesn’t take his breaks. From the afternoon to late morning it’s just work, work, work from him. Getting him to sleep is a Herculean task every single morning, but getting easier. He’s beginning to grow tired, too.  

As she sits, her mind wanders to Asra, and her heart aches. It hurts less each day, his departure. And if the letter she found on her doorstep yesterday was any indication, he isn’t thinking much of her. He didn’t even address their argument, didn’t ask how her work was proceeding, didn’t say he misses her. It hurt. She’d wept for nearly an hour and had been late to relieve Julian, not that he’d noticed her tardiness, just the redness of her eyes. She thinks she scared him, made him think she had the plague for a minute from how he’d panicked, felt for a fever. But he seemed to understand and hadn’t mentioned it since. She’s grateful for that. 

Her break is nearly over. If she doesn’t leave now, she’ll be late returning. Not that anyone notices. She’s a large woman but fairly unassuming. Her meager understanding of medicine isn’t enough to get her noticed by anyone but some of the other interns and apprentices. Julian only took an interest in her because of Asra, if she were to be honest with herself. (Not that she can complain. They’ve become good friends since.) But the thought of going back, of leaving this beautiful day behind? It’s too painful. 

She looks over at her pack and smiles slightly. Her break happened to coincide with her return from the docks, bearing new journals and correspondence for herself and Julian. When she’d left earlier, he’d been nose deep in a new theory of his own, scribbling away like a manic madman. Yes, that’s it then. She will work out here for a while, at least until she feels he’ll begin to notice her absence. With a renewed pep in her step, she grabs the pack and moves to sit at the base of the tree, humming to herself. 

Xxx 

Something is touching her, something cold and wet. It makes her squeal, eyes flying open as she jolts upright. Blinking the sleep away, she frowns to see one of Lucio’s dogs sitting there, staring at her, tail wagging. The other is a short distance away, sniffing at something in a bush. Melchior. Yeah. That’s it’s name. “Um…” She clears her throat and gently pats the dog’s head. “Good boy.” Melchior whuffs and turns to join his companion. Morgana raises her brow at them and rubs at her eyes. With a frown, she realizes she’s slept much longer than she anticipated, nearly 4 hours judging by the position of the sun. “Great,” she mutters to herself. Julian would’ve noticed her missing by now, will probably by grumbly with her when she goes back. 

With a heavy sigh, she pulls herself to her feet and dusts off her pants. Her hair has fallen from its braid and hangs heavily around her, her curls wild and untamed. Grumbling, she goes over to the swing and gets to work untangling it, trying valiantly to pull it into some sort of… something. Having her hair down in the dungeons is never a good idea, especially not with those weird beetles lurking. Mercedes comes to sit at her feet and looks up at her, wagging her tail. Chuckling, Morgana reaches out and gently scratches behind the dog’s ear, which encourages Melchior to come receive the same treatment. 

“Babies, come on. Daddy doesn’t have all–Oh.” 

Blinking, Morgana looks up towards the voice and freezes, eyes widening. “C-Count Lucio. I, um, I…” Clearing her throat, she squares her shoulders and raises her chin. “Hello.” 

He looks fairly good today. The mystery of What Keeps Lucio Alive has been generous to him. She’d accompanied Julian to see him not three weeks ago and she was sure that that would be the day he died, yet here he stands. He hadn’t bothered with flashy clothes today aside from a pair of expensive looking leather gloves, nor had he applied any of his signature eye make-up. Standing before her, she might’ve mistaken him for any regular man if she couldn’t see the metal of his arm glowing beneath his thin shirt. His cheeks are a little fuller than they’d been last time she’d seen him, and his hair has just a bit more bounce. It’s like he was coming back to life. I’ll have to inform Julian, she thinks to herself. Lucio looks from her to the dogs and back again, frowning. “What did you do to my dogs?” 

“Um… Pet… them?” 

Melchior trots over to Lucio and presses his head into his hand, whole body wiggling with love. Lucio looks down at him as he frowns, obviously deep in thought. “Who are you?” he finally asks. 

Mercedes whuffs and puts her head on Morgana’s leg, surprising her. Morgana pets her once more then returns to trying to figure out her hair. “I’m um…” She clears her throat again. “My name is Morgana. I… I work with Dr. Devorak?” 

His brilliantly red eyes seem to pierce through her as he thinks, trying to place her. It takes him a moment, but recognition finally crosses his face. “Yes. Yes, you were with him the other day.” 

“Mm,” she affirms, agitation with her hair growing. Lucio watches her a moment, but then he crosses the clearing to stand behind her and swats her hands away. With a squeak, she looks back at him. “W-What are you doing?” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles. With a surprising amount of gentility and ease, he pulls her hair from its knots and starts weaving it into what feels like a rather lovely braid considering he had no comb. After a long moment, he says, “My clan… A lot of the women wore their hair in these fancy braids and styles. My mother…” His voice hardens for a moment, but he presses on. “She told me that the braids are also useful for things like ropes. So. She taught me.” 

Morgana sits there, looking down at Mercedes with bewilderment. Is this… For real? “I… Well… Thank you, your excellency.” 

There’s a sharp tug that pulls a rather embarrassing gasp from her before he growls, “Don’t tell anyone.” Hiding her blush, she hums in acknowledgement and runs her fingers through Mercedes’s soft fur. There’s another long moment before he speaks again. “They like you. They don’t like anybody but me, but they like you.” 

Mercedes whuffs again as if she were affirming the statement, and Melchior wags his tail once from where he lays, lazily. Smiling, Morgana scratches beneath the dog’s chin. “Most animals do. Always have. Hell, once, I had even had a raccoon named Poe.” 

“A…raccoon?” 

“Mm. Abandoned by its mother. She was a feisty little thing, wouldn’t even let Asra near her.” At the memory, the sadness creeps back. For a moment, she thinks Lucio might ask her something else, but he says nothing. A moment later, her hair is tossed across her shoulder as he walks back around to stand in front of her, and she inspects the braid. It’s intricate, almost strangely so given his lack of tools, with seven pleats all woven in a strange pattern, but it feels sturdy. It will hold, likely even another few days if she wanted it to. Blushing, she settles it back over her shoulder and smiles up at him. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. Is he… blushing? “Look. I, uh…” It’s his turn to clear his throat now. “I’m getting tired. The dogs weren’t supposed to bring me out this far, and I’m not…” His blush darkens and he swallows hard. “Would you…Shit, you’re with the doctors, right? Would you walk back with me?” 

Blinking, Morgana cocks a brow at him. Is he really asking her to escort him back to the palace? “Um… Yeah. Alright.” This day is already so goddamn weird. 

He waits somewhat impatiently, a hand on his cocked hip as she gathers her things. The run in circles around them a few times as they start to head out, and once they step into the maze, they take off running. Morgana chuckles, watching them go. “They’re a lively bunch.” 

“Yeah. Good hunting dogs.” 

She looks over at him, analyzes him. When she’d seen him last, he’d frightened her a little. His words had been harsh, cruel, biting towards Julian, and the quality of his health and how hoarse his voice had come across had only darkened the effect. But looking at him now, she might have forgotten he was sick if not for his eyes and the way he was beginning to sweat with exertion. His eye flicks over to her after a moment, and she squeaks but does not look away. Pulling to a stop, he looks at her properly. “What?” 

“Um. I was just. Thinking how good you looked. Compared to last time.” 

He raises a brow at her and puts on a sly grin that almost looks easy, might have if not for the difficulty he had standing straight. “Oh? Just good? Not… devilishly handsome?” 

She snorts and moves on, shaking her head. “Eh. I’ve seen better.” 

The shrieking gasp that responds to her makes her giggle, but she doesn’t look back. He rushes up to her side and gapes at her. “Better? Better? I will have you know that I am beautiful!” 

“Well, if you have to say it, then it mustn’t be that true, must it?” At his sputtering, she laughs and nudges his arm. “Calm down. What I meant was, you look healthier. Julian hadn’t said you were on the up and up.” 

He glowers at her playfully as if unsure if she’s being sincere. It does not escape her notice that he gives her no explanation for it. She really will have to ask Julian after all. 

About halfway back, his breath has become a little ragged, and his steps have slowed just the slightest. Frowning, Morgana comes to a halt and gently catches his arm. “We should take a rest, yeah?” 

Lucio scoffs and pulls his arm from her. “I’m fine.” 

“Oh? So, if I were to take the secret shortcut to the dungeon and left you here all by yourself, you’d be totally fine then, would you?” She can tell he wants to tell her that yes, he would, but his crimson eyes flick nervously back towards the palace. There is still quite a bit of maze left between them and their destination. Smiling, she gestures down the next turn. “There’s a few benches over there. Come on.” 

Grumbling, he follows, and they sit down together on a rather old stone bench sat underneath a trellis with a blooming vine flower. Her bag plops to the ground below before she turns to him, her hands going to his face, pushing and prodding at the skin. “H-Hey! What the hell are you doing?” he huffs. 

She rolls her eyes as she tilts his face up towards the sun and inspects irises. “I’m checking you out.” 

He sputters but she releases his face and puts a finger to his neck and pauses, feeling for a pulse. “There are better ways to check me out, you know.” 

“Shut it.” He stills, raises a brow at the command. Nobody talks to him that way. Not even Nadia, and she hates him (though he’d die before admitting it aloud.) It was kind of… Ooh. Obediently, he shuts his mouth and watches her from the corner of his eye. After a moment, she turns back to dig in her pack, mumbling numbers to herself. He takes the opportunity to look her over, to note the myriad of colorful tattoos he can see through her shirt, take in the shape of some of her more lovely…assets. When she turns back to him, he puts on what he hopes is still a sexy, lazy grin as he affects a more enticing pose. When she looks up from writing in her notebook, she blinks owlishly, and he’s delighted to see the faintest of blushes dusting her cheeks. “What uh. Whatcha doin?” she asks. 

It’s been too long since he’s tried to do this, months since he’s even felt well enough to try to do this. Shit. He didn’t think he’d get this far. Shit, he hasn’t answered yet, it’s been too long. With as much mock confidence as he can muster, his hand goes to clasp her shoulder, and he juts his chin up at her once. “Hey.” 

Hey? HEY? He’s careful to keep his face from showing how embarrassed he is by that attempt. For a long moment she just stares at him, eyes scanning over his face, and if he were a lesser man he might be afraid she was finding him wanting or even gross given his illness, but there was no revulsion in her giant violet eyes. Instead, much to his infinite delight, the blush across her cheeks darkens and she averts her gaze from him. If her hair had still been down, she might have hidden behind it. He draws his hand back but keeps his gaze on her, now focused on the tattoos again. Idly, he realizes he wants desperately to see them, and not just because they seem to delve well into her bra and below the hem of her pants. She intrigues him. It’s been… quite a while since someone has intrigued him like this. 

She clears her throat after a moment and jumps to her feet. “Well, shall we? Julian’s probably driving himself crazy wondering where I am.” And it’s true. There’s no way even Dr. Workaholic hasn’t noticed she’s been gone for far too long. 

Lucio raises a brow at that but hauls himself to his feet. “Does he often care where you are?” 

“Well I should hope so. I’m his apprentice, after all.” They start off at a leisurely pace, and it does not escape his notice how she watches him from the corner of her eye as if worried he might collapse. “My break was over hours ago, but I uh…” Sheepishly, she scratches her temple and clears her throat again. She does that a lot, he’s noticed. “I fell asleep working under the tree.” Idly, she hopes that he won’t get mad at her. After all, Julian is his personal doctor, and if his assistant is taking hours’ long naps under trees instead of helping cure him? She can’t see that going well. 

“And you always… take your break there?” 

He sounds… genuinely curious and shy. What? “Y-Yeah, I try to. It’s hard to get away long enough to reach it, but I like it there. It’s so far away from everything.” 

Lucio nods, more to himself than anything. “Yeah… I know what you mean.” 

They finish the walk in easy silence, both of them casting glances at the other. By the time they reach the palace, it’s obvious that Lucio is growing winded, and there is still a long way to go until he reaches his rooms. The dogs sit lazily at the bottom of the steps going up to the veranda, waiting patiently for their master. Lucio looks at the stairs with apprehension, but when he sees Morgana looking at him, it slips away and is replaced with a smile that she supposes tries to look easy. Smiling up at him, she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “As a physician’s assistant, I think I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t escort you back to your room, Your Highness.” 

He scoffs, but the soft blush against his cheeks tells her he knows what she’s doing. “If you want, I guess, but I don’t see the point.” He starts climbing the stairs, still grumbling about how he’s the magnificent Count Lucio, he doesn’t need help getting to his own room, waste of time this and stupid that. 

Morgana follows, trying to fight a smile. Their pace up to Lucio’s wing is slow and steady, and thankfully avoids prying eyes. They stop at his door, the dogs disappearing into the depths of his room, and Morgana smiles up at him again. “Are you experiencing any symptoms of which I should inform Dr. Devorak?” 

He snorts and sends her a light-hearted glower. “No. I’m fine.” 

“Then I’ll take my leave.” She gives him a playful curtsy and a smirk before spinning on her heel and starting towards the dungeons. Until she turns the corner, she can feel his eyes boring into her back, and the realization makes her grin. 

Xxx

A week comes and goes before she sees him again. Since telling Julian of his marked improvement, Julian had gone to see Lucio twice a day every day, and apparently whatever had given Lucio the strength he had was beginning to fall again. Something about that makes Morgana’s heart ache, though she’s not sure why. Lucio’s a dick, after all. It’s a known fact to all who’ve ever heard of him. But… he’d been so soft with her, aside from tugging her hair. (Which, she can’t say she didn’t… enjoy that.) 

The work is picking up, now. Apprentices are encouraged to sleep in the dungeons with their masters, and frankly Morgana can’t see a reason to trek all the way home any more. Benny is more than capable of going a few days or even weeks at a time without her or Asra looking after him. Fire salamanders are very independent creatures, after all. So, Morgana is one of the few apprentices who accepted the situation. It’s an easy schedule. She still gets the morning shift, Julian the night though he insists on working well into the morning. But it’s difficult, getting any sleep in that place. She knows now why Julian refuses it so much. The sounds that come from the auditorium are frankly terrifying, from the scuttling in the well to the sounds of the dissections and the scraping of instruments. It’s quieter in their tiny room, but it’s still suffocating. Her retreats to the surface help a little. She and Julian went out to a restaurant down in the marketplace and had breakfast the other day, and they were both so relieved to be out in the fresh air and away from the dankness that they barely said a word between the two of them. 

Her break comes today, and she lets out a relieved sigh. Julian is asleep for once, so she’s able to slip away quietly, unnoticed by the other doctors. As she maneuvers the familiar maze, her mind wanders to Asra, wonders how he’s doing and if he misses her. The pain of his departure is beginning to ease, overshadowed by the severity of her work and the strange interaction she had with the Count, and for that she feels almost guilty. The thought makes her steps pause, makes her frown. 

Why should she feel guilty? Asra is the one who left. He made the decision to walk away from her and the life they’d begun to build together, even though she’d already been working closely with Julian and the other doctors in search of a cure for months by that point. No. She would not feel guilty for not mourning him longer. 

A cool breeze shifts through the hedges and wraps around her body. It’s then that she realizes she’s crying. Scoffing, she clenches her fists and trudges on, trying to get herself under control. As she rounds the corner to the apple tree clearing, she’s greeted with something heavy tackling her to the ground. Squealing, she goes down hard, hitting her elbow, but the heavy thing is joined by a second, and within moments she realizes there are two sloppy tongues licking at her, and her confusion turns into a fit of giggles. 

“Mercedes, Melchior! Bad dogs! Get off her!” 

Melchior obeys, returning to his master’s side, but Mercedes is less willing to go. Morgana, giggling now uncontrollably, pushes up on the dog. “H-Hey! Come on now.” Mercedes gives her entire face one long that made her groan between her laughter before letting her up. Wiping at her face, Morgana doesn’t notice Lucio walking over until his gloved hand is reaching out for her. Blushing, she smiles and takes it, uses it to steady herself as she hauls herself to her feet. She tucks her hair behind her ear and giggles again. “T-Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she wipes her face again. “I’m um… I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” As she looks up at him, she freezes for a moment, shock setting in. He’d deteriorated so much this past week. Where before he’d looked almost healthy, he now looked mere days from death. His skin had gone gaunt, his hair had lost its sheen and hung limply from his head, and his eyes were a brilliant red, rimmed with incredibly dark bags. She was quick to hide her surprise, though, and he didn’t seem to notice. But his deterioration concerns her. What had happened? 

He quirks a brow at her, and for an instant, she thinks that perhaps he had noticed her reaction to him. “Disturb me?” 

Phew. Thank goodness. “Well. You’re obviously not here to see me, so I’m intruding on your peace. I’ll take my leave now, sir.” 

“Wait.” She pauses, eyes widening slightly. He’s blushing just a bit and looks away from her. “I um. You don’t have to go.” 

Raising a brow at him, she can’t help but smile slightly. “Oh?” 

“I mean I don’t care what you do. I don’t have time to worry about mere peasants such as yourself.” 

Chuckling at his terrible bluster, she just nods and scoots around him to sit upon a bench near the tree. “Well then.” Her pack crinkles as she digs in it, and Mercedes comes to sit at her feet, looking at her expectantly. Narrowing her eyes at the dog, Morgana shakes her head. “Not for puppies.” 

“What’s not for puppies?” 

It’s still fragrant despite having been in a bag for an entire day, and as she pulls the loaf of bread out, she can’t help but smile. “Pumpkin bread. From the baker near my shop.” 

The way he inches closer, she can almost imagine his nose twitching like a dog’s, drawing him to sit beside her. Passing him a piece, she smiles brightly at him. “The best in the city.” 

Eyeing her warily, he accepts it and brings it to his nose to sniff. “You know it’s in poor form to poison a dying man, right?” 

“Pfft. I’m a magician, sir, not a murderer. Here.” She takes a bite and looks pointedly at him as she chews. “Nothing here but some amazing spices.” 

That seems to appease him because he takes a cautious bite. His eyes widen ever so slightly before he takes another bite, this one larger. “This is… Oh,” he moans. 

Morgana blushes and giggles, tipping her head. “I’ll tell the baker you approve.” 

They eat together in silence for a while, watching the dogs play. Some fifteen minutes or so after they finished, she can feel Lucio’s eyes on her. “Your hair is different,” he comments. 

Blushing, she reaches up to touch it. How did he notice? “Y-yeah. I, um. I tried to replicate the braid you put in? It, um, it didn’t come out right. But I had to start my shift so I just… gave up.” 

Lucio tsks and wipes his gloved hands on his pants. “It’s not hard,” he mumbles. Without asking, he turns her shoulders to face away from him and quickly undoes the haphazard braid she’d been sporting all morning. “First you start here…” His fingers gather the hair starting at the top and pulls it back, making her shiver. “You split it like this… And then you do the first braid… And then…” 

Mumbling his way through the steps, Lucio’s hands brush easily through her hair, pulling it gently and expertly into a pattern that she is beginning to pick up on. But as he works, her heart races in her chest, and she hopes he can’t hear it. I… Why do I feel like this? she asks herself. They’d only spoken once before, after all. And though he seems a nice enough man, at least to her, he’s done horrible things. And then there’s Asra to consider. What were they now that he’d left? Still lovers? Just friends? Less than that? So lost in thought does Morgana get that she barely notices when her hair is draped gently across her shoulder, the braid completed. But oh, she does enjoy being so near him, even sick as he is. 

“Hey. You with me?” 

Squeaking, she snaps out of her thoughts and nods hastily. “Y-Yes, I’m sorry.” Her hands go to to touch her hair, and a brilliant blush explodes across her cheeks when she realizes there are a handful of flowers weaved in with her tresses. “I… Thank you,” she breathes. 

He mumbles something indignantly that she assumes is an acceptance of her gratitude. Turning back to him, she looks him up and down, takes in the way he’s trying so hard to stay sitting upright even though it’s obvious he’s exhausted. “My lord?” she whispers. 

“Lucio.” 

“I… er, yes, alright. Lucio. Why are you being so kind to me?” 

His bloodshot eyes rake over her, looking her up and down before settling upon her own eyes. “I…” He looks as if he wants to say something honest, maybe even personal, but his words get caught in his throat and transform into a coughing fit that he thankfully turns away from her for. 

Jumping to her feet, she rushes behind him and gently pats his back, her hand moving to feel his forehead. “You’re burning up!” she shrieks. 

“I’m… fine,” he coughs out, and she scoffs. 

“Fine my fat ass. Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm.” 

The wind has chilled a bit since they sat down together, and as she looks towards the sky, she’s dismayed to see the clouds have grown heavy with impending rain. They rush as fast as they can manage, but Lucio’s steps are clumsy and weak, slowing their pace considerably. 

The rain hits hard and fast, rolling in towards them like a tidal wave. Morgana rips her jacket off and throws it over Lucio’s head to keep him dry, and tries to push him faster along. If he gets too wet in this cold weather, whatever was keeping him as healthy as he is would surely diminish and that would be that. Count Lucio, dead because of Morgana the Apprentice’s inability to keep him dry. 

Making it to the palace is impossible. Instead, Morgana pulls him a different way, her teeth beginning to chatter from the cold of the rain. “Come, there’s a shed this way,” she tells him. Not that he’s fighting her at all. They weave through a few more halls in the maze before they find it, an old gardener’s shed, grown over with vines. Thankfully, it’s unlocked, and Morgana shoos Lucio in first. The dogs have disappeared, probably gone to their own hidey holes to wait out the storm, which is probably best. The shed is quite small, and the smell of wet dog would’ve overwhelmed them most likely. 

“Well. This is… cozy,” she mutters lamely. 

Lucio snorts, taking her jacket from his head and passing it back to her. “How’d you know this was here?” 

She works on ringing out her hair, wincing at the fact that the braid is starting to get messed up already and most of the flowers had fallen out during their not-so-mad dash. “Um. I used to get really lost in the maze, so I sort of committed the entire thing to memory. It took me a while, but there you go.” 

“I see.” He finds a crate to sit on and watches as she works at her hair. “Why do you keep it like that?” he asks after a while. 

“Hm?” 

“Your hair. Why keep it long if you never wear it down.” 

She raises a brow at that and snorts. “I wasn’t aware long hair had to be down to warrant being long.” 

“Well, no, but it just seems to trouble you more than anything.” 

He has a point, she has to admit. Her hair is her pride and joy, but what’s the point in keeping it like this with how careful she has to be at work? The idea of cutting it is… intriguing if premature. “I’m not ready to give up on it yet, I guess.” 

He hums in acknowledgement, still watching her movements. Once her hair is less drippy, she moves on to her shirt and sighs at the state of it. Glancing at him, she hides a blush. “I… Um. W-Would it bother you if… If I took my shirt off?” 

The grin he gives her is positively wicked, and it ignites a small fire in her belly that also confuses her. “Oh, Morgana. I thought you’d never ask.” He slips from the crate and tries to saunter over to her but his steps are a little too heavy to call it that. Squeaking, she starts backing up until he has her pinned against the door, towering over her. He lifts his finger to press under her chin, tilting her face up to better look at him, and she swallows hard. “I could… Help you with that,” he purrs. 

Oh. Oh. Oh my. The thought is… oh my. A surprisingly large part of her wants to say yes despite everything, despite Asra and the plague and this tiny unromantic shed, wants to ask him for his ‘help’ but a harsh wind rocks the shed and seeps through the wood, setting her teeth to chattering. Lucio frowns, eyes raking over her body but without that hint of lust he bore a moment ago. “You really are soaking,” he mumbles. Moving surprisingly quickly, he clears the clutter in the room to make an empty spot on the floor, and once he finds a small shovel, he digs a pot-sized hole. “You’re a magician, right?” he asks. 

“I… Yes?” 

Nodding, he pulls at an old pile of what looks like spare bits of wood, planks and bits for bird houses, and dumps it all into the pit. “Can you start a fire?” 

Blinking, Morgana nods and goes to kneel beside him. The flame catches easily, and within moments, the shed is filled with warmth. Morgana sighs in relief and inches close, but Lucio is puttering around again. “Aha!” he cheers, and then he comes to shoo Morgana away just long enough to set down an old tarp. “Here, sit on this.” 

“Oh, how gallant,” she teases. 

“Ha ha. You’ll never get warm sitting on the cold ground. You need something between you and the dirt.” 

“Is that another one of your clan skills?” 

He settles down beside her, a pile of wood dropped between them. “Yes.” The word echoes hollow in the room, draws her interest, but she doesn’t press. It’s obvious Lucio doesn’t like talking about that part of his life. It becomes evident very quickly that the meager fire isn’t going to do enough to get Morgana dry or warm, so with a sigh, she pulls off her sopping shirt and grumbles. 

“Why hello there,” Lucio coos. 

Morgana blushes but tilts her head up in a laugh and playfully swats at him. “Calm down there, chief. You’ll give yourself a stroke.” Lucio chuckles and looks back towards the fire, but Morgana can see his eyes are beginning to droop a little. “Hey, are you feeling alright?” Scooting a little closer, she puts her hand back to his forehead and frowns. “You’re still burning up.” 

“Pfft, it’s nothing. The great Count Lucio won’t be felled by some stupid little cold.” But the tone in his voice suggests that even he is beginning to lose hope for his cure. 

Shaking her head, Morgana gives him an encouraging smile. “You certainly do seem the stubborn type, sir. Here,” she scoots around and clears a little more space for him then pats her thigh. “You should rest, get some strength back. This rain doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere for a while.” 

He eyes her for a minute before a sly (if strained) grin stretches across his face. “How generous.” His head is in her lap in an instant, looking up at her, his hands resting across his chest. She blushes and stiffens a little, but quickly relaxes. “How’s a pretty girl like you get messed up in all this plague shit anyway?” 

“Pfft.” Count Lucio? The genocidal maniac who usurped the throne of Vesuvia and has let the city go to ruin in favor of throwing magnificent parties? The most unmitigated dumbass in all the land? Hitting on her? Julian would love this. She flexes her magic towards the fire again, trying to get it to burn a little hotter, but she’s so tired herself that her magic is hesitant to respond. “A friend got sick,” she whispers. 

Whatever joviality Lucio had at his current situation is wiped from his face, replaced with a heaviness that almost looks like… guilt? “Someone close?” 

“No, not really. Just a neighboring store owner. She was supposed to come to tea but never showed, so I went to check on her.” With a heavy sigh, she pinches the bridge of her nose and starts fiddling with her hair again. “Let’s just say she didn’t go quickly. And I sat by her the whole time, trying potion after potion, but I didn’t know much about medicine by then. So, when she was gone, I went looking for Julian and asked him to start training me, and things were getting so bad he agreed in a heartbeat.” Smiling sadly, she begins to undo the ruined braid. “So. Here I am. Trying to help.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment, contemplative almost. “And, do you think you are?” 

The question throws her off, draws her gaze back down to him and makes her brows knit together. “I…” Am I? I… “…No. I… I don’t think I really am. At least, not beyond offering a hand to hold.” 

Lucio’s eyes search hers for a minute before he pulls the glove off his metal hand. Slowly, he reaches up and runs his glimmering fingers through her hair, watches the movement before he holds the hand out to her. “Well, I’ve got a hand that’s… pretty lonely these days.” 

She giggles softly and gently takes his hand in hers and puts her other upon his hair. “Then I’d be glad to hold it for you, sir.” 

They look at each other for a long moment before Lucio abruptly turns so that his face is turned in towards her stomach. His other hand moves to touch her side, tracing her tattoos slowly and deliberately, making her shiver. She half expects him to ask about them and their meaning, but he stays surprisingly quiet, just following the art piece by piece until his eyes finally droop shut. 

Lucio is surprisingly warm, for as thin as he is. His proximity does much to help warm her, especially once he presses into her, his face nuzzling into her stomach. She’s almost comfortable, now, his contact with her allowing her magic to flow a little better which lets the fire burn warmer. It doesn’t take long for Lucio’s breath to even out with sleep, and Morgana is quick to follow. 

Some few hours later, Lucio is the first to stir from a tremor running through him. Grumbling, his arm snakes around Morgana’s waist, and the coldness of the metal makes her squeal awake. “H-Hey!” 

Lucio grumbles again, curling in on himself. “Cold,” he grunts into her stomach. 

Blinking, she straightens up and frowns when she sees the fire has died down. She tosses a few pieces of wood back on and waves her hand across the embers, breathing life back into them. He shivers again, but his face against her bare stomach is burning. She smooths his hair back and checks his pulse, frowning. “We’ve gotta get you back to the palace, my lord. You need proper rest and medical attention.” 

“But I’m so comfy,” he whines. 

Morgana chuckles softly but shakes her head. “Nope. Come on. The rain has stopped. It’s to the palace with both of us. I am meant to be helping work on your cure, after all.” 

“Are you sure you’re not my cure?” 

Blushing, she giggles and pats his head gently. “I don’t think so, my lord. Come on.” Against his protestations, she slips out from under him and pulls her now-dry shirt on. It takes some doing to get him off the ground, and his steps are heavy, clumsy. As they set out into the grounds, it quickly becomes apparent that Lucio is not going to make this short journey on his own, so Morgana takes his arm around her shoulders and her arm about his waist, helping support his weight. It’s slow going, and Lucio nearly passes out more than once, but finally they manage to get him inside. As they make their way to his wing, they pass a chamberlain, and Morgana catches his arm. “Send for Dr. Devorak, tell him Morgana says to hurry to the Count’s rooms.” With a squeak, the chamberlain scurries off to do as he was bid, and Morgana puts her focus back on Lucio. 

By the time they reach his rooms, most of his weight is upon her, and his feet barely lift off the ground anymore. He collapses in a heap when she sets him on the bed, his breath shallow, eyes unable to stay open. “Oh, no you don’t,” she growls. Moving quickly about the room, she grabs a cloth and wets it in the water basin and tosses a new log on the dying fire. 

He hisses as she puts the cloth against his forehead. “Cold…” 

“Don’t worry, milord. Julian is coming. We’ll get you sorted.” The way her voice wavers makes it sound as though she’s trying to convince herself as much as him, and frankly she isn’t totally sure that’s not what she’s trying to do. She moves to take his boots off and gets him situated properly on the bed. “I think perhaps next time, we should endeavor to meet somewhere inside the palace, hm?” 

It takes him great strain to do it, but Lucio manages to effect a pout and twitches his fingers against her hand. “But I look… so dashing among the flowers.” 

“Quite so, milord, quite so,” she chuckles. Taking her hand in his, she tries to send calming magic up his arm and is pleasantly surprised to find that the enchantments around the metal only help to conduct her energy. He sighs in contentment, his face relaxing slightly. “Well, perhaps at least somewhere closer to the palace, ey?” 

“I can handle it…” 

She reaches up and readjusts the cloth upon his forehead. A bit of hair has fallen, so she strokes it back ever so softly. “Of course you can, sir.” 

“What happened?” 

Morgana jumps as the door bursts open and turns to look at Julian. He freezes, eyes trailing along her arms to where she’s still touching his hair and holding his hand. Blushing furiously, she looks back down at Lucio and clears her throat. “We got caught in the rain, ducked in to stay dry but his condition deteriorated. He’s got a fever, erratic heartbeat, dizziness, and lethargy.” 

Julian makes a humming noise and crosses over to the other side of the bed, settling on it with his own pack. When he speaks, his voice is hard enough to send a cold chill down her spine. “Very well. I can take it from here.” 

“But I–” 

“I said I’ve got it, Morgana. You’ve done enough. Go home.” 

She flinches at the tone and looks away, swallowing back tears. “Of course, sir.” Patting Lucio’s hand once, she slides from the bed and leaves the room. She makes it about two halls away before she has to duck between two suits of armor to break down, tears streaming freely along her cheeks. 

It takes several minutes of firm affirmations that Julian didn’t mean to be as cross as he was, he’s just worried about his patient, all that nonsense before she can wipe her face clean and start off for the dungeons. But there remains a voice niggling in the back of her mind, telling her that that wasn’t the only reason for his anger. She wasn’t even entirely sure if it was because he might be thinking it’s her fault Lucio is so sick. Is he mad that I was with Lucio? she wonders. 

Tired from the long day and still a little cold from the rain and now Julian’s agitation towards her, she can’t bring herself to head back down to the dungeons. Instead, she sets off for home, the thought of a nice hot cup of tea urging her feet to move. 

Xxx

There’s a letter waiting for her upon her doorstep, somehow dry despite the rain. With a heavy sigh, she braces herself for what’s inside as she picks it up, the familiar scrawl telling her it’s from Asra. As if it would’ve been anyone else. 

The shop is thankfully untouched as she had hoped, no signs of any unwanted intruders or anything. She heads upstairs, peeling off her shirt as she goes. “Oh, Benny Boy!~” she calls. 

Her only answer is a puff of smoke coming from the fireplace as the salamander sneezes. Chuckling, she goes over to check on him, the letter forgotten on the table. “Oh, Benny. Did I forget to clean your ashes last time I was here?” Scooping the grumpy creature out of its home, she settles him upon her shoulder and scratches his nose. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Here, come sit over here.” She sets him on the table and gives him a piece of charcoal to nibble on and giggles when he krkrs at her. 

The stove is cleaned quick enough, but Benny seems content to sit out with her. Eyeing the letter, she moves over to the armoire and pulls out one of her dresses, the stench of the dungeons still clinging to her clothes. Benny watches her change and chirps happily when she finally comes to sit beside him again. He chirps and happily scoots into her lap as she picks up the letter and frowns at it. “D’you think this one is gonna hurt, too, Benny?” 

The salamander hums softly and bleps at her, making her giggle. That little bit of cuteness is enough that she can steel herself against her fear and open the blasted letter. Her eyes scan over his words, and a pang of… sadness? Guilt? Something, anyways, floods through her. He’s still thinking about her, then, wherever he’s gone. And here she’s just spent the day cuddling the fucking Count of Vesuvia, as if she and Asra never had anything in the first place. 

Scowling and biting back tears, she sets the letter aside and scoops the salamander back up. “I’m sorry, Benny, but momma needs some tea.” 

The salamander chirps and scurries into the stove, igniting it quickly for her. The rest of the night passes in quiet contemplation before she falls asleep tucked up in the chair beneath the window. 

The bed smells too much of Asra. 

Xxx

The next day starts early, for her, though not of her own volition. She’s awoken by a cart clammering outside, loud enough that it startles Benny, if the flash of fire in the stove is any indication. She’s sore from having slept in the chair, but she can’t bring herself to regret it. Eyeing the bed warily, she starts to dress and sighs heavily. “Benny?” She can hear his soft kr in response. “Do you wanna go to work for me?” The stove is annoyingly silent in response, and it makes her sigh. “Well what good are you?” Grumbling, she runs a brush through her hair, drops some snacks into the stove for him, and sets off for work. 

The dungeons are a flurry of movement and anxiety by the time she arrives, and she’s already over all of it. The tight confines of Julian’s room offer little to soothe her agitation, but when he looks up at her, the frustration he had towards her the previous day is gone from his face. “Hey,” he says. 

She rubs her face and nods back at him. “Morning. Get to bed.” 

He snorts and turns back towards his work, waving her off. “I’m fine for a while.” 

She isn’t in the mood to argue today, so she just slips into her chair and picks up her own work. “How’s he doing?” 

Julian doesn’t have to ask. “A little better. Got his fever down. But I’ve ordered him confined to quarters for the time being.” 

No more garden walks for us, then, she thinks dismally. Her work does well to distract her from her unsettling disappointment, and before she knows it, it’s nearing noon. Grumbling, she swats Julian’s arm and points towards the bed. “Bed.” 

Groaning, he dramatically picks himself up and sighs. “Yes, Mom.” 

As Julian sinks into the bed, Morgana stands and stretches with a sigh. “I’m going on break. You’d better actually be asleep when I get back, or so help me…” 

He waves her off with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, sir.” 

Snorting, she slips through the door and shuts it firmly behind her. A quick glance about the operating room is enough to make her skin crawl, fresh cadavers lying upon tables, doctors talking in their detached way about what to do with them. If Valdemar had been there, it might’ve been enough to make her retreat back into the room, but as it was, she tilted her chin up and pressed forward, out towards freedom. 

She doesn’t make it far before she’s caught by a chamberlain who scurries up to her with a breathless, “Apprentice!” 

Great, she thinks. “Yes?” 

“Milady, your presence is requested in milord Count Lucio’s chambers.” 

Frowning, she glances towards the door, towards the warm sunlight streaming in. “If his excellency is ill, you should send for Dr. Devorak. I’m really not able to–” 

“You were requested by name, milady.” 

Sighing, she nods. “Very well. I know the way.” Scooting around the poor man, she sets off on the long trek to Lucio’s wing, all thoughts of sitting under the sun forgotten. 

Mercedes and Melchior are sat at the bottom of the stairs, as if waiting for her. Mercedes perks up when she rounds the corner and bounds over to greet her, tail wagging so hard her body shakes. Chuckling, Morgana scratches behind her ears and grins. “Hello, pretty lady.” Melchior whuffs and starts up the stairs as if saying he’s over the cute display of affection, and Morgana sighs. “Well. Shall we?” 

The door is shut when Morgana reaches it. Frowning, she gently knocks three times and waits for an answer. When she gets none, she knocks once more, harder. “My lord?” Still without an answer, she opens the door just enough to poke her head in. “My lord Lucio?” 

“Come,” is his reply. He sounds awful, his voice hoarse and scratchy. As she steps inside, she can see why. He looks like shit, from his mussed hair to his baggy eyes to his rumpled clothes. He looks so small, settled against his massive collection of pillows, and for a moment, Morgana’s heart aches. “You’re late,” he huffs. 

Her brow raises at him and sets her hands upon her hips. “My lord, if you’re in need of medical attention, I’m really not the one who–” 

“Just.” He sighs in irritation and gestures her come closer, which she obliges. He looks almost… embarrassed, averts his eyes from her as if he doesn’t want her to see him blush (if he had the strength to blush.) “I just. Wanted to tell you not to look for me in the garden anymore.” 

Frowning, she tilts her head at him. Was I ever looking for him in the garden? “Yes, I heard of your… internment.” 

He grunts, casts a glare towards the giant portrait across from the bed. Affecting a voice she supposes is meant to be an imitation of Julian, he scoffs, “‘You should be more careful, Lucio. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, Lucio.’” Snorting, he picks at a thread on his comforter. “So. Yeah. I’m afraid your days will no longer be brightened by the brilliance that is me.” He tries to put on a dashing grin at the end of that, but it looks far too strained to have any positive effect on her. 

She looks him up and down, considering the weight of his words. Does he… Had he been looking for her yesterday? Waiting for her, even? What… What did he think was going on between them? 

What does she think is going on between them? What could happen between them? A dying Count and a questionably-spoken-for magician? 

“I understand, milord. If there’s nothing else?” 

He looks at her, an expressionless mask slipping across his face. When he speaks, his voice is hard and distant, “No. There’s nothing else.” 

It throws her off a bit, enough that when she turns to leave, she hesitates. Her eyes drift up to the magnificent painting he had looked towards earlier. It’s a portrait of him, standing tall and looking very regal upon a battlefield, and it is in every sense of the word ‘beautiful.’ Looking from the painting to Lucio now, one might struggle to see the similarities, might not even realize it’s the same man. And the thought of leaving him here, alone in this room day in and day out with naught for company but this reminder of the man he used to be… Shaking her head, Morgana turns back around and plops down on the bed beside him. He lets out a surprised grunt and looks over at her, bewildered, but she settles in with a grin. “Well, this is certainly more comfortable than a shed floor.” 

He regards her for a moment as if unsure he heard her right. Then, with a tired grin, he nods and leans back, ever the picture of (very ill) contentment. “You can say that again.” 

The next few days pass much the same way:  Morgana rises, tries to send Julian to bed, they work till noon, and she sets off to spend her break sitting beside the Count, talking of everything and nothing. It does not take her long to consider him a friend, and it takes even less time after that for her to begin to consider him… something else. 

Asra left her. This is a fact she has come to accept, and a fact she uses to compensate for her guilt. He left her. He made the decision to give up on what they had, to abandon the city which could have used his help, and walk away. 

She owes him nothing, anymore. 

Xxx

“You would not believe what I just saw one of the other doctors do.” Pushing her way into Lucio’s room, she doesn’t bother pausing to wait for his permission to enter. She crosses over to the wash basin and scrubs her hands, grumbling. 

“Wouldn’t I?” 

She squeals at the proximity of his voice, and again when she feels the cold metal of his arm snake about her waist. Blushing furiously, she casts a glance back at him, at his face so close to hers. “I…” Clearing her throat, she looks back down at the water, struggling to get her heartbeat back under control. “Hi.” 

He chuckles and brushes a strand of her hair back from her face, looking at her with something akin to affection. “Hi.” 

She tries so damned hard not to shiver at his touch, but it’s for nothing. She can practically feel the smugness drifting off him when he notices. “You seem to be in… better spirits today.” Gods, is it getting warm in here? 

“Mm. What can I say? It would appear you were my cure after all.” 

Snorting, she slips out of his arm and goes to sit at the foot of his bed, her hands going to her hair. “You use that line on every pretty girl who comes in here?” 

“As of late?” He taps his finger to his chin in mock contemplation. “Nah, just you. Now, Valerius–” 

She scoffs and chucks a pillow at him. “You’d dare compare me to Valerius?” 

Laughing, he snatches the pillow and moves to sit across from her. “Oh, heavens no. He’s much prettier. He can braid his own hair.” 

She squeals and casts a vehement glare at him. “Well if that’s the way you’re going to be, I’ll just go outside.” 

“Oof, ouch, babe.” 

She giggles and does her best to pull her hair back again. “Though, now you mention it?” 

He rolls his eyes and scoots to sit behind her, his hands moving to her hair. She practically purrs at the feel of his fingers against her scalp, and she melts into his touch. “I should start charging you.” 

“You don’t pay me enough to afford you.” 

“I didn’t realize I paid you at all.” 

She giggles and shakes her head, looking down towards her hands. “You don’t.” 

“Well. We could work out… some other form of payment.” 

Gods, she can almost hear his eyebrows waggle. Giggling, she shakes her head again. “In your dreams.” 

He sputters dramatically but finishes the braid. This time, instead of casting it over her shoulder as was his custom, he tugs firmly, tilting her head to look back at him. The look on his face is enough to make her blush again, but he won’t release her hair, not that she wants him to. Feather-softly, he reaches up and caresses her cheek with the tip of a finger, his eyes following the movement distinctly. His finger moves to ghost over her lips, but she grins deviously and catches it between her teeth, biting down hard enough to make him squeak. “Owie.” 

Morgana stops, stares at him for a long moment before a shriek of laughter bursts from her chest. “Owie?” 

He’s blushing now, looking away, and he releases her hair. “Shut up,” he pouts. 

She turns towards him, biting her lip to keep the grin from breaking her face. “And… what if I don’t? Will you give me an… owie?” 

Chuckling, he pulls the pillow back and lightly smacks her with it. “I might.” 

She regards him a moment, judging his strength today. He seems almost back to full health, a good day indeed. Yeah. He can take it. 

He raises a brow at her contemplative look. “What’re you–ACK!” He lets out a squeal as she tackles him back to the bed, another squeal as a different pillow smacks him lightly across the face. “H-Hey!” 

She’s laughing, a deep, full-bellied laugh that feels ages since she’s allowed and that makes his heart soar. She rolls off him, holding her stomach as she struggles to get it back under control. Lucio watches with a fond smile, chuckling himself. 

Morgana looks over at him, swallowing her laughter back down, but she can’t help but giggle at the expression on his face. “What?” 

“You’re just… So beautiful.” 

The laughter stops in her throat, replaced by a sudden seriousness that permeates the air with a heavy miasma. “What did you say?” 

Blushing furiously, he looks away from her and scratches the back of his neck. “Um. That you’re beau–” 

Giggling, she presses into him, her hand going to grip the front of his shirt and pull him down into her, and she catches his lips in a warm kiss. Lucio freezes, eyes going wide against it before pulling back. “What… “ 

Morgana looks up at him, blushing furiously before realization dawns across her face. 

She just kissed Lucio. The Count of Vesuvia. 

The plague-stricken Count of Vesuvia. 

“Well… Shit.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment before Lucio tears up. “Morgana, I’m…” 

She shakes her head and cups his cheek. “It’s done, now, innit? So, it doesn’t matter if I…” He’s tense as she pulls him back in for another kiss, her body pressing into his. After a moment, he gives in, his hand going to cup her cheek, and her name is whispered against her lips. 

Xxx

The sunlight streams in head-on, blinding and warm. Morgana groans, pinching the bridge of her nose before sitting up. The color of the room tells her that it’s dusk, now, the setting sun giving her one last chance to rise before nightfall, and she does begrudgingly. It isn’t until she notes the portrait across the way that she remembers where she is, and a deep blush crosses her cheeks. 

She fucked Lucio. Count of Vesuvia. 

The plague-stricken Count of Vesuvia. 

Grinning to herself, she touches her lips and looks back towards his still sleeping form. “Well, shit.” 

She gathers her clothes and dresses lazily. There’s no point rushing, now. She’s more than late to going back to her shift, so why hurry? He’s still asleep when she leaves, so she slips quietly through the door and casts him one final, warm glance before she sets off for the dungeons again. 

Julian frowns at her when she comes back through the door, runs a hand through his hair. “Where have you been?” 

She grins dreamily but says nothing of the past…however long as she settles back into her chair. “Oh. You know. Around.” 

He shakes his head at her and sighs, going back to his work. “You might as well go to bed. Or home. Your shift is nearly over.” 

She shakes her head and pulls her work into her lap. “No, I’ll be fine for a few more hours. It’s only fair.” 

Grunting, he takes a sip of his coffee and gives her a sideways glance. After a moment, he mumbles, “You look different.” 

“It was a really good break.” 

Xxx

She goes home a few days later to check on Benny, a lightness in her step despite her impending doom. Lucio refused to speak of it, and for that she was grateful. They both knew what would happen, now. She would get sick. She would die. So, they chose to spend their last bit of time together being… together. Even this trip home would only be for a few minutes, just to clean the stove for Benny and check the mail, and then she’d head back to the palace, back to him. 

The letter is waiting on her doorstep. It’s enough to make her steps falter, enough to take the smile from her face and replace her lightness with crippling guilt. 

Asra. 

She hadn’t been thinking of him when she kissed Lucio. She hadn’t been thinking of anything except being in that moment. And now she was going to die. And Asra would be alone. 

The letter contains a pouch of tea leaves, a common gift from Asra’s journeys. As she brews it with a happy salamander providing her heat, she can’t help but wonder how Asra will react. She can’t imagine he’ll take it well. The letter itself is… troubling. He wants to talk when all this is over. 

She smiles sadly as she looks down at the writing, can imagine him hunched over a rock, Faust hanging about his shoulders. He has no idea. He’ll likely have no idea. 

Perhaps it’s better this way. If he knew, he’d come back, and he’d likely get sick, too. 

Yes. It’s better this way. 

She tucks the letter away with the others sent to her from his travels, sets the dried flower upon the table and casts a wistful glance around the apartment. 

Yes. It’s better this way. 

Xxx

When it happens, she’s surprisingly at peace with it. She doesn’t know if someone has sent for Lucio, doesn’t even know if anyone suspects they have a relationship. In her final moments, as Julian lay huddled over her, weeping like a babe, she can only picture Asra’s smiling face, can only think of the pain he’ll feel when he learns of her demise. 

She asks Julian to tell him she’s sorry. 

Xxx

Several days pass without word from Morgana, and Lucio is getting antsy. He’s still confined to quarters despite his uptick in health, and getting servants to come to him is increasingly difficult. It isn’t until Julian comes to check on him that he’s able to ask. 

“Where’s Morgana?” 

And the look on Julian’s face, the flash of pain and shadow that covers his eyes, it’s enough. Lucio sinks onto the bed, feeling very much as if his heart were ripped in two. He swallows hard and bites back tears, not wanting Julian to see him weep, and turns his attention to the portrait on the wall. 

Julian doesn’t know what went down between them, but the way he pauses at the door and mumbles a quiet, “I’m sorry,” it’s enough to break the dam. 

Xxx

Three years. 

Three goddamn years, trapped between the worlds, not a scrap of personal interaction from anybody. 

He’d tried again today. Tried to appear physically enough for a servant to notice him, but she’d passed through him like they always did. 

He stalks through the gardens, fist clenching and unclenching in his frustration. Though he’s not paying attention, his feet carry him towards the swing in the garden, long forgotten by anyone but him. The apple tree no longer bears fruit, and the hedges have long since become overgrown and out of control, but it’s still his favorite place to go. 

It reminds him of her. 

He sighs and rubs his palm against his forehead, growling in frustration. No. He doesn’t like to think of her, even now after all these years. She resides in a quiet place in his mind, far from his own prying eyes, safe from everything but his dreams. No. He’ll not think of her now. 

He rounds the corner and sighs heavily, resigned to sit upon the stone bench that’s overshadowed by ivy. He’ll sit here quietly for a while, maybe try to think of a new plan, though at this point how many more possible plans can there be? It isn’t until the breeze carries a scent to him that he stills, his eyes widening. “…No.” 

He swallows hard and shakes his head, afraid to turn around. No. It can’t be. She’s dead. She’s been dead for three years. She’s long since been burned and buried and she’s never fucking coming back. 

And then there’s a giggle. 

Lucio spins abruptly on his heel, her name caught in his throat, and all breath is stricken from his body. 

She’s kneeling at the base of the tree, watching a fuzzy caterpillar crawl its way along a leaf, a smile caught on her face. She’s dressed differently, not wearing a shirt and pants as he’d known her before but rather wearing a soft blue-green dress, and her hair is down. But it’s her. It’s… 

“Morgana?” 

Is she…? Did she turn? Did she feel him there? 

No. She doesn’t see him. He’s as lost to her as he is to everyone else, and his heart sinks ever the slightest. But she’s here. She’s alive. Somehow. How? 

“Morgana! There you are!” 

He turns to watch the short red-haired woman come bustling through the brush, almost breathless. Morgana rises and greets her with a grin, the same grin she used to greet him with. “Sorry, Portia. I got a little lost and then… Caterpillar.” She points at the fuzzy creature for emphasis. 

Portia chuckles and waves her hand. “It’s alright. I know the gardens pretty well. Milady wants a word, if you don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” She hikes her skirts up a little ways and scoots over the thick grass. She passes close enough Lucio can feel the memory of her skin against his, as if she were almost touching him, and it makes his heart ache. He follows close by, not wanting to let her out of his sight again. Some several minutes later, when the palace comes into view, she lets out an appreciative breath. “It’s just so pretty.” 

“Have you ever been here before yesterday?” Portia asks. 

Well. Yes. Of course she has. She used to be an apprentice, after all. 

“No, never.” 

He pauses in his steps, and if he could frown, he would. What? 

Portia smiles brightly and puts her hand on her hip, coming to a stop to take in the view of the palace spires. “It doesn’t get old, really. Though, I’m told it’s a much nicer sight without the Count hanging around.” 

…Hey now. He pouts, puts his own hand on his hip. Uncalled for. 

Morgana tilts her head towards Portia, and the next words make Lucio’s heart chill over. “What was he like?” 

…What kind of messed up shit is this? He comes to stand in front of her, looking down at her, but he can see no underhandedness in her expression. Only genuine curiosity. “Morgana, what gives?” 

Portia shrugs. “I dunno. I’m fairly new here. I’m told he was awful, though. Let the city go to ruin while he threw parties all the time.” 

Morgana frowns softly and looks towards the palace again, uncertainly. “Then maybe this… Dr. Devorak? That’s his name, right?” 

“Mm.” 

“Maybe he did Vesuvia a favor.” 

She doesn’t… She doesn’t remember me. She… She doesn’t know who I am. “Morgana…” 

Portia shrugs and sets off again, practically skipping. “I can’t say either way, but I know a lot of the staff aren’t too hurt he’s gone.” 

Morgana hums thoughtfully and brushes her hair over her shoulder. Lucio reaches out as if to touch it, to run his fingers through it as he had so many times before. 

But she doesn’t feel him there. 

[pb1138]

Fictober Prompt 8: Frail, feat Josephine and Asena

I’m going to try to finish this up either tomorrow or the next day. I really didn’t want this to become some big long project but here we fuckin are I guess. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3      AO3

Gemma stayed just long enough to be sure that Asena was going to be fine. She said nothing else to Josephine about what happened, nor indeed much of anything except to leave instructions for treating the wounds before she left. Asena did not try to ask if she was alright. It was written clear enough upon her face and the way her hands shook and she kept her distance. Rather than insult her and try to explain it away, Asena resolved herself to silence, and within half an hour had dozed off to sleep, leaving Josephine alone with her thoughts.

She found she couldn’t stop staring at Asena’s hands. The hands that had on so many occasions caressed her, stroked her, brushed her, brought her to peaks hither-to-before rarely explored to such glorious fruition with another. What else were those hands doing? On those long nights at work, who else were they touching? And how? The blind eye Josephine had turned proved to be much stronger than she intended, because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she’d purposefully ignored the bruises, the cuts and scrapes and the bloodied knuckles. Worse still, the handful of times The Iron Bull came to their apartment, he was usually sporting more serious wounds himself. And the realizations snowballed from there, until the woman lying upon the sofa no longer resembled the suave, soft, gentle giant who was capable of bringing her to her knees with a single look. Frail though she was at this moment, as Josephine stared at her lover, she found she no longer recognized the face that slumbered away. Not the proud nose, the full lips, the sharp cheekbones, the neat eyebrows. None of it. The mask of gentle beauty had slipped away, and the woman underneath it scared her.

“Who are you?” she found herself whispering.

But still Asena slumbered on, and the nausea and pin-prickling discomfort growing with Josephine became too much to handle. Still, she sat there for a good hour, struggling to come to terms with this new reality, with having the veil forcibly thrust open upon the status of her life, but ultimately, she caved. Decisively, she jumped from the chair and busied herself with packing a bag, her hands trembling as they stuffed it with anything and everything she could think of—clothes, toothbrush, shoes she wasn’t entirely sure matched, her favorite doll. Her hands paused over the framed picture on the night stand, the one Asena had asked a passerby to take of them when they’d traveled to the beach for a week. They looked so happy together, Asena’s arm dangling proudly across her shoulders and a brilliant, proud grin stretched across her sunglassed face, both of Josephine’s arms wrapped about Asena’s bare midriff, her face frozen in a laugh. The picture called to her, begged to be taken with her, but the pain, the pure longing for those days was too strong to ignore.

With a glance towards the couch, Josephine hefted her bag upon her shoulder and stepped into the elevator. And as she looked up just before the doors slid shut, her eyes met Asena’s from the couch, watching her go with heavy, unshed tears.

Xxx

The doors slid shut, and Asena was alone, truly alone for the first time in ages, and that loneliness echoed all around the room in a cacophony of mocking. Asena Adaar is a strong woman, prided herself on her ability to press down any negative emotions and never ever cry. But seeing Josephine leave, seeing the pure fear in her eyes when they locked across the room, that brought her to her fucking knees. If she weren’t a good smack from having one foot in the grave, she might’ve gotten up, stormed around, destroyed the apartment, screamed with her agony. Instead, she stared unblinking at the elevator for some time until the tears spilled over, and she laid herself back down on the couch and wept silently until she dozed into sleep once more.

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Josephine always suspected. They both knew that. But denial is a powerful motivator, can drive a person to think the sky is pink. Josephine never asked. She knew that if she did, Asena would be forced to lie, and a lie of omission is better than a bold-faced lie. She wasn’t even sure she could lie to Josephine like that, not really. Giving her the whole spiel about high level contracts she isn’t allowed to talk about was technically not a lie. It wasn’t the entire truth, but not a lie. Her organization does take high-end contracts, and if Asena had told her about it, it would’ve put Josephine in danger and so she would not allow herself to do that.

Sitting alone in her bigass apartment, looking around at all the pictures, all the personal touches, Asena had to wonder if perhaps she should’ve just been honest. Wouldn’t losing Josephine early on have been better than losing her now, after 16 months together?

Her first instinct was to say, “Yes. Of course it would’ve.” But the more she looked around, the more memories that popped into her mind, she knew that it was a lie. Meeting Josephine Montilyet had undoubtedly been the best thing to have ever happened to Asena Adaar.

And she’d let her walk out the fucking door.

Xxx

Days came and went with no communication, not even so much as a “Hi.” Every morning Asena awoke and eagerly opened her phone, only to have the same familiar wave of crushing defeat roll over her when the only notifications she had were from coworkers and her boss. Josephine needed her space. She needed to have the chance to come to terms with what had happened, with the truth of it all. But Maker, Asena was not a patient woman.

Days turned into weeks with still no word. The silence was beginning to wear on her, though she tried not to obsess. Her bosses insisted she return to work despite her unhealed injuries. She wanted to tell them no, to tell them to go fuck themselves on their horns, but she was now in debt to them. Asking for help with the House of Repose had cost her more dearly than she would ever let Josephine know. Thankfully, Asena had many friends within her organization, friends who have proven their loyalty to her many times before, friends to whom she can go and ask for help, for protection for Josephine. The contract may no longer have been in the House of Repose, but that didn’t necessarily mean Josephine was completely safe.

By the fourth week, the idea that Josephine might never come back had begun to plague Asena’s thoughts. It filled her with an ache worse than her mending injuries, an emptiness echoed by the apartment. It was time to move, she decided. Even if Josephine were to come back, this place would forever be tainted for them. For the time being, Asena moved into The Iron Bull’s building. It was an old fire station done up rather like a college dorm, with separate sleeping quarters but shared living spaces. The Chargers lived there with him which meant that it was crowded and cramped. Precisely what Asena needed.

The Iron Bull, Krem, Gemma, and Blackwall came to help Asena move. Her wounds were healing nicely, almost needing no more bandages, but heavy lifting was still off the table. She’d gone around the apartment beforehand, loading stuff into boxes, and very quickly she’d realized how much of it was Josephine’s. Packing Josie’s things hurt, hurt far worse than she’d expected it to. It was just stuff, after all. Wasn’t it? 

She divvied up the stuff they shared in Josephine’s favor. The books, the movies, the pictures, most of it would go to her. Asena kept all but two of the photos for herself, the one of them at the beach, and one of just Josephine, standing beneath the Wintermarch lights, looking up at them in wonder as they illuminated her large eyes and colored her soft skin. This one, she removed from the frame and tucked into her wallet, to be kept on her person at all times, she decided. 

Bull helped her load Josephine’s things into her car and went with her to deliver them. “So what’s the plan, Boss?” 

“Plan?” she said, glancing over at him as she drove. 

“For droppin’ the stuff off. You gonna talk to her or what?” 

...Oh. She... She hadn’t thought that far ahead. What would she do? Could she handle speaking with her? Would she turn her away? Could she handle that rejection? “I... I don’t know,” she admitted weakly. 

Bull regarded her for a long moment. Asena could practically feel the wheels turning in his head as he analyzed her body language. Likely, he could tell exactly what she was thinking, could see the dozens of questions rolling across her face. Bull was freaky good at shit like that. Then, gently and carefully, he reached over and put his hand upon her shoulder. “I got your back, Boss. You know that.” 

She smiled weakly at him and patted his hand. “Mm. I do. Thank you, Bull. You’ve always been such a good friend to me.” She need only feel the missing fingers beneath her hand to know how true that was. Though she’d known Gemma longest out of all her friends, The Iron Bull was Asena’s closest friend in the whole world. To think of how they started that friendship made her laugh. From day one, neither of them trusted the other. They’d protested working together, begged their boss to give them a different partner for that job (truthfully, Asena had quite forgotten what that job had even been by now.) All through planning the job to getting to the goddamn location, all they’d done was bicker. One insisted Plan A was better, the other told them to go fuck a duck. The job went... not well. But The Iron Bull had saved Asena’s life, tackled her out of the path of a fireball she’d not noticed coming. The fire had caught the edge of his hand, burnt his fingers so badly that the nerves would never regenerate so he’d had them amputate them. (”Eh, never liked those ones much anyway,” he’d said.) And, well, Asena never needed worry about his allegiance ever again. Even when she’d been promoted over him, he’d been genuinely, insurmountably pleased for her. (The fact that she let him start his own sub-division in the gang only added to his pleasure.) And here they sat together after all this time, no longer just as coworkers but as friends, genuine friends. 

The rest of the drive to Cullen and Leliana’s house was spent in companionable silence. Though Bull could undoubtedly tell every block made Asena’s anxiety rise, he didn’t press, didn’t insult her by trying to calm her down for which she was grateful. As they pulled up to the house, she had to pause to take a quick breath. Josephine’s bike and Cullen’s car both sat out in the open, which meant at least the two of them were home. The Iron Bull waited for Asena to put her cool face back on, ever patient. “We’ll, uh… We’ll unload and then I’ll knock.” She nodded, more to herself than to him. “Yeah.”

Bull nodded in agreement and hopped out of the car. “You got it, Boss.” They made quick work of it and took special care to arrange it neatly on the porch. Once it was all arranged, Bull went to wait by the car, giving her her space to do what she needed.

She had to take another breath to steady herself and cursed her weakness. No other woman had ever made her flounder like this. It was embarrassing. Asena Adaar does not get butterflies, god dammit. Yet here she was. No, best to get it over with quickly. Without thinking about it, she knocked three times on the door and took a respectful three steps back, her hands clasped in front of her.

The door swung open, and Cullen stepped out, blinking up at her. “A-Asena. Um. Hi.”

She looked him over once then peered easily into the house. “Is she here?”

“Josephine? I… um. Uh, no. No, she’s not.”

Oh. How could such a simple statement invoke such a sense of relief and sadness all at once? “Oh. Well, I’m moving in with Bull and the boys, so, I brought her things to her. Could you please see to it she gets them?” She gestured towards the boxes on the porch.

Cullen looked over at them then back at her, blushing furiously. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, of course, but… You know she moved back home, right? T-To Antiva City.”

She… Clearing her throat, Asena shook her head. “I was not aware of that, no.” What the fuck were the people watching her doing if not their jobs? She should have been informed.

“She uh… She left two days ago, as a matter of fact.”

“Well. I apologize for the imposition, Cullen. I’ll have a friend come by and… I guess ship these to her or something. Um. Excuse me.” Turning on her heel, she stalked off the porch quickly and beelined for the car. Bull was already waiting in the driver’s seat, ready to go.

Asena Adaar is a strong woman, prided herself on her ability to press down any negative emotions and never ever cry. But as Bull weaved his way through traffic, Asena wept.

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 7: Enchanted, feat Josephine and Asena (pt. 3)

Part 3 of the Freeze thread. The House of Repose pays a visit on Josie. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4          AO3

Peace. Love. Bliss. Pure and utter luxury. For 16 months, that’s how Josephine and Asena lived up there in their penthouse. Every morning, Asena would rise with the dawn, and Josephine would be greeted with either the smell of cooking or a warm kiss upon her forehead before Asena slipped off to her mysterious work. Complacency had taken hold in Josephine. No longer did she wonder about it, did she want to know for fear of destroying this Elysian peace. And if truth be told, she greatly enjoyed being spoiled as she had been. Asena had been truthful when she said she didn’t want Josephine to pay for anything. This meant Josie was able to quit her detestable job and focus her time and efforts on her family business and rebuilding her family’s trading empire. To say that it was slow-going would be an understatement. If she were back home in Antiva City, perhaps it might’ve been coming along faster, but as it were it felt like a snail’s pace.  

But even a snail gets noticed every now and then.

Asena was working late that night. Josephine used the opportunity to get some more work done and had been sitting with her back to the door, her nose buried in trade manifestos and receipts. So lost was she in her papers that she didn’t hear the elevator arrive over the sound of the fireplace, didn’t hear the soft creaking of the floorboard just beyond the entryway. When the lights shut off, Josephine merely sighed. It wasn’t until she realized that it wasn’t storming outside that she realized something was wrong. Standing slowly, she set her papers down and turned to look about, but the fireplace did very little to light the depths of the apartment.

“You’ve been quite busy, Lady Montilyet.” The light in the kitchen flicked on, drawing her attention to the masked Orlesian who was busy examining a bottle of wine.

“Who are you? How did you get in?” Subtlety, she felt around her pockets for her phone, panic welling within her despite her best efforts to stay calm. It wasn’t until she spotted it lying on the kitchen island beside her long-forgotten tea that the panic turned into full blown fear.

The intruder followed her gaze to her phone and tsked. “Do not concern yourself, Lady Montilyet.” He popped the cork on the wine and poured out two glasses. “I am not here to hurt you.” Then, looking up at her, her added as if thoughtfully, “Tonight.”

“W…What is it you want?”

He picked up the wine and walked slowly towards her, staring down at the glasses as if in contemplation. “I work for… an organization. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. We go by the name of the House of Repose.”

Cold clamminess was beginning to creep up her spine. “I… Yes. I know of them.”

“Excellent. I do so hate having to explain.” He paused on the other side of the couch and held the second glass out to her. Hesitantly, she took it. “You see, Lady Montilyet, we find ourselves in a most precarious situation. When you began your efforts to restart your family’s business these months past, my employers caught wind of it. And… Well, this is embarrassing.” He sipped at the wine and offered her an almost shy smile. “It turns out that your efforts have brought a century-old contract to our attention, one that dictates… Well. The Montilyet trading empire may not persevere.”

“And the House of Repose always upholds their contracts… Yes. I… I understand.”

“I’m so glad you see it our way. We felt, given the strangeness of these circumstances, that an explanation was owed to you. And so, I am here.”

She stared down at the glass in her hand, swallowing hard. “This… contract. May I ask who ordered it?”

“Ah, yes. A Lord Du Paraquette.”

Yes. The name rang a bell, some familial drama a hundred years ago resulting in the loss of the Du Paraquette’s status. “I… Thank you. I suppose.”

“Oh my gods, you wouldn’t believe the traff—Josie?” Asena stood in the doorway, taking in the scene at hand.

“Ah, yes. Lady Adaar. Enchanted.” The Orlesian turned towards his host and tipped his head in greeting. “I do so wish I could stay and chat, but I’m afraid I really must be leaving.” Then, with a tip of his head to Josephine, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Montilyet. I do so wish it had been under different circumstances.”

As he passed by Asena, she straightened up and watched him go, scowling as she did. As soon as the door was shut, she rushed over to Josephine and looked her over, worry written across her face. “Are you ok? Who was that? What happened? Did he hurt you?”

Josephine swallowed hard and took a deep breath to quell her hammering heart. “I… I’m fine. For now, at any rate.”

Asena’s hands came to cup Josephine’s cheeks, tilting her head up to look her in the eye. “Tell me everything.”

They sat together on the couch, Asena’s arm protectively around Josephine’s shoulders, and she listened patiently as Josephine talked her through what had happened. By the time she finished, the hand that had been gently stroking her shoulder had stilled, and Asena had stiffened. The silence hung between them for the longest time before Asena abruptly stood and grabbed her coat. Baffled, Josephine watched, mouth agape. “What are you doing?”

Asena stilled for a moment, coat half on, then shook her head once. “I’m going to fix it.”

A coldness gripped Josephine, a very different fear from what she had felt with the messenger. “What… what does that mean?” Her response was silence as Asena went around to the doors leading out to the balcony and checked they were all locked. Josephine stood from the couch and clenched her fists a few times, trying to ease out her worry. “Asena, what does that mean?”

Her lover crossed the room to her and took her in her arms, squeezing her almost painfully tight. She felt Asena kiss the top of her head before she slipped past to go towards the door. “I have to talk to my boss. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Call the elevator back once I’m gone and pull the emergency brake on it. I’ll call when I get back.”

“Asena… Mi amor, please don’t go…”

Asena’s hand paused over the button, and for a moment, Josephine thought she might change her mind, mind come back to her. Her hope was short lived. She didn’t even turn to wave goodbye before the heavy doors slid shut and the arrow indicated her descent. And Josephine was alone. Suddenly, the large, wide-open expanse of the apartment was unbearably frightening.

Josephine moved her work to bed and tucked herself into the corner, and until dawn came, every bump and whistle of the wind had her tensing up.

With the rising of the sun and the way the apartment flooded with warm light, Josephine was finally able to calm down long enough to get some sleep, light though it was. She awoke late in the day, nearer evening than noon. No notifications lit up her phone aside from some business-related emails, but she had neither the heart nor the inclination to do anything about them. Asena should’ve called by now or at least texted. And all the fear that had filled Josephine’s heart every time Asena left to go to “work” for these past 16 months cumulated into one roiling ball of jittery fear and guilt.

She was unable to do much of anything that night other than worry. TV filled the silence, but her mind could focus on nothing except Asena, not even upon her work. The clock ticked by painfully slowly, mocking her and her predicament. Minutes passed in the span of hours, the night stretching on endlessly like some absurd kind of nightmare.

It was nearly dawn of the next day when her phone rang, and like a starving woman, she lunged for it as if it were a buffet of her favorite foods. She had barely registered the contact picture as Asena’s (a selfie of the two of them standing against the view from the balcony, Josephine kissing Asena’s cheek,) when she answered, “Mi amor?”

She sounded pained, winded, but it was her. “Send… Send the elevator down…”

Josephine sprinted to the elevator and did as she was told. “Asena, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” But the line was dead. So, Josephine stared impatiently at the elevator doors, fidgeting like no tomorrow.

The elevator came to a halt. As the doors opened, Josephine waited impatiently for Asena to step out and scoop her up in her arms like usual, but that didn’t happen. Instead, Gemma, Asena’s former roommate, looked up at her from underneath the full weight of Asena, obviously struggling. “G-Get a first aid kit!” Josephine, unable to fully comprehend the order through the shock of seeing Asena so badly wounded, just stood there and watched as Gemma fought to get Asena over to the couch, nearly dropping her several times in the process. “Dammit, Josephine, the first aid kit!”

The sharp order cut through Josephine’s shock and spurred her into action. Sliding to her knees beside Gemma, kit in hand, she passed it to her and looked over Asena’s wounds. “Wh… What happened?”

Gemma grumbled, pulling out what she needed from the kit and promptly tossing it behind her. “Job went south.”

“Job?”

Gemma gave her a pointed look. Well. That was it then. Josephine could no longer pretend that her girlfriend was just some well-paid architect or something. She watched as Gemma worked to stitch up the numerous wounds Asena carried, some cuts from blades, but a few gunshot wounds, too. And as strange as it was, while Josephine held Asena’s hand, the thought that her blood would stain the couch was the only thing that filled her mind. It was a rather large couch, after all. Reupholstering it would cost a small fortune, after all.

Gemma finished her task surprisingly quickly, her hands far too practiced for comfort. It occurred to Josephine that she’d never considered any of Asena’s friends would also be her… coworkers. But as she observed the dwarf, she realized with a start how obvious it was. Though Gemma was not as wealthy as Asena, she still had rather a suspicious amount of fine objects for her work as a “pharmacist.” And rather a suspicious amount of scars for it, too. And what of The Iron Bull? Frequently, he referred to Asena as “boss” though as far as Asena knew, the two were unaffiliated outside of friendship, though Maker knows he has his share of scars (even some missing fingers.) For a moment, she considered asking, confirming her fears, but decided against it. Not Gemma. She would hear it from Asena or from no one.

With a heavy sigh, Gemma started cleaning up. With a quick gesture towards the bathroom, she mumbled something about going to wash her hands that Josephine was too out of it to properly hear. She was going through a list of their friends in her mind, trying to pinpoint how many of them had given her reason for concern when the hand between hers intertwined their fingers. She squeaked, looking down into the teal eyes of her lover. “W… Oh. You’re awake,” she breathed, relief flooding through her.

Asena gave her a weak but cheeky grin. “Mi hermosa Josefina, how concerned you look.” At Josephine’s deadpan expression, she frowned. “You’re upset.”

“Upset? Upset? No, no, not me, not upset, no.” Scoffing, Josephine shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. No. Not now. Asena was far too weak for fighting. “You’re very late for dinner,” she grumbled.

Asena let out a breath of a laugh and brushed her thumb against Asena’s knuckles. “I’m sorry, mi amor. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh? And how might you do that?” Maker, was she really flirting right now? Even with all that just happened?

Asena let her hand slip from Josephine’s, and carefully felt about in her pockets. With a soft, “Aha,” she pulled out a bundle of bloodied papers and held it out to Josephine who took it with no small degree of disgust.

As Josephine scanned the document, her eyebrows shot up and mouth fell slack. “How did you—”

Asena practically beamed at her. “I fixed it.”

Josephine stared at her lover then noticed something that brought a wave of nausea to her, had her pushing to her feet and darting for the kitchen sink.

The pocket Asena had pulled the papers from was untouched by blood. 

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 6: Husky, feat Josephine and Asena

Part 2 of This One (Tumblr) || This One (Archive)

Modern au, mafia au

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4         AO3

The soft chatter scattered about the restaurant seemed so far away from their table, tucked into the corner against the window. In the dim lighting aided by two softly lit candles upon the table, Josephine gaped at her lover. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Asena chuckled softly at Josephine’s floundering. “I asked you to move in with me.”

Josephine stared across the table at her, jaw slack, mind racing. “I-I couldn’t!”

Quirking a brow at her, Asena sipped her wine. “Oh? And why ever not?”

“We’ve only known each other for six months!”

Asena rolled over the protestation in her mind, and Josephine could see the way the ring in the center of her lower lip was beginning to roll as it often did when its wearer was thinking. “It… I suppose it is fast,” she admitted at last. “I can understand if you’d say no on that basis, but I do wish you’d take some time to consider it if that’s your only reservation. I feel good about this, Josephine. About you. Us.”

Thankfully for the dim lighting in the restaurant, Asena couldn’t possibly see the darkening of Josephine’s cheeks. If she were honest with herself, she’d know that the novelty of their relationship was not truly the problem. She was floundering, scrambling to find something, anything to tell her not to do this. Impetuousness was not something that came easily to Josephine Montilyet, after all. “Well…” Mierda. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I… I have a lease! With my apartment! I can’t just break it.”

“Sure you can.” She seemed almost delighted at how easy these rejections were to beat down, the smug bastard.

“Well, it would be disadvantageous to do so. After all, it’s a $400 fine to break the contract in addition to a full month’s rent. And what about Cullen and Leliana? They cannot afford to pay for the house on their own.”

Asena chuckled, leaning back in her chair to observe her. “You know I’m happy to help you, Josie. And Cullen and Leliana can find another roommate. Maker knows they have enough friends. Until they do, I’m happy paying any deficit they have. And my new apartment is just oh so lonely without a roommate,” she pouted playfully.

Josephine stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve really… thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Hermosa Josefina,” she purred, sitting forward, her voice lowered to a husky dulcet. “I do nothing without first thinking it through.”

“But… We hardly know anything about each other. We’ve only been dating six months…”

Asena’s gaze softened, and she sat back again, a warm smile against her lips though her eyes betrayed her soft sadness. “You don’t have to, of course. I won’t be offended. It is kind of fast.”

Josephine swallowed hard and stared down at her steak, thoughts flying a million miles per hour through her head. As the minutes passed and Asena took up her own fork again, Josephine came to a conclusion at long last. “Alright.”

Asena’s hand paused over her salad, a brow raising at her. “Pardon?”

Tilting a shy smile up at her lover, Josephine reached across and gently slipped her hand over Asena’s. “I would like to move in with you.”

Slow comprehension spread easily across Asena’s face, quickly replaced with a brilliant grin. “You’re sure?”

Nodding, Josephine squeezed her hand then withdrew to sip at her own wine. “Mm. I… I find that I care about you deeply, my Lady Adaar. I think it could be… good.”

“Brilliant!” Asena clapped her hands together lightly, eyes alight in the candlelight. “We can do it as soon as you’d like. I don’t want to rush you, after all.”

Josephine giggled and nodded. “You’ll have to help me pack, of course.”

Rolling her eyes, Asena caught the eye of the server and politely raised her hand. “Of course, mi hermosa Josefina. I’d be only too delighted to do your… heavy lifting.” Her voice dropped with the last two words, bringing a blush to Josephine’s cheeks that made Asena chuckle.

The server brought over their check and clasped her hands in front of her waist. “Can I get you anything else, Lady Adaar?”

“Josie? Some desert, maybe?”

Josephine shook her head, supplying a polite smile to the server. “Not for me, thank you.”

“Then none for me, either.” Asena nodded, passing the bill and a credit card back to the woman, shooting her a smile of her own. “Thank you.”

“I trust this new apartment of yours isn’t the stuff of college student nightmares?”

“Josie, you wound me. In all the time you’ve known me, have you ever thought my taste less than exquisite?”

“Well, there was that shirt you wore the other day, the one with the stripes.”

Asena gasped dramatically, putting a hand to her chest in mock offense. “How… dare you!” she teased. “My grandmother knitted that shirt for me on her death bed!”

Josephine chuckled, sipping at her wine. “And was your grandmother blind when she died?”

“That’s beside the point,” Asena laughed. “But, no, mi amor, I promise you. There’s no holes in the floor, no splinters in the hand rails, no roaches scuttling about, nothing like that. You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I think.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Xxx

‘Pleasantly surprised.’ That didn’t even begin to cut it. Josephine gaped, turning slowly about in Asena’s foyer. She’d said “apartment” and Josephine thought of some small, one-bedroom hole in the wall with no elevator. Not… this.

“Asena… how—”

“I got a good deal on it. My boss does a lot of work for the owner of this building. They’re good friends, and when I said I wanted to move, they hooked me up.” She beamed at Josephine as she passed by her, carrying two of her heavier boxes with ease. “D’you like it?”

“I…” Clearing her throat, she stepped further into the large space to explore.

It was a penthouse, and say what one will, affording a penthouse in Val Royeaux, let alone one downtown as this one is… She’d only heard of the royal family and their courtiers owning any. The apartment itself was completely open, lined with floor to ceiling panoramic windows that went all the way around. A half-wall of exposed brick separated the huge, state-of-the-art kitchen from the living room which was built down a step and featured one of the biggest televisions Josephine had ever seen in person. Across the way, the bed sat on a raised step, separated from the rest of the apartment by Rivain-inspired screens depicting the ocean in a storm, and a rather large section of the corner was walled off, presumably for the bathroom. A balcony lined the entire outside, and all around the railing grew a vine which sported vibrant pink flowers.

“Asena, I…” Josephine comes from nobility. Though her family may not have been particularly wealthy in terms of enterprise, they still were one of the wealthiest families in Antiva City. It is a rare occurrence that Josephine should feel humbled. But this? “I’m speechless. Even with a discount, Asena, how can we afford this?”

“Not we, mi amor. I. I don’t expect or want you to pay for a single thing, ok?” She flashed her a brilliant smile as she slipped back to the open elevator packed to the brim with boxes. “I told you, my job pays really well.”

“Yes, but you’ve yet to tell me what that job is.” The mystery was beginning to wear thing. At first, Josephine thought that perhaps it was something embarrassing or personal, like some sort of sex work. On many occasions, Asena has had phone calls that required her to slip off somewhere private, and often when she returned, she had to leave immediately, sometimes changing into different clothes along the way. But unless she was the personal courtesan of Celene herself, there was no way Asena could afford this on an escort’s pay. No, now Josephine was beginning to grow wary. Drugs, perhaps? She’d heard of some back-alley lyrium dealers hitting it big.

Asena set the boxes down and smiled reassuringly at her. “I told you, mi amor. I’m a freelance contractor whose work requires her to sign frequent NDAs.”

Josephine raised a brow at her, took in her calm smile, the warmth in her expression, and sighed. Was she buying it? No, not entirely. Could she talk herself into buying it? Yes. For now. “Well, I don’t envy the person paying your checks,” she joked. “Or…” Looking around again, she giggled. “Perhaps I do.”

Asena came to stand beside her, an arm resting along her shoulders. “We can do whatever you want to it. Repaint, redecorate, rearrange, anything. Together.”

Josephine looked up at her impossibly tall lover and smiled, her arm snaking about her waist. “Together.”

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 5:  Build, feat. Asra and Morgana

ANGST. ALL OF THE ANGST. I LITERALLY WEPT WRITING THIS. This is about my apprentice’s last days during the plague. (It’s even more bittersweet because she’s my Muriel and my Lucio romance apprentice.) 

“I don’t know why you won’t just come with me!”

Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose, anger flaring. “And if you didn’t have your head shoved so far up your ass, Asra, you would know why I can’t!”

Asra gestured angrily towards the window, towards the island. “Do you realize how bad it is? They’re dying so quickly that Lucio is building a mass grave!”

She spun around and doubled down on him, fury thickening the air between them. Angrily, she shoved a finger in his chest. “I know better than you how bad it is, Asra, because I’m out there doing something! What are you doing? Hiding! Running away, like always!”

Scowling, he rubbed the place she poked him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head, looking at him with disgust. “You always do this. You always run away when things get tough, Asra. Well not me. Not this time.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped back, sorrow taking over her anger. “I’m staying, Asra.” She turned her head from him to hide her tears as she whispered a wobbling, “If you’re leaving, then just… go.”

“Morgana—”

“Don’t.” Shaking her head, she took another step back and hugged herself. “Don’t make this harder, Asra.”

‘Stay?’

Two pairs of violet eyes turned towards their scaly companion, peaking up out of Asra’s coat. Morgana looked towards Asra, waiting, and the silence between them stretched endlessly until Asra met her gaze, and she knew his answer. “No, Faust. It’s too dangerous to stay.”

‘Oh…’

Morgana swallowed hard as Asra reached for his pack. He made it to the door of the shop before pausing, his back to her. “Be careful, Morgana. I… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

Squeezing her eyes shut tight, her nails dug into her arms to keep herself from crying. “I… I will…” She turned her back to the door and took a shuddering breath. “I love you, Asra.”

There was only a moment of silence before the door clicked shut, and Morgana’s resolve crumbled. Choking back bitter, trembling sobs, she made her way up to the apartment over the shop and collapsed in a weeping heap upon the bed. Meanwhile, Asra leaned heavily against the wall in the alley, hiding tears of his own in his scarf. The desire to go back inside, to take her in his arms and kiss her pain away was almost too strong to defy, an invisible compulsion pulling him by his heart to her side.

Instead, he shoved away from the wall and stumbled away hastily, a decision that would haunt him to his dying breath.

Xxx

The weeks passed in a haze, every day the same. Morgana rose before the sun, washed, dressed, made her way to the castle, descended into the dungeons below to start her days’ work alongside Julian and the other doctors. The construction on the Lazaret finished quicker than most had expected, given its height and complexity. Despite the distance out of her way, Morgana insisted on walking down to the docks every night to stare off across the skylit waters, towards the looming monstrosity. And every night, she cursed it, cursed the plague, cursed herself and her failures as a healer.

Xxx

A month after his departure came Asra’s first letter with a pressed golden wildflower within. It was simple, to the point, avoiding the heavy feelings between them, not that she would’ve hoped he’d address them in the first place.

Morgana—

              I’ve gone North, and picked this flower along the way. It reminds me of the scarf you made me for my birthday last year. I found a cute little village and have been granted a little apartment over the baker’s shop. I think I’ll stay here another week or so.

I wish you were

You should see

              I hope you’re doing well. Write soon— Asra

She’d made the mistake of reading this letter before she left for the castle one morning. Though the tears had more than dried by the time she stepped into Julian’s room, his reaction to the sight of her blotchy face and swollen eyes was immediate. “Morgana?” Jumping up from his desk, he enveloped her in a tight hug and inspected her for signs of injury or physical distress, even pressing a hand to her forehead to check for a fever. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she sniffled and pushed the fresh wave of tears back down. “N-Nothing. I got a letter from…” Taking a shuddering breath, she stepped around him to take her seat beside his desk. “From Asra.” She took up her notepad and got to work, struggling to keep her calm. Though he was still clearly concerned, Julian respected her distance and took his own seat again, and together they set to work for the day.

Xxx

The next letter came two weeks later, another flower pressed within it, this one a soft white.

Morgana—

              I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. I worry. You are being careful, right? I hear stories in the market, that the Plague is worsening. I’ll be moving north again, to a village I visit frequently in my travels. Maybe one day we can go together.

              Please be safe. I can’t I want to I hope to see you soon. We miss you. –Asra

Though the pain lingered, this time Morgana did not weep. Instead, she placed the flower upon her table beside the first and sighed. She rose from her seat, walked over to the stove, and lovingly scooped out the fire salamander. “I miss him, Benny.” Benny looked up at her and krrred at her as if he understood her pain, and when she placed him upon her shoulder, he wrapped himself around her neck and huffed, a small ember exhaled out in front of her as he did so. She nodded, feeding him a charcoal chip. “Agreed.”

With a heavy sigh, she set about packing her bag for the next weeks’ work. With the plague worsening as it had—so much so that Lucio had ordered a crematorium be built at the Lazaret—the workload on the doctors and their apprentices had doubled, meaning Morgana and Julian took turns sleeping and working. She’d only even come home to collect her mail, take care of Benny, and gather some fresh clothes. Once her bag was packed, she carefully scooped Benny into her hands and pressed her forehead against his, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I promise, Benny, when all this is over, I’m going to give you all the wood and charcoal chips you could possibly want.”

Benny wiggled at that and skrred happily at her. She smiled sadly down at him and pressed a soft kiss to his head. “You be good, ok? Don’t burn the shop down or I shall be very cross.” At his chirping reply, she smiled and sat him back in the stove. A ring of smoke popped up at her as if he were saying goodbye, and the sight put a smile on her face as she turned to leave.

Xxx

The last letter Morgana received came two more weeks later. This one was accompanied with a vibrant violet flower and a small pouch of tea leaves.

Morgana—

              Faust and I have meandered to the west. There’s a village about a day’s walk from where I am now, but this place is so peaceful. It’s just flowers, as far as the eye can see. My magic feels stronger here, like this place is otherworldly in a way. This flower was the only one of its kind in a sea of coneflowers. After I picked it, I felt bad for a moment because it’s obviously special to have grown in so differently than its surroundings, but then I decided that makes it better. It reminds me of you.

              When all this is over and we’re together again, we should talk. I have something I want to ask you.

              Thinking of you. Always. –Asra

Morgana smiled and sipped the tea. It was sweet above the general bitterness of tea, but its flavor was deep and rich. As she set the emptied cup down on its saucer, the thought that it would be the last cup of tea she ever drank was nowhere near her mind.

The exhaustion came first. It crept up so steadily that she had no reason to suspect it, simply wrote it off as being overworked. They were all tired, all the doctors except Valdemar of course, though Morgana and Julian tried very hard not to think of their boss. Julian didn’t notice it, either, not that Morgana could blame him. Lucio was sick now. Julian’s full attention was focused on him, as it should be. The Count is important, after all. No. She couldn’t blame him.

It wasn’t until three days before that year’s masquerade that she awoke in a cold sweat, skin ablaze and frozen all at once. Breath raspy and pained, she pulled herself to sitting and reached for the mirror Julian had forgotten upon the small wash basin.

She could not cry when the eyes looking back at her burned a brilliant scarlet, contrasting starkly with the cool violet of her irises. Instead, she pulled herself from bed, stripped the sheets, tore off a piece long enough to tie around her nose and mouth, and stepped out of the office. Julian was too busy at work to notice, too deep in his research, in his scribblings.

She did not blame him.

The flames swallowed the sheets easily, and as she sat and observed them, the idea that soon it would be her upon the fires slipped into her mind.

She should’ve been helping.

The thought came to her after a while. She should’ve gone, relieved Julian, kept working. But she was so tired. Her limbs were already so heavy with the disease. It shouldn’t have happened that quickly, she realized idly. Most cases took three days to a week to take such a strong hold. Perhaps it took hold in her faster because of her exhaustion. Yes, that made sense.

“Morgana?”

She couldn’t look away from the flames, the thoughts of her imminent demise having evolved into just a vague sense of tranquility. She couldn’t be afraid, couldn’t be angry. No. What use would that be? If she were to get angry, to throw things, to scream, to weep, it would do nothing to help. There would be no help, now.

The gloved hand upon her shoulder didn’t startle her, but she did look down at it as if it were not of this world. Was she even of this world?

Julian moved to stand in front of her then squatted to get a better look at her. When her viciously scarlet sclera turned towards him, he gasped, fell from his squat to the ground. “No…”

Though he couldn’t see it, she smiled at him, softly, serenely. Shaking her head, she patted his hand which had fallen to her knee. “It’s alright, Julian.”

“No, Morgana—” Tears were quick to build in his eyes and spill over. He pushed himself up and into her arms, his hands clutching desperately at her. “No,” he sobbed. And as she wrapped her arms so delicately, so easily around him, he repeated it again and again.

She held him for as long as she could manage until her arms were less holding him and more just hanging against him. Her strength was fading quickly. They’d seen it happen before, some patients fading in a matter of hours. Julian shook against her, his tears long since drenching her clothes, but she didn’t mind. The other doctors had come to stand witness, colleagues she’d grown delighted to call friends, most of them weeping, too. But she didn’t mind. She was too tired to mind now. “Julian,” she whispered once her head had begun to grow too heavy to hold.

He pulled back to look up at her, his eyes almost as angrily red as hers. “M-Morgana?” he blubbered.

It took some doing, the strength difficult to pull together, but she finally managed to put a serene smile on her face. “I’m going now, Julian.”

“N-No! Morgana! Morgana, please, no!”

She blinked heavily, hard, the effort to reopen her eyes feeling like running uphill in quicksand. “Tell Asra I’m sorry, ok?”

He sniffled hard and shook his head. “You’ll tell him yourself.”

Ah, another smile. She’s not even sure she managed it, but she knows Julian knew she wanted to. “It’s ok, Julian.”

And then the strength left her. Julian caught her, laid her down against the floor and shook her. As he wept over her, his head against her breast, she looked up at the ceiling. And as she looked, it morphed before her eyes, the gruesome, dank, dark stalactites transforming into rolling hills, growing bright and warm, and the smell of wildflowers filled her nose. In the distance, she could see a familiar crop of fluffy, white hair sitting up against the flowers, turning in her direction, and she smiled. “Asra?”

Xxx

The letter was found the next day. A gloved hand picked it up from inside the door to the Magician’s shop, and Julian stared down at the familiar scrawl, exhausted from weeping and grief. Tiredly, he carried himself up to the apartment over the shop, each step heavier than the last. The stove salamander poked its head out to greet his friends, but upon seeing Julian and his wretched expression, the wise animal let out a soft keening sound that drew Julian’s attention. With a trembling breath, he carried himself over and scooped the gentle creature up and sat him in his lap as he sat at the table.

The envelope was heavy, and as Julian opened it, he could see why. If he had any tears left to give, they’d have fallen as he pulled out the ring, simple and silver, and he rolled it in his hand for a minute, trying to regain the strength to read. The salamander crawled up to the table and laid forlornly against a small stack of letters all bearing Asra’s scrawling script. Sighing, Julian opened the new letter and braced himself.

Morgana—

              I couldn’t wait. I keep thinking about how we left things, and I’m so angry at myself. I should’ve stayed, should be there with you. I’m coming back. At first it was just for the Masquerade but now it’s for you. This letter will find you before I do (I’ve traveled quite far these past weeks,) so I want to ask you that question now.

              Morgana, I should’ve told you then how I felt, even if you know already. You said you loved me, and I hope that’s still true, because this coward loves you, too. If you’ll have me, Morgana, I would ask your hand.

Will you marry me?

I make my way to you now, my love. I hope beyond hope you’ll say yes, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Morgana. Come what may, I want to face it with you. I want to be courageous, Morgana, with you.

Please say yes. –Asra

Julian sat there for what felt like years trying to figure out what to do, how to get the message to Asra that he need not hurry. But Fortune, as it often does, had another idea, because upon the setting of the sun, the bell above the shop’s door chimed.

“Morgana? Morgana are you here? Did you get my letter? Oh, I have so much I want to—” Asra stopped at the top of the stairs, staring wide-eyed at Julian. “What are you doing here?” Julian swallowed hard and looked down at the letter. Asra’s eyes followed his gaze then glazed over in anger. “What are you doing? Reading Morgana’s mail now? Who do you think you are?” Asra stormed over quickly and snatched the letter and the ring from the table, casting a glare at Julian.

“Asra.”

“Well? Where is she? Is she still cooped up in that… that dungeon? Gods, man, you’re going to work her to death!”

“A-Asra.” It would seem Julian had tears to spare after all. They welled in his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet, looking at the ground.

“Save it, Julian, I’m going to go find her. She needs to have some air—”

“ASRA!”

Asra froze in place, half turned to leave. His face was turned away, but Julian could see the sagging of his shoulders. “Don’t say it.”

“She… Asra, I’m… I’m so… I’m so sorry.” Julian’s voice cracked sharply on the last word as a fresh wave of sobs overtook him, dragging him to sit back down.

Asra stood there a long time, making no movement, and for a moment, Julian wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Finally, Asra whispered a strained, “When?”

Julian sniffled and wiped his nose on a napkin. “Y-Yesterday. She… It was so fast… I couldn’t… I tried—”

“You tried? You tried?” Asra shook his head sharply, moving down the stairs. “You always try, Julian. Why don’t you do something for once?”

The door to the shop slammed sharply, leaving Julian weeping in silence, his only company the salamander.

Xxx

Asra was moving quickly, feet carrying him before his mind had even caught up. No. Julian was wrong. She’s fine. She’s just taking a walk or something. He’ll find her, he’ll hug her, he’ll kiss her, and he’ll propose properly, and they’ll spend their lives together in happy bliss.

Except she was nowhere. Not at the tavern, not at the docks, not at the marketplace, not at the palace. When he asked a passing doctor where she was, his only answer was a pained look and a soft, “You don’t know?”

No. He didn’t know. Because they were wrong. They had to be. Morgana is strong. She’s fine. This is all some sick joke. And he’d prove it.

The moon was beginning to rise as he made his way to the docks, pure spite fueling his steps now. It was easy enough securing a boat to take him across the water, and the fury within him spurred his magic, spurred the boat to fly faster than he’d normally achieve. Within minutes, he was coming ashore, the monstrous tower looming overhead. The stench of death clung to this place, worse than he’d ever experienced before. It stank of rot and burnt bodies, and ash floated down from the sky like snow. Asra wrapped his scarf about his face as he pushed his way towards the center of the island where the Lazaret loomed.

Faust was trembling inside his pocket. ‘Leave.’

“We can’t, Faust. We have to find her.” Once Asra was far enough inland, he stopped and closed his eyes. Feeling out with his magic, he searched for her magic that was by now as familiar to him as her voice.

There.

He took off sprinting in the direction his magic told him, following an invisible string connecting him to her as if it were a lifeline in a snowstorm. “I knew it, Faust! She’s here!” Laughter bubbled in his chest, manic and hysterical, but it did not live long. As he rounded a corner, he stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the sight at hand. Mounds buried in the sand at irregular intervals decorated the view as far as he could see, some older, some newer. “No…”

Trembling, Asra stepped out, following the pull of his magic. “M-Morgana?” This wasn’t happening, was it? Oh, how he’d laugh about this nightmare when he woke. Not his Morgana, not like this. Not…

Except as he approached the freshest mound, approached the source of the pull, he could no longer lie to himself. The moon hung high overhead, casting a sickening silver glow upon the sand as Asra fell to his knees. “No…” He reached out, touched the top of the mound, and as the connection spell faded out, Asra’s tears began to fall. “NO!” Screaming with violent sobs, he began to dig, his hands scraping hard at the sand. It cut at him, scraped his skin until he was sure his hands were bleeding, but still he dug, weeping, deeper, deeper, until… His hands hovered over the sack, trembling with pain and exertion. “M… Morgana…” He knew. This… This was her. His Morgana. The woman who delighted his days, whose smile lit his entire world, whose voice calmed his every hurt, whose courage and kindness served as endless guiding inspiration to him. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the sack from the sand and cradled it to his chest. His fault. This was his fault. He’d helped Lucio. He’d encouraged him. His selfishness is the reason this happened. The reason she’s gone. The reason for all of this. Him. His fault.

And as he held what remained of her, of his Morgana in his bleeding hands, the tears began to stop, his sobs began to quiet, until his pain was replaced with anger. “No.” The plan was unfolding in the depths of his mind. As he carefully—so, so carefully—put her back in the ground, Asra grit his teeth against his anger and clenched his fists. “Don’t worry, Morgana,” he whispered through a set jaw. “I’m going… I’m going to fix this. We’ll… We’ll be together again. I promise.” And as he gingerly covered her back up, he wept anew for what was to come.

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 4: Freeze, feat Josephine and Asena

MODERN POOL PARTY AU! I NEVER WRITE AUS! HOW WEIRD IS THIS?! It might become a two-parter, Idk. Warnings? Mentions of alcohol, kind of OOC Leliana. Also, surprise appearances from the Hawke and Inquisitor of this timeline (Nev and Gemma. (Gemma is the Inq, Asena is just her friend for my double-Inquisitor-au timeline.)) 

UPDATE: This is now a mafia au. 

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4   AO3

Author note: “Hermosa” means beautiful. So, she’s calling Josephine beautiful. 

“Who did you say lived here?” Josephine raised her eyebrow at Leliana.

Leliana just waved her hand as they wove their way through the convoluted apartment complex. “A friend of Cassandra’s.”

Cullen snorted from behind them. “It’s not like you to hold back on gossip, Leliana.”

Leliana huffed. “I don’t really know. All Cassandra said was there would be a party.”

Josephine and Cullen shared an incredulous look, but they didn’t have time to press for more information because they rounded a corner and music drifted over to them. “Oh good, you made it!” Cassandra waved to them from among the group of people loitering around the pool. A bunch of paper lantern lights were rustling in the warm summer breeze, casting a warm glow over the cool light from the pool. There were about two dozen people in total, including many of Cassandra’s friends, just about everybody wearing either bathing suits or summer clothes. Josephine recognize most of them—The Iron Bull was working over the grill while Dorian looked on adoringly; a red-haired and blue-tattooed Dwarven woman was hanging off the Warden Blackwall’s arm sitting poolside and chatting animatedly with Sera and her girlfriend Dagna who were in the pool; over in the corner, Varric was sitting amidst a group of people, likely telling them one of his ridiculous stories with his arm slung over Cole’s (one of the only fully dressed people present) shoulder. Cassandra walked over the gate and grinned at them, her hand going to rest on her sarong-ed hip. “Did you find it alright?”

Leliana grinned and hugged her. “Of course.”

Josephine scanned the crowd. “It looks like a good turnout.”

Cassandra nodded, clasping Cullen’s hand in a firm shake. “Yes. I hadn’t realized Asena had invited so many people, but everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“Who is this Asena? I’ve yet to meet her,” Josephine asked, curiosity filling her voice.

“Oh, you’ll love her.” Cassandra gave her a knowing smirk before it turned into a grin as she looked past them. “In fact, here she comes now!”

“Sorry, there was a huge line at the store and—Oh!” The trio turned to meet their hostess, and Josephine’s breath caught in her throat. “Cassandra, are these the friends you were talking about?”

“Yes, indeed. Guys, allow me to introduce Asena Adaar.”

The Qunari that stood before them was, as most Qunari are, incredibly tall. She was standing with her hip cocked, a large bag of charcoal balanced on it, an… an entire half-barrel keg set at her feet. Josephine raised an eyebrow at that. How in the world did she carry that all in one go? Her hips were wide in comparison to the rest of her body, a pair of light pink harem pants hanging quite low on those hips, giving her a good view of sturdy hip bones. Her skin was light for a Qunari, similar in shade to The Iron Bull’s, but smoother, pulled tight over strong, prominent muscles. She wore no shirt, only a black, strapless bikini top that made Josephine swallow hard.

Asena must’ve noticed Josephine checking her out because she smirked, an eyebrow cocked at her, and Maker’s breath she was pretty. She had a strong, slightly crooked nose that sat between proud, lightly freckled cheekbones. Her lips were thick and painted a cool purple that helped her shockingly bright, teal eyes stand out. Her horns were smaller than the Bull’s, curved delicately up and behind her forehead, shined smooth halfway to the tips, and between them rained a mess of beautifully curled black locks.

“Asena, may I present—”

“Nono, let me guess.” She cut Cassandra off with a cocky smile. “Obviously this is Cullen Rutherford.” They shook hands, Cullen replying with some sort of greeting that Josephine couldn’t hear. “And Leliana Nightingale,” another handshake, then she turned to Josephine. “And this,” she said, practically purring, “must be the lovely Josephine Montilyet.” As Josephine put her hand in hers, she blushed when Asena leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to the back of her knuckles. Asena smirked up at her and whispered a cool and fluent, “Encantada, hermosa Josefina,” against her skin.

“Hey, Boss, did you get the charcoal or what?”

Asena straightened up (so tall) at The Bull’s interruption and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horns.” She smiled at the four of them, stopping her gaze on Josephine. “Please, excuse me.”

“Do you need any help with that?” Cullen gestured towards the keg sitting at Asena’s feet.

The Qunari grinned and shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve got it.” In one fluid movement, she hefted the charcoal up on her shoulder and raised the keg to rest on her other hip as if it weighed nothing at all. Josephine couldn’t help but stare at her muscles as she squeezed past them and meandered over to the other Qunari who was waiting impatiently by the grill.

When she turned back to her friends, Leliana and Cullen were giving her deviously sly grins. “I… What?” She could feel the blush rising among her cheeks. They chuckled and moved past her to join the party, Cassandra following close by. “I—guys! Wait!”

As promised, the party was a blast. Within an hour, more people had joined, including Bull’s entire crew and a few other people Asena seemed to know, including a white-haired blind woman who was nearly as buff as Asena and who was apparently the blind woman’s girlfriend, a slender, tan-skinned woman with a lip piercing and a heavy Rivaini accent. Conversation and laughter flowed from every direction, backed by a constant flow of pleasant music. Though Josephine is a natural conversationalist, she didn’t stray far from Leliana’s side. Leliana’s offered safety proffered Josephine the opportunity to watch their hostess flit about from person to person. Everyone was greeted in the familiar, ranging from a warm handshake to an almost painful-looking hug, but Josephine noticed hers was the only hand that Asena kissed. Indeed, aside from a sisterly smooch to Blackwall’s and his girlfriend’s cheeks, Asena’s lips touched nobody else. Though she didn’t know why, this revelation filled Josephine with a deep sense of giddiness, as though butterflies had taken flight along her skin.

“My word. Is that Leliana?”

Josephine raised a brow as the Rivaini woman snaked her way through the throng of people, her girlfriend in tow, and came to a firm stop in front of the both of them. She looked over at Leliana who was regarding the woman for a long moment before she gasped. “Isabela?”

The woman—Isabela—beamed brilliantly at them and swooped in to hug Leliana. “I knew that was you!”

Leliana blushed. “I had heard you and Hawke were together, but I guess I didn’t realize. You’ve certainly changed, Bela.” Josephine nudged Leliana and gave her a Look. “Oh, Josie, this is Isabela and Genevieve, friends of mine from ages ago.”  

“Nev,” supplied Nev with an outstretched hand which Josephine took.

Isabela pulled Genevieve’s hip into hers and grinned cheekily. “Yes, we know Leliana quite well. Perhaps we could know you, too…?”

“Bela, Nev, you’re not harassing my guests, are you? Not everyone is interested in sharing your bed.”

Josephine blushed furiously at Asena’s entrance, even more so at the fact that Asena stood almost touching her, her arm stretched behind her to balance her weight against the railing. Nev chuckled while Isabela tsked. “Well one can never know until one tries, eh?”

Nev pushed gently at Isabela’s shoulder, turning to leave. “C’mon, I heard Cullen prattling on around here somewhere. I wanna annoy him.”

Leliana’s studious gaze flicked from Josephine to Asena two or three times before she gave a flashy smile. “I’ll help you look for him,” she called to the other two women.

Josephine’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest, but Leliana was gone as quickly as Asena had appeared, chasing after her friends. Asena sucked her teeth and shook her head after her friends. “That lot is trouble.” Turning to look down at Josephine, she put on a brilliant smile. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Montilyet?”

Josephine self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Yes, quite. This is quite the party.”

Asena smirked, her eyes scanning across Josephine’s face. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit. Bull’s boys are quite the lively bunch.”

Maker, is she getting closer? Josephine cleared her throat and took a sip of her drink. “You, uh… You seem to know all these people.”

Chuckling, Asena straightened back up and looked out at the crowd. “Mm, I do for the most part. Anyone I didn’t know before tonight were either guests of Cassandra or Gemma.”

“Gemma?”

“My roommate.” She pointed out the tattooed woman just in time for Josephine to watch as Blackwall was tackled into the pool. Laughing, she watched the two of them come back up for air, and Gemma squealed as Blackwall pulled her in for a vengeful kiss. “She’s pretty cute.”

Josephine cocked her head, looking back and forth from the Dwarf to the Qunari. “How did you two meet?”

For just the briefest of moments, a shadow flicked over Asena’s face, but she quickly hid it with a cool smile. “We go way back.”

Nodding, Josephine turned her attention back to the crowd. “I understand.”

The music shifted to a new song, something in Qunlat that Josephine couldn’t understand, but it had a good beat. Asena spun to stand in front of Josephine and bowed dramatically, her hand outstretched. “May I have this dance, Lady Montilyet?”

At her dashing grin, Josephine blushed and slipped her hand into Asena’s. “You may.”

Asena grinned and swept her out towards the area that had been unofficially designated as a dance floor.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Asena and Josephine danced for what felt like minutes but must have been well over an hour by the time they sat down, breathless and giddy. From there, they talked for ages, and wine and beer flowed between them until they were both giggly and stumbling about the place. People came to talk to the both of them, faces blurring one into another as the drinks flow.

Suddenly, it was daylight. Josephine’s head pounded in protestation of her poor decisions last night, and she groaned. “Oh, Maker,” she grumbled.

“Buenas dias, hermosa Josefina.”

She… She knew that voice. But from where? She couldn’t… Prying her eyes open, she looked around, struggling to focus. “W… Where?”

A face came into view, dazzlingly beautiful and smiling warmly, a cascade of curls falling off a light blue shoulder. “My apartment.” A glass of water was sat on a table near Josephine’s face.

Blinking, Josephine tried to focus on the face, on the strong nose and the proud lips and the freckles and the eyes—“Asena?”

Asena chuckled and nodded, disappearing from view. “Eggs?”

“I…”

At her roaring stomach, Asena chuckled again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Josephine pulled herself to sit up, assessing the damage. A hoodie some five sizes too big with a wide-cut collar had been placed on her, but underneath her clothes were still on and in-tact, though her sandals had been carefully sat on the floor. She had been sleeping on a couch in a well-decorated apartment, not far from a sliding glass door that lead out near the pool. “I… slept over?”

“Yeah. Cullen did, too. He’s in on Gemma’s couch, through that door over there. Leliana left with Nev and Isabela.” Asena came over to sit in a chair across from her, setting a plate of eggs down in front of her.

“And the uh… hoodie?” She cast a glance up at her host and took a sip of the water.

Asena smiled gently, leaning back in her chair. “I didn’t want you to freeze.”

Josephine blushed and ducked her head to take another drink. “Mm. Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

Asena waved her hand. “It looks better on you anyways.”

Josephine blushed and… Was that a smirk? Boldness took her, then, and with a smirk of her own, Josephine settled back into the couch and tucked her legs up underneath her. “I shall have to keep it, then.”

Asena’s smirk grew into a full-blown toothy grin. She adjusted herself so that her arm hung off the back of the chair and her impossibly long legs stretched out in front of her. “It would be a great disappointment if you didn’t, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine giggled and started eating. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until a phone began ringing. Asena cursed in Qunlat and cast her an apologetic glance, pulling out her phone. Josephine waved her off, and Asena disappeared into a different room to answer it. Josephine finished her eggs and water then took them to the sink to clean them, humming softly. The hoodie hung down to her knees, and the widened collar encouraged it to hang off her shoulder demurely. ‘I didn’t want you to freeze.’ She blushed anew and grinned to herself.

As she washed the dish, the other door off to her right opened and Blackwall stumbled out, wearing naught but a pair of pajama pants. Upon seeing her, he froze and blushed deeply. “I… er… Lady Montilyet. Fancy meeting you here.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Indeed.”

He cleared his throat. “You, uh, slept over then?”

“Indeed.”

Nodding, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “F-fancy that.” Moving quickly, he scooted over the cupboard and snagged a pack of Poptarts. “Well, be seeing you,” he stammered before scurrying back to the room.

Josephine chuckled and shook her head. His crush on her never ceased to entertain, even if he was a taken man now. Just as she finished the dishes, Asena’s door opened, and she walked out, wearing a breathtaking suit, fresh makeup, and a sullen expression. “Hermosa Josefina, I must profusely apologize. I have business to attend to. You’re welcome to stay here, or I could take you home if you needed?” She looked wretched about it, and that made Josephine’s heart swell.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose. I can call a taxi.”

Asena frowned. “Nonsense. It would be my pleasure.”

She considered it a moment, regarding her carefully. With a nod, she smiled gently. “Very well then.”

She moved to take the hoodie off, but she was stopped by a gently hand on her arm. Looking up into Asena’s smiling face, she blushed. “I said you could keep it,” she purred, her eyes taking in the hang of the garment.

Josephine’s blush deepened, and she nodded. “A-Alright.”

Asena practically beamed and gestured towards the door. They paused so Josephine could put her sandals back on, and then they left. Asena’s car was strangely nice for a college student, and a convertible to boot. Probably for the horns, Josephine thought. She drove with a careful recklessness, obeying speed limits and the likes but taking turns a little too fast, and in a way it was thrilling. Once they arrived at Josephine’s house, Asena hopped out and rushed quickly around to open the door for her, smiling warmly at her. She escorted Josephine to the door and paused just outside it, looking as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Josephine tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she whispered.

Asena regarded her carefully, eyes scanning hers, taking in her expression. She nodded slightly and reached out to brush her hand along Josephine’s arm, linking their pinkies together when she reached her hand. “I… had a good time. I’d like… I’d like to see you again, if that’s alright.”

Josephine’s stomach burst into butterflies and her heart pounded in her ears for something other than her hangover. Nodding earnestly, she stepped closer, a broad grin stretched across her face. “I would very much like that.”

Asena grinned toothily. “Brilliant.” She pulled Josephine’s hand to her lips as she had when they met and pressed another warm kiss to her knuckles. “Until later, hermosa Josefina.”

Josephine watched her practically skip back to her car. They shared another grin and waved to one another before Asena hopped into her car and took off. With a dopy smile and lightness to her step that defied the heaviness of her hangover, Josephine backed into the house and sighed dreamily. Once she turned around, she blushed to see Leliana standing against the railing in her underwear, a bowl of cereal in her hands. She regarded Josephine carefully then pointed her spoon at her. “Where’d you get the hoodie?”

Clearing her throat, Josephine tilted her chin up. “Asena didn’t want me to freeze.”

At Leliana’s devious grin, Josephine rolled her eyes and scooted past her to retreat to her room. It wasn’t until she turned to shut the door that she noticed the Rivaini woman and the white haired woman sprawled across the couch, very nude, and she scoffed. “I thought we said no more orgies in the living room, Leliana!”

Leliana’s laughter drifted through the wood of the door as Josephine shut it, and she rolled her eyes. The memory of Asena’s lips upon her hand was too sweet, too lovely in her mind for her to work up any real anger, and she collapsed in a heap into her bed, sighing contentedly. When she opened her phone, she was surprised to see a message from an unknown number, and when she opened it she grinned.

I had a lovely night with you, hermosa Josefina. -Asena.

“Oh, Maker. This woman will be the death of me,” she giggled.

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 3: Bait, feat Blackwall and Gemma

“Milady… I must admit to having some… reservations… about this plan.”

Gemma tsked as she arranged her potions along her belt. “Oh, tush. It’ll be fine.” She flashes him a brilliant grin as she moves onto her quiver to count and straighten her arrows. “We all know the plan, right?”

The Iron Bull lets out a low chuckle, his whetstone grinding slowly against his sword. “Oh yeah. It’s gonna be sick.”

“I’m afraid I must agree with Blackwall, Inquisitor. This plan is riddled with danger.”

She rolled her eyes at that and hefted her quiver onto her back. “That’s why I asked you guys specifically along. Blackwall and The Iron Bull are our strongest tanks, and you’re our best healer.” She gave them a thumbs up and a cheeky grin. “We got this, guys. Relax.”

With that, she dropped a smoke bomb and disappeared into the shadows. Blackwall looked at the other two, his own worry reflected in at least Solas’s face, and the three men crept to the treeline to wait. Solas stood poised, staff raised to cast a barrier spell when she reappeared, and that at least gave him some small semblance of peace. A small, teeny, tiny, miniscule, almost nonexistence semblance of peace.

He could see her, just barely. The slight shimmering against the far tree line was just distinct enough to catch his searching eye. On bated breath, he watched as she made her way to her position in the field, in the far corner of the clearing from them but far too close to their target to ease his mind.

It happened quickly. With an explosive arrow, her disguise was cast aside and the signal given. Solas was quick to throw the barrier up around her, and not a moment too soon it would seem. No quicker than the barrier was up did the area around Gemma explode in a blast of fire before the high dragon let out an ear-splitting screech. Solas moved through the trees toward the center of the battlefield while Blackwall and The Iron Bull made their move, The Iron Bull to the dragon’s rear and Blackwall directly across from Gemma’s current position. It happened quickly—Gemma’s volley, Solas’s blizzard spell, The Iron Bull’s War Cry—all within what felt like the blink of an eye.

And then Blackwall was running, his sword raised, a battle cry of his own pulled from deep within him.

The diversion seemed to work, because while he and The Iron Bull charged, the dragon’s attention was kept squarely turned in the opposite direction, in Gemma’s direction. They both of them managed to strike fast and true, for all the good it did them. The only thing they seemed to be able to do was piss the beast off. The damage they were doing was negligible, no matter how long or hard the battle went.

“We’ve got to retreat!” he yelled over the roaring of the creature.

“Aw, come on! We’ve got it on the ropes!” The Iron Bull’s pout was practically tangible between his grunting.

“Inquisitor! We have to retreat!”

“No! We’re so close! I know it!” He cast a furtive glance in her direction, assessing her damage. Despite Solas’s best efforts to keep any of them from harm, her right arm was sporting a rather serious-looking burn that seemed to be causing her great pain as she knocked her arrow. Both her potion belt and her quiver were dangerously low, maybe a dozen arrows left and two healing potions.

“Gemma!” That got her attention. “Please. We cannot win this fight!”

She looked at him with no small degree of pain and turned her attention back to the dragon. No longer could he afford to give her his attention because the beast was lashing out at both The Iron Bull and him. The dragon screeched with such volume and high pitch that it dazed him, left him stumbling in a stupor until all of a sudden, he was in the air, and then he was sliding along the ground, a sharp, stinging pain in his side. Vaguely, Blackwall could hear someone’s voice, but his mind was having great difficulty sorting through the information at hand. When the world came back into focus at long last, he was greeted with the shiny dome of Solas, hovering over him, could feel the wash of magic across his body, stitching him back together.

“Inquisitor! We must leave, now!”

Well at least someone agreed with him.

“Go! We’ll cover you!”

Hands were on him, pulling him to his feet. His arm was swung over Solas’s shoulders as the (surprisingly strong) man helped him get away, casting a flurry of spells over his shoulder in their haste. They retreated into the thick underbrush, not stopping for several minutes until they found a small clearing. Groaning, Blackwall sat down with Solas’s help. Solas moved quickly to set up his healing equipment, muttering under his breath about hairbrained schemes and a lack of preparation. It wasn’t until then that Blackwall realized his plate was no longer on his body, and a quick glance at his wound gave him a good clue why:  he’d been cut cleanly where the dragon hit. Likely, his armor had been ripped from his body. Swallowing hard, he laid his head back and looked up at the canopy overhead. “I’ve had worse,” he tried to joke.

“You were nearly ripped in two,” grumbled Solas.

“Eh. Just a flesh wound.”

He could feel Solas’s incredulous stare and could not hold in the slightly hysterical chuckle that bubbled inside him. Solas shook his head and grumbled, setting about cleaning and treating the wound.

A rustling came from the underbrush, and as if on instinct, a barrier flew up around the two of them.

“Solas, quick!”

Solas was on his feet quickly, rushing towards The Iron Bull’s voice, and Blackwall pulled himself to sitting, an icy cold fear gripping his heart. Within moments, they burst back through into the clearing, but he couldn’t see. “We must get her stabilized, place her there—”

“What happened?”

The Iron Bull shot him a pained look over his shoulder as he laid Gemma’s small body down. “She wasn’t—We weren’t—”

It was growing hard to breathe through his fear, his heart pounding in his ears. “Is she…?”

“No, not yet.” Solas was leaning over her, his hands glowing with the efforts of healing, running along her small frame almost frantically.

“Not yet? What does that mean, ‘not yet?’ Are you saying she could—”

“If you keep distracting me, perhaps!” His voice was sharp, biting.

The Iron Bull came to sit beside Blackwall, looking a vision of misery. “I… I tried to get to her, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t fast enough.”

Blackwall shook his head, struggling to keep his cool. “It wasn’t your fault. We never should have attempted the attack in the first place.” Though he could not tear his eyes from the blood upon her lips, the red a stark contrast to her blue tattoos, he patted The Iron Bull’s arm reassuringly.

While they waited, The Iron Bull moved to stitch up Blackwall’s side to spare Solas the need to heal him. Once he was put back together, they both turned to watch in silence as Solas worked. It felt as though years passed before her lovely multi-colored eyes opened, even longer for her to look around, but when she did, they all three let out a collective sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker,” Blackwall whispered.

She swallowed hard, smacked her lips a few times. “I feel like shit,” she whispered.

“I should think so, Boss. That dragon fucked you up.”

At The Iron Bull’s bluntness, she smirked. “Not as bad as we did it, right?”

“Is that all you can do? Joke? Maker’s balls, I don’t believe you!” Blackwall threw his hands up. If he’d not been injured, he would’ve gotten to his feet and walked away, but as it were, he folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

The Iron Bull and Solas seemed to know what was coming, so they slipped away quietly. For a long moment, silence passed between Gemma and Blackwall, only the ambient sounds of the forest to fill the void. Then, finally, she whispered a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what, Gemma? For getting injured? For almost dying? For taking us into that fight in the first place even though I told you I didn’t like it? For what?”

She sighed softly and reached out for him, her hand lying in the grass a good two feet away from him. “Yes. For all of it. I’m sorry. But it’s fine, yeah? We’re all alright.”

He sucked his teeth and cast her a glare, but at the open way she was staring at him, his anger softened. With a heavy sigh, he reached over and joined his hand with hers. “This time.”

She nodded slightly and squeezed his fingers. “I promise, love, I’ll be more careful from now on. We’ll be more careful.”

“That’s all I ask,” he whispered. It took some doing, but he scooted close enough to her to take her head in his lap. His gauntlets tossed aside, he ran his fingers through her hair and looked down at her, his heart swelling with affection. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you, Gemma.”

Grinning softly, she reached up and pressed her hand to his cheek. “Oh?”

He pressed his face against her palm and smirked. “Do you know how embarrassing it’ll be to carve your tombstone? ‘Died in the line of duty. As bait. For a bigass dragon.’”

She giggled then flinched and sighed. “You’re right. That would be a shame.” Then with a sly grin, “We’ll have Varric do it instead. He’s good at spinning stories like that.”

Blackwall rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, well, let’s wait a few years before we have to hire his services. I’m an old man, Gemma. My heart can only take so much before it’ll give out.”

She snorted and tugged on his beard playfully. “Is that another grey streak, I see?”

He laughed and pulled her knuckles to his lips. “With you? It very well could be.”