Masterlist
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@theartofmadeline
NASA
Color Me Curious
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Cosmic Funnies
Noah Kahan
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club

Discoholic đȘ©
todays bird

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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EXPECTATIONS
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Origami Around
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seen from Russia
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seen from Ukraine
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@persevereforahappyending
Masterlist
Tara Carpenter
Series:
He Hung Up - âOoh,â you said excited, jumping up from the couch. You reached out making a grabby hand already. âGive me the phone, Iâm great at pissing people off.â - Complete
This isn't Your Fault - âTara,â you said, the calmness of your voice surprising you. âThis isnât you fault.â - Complete
A Legacies Secret - You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets. - Complete
A Legacies Regret - You were living in New York with your girlfriend, trying to forget about last year and just enjoy life, but that was easier said than done. (Sequel to A Legacies Secret) - Complete
Mabel (Finestkind)
Series:
Luck Runs Out - When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape. - Complete
Sam Carpenter
Series:
No Man's Land - Sam canât help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned. - Complete
Joey (Abigail)
Series:
A Beacon in the Dark - Joey likes helping people, it's what she's best at. Hunting down the monsters of myth and legend might be the best way to save people. - Complete
Clarisse La Rue
Series:
Maybe in Another Life - You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her. - Complete
WIP Wednesday Last Sentence You Wrote
Per usual, the last sentence I wrote gives away absolutely nothing.
Make a new post with the last sentence* you wrote on your current WIP*Â (and tag some friends if you want)
Hope narrowed her eyes.
From Such is Our Fate, Chapter 231
I feel personally called out
That's how the scene went, right?
Shadow (24) - Mad World
Jackie Taylor x Female Reader
Summary: You thought you knew your limits, that you knew when to stop. You firmly believed you could stop at any moment, that it was all your choice, but some things don't go that way. Sometimes the things you think are under your control are actually controlling you.
Story Masterlist / Part 23
Word Count: 6k
-I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take, when people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world, mad world-
~X~ NATALIE ~X~ January 6th, 1997 ~X~
How could she have let this happen?
Every reasonable part of her brain screamed at her that she wasnât being fair. That she couldnât have known something like this could happen. Yet despite every reasonable excuse, every acknowledgement that she was too exhausted, stretched too thin and way past her limit, all Natalie could see was the gun going off, ending Brittâs life.
She sat in front of the cabin, staring at the evidence of her own helplessness. She should have taken the gun, should have made it more difficult to reach, should have done something when she noticed Britt wasnât well.
She didnât notice though, did she? She wasnât paying attention, she dismissed it, leaving it to others to notice. And now Britt was dead and Natalie was drowning in guilt.
âNat, you shouldnât be here, youâll catch a cold,â Travis warned her, the worry in his voice only reminding her of how much of a failure she was. âCome on, letâs get you inside,â he wrapped her in a blanket, pulling her until she was standing up and following him inside so she could look at another reminder of how much she failed everyone, especially those she loved.
She stumbled into the cabin, or what was left of it anyway, and her eyes fell on you, motionless aside from shallow, slow breathing, the back of your head resting against Jackieâs chest as the girl sat behind you, refusing to leave your side. Youâd be gone soon as well, wouldnât you? Leaving her to suffer through this.
Maybe Britt had the right idea. Maybe there really was no point anymore.
What were they even waiting for? Rescue? It would never come.
If Shaunaâs belly was any indication of time passing itâs already been seven, maybe even eight months.
She looked away, unable to look at you, though it wasnât like there was anywhere pleasant to look. The cabin was crammed full, leaving barely any place to move when everyone was inside. You were in one corner with Jackie, Shauna was in another, and now wherever Natalie looked she saw pain, people comforting one another, Tai and Van trying to calm Robin down while Akilah tried to focus on Mari.
Natalie swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering the blood splatter that left Mari and Robinâs faces covered in blood.
âIf only I was faster,â she heard Robin sobbing and could guess Mari was thinking the exact same thing.
âLet it out, weâre here,â Van whispered, doing what she could to support the girl that just lost her best friend.
Natalie buried her face in her hands, letting out a shaky breath. âI thought I knew what hell looked like,â she whispered, just loud enough for Travis, who sat down next to her, to hear.
âWe all thought that,â he whispered back and she heard him leaning back against the wall, tentatively, afraid that it might break at the slightest unnecessary pressure. âWe were wrong,â he said, probably looking toward you and Jackie.
And the worst part about it was that despite everything that happened, a part of Natalie feared that the worst was yet to come. And she dreaded it, almost envying Britt and you for getting out.
The cabin doors opened again as Lottie came back, empty-handed. âItâs gone now,â she said, having taken it upon herself to get rid of the revolver and the bullets.
It wasnât like youâd need them.
Natalie looked at you, seeing you still stubbornly clinging to life.
~X~ SHAUNA ~X~
How could this have all happened? The guilt she desperately tried to push back and ignore gnawed at her from the inside, the thought that it was your sickness that pushed Britt to do what she did and take her own life plaguing her.
Maybe if you were still healthy maybe Britt would still be alive. If for no other reason than because the revolver would have been by your side, and not readily available to be taken and used.
Shauna hugged herself, feeling the cold deep in her bones despite the blanket around her shoulders and Mel sitting next to her. The girl hadnât spoken, she just curled up against Shaunaâs side and held Shaunaâs hand. It should have felt nice, in a way it did, but a part of Shauna still wished it was Jackie in Melâs place.
She stole a single glance, noticing the way Jackie was still clinging to you, even harder now.
âWhat should we do?â Taiâs voice interrupted her thoughts and broke the silence in the cabin. âWe, we canât leave her out there like that,â her voice trembled and Shauna turned her head, seeing Tai hunched forward sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands.
âWe canât bury her,â Van replied weakly, wiping her eyes like sheâd been crying for a while now. She probably was. âRobin?â she tried, like Robin had the most say in the matter. They were best friends, after all. So in a way, yeah, she was the one whose opinion mattered the most.
Robin had been sitting in the same spot Britt once sat in, wearing Brittâs jacket and clinging to it like it was the only lifeline she had left. Shauna glanced at Jackie, understanding that feeling and wishing she had something to cling to as well that was Jackieâs.
âShe likes,â Robin choked on that word, and no one spoke, only Lottie approached to comfort the girl. âBritt liked looking at the fireworks,â she sobbed, not even bothering to wipe the tears away. âThe closest thing here was the campfire weâd light outside,â she said slowly, in a shaky tone, barely holding herself together.
No one spoke for a minute, and finally Natalie stood up, looking at the doors. âWeâll burn her then,â she decided, taking on the leadership role when no one else had the strength to do it.
âShould we wait?â Gen suddenly asked and the cold became even more unbearable as they all instantly understood why sheâd ask that question, and looking at Gen only confirmed it as she looked at you.
âIt would probably save us energy,â coach Scott said, looking at Natalie apologetically.
Shauna looked at Jackie, seeing the panic and adrenaline taking over as she pushed herself to sit up straight and pulled your body closer to her.
âWhy would you even say something like that? Why are you acting like Y/N isnât going to wake up?â Jackie demanded as loudly as she could, yet it was barely any louder than her usual speaking voice. Even with all that adrenaline and panic she couldnât muster any strength.
âJackie, itâs been three days,â Tai said what most of them already thought, but even her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence.
âMaybe we shouldnât wait,â Misty suddenly said, looking at her feet and squeezing her hands nervously as she tried to make herself as small as possible. âSheâs just suffering for nothing,â she explained quietly as all of them looked at her now.
âWhat?â Jackie asked just as the same word crossed Shaunaâs mind.
Waiting for you to die, sure, but, but-
But no one spoke against the idea, the looming death breaking them from within in ways they knew they couldnât take much longer, and they turned to Lottie for guidance.
Lottie visibly swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes shining with unshed tears, empathetically looking at Natalie. âNat? Should we let her rest?â
Natalie stumbled to the side, she probably would have fallen if Travis didnât catch her in time as the girlâs legs gave out and she slumped against him, unable to hold herself up. Her breathing grew erratic and she clutched at her chest, like she was trying to rip her own heart out so it wouldnât hurt anymore.
âNo, you hear me! Youâre not doing anything to her!â Jackie cried out, trying to sit up but failing to do it as she crumbled back against the wall. The sleep deprivation, the exhaustion from that day at the lake, it was all too much for her, and now, when it potentially mattered the most, she couldnât even muster the strength to get between you and danger.
Shauna looked at Natalie, sure that sheâd adamantly reject any idea of killing you out of mercy. You were her best friend, she was ready to go to war with the entire cabin if she had to. Shauna half-expected her to grab her rifle and stand between you and whoever tried to end you.
âItâs been three days,â Lottie said gently, getting up and taking Natalieâs hands. âShe wouldnât want the two of you to suffer like this,â she said, looking at Jackie for a moment before turning her attention back to Natalie.
âThatâs bullshit! Y/N is still fighting!â Jackie argued, but Natalie nodded.
âShe suffered for too long,â Natalie agreed, managing to pull herself away from Travis and turning to look at you.
âNat, wait, what are you going to do?â Van asked as her and Tai stumbled to their feet, horrified, but not arguing against this. The whole cabin, aside from Jackie seemed to be in agreement. You might as well be dead, so letting you suffer was just prolonging the torture.
Jackie scrambled to the side, barely pulling herself away from the wall and getting in front of you as a shield and breathing heavily. âStop,â she pleaded, fresh tears filling up her eyes.
âHer nightmare has to end,â Natalie whispered through tears, taking the closest pillow. With how shallow your breathing was, a dark thought that even a hand over your mouth would do crossed Shaunaâs mind.
âAre you sure you want to do this?â Travis asked her, not asking if it should be done, but if she was the one who should do it. Natalie swallowed hard and nodded, like it had to be her, whether she wanted to do it or not. She was your best friend.
âNatalie, sheâll wake up,â Jackie pleaded, breathing heavily as Natalie took a step closer, slowly, like she was forcing herself to do it.
Shauna watched, waiting for anyone to stop this, waiting for a miracle to happen, for you to give them even a single sign that you were still fighting.
âEven if she wakes up, we donât know the state sheâll be in,â Misty said slowly, not detached, not uncaring, just more aware than the rest of them of what the outcome could be, even if you did somehow wake up.
It only seemed to strengthen Natalieâs resolve to free you from your suffering.
Yet despite the ominous echoes of Natalieâs footsteps, all Shauna could look at was Jackieâs face, twisted in horror and fear so primal it overcame even Shauna. She had never seen Jackie like that, not even when you fell into the water, not even when Misty said you were in a coma.
And then, before she even realized what was going on, before she even registered what she was doing, Shauna stood up. âStop it, Natalie,â she demanded, her legs moving before she could stop herself. âWhat am I doing?â she wondered as she stepped in Natalieâs path, blocking her from reaching Jackie and you.
Natalieâs eyes widened in utter shock, like Shauna grew a second head. In a way, she thought that might be less shocking. âWhat?â Natalie asked breathlessly, like she hadnât taken a single breath since she began walking toward you with the pillow.
âShauna?â she heard Jackie whispering her name behind her, for the first time in so long not saying her name like it was venom or a wound that wouldnât close.
âWhy are you,â she paused, steadying her voice, her entire body. âWhy are you giving up on her?â she demanded, throwing her hand back and pointing at you. âShe is still holding on; she survived the Doomcoming, she should have drowned, should have frozen to death several times, and sheâs still breathing. And I hate how stubborn she is, but I know sheâs not gone yet.â
Jackieâs breath hitched behind her and Natalie dropped the pillow to the floor. The tears followed after it, soaking the pillow at her feet.
âNow you care? You just feel guilty,â Mari snapped at her and it felt like a slap to the face, almost enough for the bitter part of her telling her this was what she got for trying to help you.
âSo? At least Shauna isnât giving up on her!â Mel joined her, not out of some care for you, but purely to support Shauna, the same way Shauna so often would have taken Jackieâs side regardless of what was going on, the same way Shauna was kind of doing right now.
âA lot of good that is doing to Y/N!â Mari argued back.
âEnough, weâre all on edge, just calm the fuck down!â Tai yelled, silencing the cabin for a moment. âWeâre going to gather wood and burn Brittâs body tonight,â she decided, firmly enough that no one argued against her.
Tai sighed in relief as the tension slowly faded away and then she looked at you. âI donât want Y/N to keep suffering either, but itâs not up to us to stop her from fighting,â she said definitively. âAnd I donât want to hear the arguments! We donât kill each other!â yet even as she said that it sounded half-empty, all things considered.
Nat choked up and turned away from you, guilt probably eating her alive for nearly going through with it. Without a word she went outside, either to cry her heart out or gather wood, or just both. Travis ran after her, refusing to let her go all alone.
She looked at Jackie, seeing the conflicted look in Jackieâs eyes, seeing the gratitude mixing with resentment. Shauna looked away, holding her forearm as she tried to quiet a part of her that wanted to see approval in Jackieâs eyes, at least now. âI really didnât want this to happen to her,â she whispered and went back to her seat, scared to look into Jackieâs eyes again.
~X~ NATALIE ~X~
The shadows danced on the ceiling of the cabin as Natalie lay there, listening to the fire. She felt numb, the kind of numb that filled her with dread and self-hatred. Was she actually about to do it?
No matter how horrible everything was, no matter how much she despaired, no matter how much she just wanted this all to end, no matter how hard the past week broke her⊠was she really about to kill you? She didnât dare to look at you or Jackie, after everything she said to Jackie is her rage and grief, she really went and grabbed a pillow.
She really was an awful person.
Her eyes closed, the weight of Travisâ arm around her only serving as a reminder that she didnât deserve this. She didnât deserve to be comforted or loved
Maybe she wouldnât open her eyes again. That thought felt a lot more comforting than she had any right to feel.
Sleep took her at some point, once the cacophony of guilt and hatred finally grew a bit more quiet. Yet it wasnât the end of it, far from it. She stepped away from one line, stopped by Shauna Shipman of all people.
But this cursed place had other plans for her. For all of them.
The scent woke her up, making her mouth water as she somewhere, deep in her mind, realized it was scent of meat. Natalie sat up slowly, almost on autopilot, her brain barely conscious as she lightly shook Travis, motioning for him to get up.
Like one the girls around her also stirred, waking up and smelling the same thing she did. âWhat is that?â someone muttered sleepily, yet no one answered, too out of it to even try to answer.
She wasnât even sure who got up first. It hardly mattered. Someone did, opening the doors and letting the scent in, and that was the beginning and the end of it. They all stumbled outside finding the moonlight brighter than usual, like the woods themselves wanted them all to see what was in front of them.
Brittâs body, not burnt to ashes. Far from it.
They looked at one another, no one saying a word, and somewhere deep in her subconsciousness she recognized desperation and hunger they couldnât control anymore. Itâs been so long since they ate anything.
âIt wants us to,â Lottie whispered, naming the pull they all clearly felt.
After that it didnât matter who took the first bite.
~X~ NATALIE ~X~ January 7th, 1997 ~X~
And just when she thought she hit the rock bottom.
Natalie sat on the stairs, rocking back and forth all alone as she stared at the bones lying on what was meant to be funeral pyre. Bones. With barely anything left on them.
She refused to close her eyes, refused to look away. Looking away would be running away from what she, what they all did. Or most of them, actually. She was fairly sure Ben and Jackie didnât join them.
The doors opened behind her but she didnât turn around to see who it was. She couldnât look away. Not yet. Not until she burnt the image of what she did in her mind and carried it until the end of her life.
Whoever came out suddenly stopped. âWhat the fuck?â Taissa whispered, like she was seeing the bare bones for the first time, like she didnât take part in it. âNatalie, what the fuck is that?â she asked desperately, pointing at Brittâs body and slowly walking down the stairs before the panic took over and she began running toward Britt.
Natalieâs eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, running after Taissa.
âWhat the fuck? What happened?!â Taissa demanded as Natalie managed to catch up and physically stop her from reaching Britt.
âHey, donât, donât, donât,â she pleaded, realizing Taissa must have blocked what happened out. She couldnât blame her, in fact, a part of Natalie envied her, wishing she could forget last night, wishing she never knew what the taste was like.
âIs that Britt? Nat, what happened?!â Taissa looked at her, her eyes wide and wild, panic taking over as Van got out, probably because she heard the commotion.
Van rushed to her side, taking over and Natalie gladly stepped away, not having it in her to be the one whoâd break the news to Taissa. âTai! Tai, it's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay,â it wasnât okay, it was never going to be okay, but it was done.
Taissa pointed a shaky finger at Britt, her lower lip trembling helplessly. âSomething, something, something ate her,â she kept denying what happened, though she must have felt it deep down. The lack of that overwhelming hunger that felt like it was eating them alive from the inside, the energy that came after actually eating something. Taissa must have felt all of that too from the moment she woke up this morning without that weakness they all came to expect.
Van made Taissa look at her, completely serious and knowing there was no way to soften the truth. âTaissa! We ate her,â she said and Natalie watched as Taissaâs entire body slumped, her eyes flashing with desperate denial.
âNo, I- I di- I didn't, I wouldn't,â Taissa tried to deny it.
That was a familiar thought. Natalie had it this morning too. Before she saw what was left of Britt, before she was forced to face what they did. How desperately she tried to explain it away, to lie to herself and convince herself that she was so hungry she no longer felt it.
And then the truth slapped her in the face the moment she walked outside. The same way it did to Taiisa.
Van looked at Taissa, confused and probably doing her best to hold it together as well, and needing Taissa to be on the same page. âWhat are you talking about? You were sitting right next to me,â Van reminded the girl and Taissa immediately rushed to the side, bending over and grabbing onto the pipe they used to hold the kettles and pots over the outdoors fire.
Natalie could no longer hear them, but they kept whispering, and then she heard retching and throwing up, followed by Taissa wailing and screaming at the skies, realizing Van was telling the truth, realizing there was truly no going back ever again.
~X~ NATALIE ~X~
The cabin felt suffocating, even more than usual, like everyone was trying not to think about what they did. She saw Travis sitting with Javi, rubbing his back and getting him to drink water, he couldnât hold that down either and he ran out, retching in the snow.
Natalie sat down next to Travis, seeing the hollow look in his eyes. âDid he?â she didnât have to finish the sentence, there was only one question this morning.
Travis nodded. âI should have gone out, should have been out there until I found something,â he whispered, sounding broken, blaming himself for Javi having to do that to survive.
âYou did everything you could,â she tried, not even feeling like she was lying to him. No one could leave the cabin during that blizzard, and by the time it ended they were out of strength.
âIt wasnât enough,â with that she couldnât argue. The best they could offer just wasnât enough.
Natalie sighed, feeling the urge to throw up, yet forcing her body not to. They still didnât have any food, sheâd need to go out and try to hunt, to bring anything back, even if she felt like it would all be for nothing.
Minutes went by, or maybe hours, she didnât know. Nothing felt real anymore. It was just quiet nothingness and the overwhelming guilt pushing them all down until every step felt impossible. As long as the reminder of what they did remained this would keep breaking what little was left of their sanity into even smaller pieces.
âWe should move her,â she finally spoke up loud enough for everyone to hear her.
âWhere? We still can't bury her,â Travis pointed out.
Natalie swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She couldnât push that task onto anyone, and sheâd take the rifle. With some luck she might be able to bring something back. âI'll take her body, or her remains, or whatever to the plane, and she can be buried with the others when the ground thaws,â she decided, glancing at Robin who hadnât spoken all morning. The girl was completely unresponsive, wrestling quietly with what she did to her best friend.
If the revolver was still around Natalie would have worried sheâd follow in Brittâs footsteps.
âWell, at least if you bury her out there it'll look like she died with the rest of them,â Ben sneered, judging them for what they did. She could see the disgust and fear in his eyes and when she looked at Jackie, she saw nothing but fear in the girlâs eyes.
Jackie didnât make a sound, didnât draw any attention to herself, she just clung to you.
Unable to bear the sight of you in a coma, the heaviness of the guilt, Benâs judgment or Jackieâs fear, Natalie grabbed a bag and a rifle and got dressed as warmly as she could so she could head out.
The snow crunched under her feet, and she felt cold nipping at her skin as she dropped to her knees next to Brittâs bones. She opened the bag and swallowed the lump in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached to grab the bones, yet she pulled her hand back at the last moment, clutching it to her chest, relieved that it was empty.
âI have to do this,â she whispered to herself. The feel, the scent, none of it bothered her last night, did it? So, this was the least she could do. She still glanced back at the cabin and for a moment she could see it clearly, you coming out and crouching by her side, not helping her do it, just being there to place your hand on her shoulder and offer the comfort she so desperately needed.
You couldnât do it though.
Youâd never be able to do it again and any day now sheâd have to do this again with your body. Your entire body, because sheâd rather die than let this happen to you.
âI have to do this,â she repeated and blindly reached for the first bone she touched, and carefully, to avoid potentially breaking it, she put it in the bag. And then another one, and another one, until she was almost done.
From the corner of her eyes she noticed Lottie coming out with a mug in her hand, probably the stupid blood thing. âYou're doing the right thing; I know it's not easy,â Lottie offered like she had any right to try and comfort her, like Natalie wanted comfort from Lottie.
âWhatever,â Natalie muttered, hoping Lottie would take a hint and leave.
She didnât. In fact, she offered the mug to Natalie. âHere,â she said patiently, to which Natalie merely scoffed and looked away, quietly rejecting her. âI just want you to be safe,â Lottie said.
âMhm, sure you do. Like you wanted Y/N to be safe,â Natalie spat out angrily, hating how difficult it was getting to reject Lottie, how she nearly convinced her to end your suffering, how she kept trying even though it only did more harm.
âY/N was different. Itâs not my choice who It wants,â Lottie lamented, sounding almost somber as she said that.
For a moment Natalie may have even believed her.
The doors opened again and Travis joined them, which finally made Lottie take a few steps back, leaving Natalie alone for now. âHey, you want me to come?â Travis offered.
Natalie shook her head, hoisting the now closed bag and the rifle over her shoulder. âI'm fine on my own,â she said, determined to see this through on her own. Travis was needed here, for Javi, and maybe, just maybe you if someone thought of mercy killing you. âWatch over Y/N for me,â she pleaded and looked at him, seeing him nod even though he thought it was hopeless.
~X~ NATALIE ~X~
The walk through the snow all the way back to the plane damn near took what little strength she got back last night and every step now felt like a struggle not to slip and to keep walking in the shoes that werenât meant for snow in any way.
But, eventually, she did reach the plane and stepped inside the wreckage, cold and miserable. She lowered the bag between seats, hoping nothing would come tear it apart and then she just sat down, lowering the rifle next to her.
She barely knew Britt, even here she didnât really talk to her much, yet she still felt obligated to say goodbye, to at the very least apologize
âI never thought youâd be the lucky one,â she said softly, looking at the bag like the remains could hear her. âNot that I ever thought about you much, but still, you got out. I think shit is gonna get a lot worse out here. But you're already dead, so, I guess you finally made someone jealous of you,â she let out an empty chuckle and leaned her head back against the side of the seat.
âIâm sorry,â she finally said. âFor what we did. I donât think itâll take us all long to join you, Y/N might actually be dead by the time I come back to the cabin. After her⊠who knows. Maybe Jackie, maybe Robin, maybe me, the order hardly matters. I donât think weâre surviving the winter, but still,â she paused again, looking at the bag one last time before she got up with the rifle in hand. âIâm so sorry, Britt, Iâm sorry for what we did, Iâm sorry for not noticing how you felt in time, Iâm so fucking sorry,â she whispered, wiping a single tear away before she stepped back into the snow.
~X~ JACKIE ~X~
She had to stay quiet.
âDonât make a sound, donât cry, donât do anything,â she kept repeating in her head, her hands trembling as she clung to your motionless body. The flashes of last night made her shake her head as subtly as she could, trying to shake those images off.
They just⊠They⊠Jackie wanted to throw up. She felt sick. They ate her like a pack of starving wild animals.
She could still hear the sounds, flesh being torn from bones, those desperate, hungry sounds they all made as they ate Britt.
Jackie trembled, glancing toward coach Scott. He was trying to make himself as small as possible, taking the darkest corner of the cabin, trying not to draw any attention to himself.
She saw him last night, horrified, too terrified to do anything but close the doors when he realized what was going on. Even if he wasnât frightened, he was too broken to do anything, too weak, too traumatized.
So, Jackie clung to you. âWake up, wake up, wake up,â she whispered into your ear, as quietly as she could, constantly, insistently. You had to wake up, or theyâd do it again, to you this time, down to the bone, until there was nothing left of you. âWake up,â she repeated, persistently trying to reach you.
Yet, you didnât move, you didnât respond, you just kept barely breathing.
A chill ran down Jackieâs spine and she looked up, seeing Natalie looking at you with a heartbroken look on her face. Like she knew what would happen the moment you drew your last breath.
Jackie could see it. Natalie arguing, refusing to let the same thing that happened to Britt happen to you. The rest would agree, but would it really matter? Youâd either be thrown into the lake for some sick prophecy Lottie made, or your body would be burnt, only the same thing that happened to Britt would inevitably happen.
Theyâd light the fire, then smell the meat in the middle of the night.
Bile rose in her throat and Jackie forced herself to swallow it, to ignore the burning, bitter taste in her throat, to ignore how sick she felt, just so no one else would look your way. Otherwise, they might just start talking about killing you again out of some twisted sense of mercy.
If Shauna hadnât interfered you would have been killed and⊠She actually threw up in her mouth, barely keeping her mouth closed as she realized you would have been eaten with Britt if Shauna didnât stop Natalie.
Jackieâs heart hammered in her chest and she felt lightheaded, the entire cabin spinning around her as she once again felt the same dread she felt yesterday when they were all talking about killing you.
âWhat am I supposed to do when they try again?â sheâd fight back, theyâd have to kill her as well, that wasnât the question on her mind. But could she actually do anything?
She knew the answer, and all she could do right now was to cling to you. There was no point in trying to come up with any plan, best case scenario, theyâd show her mercy as well and let her die by your side.
If this was how youâd both die then maybe it would have been better if you died in the snow months ago.
She wasnât sure how much time passed since she thought that, she just kept her forehead pressed against the top of your head, clinging to you. The only time she stopped doing that was when she cleaned your mouth as best as she could.
Everything faded to the background, the sound of people talking, she wasnât even sure what they were saying at this point as the cabin slowly came back to life. They pushed past the guilt so damn quickly, excusing what they did for the sake of survival, blaming the hunger.
Your head tilted a bit to the side, just barely, but she didnât notice.
The worst thing was, she probably would have gotten up too, in that initial confusion, if she wasnât so weak and if she wasnât holding you up so you could breathe even a bit easier.
Your brows furrowed slightly.
She was no different, she just didnât have the opportunity to do it. She woke up too quickly and reason won over hunger, terror won over hunger, just like it did with coach Scott, if Jackie had to guess.
A painfully hoarse, dry sound made her eyes widen in shock and Jackie moved, dragging herself to your side like sheâs been doing every time she cleaned your mouth and moistened your lips.
âOh, god,â she blurted out seeing the furrowing of your brows, the fluttering of your eyelashes. âNatalie! I need water!â she cried out before her brain could even catch up to what was going on. Her heart hammered against her chest, threatening to explode as she touched your cheek, her fingers trembling as tears blurred her vision. âY/N?â she whispered your name and you coughed, frowning before you just barely opened your eyes.
âHoly shit, sheâs waking up,â she wasnât even sure who said it as Natalie ran, spiling half the mug on the floor as she stumbled and knelt by Jackieâs side.
You blinked, cold sweat washing over you as you parted your lips moving them like you were trying to speak.
âDonât speak,â Jackie said, taking the mug with shaky hands and bringing it to your lips. âSlowly,â she said, pouring a bit of water into your mouth. For a moment nothing happened and she feared she rushed you, that she gave you water too soon and that youâd choke, but then she saw you swallowing, frowning like it hurt, but still, swallowing.
âY/N? Can you hear us?â Natalie whispered, reaching toward you but stopping her hand before she could touch you, fearing you were still too fragile, that even one wrong touch would be too much.
You blinked and moved your thumb, like you were giving her a thumbs up and despite everything Jackie let out a helpless, desperate laugh. âHere, drink some more,â she urged you, bringing the mug to your lips again. This was it, right? You woke up. Youâd survive, right? For the first time in what felt like forever Jackie cried, tears of relief streaming uncontrollably down her face.
Beside her, Natalie tried to wipe away her own tears, but it was useless, she couldnât stop crying either.
Half a mug of water later you looked at her, your eyes still unfocused and you still didnât move much, but you were conscious, you were awake, you were alive and back by her side and it felt like nothing else mattered, like everything could and would be better now. Jackie leaned against you, as gently as she could, letting the tears soak your collar as she took your right hand, her fingers brushing over the inside of your wrist so she could feel your pulse.
She pulled back, afraid of hurting you and then your lips curled upward just a bit. âHi,â you muttered weakly, finding enough strength to brush your thumb over her hand.
Jackie looked down, blinking the tears away as she watched your thumb moving. Your eyes met, only for a few seconds before you closed your eyes, still exhausted and fragile, but you were back. You came back to her.
A/N: So⊠any chance for Shauna redemption arc?
Taglist: @gablmk @sassyvindicatorshard @fabraykingmyheart @loveshineslikethesky @morganismspam23 @indigo491 @conamoney-11 @lostboy4951
ââââ° đđđđđđ & đ đđđđ â± â J.V // chapter 001
series summary â± A dragon in Royce colors. Having been isolated and shaped into a weapon by your own kin your whole life, you mark your own path through the treacherous world of Westeros and beyond until it leads you to Jacaerys Targaryen. In each other you find solace and beneath the surface, something much deeper than either of you dares yet name, begins to bloom. pairing â± Jacaerys Velaryon Ă Targaryen/Royce reader, Aemond Targaryen contents â± spoilers! canon/au, heavy lore, book, show and headcanon based. 18+ content ahead (eventual smut // mdni). Jace is aged up (Harry's age), characters are aged up, heavy canon divergent, fix it fic, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, targcest (cousins), obsessive/possessive behaviors, heavy pining/yearning, neglect, sexual tension, nudity, typical period sexism & gore, dystopian, societal rejection, angst/fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, melodrama romance, overall it's the world of asoiaf so all triggers in the books(s) + show(s) apply to this story, you've been warned. note â± reader descriptions are not described besides her Valyrian features (silver hair, lilac eyes) despite her mother being (book) Rhea. mentions reader having hair they fix (no type) e.g., braids ââââ series masterlist â ao3 â original character version â next chapter
đđšđ° đČđšđź, O dragon dreamer, đĄđđŻđ đđđđ§ đđđđđđđđ đđČ đČđšđźđ« đ đĄđšđŹđđŹ. đ đšđ« đąđ đ°đđŹ đđĄđđČ, đ°đĄđš đđ„đŠđšđŹđ đŠđđđ đČđšđź đđšđ«đ đđ đ°đĄđš đČđšđź đ°đđ«đ. (âđąđ§đŹđ©đąđ«đđ đđČ đđ„đđđš)
đđđđđđđ đ â đđđźđ đĄđđđ« đšđ đđ«đšđ§đłđ đđ§đ đ đ„đđŠđ
ââââđČđđđ«đŹ đđđđđ« đđĄđ đđđ§đđ đšđ đđ«đđ đšđ§đŹ, đđĄđ đđđ đđđŹđđ
To the south of the desolate Red Waste lands of Essos, a bloodrider by the name of Rakharo, pushed his stallion across barren windswept plains in hopes to find what his blood of his blood sought. Upon hours of riding however, none of it brought him fortune. The sandy dunes and dry-as-bone riverbeds stretched endless, until at last he met the shores of the poisonous waters.
He had taken three different paths and on the third he stopped, an expression of awe settling over him. Only a mile before him lay the largest skeleton he had ever seen. A dragon so vast that when he rode up to it, his stallion could fit right through its black jaws with much room to spare.
He contemplated taking one of its teeth, which was as long as a sword. Then decided it would bring him no dishonor if it were given to his Khaleesi, the mother of the dragons.
When he returned, he reported on all the things he had come across, including this immense beast. The tale had sparked wonders in the young Princess Daenerysâ heart as she held the tooth of the dragon, wondering what its story was.
Daenerys and her khalasar continued on with their own path. And as she held the tooth, looked to her own dragon upon her shoulder, then toward shierak qiya in the heavens above. The young Khaleesi smiled through the furs of her lion's mane and at the sign of hope these things brought her.
ââââđđ§ đđĄđ đđšđźđ«đđĄ, đđąđ«đŹđ đȘđźđđ«đđđ« đŠđšđšđ§ đšđ đđđ đđ
On the brightest morning the Vale of Arryn had seen in a fortnight, when the sun finally shattered the grey veil of storms and bathed the mountains in golden bronze, a newborn cry rang out across Runestone.
Lady Rhea Royce drifted in and out of consciousness in the birthing chamber, her body and spirit spent after intense hours of hard labor. When the maester finally placed the babe in her arms at last, her world narrowed to a single, most breathtaking sight as any mother felt looking at their newborn.
Silver-gold hair, fine as spun moonlight, crowned the infantâs head. And beneath delicate lids shone eyes that were unmistakably Valyrian, the warm color of lilac at dusk.
For a still moment, Rhea felt the old disgust rise like bile in the back of her throat, the features of her husbandâs smug face flashing before her. You were certainly Daemonâs child there was no doubt in that, he couldnât deny you at all, you looked like him. A Targaryen . . . Though strictly born of duty, resentment, and none other than the Kingâs relentless command, so Rhea was reminded.
But then you stirred, tiny fingers curling against your motherâs breast, and something awoke in Rhea when she heard you coo at her. This was also her daughter. Hers. She pressed her lips to your warm, downy head and whispered a promise only you, the gods and the stone walls would hear.
âWill she be given a name this morrow, mâlady?â the old maester asked, quill poised above his scroll.
Rheaâs jaw tightened as she was reminded of Daemon once again. The man who had demanded the child be named in Valyrian if it survived. One last cruelty from a man who had refused to be present for their daughter's birth. She didnât want to give him the satisfaction; however, the girl didnât deserve a common name away from her Valyrian heritage.
She declared your name then, voice ringing with the strong authority of the Lady of Runestone. âAs only Daemon insisted. After her Valyrian heritage.â
Her tone softened into a tender murmur as she gazed down at the blinking infant. âBut to me . . . you shall be my little dove.â
You stared up at her with soft, curious lilac eyes, mouth agape, before drifting into a peaceful sleep. You were still streaked with the dry fluid of your violent entry into the world until moments later, you were gently passed to your wet nurse.
Rhea had known the Valeâs people despised Daemon Targaryen if not any more than her. However, she had never imagined that hatred would fall upon an innocent child of her own likeness. Their own kin.
âShe is as much mine as she is his,â Rhea said fiercely one crisp afternoon, cradling a two-week-old you close to her chest. âThere is no undoing that. She may bear Valyrian features, but she is a Royce through and through. They will see it in time.â
Ser Gerold Royce stood rigid on the other side of Lord Yorbert in the great hall, just the three of them, his face clouded. âLet us pray the gods have flipped the coin to its better side with her,â he muttered, glaring at the silver wisps of hair escaping the babeâs hood, âunlike her father and his cursed blood.â
Lord Yorbert offered a warm smile, resting a hand on Rheaâs shoulder. âWe will raise her strong as a true Lady of Runestone. House Royce will be ruled by women of black iron and bronze, and this little Lady shall one day make a fine ruler beneath her motherâs guidance.â
Rhea held her little dove tighter, inhaling the sweet scent of you, letting the words settle over you both in warmth.
On the second month since you were born, Rhea had needed a change of fresh air now being healed enough from giving birth. She slipped from Runestone alone on horseback, craving the mountain air and the thrill of the hunt for deer; refusing the assistance of Ser Gerold or any other.
The misty green valley welcomed her as it always did with no suspicions of danger in sight. However, that would soon change, until mid-afternoon. She never expected her trusted, seasoned horse to become spooked by an unseen source; it wasnât in his nature. Though she had managed to control him eventually, they continued on with the hunt.
But not very long after she began hawking, her horse had done it a second time, rather more terrified than the last. Rheaâs nerves prickled as she looked around to find nothing but the empty woods around her until she turned back into the clearing of the valley.
Runestone hadnât been too far off. Rhea had, had enough signs of bad omens to know when to leave. The rabbits and plump ring-necked pheasants that hung from her saddle would do for now. But her horse had bellowed one last time, rearing with aggression at the sight of a strange creature with horns, that made them both flip backwards.
The tragic news of Lady Rhea Royceâs death left a bittersweet taste in the Vale. Though she had held on for nine days after being found in the valley and cracking her skull upon stone, she collapsed only an hour later of leaving her bed. Without having the chance to explain what happened.
âIâI want to see my little dove. . .â
It was the most tragic of deaths that left the people of Runestone to deeply mourn over. And even more regretfully so, as she had left her only child in the hands of those who despised the girl.
Though it was rumored and true, Rhea and her husband, Prince Daemon Targaryen, had an unhealthy, estranged marriage, bound only by duty and resentment.
And with the insistent commands in which the King, Viserys I, demanded a forced heir be produced. You were born in the fourth, first quarter moon of 115 AC. Conceived out of pure white hatred, and on a very drunken night that neither parent could hardly remember.
Would the gods of old and new have mercy on the realm from such a union? Would the coin of fate for this Targaryen be merciful or one of violent ends? One could only ask, or rather pray. For it was seen that your mother was good and fierce, but your father was terrible and hot tempered.
You were born on a first quarter moon after all. What did it resemble in the two-sided coin of good and evil? That alone was cause of fear and whispers on what your future could bring . . . on what madness of yours would come out of this. A dragon in Royce colors. A dragon . . . In sheep's clothing.
ââââđđ đđđČđŹ đ„đđđđ«, đđąđ§đ đŹ đđđ§đđąđ§đ
âYour grace,â Lord Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King, addressed Viserys with a regretful expression. âRavens bring news from the Vale and Storms End.â
The weight of the paper in Viserys fingers made his heart heavier than one realized. Despite Daemon and his current grievances toward one another, he felt sorrow for his younger brother having known what it feels like to have a wife, a mother . . . leave a daughter behind.
âSend a message to Daemon, he must know about this,â Viserys crumbled the parchment to the counsel table with pain.
âHeâs been made aware already your Grace. They had already sent a raven to Stormâs End of the news and Lord Baratheon graciously dispatched a messenger on ship, set out to reach Daemon by now. As said in the missives,â Lyonel reminded.
Having accidentally skipped over that part for his eyes only found the word âdeath.â Viserys nodded. âRight, right. Good, he ought to know swiftly then," replied the king.
What he and the rest of the counsel forgot however, was one crucial tradition. The gift of a dragon egg upon celebration of your birth. Or rather, Viserysâ was too blind in sorrow of his own memories with Aemmasâ passing to remember in that moment.
But the kings thoughts spared him for but a moment as they wandered to the many other missives sent from the Sea Snake and his brother, Vaemond, in the Stepstones in a plea for help. The war that had began by malcontents Viserys called it. His own brother and Corlys.
âNo. Better yet, I shall indeed write Daemon myself.â
And so after the counsel ended, Viserys stayed behind to handwrite his own letter to his brother. Hoping to give them relief by sending aid to the stepstones.
âMake haste to Dwarfstone, Ser Addam. Hand-deliver this to Prince Daemon yourself,â Viserys commands a loyal Targaryen knight.
The young man bows his head, taking the scroll, âAt once your grace.â
âWhat news? Father. What is this about Dwarfstone I hear?â Rhaenyra comes in smiling happily with a giggling 1 year old Jacaerys in her arms.
For the first time that afternoon, it seemed Viserys finally knew how to smile. Caused by the grinning boy in his beloved daughters arms. He held his grandson proudly, until the grim devastation flooded his aged face again.
âIâm sending word to Daemon. Aid is sailing to the Stepstones,â Viserys sighed.
Rhaenyra perked up then, âAid, to the Stepstones you say. And what, prey tell, finally made you decide to do this? He and the sea snake have been fighting this battle for years now. Did he make call for help?â
âHe would sooner die,â Viserys said bitterly, but smiled knowingly of his brother. âBut his king does not mean to allow that.â Again, the King frowned, and Rhaenyra noticed as she stared at her son in her fathers arms.
âWhat has happened?â Rhaenyra steps forward, cautious on what comes next as she takes Jaceâs little fingers in her own.
âDaemon, is a father now,â Viserys began. âHe would sooner change due to this. However, bad tidings from Lady Jeyne. Daemonâs lady wife, Rhea Royce has passed, leaving a newborn girl behind.â Viserys informed gravely.
Rhaenyraâs eyes shot up immediately, and just like her father, she thought of Aemma and herself. The misfortune of losing a mother so young, and this one even younger. Then her eyes went to Jace, and she placed a hand on top her swollen, pregnant belly, and her own heart tightened.
The king and his daughter walked together out of the counsel room, through the halls and into the great throne room. And as he sat atop his throne he held a giggling Jacaerys and placed him on his knee.
âOne day my boy,â Viserys gently pinched his grandsonâs cheek. âThis seat will be yours. And you shall make a great king.â
It was the first smile Rhaenyra cracked after a long silence besides her joyful sons laughter lighting the castle. The young princess could only imagine what pain you would have to go through now that your mother wasnât present in your life.
There was a long quiescent moment before Rhaenyraâs back strengthen again with a deep sigh, âWe ought to send the babe an egg soon as a new clutch is had. With other fine silks in condolences. It is her birth right by royal decree after all.â
âA fine idea my sweet,â Viserys smiles with a nod.
ââââđđ đđđČđŹ đ„đđđđ«, đđđđđ« đđąđŹđđ«đČđŹ đŹđđ§đ đĄđąđŹ đŠđąđŹđŹđąđŻđ
Viserys would never come to know, but he was right in sending his own missive to his brother. For the hope of the original messenger sent to Daemon from Stormâs End hadnât reached him at all. In fact the poor boy had got caught up in the middle of the war in the Stepstones and mistakenly fed to crabs.
That isnât to say the young knight the king sent didnât meet his own punishment either. He left with a broken collarbone, two swollen eyes, and a broken nose the moment after . . . Once Daemon had looked at the scroll of parchment with an unsurprised, blank state that was eerily calm.
Brother, I have ordered 10 ships and 2,000 men to set sail from Kingâs Landing to join the effort in the Stepstones. Though time and circumstance have seen us estranged, know that it is not my desire to see you fail in your cause. And now more than ever. As I am sure by now the messenger from Stormâs End has greeted you with the tragic news of Lady Rheaâs passing. Know that you and your daughter have my deepest sorrows. It is instead my hope that this aid will deliver the victory that has thus far evaded us. You are a father now, brother. I shall pray nightly to the gods for your safe return.
Daemon bit the inside of lip until it bled as anger bubbled in him. No messenger was ever sent to him about the birth of his own child, and he cursed Rhea for that. Then he giggled. Because at long last, he was free from his Bronze bitch. The marriage he never asked for.
He still struggled to defend this pathetic meagre kingdom against the Triarchy and its Dornish allies. That much was true, but the thought of fighting all this time against them and only now receiving aid from the crown. Something inside Daemon switched on again, and his hot tempered impulses drove his blood hot.
Daemons eyes were turned toward the island where he knew the Myrish prince admiral, Craghas Crabfeeder, hid in his caves like a craven bitch. All while the Three Daughterâs continued their tolls unless destroyed by Corlys fleet, if only the gods were good.
The same ones that he and Corlys tried telling the crown where they took everything they wanted, which included women and children. Causing even the loyal House Velaryon to suffer greatly. All for his brother to finally listen, because his Bronze Bitch finally croaked.
âDark Sister thirst for blood,â he says aloud to no one in particular.
So, the prince took a dory by himself after setting the plan with his partner, the Sea Snake. And if the enemy was spectacle, they believed the silver-tongue prince, even the Crabfeeder.
Until at long last, in the years that finally ended this long battle, he and Craghas came face to face. And the Myrish prince stood no chance against the dragon that was Daemon, with a single-hand he slew the craven clean. And Corlys crowned him as Daemon declared himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.
After a few days of rest and victory celebrations, Daemon, begrudgingly, mounted Caraxes and took to the Vale at once in false enthusiasm. Seeking to claim inheritance rather than put his wife to rest that is.
Then he had smiled to himself, having completely forgotten he had a child; only because it was hers. Even more surprised a child could grow in such hostile environs.
âWatch the babe be a Royce bastard. With locks as dark as her hound bitch,â he chuckled to no one but the open sky and Caraxes before him.
But the laughter was soon shut when he later found himself hovering over your cradle. Lilac eyes met darker amethyst. Staring back at one another equally confused.
You were in fact, not a bastard at all. If anything you had more silver hair than he did. And though you looked like your mother, you really resembled him in his Valyrian ways. You were his. It struck a nerve in Daemon. He was pleased that you took after him, just not by the fact it was with Lady Royce and that angered him.
Instead of pride, fury twisted in his chest, âCouldnât even give me a son.â He muttered.
Though, in truth, deep down. He hadnât cared about that at all, whether you were born a boy or not. His anger was more toward Rhea. And he couldnât help but see Rhea every single time he glanced at you. And it made the bile run up his throat.
âLeast the Bronze bitch actually listened hm? Gave you a proper Valyrian name.â
Alas, he came to know the babe was named Lady of House Royce despite being at the breast of wet nurses. And Lord Yorbert quickly named her heir to the ancient castle of Runestone after the death of her mother.
This pleased Daemon, only because he knew heâd be inheriting Runestone through his daughter, and with it several thousand men that rivaled even the North with it.
And though, long before you were born, he refused to place a dragon egg in your cradle. Tradition be damned. âThe Vale doesnât need dragons,â he had once sneered to Rhea. âIt has sheep and horses enough.â
Thus, his firstborn was currently a dragonless Targaryen due to his unfortunate decision of the past. At which was the time he had laughed at. He hadnât given you an egg because he was counting on you to look like a Royce and accuse of being a bastard.
âBut you cannot deny her now, can you?â He could just hear Rhea tell him if she were here and rolled his eyes skyward to the heavens.
After Lord Yorbert and him had spoken, quite unpleasantly, he told them to expect you to receive a dragon egg nonetheless, from Kings Landing. Just because he hated Rhea, didnât mean you werenât still his . . . That and it only helped his cause for the future.
âExpect it later from the crown. Far as Iâm concern there are no new eggs, so, she most likely wonât get one soon. Donât get greedy.â Daemon all but warned.
Lady Jeyne happened to be there during Daemonâs visit as well. Seeing right through Daemonâs tactics with a downward curve of disapproval from the Lord of the Eyrie herself.
âYour daughter may rule the ancient castle of Runestone someday in her mother's honor, gods willing, my prince. But until that day, and even then, you are unwelcome in the Vale.â She stared him down, challenging.
He only smiled, blinked down, and nodded before finally taking his leave but was stopped at the archway by Lord Yorberts distressed bewilderment.
âWill you not take her with you?â Yorbert furrowed his brows utterly confused. âIs that not also why you came?â
Daemon frowned then. He stood there for what felt like eternity, contemplating the wheels of what he should do. Then he frowned.
âThe Vale can have her.â
In which left a bittersweet taste in many of the peopleâs mouth, including Ser Gerold Royce after his suspicions of your father Daemon only grew wider.
ââââđđ«đąđđđŠđđ«đ€
The now freshly widowed husband, Prince Daemon Targaryen, had landed on Driftmark last after his long travels from the Vale to the Stepstones. Heâd only meant to call upon Corlys and Princess Rhaenys thanks to his warm welcomes given by the Sea Snake himself. So, when he was first welcomed out in the courtyard by Lady Laena, he couldnât help but smile.
Heâd remembered their dance at her brother Laenor and Rhaenyraâs wedding (turned disaster to remember). How she looked at him then and how he too couldnât help but think she was more beautiful than any right given.
âWelcome to Driftmark, my prince,â She smiled that sweet smile.
But they both knew what she really meant behind it. As her eyes spoke more words than what was needed. The lord and lady of High Tide greeted him next and before he knew it, he was caught in the maelstrom of their web.
Corlys already knew it before Daemon asked for Laenaâs hand. Rhaenys on the other hand didnât feel happy about it. But seeing how Laena wanted this union despite already being betrothed, which Daemon made quick work of. . .
The pair did wed in only a fortnight, and without the kingâs blessings. And Daemon utterly forgot about your existence entirely.
During the rest of 115 AC. It seemed everyone forgot you existed. And then completely forgotten in the eleventh moon, when Princess Rhaenyra gave birth to a healthy second son, Lucerys Velaryon.
No one, not even Daemon, had written to ask of you, not even to your keepers or anything, much to the relief of the ones attempting at grooming you. And then, they never sent you an egg either, at least not until the year after 117 AC, once Joffrey had long been born.
With the good news of Joffreys hatchling, Rhaenyra now had 3 dragons to each of her sons, squashing the lies and whispers of those who doubted.
And as she watched Jacaerys hug Vermax and held Luke to her side, while her father held Joffrey, her heart leaped in remembrance of the dragonkeepers sending you and egg of your own at last. One from the very same clutch as Joffreys.
Where all the other princes which included all three of Rhaenyraâs sons and the Queenâs own children always got first choice. You were purposely sent the smallest egg of the sickliest pale grey one could imagine.
Nonetheless, after years of waiting, they had finally put the egg near your hearth, only for it to never hatch. In their own anger, behind Lord Yorberts back, they accused you of being worthless.
âWe shall groom her into fulfilling our own desires for Runestone without their (Daemon and the bedridden Lord Yorbert) counsel.â Whispered a man behind Yorberts own back.
âShe is to be a Royce then, under watchful eyes, raise her up to be diligent and true of her duties here in the Vale, none other.â
âShe will be a Royce!â they declared, ânot some Targaryen whelp!â
You had grown in the cold embrace of Runestone without ever seeing your father Daemon most of your childhood. And from the moment you could walk, the men of the Vale began to shape you like their prized possession. Not with tenderness, but with relentless purpose and greed.
At five years old, wooden swords were forcefully placed in your hand instead of needle and thread. And every day you were knocked again and again into the freezing mud, small body bruised and trembling, until sundown forced them to stop.
You were taught horseback soon after, naturally being gifted to learn swiftly, like your mother, who had learned at an even younger age herself. But it was the archery you had learning difficulties, not to say you were best at sword training either.
Your archery faltered as you struggled with your smaller arms and your sword work was clumsy no matter how hard you tried. Still, they pushed.
âSheâs only the age of five; she will grow to know it soon enough. Keep training her harder. We must break her.â
âAye,â one man spat. âI killed a man at that age! I knew sword play with ease. Sheâs too soft!â
âA girl who would rule these lands cannot afford softness.â
Some of your maidens expressed their own deep concerns, that the young Lady Targaryen was being too worked and that every bath they could always see your fresh bruises from training too hard with the other boys.
âIt is necessary that she gains the knowledge of work if sheâd ever want to lead House Royce in the Vale under the banner of House Arryn. The head on her shoulders must be strong if sheâs to survive these lands.â
âIs it not common for a female ruler in House Arryn to lead without the intensive training our own Lady undergoes? She is but a child, barely on her feet stillââ
âHouse Royce is not Arryn, where they all gallop around in pretty skirts and flash those pretty smiles, guarded by knights all the while we lower houses protect the silks on their backs.â
âHer mother the late Lady Rhea was a unique character, her kind never to be seen again, not even her own daughter would hold a candle to her talents.â As Ser Gerold himself said.
At some point or another, a few bolder men of your own kin, suggested shearing your beautiful moon-silver hair to hide your fatherâs mark. Only the Maesterâs stern intervention spared you. And they went with dyeing it black instead.
âYou blame a mere innocent child for the mistakes of her parents. Do you not think the seven look down on those who show such evil to the innocent?â
However much this hurt you, you held back your tongue, the tears and accepted it, and had your maidens dye your hair in hopes for the approval of those of the Vale.
You never cried before any of them after time passed. You endured in silence. You swallowed every slight and every muttered suspicion that you carried the Rogue Princeâs madness. That, in which, you had no idea what they meant by or who your father even was.
You only always did what was told, knowing nothing else other than to do it and without complaint. Otherwise received a clout to the ear.
Only in the silence of your bedchamber, you wept quietly until your chest ached and the skin beneath your eyes burned red. Then rose at dawn to begin it all again.
By the time you were seven, you were finally able to attend meetings as heir while Lord Yorbert lay bedridden, but they never allowed you to make decisions of your own. Instead, Ser Gerold Royce, Lady Rheaâs cousin, had told you to be quiet and listen. To be watchful, mindful and learn.
And those that put inquiries in the halls of Runestone mistook you as a boy. Men questioned why you were there, mistaking the rough appearance of dirty, forcibly cut short, black dyed hair for a stable boy until your voice cut sharply through the hall in your anger.
âI am no boy. I am the Lady of Runestone, of House Targaryen.â
Ah, you had after all inherited your fatherâs hot temper. You had received so many unpleasant looks by your peers after that, but the people who acknowledged you as Lady bowed and smiled, feeding you the sweetest lies of compliments (in fear of losing their tongue) as they remembered your father.
And that night, as your blood bubbled and fire ran through your veins, you began to dream strange dreams. Different versions of you looking down from the clouds as if you were the one flying over the Vale. With wings larger than the ancient castle of Runestone itself.
And ever since, you dreamt longingly each day to see your family, your father, and to see a real dragon you had only read or ever heard talked about. Whispers about you began saying that your peers were doing too much, and that if they continued, you might unleash your Targaryen madness on them all one day.
Others whispered that they pitied you, saying it wouldâve been better if you had been born a bastard than the seed of The Rogue Prince. For you were either hated there and looked down upon or feared for what you may become. Despised either way.
Though, that would change all in a day in your ninth year when out in a hunting party to learn hawking, Ser Gerold Royce was gored by a giant boar, and though half a dozen arrows pierced the wild animal it did not falter, but it was your lucky shot that struck clean through its eye and out the other.
Since then, Ser Gerold Royce, having healed by a miracle despite the large gaping wound he took to his thigh, had graciously calmed his ill temper to the young Targaryen.
âShe does have more of her mother in her, you see.â
Even more surprising, Ser Gerold began to train you in initial weapons practices. Honing your skills for better than the slop the others bruised you with.
He trained you with lessons of focus, on building strength, balance, and discipline. Taught you the common courtesy and heraldry. Including treating you as his squire if anything, that you performed menial chores which included simple task of serving at tables, cleaning, running messages.
âA girl cannot be a squire. . .â one old man told him with distaste.
Ser Gerold turned away, ignoring the protests from all sides that a Lady could not hold such a role.
âWe all wanted her to be a Royce, so Iâm doing that, but without our old abusive tactics that was getting us nowhere. I was wrong in how I went about it; we all were. She is a Royce through and through, just like her mother. We had just been blinded by hate. Me more so.â Gerold sighed regrettably.
In your tenth nameday, with only Gerold and the maesters sight, you had sent a raven of your own written missive explaining your accomplishments. All in hopes of its deliverance to Driftmark.
You couldnât explain why, but you felt a hole in your chest, a piece missing. Your dreams of flying never ended and rarely, you would even see a blurred figure of a man with silver-gold hair standing in the far distance from you over a red sea like a mirage.
You imagined it must be your father. So, you made sure to write your growing skills at arms, because he was known to be a great swordsman, you had much to live up to. You wrote to say you were the best at horseback than the others, like your mother before you. That your archery has improved significantly.
Youâd visit the ravencote every crowing of the morrow before the maesters could check them first. This went on for six whole moons, during which you sent multiple more missives in the same way. By the seventh, it was Gerold who placed a hand on your shoulder.
âNothing is coming girl. Stop torturing yourself.â
No reply came, from anyone. And you sulked in silence as you always did. Only to repeat the days past into the next morrow after that.
// want to be tagged in this fic? Or a (characters story) taglist? add yourself here
// next chapter â series masterlist â ao3 â read the original character version for unfiltered context
On the next chapter. . . â // chapter summary â± House Royce begins to see your growth in many ways, including your dragon side. In which you begin to make demands they can't control . . . Meanwhile, an unexpected raven arrives, but it's from someone you least expected.
Breathe Into Me (9) - The Rhythm Of Night
Korra x Female Reader
Summary: A series of unfortunate events puts you in the position you never wished to be in; stuck on the Air Temple Island, guarding the Avatar. You'd be fine with it, if only it didn't force you to be around Tenzin, who had no idea you were his and Lin's daughter.
Masterlist / Part 8
Word Count: 7.4k
-With the rhythm of night in the city of lights we dance to show we still can glow-
~X~ KORRA ~X~
The sun was slowly setting in the Republic City as Korra got off the ferry, finding an already familiar satomobile waiting down the street with Mako and Asami leaning against it and Bolin, with Pabu on top of his head, looking for her. A grin spread across her face as she ran toward them. She only now noticed Asamiâs car kind of stood out, being a newer model and everything, since it looked a lot like the one Tarrlok sent her.
âThere she is!â Bolin exclaimed excitedly running to meet her halfway. The moment she was close enough Pabu jumped from Bolinâs head, landing on Korraâs shoulder and slipping to the other one before she could even reach up to steady him.
âHey, Pabu,â she scratched under his chin as the fire ferret nuzzled against the side of her head. âHow long have you been waiting?â she asked, grinning as Bolin patted her on the back and they both walked over to Mako and Asami.
âA few minutes, Mako hates being late,â Asami winked, teasing Mako at the same time. Korra shook her head, knowing well enough how true that was. The firebender scolded her several times for being a few minutes late to the early morning practices. Her and Bolin reached Mako and Asami, and Bolin flung his other arm around Makoâs shoulders and pulled him down, messing his hair up.
âIâm not- hey!â Mako complained, pulling free from Bolinâs hold as Korra and Asami laughed.
âOkay! No pressure! Itâs just our first group hangout,â Bolinâs energy was infectious as they all got in Asamiâs car. For a moment everything else faded to the background, the tournament, the tension, Amon and his Equalists, it was just the four of them hanging out.
âAre we picking Y/N up as well?â Asami asked, looking back once before focusing on the road.
Korraâs smile softened. âNo, sheâs got to finish something at the office and then sheâll join us,â you wouldnât stay the whole time, but considering you abruptly went from being at the Air Temple Island or just with her in general all the time to sometime going a few days without coming by, she would take it.
âWhen she joins us we got to take you to Narookâs, itâs authentic Water Tribe cuisine!â Bolin remembered, and Korra chuckled, leaning back in her seat.
âY/N took me there actually, I mean, me and Tenzinâs kids, but Iâd love to go again,â it felt like things happened so quickly since then and you still didnât get the chance to go to the city with Jinora, Ikki and Meelo like you promised you would.
She got so caught up thinking back to that day that she missed Bolinâs smile dropping for a few seconds. âRight, of course she did,â he didnât let it discourage him though.
A few minutes later Asami parked the satomobile near the square almost at the same time as police motorcycle parked on the other side of the street. Korra recognized you immediately, grinning as you took your helmet off and put it away.
âHey there, officer! Do I need to worry about a parking ticket?â Asami asked, hanging her arm just outside her door. You walked across the street and pretended to look.
âAbsolutely not, miss Sato, flawless parking,â you grinned and Korra noticed a distinct lack of wooden swords at your hip.
âPlease, Asami is fine,â Asami corrected you softly as all five of you began walking to the square. There was some street performance Asami heard about, so one thing led to another, and you all figured it would be a good way to relax and just hang out outside probending or work.
âIâll go get snacks,â Mako said as Asami led them to the empty seats near the front row.
âIâve got drinks. Bolin, you wanna help me out?â you asked and sure enough, with the three of you gone, Korra was left with Asami.
And suddenly the entire square seemed a bit small. What was she supposed to talk about? Korra glanced at the girl, at the confident smile, perfect, though minimal, makeup. âSo, itâs just the two of us for now,â she said a bit awkwardly, saved only by Pabu chirping in her ear. âThree of us. Sorry, Pabu,â she apologized and reached up to pet the ferret.
Asami chuckled and Korra saw the lantern lights set up for the performance reflecting in the girlâs eyes, making them shine a bit. âIâm really glad you and Y/N could join us tonight,â Asami said, reaching up to scratch Pabu behind his ear.
Korra cleared her throat, figuring there was nothing to be nervous about. âI never apologized for interrupting your and Makoâs date,â she smiled sheepishly. âAnd thanks. For that night,â she added, still a bit affected by how they all reacted.
Asamiâs eyes softened at that. âAnytime,â she said. âIt was just a date, besides, we went out a few days later, so itâs not like we lost anything,â if Asami was lying, she was really good at it, because Korra couldnât see any signs of deception.
âLadies, your drinks,â Bolin returned, making a bit of a show of giving her and Asami the cups. Pabu jumped from Korraâs shoulder back to Bolinâs.
âWhat he said,â you shrugged, looking at Bolinâs little show with mix of amusement and uncertainty. And soon enough Mako came back as well and the five, or rather six of you, watched the performance held by a group of firebenders, an impressive display of grace and skill.
As she watched Korra found herself getting mesmerized by the city yet again, seeing one more side of it.
By the time the performance was over you had to leave though, leaving the four of them to go on with their night, quietly reminding them that underneath it all there was still a dangerous organization waiting to strike.
~X~ Y/N ~X~
Finally, finally, two months after your first spar you stood about two dozen feet from Korra, your wooden swords drawn and ready. âThis almost feels nostalgic,â you grinned, widening your stance a bit as Korra stood there, all confident and ready.
Korraâs grin widened. âOnly now I donât have to worry about your injuries,â she rolled her shoulders and finally took a proper stance, a wide, earthbending stance, ready for your first move.
She had access to every element, the small pond providing water, and as you looked around you noticed that, while youâd be able to maneuver, the space was quite open.
Your heart skipped a beat despite everything. âSpirits, am I really about to attack the Avatar?â you wondered nervously, seeing she had every intention of bending, even if she would keep it to probending level of attacks, certainly didnât make you feel confident. Your heart skipped a beat again and you smirked, the nerves giving way to excitement and adrenaline. There was only one was this fight could go if Korra took you seriously, but youâd be damned if you didnât enjoy testing your limits here.
âWell then, letâs do this,â you grinned, maybe a tad bit too excitedly as you dashed, not toward Korra, but to the side. She followed you with her eyes, turning slightly on the spot before she put her foot down, earthbending a wall in your path.
You jumped, kicking off the wall toward her with your blades drawn and ready. âYou can do better than that,â Korra taunted you, switching from the stances in a motion so fluid it caught you off guard. Her foot slid across the ground and her arms moved in an arch waterbending a whip of water from the pond toward you.
You smirked, stabbing one of your blades into the earth wall to stop and land again. You pulled the sword out and ducked under the water whip, before lunging forward finally getting close enough to close the distance between you and Korra.
Korra smiled, throwing a fairly obvious punch and a ball of fire your way. You slashed through the air quickly enough to disperse the flames and finally reached her. âYou know what I told you,â you grinned, pulling your sword back and going for a quick thrust.
âDonât block, dodge,â Korra said, slipping smoothly to the side before she attempted to kick you from the side.
You planted your foot on the ground and jumped, flipping over her kick and twisting to slash. Korra moved just in time, effortlessly waterbending a thick water whip to block your slash and push you back. You landed easily, but it was clear she was waiting, giving you a moment so you werenât completely vulnerable, and then she did a few quick jabs, sending spikes of ice your way.
The grin on your face grew wider as you deflected the first one, ducked under the next one and stepped to the side, avoiding a few more. And finally, Korra closed the distance, flames burst behind her, increasing her momentum as she jumped, aiming to knee you in the guts.
âNope! Canât get hit with that!â you realized, just barely stepping to the side, only for Korra to grin and reach out, grabbing your arm and throwing you toward the pond the moment she regained her footing. She followed after you, not giving you a moment to stop and think, and you had to throw one of your blades at her. It was barely enough to stop her for a moment, as the sword got stuck in the ground and she just sidestepped it.
But it was enough, as you used the other sword to slow down and skid to a stop before you could fall into the pond. You looked into Korraâs eyes as she closed the distance between you once again.
Yeah, you missed this a lot.
You brought your forearm up, blocking her kick as the flames licked the back of your shirt. You twisted your blade so youâd slash with the dull side and went for her side. But Korra brought her hand down, catching your forearm. You smirked, face to face with her, letting go of your sword and twisting your arm enough to switch into reverse grip, pushing just enough for the blade to push into her side.
Korra raised an eyebrow, still holding your forearm as you widened your stance and twisted, pushing the leg you were still blocking with your arm and her body and throwing her off you. She still regained her footing without any issue, landing and taking a step back to steady herself. You lunged forward, slipping around an earth pillar that erupted in your path.
There was no way you could let her control the distance, as low as your chances were in close quarters, they were nonexistent at any other range. And Korra let you get close, only throwing a kick a flame arc your way to get you right where she wanted you. You werenât going to play that game though, as you slashed through the flames and spun the sword, stabbing it into the ground and using it as a pole to vault over Korra.
You caught glimpse of an excited grin on Korraâs face as she turned, attempting to backhand you. You slipped under her arm and went for an uppercut. She leaned back, your fist just barely touching her hair before you dropped down, sweeping her off her feet while her footing was off.
Korra let out a surprised gasp, but caught herself and kicked up, forcing you to block it with your forearms. It still nearly knocked all the air out of your lungs. She pushed against you, making you stumble back as she flipped back to her feet and slammed her foot down and several rocks the size of your upper body rose from the ground before she began throwing them at you.
You dodged them, your jaw dropping when you saw your wooden sword was lodged into one of the rocks. âOh, come on!â you cried out, exasperated, and jumped over that rock in particular, grabbing the handle and just barely pulling the blade out. You had to completely drop the ground to dodge the next rock, but at least you had your blade again.
âThink fast,â Korra taunted you, as a wave rose from the pond and she waterbent it at you.
You stabbed the sword into the ground and got down on one knee behind it, letting the water hit you and trying to withstand it. The wave pushed against you, with a lot less force than Korra was capable of, but it still stopped you from trying to close the distance.
âSpirits, Iâm in over my head,â you thought, more than aware of the absurd difference between you. You werenât aiming to hurt her, but damn, even if you were, it felt impossible to land a good hit.
âCome on, Y/N! You were faster at the Memorial Island,â Korra laughed.
âI was dodging people, not elements!â you exclaimed and glanced to the side, noticing one of the rocks she bent at you shattered. âWell, donât mind if I do,â you muttered to yourself, jumping to the side and grabbing the rock as you rolled across the ground. You rushed in again, dodging several fireballs and right before you were close enough to slash, you threw the rock.
Korra caught it, but it forced her to dodge a slash aimed at her head. You owed her an apology, youâve gotten so attached to her that you avoided attacking her with the intention to hurt her. That was no way to treat a spar with someone like Korra.
She ducked under your slash and you dropped the blade into your other hand, this time thrusting toward her guts and forcing her to waterbend an ice wall in front of her. It shattered upon impact, but it slowed the thrust down enough for Korra to get out of the way.
âThatâs more like it,â Korra grinned, raising her leg and dropping a fire kick at you. You raised both your forearms, blocking the kick, and even then, it made you drop to your knees. She stepped on your thigh and pushed herself off, flipping in mid-air and throwing several quick fire jabs at you.
You spun the blade in your hand, quick enough to block the small fireballs from hitting you, and jumped right after Korra. The two of you clashed and landed continuing to block and evade each otherâs attempts, and then it happened. You managed to push Korra back and she took a few steps back, not noticing the sword you threw at her a while ago at this point, right behind her.
You rushed in just as Korraâs boot hit the wooden sword wedged into the ground behind her. âWoah!â Korra looked back, her eyes widening when she noticed what happened.
You smirked, skidding to a stop by her side and slipping your left arm around her waist, catching and steadying her. âWhy, hello there,â you teased breathlessly, a drop of sweat rolling down your cheek, along with water from before, as you rested your remaining wooden sword against your shoulder.
Korra opened her mouth to reply but no words came out, and the two of you just stood like that for a moment, a small blush creeping up to Korraâs cheeks as she caught her breath. âGuess I wasnât paying attention,â she admitted, less tired than you, but definitely not unaffected by the spar.
âSomething like that,â you muttered, catching yourself looking into her eyes and getting mesmerized by them.
Korraâs hand slipped to your shoulder, making your breath hitch as she maintained eye contact. âNeither are you,â was all the warning you got before she slammed her foot own, making a narrow pillar of earth shot up from under your right foot, tipping you forward.
âDamn it, Korra!â you cried out, completely losing your balance as she twisted in your arm and tossed you onto the ground, pinning you there with her knee on your guts and catching both of your wrists before you could even think of doing anything. âOw,â you groaned, blinking a few times and then noticing the smirk on Korraâs face as she looked at you from above. âThat was just uncalled for,â you muttered, not even struggling to get your wrists free.
Korra was the one holding you down. You were never going to physically overpower her. âSurrender,â she demanded in a way too satisfied tone.
Oh, she had another thing coming to her if she thought it would be this easy. âDonât want to,â you grinned defiantly.
Korra raised an eyebrow. âIâve pinned you down,â which was very true, for better or for worse.
âIâm still conscious,â you pointed out cheekily.
Korra blinked a few times, like she was trying to figure out how you thought that mattered in any way in your current situation. âI could hit you if I wanted to,â she pointed out.
âI could have hit you too, when you were falling,â you pointed out and tried, just for fun, to free your hands. She didnât budge, he just tightened her hold on your wrists and that was all it took. âDamn,â you muttered, glancing at her forearm. Yeah, there was nothing you could do.
Korra chuckled and shook her head, getting up and offering you her hand. âCome on, letâs go back inside,â she grinned and you took her hand, letting her pull you up to your feet. âI still won that,â she told you, nudging you with her elbow as you began walking toward the main building.
âI know, I know,â you finally gave in, letting her have it while you sheathed your wooden swords.
~X~ MAKO ~X~
The snow slowly turned the Republic City white. Mako glanced outside as he stirred the noodles for him and Bolin; the snow always reminded him of happier times, of his and Bolinâs parents taking them outside, of playing in the snow. How long had it been since he could fully relax.
Maybe soon heâd be able to relax again? To stop worrying about every yuan. He glanced back, seeing Bolin sitting in front of a bowl filled with water, trying to give Pabu a bath. There was a new rip on Bolinâs sleeveless shirt, already sewn together, but still, that might end, if only they could win the tournament.
âWork with me here, Pabu! You want to look spick and span in your new uniform, don't you?â Bolin tried to convince the stubborn fire ferret to accept the bath and Mako had to smile to himself. Leave it to Bolin to try and bargain with the fire ferret to take a bath.
Eventually, after a lot of effort on Bolinâs part, Mako heard a sound of something being dunked in the water. And then there was a resigned, sad chirp from Pabu. âSo, what do you think of Korra, in a girlfriend sort of way?â Bolin suddenly asked.
Makoâs heart skipped a beat, the image of Korra sleeping in your arms flashing in front of his eyes. His heart still ached as he thought back to that. âShe's great! But I think it makes more sense for me to go for Asami,â he still said, not wanting to admit that there was a good chance Korra already had feelings for you and that it wouldnât matter even if he made a move.
It was easier like this.
âl was talking about a girlfriend for me! Leave some ladies for the rest of us!â Bolin chastised him.
Makoâs blood ran cold, but he didnât turn around. âI know; that's what I thought you meant,â he quickly blurted out, his eyes wide and frightened as he thought back to all the times Bolin showed interest in Korra. Every practice, every conversation about her, every time he tried to flirt. Mako wanted to kick himself, he should have seen this coming, he should have noticed his brother was heading head-first into heartbreak.
âWell?â Bolin insisted a bit impatiently, while Mako had no idea how to even try to approach the conversation.
âI donât know, Bo. It doesn't seem like a good idea for you to date Korra,â he said awkwardly.
This was not the conversation he wanted to have right now, one night before their first match.
âYou just said she was great two seconds ago,â Bolin pointed out, making Mako bite his lip. He did say that didnât he?
âYeah, Korra is a great athlete and Avatar and stuff, but I don't know if she is really girlfriend material. She's more like a pal,â he tried while mentally repeating âdonât mention Y/N, donât mention Y/N,â to himself.
âYouâre nuts! Korra and I are perfect for each other! She's strong, I'm strong. She's fun, I'm fun. She's beautiful, I'm gorgeous!â Bolin declared confidently and in normal circumstances Mako probably would have agreed with him. Only there was one nonbending officer right in the middle of Bolinâs way, and Bolin seemed oblivious about that. âI don't care what you think, I'm gonna ask Korra out,â Bolin decided.
No way. He could not let that happen. âLook, not only is it not smart to date a teammate, Korra also, probably, likes Y/N,â he couldnât avoid it, and if it broke Bolinâs heart, he figured it would hurt him less than Korra directly rejecting him.
He heard a loud splashing sound and looked back, seeing Pabu in the water bowl, Bolinâs jaw hanging open and his hands uselessly in the air like he just dropped Pabu. âCome on, no way. Y/N is, you know, an officer. Sheâs just assigned to watch Korra,â he argued, like he wasnât there the morning after Korra challenged Amon.
âI donât think thatâs how Korra sees her,â Mako argued as gently as he could.
Bolin thought about it for a moment and then slowly reached into the bowl, pulling Pabu back out of the water. âWonât know for sure unless I ask her out,â so, that was all for nothing. âYou know what Iâm talking about, Pabu. Talking about real love,â he said and Mako sighed, mentally preparing to comfort Bolin when Korra rejects him.
~X~ KORRA ~X~
The snow definitely made Korra excited. She spent the whole day outside with Naga, training, sure, but also absolutely falling back onto the snow. Warmth was nice and all, but this felt so much like home, especially when Naga brought her to your room this morning and she found dumplings.
She should really have a conversation with you about that. Dumplings were awesome, but sheâd prefer it if you didnât vanish after delivering them. Why would you even leave? If you wanted to sleep, you still had a room at the Air Temple Island.
Either way, she was with Jinora and Ikki, leaving fruit for lemurs. âSo, Korra,â Jinora suddenly looked at her with a teasing grin on her face. Why did that grin suddenly remind her of you? âAre you by any chance missing a certain officer who used to spend a lot of time here?â Korraâs eyes widened and she felt heat rushing to her cheeks.
âWhat?! No! Where did you get that idea?â she asked, flustered and looking around like you would pop up out of nowhere. For the first time since you went back to police duty she was actually, genuinely happy you werenât here.
âOoh! Tell us all about the magical romance!â Ikki exclaimed, circling around Korra.
âThereâs no romance! Iâm, Iâm not interested in any romantic stuff,â she cleared her throat, chuckling awkwardly as she lowered the empty fruit basket to the ground next to the other one they emptied earlier.
âBesides, sheâs busy all the time now and Iâve got probending and,â she looked around, trying to think of any excuses as the two girls, completely unconvinced, nodded along. She grinned awkwardly, ignoring how fast her heart was beating. âBut letâs just pretend for a second, just pretend, that I am interested in,â she looked around again, not seeing any sign of you, âY/N, what would I do?â a small part of her wondered if she really just asked two girls for advice.
Who else could she ask though? Asami? Probably the best choice, but just no. Pema? Too close for Korraâs comfort. Who else did she have left? Naga? Because she definitely wasnât talking about this with you, Mako, Bolin or Tenzin.
So, Jinora and Ikki.
Spirits she was desperate.
Jinora smiled, getting a dreamy look in her eyes. âI just read a where the heroine fell in love with the enemy general's son, who's supposed to marry the princess. You should do what she did,â that was maybe promising? Korra couldnât tell yet.
Korra leaned in, curious. âTell me!â
âShe rode a dragon into battle and burned down the entire country, then she jumped into a volcano. It was so romantic,â Korraâs face dropped as Jinora told her the story.
âWhere is she supposed to get a dragon?â you asked, appearing out of nowhere and Korra let her heart completely stopping in her chest as she froze, unable to even look back and see how close you were.
Why did you suddenly appear?! How much did you hear?!
âMom, Y/N!â Ikki exclaimed, and Korra finally turned around to see you and Pema walking over to the three of them.
You grinned and stopped right by her side. âUh, how much did you hear?â Korra asked, awkwardly, hoping you didnât hear her say your name. She checked! You werenât there!
âJust Jinoraâs story,â you said, grinning at Jinora and ruffling her hair, much to the girlâs annoyance. âDonât go burning down countries, kid,â you teased.
Jinora rolled her eyes. âI guess that would be excessive,â she agreed.
âYeah! Besides, everyone knows the best way to win someoneâs heart is to brew a love potion of rainbows and sunsets that makes true lovers sprout wings and fly into a magical castle in the sky, where they get married and eat clouds with spoons, and use stars as ice cubes in their moonlight punch! For ever and ever and ever!â Ikki exclaimed, finishing with an airbending enhanced spinning jump as both Korra and you looked at her speechless.
âUh, good luck finding a dragon?â you told her.
âYeah. The volcano is starting to make more sense to me now,â she admitted, looking at you, unsure of how to react here. You were right here, unaware that Jinora and Ikki were trying to help her win your heart.
Pema chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. âThatâs all nice, but I donât think you two are helping Korra as much as youâd like to,â she said, teasing her girls.
Jinora tilted her head. âWhat was your and daddyâs love story like, mom?â she asked.
Your breath hitched beside Korra and you abruptly turned around. âNope, I do not need to hear this!â you decided, starting to march into the forest. Or you would have if Ikki and Jinora didnât grab your wrists, likely wanting you to be here while their mother gave advice. Like that would somehow help Korraâs situation with you.
Reluctantly, and with a heavy sigh, you turned around, looking anywhere but at Pema.
Pema chuckled and looked to the side, reminiscing. âWell, it wasnât exactly the usual story. Tenzin was in love with another woman,â you visibly flinched at that, for some reason. âAnd for the longest time I didnât do anything, fearing rejection, and I was also quite shy,â Pema continued, though she did raise an eyebrow at your reaction.
âWhat happened then?â Ikki asked excitedly.
âWatching my soul mate spend his life with the wrong woman became too painful. So, I hung my chin out there and I confessed my love to Tenzin. And the rest is history,â Pema explained, making Korra, Jinora and Ikki swoon, especially knowing how well Pema and Tenzin got along. And if Korra was being honest, just confessing directly felt by far like the best approach.
âYay for love,â you said dryly, not even flinching when Korra lightly elbowed you. You just looked at Pema with something in your eyes Korra couldnât quite decipher.
Pema looked right back at you, tilting her head a bit and raising an eyebrow. âSo, since weâre all sharing, advice, what about you, Y/N? What would you do?â Pema asked curiously.
You frowned, crossing your arms as you thought about it for a moment. âI mean, the only relationship I feel like I was ever properly exposed to were Fu and Meng, and at that point they were together for a long time. I guess donât rush?â you said, turning to Korra. âI mean, Iâm guessing you want something serious, so get to know them, if you like someone and know you can count on them to have your back, go for it, but wait to make sure,â you said in a softer tone.
Korra swallowed the lump in her throat. Oh, she was sure youâd have her back, youâve proven it. âThanks,â she muttered, remembering the feeling of your jacket around her back, the same jacket you were currently wearing, and your arm around her waist.
Spirits, she was sure.
She looked into your eyes, leaning slightly toward you, and for a moment she glanced at your lips, and then blinked, clearing her throat. âWe should probably head back, right? You have to go to the office later,â she remembered. Even on the nights you joined them for dinner you never stayed long, always needing to go back to the city to keep working on the Equalist case.
Sheâd wait a bit longer, just for the moment that feels right.
~X~ Y/N ~X~
The whole probending arena roared in cheers as the first match of the singe elimination part of the tournament began, and you were in the team booth, leaning on the fence with Asami next to you. Pabu was on her shoulder, chirping happily as she gave him a treat.
âYou look nervous,â you pointed out, looking at her with a friendly grin on your face.
Asami chuckled. âI am a bit nervous. I mean, Iâve seen them training, I know theyâve got this, but still, I just want things to go well for them,â she admitted, smiling softly as she looked at the Fire Ferrets.
âI get that,â you agreed, turning your attention fully to the team as the platform they were on moved toward the arena. You saw Bolin waving at the crowd, soaking up all the attention.
âIntroducing our first team, the Future Industries Fire Ferrets!â as those words echoed throughout the arena Korra and Mako raised their hands as well and you could have sworn Korra was looking at you.
You smiled, raising your fist in encouragement. You didnât yell; she wouldnât be able to hear you even if you yelled as loudly as you could. You couldnât even clearly see her face from this distance, especially with her helmet on, but knowing her, she was grinning.
âAdmit it, youâre only here to watch her,â Asami teased you, and you choked on your spit. Yeah, you werenât dignifying that with an answer, which was already enough for Asami to laugh next to you.
You focused only on the match, ignoring the noise around you, including the commentator. You just relaxed, watching as the match began, and Korra, Mako and Bolin quickly proved there really was nothing to worry about.
They were undeniably incredible, working flawlessly together, in a way you didnât usually see even from seasoned police teams. You whistled as Korra did a side cartwheel, dodging the opposing teamâs attack and countering almost immediately. Before long the other team was pushed to zone two as the Fire Ferrets moved like one.
âDamn, theyâve gotten really good,â you whistled, only to notice from the corner of your eyes that Asamiâs eyes widened. âUh, sorry?â you said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head. âI kinda curse,â you chuckled awkwardly.
âKinda?â Asami asked as she got over the initial surprise. âI expected worse, honestly. Given what Korra said at one point,â she said, smirking a bit.
You smirked back. âOh, Iâm way worse than that,â you promised and turned your attention back to the match as the first round ended.
The second round began and the other team focused their efforts on Bolin, figuring he was the weakest link. Which probably was the truth, but that being said, his teammates were the Avatar and an insanely talented firebender, even if he was the weakest link, it was just because someone had to be the weakest link, not because he was inherently weak.
Either way, Korra jumped to his defenses, blocking and countering in one smooth motion, pushing one of the girls they were fighting against to zone two.
She was getting ridiculously fast as well, with every spar you two had it was getting more and more difficult to catch her slipping or not paying attention to her surroundings. After that one time she tripped on your sword you had to work a lot more to catch her off guard.
And you couldnât be more pleased with her because of that.
The Fire Ferrets easily won the second round as well, and there was no doubt how the match would end.
The other team would need a miracle, and they just wouldnât get one. And sure enough, the third round went by without a hitch, and the Fire Ferrets won their first match in the elimination stage.
~X~ KORRA ~X~
The adrenaline coursed through her veins as she took her helmet off, grinning widely at Mako and Bolin as they all went back to the team booth. âWe keep playing like this, and weâve got this tournament in the bag,â Bolin cheered and frankly, Korra couldnât agree more.
âTake it easy, weâve still got a long way to go,â Mako pointed out and Korra patted him on the back, a bit more forcefully than needed.
âCome on city boy, let us have this,â she teased him as the three of them reached the booth and Bolin stayed behind, thanking the crowd.
âCongratulations, guys! You were so amazing out there!â Asami exclaimed as Pabu jumped off her shoulder and ran to Bolin. Meanwhile Asami went to Mako, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek.
Korra looked at them, smiling slightly and then saw you, leaning against the wall and grinning at her before pushing off the wall and approaching her. âOne down, three to go,â you grinned, making it very clear you believed theyâd win this whole thing.
âYou can say that again,â she said confidently with her hands on her hips, proudly lifting her chin up high before you both burst out laughing. âThanks for coming tonight,â she said, glancing up to the glass roof and seeing the stars above.
âDonât mention it,â you said and for a moment Korraâs heart began beating louder. Maybe now was the right time? âSay, do you want to grab breakfast maybe one of these days, maybe two or three days from now? After Iâm done with my shift?â you asked, cutting her off before she could blurt out how she felt. âI mean, we use to do it all the time and now Iâm always away, so you know, change the pace a bit,â you explained, yet all Korra could focus on was the invitation.
Blood rushed to her face and Korra quickly nodded. âIâd like that, a lot,â she said, figuring she could wait a bit more with the confession. You had work tonight, she didnât want to distract you in case anything happened.
The two of you went to the lockers and Korra put her helmet away as Bolin joined you, opening his own locker.
âSo, Korra, I was thinking,â he began, leaning sideways on his locker. âYou and me, we could go get some dinner together,â he invited her and Korra grinned, happy to hang out. âSort of a date situation,â her grin vanished immediately as she realized now what Bolin meant.
She gave Bolin an apologetic smile and the moment he saw it, his own excitement faded ever so slightly. âIâm really sorry, Bolin. Iâd love to hang out as friends though,â she tried to be as gentle as she possibly could, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
The smile on his face fell and he glanced behind her, at you, making Korraâs heart skip a beat. Spirits, was she that obvious? But then Bolinâs grin came back, not as wide as the one she was used to seeing on his face, but it was there, and for a moment Korra believed he took it as well as he could.
âI get it, but whoever you do date better be incredible,â he said, making Korra smile. He spread his arms. âIâm serious!â he pointed at her. âYouâre the most incredible girl in the world, so you got to have standards!â
Korra chuckled, shaking her head slightly.
âSmart guy. Best romance advice you could have gotten,â you commented from the side and Korra glanced at you, smiling, missing the way Bolinâs grin got even smaller.
~X~ Y/N ~X~
It was way too hot for this time of the year. You tugged at your collar as you sat on the bench in front of a bakery, looking at the clear skies. Some lizard crows landed on the nearby wire, looking around for any pastries people might have dropped. Or anything they could eat, really.
You yawned, stretching a bit where you sat as the city kept on moving. No matter what happened, normal lives went on, working, studying, worrying about their own problems and keeping their opinions on the Equalist movement mostly to themselves.
âHey, officer. Sleeping on duty?â Korra approached you from behind, leaning over you with a teasing grin. Itâs been a few days since her first match and you finally had an office-only night at the station, without going to any place that made you feel like you had to wash the scent off and still keep your distance from Korra and your half-siblings.
âOn duty while sleeping,â you mumbled sleepily with a lazy grin on your face, reaching up to loosely twirl a strand of her hair around your finger. For a moment her eyes widened, and you pulled back, sitting up straight. âSorry, that was inappropriate,â you immediately apologized.
Korra looked at you and then just began laughing. She reached over, messing with your hair in return and then grabbed your forearm. âCome on, Iâm starving,â she grinned, pulling you along to the bakery.
You let her pull you, smiling as you fixed your hair and followed her. She took the table closest to the doors, grinning excitedly. âSo, the practice went well?â you asked as the waiter came over taking your orders. You both ordered the same thing, a large pie youâd split and sweet iced tea.
Korraâs entire face lit up as she began telling you about the practice. âIt went great! Weâre getting better with every practice! You should have seen Asamiâs face when we did this combination,â she exclaimed, animatedly telling you about this new tactic the team came up with. âYouâll love it when you see it in the next match, we dodge and counter and block and itâs really fast,â she even took the salt and pepper and oil, moving them around on the table.
And you just found yourself leaning your chin on your palm, looking at her without even realizing how softly you were smiling. When the food was brought over you barely glanced at the receipt and paid, not daring to take your attention off Korra.
You couldnât wait to see the combination that got her so excited.
~X~ Y/N ~X~
Your job had other plans.
You were walking toward the arena, well-rested for once after a long rest at your apartment. It was still a bit early, most of the audience would come in about half an hour, but you figured you could drop by and see how Korra was doing before the match.
Clearly you werenât meant to plan any fun activities, as standard police motorcycle stopped right next to you. You sighed as Asuka lifted her vizor and offered you a helmet. âHop on, thereâs trouble,â she said, and in an instant the annoyance vanished, and you got on the motorcycle behind her.
âWhatâs going on?â you asked as she sped away from the arena.
âWeâve got a tip, Triple Threats and Agni Kais teamed up; they are going to attack one of Equalist training facilities. The one Tarrlokâs Task Force exposed,â your blood ran cold as she said that.
âWhat about Byako?â you demanded as she cut between buildings to reach the HQ faster.
âNo information,â she replied grimly, the tires screeching to a stop at a red light and forcing you to hold onto her a bit tighter. âAll I know is that we got to stop this from turning into a bloodbath,â she stepped on the gas the moment the lights turned green.
She drove up to the station, and you saw Dan and a few other officers getting a truck ready. âFinally!â Dan yelled, throwing your wooden swords toward you as you got off Asukaâs motorcycle.
You caught the blades and rolled your eyes. âDonât throw them,â you complained, hopping into the back of the truck.
âDo we have any new information?â Asuka asked as she sat down next to you.
âNegative,â Dan said as the engine roared to life and the truck sped off toward the Equalist hideout. âLeave it to Tarrlok to give us a mess to clean,â he scoffed, echoing the sentiment of some of the other officers in the back of the truck.
âCouldnât they at least leave the location out? It was like they were asking for triads to try and get revenge,â another officer you vaguely recognized pointed out.
Asuka sighed. âMaybe that was the whole point. Things are already tense, triads attacking them will only fuel their resistance,â she hunched forward a bit, a few strands of graying hair falling over her face. âDonât focus on arresting anyone, our main priority is preventing any casualties.â
âYes, captain,â you all replied as one.
~X~ KORRA ~X~
She couldnât get rid of a sinking feeling in her guts that she was at the wrong place, that she should be somewhere else, doing something else. The more she sat there the more the pit in her stomach grew, unsettling her, like every fiber of her being demanded to leave the arena.
Korra, dressed in her uniform, glanced at the doors, expecting you to come in any moment now. The match would start in a few minutes, maybe even sooner if the current match ended in a knockout.
Not to mention things were a bit tenser than usual, with Bolin being a bit quiet. Heâs been like that since she rejected him, making her realized that, despite his initial reaction, he didnât take it as well as she thought he did.
Things were good while they were practicing, they were in sync, but the moment the practice ended there was a feeling she couldnât shake off. And that made Mako more tense than usual as well.
âMaybe something came up?â Asami, who was standing with Mako by the lockers, offered.
Korra looked up, really hating how sympathetic Asami looked. It wasnât even about the combination she wanted to show you, though she did want you to see it. Asami was right. Something must have happened if you werenât here. âMaybe,â she agreed, putting her helmet on as they were called to the arena.
âStay focused,â Mako reminded her and she felt her eye twitch at that. âI mean, she can take care of herself, besides, itâs probably paperwork or something,â he raised his hands defensively.
Sure. Paperwork. âIâm focused,â she argued, glancing toward the team booth one last time, hoping youâd rush in at the last second. You didnât, so, Korra took a deep breath and focused on the match.
A/N: So, this chapter was supposed to get through the entirety of episode 5, but as you can see, itâs already getting long, so I figured this is a good spot to end it. Comments make me very motivated to keep writing. Tell me anything. Predictions, thoughts, how do you like Korra and Y/Nâs relationship progressing, anything that comes to mind.
Taglist: @hellenheaven @martyyy7 @opulentnet @comets-tail2 @dragonfliesareworthdimes @liifeunwritten @wespirallin @seegull-111 @lovemoneybtw @notausername1 @kaeyaszlut @noisylilmonster @sturnrngs @theendlessvoidofdarkest @randomgirl-scrollinghere @lvotwe @thatoneloserdyke @miralice15 @traacy-lin @zakispacecadet88 @millyloves2read @rubyyworld @ira-16 @thexpastelxpoet @tigerlillyruiz @ferziah @nebthetautora @fvckingeetar @elliesgirl222 @ceridwyn3 @yuubyshin
WIP Wednesday Last Sentence You Wrote
Make a new post with the last sentence* you wrote on your current WIP*Â (and tag some friends if you want)
âAre you competing in my brotherâs tournament today?â
From How Far a Son Will Go, Chapter 3
Shadow (23) - Comatose
Jackie Taylor x Female Reader
Summary: You thought you knew your limits, that you knew when to stop. You firmly believed you could stop at any moment, that it was all your choice, but some things don't go that way. Sometimes the things you think are under your control are actually controlling you.
Story Masterlist / Part 22
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Before you proceed with this chapter, this one is a lot, right away, serious medical condition, extremely heavy angst, and suicide. So, proceed with caution.
-I don't wanna sleep, I don't wanna dream, 'cause my dreams don't comfort me the way you make me feel; wakin' up to you never felt so real-
~X~ NATALIE ~X~ January 3rd, 1997 ~X~
Natalie bit her lip as she sat by your side. You pushed yourself too hard today and now you were slipping in and out of consciousness yet again. There was something frantic about the way you acted all day, well, more frantic than usual anyway. Like you wanted to make up for the few days you were recovering. âReckless idiot,â she cursed under her breath as Jackie placed a new wet cloth on your forehead.
Yet your fever only got worse as hours passed.
The wind whistled harshly outside the cabin, and she dared to glance outside, wondering how much longer the blizzard that started a few hours ago would last. The cabin was cold, the fire doing very little to combat the cold seeping through the wooden walls.
Someoneâs stomach growled, maybe her own, maybe Jackieâs, maybe someone elseâs. It hardly mattered at this point. There was no food left, and in this blizzard, they couldnât even go out to look for anything. The net was repaired, but ultimately uselessly tucked in the corner of an already small cabin.
You coughed again, in a way that made her blood run cold, but before she could react Jackie moved behind you, lifting you up a bit to ease your breathing, if only for a short while.
âIs there really nothing we can do?â Akilah walked over and sat down near you, and Natalie just looked at Misty, who shook her head for what felt like the thousandth time. Without medicine there was nothing that could be done. They didnât even have any medicinal herbs, let alone antibiotics.
âSheâll pull through,â Jackie refused to accept that it was only a matter of time at this point, stubbornly clinging to you like her presence alone could fix whatever was killing you from the inside. It made Natalie clench her fists.
How Natalie wished she could be as optimistic; or at least hope. As it was, as she sat there, her shoulders slumped and entire body tense, her eyes only dry because she had no tears left to cry, all she felt was hopeless emptiness, mourning you ahead of time.
Before anyone could say anything, you began coughing again, harsh, wet coughs sounding like they were ripping through your throat, shook your entire body. âY/N!â Natalie reached for you, moving to kneel by your side as your body curled up and you clawed at your throat, choking between coughs.
âBaby, come on, come on,â Jackie of all people moved, Akilah jumping to help her as they made you sit up and held you like that as you coughed into your hands. Aside from your coughing no one made a sound, though everyone moved closer, terrified of what would happen to you, but also afraid to get any closer, fearing theyâd overwhelm you if too many people were too close.
You eventually slumped back into Jackieâs arms, still occasionally coughing while you looked around, your eyes unfocused. But the worst passed for now. Or so Natalie thought, until she saw a thin trail of red starting from your lips. âWhat the fuck, Y/N?â she gasped, fresh, angry tears she thought she ran out of making her eyes burn.
âWhat?â Jackie asked breathlessly, a choked sound escaping past her lips. She probably followed Natalieâs line of sight and saw blood. âY/N?â she whispered your name in a shaky, terrified voice as her trembling fingers brushed over the red line, smudging it.
âIâll be fine,â you lied, wincing at how weak your voice was. Natalie was just few feet away from you, and even she barely heard you. âIâll be-â you tried to speak louder and immediately coughed. You tilted your head back, breathing heavily.
Every breath you took sounded like you ran a marathon.
âYou wonât be,â Misty disagreed and Natalie wasnât even sure when she approached you, but she knelt by you and Jackie, Akilah stepping to the side to give her space. The girl looked at you and shook her head. âYouâve got pneumonia,â she said, making Natalie feel like the entire cabin was spinning and threatening to collapse.
âOh,â you muttered, like you werenât even so surprised.
You werenât surprised and Natalie just sat back, her entire body feeling numb and weightless. They had no means to treat a cold, and you had fucking pneumonia, out here in the middle of nowhere. She looked at you, struggling to process Mistyâs diagnosis. It was like your body suddenly morphed in the past few days, growing thinner and more frail, stripping you of your strength.
âYouâre wrong. Why would you say that?!â Jackie rejected it furiously, trembling behind you as she glared at Misty. Misty stepped back, looking away to avoid Jackieâs fury. Jackie, however, focused on you, wetting a clean cloth to wipe your face and hands.
âI donât think she is, Captain,â you muttered, somehow sounding softer when you were talking to Jackie even in this situation. And Jackie shut her eyes, trying not to cry and failing as tears slid down her cheeks and dripped onto your shoulder.
Natalie clenched her fists, her nails mercilessly digging into her palms. âDid you know today?â Natalie asked, her voice trembling as she looked at you, heartbroken, furious, not even sure what she felt at this point.
And you, damn you for that, nodded, reaching up to place your hand over Jackieâs, your thumb slowly brushing over the back of Jackieâs hand. âNot what it was, just that Iâm coughing up blood,â you rasped, struggling to get even those few words out.
Jackie inhaled sharply, and from the corner of her eyes Natalie noticed some of the other girls reacting as well, either gasping in shock or slumping back in despair. What the fuck were any of them supposed to do now?
She looked at you again, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your eyes remained unfocused, empty, like you fucking gave up. For the first time since Natalie met you it truly looked like you were done, too tired to even try and fight this. âFuck!â she cried out, getting up and walking away from you, heading straight to the pantry so she wouldnât have to look at you.
âNat!â Travis rushed in after her and she turned to look at him, shaking her head and just falling into his arms, her body trembling as she her heart being ripped out of her. âIâm here,â he whispered, kissing the top of her head, by accident doing something you would do from time to time, nearly shattering what little remained of her.
~X~ JACKIE ~X~
The blizzard still continued, and the snow had already reached the windows when she last checked. Jackie didnât even know how high it got since then, or how many hours passed. She was the only one awake from the looks of it, terrified to fall asleep. She sat against the wall; a single blanket covered her back as she held you against her chest.
You couldnât lie down anymore, choking almost immediately, so, this was the only option.
She couldnât even tell if you were sleeping or unconscious at this point. âIf I could save time in a bottle the first thing that I'd like to do-â she tried to sing softly and choked up, a quiet sob coming out instead of words as she hugged you tighter.
âIs to save every day,â you tried and coughed for your efforts. âSorry,â you mumbled, making Jackie sniffle helplessly.
She reached over, taking a mug filled with water that Mari brought when she tossed more wood into the fireplace. âShh, just drink,â Jackie whispered, bringing the mug to your lips and slowly tipping it as you took a few sips.
Your entire body shuddered suddenly and Jackie glanced at the fire, slowly dying out and slowly began untangling from you. âPlease donât,â you rasped, holding her wrist just a bit firmer. âJust stay with me,â you whispered and turned your head a bit so your ear was pressed against her chest, where her heart was.
âOkay,â Jackie whispered, clinging to you and running her fingers through your hair.
âAnd just when we,â you whispered, sounding so weak and defeated broke something in Jackie yet again. There was no need to finish that sentence, not with the way you clung to her like a terrified child. âI donât want to die like this,â you sobbed.
Jackie froze, your sobs and coughs breaking them apart fading as she stared into the distance. âYouâre going to get better,â she argued, stubbornly, even as the reality crashed into both of you.
âIâm not,â you shook your head, and your hand, already barely gripping her own, fell, all your strength long gone at this point. âI donât want to leave you here,â you whimpered.
Fresh tears spilled from Jackieâs eyes as she reached behind and unclasped her necklace. âYou wonât,â she refused it, just like she refused to leave you in the snow, now she refused to give up on you as she put her heart necklace around your neck. You didnât react, exhaustion taking over and making you fall asleep again. âI love you,â she whispered, hoping that somehow you could hear her.
~X~ JACKIE ~X~ January 4th, 1997 ~X~
Jackie gasped, waking up with a startle and was met with the cabin illuminated by nothing but the fire from the fireplace, no one even dared to light the lamp, they were running out of oil or whatever the lamps were using. She wasnât sure when she fell asleep, but you werenât coughing, so she didnât wake up sooner.
She looked at you, seeing you were sleeping, your breathing slow and steady. If you didnât have fever she probably could have convinced herself that you were just sleeping, perfectly fine. âSheâs not coughing. Thatâs a good sign, right?â she asked, noticing Misty nearby.
Misty eyed you as Nat brought heated water bottles to replace the ones under your blanket. âShe usually reacts when we do that,â Misty pointed out and sure enough, instead of stirring like you did over the past couple of days, you didnât react in any way. Not even frowning.
You were just sleeping, you were recovering, you were just too exhausted to react this time. That was all.
âY/N?â Nat called your name and shook you gently. You didnât react.
You didnât react!
Jackieâs heart hammered against her chest and she held her breath, focusing only on the sound of your breathing. You were breathing, you were in her arms, you were fine. Right? So why werenât you reacting? Why werenât you waking up?!
âWake up,â she whispered, pulling you closer and shaking you a bit. Yet nothing happened. âMisty!â she cried out at the same time as Nat and Misty flinched but rushed to your side.
âLet me,â Misty said, and Nat immediately stepped to the side, giving her space. Mistyâs hands trembled as she splashed your face with water, yet nothing happened.
âMisty, whatâs wrong with her?â Taissa approached slowly, with some of the other girls with her.
âSheâs breathing, why isnât she waking up?â Van asked, sounding distraught.
Misty visibly swallowed the lump in her throat and opened your eyes only to them scramble back, falling onto the floor and looking at you with wide, terrified eyes. Crystal rushed to her side, placing her hands on Mistyâs shoulders to comfort her.
âMisty, say something!â Nat demanded and Misty closed her eyes, turning her head away.
âI, I canât be sure, but I think she might be in a coma,â she whispered, yet it was loud enough that everyone heard her.
The whole cabin began spinning in front of Jackieâs eyes and her breathing grew erratic. Coma? From the corner of her eyes, she saw Nat leaning against the wall and sliding down to the floor, looking at the floor and shaking.
âSo, so sheâs just going to die?â Jackie didnât even recognize the voices anymore, she just stared at you.
âLottie did say she was claimed by the water!â
âNot like this!â
âShe might still wake up!â
âIf she doesnât die of thirst, maybe.â
âWhat do we do? Just pour water down her throat?â
âA comatose patient canât swallow, sheâll just breathe it in! All we can do is keep her mouth damp so it doesnât get too dry.â
She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and jerked her head up, staring wide-eyed at Lottie, kneeling by her side. âBreathe, focus on me, Jackie,â Lottie said firmly, gently squeezing her shoulder. âWhat would Y/N tell you now?â she asked, trying to ground Jackie through you.
For a moment, the time she had a panic attack crossed her mind. Pink horse, your arms around her, your voice.
Jackie swallowed, despite how dry her throat felt. âPink horse, I shouldnât think about a pink horse,â so, naturally, she thought about a pink horse. And then she looked down at Lottieâs hand, and in an instant seething rage overwhelmed her. âIsnât this what you wanted?â she accused through gritted teeth.
Lottie looked down, pulling back her hand, for a moment Jackie could have sword she saw guilt in her eyes. âNot like this. Not this,â she hesitated, âtorture,â the word echoed through the cabin, even if Lottie said it softly, her voice filled with regret.
For a moment it looked like the old Lottie was back, the one who didnât claim people were claimed by the water, the one who didnât know things she shouldnât know. Their Lottie would never want this to happen to anyone, let alone a teammate.
âIt doesnât matter what she wanted, this isnât her fault,â Nat said and suddenly she was on her feet, glaring at someone in the back of the group. Jackie followed Natâs line of sight and saw exactly who Nat was glaring at.
Shauna.
~X~ NATALIE ~X~
One moment she was sitting on the floor, the next she was on her feet, marching toward the doors. No one stopped her, no one was thinking clearly enough to stop her, and before they could figure out what she was doing, she grabbed the rifle, checked to see if the bullet was inside and in one swift motion turned around and raised the rifle, pointing it at Shauna.
She heard gasps, heard her name being yelled, and she couldnât care less. Only one thing mattered now.
Shauna froze, her eyes widening in fear as she stared at the rifle. âGood, feel a fraction of what she felt,â Natalie thought, her hands shaking as she stood there, breathing heavily. She should have done this days ago. Fuck your stupid decision to spare Shauna. She didnât deserve it. Shauna took you from her.
âNat, lower the rifle,â Taissa said softly, taking a slow step closer.
âNot a single step! Stay the fuck out of this!â Natalie yelled, nearly pointing the rifle at Taissa as well.
Hot tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. It didnât matter; Shauna was too close to miss her.
Shaunaâs hand automatically went to her stomach. âI didnât mean,â Shauna whispered, fear making her voice tremble.
âI donât care,â Natalie snarled, steadying the rifle as much as she could. It didnât matter what Shauna meant, you were never going to wake up again. âYou took my best friend from me,â she narrowed her eyes, trying to calm her heart down.
âPull the fucking trigger!â her heart demanded, yet her finger refused to squeeze it, to fire the shot. Once again she felt like that scared girl in that trailer, threatening to shoot her father. Nothing changed, even after shooting so many animals the thought of pulling the trigger here and now made her freeze in place.
âNat,â Benâs voice made her breath hitch as he stood up, stepping closer to her. âThis isnât what Y/N wants,â he said, using his crutches to reach her. Wants⊠Not wanted. Like you had any fucking chance of waking up now. Like there was any other way this would end.
Youâd need a miracle, and sheâs long since stopped believing in those.
Even if she did, you had to run out of luck eventually.
âIt doesnât matter what she wanted,â Natalie snapped, and it felt almost like something was telling her to do it, like the wind whistling outside the cabin was encouraging her, promising to swallow the sound of the gunshot. âLook! Look where wanting got her! None of this would have happened if she wasnât in love with Jackie!â she yelled, seeing red as her blood boiled.
She heard Jackie gasping. And yet, instead of feeling guilty, a part of her felt pleased. âYou heard me, Captain,â she spat the nickname out like it was poison that ate you alive. âShauna pushed her, but donât go sitting there like you didnât cause this! You just had to cause drama because Shauna fucked Jeff!â
âNatalie, stop it,â Ben tried gently, placing his hand on her back. âThis isnât helping anyone,â no, it was helping her. It was about time she let it all out instead of letting them get away with this!
âWhy? So they feel better? If you both wanted Jeff so badly, why did Y/N die for your fight?! Why, Jackie?!â she demanded while still pointing the rifle at Shauna, yet with each cry the rifle lowered, bit by bit, exhaustion and grief catching up with her.
âJesus Christ,â one of the girls gasped, shocked and probably distraught.
âI,â Jackie whimpered and for the first time since she grabbed the rifle, Natalie looked at Jackie, seeing the crestfallen look on the girlâs face. She didnât have the answer, of course. How could she? What could she possibly say to convince anyone that this wasnât her fault.
âYou donât deserve her. All youâve ever caused her was pain and now sheâs gone,â her arms slumped, the rifle slipping through her fingers. It would have landed on the floor if Ben didnât manage to catch it.
âI know,â Jackie whispered, all of her confidence, all of her entitlement gone from her voice.
âGood. Stay the fuck away from her then,â Natalie spat out, yet Jackie didnât move, she still held on to you, like you were hers to hold. âGet away from Y/N, Jackie!â she shouted, turning completely to Jackie, anger morphing her face as she took a step closer, only for Travis to grab her by the waist before she could physically remove her from Y/N.
âNat, please stop,â Travis pleaded as she struggled to get out of his hold.
âI told you! I kept begging you to stop being selfish, and you still kept choosing yourself, knowing Y/N would choose you every fucking time! This is as much on you as it is on Shauna! Even more!â she yelled at the top of her lungs, looking at your lifeless body, at the slow, barely visible rising of your chest acting as the only proof of life.
âI know! But Iâm not leaving her! Iâm not giving up on her,â Jackie argued back through tears, yet it only fueled Natalieâs rage. âYell at me all you want, Iâm not leaving her side,â she sobbed, dropping her forehead to your shoulder.
âFuck you, Jackie,â Natalie snarled, finally breaking free from Travis and heading to the attic so she wouldnât completely lose it.
~X~ JACKIE ~X~
âItâs all my fault.â
Jackie kept her eyes closed, focusing on the sound of your breathing. Weak and slow, but still there. She felt you breathing, but the rest of you was painfully still.
âItâs all my fault.â
There was nothing she could tell Natalie. Or anyone, really. She caused this, unintentionally, but she did. If she never wished for more, if she never acted on how comfortable and safe you made her feel, none of this would have happened. Maybe everything really was her fault.
Maybe what she felt for you, deep down, pushed Jeff to cheat on her. If she paid more attention to Shauna, if she was a better friend, if she didnât keep that photo from her birthday framed in her room, giving one excuse or another for why the photo with you was framed and out in the open⊠maybe then none of this would have happened to you.
âItâs all my fault.â
For a moment she thought your breathing changed, but it was just her mind and hunger playing tricks on her.
Her whole life was built around roles that were meant for her, so how could she be so stupid to think that she could separate from those without any consequences.
Footsteps caught her attention and she looked up, half-expecting someone to pull you away from her, to agree with Natalie and take matters into their own hands.
A part of Jackie doubted sheâd fight back if they did. She wasnât going to give up on you, ever, as long as you were breathing. Yet she couldnât shake off that horrible feeling that she had no right to hold you.
Yet, when she looked up, she saw Javi, standing by your feet. The boy hadnât spoken since Doomcoming, so Jackie really had no idea what to expect.
Nothing could have prepared her for Javi taking the goggles you gave him off and leaning forward to give them to her. âHere,â he whispered, his voice hoarse from not talking for so long, and she heard Travis and Natalie gasping when they heard his voice.
âThanks,â Jackie nodded, too consumed by guilt and grief to feel any relief over Javi talking again. Even if it was only one word, but she did notice Travis looking relieved. âGood for him,â she thought, both genuinely and bitterly, the two contradicting emotions clashing in the same reaction. She put the goggles around your neck, covering the heart necklace from view.
The same thought still lingered, loud and unavoidable and breaking her into countless pieces, never to be put together again if she lost you like this. âItâs all my fault.â
~X~ SHAUNA ~X~ January 5th, 1997 ~X~
She was at the lake again, on that damn ice. âDonât do it!â she cried out, yet her body moved anyway, pushing you no matter how hard Shauna struggled to change the outcome, at least in the dream.
And then you looked at her, that same terrified expression once again flashing across your face.
Shauna woke up with a gasp, sitting up and clinging to her stomach, to the baby in her, the one thing that seemed to give her protection of any kind right now.
She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling cold even though the blizzard was over. It hardly mattered, the cold lingered like the weight of the guilt she kept carrying.
She looked around, making sure everyone was asleep, even Jackie and Natalie. Especially Jackie. Shauna looked at you and Jackie, looking almost like you were merged together, that was how hard Jackie was clinging to you. She bit her lip, staring at the wet stains on Jackieâs cheeks.
Shauna doubted Jackie ever cried as much as sheâs been crying since that day at the lake. And it made something vile and jealous squeeze Shaunaâs heart yet again, that ugly feeling threatening to resurface.
Slowly, quietly, Shauna approached your still form. It looked so wrong, seeing you of all people completely still. You were always moving, always making it everyone elseâs problem that you refused to rest properly. And now you were motionless, the shallow breathing serving as the only proof of life.
Damn, you were stubborn. For the first time since she met you, Shauna was grateful for that, because she wasnât sure how to survive if you didnât.
Fuck, she didnât want your blood on her hands. And to think that one reckless, fury-driven moment might actually cause that. It was ridiculous and unfair. You survived everything, the Doomcoming, nearly drowning, the crash, so why did she have to be the one who you couldnât survive?
Shauna hugged herself as she stared at you, noticing Jackieâs necklace around your neck, visible behind the glass of your goggles. And the more she looked at you, the more afraid she was. âIâm so sorry, please, just wake up,â she whispered, pleaded, begged, afraid of what would happen if you stopped breathing.
Sheâs had no peace since that day, even when she tried to ignore the guilt, even when she tried to excuse herself, at random moments the terror etched on your face would flash in front of Shaunaâs eyes.
Maybe she could have ignored it if it was anyone else, but she looked at Jackie and her heart shattered. She wanted you out of Jackieâs life, but not like this. God, not like this.
âPlease, just come back to her,â she whispered, and feeling like she was stepping too close to something she wasnât allowed to be near, she went back to the corner of the cabin, settling down next to Melissa once more.
~X~ JACKIE ~X~
âPlease, just come back to her,â she could have sworn she heard Shauna saying those words to you last night while she was asleep. Or rather drifting between half-conscious and restless sleep.
But that couldnât be true.
That sounded too much like the Shauna she knew, too much like her Shauna and not whoever this new Shauna was. Not the wilderness Shauna. No, this new Shauna existed before that, and was the one who chose to sleep with Jeff, the one who would lie to Jackieâs face.
Or maybe Jackie was just lying to herself, trying to protect what little she could of those memories that were once precious to her. It barely worked.
She tried to move a bit, to make sure you were more comfortable, but she barely had the strength to move a bit further back against the wall. Her stomach didnât even growl anymore. âJackie, you have to drink,â Taissa came up to her with a mug filled with warm water.
She nodded, accepting just so she wouldnât collapse as well. She took a few sips of water, hating that she could drink while you couldnât. How much longer would your body be able to hold on without water? A day? Two? This was already the second day.
Van slowly approached as well, bringing the cleanest cloth and mug they had available. âHere, Akilah did everything she could to get it as clean as possible,â she muttered, struggling to look at you.
âThanks, both of you,â Jackie said softly, dampening the cloth and twisting her body a bit so she could dab your lips with the damp cloth. Gently she tilted your head back and opened your mouth, careful not to hurt you as she followed Mistyâs instructions. When she was done, she hugged you, clinging to you so she wouldnât fall apart.
You still didnât react, not even a bit, but you kept breathing.
A cracking sound made her flinch. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and began frantically looking around. âWhat was that?!â Melissa cried out, stepping closer to Shauna.
âMaybe a bird hit the cabin?â Mari guessed, though judging by the crack in her voice she didnât quite believe that. And then there was another crack, louder, like wood was splitting open.
âItâs the snow! Itâs too heavy!â Misty realized before anyone else could voice it, just as another crack made everyone jump.
Jackieâs heart hammered in her chest as she looked at you. Natalie rushed to your side, not even caring that Jackie was there. âWe got to get out! Help me move Y/N!â she yelled, but no one moved.
âHow are we going to get out?! All the doors and windows are blocked by snow!â Taissa yelled back, looking around in panic.
âLottie! Whatâs going on? Is the Wilderness angry with us?â Van questioned, turning to Lottie who remained eerily calm despite the cracking continuing.
âIt chooses,â Lottie said, like she was fine with whatever would happen.
âWell, what did It choose?!â Mari demanded.
âDoes it even matter? Weâre not making it out of here,â Britt spoke up for the first time, at least that Jackie was aware of, in two, maybe three days. The girl had been sitting in the corner, almost as unresponsive as you, only she was conscious.
âDonât talk like that!â Robin berated her through tears.
âPlease, not like this. God, please,â Akilah curled up on the floor, and Jackie finally noticed just how many people tried to be as small as physically possible, covering their heads while the cabin kept cracking under the weight of the snow.
Jackie looked at you again and pulled you closer, protecting your head with her body no matter how ridiculous and futile that would be if the roof fell on them.
The loudest crack yet resounded through the cabin and then there was a loud crash and the doors to the small bedroom snapped open, flying off the hinges as snow spilled into the cabin. Travis moved just in time, shielding Javi and taking the hit in the back.
Several girls screamed, some collapsed, others watched the ceiling like they waited for it too to collapse. But all they heard was snow sliding down from the bent roof.
Jackie felt lightheaded, her world spinning yet again, the dull buzzing in her ears temporarily became the only sound she was aware of.
Seconds felt like hours, yet they didnât hear any new cracks, they only felt the cold, the merciless wind weakening the fire. But nothing collapsed on top of them.
âIs,â Shauna spoke up first. âIs it over?â she asked after excruciatingly long minute.
Lottie nodded, and just like that most of the girls turned to her, looking for a steady, calming presence. And Lottie gave it to them, either she was completely detached, or she felt like things would be fine, either way, on the surface those two things looked exactly the same to everyone else.
âTravis, are you okay?â Natalie rushed to Travisâ side, lifting his shirt and checking the spot where he was hit. âDoes this hurt?â she asked, touching his lower back.
Travis winced a bit. âItâs just going to bruise, I think,â he said, reaching back to touch his aching back.
âThanks,â Javi whispered, hugging him and immediately it looked like Travisâ pain vanished.
âAs long as youâre safe,â he said gently, ruffling his brotherâs hair.
Natalie let out a sigh of relief and then turned to the snow that spilled into the cabin. âWe survived that, but we really need to take care of that,â she said, pointing at the snow.
âThereâs no point, though,â Britt muttered even as Gen and Crystal went to get the shovels from the attic.
âUh, guys, bad news,â Gen called out from the top of the ladder. âWe lost the attic.â
The entire cabin went still, in one cruel instance the cabin that never even felt safe to begin with, just got more cramped and more difficult to warm up.
~X~ NATALIE ~X~ January 6th, 1997 ~X~
Her entire body ached, every muscle, every fiber of her being, screamed, begging for rest and any food as she lay on her blanket. Travis was behind her, spooning her, trying to keep her warm after last night. It helped a bit, comforted her, if nothing else. It didnât fix the hunger and exhaustion.
Natalie looked to the side, barely turning her head to look at you. Your chest rose and fell under the blankets, still stubbornly clinging to life.
Travis, Javi and Ben put the door back on the hinges; and nailed it shut just to make sure it wouldnât fall again so easily. Meanwhile, most of them, aside from Shauna, Jackie and, obviously you, began shoveling the snow away from the cabin, terrified of leaving the task until morning. So, regardless of how sluggish their movements were, regardless of how numb they all were, they kept going out in groups of three, two shoveling snow, one holding a lantern.
It took them so long, so damn long to get rid of the snow, at least on the porch. No one dared to step on the roof, fearing it would collapse under their feet. Yet they still slept, aware that staying awake wouldnât change anything.
It was so cold not even the sunlight coming through the window helped. The fire felt useless, hours of shoveling, even split between them, let the cold enter their bodies down to the bones.
Natalie blinked a few times, looking at you. How were you even alive after all that? When she felt like dying might just be the easiest thing to do now. What even was the point anymore? The rescue wasnât going to come. The winter was only getting worse. There was no food, nothing to sustain them.
âWeâre going to die here,â she muttered, barely loud enough for Travis to hear her.
He didnât argue, he just held her a bit tighter.
âBritt? Where are you going?â Robin suddenly asked, she sounded sleepy. Natalie didnât pay attention to it, she didnât pay attention to rummaging through a backpack either. If Britt had the energy to do anything, all the power to her.
âCome back here, itâs cold without you,â Robin whined, and then there was rustling of clothes, then it sounded like a jacket was dropped onto the floor.
âWhatâs she doing?â she heard Van asking as some lighter fabric hit the floor, and Natalie heard someone else reluctantly sitting up.
âBritt! Stop!â Mari tried to get up and instead stumbled forward a bit, catching herself on her hands and knees. âStop!â she cred out, and Natalie finally sat up enough to look behind Travis and see what the fuss was all about.
She did it just in time to see Britt unzipping her jeans and stepping out of them. The path of layers of clothing from your backpack to the doors made Natalieâs blood run cold. âHoly shit, what the fuck are you doing?â she tried to get up, but got dizzy instead.
Britt actually chuckled, and then, chillingly, it turned into full blown laughter. Resigned, empty, laughter as she swayed, reaching the doors, barefooted and wearing nothing but her underwear. âIt wants blood, doesnât it?â she asked.
âDrop the gun!â Taissa cried out, scrambling to get out of the blankets with Van.
Natalieâs heart skipped a beat as she realized Britt was holding the revolver, still loaded with bullets.
Mari and Robin stumbled to their feet, rushing outside after Britt, begging, pleading for her to stop. Natalie got up, leaning most of her weight on Travis as he helped her go after Britt as well.
âTalk to us, please!â Shauna cried out.
âLottie! Do something!â Melissa pleaded, turning to Lottie.
Lottie stumbled through the snow, following Mari and Robin, just as frantic as the others to stop this before it was too late.
But there was no stopping this. âBye,â Britt said, turning to face them, and then she raised the gun.
The gunshot echoed throughout the forest. Brittâs body fell onto the snow, red staining it as Mari and Robin stepped back in horror, feeling the warmth of drops of blood on their skin.
Natalie stood there, trembling in Travisâ arms. She didnât even have it in her to scream. And judging by how the others simply collapsed to their knees or fell back, unable to keep standing, judging by the silence all around them, no one had strength to react in any other way.
In one week this place had broken them more than it did in months. Abruptly, without any warning, turning them into nothing but shells, too hollowed out to even grieve a teammate.
A/N: Well... tell me what you thought about this chapter.Â
Taglist: @gablmk @sassyvindicatorshard @fabraykingmyheart @loveshineslikethesky @morganismspam23 @indigo491 @conamoney-11 @lostboy4951
WIP Wednesday Last Sentence You Wrote
Make a new post with the last sentence* you wrote on your current WIP*Â (and tag some friends if you want)
âWhatâs going to happen to me?â sheriff Mac asked.
From Such is Our Fate, Chapter 229
edit I made for the real ones
[Image ID: Outline of a humanoid head with speech bubble. Inside the head is the text âthis character fascinates me and i think there's merit in discussing how she would regress, what hurdles she'd face, and what kind of catharsis she'd receive in the process.â Inside the speech bubble is âi need to make her cry.â /end ID]
Ok. Just got back from the Odyssey and my fiancee really liked it, but I ended up listing everything I thought it was wrong in it for half an hour after it. And I feel that tomorrow I'll have matured some thoughts and have even more complaints.
You were right tho. Good movie. Not a good adaptation.
Yeah, I wish I could say I got stuck giving my brother a ride home, but it was more like he got stuck in the car with me because I just complained the entire drive. But @uncleasad was the real one who got stuck getting my entire rant last night.
That being said, there were things I did like. There were things I was surprised and happy they included. I just think the things that were left out were pretty major things to leave out.
I think Nolan wanted to tell a more realist war type movie and I just think The Odyssey is the wrong story to adapt for such a thing.
But as a movie it was good! One of my biggest worries casting wise was Tom Holland and he was actually probably one of my favorite parts!
An Ember in the Ashes âą Chapter 3
Pairing âą King Jacaerys x Targtower Reader
Tags âą post-Dance, grief/mourning, arranged marriage/political marriage, enemies to lovers, falling in love, eventual romance, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending
Wordcount âą 3,360
Summary âą Jacaerys is crowned king as his mother perishes from her wounds shortly after retaking the Iron Throne. He makes a match with you, the last daughter of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower, to secure peace and rebuild the Targaryen dynasty.
Series Masterlist
Chapter Three âą We Light the Way
Night frost was still clinging to the windows and hindering the hinges of the doors when the young Lord Lyonel Hightower crossed the gates of the Red Keep atop his horse. He had left the inn on his last rest before reaching the capital early in the morning, and arrived before midday had risen in the sky, although the sun could barely pierce through the thick white clouds.Â
Snow was expected any day now, and he had written to you from the Roseroad to say he hoped his business in the capital would not take too long, so that he might return before the storms came from the Northern lands.
You were waiting for him on the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard when he crossed it in decided strides, his green cape floating behind him with a flourish. Your gazes met as you turned towards the staircase to meet him, and your heart picked up.
Nearly half a year had passed since you had set eyes on himâthe last time you had seen him, he had been no more than a boy clutching the skirts of his step-mother, and now he was a young man at the head of a powerful house with powerful armies.Â
âCousin,â Lyonel greeted as though you both remained unchanged since your parting, and embraced you like a sister.
âIt is good to see you, cousin,â you replied, clutching him tighter for a moment, before releasing him.
As you stepped away, you noticed his eyes were raised to the staircase behind you, and as you turned to follow his line of sight, found Jacaerys standing at the very top of it. He was dressed in different clothes than you had seen on him so far. When he usually wore black these days, save for the lining of his cape, he now wore a crimson cloak draped over one shoulder, the crown of Jaehaerys sitting neatly atop his curls.
âLord Hightower,â he called, making his way down slowly, content to make his guest wait at the bottom of the stairs. Two kingsguards were escorting him, right wrists resting loosely on the pommel of their swords. Lyonel said nothing in return, but you felt him tense beside you.
As Jacaerys came to face the new lord of the Hightower, he was stricken with how youthful of appearance he wasâhe was still very much a boy, barely two years younger than himself and yet appearing more juvenile. He looked very much like a Hightower, with bright red hair and light eyes, and the arrogant attitude that came with his fatherâs reputation.Â
âIt is good of you to answer my call,â Jacaerys added when it became apparent he was not going to receive a formal greeting.
âI admit my surprise when on the way to the capital, we learned that my cousin had been crowned as queen,â Lyonel then said, crossing his arms. âI will be blunt, I am only here to see her.â
âThe war is lost and over, Lyonel, let us keep the peace,â you placated, a hand on his arm, and he relented, following without a word when Jacaerys led him to the Council Room, and took the seat he was pointed to, across from the Handâs chair where you sat.
Jacaerys saw Lyonelâs eyebrows raise when he then spoke, no doubt surprised at the subject he chose to address first. âIt is my understanding that youâve petitioned the High Septon to authorize you to marry your fatherâs widow,â Jacaerys said.
âIndeed,â Lyonel said, frowning.Â
âIt is an unusual request,â he commented, and it was obvious Lyonel wanted to laugh in his face.
âI doubt a Targaryen would find it so strange as to notice it,â he said with an unpleasant sneer, and it took Jacaerys a second to understand there was a second meaning to his answer, which he chose to ignore. It had been his understanding that Lord Ormund had been a pious man, deeply motivated by his faith, and he did not know what to make of such a proclivity in the son.Â
âI was also told it was refused,â Jace continued, and Lyonelâs mood soured visibly.
âWhich is disappointing, as the union has already been consummated,â Lyonel replied, crossing his legs at the knee and leaning back into his chair. âLady Sam is with child.â
Your eyes widened at the news and you swallowed uncomfortably, but Jacaerys remained impassible, his face smooth as marble, his eyes fixed on Lyonel. âI might be able to convince the Septon,â he said calmly, as though none of the situation troubled him.
âAnd if you were not?â Lyonel pressed back.
âI would legitimize any child you would have with her,â he answered without a second thought.
Lyonel seemed to consider the proposal for a while. âLady Sam advised me to come, she thought you might be sympathetic to our cause,â Lyonel admitted. âWhat would you ask of me in return?â
Jacaerys glanced at you then, a silent assent. âWe ask that you disband your banners,â you requested, crossing your hands atop the table. âSome of your garrisons are still stationed along the Roseroad and the Mander, causing tension.â
Lyonel had a strange look in his eyes as he looked upon you, then glanced at Jacaerys suspiciously before he turned his gaze back to you again. âThey have been waiting on my orders, no more,â he defended, uncrossing his legs so he could lean forward.
âWe ask that you send your men home, and make a declaration of peace,â Jacaerys intervened.
Lyonelâs face darkened then, and Jacaerys thought he saw something familiar in the set of his jaw and the line of his browâan authoritarian look he had seen many times on the face of his grandsireâs Hand.
âWhile your husband plays a pleasant tune, and my wife encourages me to fall into rank, I need to know, can I trust his word, my queen?â he asked, and Jace noticed something unspoken passing between the two of you, an understanding stemming from years as children together, raised under the same roof.
You swallowed but nodded. âThe king has not broken any of the promises heâs made me so far.â
Lyonel stood then, sharply, forcing Jacaerys to mirror him. âConsider it done,â he said, but before Jace could reply, laid out his terms. âOn the condition that my cousin is safe and treated properly. Let one thing be clear, Jacaerys, is that House Hightower is not loyal to you, but to our queen. One word from her, and we shall declare against you.â
Jacaerys extended his hand despite the threat. âI expected no less,â he said, gritting his teeth when Lyonel reciprocated, his grip unnecessarily tight on his wrist as they sealed their wordsâfor the time being.
Jeyne Arryn made it to the capital a mere few days following Lord Lyonelâs arrival, and she immediately regretted that Jacaerys received him personally, without waiting for her counsel.
She faced the same slight displeasure from the men of the Small Council, no doubt slighted that none of them were chosen as Hand, and instead would have to take orders from a woman. Jacaerys supposed that endorsing the rightful queen was one thing, but obeying a woman chosen among other candidates was another entirely.
Still, Lady Jeyne took it in stride, and did not wait to be settled in the Handâs Tower to take over the Small Council meetings and surveying what had been done so far. âDo you believe Lord Hightower to be trustworthy?â she inquired at supper the first night, after Jacaerys had recounted the meeting to her.Â
Jacaerys had chosen to host her in one of the dining halls instead of his own quarters, wary of allowing anyone in his quarters these days. He had started to wonder if he might also requisition one of the empty royal bedchambers to move his desk into, loathing the sight of it as he laid in bed, reminded at every second of the sheer scale of the work that awaited him.Â
âNo, but he needs something from me and his wife apparently endorsed my mother,â he replied, to which Jeyne gave a surprised hum, spearing a braised plum on her fork. âFurthermore, he will not go against the queenâs direct order.â
âHis loyalty is with her, then,â Jeyne concluded, then seemed to think on the issue for a moment. Across from her at the table, Cregan Stark was observing her with interest, seemingly pleased in what he was seeing in her. After a while of silent contemplating, she spoke again. âThe Hightowers are vassals of House Tyrell, and while their lord is a babe, I heard the regent Lady Margaery is a sensible woman.âÂ
âDo you mean to order the Tyrells to settle their banners?â Jacaerys inquired.
Cregan set his knife down at the suggestion. âShe was not impressed by dragons in her lands, she refused to declare all throughout the war, I doubt forcing her hand is the way to treat with her.â
Jeyne did not smile nor frown, simply continued to cut into the sweet, caramelized fruit being served with the braised meat. âI shall write to her, woman to woman, and to Lady Sam as well,â she said, her voice as even as always. âWe cannot trust Lord Lyonelâs word alone.â
Jacaerys was slightly reassured by the prospect, but his worries resurfaced when Cregan cleared his throat and addressed him. âYour grace, I could not help but notice that you gave leeway to the queen to socialize with her cousin, unsupervised,â he said carefully, and Jeyne tilted her head at the comment.
âI would not trust the queen to that extent,â she immediately replied.Â
A bright flare of irritation burst behind Jaceâs breastbone, and he pushed his plate aside, his appetite soured. âIt was the councilâs idea that I wed her and now you tell me to be wary of my own wife?â
Cregan frowned at the display of temper, but Jacaerys supposed he was used to it by now. âShe is a Hightower. She was raised by Lord Hobert and then Lord Ormund,â he replied, keeping his voice calm but firm. âLyonel is more of a brother to her than Aegon or Aemond ever were.â
Jacaerys rose from the table then, startling the young page that had been waiting on him with a pitcher of fresh, dark wine ready to be served. âOut,â he snapped to the boy, who obeyed and scurried out, closing the door behind him. Pacing the room under the attentive eyes of his councillors, Jacaerys struggled to keep his temper at bay. âDo you think she would so easily betray me? Why encourage me to take a queen you know you cannot trust?âÂ
Cregan rose as well then, while Jeyne kept to her seat, swirling her cup of wine slowly. At her feet, one of her lanky dogs crossed its paws and huffed as though it could understand the topic being discussed.Â
As he had done many times over, Cregan came to him and soothed his frustrated pacing with a hand to the shoulder, and Jace nearly regretted how disagreeable he had been then. âTrust is to be earned, your grace, and she will earn it by doing her duty,â he explained. âThe sooner she bears you a child, the better.â
Jacaerys looked aside then, removing his hand with a sharp shrug of his shoulder. âI am aware of that,â he said in a tone that suggested no further comment would be tolerated, and Cregan took a step back in subtle deference. âNow if youâll excuse me, Lady Jeyne, I shall see to my brothers,â he said before making his way towards the door, leaving his new Hand and his most trusted sword alone.
Alicent was already dressed for the night when you came to visit her that night, sharing a cup of tea as had become your ritual when you did, sharing wisdom in the quiet hours of the evening, when the troubles of the day kept you from settling.Â
âI have not been allowed to meet with Lyonel,â Alicent lamented as she tightened the belt of her night robe before sitting down across from you, the steaming tea between you on the small table. âHe was a babe the last time I saw him and now he rules our house.â
You replied nothing to her lament, instead asked the question that had plagued you since Lyonelâs arrival and your discussions in the garden, reminiscing of your childhood, and in which memory your cousin had promised to raise his army if you so wished, uncaring for the pact he had made with Jacaerys.
âWhy did you send me to ward with the Hightowers?â you inquired, and your mother looked sad then.Â
âI bore the king three Targaryen children,â she explained, and in those words you could feel the weight of decades of selfless service to the crown. âI wanted you, my last, to be a Hightower.â
âWell I am not. Lord Hobert was kind and I bless his memory, but Ormund never let me forget that my blood was tainted, that I would only be worthy of the Hightower name if I dedicated myself to the faith,â you replied, feeling now familiar frustration rise in you. It was your constant companion these days, and you could not determine the root of it so you might tear it from the ground and burn it.Â
Alicent seemed remorseful then, but you had no use of cold regrets. âI spent a decade praying for forgiveness, forced to reject my own blood until I was called to make use of it again,â you continued, remembering the letter Lyonel had received, ordering him to send you back to your king. âI am not a Targaryen but I am not a Hightower either. I donât know that I belong anywhere.â
Alicent reached across the table to take your hands into hers. âYou are a Hightower, by temperament and by upbringing, but also by blood. You are my daughter,â she assured you. âAnd now you are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.â
âAm I?â you murmured, looking down at your knees. You hesitated to confess the truth of your position, but in the end, you allowed the truth to escape you. âThe marriage is unconsummated.â
The cooling tea was definitely forgotten then, Alicent now more awake and incensed than she had been a minute ago. She shook her head, sighing in despair. âYou cannot allow it to remain as such. As long as you are not married to the king, our position remains fragile,â she explained, even though she did not need to. âAs long as he has not bedded you, he can replace you in an instant.â
âI am aware of that, mother,â you protested.
âThen you must go to him now,â Alicent urged you, rising and pulling you along, leading you towards the door. You looked aside when your mother reached for your robe, undoing the first few clasps and pulling the collar of your nightgown further down on your chest. âThe sooner you give him a boy, the sooner you will obtain what it is you seek.â
You wanted to protest that what you sought did not rest in the hands of a husband you had not chosen, but you knew your laments would fall into deaf ears. Instead you nodded, compliant as you had been taught, and walked out into the cold hallway, following your memory without conscious thought until you came upon the kingâs quarters.
However, your endeavor was stopped by the kingsguard that stood at attention in front of the heavy doors. âThe king is not in his quarters, my queen,â the man said.Â
âWhere is he, then?â you asked. So preoccupied by the matter at hand, you instantly thought of him in the arms of anotherâyou had heard the rumors regarding his affection for his cousin Lady Baelaâbetraying you as you had feared the first night of your marriage.Â
While he had assured you of his intent to keep you as his queen, you wondered if perhaps it was a facade to appease the Hightowers for the time being, and now that he had their allegiance, although fragile, he would cast you away.Â
The guard was quick to soothe your sudden worries. âThe king is in the nursery, your grace,â he said, pointing to the room across the hallway.
Slightly curious, you thanked him and made your way to the childrenâs quarters, from which a bright light was coming, spilling into the hallway. For a morbid second you wondered whether it was the room your nephew had lost his life in, but the question was chased away from your mind when you entered and took in the sight that awaited.Â
Jacaerys was sitting at the foot of a large bed where two boys were huddled together, their little heads resting side by side on the pillow, their white hair sticking into odd spikes, still wet from a bath. The king held a closed book on his lap, and while you could not see his face, you could see in the downturn line of his shoulders that he was not in a cheerful mood.Â
âI know that I am not your father, and that I will never replace him,â he was telling the children, his voice thick with emotion. âAs I will never replace our mother, but I will do my best by you.â
The older-looking boy glanced over his brotherâs shoulder then, and Jacaerys turned, catching you before you could step back into the hallway. âForgive me, I did not mean to interrupt,â you defended yourself immediately, but instead of anger, it was exhaustion that spread over his face.
âStay,â he said, twisting to glance at the other side of the room. Across from the boysâ bed, Jaehaera slept in her own crib. The nurse that sat with her rose when you approached, and you took her place, sitting in the rocking chair. The little girl was deep into slumber, clutching a doll made of cloth and an embroidered blanketâat first glance you thought they were flowers, but upon closer inspection, you noticed they were butterflies.
âSheâs my niece and yet I am a stranger to her,â you commented, unsure why you were saying this out loud, to Jacaerys of all people.Â
Nonetheless, he seemed touched by your confession, and in the soft light of the nursery, you found he looked quite different than you had ever seen himâgone was the arrogant, self-assured young king who had met with your cousin. Instead he looked years older than his years, and weary beyond them.
âWould you like to raise her?â he offered. âThere has been talk of sending her to ward with Lord Lyonel, but I would keep her here, with you, if that is what you wished.â
âPerhaps I should,â you answered, aware that it was not an answer.Â
For a while the both of you remained silent, looking upon the children the war had spared, and the utter devastation of it seemed to dawn on you. Orphans, they were, their respective parents dead in the pursuit of the throne, and once again you thought there was no justice to the whims of the Gods, leaving babes without mother nor father, left to carry a legacy of bloodshed and kinslaying.
When Jacaerys spoke again, it was as though the words came straight from your heart. âI am aware that our marriage is based on hatred, but the children are innocent in all this. May we leave the quarrels of the past behind, when it comes to them?â he asked. âThey need serenity after what theyâve been witness to.â
There was only one thing you could answer then. âOf course.â
After that Jacaerys spoke to you no more, instead turning back to his Aegon and Viserys, and the book he was holding, opening it on his lap and letting the large pages fall on either side of his legs. You nearly started when he started to read what you supposed to be High Valyrian, and you suffered that you could not understand a word of it.
Author's Note âą Dividers by @zaldritzosrose. Chapter four will be posted in two weeks, on August 1st.
Series taglist âą @chaotichereticcavern @galactict3a @qtmoonies @multyfangirl @obsidian-gold1239
@thegirlwithoutaname87 @harryssattelitestomper @rtyuy1346 @kplatzman @neenieweenie
@cinnamoonfairy @g0oshtt @orchidsinthesun @darling-darling3 @pookynknowntranger
@cloudyzip @softlittlevigil @at-a-rax-ia @noneedtosearch @darkrion
@tappyj @tojisprincess @strangersunghoon @devil-on-acid @minaridior
@mimrntgx @chimmysoftpaws @soleil-lei @dreamybarbarianprophecy @fa0nz6ain
@glooblyglob @starmy4life @kentucky-criedfricken @gracesalvatore @magnol1aaa3 @ellej
I just finished Sunrise on the Reaping today.
I avoided spoilers surprisingly well for the most part for the last year.
I've read all the other books. I've seen all the movies. I saw all the posts about how devastating the books is. Saw all the "we thought we knew what happened, but we weren't ready".
Knew all this going in. I thought I was ready. I was not. The moment Haymitch, Maysilee, Wyatt, and Louella first interacted, I knew I wasn't ready.
I read the book in preparation for the movie. Thought it would get me ready. I am even less ready now...
Anyway, I'm conflicted. Because I'm mad. As much as I saw this book being talked about and then the movie being talked about, I never saw anyone mentioning how amazing Maysilee Donner is. That being said it was also a really pleasant surprise to learn this on my own.
I love Haymitch, he's great. Love Katniss, and Peeta, and Finnick, and Johanna, and so many others. They're all great. But Mayilee easily became my favorite character of the franchise.
I knew it was coming. The entire book I knew it was coming. I wasn't ready. I'm still not over it. And I am so not ready to see happen come November!
Gonna watch the odyssey this weekend. Curious to know if you're gonna watch đđđ
I saw it last night actually!
No spoilers but it was exactly what I expected. I thought it was a good movie. But a terrible adaptation. I have a lot of thoughts, most of them being complaints.
I think some solid Epic edits can come out of it though. That's all I'm looking forward too...
I hope you enjoy it more than me! My brother and friend I saw it with both loved it.
Hello I was wondering if you take requests to write stories
I do not. I am always willing to hear ideas; on the off chance something inspires me. I am more open to exploring ideas for oneshots from stories I've already written. But I don't really do requests. I just have too many of my own ideas that I'm excited about and struggle to juggle and get to.
perzys
đ°đŒđ»đđČđ»đ Jacaerys x Myrish!Reader
đđđșđșđźđżđ When a boy washes upon your shores, you cannot help yourself but to attempt to revive him. What are you to do when you find out you've been smitten with the kin of your enemy?
á¶Ê· cannon divergence (jace LIVES!), 2 makeout scenes + suggestive content, resurrection, readers lwk a simp, lovers to enemies(?) back to lovers, angst?(happy ending)
Ê·á¶ 14.4k
A seagull's caw pulls you from your prayer. Head tilting up and angling towards the disturbance. You can see a few of the birds circling, then one dives; snatching a crab before returning to the air.Â
Your eye catches on where it retrieved the crab. The black, motionless figure in the sand. Strange. Myr is far from the fighting, far from where the Triarchy sets sail, so who is this? A boy serving on a fishing boat? Mayhaps the ocean was too rocky and threw him overboard.Â
One may think he was alive â or at least that there was a possibility. But the crabs usually donât devour the live things. They wait until it rots, until the scent is pungent and no one else will feast on it. You decide to leave the body, and the thought of it, at that.Â
Someone else may see him. From the cobbled streets, they could see the figure and move to assess his situation. They could scavenge his body for anything valuable and leave him. Or they might bring him into the city, and attempt to find the poor boy's family.
Nonetheless, it was not your problem. Your hands clasp together, fingers interlinking tightly. Then you redirect your gaze forward, towards the altar where the fire burns bright. Your eyes linger for a moment, watching the flames dance in the wind, then you bow your head while raising your hands to meet it halfway.
You try to refocus, to allow your mind to focus on praying. Life. Youâre asking Râhllor for life; for the soil to be fertile. Because that will lead to a good harvest. A good harvest means better bread and crackers, as well as thicker livestock. Thicker livestock means the citizens of Myr will be well fed. If the citizens are well fed then they become more fertile, and coupling results in more human life being brought forth.
This is normal. The prayers are ones that any followers of Râhllor know. Yet your thoughts keep being drawn towards the body resting on the shore.Â
On its dark curled hair.
On the darkness of its doublet and trousers.
On the glinting pommel of the sword at its side.
Did you see sticks protruding from his body? That was nonsensical. It would need to be a sharp stick, and the barbarians who used weapons like that were not near Myr.Â
Perhaps they were arrows. Arrows would make sense because those had a sharp end. But that would mean he was attacked; or that he attacked someone else who was provoked to protect themself.Â
You were not getting back to your prayers, this boy has thoroughly distracted you and he has not moved an inch since appearing. Perhaps the boy would be wearing a sigil, something, anything that would define where he came from. You rise, the silks of your dress cascade around your legs as you walk your way to the shore.Â
Where could he be from? Whom in the region had problems with one another; and at that, problems enough to draw fire? You rack your brain for any answers on the short walk. Very few come, but it does not matter.
You will look upon the boy's right chest and see the sigil of his house and you will know. And if he does not have a sigil, then he is simply not important enough to worry about; one of many who lost their lives over something trivial.Â
He is lying on his back, but it is jaggedâhis left shoulder somehow higher than his right. You kneel next to him. It gives your eyes a better angle to assess him. He is wearing a cloak, and it is attached to the front of his doublet. But there is no sigil where it is clasped. Your eyes move lower, perhaps he is haughty and has it on his belt buckle.Â
Again no sigil. Lower again, this time to his boot clasps. It is an odd place to have a house mark but it is nothing you have not seen before. Your brows furrow when there is once again no sigil in sight. There is one last place, one last hope to know who this boy is.Â
You look at his sword. Eyes rove over the pommel, up one side and down the other. You unsheath it, itâs heavy in your palms. You assume this to be because you do not wield swords, it seems too slim and too small to truly be something of great weight. The thought almost brings you to laughter because how could a boy who looks so strong and so worthy wield a light sword?
The only thing that stops the laugh from bubbling through your chest was the fact that you once again didnât see a damned sigil. So this boy was truly no one. Simply a casualty of unknown grievances.Â
Why then, did you feel as if you could not leave him?Â
You willed your legs to move, for your feet to fold under themselves and push you to stand, but they did not. Willed your hands to press against the sand as leverage, but they simply fisted the grains until they fell from your palms. Your eyes tried to move back towards the temple, back to the fire that you can barely see from the shore, but they stay locked on this boy.Â
They rove over his body, briefly locking onto bits of him. The broken arrows you can see in the back of his left shoulder â the ones that are making him lean a little off kilter. The blood on the right side of his face and the bruises that accompany it.Â
However, they stick on his neck. On the Myrish bolt, that is deeply lodged into it. Is that what is drawing you to him? The fact that a bolt made by your people is the one that likely ended his life?
Instinctively, your fingers move towards it. You donât think anything of it; you just want to touch the metal, to confirm it's something youâve felt before, that your people crafted this. Your fingers burn when you touch the metal.
A full body jerk takes over you. First recoiling at the fingers, then everything else falls after. A hiss leaves your lips and your fingers stroke against your palm as a primal attempt to assess the damage.Â
You can still feel everything though, and the skin between your brow gains a crease. Your eyes dart to the tips of your fingers, expecting to see them flushed and pulsing from the burn. There is no visible damage however; you turn them every which way, and nothing changes. But, a tingle has settled in them.
At first you try pressure, squeezing your fingers to your palm to cease the sensation. When that doesnât work you put the tip of each finger between your teeth and gnaw at them. Itâs primitive and very much below your station, but you cannot think of anything else that may help. You drop your hand when that does not work either, itâs then that the tingling fades a bit.Â
It goes from fireworks in your capillaries, to simple twinkles. You have an idea, a thought that seems very otherworldly and stupid. But, perhaps, it is linked to this boy.
So your fingers drift back to him, back to the bolt in his neck. The twinkles fade into a slight hum. When your fingers slide off the bolt and to the thick, clammy skin of the boy's neck the sensation finally stops.Â
At least it stops in you. You can still feel it faintly. Thrumming under the boyâs skin like war drums. It must be magic!
Magic that is calling you to him. Magic that is demanding the presence of Râhllor in this boy's blood. Magic that is demanding you to perform the kiss of life.Â
You've never done this before. Never seen it successfully completed in front of you either. But it feels like Râhllor himself is calling to you; commanding you to reignite the fire in this boy's blood.
You know the idea. The concepts run through your mind manyatimes since youâve learned of its existence. You still take care to remove the arrows. One from his back, one from his chest. Then a Myrish bolt from his neck.Â
What if he wakes and the wounds are still open? You cannot think of any words in the ancient scrolls that speak of it. So you tear the silks of your dress and wrap them around the wounds to stem any bleeding.
Your right hand places on his chest, where his heart should be beating. The skin is cold and clammy, devoid of any signs of life. Well, at least you can rest assured he cannot be harmed more from your experimenting, cannot be more dead.
Ancient hymns and prayers leave your lips. They're spoken softly at first â because you truly cannot believe you're trying to bring back someone from the dead. But how can you expect Râhllor to bring him back if you do not have faith? So it becomes louder, more confident in the fact that it will work, that this boy will live again.
You take some oil into your mouth from a vial at your waist, just enough to coat it before taking one of the sticks that was supplying the fire into your hand.Â
Râhllor, what were you doing? You were going to get yourself killed â mangled at the very least â for some boy you did not even know.
You think about it for a moment, but ultimately the urge to prove you could do it outweighs your fear. The fire is brought to your lips igniting the oil, then as quickly as you can you press your lips to his. Breathing the fire into his lungs and urging his blood to warm once again.Â
When you pull back you realize you are not burnt. It seems that the fire has extinguished itself in the process. Your inner cheeks and lips are simply warmer than usual but no harm has befallen you. But what of the boy?
His chest is not rising. His eyes are not open. You must be mistaken, your eyes deceiving you, so you lean closer. Your ear is pressed closely to his lips, your head angled to allow your eyes to wait for a rise and fall of his chest, and your hand rests on his chest.
It is warm, still clammy, but warm. That is good, it must be good. Youâve done it correctlyâyouâre sure of it. But why is he not breathing? Why have his eyes not snapped open?Â
Maybe Râhllor didnât want to resurrect this boy. Maybe you misinterpreted the pull in your chest. Maybe it was for the steel that rested on the boy's waist instead of the boy himself.Â
He must have simply gotten warm because he was out of the sea and his sopping clothes. A sigh of disappointment sneaks past your lips. Your hand moves off his chest to the ground, preparing to be used as leverage to stand. Before you can, a rough, garbled breath is inhaled.
Your eyes snap to the boy's chest, watching the rapid and deep inhale. Watching it heave as he coughs up water. After a minute or two the heaving slows, returns to what you will accept as a normal rate, and your eyes snap to his face.Â
His eyes open â heâs already been watching you. Theyâre wide, his pupils dilated to take in as much information as possible. There's a quivering in them, an unsteadiness that makes you feel worse for him than you already had.Â
âWho are you?â
You try to keep your voice soft. Light. Untensed. The boy's eyebrows furrow ever so slightly but he does not respond. Maybe he was highborn and too full of himself to learn the language of commonfolk.
âQilĆni issi ao?â
His face morphs at that. Brows raise on his forehead, mouth drops open just a fraction. He is shocked? Surprised? That you know Valyrian? Sure, you look common, but he does as well, who is he to judge?
His mouth moves, and he finally speaks. Youâre stuck on the sound of it. How rough it is, how distorted it sounds, how painful it seems. After a moment you see his eyes narrow a bit, brows creasing in confusion once again, itâs then that his words register.
âQilĆni issi ao?â
You would think that he is repeating your sentence in confusion of the language. That he is curious to know what you meant. But he speaks it so well. His vocal chords, tongue, and lips, all accustomed to speaking Valyrian already. He also has such an emphasis on the last word, there's a mix of emotion in it. Confusion, anger, distaste.Â
âAĆha kaerÄ«nio,â (Your savior) You will not give him your name, if he hadnât been so audacious in his asking you might. You try again, âsir qilĆni issi ao?âÂ
âJace.â He mumbles, lips barely opening to form the syllables.Â
You save him, give him live again, and he refuses to be amicable. Youâre beginning to get irritated. Itâs evident in your voice, losing your softness you speak again, âÈČdragon bÄ.â (speak up.)
âBrĆzio ñuha iksis Jace.â(My name is Jace.) It is spoken louder now.Â
You break eye contact, gaze drifting as your thoughts have. âHow uncommon,â You say it dismissively. The words slip out and do not require a response.
The boy says something about how it's not uncommon, but you cannot bring yourself to care. Jace. Jace. Jace. Where have you heard that name before?
Was it a highborn son you had considered marriage with? The son of a magister in the south perhaps?
No. You would have married him if that was his truth.Â
Was he a blacksmith you commissioned a dagger from? One that had amethyst embedded into the handle because you thought it was beautiful.Â
No. His hands werenât calloused enough for that.
âWho are you?â
âI ought be a Priestess.â
âOught be? So you are not a Priestess. What is your name?â
âYes, ought be, Râhllor does not simply grant this ability to anyone.âÂ
A silence settles over the two of you. The boy, Jace, is probably still stunned that he is breathing again. You, similarly, are stunned that you performed such a miracle. Youâre too pleased to notice Jace shifting-thinking about how youâre going to inform the Head Priest of your feat, and how by the end of the week youâll be named as a Priestess.Â
âYou are from Essos.â
Your eyes blink back in his direction. âI am.â
You watch the way he swallows. Assess how his pupils have dilated again in fear. How his fingers now seem to tense a bit.
âWhich part?â
âYou are in Myr.â
Jaceâs face falls. It falls so quickly that it seems inhuman. A deep frown settles on his face, his brows crease and you think you can see a tear or two brought to his eyes. He seems like a man who has accepted his fate. You donât get to ask what fate that is.
Once again his face changes. A stone mask hiding his true thoughts and feelings on the current situation. You watch as the gears turn in his head. Watch as his hand tries to subtly inch towards his sword. Watch as his eyes harden with what he believes he must do.Â
âWhy do you wish to harm me when I have saved you?â
He blinks at you. âI do not wish to harm you.â
âYou reach for your sword,â Your eyes flick to where his hand is resting on the hilt, pointedly raising your eyebrows, âDo you not?â
âI simply wish toâŠâ His gaze flicks around. To your eyes, to the sand, to his boots, to the arrows that still rest beside the two of you, then finally back to you. âTo protect myself.â
You run your tongue along your teeth. Before smiling and rising to a stand. âYou neednât worry about that.â Your palm extends towards him, âCome, you may recover in my fathers manse.â
You do not parade Jace around the temples as you wish.
The first day he claimed exhaustion. That his body was sore from the time at sea being pushed and pulled by the current. How it must have been twisted uncomfortably while his soul was with the stranger.
The second day it was nausea. You assumed it was something spoiled or raw that the cooks had served. Before you could go ream them for their incompetence, Jace told you that he simply ate too much. That his eyes sampled everything and his stomach got jealous so he consumed much more than he should have.Â
The third day Jace finally became plain with you. You had followed the same routine as the first two days; waking, directing your handmaids as to how youâd like your hair, dabbing your oils behind your ears, then sauntered your way to Jaceâs chambers.Â
Your knock was a light rap of your knuckles, barely enough pressure behind it to be heard. He always answered promptly â as if he had been waiting on the other side just for you.Â
âCome, we must go to the temples today. Just brieflyâthe Priests and Priestessâ will lose their belief in me if I do not show you off soon.â
You watch as Jace steels himself. Itâs a subtle shift in his demeanor, but youâve been watching him since you brought him back to this world, so of course you notice it. His eyes harden and the bright brown of his eyes darken to a deeper hue.Â
âI do not wish to be paraded around like a trophy,â His eyes have fallen to your feetâor to the floor, you cannot be certain. But you know this is a way of showing submission, that he does not want to seem ungrateful for the hospitality youâve shown him thus far.
You probably could force him, call for your guards to grab him by his arms and drag him forth to the temples. But you believed everyone deserved some sense of autonomy. You suppose you donât need to show anyone that youâve successfully performed the last kiss. A sigh leaves your lips.
âAlright.â You extend a hand towards his arm, prepared to loop it through and grasp his bicep should he allow you to do so, âWill you meander through the gardens with me?â
Jace steps out of his room and allows you to hold onto him. As you walk through the lavish gardens of your fathers manse you notice a curiosity gleaming in Jaceâs eyes. He does not ask you what any plant is, but you take to explaining them anyway, pointing with the hand that is not secured on his arm.
His intrigue in the information you gave never stopped. Not on the tiny miniscule vines that climbed their way up the manse walls. Not on the lilies, or the bougainvillea, or the oleander bushes.Â
You have believed him to be from Essos. From somewhere you have not had the privilege of traveling to. Perhaps a wealthy son from a smaller village up north. His status was clear by the pristine leathers he was wearing when you had found him â yet you could not get a family name out of Jace no matter how much you questioned.Â
It had been fine. Privacy and secrecy were allowed in some senses. You couldnât understand why he would not want to have word sent to his father and mother of his livelihood though. Surely they would have sent for him, at the very least demanded that he return home so they could confirm his safety themselves.Â
Two days you spend thinking of this. Trying to create scenarios in which he would not want to return home. But you cannot think of any strong enough to justify not returning homeâat least not when someone is highborn as he clearly is.Â
A wide array of different delicacies to choose from are set in front of the two of you. A servant is cutting a large juicy piece of roast duck for you when you ask, âWhat of your parentage?"
Jace looks up from the plate of stuffed squash he was assessing. He blinks deep enough that his eyelashes brush the apples of his cheeks.Â
âWhat of it?â
âWho are they? What house do you hail from?â
His posture goes straight. Muscles rigid and he sets his utensils back onto the table. His gaze floating around the room at all the extra eyes. If he wishes for privacy then he will receive privacy. âThat will be all, leave us.â Your voice does not hold much weight, but the command is clear. The servants try to disagree, mumbles of still having plates to divide and serve at their lips, but you raise your hand dismissively and shoo them away.Â
âI will not judge you, I am only curious.â Your voice is even softer now.
Jace clears his throat. His eyes stubbornly on your plate instead of your face when he finally speaks, âI am a bastard.â
If he thinks that would shock you, he would be wrong. Many in Essos are bastardsâit only matters if you make it so. âSo it is your mother who is highborn?â
âNo, no. None of me is highborn.â
A hum leaves your throat, a whores son perhaps?
âWhere did your fine leathers come from then?â
âMy father gifted them to me. I believe he is trying to gain my favor as the older I get the more I look like him.â
Ah. So his father is highborn. Or at least someone with enough coin to commission fine clothes. You try to imagine the man, imagine Jace a bit older, and think of if you have seen a similar man walking through the streets before.
No recognition comes to mind, so you continue with your questions. âAnd your mother?â
âShe is of Valyrian descent.âÂ
You laugh at that, âEveryone here is, be a bit more specific.â
Jace has fallen back into comfort, now slicing into a piece of boar on his plate as he speaks. âShe has long silver gold hair, it is straight in nature, but curls easily after being braided.â You nod in acknowledgement so Jace continues, âHer eyes are purple, but not one of the dark purples that may be mistaken for blue. A lighter purple, akin to the lilacs that you have in the garden.â
You could think him to be lying, for he has just described nearly every woman of Valyrian descent in the entirety of Essos. You let the thought bounce around your head as you chew, it was not uncommon for someone to be born with plain features even if they had Valyrian ancestors. But he is so guarded and gives you so little that it almost brings a pain to your chest. Youâve brought him back to life and it seems that he cannot trust you.Â
Then again, you suppose if she is a whore, then mayhaps he does not know much more than what he has told you. Mayhaps he left and became a servant for his father.Â
âWhat of your parentage, My Lady?â
You glare at him from under your lashes, âI have told you not to refer to me as such, we are friends enough that you may call me plainly by name.â
He should know of your parentage. Paintings of your mother reside over many of the halls in the manse. Her plainâbut beautifulâfeatures on display for any and all visitors to see. Her dresses are silks and satins, never any heavy fabrics for it is too warm here. And she always had some bit of Myrish lace upon her; it could be embroidered on the bodice and neckline of her dresses, a shawl made of it, or sometimes even a cardigan.Â
âI am sure you have seen the paintings of my late mother. Her mother was also of Valyrian descent, but she got all of the plain features of her father. I imagine you could have bonded over that.â
You inspect a sugar filled date as you speak, trying to assess if it is too early into the meal to indulge in sweeter tastes.
âYour late mother?â
âYes, late. She passed many years ago.â
âI am sorry ââ
âDo not be. My father is a Magister. You have not met him because he is occupied in Tyrosh.â
Jaceâs fork stops an inch from his plate, nearly impaling a charred sprout, âHe has business in Tyrosh?â
Your lips closed around the date, humming as you bite into it. You chew for a moment before shoving it into the side of your cheek so you can speak, âI suppose you could call it that. He is aiding in devising plans for the Triarchy.â You sigh, âOne of the lucky elevenâat least that is what everyone says.â
The atmosphere shifts.Â
From outside the room it would be unnoticeable. You and Jace are still positioned the same, still slicing through meats, and spearing vegetables. Servants who have reappeared are still attentively pouring more wine into your goblets and offering to serve another portion onto your plates. The flames of the candles still flicker in the slight gusts of wind.
But inside you can feel the tension explode. It did not grow; stemming from a small comment and engorging based on a continuation. It erupted the moment you mentioned the Triarchy. The air grew thick, swallowing felt like a chore, eyes darted back and forth attempting to understand where the displacement came from.Â
When Jace sliced through his boar softer than before. Barely enough pressure in his forefinger to push the knife into the protein. His wrist shifting in the slightest of motions, sawing at the meat instead of cleanly slicing through it.Â
He had not graced you with even a semblance of a laugh. Not a huff of air. Or a charming smile.Â
Taking a look at his posture you could see the change. His shoulders hunched inwards and he almost slouched forwards, his chest rose and fell shallowly, his knee began to jerk a rhythm. But most importantly he had scooted to the far side of his chair.
Away from you.
Why was he trying to make himself small?
âDoes my fathers position offend you?â
His head snaps at that. Eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. âNo. No of course not,â His voice is not the same timber that it usually is. Itâs a pitch higher, just enough off that you notice it.Â
âI must have then, for you have gone stiff and sparse in your chair.â
Jace is silent for a moment longer. His eyes lift from his plate to your face when your cutlery is set down with a soft clang. âI simply do not⊠favor, speaking of Magisters.â The words are small when they come out of Jace's throat. Spoken in nearly a whisper, as if he is ashamed of the fact.
Oh!
His father must be a Magister. Perhaps even one of the ten others with your father. That's why he's so uncomfortable. His father does not claim him, yet he is able to do such great things in raising the Triarchy. Embarrassment clouds your memory, but you vaguely recall apologizing.
Despite your swift change of conversational topics and insistence to speak of anything else, Jace stays closed off for the remainder of dinner. He also disregards your request for a late night stroll in the gardens. You must have truly upset him.
Since that night, you refuse to ask about parentage again. You like hearing Jaceâs voiceâthe timber, tone, and cadence of itâand he tends to speak less when you bring up parentage. So if he does not wish to speak of it then you have no desire to speak of it either.
Instead you ask other things.
His favorite color? Purple; specifically the lilac hue, like his mothers eyes. He says he likes blues as well, but he prefers wearing reds and blacks over anything.Â
The next morn servants bring him doublets made of various shades of red silks and satins, and trousers made with deep black linens. When Jace thanks you, you wave him off dismissively.Â
His favorite meal? Salted and seared cod, with spinach and onions in a dragon pepper sauce served on a bed of rice.Â
The dragon peppers run you a heavy cost at the market, but you think it worthwhile when you see the smile on Jaceâs face. Not the respectable smile from you simply trying to recreate his favorite. But the true, elated one that overtakes him like a wave when the flavors dance along his tongue.Â
His favorite book? One of Westerosi history. Of Aegon the Conqueror. But Jace says he does not care for Aegon, that he truly fancies the story of Visenya. That her passion was such an inspiration and he could only hope to be the slightest bit like her one day.
Westerosi history is not a common book to keep in libraries in Essos, so you doubt that your father has it among his rows of books. You check anyways; late when even the servants have gone to sleep and only the guards remain awake. You stand atop chairs and raise your chamberstick to every book on the high shelves. Sink to your knees to check the lowest shelves as well.
The book is not there.Â
Most would have ceased searching. They would have been too anxious to allow the swords of the city see them interested in Westeros. But you were the only child of one of the richest Magisters of Myrâyour wish was everyone else's command.Â
You go to the market again for this find. Cloaked and protected by one of your guards, you head to the darker parts of it. To the alleys that donât have torches lining them. You find a man there, one known to deal in contraband.
You give him the coin on a promise he will retrieve the book. Itâs too much for a single book; you know this, your guard knows this, the man knows this. But you still drop the pouch into his hand without much concern over the price. For Jaceâs delight, you believe it to be worth it.
Three nights later your guard delivers the book to your chambers. You wrap it delicately in a light purple silk and tie a knot with ribbon.
You keep it tucked behind your back as you stalk towards Jace. He is in the gardens, in an alcove with a bench and table fit for gossiping. The table has been fitted with breads, cheeses, grapes, baked sweets, a pot of tea and two cups. When he sees you approaching he begins to pour the tea; yours first so it may cool and you can drink as soon as you sit.Â
He looks up, brown eyes finding yours before falling to the downturned smirk that adorns your lips. Some heat rises to your cheeks when you notice where his gaze has fallen. You wonder if he thinks them plump, if he wonders how plush they'd be against his own.
Jace calls your name softly, âWhat are you hiding?âÂ
Your smirk widens to a full blown smile and you bring the wrapped book forward.
âWhat is this?âÂ
You press the book into his palms, âOpen it.â
Jace does as you instruct. He unties the ribbon by its curled edges, then carefully unwraps the silk.
The cover of the book is plain. A simple brown leather that has not been oiled in many moons if you had to guess. The edges are frayed and lightened with age. Jace lets his fingers glide over it for a moment before looking at you with confusion in his eyes.
You jut your chin at him gently, encouraging him to continue with his present.
He opens the cover and flips to a random pageâwhy he does not start from the beginning, you do not know. His eyes rove over the words, scanning the page like a hawk, then the flick up to you.Â
âThis is the bookâthe history of the Six Kingdoms.â
You nod, a pleased grin on your face.
Jace continues, âWhere did you procure this?â
A small, mischievous laugh leaves you, âA woman must keep some secrets.â Your fingers twist together in anticipation, âDo you like it?â
âYes. Yes, I like it.â Jace swallows deeply and you can see his adams apple bobb before he sniffs a bit, âI may even love it.â
âWill you read it to me then?â
It is Jace's turn to laugh, âCan you not read, My Lady?â
âOf course I can read,â you scoff in mock annoyance. Jace has seen you readâperhaps he's flirting with you and disguising it as a joke. âI simply wish to hear your voice.â
If that was too bold Jace does not tell you. He simply opens the book and begins the recount of Aegon the Conqueror. He continues for a long while, until one of the maids comes to alert you to the midday meal being ready.
It becomes routine; you eat breakfast together before separating for a few hours, then you reconvene in the gardens. Jace begins reading where he left off the day before and you grow more bold everyday.
At first sitting an appropriate distance. Then inching closer, and closer until your shoulder brushes his. And it's just oh so wide, surely he could allow you to rest your head. For a time that's enough to satiate you.
Unfortunately the closeness only makes your hunger grow. You know then that you are infatuated with him.Â
With his brown curls that somehow perfectly framed his face. His matching brown eyes that had just the slightest hits of amber and gold flicking about in them. The bridge of his nose, the natural pout that his plush lips seemed to fall into.
Over the days your head shifts lower and lower down his frame. At first just small distances down his arm, where itâs more muscle and less bone; where you can claim comfort from the shifts. You continue with this until one day, you simply forgo the theatrics and place your head in his lap.Â
A slight raise of Jaceâs brow is all the reaction you receive. No formal comment is made from either of you. No acknowledgement of the shift in atmosphere or change in course of whatever relationship youâve been curating.Â
Some days youâre flat on your back, gaze flicking from the sky to Jace's face. Others youâre curled on your side with his large palm and fingers stroking your head and scratching at your scalp. Occasionally on those days, you fall asleep to the timber of Jaceâs voice and the repetitive motions.
Every once in a while, the conversation drifts. Back to things you originally cared about. Things that help you learn about his personâwhat musics he likes, what toys he used to play with, what other hobbies he had besides reading. And Jace, in turn, asked you similar questionsâwhat your lessons were like as a child, if you stole sweets from the kitchens, if you embroidered and what the subjects were.
Intimacy grows between the two of you like a cluster of zinnia; quickly, resulting from the continuous attention and time spent in the sun. Seemingly endless hours spent on that same bench either reading from a book of histories that you frankly could not care less about or learning about a man you could not get enough of.
You shouldnât have to tell him of your fondness; it ought to be obvious. Your maids have noticed a constant sparkle in your eyes and how the apples of your cheeks are always raised in smile. The guards have noticed from your constant meandering in the training grounds. The chefs have noticed from the increased gold youâve rationed them so that they can easily purchase the strange western cuisine your guest prefers.Â
At dinner you had invited Jace back to the gardens. He believes it to be so that you may finish the chapter you were in the middle of. You want to take the opportunity to see if he is as entranced with you as you are him.Â
Your thoughts had drifted from the story being told. Away from the conquest and back to the man whose thigh your head rested on. The firm muscle under your cheekbone doing less to bring you back to reality, and more in dragging you deeper into the vast ocean your mind has created.Â
Despite the moon of whatever this was, Jace himself has yet to make a move. Has yet to do anything more than youâve instigated. He does not place a hand on the small of your back as you pass him. He does not lean in, as to create a bubble for only the two of you when you speak to him at dinner. He does not ask for your hand to dance when you have the musicians play his favorite tunes.Â
Besides opening himself to you, he does not give you anything. You do not need a grand gesture, only a simple sign. It feels foolish to believe that him simply speaking to you is one. But you delude yourself anyhow.Â
He does not speak so willingly about himself to anyone else. He does not allow others to rest on his lap. He does for you and that mustâmustâaccount for something.
There are very few things you have not gotten in your life. Not enough that you could count on your hand, and honestly, none of them of importance enough where you truly remember what they were. Jace was a person however. He was not something to be bought or won, and even if he was, you would not want him if his affections were not real.Â
Jaceâs voice catches in your brain. You work over the words before they truly begin to make sense. Something about Aegon and his wives. Not wife. Wives. Plural. Thatâs right. Aegon, despite typical Westerosi traditions, took two wives. Mayhaps this was your opening.
âWhat do you think of it?âÂ
Your head turns the slightest bit so that you may catch Jaceâs gaze. Heâs already looking at you of course, eyes snapped in your direction the second you cut him off.Â
âThink of what?â
âAegon having two wives.â
âWell, he took one for duty and the other for love.â
âDo you think it was honorable?â You shift once more, up onto your knees. Close enough that they press into Jaceâs thigh. âThat the people did not shame him in the streets?â
Jaceâs lips purse, thoughtfully considering your remark towards this story he loves so dearly. âThe smallfolk have found reason to dislike anyone who has come to power. But I think the unity between all three was equally as visible, and it aided in the smallfolks acceptance.â
âWould you haveâif you lived all those years ago and across the narrow seaâwould you have accepted him?â
âYes, I would have.â Jace nods along as he speaks, doubling down on his statement.Â
You had inched forward when he had finished his declaration. Miscalculating the way his head was moving and only catching his top lip in your kiss. It was awkward, but he did not move away.Â
You lingered for a moment, allowing the realization to settle in before attempting to move back. Once you backed up you could assess how Jace took it. If he was blushed in excitement, or ruddy with rage. If he finally understood how badly you wanted for him, and if he accepted or declined.
But you never got that far. You could still feel Jaceâs exhales on your upper lip when he rushed forward. His lips met yours in a proper kiss. One that he was able to put pressure behind and add motion to.Â
Something wet slides across your lips, and they part by instinct. Allow Jaceâs tongue to snake into your mouth and map the area. Over your teeth at first, because your lips arenât parted enough. A bit of the cheeky flesh behind your lip. Then finally, it glides across your own tongue.Â
You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into your cheek. It feels like heâs trying to nudge you back. To inch you until your back rests against the armrest of the bench and he can situate himself between your hips. But you initiated this kiss, so dominance should be yours.
Without parting, you begin to shift. A hand on the nape of his neck, tilting his head back in fragments only millimeters wide. Rising on your knees to a high kneel so you can swing a leg across Jaceâs lap.Â
His hands fly to your hips, fingers flexing and caressing at whatever bits of you he can grab. The new angle allows you to fully steal control. For your tongue to slide into his mouth. For you to learn the taste of him straight from the source.Â
Your lungs begin to tighten. Lack of airflow causing them to strain and search for more. You have to part from his lips. Oxygen rushes into them like a tide returning to the ocean. Rough and unstoppable.Â
Your eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly to try and clear the fog from your head. Instead of looking at his face, your eyes fall to Jaceâs chest; it's rising and falling rapidly, greedily attempting to take as much oxygen as possible from the atmosphere. Up and down. Up and down. Up, down.
Through your transfixation you hear Jace clear his throat and your eyes rise to his lips. Watch as his tongue tries to clean some of the spare slick saliva from them. Watch as a flush comes into them, and as a slow quirk accompanies the color. âWe cannot do this.â
âWhy not?âÂ
A pout has found your lips, and a furrow in your brow. Why would he be smiling if he was against allowing this to progress?
Jaceâs hands have begun caressing your body; one moving up and down your spine while the other caresses your hipbone. Trying to soothe you as one would an angered housecat. âI cannot debauch you. It would be uncouth to do so in the open.â
âNo one would come near, they are well trained.â You think him foolish for believing your servants would willingly interrupt you during such an intimate time.Â
âStill. I will not risk having your honor sullied.â
A huff leaves your lips.
Stubborn, stubborn man.
You begin to rise from your position, moving to dismount from Jaceâs lap. But his hands trap you in place, their grip suddenly going iron at the idea of you leaving him. Now his brow is furrowed in confusion.
Before Jace can actually voice his displeasure at your sudden movements, you move again. Hands grasping at his wrists, squeezing them just enough for him to release his grip on you. Once standing, you slide your fingers down his wrist, across his palm, and lace them through his fingers.
He simply said he would not debauch you here, not that he would avoid it entirely. You lead him back through the maze of your gardens. Through the long marbled hallways of your fathers manse. All the way back to your apartments. You drag him through the entryway, and nearly fling him upon the bed.
Perhaps fling was an overstatement. For Jace simply sits at the edge of your bed, awaiting for you to mount his lap again so he can restart his prior ministrations.Â
âIs this the proper place to partake in debauchery?â Youâre standing in front of him, just out of reach. Tapping your pointer finger to your chin in faux thought. Bottom lip jutting out as you begin to seemingly mull over perfect spots for improper things to take place.
Jaceâs hands once again find your hips, hauling you back to your proper place on his lap. âYes, a perfectly proper place, My Lady.â
His lips are back on yours before you can retort. Once again encouraging you to open your mouth and allow him to lick into it.Â
Youâre hot. Abnormally so. And your skin feels like it's tingling. Little sparks going off under the surface whenever Jace doesâŠwell, when he does anything.Â
His fingers scratching at the base of your neck? Sparks. His tongue gliding across yours and nudging it to remind you that you can be an active participant? Sparks. His other hand roaming your hips and thighs, squeezing and groping the fat? Sparks. The muscles of his thighs tensing against the insides of yours in what you can only believe to be restraint? Sparks.
It's overwhelming. Too many sensations that are all causing something warm to begin to pool low in your belly. Perhaps it was simply strainâyou had been nearly levitating on his lap. Not even allowing the slightest bit of your bottom to rest since you reached your apartments.Â
You sit, rest your full body weight on the boy below you, as you did in the gardens. This time, however, something hard meets you. Jace groans into your mouth, and you donât have to guess what youâve just sat upon.Â
Halfway through a courtesy apology, Jace speaks again. âAre you tired?â Heâs barely pulled away and you can feel his lips move against yours with every word.
All it takes is a nod from you, and then the whole world has shifted. Your back now resting on the plush of your mattress. His hands are still on you, one on your neck and the other on your hip, positioned to stabilize you from the flip.
Jaceâs hand slides to your mid thigh, dragging the appendage up to wrap around his hip, inadvertently hunching your dress around your hips. He kisses you again, his tongue slicking against yours out of pure instinct. Then he presses against you, grinding himself into your smallclothes.Â
The sparks turn into full blown explosions. Starting from your core and causing a chain reaction up through your chest until it bursts out of you in the expression of a moan.
You'd be embarrassed at how it came up on you, leaving you with no other option but to voice your pleasure. But Jace wasn't in a better state, groans and whimpers falling into your mouth as well.
He breaks away, one of his hands leaving you so he can grasp at the buckle of his belt. âYou're sure?â He asks softly, like requesting such a thing may break the fragile orb the two of you are consumed in.
Youâve never gotten this far. Never had the desire to with any of the other Magisters' sons, nor the Lyseni courtesans or local boys of pleasure houses. None of them ever ignited such a fire inside your blood.
Never made it feel like you were burning from the inside out.Â
You nod, a soft mhm, coming from your throat before you reseal your lips to his. Surely he could unbuckle himself without looking upon the clasp.Â
You've never had a real prospect like this: one that you reciprocate the desire for. A childish, girly, glee fills your chest along with the growing fire. The joy slithers around the fire and serves to further fuel it.Â
Skin is scorched anywhere Jace touches and you break from his lips to whine something insignificant about taking your dress off. He obliges with little reluctance, splitting from your lips only to lift the silks over your head.
The night blurs a bit from there. Your only hope is that the promiscuous noises don't drift too far down the hallway. That they fall flat before any curious ears of servants or guards can hear them. You wish to bask in whatever this is that youâre cultivating with Jaceânot to have your father hear of it because of a raven sent from a scullery maid.
Fifteen days later your dressmaker comes to you with a finished piece.
It is one that youâve highly anticipated. One youâve spent weeks fleshing out the details of. One that you wanted to be perfect, more than any of your other commissioned pieces.
The dress was made from silks dyed with lilacs to give them a nice purple hue. You had it fashioned like many of your other dresses; in only the most flattering ways for your body. It accentuated on the parts you found desirable, and drew attention away from whatever you did not.
By itself, it was something simple. You did not have it embroidered, or embossed. Simple, soft, swaying silk would encase your body. However that would not be befitting of your station, so you accessorized with golds and jewelry made of opal.Â
The white stone to symbolize the white of Jaceâs motherâs hairâif he would notice such a fact, you did not know. You hoped, because he had been nothing but attentive since you met him, but men have a tendency to disappoint. Golds because they were expensive and complemented the purple color much better than a silver could.
Your lady in waiting, Eliana, dressed you with much excitement. She murmured on and on about all the different small details she noticed. Layered your jewelry to make sure each piece perfectly complemented the next. Pulled back your hair just slightly so that every feature on your face could be properly looked upon.Â
And then you were on your own. To face a storm of your own creation. Hopefully, Jace would see this as a declaration of your affection. Understand that you made certain decisions based solely on stories youâve heard him speak fondly of.Â
You meet Jace in the foyer of the house, prepared to leave for the street of sales. Your breath stalls in your chest when his eyes first land on you. His eyes rove over you for a good few moments, taking in the dress for every detail that it has, before finally lifting to your own.
âThis isâŠâ Jace speaks slowly, because he is processing. He does not want to assume and be embarrassed if he is wrong. âFor me?â
âNo, I had it made because I favor the colors.â You sass, âOf course it is for you.â
It was possible that even with the night the two of you had spent, and the others after it, Jace would see this as moving too fast. That you having a dress made from scratch specifically to his preferences was something only a betrothed woman would do, or perhaps something youâd only do once fully wed. It is very possible that Jace was simply biding his time, returning to full health while devising a way to return home, wherever that was.Â
Equally as possible that he had a lover there, someone to go home to, someone to call his own. That he was just warming himself in your bed because he had missed whomever he had before his unfortunate event.Â
Despite your typhoon of thoughts and corresponding emotions, you decide to commit. Twisting into a delicate spin that shows off the faint shimmer in the silk of the dress. You would at least have Jace accept your beauty before he turned you down.
âIt is beautifulâyou are beautiful.â His flattery brings a flush to your cheeks.Â
âYou really think so?â
âYes,â Jace seals his admission with a light peck to your lips. A sweet lovers kiss to seal the truth he is admitting.Â
You begin tugging him towards the entrance of the manse, âCome, I wish to shop before the day is gone.â
Biarves hen vÄzos was in a few days time.Â
The Celebration of the Sun, as the non Valyrian speakers knew it.
Merchants have made their way in from all regions to try and sell goods in preparation. Dyed silks and satinsâmade to be orange, yellow, reds, and pinks. Gemstones, some in casings to make necklaces, others just the stone themselves so you may fashion it how you pleaseârubies, topaz, garnet, and opals. Winesâsweet reds from Volantis, pale ambers from Pentos, sours from Andalos, pear tastings from Tyrosh, and whites from Lys.Â
Anything you could possibly need for a celebration could be found. Threads for tapestries, spices for meals, beads for embroidery. You would be attending a celebration instead of hosting, so Jace was thoroughly confused when you insisted on coming today.
While some may have only wanted to indulge in the colors of the sun during the festivities, you would wear them any day. This was the perfect time to collect any and everything you desired for the upcoming year.
Your hand is ghosting over a deep blush colored satin. The cobalt beads you picked up a few stalls ago would contrast it perfectly. Now what pattern would fit? Ah. It did not matter, your dressmaker would figure it all out.Â
Absently you hand the merchant a few gold coins. When you see the fabric in your handmaids grasp, your mind drifts. Youâre finally nearing the end of that damned book. Despite how much you feigned interest, the story lingered in your mind even when you didn't want it to. Only a few mere chapters to wrap up the conquest of Aegon and his sisters.Â
âI am excited to hear about how they conquered the North. I've heard stories of how the Northerners are savagesâbeasts that cannot be tamed.â
Jace's bicep flexes a bit in your hold. A short, small tense and untense of the muscle. âI believe you may be disappointed in the battle.â
âWhy is that?âÂ
You pull Jace to a halt in front of a jewelers stand. An intricate garnet piece has drawn your attention.Â
âThere is considerably less dragonfire than youâd prefer.â As if sensing your bubbling curiosity Jace speaks again before you can open your mouth, âBut you will have to wait.â
Your fingers trace the necklace. Feeling the dips and curves, the way the silver curls around the gem, before you ultimately decide to pass on it. âI do not know why. If I had a dragon, everything would be burned in my path.â Anyone would think the same if they had a dragon, a beast with unstoppable capabilities.
âThey are magnificent creatures.âÂ
When you look up at him Jace has this far off stare in his eye that you cannot understand. Like heâs transported himself from the street of sales to an entirely different realm. His imagination must be vivid after reading and rereading this history so many times.
âAre they?â Your voice lilts gently in question. âTell me how so.â
âWell, for starters, they are temperamental. Usually only allowing their rider to close any sort of distance between them.â
You hum, encouraging him to continue.
âDragonfire is hot, hotter than any forge could ever be. Some legends say that it had melted stone before.â
You laugh, âStone, truly?â
âYes. And the riders tend to smell of cinders after a ride because the dragons use the fires to form their nests and the scent lingers. Cinders and scorched leather oils if their dragon has breathed fire on the ride.â
Where would Jace have heard of such a thing? Surely history books donât indulge in all these little details. But they must, for your boy still seems to have more to say. You continue to egg him on, âMm, anything else?âÂ
âTheir scales are roughâalmost like tree bark. If you manage to retrieve one it's sharp as well, enough to where it could be repurposed into a blade.â
Jace speaks of Dragons as if he knows them. As if he has physically run his fingertips along their scales, as if he has slid down them on his way back to the ground. As if he has felt the flames produced from them on his very skin, and smelt like cinders after a long flight.
There's only one remaining family with Dragons though. And they do not reside anywhere in Essos. In factâthey've personally terrorized your people in the stepstones. Daemon Targaryen did, upon his mount Caraxes.Â
Was this.. Prince Jacaerys? You suppose you could shorten it to Jace, but the commonfolk would never risk disrespecting a child of the crown in such a way. And his hair was different from a Targaryenâs.Â
Then again, you'd heard the stories of how Rhaenyra Targaryen birthed bastards. Of how her three oldest children all had brown hair despite both her and her husband's silvery gold strands.
Nonetheless Prince Jacaerys died in the battle of the Gullet. His dragon shot down into the sea and the Prince assaulted with Triarchy arrows.Â
That was how you found him, was it not? Two arrows lodged deep into his shoulder and a bolt of your own people's creation secured in the muscles of his neck.
The realization does not hit you like a wall. Not like a slap, or a tidal wave. It reaches you with a primal sense of dread; one that sends ice through your veins and makes it difficult to breathe. As if he was a predator, simply biding his time with the prey.
Your hand tightens around Jace'sâPrince Jacaerysââarm before realizing your mistake. This is not a friend, a companion, someone you could be besotted with.Â
This was the enemy.
One that you wrapped in your silks.Â
One that slept in your walls. Who has slept in your very own bed.
One that you revived because you could not quench your own curiosity.Â
Your hand slips from its perch at the acceptance of these facts. Your face falls into a carefully crafted picture of indifference as your steps falter.
JaceâPrince Jacaerys, not Jace, Jace would not have deceived you in such a wayânotices the second that your hand begins to move. His eyes dart to yours, and he's able to watch with startling attention as you school your expression.
âWhat is it?â Jace's voice is tight and low, reserved only for you. His eyes are frantic, searching the area for what could have possibly caused you such distress.
You don't respond automatically and your eyes aren't fixed on someone or something in the distance. So Jace raises a palm to your cheek, tilting your head so you're forced to gaze upon him.
âWhat is wrong?â
âYouâyou are a Targaryen.â The words tear through your vocal chords. They bring you a physical pain from the center of your lungs all the way to the tip of your tongue. Despite that, they're quiet â well aware of what would befall Jace if anyone were to find out.
Time seems to freeze for a bit.Â
A few moments that may seem sweet to outsiders. A young couple so lost in each other that they cannot be bothered to move from the center of the market. Trying to avoid public indecency, but too entranced with another to step away.
You know you should kill him, or more likely, have him killed. Should return him to his previous state. Bolt through his neck and all. His family has caused your people much distress. Your own father fights against his parents and grandsire.
The thought is pushed aside, just barely as it fights for the stage that is the forefront of your brain; Râhllor would not have called you to him if he wanted you to simply kill him again. He would not have let the boy be revived no matter how hard you tried if he did not wish it to happen. But why? This boy was from Westeros. He did not worship Râhllor, nearly no one in that region did.Â
Jace's face falls in complete dejection. As if he is accepting his fate, accepting that either you will attempt to kill him or you will hand him over to someone who will. Your heart squeezes at the realization.
âI will not have you killed,â Now you watch as he falters. As his hand stutters in its descent from your face. How his eyes constrict again and allow you to see the brown of his irises once more.Â
Jace remains skittish. Eyes darting between you, your guards, and handmaidsâattempting to assess how much theyâve heard and if theyâre already conspiring against him. Then back to you. A seeming calm in the middle of whatever storm is coming for him. Then to the citizens surrounding you, and the merchants, trying to determine if any of them had overheard your realization.
âWhy?â One simple word is all Jacaerys can muster.Â
Youâve moved back a few more inches. To give both him and yourself personal space. You wish to say it is because of your traitorous heart, but, you are unsure if that is the reason anymore. You inhale a deep, shaky breath before continuing, âRâhllor wanted you alive for a reason, I will not see you killed while under my care.â
You can see a thousand thoughts swirling in his mocha eyes. Watch as his lips twitch, attempting to speak before his mind has found the words. But whatever he has to say, you have no desire to hear.
âWe should retire.â You command, turning your attention to those who serve you. âThe sun has exhausted my energy for the day.â
At your words your small group retreats from the street of sales. The entire way back to your fathers manse you can practically feel the energy radiating off of Jacaerys. By the time you push the doors to the foyer open you can only assume that his skin must be buzzing with the urge to speak.
His fingers ghost over your palmâattempting to ground you for a second. You do not give him the opportunity though, rushing past and ignoring his faint âwaitâ. You need a moment.
A moment to process.
A moment to breathe.
Hell, a moment to grieve.
Just a moment with your thoughts, by yourself.
Jacaerys avoids you the next day. Well, not particularly you, but he avoids the gardens, the library, even the kitchens. He takes detours through the halls to prevent even catching a glimpse of your silks.
He does not know if it was for your sake or his. If he is so fearful that you would call the guards on him at the first sighting. Or if the carefully placed mask you wore yesterday struck him so deeply with the urge for solitude.
The second day continues similarly. He avoids the gardens and the library. Only heading to the training grounds to practice his swordwork. Even taking supper in his rooms so that you may have the hall to yourself.
But the whole day is filled with a pit in his stomach, one weighted by dread.Â
At night, tucked into the soft linens of his bed, Jacaerys allows himself to truly elaborate on his inner thoughts. Head on his pillow and fingers fisting the sheets.Â
He feels pathetic. Ashamed even. Him a Prince of the realm, heir to the Iron Throne. Smitten with an opposer's daughter.Â
So far gone in his emotions that he let his guard slip. That he truly allowed himself to believe that she felt as deeply for him. That once she knew of his real parentage, she would still care for him. That after four moons you would have imagined a future together that you could not bear to part from.Â
Stupid. Naive. Childish.
Of course you would care more for your people, for your fathers cause. It was only right. He probably would do the same if he was stuck in your position.Â
He tries to ignore the tears stinging on his lash-line. Tries to ignore the stinging that rests there even when he closes his lids. Bites his bottom lip until he's sure he can taste the metallic of blood on his tongue to prevent a sob from ripping through his vocal chords.
When he wakes on the third morning Jacaerys chooses to ignore the salt that has crusted from his tears the night before. He reasoned before he fell asleep that this avoidance was on purpose.Â
That you were carefully crafting your schedule so that you did not run into him. Or simply avoiding places you knew he knew you enjoyed. Hiding in alcoves you've never shown him and slipping around corners at the tiniest sound of his boots.
Perhaps you were trying to tell him of your disgust without actually having to speak to him. Keeping true that you would not see him killed, but you would not help him anymore.Â
If that were true, he would have to find a way home. A way out of Essos. A way out of Myr at the very least.
But Jacaerys had little of his own. The silks, satins and linens he wore? Supplied by you. The jewels that adorned his hair, neck or wrists? Supplied by you.Â
His eyes drift to his sword, resting near the balcony in its holster.
It was the only thing he had that was his anymore. No dragon. No family. Not even a spare bag of coin on his person when he had been found.
He supposes he could try to work. Head into the city and offer his strength in exchange for passage. Make use of himself as a sellsword and make his way back to Westeros on a ship for hire. It wouldn't constitute as âsafe passageâ but it would still put him in the general location of home.
Or, Gods, he could sell the sword itself.Â
It had to be worth something. Definitely enough to get him a space on a ship back to Westeros. Possibly with enough extra to pay for a new set of clothes to hide himself behind.Â
But it was a gift from his mother. The only thing remaining from his life beforeâfrom the life he was trying to return to. He could always get another one, have the blacksmiths curate him a new piece, something more beautiful, or more merciless, whatever his heart desired.
It would not hurt to simply have it appraised. To see how much coin he could procure, and while he was already out of the manse, assess how much passage to Westeros costed.
He dons a simple black cloak to at least slightly obscure his person on his endeavors. He leaves the hood down as he leaves the manseâit'd be stupid to act as if the servants and guards didn't know him. As if they didn't know his posture and his particular saunter.
He gets through the foyer fine. Out into the forecourt and through the front gates before a guard begins to flank him.
Someone less on edge most likely would not have noticed. Not have heard the shifting of the metal armor plates, missed the added set of steps behind them. But Jacaerys has been nearly ready to pounce since the moment you went cold with him four days ago on the street of sales.
He turns back to look upon the guard. It is Thane, a man who he has sparred with many times. He knew every one of Jacaerysâ moves, knew better than anyone in this city how he fought, surely he was preparing to strike Jace down.
Jace tries to wave him off, âI do not need chaperoning today Thane,â his tone dismissive.
âApologies Jace. Orders from the Lady.â Thane rests his hand on the hilt of his sword casually. Nearly as relaxed as Jace is tense. If he notices the tautness in Jaceâs muscles, he chooses not to mention.
Why though, would you not simply have him killed in the manse if you wanted him gone? Did you simply not want to deal with the blood staining your marbled floors? Did you send Thane to murder him if he tried to leave? Were you going to hand him over to your father, to the Triarchy?
Too many possibilities. The variables that he had previously written off all came back tenfold. He needed to get out of here, out of Myr.
So with a shadow, a man matching his steps prepared to slay him whenever the moment arose, Jace charges to the market. He whispers with merchants, assessing who would help him, who was overcharging and who was worth the coin. He needed to know who exactly he was going to run to when night fell.
After he had established a decent enough understanding, Jace made his way to the first blacksmith he saw.Â
âYou can wait here Thane, I will only be a mere moment.â Jace tries once again to dismiss the guard you've imposed upon him.Â
âNo can do.â
Jace steps up the stairs, retching the door open, still trying, âI want to commission a surprise piece for the lady.â
âMy lips are sealed.â
Fine. Jace could speak quietly. Bring his head in close and whisper to the blacksmith about his proposal. He knows it won't matter when he unsheaths the sword to have it appraised, but some semblance of privacy is nice.
Jace speaks for a few moments of the details of the sword. The gold on the pommel, the type of steel it was crafted from. Anything to try and increase the value before the blacksmith demands to actually lay his eyes on the piece. It's only when Jace reaches for the hilt that Thane steps in.Â
âDon't think you need'ta be doinâ that.â His hand pressing Jace's back into the sheath, âBout time we be gettinâ back anyhow.â
Well. He supposes going back to the manse was not the worst thing ever. He could be slain, but he is not. His lungs still inhale, pressing oxygen into his muscles. His head could be rolling on the wooden floors, but it still rests upon his shoulders. His heart still beats a steady, fast but steady, rhythm in his chest.Â
Jace was clever; he could figure an escape plan out as soon as he was alone. Six hells, he could cultivate one now as long as he stayed silent.Â
On the fourth day Jace voices his concerns. To him it is as if you have implemented a self imposed exile to the four walls of your apartments. Certainly his presence was not daunting enough for you to ignore him so?
Where might the Lady of the manse be?
Would she like to go out to the market?
He tries to keep his voice light and curious. To seem as if he simply missed your presence.Â
Yet he does not get a response from the servants sent to help him dress. Does not receive a response from the guards who are dispersed throughout the manse, nor the ones in the training yard. Eventually, though, around midday, your handmaid comes to find him.
Heâs sweaty, face and forearms caked with dust, panting from the exertion when Eliana approaches. âThe Lady wishes for you to join her for dinner.âÂ
Jace knows it must be the truthâyou wouldnât send your handmaid otherwise. So was this it? Would tonight be where he met his cruel end?
He supposes he should look nice at least. If it was the last time you would lay your eyes upon him, the smallest, most selfish bit of him hopes to haunt you with his image. That the browns of his hair and eyes, along with the bridge of his nose and plush bowed lips will linger in your mind long after his flesh rots from the bones.
Jace washes his face, scrubbing until there are no signs of obvious stress visible. He combs and styles his hair, and dresses in his house colors. A fine deep red satin shirt, paired with trousers so dark they look like a void.
Before he knows it, it's time for the show. He can only hope that it is a quick, merciful end.
You're already seated when Jace makes his way into the dining hall. You're sitting at the far head of the tableâa little unusual, because you'd normally be sitting to the right of the head, but it does not make Jace waver. His step does falter for a split second when he notices his seat far from yours. He'd prefer it to be next to you, no matter how improper; he'd settle for adjacent, so he could at least gaze upon your features.
Instead it is directly across. At the end nearest the entrance. As far away as possible. This is most definitely what he believed it to be. Youâre final goodbye before you have him slain somewhere in the streets of Myr.Â
âHow are you, My Lady?â
He can see the faintest bit of a smile on your face. From this distance it seems like a polite, political smile; one that youâve learned and practiced since you were a young girl.Â
âWell, I hope you are too. Please,â You make a faint gesture towards his seat, âSit.â
Jace sits as you ask. It is a bit janky however. His leg catches on the arm of the chair before he finally slips into a seated position. Truthfully, you hoped Jace was distracted. Distracted by youâbut you were not going to ask. Instead you motioned for the meal to be served.
Tonight, your dress is made in Westerosi fashion. A deep red velvet for the fabrics, along with a corset back to tie you deeply into the fabrics. The sleeves just barely hold onto your shoulders, but they're tight enough on your upper arms to secure them into place. At the elbow the fabric opens into nearly a cape along your forearm of black Myrish lace.
Rubies are sewn into the center of your chest, helping accentuate the fatty tissue there. The jewels trail down your torso and ends just above your belly button. Another singular rubie rests above your navel amongst intricate stitching.Â
You purchased the velvet for cheap because the merchants usually cannot sell such heavy fabrics in the warm regions of Essos. It leaves you feeling suffocated from the inside out, but you know that velvet is proof of nobility in Westeros and you're hoping to give Jace a taste of what could have been.
Youâve felt his eyes on you since he walked into the dining hall. Felt them rove over your face, your hair, your bust, and the dress.Â
âDo you like it?â You ask, far too immersed in your plates for Jace to be sure what youâre speaking of.
Jace chews and swallows the remaining venison in his mouth, âLike what?â
âMy dress.â
You take a deep sip of Dornish wine, swishing it around your cheeks as you wonder if he understands. If he grasps the implication, or if he forms it to be what he wants in his mind.
This is acceptance of his heritage. You saying in a different language that you see him as he is, a Westerosi man, and that you welcome him anyway. Maybe he sees it as proof that youâd cross the narrow sea with himâproof that you would adapt to the ways of his people; dress how they dress, eat how they eat, read what they read, sleep how they sleep.
Is he thinking of the future? Of you wearing similarly fashioned dresses as you walked the halls of the Red Keep or Dragonstone?
Were you round with child? Was there one running around your legs and clinging to your skirts? Perhaps he saw both at the same time. Or maybe a few years flashed in his mind, he saw the progress of your life together in bits until it settled on a favored image of your could be family.Â
Unfortunately for him, this was not that.
This was your, unintentionally, cruel way of sneaking deep into his brain.Â
If he thought of youâwhen he thought of youâ he would see this. What could have been. You in his house colors, in the finest fabrics that his homeland had to offer. Slicing into meats spiced to his liking even if it wasnât traditional here. The fruitage of your love clear and abundant.
âYes, I think I favor it. Though you did look delightful in the other piece.â
Good. At least you knew he would look happily upon the memory. It meant you too, could look back on this day without regret. You also could imagine a future of what could have been without feeling guilty.
The two of you make small talk as you eat. You speak of new blooms youâre planning on adding to the gardens, Jace mentions practicing his swordwork with some of the guards. Typical, boring, mundane conversations. Simply had to fill the space.
Your mind drifts throughout them all. Back to the idea of being with Jace. Marrying him. Living in a place unknown to yourself just for him.Â
In the moons since you've rescued him, you've become undeniably close. You think you love Jacaerys Velaryon. Cannot be sure because youâve never been in love before, but youâre nearly sure this is it. When you think back on your parents, when your mother was alive, you see parallels. Thinking of the love youâve read about in fictional novels, you see parallels.Â
It wouldnât happen, couldnât happen, even if you both desired it.Â
âI have found you safe passage back to Westeros.â You reveal with a carefully blank expression on your face. Would Jace revel in this information, barely able to hide his excitement? It would hurt, but you imagine he has been wishing for an opportunity like this to arise.
âHow?â
âI am very persuasive, My Prince.â
âDonât-donât do that.â Jace stammers, clearly taken aback at your use of his title.
He has stopped pretending that he is enjoying his meal, stopped pretending to eat at all actually. Clearly thinking the idea over. You can see a flurry of emotions fly across his face. But mainly confusion that eventually fades to elation.
You speak to him of the logistics. Whom he will be sailing with, how long the journey will be, what alias he must hold until they arrive in Kingâs Landing. Answering any questions he might have had along the way as well.Â
âYou could come with me.â
Blinking up at him, you squint trying to assess if Jace was being serious or not. Surely he did not interrupt your ramblings to present such a foolish idea. âWhat?â The word leaves you breathlessly.
âCome with me. To Westeros.â
There is this frenzied look in his eyes. Wide enough so that you can see all the whites of them, You can see the blacks of his pupils wider than they should be, and they certainly should not be visible from this distance. Theyâre moving erratically, fixing on certain points of your face for a mere second before moving to the next feature.Â
âI cannot.â
âYou can. Youâve already found safe passage!â
You stand, making your way towards Jace before sitting yourself atop the table next to his plates. Your hand rises to cup his face and he leans into your palm. Calmly you begin to explain, âI cannot go with you Jacaerys. We both have our roles in this lifeâYours in Westeros and mine here.â
âButââ
âHowever, I can give you one last night before your voyage.â Your fingers begin to stroke simple patterns into the curve of his jaw. âSomething to remember me by if you will.â
Jacaerys was a strong man. A good man. A thoughtful man. So he knows he would be stupid to deny himself this. Knows that he will be heading home to Westeros, to wed Baela, and to be Lord of Dragonstone with her as his Lady wife. But with this, he could at the very least have fresher memories of your love.
Jace stands, grabbing your other hand to bring it to clutch at the other side of his face. He situates himself between your legs before slotting his lips to yours.Â
He kisses you slow. Relishing in the pressure of your lips and the smoothness of them before even thinking of trying to part the seam with his tongue.
He tastes you slow too. Sliding his tongue against and across yours in miniscule movements, like he wants to lave over every individual tastebud. Like he wants to steal the taste of dinner off of them until there's only you, you, you.
He would not ravish you on the table, it was improper, so instead he hoists you up. Hands stopping their constant meandering over the planes of your dress to secure on the underside of your thighs while Jace rushes through the hallways to your apartments.
Jace thinks of all the ways he will bed you as he unties your corsets. He does not believe that he will rest tonight; there are too many things he wishes to try. Too many sounds and pleasures he wants, no needs, to tear from you before he is stripped of your presence forever.
You return his fervor tenfold, of course. Eagerly tearing at his trousers and doublet, preparing to memorise the planes of muscle that were usually obscured. Something to think about when you eventually married some Magisterâs son that you could only barely care for because you were stuck with him all day.
You allow yourself to be as loud as possible, moaning and whimpering Jaceâs true name into the night air. The servants could send all the ravens they wanted, Jacaerys would still be gone before anything could be done.Â
The next morn you wake to a rhythmic beating below your ear and a warm palm caressing your arm. You shift, digging your cheek deeper into the lean place of muscle beneath it, you can feel Jacaerys inhale in a slight laugh.
âYou know, I meant what I said.â
Blearily, you blink up at him. Trying to get your eyes to focus on him through the slight crusts at the edges. As you wipe them away you hum in confusion, egging him to explain his statement.
âYou can come with me. Back to Westeros.â His eyes have lost that crazed look from the night before. Instead swimming with hope, âI will not see you harmed for your parentage, and you would live as lavishly as you do here.â
You know he's telling the truth, earnestly holding eye contact for as long as you'd allow him before you blink away. His breathing never changed, nor his repetitive motions. If he were lying something would have changed.
âYou know I cannot.â You break your statement with a press to his lips before continuing, âI would love nothing more, but I cannot.â
Your last moments together are spent tenderly. You help Jacaerys dress, attach the hilt of his sword to his waist, and sweep some of his crazed curls back behind his ear. All gentle touches and soft words.Â
A perfect bubble thatâs only bursted when you see him off in the forecourt.Â
Tears brim at your lashline and you have to swallow back a sob more than once. This was Jaceâs last vision of you and you would not have it sullied because of some emotion that you could not reign in.Â
Perhaps you would meet again. Perhaps Râhllor would reunite you in whatever came after death as a thank you for saving his life.Â
Or perhaps not. Perhaps you had simply completed a thankless miracle, and your paths would never cross again.
Youâd simply have to wait and see.Â
epilogue
Nearly a full year has passed since you saw Jacaerys off from the gates of your forecourt. Eleven moons spent twisting and turning at every boy around his height with curly hair, presuming them to be him. Foolishly believing that he has come back to you.
His mother, Rhaenyra, had spent the time fully establishing herself as Queen. Jacaerys was by her side, of course, learning the proper ways of court and preparing for his future.Â
You still ask of him, from traveling merchants and storytellers. What is he doing? Are the smallfolk taking to him nicely? Do they believe him fit to be King or do rumors mull about?
You try your best to ignore thoughts of him when with your father.
Yet even now, as you sit poking at salted cod, your mind drifts to him. The meal was one of his favorites and instead of desiring to devour it you wish to save it. As if the meal alone will draw him back into your arms.
Your father clears his throat, taking a deep gulp of wine before speaking.
âA raven came today.â An unpeculiar thing, and your brow creases in confusion as he continues, âWith no house seal, simply a piece of twine to hold it together.â
He extends his hand to give you the letter, and you take it from him as if it may burn you. Why is he not revealing more information? Unease sets in your stomach as you unroll the parchment.
The war for the Iron Throne is long won. Rhaenyra Targaryen sits upon it as the God's intended.
I am sure this is tragic news for you, as tragic as losing much of your fleet in the Battle of the Gullet. However I write with the hope of peace.Â
My betrothed has found someone, someone she loves, and cherishes. In a true way, not one forged out of political necessity. So I have had our betrothal renounced, I could never prevent one from being with the person they truly love.Â
I am sure you question what this has to do with you. I am told you have a daughter, and that she remains unwed. The crown suggests offering me her handâas a show of good faith. Showing the Triarchyâs submission in their losses, and their willingness to cooperate with nearby lands.
Know that she will be treated well. Future Queen is the second best position a woman can hold in Westeros after all.Â
Take a few days to mull over your options. But do make haste, these peaceful terms will not be available forever.
- Jacaerys Velaryon
A grin has overtaken your features while reading the short letter. Before meeting your fathers gaze you school it back to indifference.
âI am to be Queen of Westeros?â You ask, as if not believing the writing before you.
âOnly if you desire, I am sure that we can discuss other appeasable terms.â
You don an assured smile, trying to hide the glimmer of excitement in your eyes, âIt is all right Father. We all have our parts to play.âÂ
Dividers by @cafekitsune
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