Sacha Faible

[faibleprompts]

Faible prompt of the day!

I could see this being a black mirror story

[sachafaible]

Cancelled

I wrote a Faible based-on this prompt! I might even post some chapters on Ao3, check it out here!

[sachafaible]

The White Cloak Chapter 13

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Gwayne wandered the halls of the Red Keep, his mind racing with thoughts of Criston and the conversation he had just had with Alicent. He needed to clear his head, but the weight of their unresolved issues weighed heavily on him. Just as he turned a corner, he found himself pulled into an empty room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Criston stood before him, his expression intense, a mix of determination and frustration. “Gwayne,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about, Criston?” Gwayne replied, crossing his arms defensively. “You made your choices clear in the woods. I’m not looking to fight alongside you again.”

Criston stepped closer, his green eyes locked onto Gwayne’s. “This isn’t about the past. It’s about the future. We’re facing a threat from the Velaryons, and we need to be united if we’re going to survive this war.”

Gwayne shook his head, feeling the heat of anger rising within him.

“You think I can just forget what happened? You think I can trust you again after you killed Corlys? You acted out of rage, and it put us all in danger!”

Criston’s jaw tightened, his frustration palpable.

“I did what I thought was necessary! You don’t understand the pressure I was under. I had to make a choice in the heat of battle!”

“And that’s exactly the problem!” Gwayne shot back, his voice rising. “You act without thinking, and it puts everyone at risk! I can’t follow you into that kind of chaos. I won’t!”

Criston stepped closer, the tension between them crackling like electricity.

“You’re being stubborn, Gwayne! We’ve fought together before, and we can do it again. You know we’re stronger as a team.”

“Stronger?” Gwayne scoffed, his heart racing. “You mean stronger when you’re charging headfirst into danger without considering the consequences? I can’t be a part of that. I need a partner who thinks things through, not someone who acts on impulse!”

Criston’s expression shifted, a flash of hurt crossing his features.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away? After everything we’ve been through?”

Gwayne felt his resolve wavering, the memories of their shared battles and the bond they had forged fighting for dominance in his heart.

“I’m not walking away, Criston. I’m trying to protect myself. I can’t keep putting myself in a position where I have to question your judgment.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Criston’s voice softened, a hint of desperation creeping in. “Tell me how to earn your trust back. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The vulnerability in Criston’s voice struck a chord within Gwayne, but he quickly steeled himself.

“You can’t just expect me to forget what happened. Trust isn’t something you can demand; it has to be earned over time.”

Criston stepped back, frustration mingling with sadness in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Gwayne. I need you by my side. We’re better together, and you know it.”

Gwayne felt the weight of Criston’s words, the truth of them resonating deep within him. But the fear of being hurt again held him back.

“I need time, Criston. I need to figure out if I can trust you again.”

The air in the small room crackled with tension as Gwayne turned to leave, his heart heavy with uncertainty. But before he could reach the door, Criston stepped forward, his anger and frustration boiling over.

“Damn it, Gwayne!” Criston exclaimed, his voice a mix of desperation and fury. “You think you can just walk away from this? You think I’ll let you go that easily?”

Gwayne felt his pulse quicken, a mix of fear and excitement surging through him.

“Criston, don’t—”

Before he could finish, Criston closed the distance between them, his hand gripping Gwayne’s arm, pulling him close. The intensity in Criston’s green eyes was unmistakable, a fire that ignited a deep, conflicting desire within Gwayne.

In a sudden, impulsive moment, Criston leaned in and pressed his lips against Gwayne’s, the kiss fierce and demanding. Gwayne’s mind raced, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over him. He wanted to resist, to push Criston away and reassert the boundaries he had tried so hard to maintain. But as Criston’s warmth enveloped him, something deep within Gwayne stirred.

He found himself responding, his body betraying his mind as he kissed Criston back, the heat of the moment consuming him. The taste of Criston was intoxicating, a mix of desperation and longing that sent shivers down Gwayne’s spine.

For a heartbeat, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in that small room, lost in a moment that felt both right and wrong. Gwayne’s heart raced, a tumult of feelings swirling within him—anger, confusion, and a longing he had tried to suppress.

But as quickly as it began, the kiss ended, and Gwayne pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Criston, what was that?” he stammered, his mind racing to process what had just happened.

Criston’s expression was a mix of regret and defiance, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though the sincerity in his voice was overshadowed by the intensity of his gaze. “I couldn’t help myself. I just… I need you to understand how much this means to me.”

Gwayne’s heart ached at the raw vulnerability in Criston’s words, but the reality of their situation crashed down around him.

“You can’t just kiss me and expect everything to be okay,” he replied, his voice shaky. “We have so much to work through.”

“I know,” Criston said, his voice pleading. “But I can’t stand the thought of losing you. I thought if I could just show you how I feel—”

“Feelings don’t change the fact that we’re at odds, Criston,” Gwayne interrupted, his heart heavy. “We can’t just ignore our problems because of a moment of passion.”

Criston stepped back, the fire in his eyes dimming as he processed Gwayne’s words.

“I understand. I just… I thought maybe this could bridge the gap between us.”

Gwayne felt a mix of frustration and longing.

“It complicates things even more. I don’t know how to navigate this, Criston. I care about you, but we have to be honest about our differences.”

Criston nodded, the weight of their situation settling heavily between them.

“I don’t want to lose you, Gwayne.”

As they stood in the aftermath of the kiss, the air thick with unresolved emotions, Gwayne felt the tension between them shift once more. They were standing at a crossroads, and the path ahead was uncertain.

[faibleprompts]

Faible prompt for my Fleabag fans!

"It'll pass" broke me 💔

https://sharing.faible.ai/faible/b7a40bf2-15b5-4e25-9e45-747a85a7896e

[sachafaible]

It...Didn't Pass

The rain poured down relentlessly, drenching Fleabag and the Priest as they stood under the dim streetlight. Her confession hung in the air, mingling with the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement. His eyes, normally so warm and inviting, were filled with a mixture of sorrow and longing.

"I love you," she had said, her voice trembling with vulnerability. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The Priest took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain. The words broke through the barriers they had both erected, and in that moment, they were just two people standing in the rain, stripped of their titles and obligations.

Fleabag felt a surge of emotions—relief, joy, fear—all crashing into her at once. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she savored the warmth of his hand against her cold, wet skin. But reality was never far behind. The Priest pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers for answers they both knew wouldn't come easily.

"What do we do now?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Fleabag opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a mixture of determination and confusion.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the rain continuing its relentless assault. Finally, the Priest took a step back, his hand dropping to his side.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice firm but gentle. Fleabag nodded, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"Yeah, we do." They walked in silence to a nearby café, the warm light spilling out onto the wet street. Inside, they found a quiet corner, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

The Priest ordered two cups of tea, his hands shaking slightly as he handed one to Fleabag. She took it gratefully, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. For a moment, they just sat there, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Fleabag broke the silence.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" she said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The Priest chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Yeah, it is."

Fleabag took a deep breath, the warmth of the tea seeping into her hands, grounding her. She looked at the Priest, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

"What if we left London?" she suggested, her voice steady but filled with uncertainty. "Just for a while. To figure things out."

The Priest's eyes widened in surprise.

"Leave London?" he repeated, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. Fleabag nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Yeah. Just... get away from everything. From everyone. Give ourselves a chance to breathe, to think."

The Priest leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his wet hair. The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Where would we go?" he asked, his voice soft, as if he was afraid to speak too loudly and shatter the fragile moment. Fleabag shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Anywhere. Everywhere. I don't know. Somewhere where we can just be us, without all the noise." She paused, searching his face for any sign of rejection. "What do you think?"

The Priest looked down at his hands, his mind racing. The thought of leaving his congregation, his responsibilities, was daunting. But the idea of being with Fleabag, away from the prying eyes and judgment, was tempting.

"I think..." he started, his voice trailing off as he looked back up at her. "I think it might be exactly what we need."

Fleabag's heart soared at his words. She reached across the table, her hand finding his. "Really?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The Priest nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Really." They sat there for a moment, the weight of their decision settling around them. It was a leap into the unknown, but it was a leap they were willing to take together.

"When do we leave?" Fleabag asked, her eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and fear. The Priest squeezed her hand, his smile growing.

"As soon as possible," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Fleabag nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope. They had no idea what the future held, but they were ready to face it together.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Fleabag's small apartment, casting a warm glow on the cluttered space. She moved around with a sense of purpose, her suitcase open on the bed as she hastily packed her belongings. The excitement from the previous night had carried her through the early hours, and now, with every item she placed into the suitcase, her anticipation grew. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

The Priest was supposed to arrive any minute now. She had replayed their conversation over and over in her mind, each time feeling more certain that leaving London was the right decision. The thought of a fresh start with him filled her with a cautious hope she hadn't felt in years.

As the minutes ticked by, Fleabag's movements slowed. She checked her phone, expecting a message, a call—anything to explain his delay. But there was nothing. She tried to shake off the creeping doubt, convincing herself that he was just running late. He would be here. He had to be.

An hour passed. Then two. Fleabag sat on the edge of her bed, her suitcase now neatly packed and zipped shut. She stared at the door, willing it to open, willing him to walk through it with that familiar, reassuring smile. But the door remained closed. The excitement that had buoyed her spirits began to wane, replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She picked up her phone, dialing his number. It rang and rang, but there was no answer.

She left a message, her voice trembling slightly. "Hey, it's me. Just checking if everything's okay. Call me when you get this." She hung up, her fingers gripping the phone tightly. The silence in the apartment was deafening. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

Had he changed his mind? Had something happened to him? She couldn't bear the uncertainty. Fleabag stood up, pacing the room. She glanced at the packed suitcase, a bitter taste of disappointment rising in her throat. She had allowed herself to hope, to believe that things could be different. But now, she was left with nothing but questions and an empty apartment.

Just as she was about to call him again, there was a knock at the door. Her heart leapt, a surge of relief washing over her. She rushed to the door, opening it with a mixture of hope and apprehension. But it wasn't the Priest standing there. It was Claire, her sister, looking concerned and slightly out of breath.

"We need to talk," Claire said, her voice urgent. "Your little priest came to see me."

Fleabag's heart raced as she stared at Claire, disbelief washing over her.

"What do you mean he came to see you?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Why didn’t he come to me? I thought we were leaving together!"

Claire stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her.

"Please, just listen," she said, her expression serious. "He came to me in the middle of the night. He was... he was distraught. He said he couldn’t go through with it."

Fleabag felt the ground shift beneath her.

"What? Why? We had a plan!" Her voice cracked, the weight of her disappointment threatening to crush her. "He said he loved me! We were supposed to escape this place together!"

Claire took a deep breath, her eyes softening.

"He told me he needed to find his purpose, his mission. He believes he has to leave London to do that. He asked me to send you a message, to ask you to stay here—to not follow him."

Fleabag felt a rush of anger and hurt.

"So, he just expects me to sit here and wait while he goes off on some... some spiritual quest? Is that it?" She could feel the tears welling up, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. Claire stepped closer, her voice gentle.

"I know this hurts. But you know how he is. His faith is everything to him. He’s torn between his love for you and his calling. It’s not just about you two; it’s about who he is."

Fleabag shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"But what about me? What about what we had? All those moments we shared, the way he looked at me? Was that all just... nothing?" The ache in her chest felt unbearable. Claire reached out, placing a comforting hand on Fleabag's shoulder.

"I can’t pretend to know what he’s feeling, but I do know that he cares about you deeply. He wouldn’t have come to me if he didn’t. But right now, he’s lost."

Fleabag took a step back, her heart racing.

"So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait around for him to figure himself out? I can’t do that, Claire. I won’t."

Claire looked at her, a mixture of sympathy and concern in her eyes.

"You have to decide what you want. Do you want to fight for him? Or do you want to move on? But whatever you choose, you need to do it for yourself."

Fleabag felt the weight of her sister's words. She was at a crossroads, and the choices ahead loomed large and daunting.

--

Fleabag's heart raced as she made her way to the train station, each step fueled by a mix of desperation and determination. The bustling sounds of commuters and the distant rumble of trains faded into the background as her mind fixated on one thing—finding the Priest. She needed to confront him, to beg him to let her go with him, no matter what it meant for her own future.

As she entered the station, the smell of coffee and pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the chatter of travelers. Fleabag pushed through the crowd, her eyes darting around, searching for the familiar figure of the Priest. The thought of him leaving without her sent a wave of panic coursing through her veins. Finally, she spotted him standing by the platform, his back to her, staring at the tracks with a contemplative expression.

He looked so lost, so far away. Fleabag's breath caught in her throat as she approached, her heart pounding louder with each step.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice cutting through the noise of the station. He turned, surprise evident on his face as he took in her presence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you!” she exclaimed, urgency spilling from her lips. “You can’t just leave like this. You said you loved me, and now you want to walk away? I won’t let you!”

The Priest's expression softened, but there was a flicker of pain in his eyes.

“You don’t understand. I have to do this. It’s not just about us; it’s about my faith, my calling.”

“Faith?” she echoed, her voice rising. “What about us? What about everything we shared? I can’t just sit here and pretend like I don’t want to be with you. I want to go with you. Please, let me come with you!”

He shook his head, stepping back slightly as if her words physically pushed him away.

“You don’t know what you’re asking. This isn’t a romantic getaway. It’s a journey I have to undertake alone.”

Fleabag's heart sank, but she pressed on, desperation creeping into her voice.

“But I’m not asking for a vacation. I’m asking to be with you. I don’t care about the destination. I just want to be by your side, to support you. Isn’t that what love is?”

The Priest looked torn, his brow furrowing as he grappled with her words.

“I don’t want to put you through this. It’s complicated, and I don’t know how to reconcile my love for you with my responsibilities.”

“Then let me help you figure it out!” she pleaded, stepping closer, her eyes searching his. “Please, don’t leave me behind. Don’t make me choose between you and my own happiness.” The tension between them crackled, and for a moment, Fleabag held her breath, hoping he would see the truth in her plea.

As Fleabag's words hung in the air, the tension between them reached a boiling point. The Priest stepped closer, his eyes searching hers, filled with a mixture of longing and conflict. In that moment, the world around them faded away—the bustling station, the noise of the trains, the people rushing by—all that mattered was the two of them.

Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her, his lips crashing against hers with a fervor that took her breath away. It was passionate, desperate, and filled with all the emotions they had both been holding back.

Fleabag melted into the kiss, her heart racing as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. This was what she had wanted, what she had craved—the connection, the intimacy, the love that had blossomed between them. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, the Priest's forehead rested against hers.

“I can’t bear to lose you,” he admitted, his voice a low whisper. “You make me feel alive in a way I never expected.” Fleabag searched his eyes, feeling a surge of hope.

“Then let me come with you. We can figure this out together. I don’t want to be apart from you.”

He hesitated for a moment, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. But as he looked into her eyes, he saw the fierce determination and love reflected back at him.

“Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “You can come with me. We’ll face whatever comes together.”

Fleabag’s heart soared.

“Really?” she breathed, disbelief and joy flooding her. “You mean it?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, a smile breaking through the uncertainty. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.”

The train whistle blew again, signaling that it was time to board. Fleabag felt a thrill of excitement mixed with fear as they walked hand in hand toward the platform, ready to embark on this new journey together.

As they stepped onto the train, Fleabag glanced back at the city she was leaving behind. It was a leap into the unknown, but with the Priest by her side, she felt a sense of hope and possibility. They were venturing into a new chapter, one filled with challenges and discoveries, but also with love and connection. And as the train pulled away, Fleabag knew that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

Faible is an interactive storytelling experience that unlocks the creative storyteller in everyone. Leverage the power of AI to create immer

[faibleprompts]

Hello everyone! 

I wanted to take a moment to discuss this blog and express my gratitude to all my followers and everyone who enjoys my prompts. Your support means a lot to me <3

Just wanted to remind everyone that I create and write these prompts on my own, free for anyone to use. And while I am a fan of Faible and design these prompts specifically with Faible in mind, you don't have to use Faible - these prompts can simply serve as creative writing inspiration. I just think Faible is a really unique way to explore storytelling and I really enjoy interactive fiction. 

Thank you again for your continued support <3 Looking forward to sharing more Faible prompts with everyone!

[sachafaible]

Same here! Faible is a tool I prefer to use for my own entertainment, and I hope it connects with other people who enjoy interactive writing and fanfiction :) <3

[sachafaible]

The Last Kingdom Fanfic Chapter 1

I've created a new fanfic based on the Last Kingdom, and I'll be posting chapter updates on Ao3 and here!

Remember to join the Faible facebook group!

The air was thick with the stench of sweat and blood as Raven huddled in the corner of the dimly lit dungeon. Their silver eyes, a stark contrast to the darkness around them, flickered with the remnants of a vision that had just passed. The cold stone walls pressed in, a constant reminder of their captivity under Bloodhair and Skade. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, and Raven's heart raced. They knew those footsteps well.

Bloodhair entered the cell, his presence as imposing as ever. His wild hair and beard, both matted with grime, framed a face that was perpetually twisted into a cruel sneer. Skade followed closely behind, her eyes gleaming with a malevolent curiosity. She was the one who truly frightened Raven, her sadistic pleasure in their suffering evident in every interaction.

"Another vision, Seer?" Bloodhair's voice was a low growl, filled with both menace and expectation.

Raven nodded, their voice barely a whisper. "Yes, my lord."

Skade stepped closer, her fingers tracing the scars on Raven's arm. "Tell us, what did you see?"

Raven swallowed hard, their throat dry. "I saw... I saw your downfall. Uhtred of Bebbanburg will come, and he will bring an end to your reign."

Bloodhair's laughter filled the cell, a sound devoid of humor.

"Uhtred? That Saxon dog? He is no threat to me."

Skade's grip tightened on Raven's arm, her nails digging into their flesh. "You'd better not be lying, Seer. You know what happens to liars."

Raven winced but held their gaze steady. "I speak only what I see."

Bloodhair turned to leave, his confidence unshaken. "We'll see about that. Keep your visions to yourself unless I ask for them."

As the door slammed shut behind them, Raven let out a shaky breath. The vision of Uhtred's arrival was the only thing that kept them going, a glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak existence. They had to believe it would come true, that their freedom was within reach.

Hours turned into days, and the dungeon remained as oppressive as ever. But then, one night, the sound of clashing swords and shouts of battle reached Raven's ears. Their heart leaped with hope. Could it be? Had Uhtred finally come?

Raven's heart pounded as they listened to the sounds of battle growing louder. This was the moment they had been waiting for. Summoning every ounce of courage, they pushed themselves up from the cold stone floor and crept towards the cell door. Their fingers trembled as they worked the latch, praying it would give way. With a soft click, the door swung open, and Raven slipped into the dimly lit corridor.

The dungeon was eerily quiet, save for the distant clamor of fighting. Raven moved swiftly, their bare feet barely making a sound against the rough stone. They had spent years memorizing the layout of Bloodhair's stronghold, a necessity for survival. Now, that knowledge was their greatest asset.

As they navigated the twisting passages, Raven's mind raced. They had to find Uhtred, the man who had haunted their visions for so long. The man who was their beacon of hope. They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a guard. The man's eyes widened in surprise, but Raven was quicker. They grabbed a loose stone from the wall and struck him across the head. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Raven pressed on, their breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The sounds of battle grew louder, and soon they found themselves at the entrance to the main hall. The scene before them was one of chaos. Uhtred's warriors clashed with Bloodhair's men, swords flashing in the dim light. Raven's eyes scanned the room, searching for Uhtred.

There, in the center of the fray, was the unmistakable figure of Uhtred of Bebbanburg. His presence was commanding, his swordsmanship unmatched. Raven's heart swelled with a mixture of fear and hope. This was their chance.

They darted through the melee, narrowly avoiding the swings of swords and the thrusts of spears. As they reached Uhtred, they called out, their voice barely audible over the din of battle. "Uhtred! It's me, Raven!"

Uhtred turned, his eyes locking onto Raven's. Recognition flickered in his gaze, and he nodded.

"Stay close to me. We'll get you out of here."

Raven nodded, their relief palpable. They had found Uhtred, but the battle was far from over. Bloodhair and Skade were still out there, and their wrath would be swift and merciless.

Uhtred's eyes flickered with determination as he assessed the battlefield. He knew that Bloodhair's defeat was crucial, but he couldn't let Raven remain in danger. He spotted Finan, his loyal Irish warrior, fighting fiercely nearby. With a quick motion, Uhtred called out to him.

"Finan! Over here!" Uhtred's voice cut through the chaos, and Finan turned, his eyes widening as he saw Raven.

Finan fought his way over, his sword a blur of deadly precision. "What do you need, Uhtred?"

"Take Raven," Uhtred ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Get them to safety. I have to end this."

Finan nodded, sheathing his sword and grabbing Raven's arm. "Come on, lass. Let's get you out of here."

Raven hesitated, their eyes darting between Uhtred and the raging battle. "But Uhtred—"

"I'll be fine," Uhtred interrupted, his gaze steady. "Go with Finan. I'll find you once this is over."

Raven nodded reluctantly, allowing Finan to lead them away from the main hall. As they moved through the labyrinthine passages of the stronghold, Raven couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at their insides. They had seen Bloodhair's downfall in their visions, but the path to that end was fraught with peril.

Finan kept a firm grip on Raven's arm, his eyes scanning for any threats. "Don't worry, Raven. Uhtred knows what he's doing. He'll take care of Bloodhair."

Raven nodded, though their heart was heavy with worry. They had come so far, endured so much, and now they were so close to freedom. But the fear of losing Uhtred, the man who had become their savior, was almost overwhelming.

They reached a small, hidden chamber that Finan had scouted earlier. It was a temporary refuge, a place to catch their breath. Finan barred the door and turned to Raven. "Stay here. I'll stand guard."

Raven sat on the cold stone floor, their mind racing. They could still hear the distant sounds of battle, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded. Closing their eyes, they tried to focus, to summon a vision that might offer some guidance.

Suddenly, an image flashed before their eyes: Uhtred and Bloodhair locked in combat, their swords clashing with deadly intent. The vision was brief but clear. Bloodhair was strong, but Uhtred had the upper hand. Raven's heart soared with hope.

But then, another vision followed—Skade, with her malevolent smile, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike.

Raven's heart raced as the vision of Skade lurking in the shadows replayed in their mind. They couldn't allow Uhtred to be ambushed, not when he was facing Bloodhair. With urgency coursing through them, they looked up at Finan, who was still standing guard by the door.

"Finan!" Raven's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the air. "We need to warn Uhtred. Skade is coming!"

Finan turned, his brow furrowing with concern. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"I saw her—she's waiting for the right moment to strike. We can't let her get to him!" Raven's silver eyes were wide with fear, their urgency palpable.

Without another word, Finan nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Then we need to move. If Skade is after Uhtred, we can't waste time."

They both rushed to the door, Finan pushing it open cautiously. The sounds of battle echoed in the corridor, but the chaos was beginning to settle, a sign that the confrontation between Uhtred and Bloodhair was nearing its climax. They crept through the hallways, listening intently for any sign of danger.

As they approached the main hall, Raven's instincts kicked in. They could feel the tension in the air, a static charge that warned of impending conflict. "We have to hurry!" Raven urged, quickening their pace.

Just as they reached the entrance to the main hall, the clash of swords rang out with renewed ferocity. Uhtred's voice roared above the din. "Bloodhair! This ends now!"

Raven's heart sank. They could see Uhtred engaged in furious combat, his focus entirely on his opponent. But then, from the corner of their eye, they spotted Skade slipping through the shadows, her movements predatory and stealthy.

"Uhtred!" Raven shouted, but their voice was drowned out by the chaos. Skade was closing in, and they had to act fast.

"Come on!" Finan grabbed Raven's arm and pulled them towards Uhtred, but Raven shook their head.

"No, we have to divert Skade!" Raven insisted. "If she gets to him, he won't stand a chance!"

Finan hesitated, torn between protecting Raven and aiding Uhtred. "What do you suggest?"

Raven took a deep breath, their mind racing. "I can create a distraction. If I can draw her attention, you can warn Uhtred."

Finan's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Be careful, Raven. She's dangerous."

Raven felt a surge of determination. They could do this. They had to.

With a nod of reassurance, Raven stepped away from Finan, moving towards the shadows where Skade lurked. They closed their eyes, focusing on their abilities, summoning the energy within. A flicker of light danced around their fingertips as they prepared to create a diversion.

Raven felt the energy surge within them, a potent force that demanded release. With a deep breath, they focused their thoughts on the shadows where Skade hid, channeling their abilities into a brilliant burst of light. The sudden radiance erupted from their fingertips, illuminating the dark corridor and casting long shadows across the stone walls.

The effect was immediate. Skade’s head snapped towards the light, her eyes narrowing with fury. "What—?" she hissed, caught off guard by the unexpected distraction. Raven felt a rush of satisfaction, but it was short-lived.

The burst of energy drained Raven more than they anticipated. The exertion was overwhelming, and their vision blurred as they staggered back against the wall. A wave of dizziness washed over them, and they felt their knees buckle.

"No!" Finan shouted, rushing to support Raven as they slid down the wall. "Stay with me, Raven! We need to keep moving!"

But Raven's focus was already slipping. They could see Skade, furious and determined, charging towards them. The warrior's face twisted with rage as she bore down, her intentions clear. However, just as she reached the edge of the light, something unexpected happened. Skade stumbled, her expression shifting from anger to confusion, and then to alarm.

The burst of light had drained Raven’s strength, but it had also seemed to overwhelm Skade. She staggered, clutching her head as if the brightness had pierced through her very soul. With a cry of frustration, she fell to her knees, her body trembling. Moments later, she collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Raven blinked, their heart racing. Had they truly done it? Had they incapacitated Skade, even if just for a moment? They could hardly believe their eyes, but the sight of the formidable warrior lying motionless on the cold stone floor was undeniable.

"Raven!" Finan exclaimed, his voice breaking through the haze. "You did it! But we need to get you out of here now!"

Raven shook their head, fighting through the fog that clouded their mind. "Uhtred... we have to warn him."

Finan glanced towards the main hall, where the sounds of battle still echoed. "Right. But you need to rest. You’re not in any shape to fight."

Raven struggled to focus, their silver eyes narrowing as they tried to gather their strength. "No... I can’t let him face Bloodhair alone."

With a determined nod, Finan helped Raven to their feet, supporting them as they moved towards the entrance of the main hall. The battle raged on, but now they had a chance. Skade was down, and Uhtred needed to know.

As they stepped into the chaos, Raven's heart pounded with a mix of fear and resolve. They had to make it to Uhtred before it was too late.

[faibleprompts]

Faible prompt of the day!

Dragon raiser prompt inspired by How To Train Your Dragon

Remember to join the Faible Facebook group! https://www.facebook.com/share/g/rSorv3VnYxtWhsnb/

[sachafaible]

Dragon Kingdom Rising

Liora Bellamy knelt beside the ancient dragon egg, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its surface. Hidden deep within the island's dense forest, the egg's faint warmth radiated through her fingertips, a subtle reminder of the life growing within. She glanced around, ensuring no one had followed her to this secluded spot.

The island's inhabitants feared dragons, and if they discovered the egg, they would destroy it without hesitation. Weeks had passed since she first stumbled upon the egg, and in that time, she had come to care for it with a fierce protectiveness.

Her grandmother's tales of dragons echoed in her mind, stories of majestic creatures that once ruled the skies before humans drove them to extinction. Liora's heart ached at the thought of such beauty lost to fear and ignorance. As she sat in the clearing, she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her. Her hand instinctively reached for the small dagger she carried at her waist.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and lean with long, unkempt black hair and piercing blue eyes. Liora's grip tightened on her dagger, but she recognized the young man. It was Kian Blake, the island's reclusive hermit. He had always intrigued her with his knowledge of the island's mystical history, though their paths had rarely crossed.

"What are you doing here, Kian?" Liora demanded, trying to mask her anxiety. Kian's gaze shifted to the egg, and a flicker of recognition passed over his features.

"I could ask you the same thing, Liora," he replied, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. "That's not just any egg, is it?"

Liora hesitated, torn between her desire to protect the egg and the possibility that Kian might be an ally.

"It's a dragon egg," she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I need to keep it safe."

Kian's expression softened, and he took a step closer.

"I know how to help you," he said quietly. "But we need to be careful. There are those who would do anything to destroy it."

Liora's heart raced as she considered his words. Could she trust him? The fate of the dragon—and perhaps the island—hung in the balance.

Liora took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Kian's. She could see the sincerity in his piercing blue eyes and felt a strange sense of reassurance.

"Alright," she said, lowering her dagger. "I trust you. But we need to move quickly. This place isn't safe."

Kian nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Follow me. I know a place where we can hide the egg, at least for now." He turned and began to lead the way through the dense foliage, his movements swift and sure. Liora carefully lifted the egg, cradling it against her chest as she followed him.

They walked in silence for what felt like hours, the forest growing thicker and more foreboding with each step. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that danced eerily among the trees. Liora's thoughts raced, wondering what kind of sanctuary Kian had in mind and whether they would truly be safe there.

Finally, they reached a hidden cave entrance, almost invisible beneath a curtain of vines. Kian pushed them aside, revealing a narrow passageway.

"This way," he said, his voice echoing softly in the dim light. Liora followed him inside, the air cool and damp against her skin. The cave widened into a spacious chamber, illuminated by a few strategically placed lanterns. Ancient symbols adorned the walls, and the faint scent of herbs and earth filled the air. Kian turned to her, his expression serious. "This is a place my family used to protect the dragons. It's been abandoned for years, but it should still be safe."

Liora carefully placed the egg on a bed of soft moss in the corner of the chamber. She turned to Kian, gratitude and curiosity mingling in her eyes.

"Thank you, Kian. I don't know what I would have done without your help." Kian shrugged, his gaze lingering on the egg.

"It's not just about helping you, Liora. It's about honoring my family's legacy and ensuring the survival of these magnificent creatures."

As they settled into the cave, Liora felt a sense of hope she hadn't experienced in a long time. With Kian's knowledge and their combined determination, perhaps they could protect the dragon and bring about a new era for the island. But their respite was short-lived. The sound of footsteps echoed from the cave entrance, and Liora's heart leapt into her throat. They weren't alone.

The sound of heavy boots and hushed voices grew louder, and Liora's heart pounded in her chest. She exchanged a quick, tense glance with Kian, who immediately moved to extinguish the lanterns, plunging the cave into near darkness.

"Stay close to the egg," Kian whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll try to buy us some time." Liora nodded, crouching protectively over the egg, her dagger clutched tightly in her hand. The shadows around them seemed to close in, and she could hear the dragon hunters' footsteps echoing ominously through the cave.

"Spread out and search every corner," a gruff voice commanded. "That egg is here somewhere." Kian positioned himself near the entrance, his lean frame blending into the darkness. He picked up a small rock and hurled it deeper into the cave, creating a distraction.

The hunters paused, their attention drawn to the sound.

"Over there!" one of them shouted, and they moved towards the noise. Kian seized the opportunity, stepping silently behind the nearest hunter. With swift precision, he struck, disarming the man and knocking him unconscious before he could raise an alarm. The other hunters turned at the commotion, their eyes narrowing as they spotted Kian.

"Get him!" the leader barked, and the remaining hunters charged. Kian fought valiantly, his movements fluid and practiced. He dodged a swinging blade, countering with a well-placed kick that sent another hunter sprawling.

But the odds were against him, and Liora knew she couldn't stay hidden any longer. Her grip tightened on the dagger, and she sprang into action, joining the fray. She slashed at one of the hunters, drawing blood and forcing him to retreat. Another lunged at her, but she sidestepped and delivered a swift blow to his temple, knocking him out cold. Despite their combined efforts, the hunters were relentless.

Liora and Kian found themselves backed into a corner, the egg still nestled safely behind them. The leader of the hunters stepped forward, a cruel smile on his face.

"You're outnumbered," he sneered. "Hand over the egg, and maybe we'll let you live." Liora's eyes blazed with defiance.

"Never," she spat, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. The leader raised his sword, ready to strike, but before he could bring it down, a deafening roar echoed through the cave. The ground trembled, and a burst of fiery light illuminated the chamber.

Liora's heart soared as she realized the source of the roar: the dragon egg had hatched, and a young dragon now stood between them and the hunters, its scales glistening in the dim light.

The young dragon, its scales shimmering like molten gold, stood tall and fierce, its eyes locked onto the intruders with a primal intensity. Liora felt a surge of pride and awe at the sight of Zephyr, her heart swelling with the bond they shared.

This was the moment she had dreamed of—the dragon was finally here, ready to defend itself. With a fierce roar that echoed through the cave, Zephyr opened its mouth wide, a brilliant glow forming deep within. Liora barely had time to react before a torrent of fire erupted from the dragon's jaws, engulfing the entrance in a blazing inferno.

The flames danced and crackled, illuminating the cave in a fiery glow. The hunters stumbled back, their eyes wide with shock and terror as the heat washed over them.

"Retreat!" the leader shouted, panic rising in his voice. "Get back! Get back!"

Liora watched in awe as Zephyr's flames licked the walls of the cave, sending shadows flickering wildly. The hunters scrambled to escape the scorching heat, their bravado evaporating in the face of the dragon's wrath.

One by one, they turned and fled, their shouts of fear echoing in the cavern as they disappeared into the forest. As the last of the hunters vanished, Liora felt a rush of exhilaration. They had won. Zephyr had protected them, and in that moment, she understood the depth of their connection. The dragon was not just a creature to be hidden away; it was a powerful ally, and together they could change the fate of the island. Kian stepped forward, awe etched across his features.

"Incredible," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You did it, Liora. You raised a guardian."

Liora knelt beside Zephyr, who was still breathing heavily, its golden scales shimmering with residual heat.

"You were amazing," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for protecting us." Zephyr turned its gaze toward her, and Liora felt a rush of warmth envelop her heart. The bond between them had solidified in that moment, a connection forged in fire and trust. But their victory was bittersweet.

The echo of the hunters' retreat reminded her that they would return, and next time, they might not be so lucky. Liora looked at Kian, determination blazing in her emerald-green eyes.

"We need to prepare. They won't stop until they get what they want." Kian nodded, his expression serious. "I know a place where we can train and gather allies. We have to be ready for whatever comes next."

As they began to formulate a plan, Liora's heart raced with a mix of excitement and fear. The island was changing, and she was at the center of it all.

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[sachafaible]

The White Cloak Chapter 12

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Days later, Gwayne Hightower stood in the grand hall of the Red Keep, the familiar opulence of King's Landing surrounding him. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint trace of candle wax, a stark contrast to the chaos he had faced in the woods. He had returned, but the weight of his choices lingered heavily on his shoulders.

Alicent sat at the head of the long table, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity as she listened to Gwayne recount the details of their mission.

“So, you managed to secure an alliance with House Velaryon?” she asked, her voice steady and authoritative.

Gwayne nodded, forcing a smile. “Yes, but it came at a cost. We encountered unexpected resistance, and… we lost the lord.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her gaze piercing.

“Lost him? You mean he was killed?”

Gwayne swallowed hard, the memory of Criston’s rage and the bloodshed weighing on him.

“Yes. Criston believed it was necessary to demonstrate strength. I disagreed, but… it was too late to change course.”

Alicent sighed, her expression softening.

“I understand the pressures of war, Gwayne. But we must be careful. Every decision has consequences, especially when it involves the Velaryons.”

Gwayne nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The image of Criston, the pain in his eyes, and the distance that had grown between them haunted him.

“We did manage to gather some support, but the Velaryons are angry. They won’t forget this easily.”

Alicent leaned forward, her gaze intent.

“And Criston? How did he handle the situation?”

At the mention of Criston’s name, Gwayne felt a pang of anxiety. He had avoided thinking about their time together, the bond they had forged, and the heartbreak that had followed.

“He… he did what he thought was right,” Gwayne replied, his voice carefully measured. “But it was a difficult situation, and emotions ran high.”

“Emotions can lead to rash decisions,” Alicent remarked, her tone thoughtful. “He’s fiercely loyal, but that loyalty can blind him. You must keep an eye on him, Gwayne.”

Gwayne felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“I will, but Criston is a strong man. He knows how to navigate the politics of this war.”

Alicent studied him closely, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You seem… distant when it comes to him. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Gwayne forced a smile, desperate to deflect her probing.

“No, it’s just… the mission was challenging. We had to make difficult choices, and I’m still processing everything.”

Alicent’s expression softened, but there was an edge to her voice.

“I trust your judgment, Gwayne. But remember, loyalty is a double-edged sword. You must be careful who you align yourself with.”

“I understand,” Gwayne replied, his heart racing. He couldn’t let Alicent see the turmoil brewing within him, the conflict between his duty and his feelings for Criston. “We’ll navigate these waters carefully.”

As Alicent moved on to discuss other matters of the realm, Gwayne felt a sense of relief wash over him. But the shadows of his past decisions loomed large, and the memory of Criston’s anger and heartbreak haunted him. He had returned to King's Landing, but a part of him remained lost in the woods, tangled in the complexities of loyalty, love, and the choices that had led them to this point.

As Gwayne settled into the rhythm of the conversation, Alicent shifted the topic, her expression thoughtful.

“You know, Gwayne, I’ve been considering reaching out to Rhaenyra. There’s so much animosity between us, but perhaps a dialogue could ease some of the tension.”

Gwayne raised an eyebrow, surprised by her admission.

“Alicent, that’s a bold move. Rhaenyra won’t take kindly to your overtures, especially after everything that’s happened.”

“I understand the risks,” Alicent replied, her voice firm. “But if we can find common ground, perhaps we can prevent further bloodshed. I want to protect our family, but I also want to see peace restored.”

Gwayne nodded, recognizing the weight of her intentions.

“I admire your resolve, but remember that Rhaenyra is just as stubborn as you are. You’ll need a careful approach. Perhaps start with a letter, gauge her response before committing to a meeting.”

Alicent contemplated his words, her brow furrowing in thought.

“You’re right. I’ll draft something carefully. But I fear that even with the best intentions, the wounds of this war run deep.”

Just as Gwayne opened his mouth to respond, the heavy wooden doors of the hall burst open with a loud bang. Criston Cole strode in, his presence commanding as he surveyed the room. The tension in the air shifted instantly, a palpable weight settling between Gwayne and Criston.

“Criston!” Alicent exclaimed, her voice brightening with surprise. “What news do you bring?”

Criston’s eyes darted between Alicent and Gwayne, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. He took a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts.

“We’ve received reports of increased Velaryon activity near the coast. They’re preparing to mobilize their fleet.”

Gwayne felt the heat rise in his cheeks, the tension between him and Criston thickening as they stood mere feet apart, yet worlds away. He refused to meet Criston’s gaze, focusing instead on the table before him, the polished wood suddenly feeling like a barrier between them.

Alicent’s expression turned serious.

“What does this mean for us? Are they planning an attack?”

Criston nodded, his voice steady.

“It’s likely they’re seeking to reclaim their naval dominance after the loss of Lord Corlys. We need to prepare for a possible confrontation.”

Gwayne felt the weight of Criston’s presence, the memories of their last moments together flooding back. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but the anger and hurt bubbled just beneath the surface.

“And what do you suggest we do?” Gwayne asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Criston’s gaze flickered to Gwayne, but he quickly averted his eyes, focusing on Alicent.

“We need to bolster our defenses and gather intelligence. We can’t afford to underestimate them again.”

Alicent nodded, but the air between the three of them was thick with unspoken tension. Gwayne felt the urge to confront Criston, to address the rift that had formed between them, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he remained silent, his heart heavy with unresolved feelings.

Gwayne’s heart raced at the implication, but he refused to engage. “I’ll do what’s necessary for the realm,” he replied coolly, avoiding Criston’s piercing gaze. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll fight alongside you.”

Criston’s expression hardened, but he held his tongue, the tension between them palpable. Alicent watched with concern, sensing the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Let’s focus on the task at hand,” she suggested, trying to diffuse the situation. “We need to strategize and ensure we are ready for whatever comes next.”

Alicent watched as Criston left the room, the heavy doors closing behind him with a resounding thud. The tension that had filled the hall lingered in the air, and she turned her attention to Gwayne, her expression shifting from concern to curiosity.

“Gwayne,” she said, her voice low but firm. “What happened between you and Criston? It’s clear there’s more going on than just professional disagreements.”

Gwayne felt a knot form in his stomach. He had avoided discussing his feelings with Criston, and the last thing he wanted was to open up to Alicent about it. “It’s nothing, really,” he replied, forcing a casual tone.

“We just have different approaches to this war.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Different approaches? Gwayne, it’s more than that. I saw the way you both interacted. There’s tension, and it’s affecting our efforts. You can’t ignore it.”

Gwayne sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“We don’t see eye to eye on strategy, Alicent. Criston is impulsive, and I prefer to think things through. It’s a clash of styles, nothing more.”

“Is it really just that?” Alicent pressed, her gaze piercing. “Or is there something deeper? You’ve fought side by side, shared experiences that bind you together. I can’t help but feel that there’s more at play here.”

He hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on him.

“I just think we’re incompatible when it comes to our methods. Criston acts on instinct, while I try to analyze every possibility. It’s frustrating, and it puts us at odds.”

Alicent’s expression softened slightly, but her resolve remained firm.

“You need to find a way to work through this, Gwayne. Criston is loyal, and he’s a valuable asset. I can’t afford to lose him, nor can we afford to lose your insight.”

Gwayne felt a pang in his chest at her words.

“I understand that, but I can’t pretend everything is fine. We need to be honest about our limitations.”

Alicent leaned closer, her voice low and earnest.

“You’re both strong in your own ways. But if you can’t find common ground, it will jeopardize everything we’re fighting for. I want you to speak to Criston, to find a way to reconcile your differences.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Gwayne admitted, his heart heavy. “I can’t just overlook what happened. I can’t overlook the way he handled the situation with Corlys.”

“You need to try,” Alicent insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I will speak to Criston as well, but I need you to be open to working with him. This war requires unity, and I can’t have my closest advisors at odds.”

Gwayne nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her expectations. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Just remember,” Alicent said, her voice softening again. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all fighting for the same cause, and sometimes that means putting aside personal feelings for the greater good.”

As Alicent dismissed him, Gwayne felt a mixture of determination and dread. He knew he needed to confront Criston, to find a way to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but the thought of facing him filled him with anxiety. The complexities of their relationship loomed large, and Gwayne wasn’t sure if he was ready to untangle the threads.

With a heavy heart, Gwayne left the hall, the echoes of their conversation lingering in his mind. He had a choice to make, and the path ahead was uncertain.

[sachafaible]

The White Cloak Chapter 11

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The tension in the cave hung thick between Criston and Gwayne, their heated argument echoing off the stone walls. Just as Criston opened his mouth to speak again, a distant sound pierced the air—shouting, the unmistakable clash of metal, and the heavy thud of boots against the ground.

“Listen!” Gwayne whispered, his eyes widening. The urgency in his voice cut through the lingering anger. “They’re coming!”

Criston’s heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins as he turned toward the cave entrance.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to prepare.”

Gwayne nodded, the weight of their earlier conflict momentarily forgotten.

“What do we do?”

Criston scanned the cave, searching for anything they could use.

“We need to find weapons. If they find us here, we’ll be cornered.”

As they moved deeper into the cave, Criston’s mind raced with strategies. He could hear the Velaryon soldiers outside, their voices growing closer, filled with anger and desperation. The realization that they were outnumbered weighed heavily on him.

“Over here!” Gwayne called, pulling Criston’s attention to a small alcove. Inside, they discovered a stash of weapons—swords, shields, and even a few crossbows. Criston’s heart lifted as he grabbed a sword and handed another to Gwayne.

“Take this,” Criston said, his eyes meeting Gwayne’s. “We’ll need to fight our way out.”

Gwayne nodded, though his face was still pale, the pain from his injury evident.

“I can manage,” he replied, determination flickering in his blue eyes.

The sounds of the Velaryon soldiers grew louder, their shouts echoing through the cave. Criston felt the weight of their impending confrontation, the need to protect Gwayne and himself pushing him into action.

“Remember, we stick together,” Criston instructed, gripping his sword tightly. “We fight back to back. No matter what happens, we don’t let them separate us.”

Gwayne took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“I’m ready,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

As the first Velaryon soldier burst into the cave, Criston and Gwayne sprang into action. Criston swung his sword with precision, the blade cutting through the air as he parried the soldier's attack. Gwayne followed closely, his movements fueled by a mix of adrenaline and fear.

The cave erupted into chaos as more soldiers poured in, their faces twisted with rage. Criston fought fiercely, his instincts honed by countless battles, but he couldn’t shake the nagging worry about Gwayne’s injury.

“Stay close!” Criston shouted, blocking another attack. Gwayne struggled to keep up, the pain in his side becoming more pronounced with each movement.

The two men fought valiantly, but the odds were against them. Criston felt the weight of their earlier argument pressing down on him, the knowledge that they were fighting not just for their lives, but for the bond they had forged through fire and blood.

“Criston!” Gwayne called out, his voice strained as he deflected a blow aimed at him. “We need to find a way out!”

Criston nodded, determination flooding his veins.

“Back to the entrance! We’ll fight our way through!”

Together, they pushed toward the cave’s mouth, their swords clashing against the onslaught of Velaryon soldiers. The battle was fierce, but Criston’s focus remained on Gwayne, the bond between them igniting a fire within him.

With a fierce determination, Criston and Gwayne pressed forward, fighting their way toward the cave entrance. The clash of steel rang in their ears, the adrenaline surging through them as they faced the onslaught of Velaryon soldiers. Criston’s heart raced, his focus solely on protecting Gwayne, who fought valiantly despite the pain etched on his face.

“Almost there!” Criston shouted, deflecting a blow aimed at his side. He could see the faint light of the outside world beckoning them, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

Gwayne grunted as he parried a soldier’s strike, his movements becoming increasingly labored.

“I’m right behind you!” he called, though the strain in his voice betrayed his struggle.

With one final push, Criston surged through the cave’s mouth, emerging into the moonlit night. The cool air hit him like a wave, but there was no time to breathe. The moment they stepped outside, they were met with a fresh wave of Velaryon warriors, their faces twisted with fury.

“Ambush!” Criston shouted, instinctively placing himself between Gwayne and the advancing soldiers. He raised his sword, ready to defend against the oncoming storm.

“Criston!” Gwayne gasped, trying to catch his breath. “We need to retreat!”

But there was no retreating now. The Velaryon soldiers surged forward, and Criston found himself engulfed in the fray once more. He fought fiercely, every swing of his sword fueled by the need to protect Gwayne and escape the wrath of the Velaryons.

“Watch your left!” Criston yelled, as a soldier lunged at Gwayne. Criston turned just in time to deflect the blow, his heart pounding as he caught Gwayne’s eye. They were a team, and they had to rely on each other.

The battle raged on, and Criston felt the weight of their situation pressing down on him. They were outnumbered, and the Velaryons were relentless. He could see the fear in Gwayne’s eyes, the pain etched into his features as he fought through his injury.

“Gwayne, fall back!” Criston shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. “Get to the trees! I’ll hold them off!”

“No!” Gwayne protested, his voice fierce despite his weakness. “We fight together, Criston! Always!”

With a surge of adrenaline, Criston pushed forward, cutting down another soldier. But just as they began to make headway, a larger group of Velaryon soldiers emerged from the shadows, surrounding them.

“Surround them!” a commanding voice echoed through the chaos.

Criston’s heart sank as he realized they were trapped.

“Criston!” Gwayne shouted, panic rising in his voice. “We can’t fight them all!”

Criston glanced around, assessing their options. The trees loomed nearby, but the Velaryons were closing in fast.

“We have to make a break for it!” he yelled, determination igniting within him.

With a fierce battle cry, Criston charged forward, pushing through the nearest group of soldiers. Gwayne followed closely as they fought side by side. They weaved through the chaos, dodging blows and striking back with fierce resolve.

As they neared the treeline, Criston felt a sharp pain in his side—a soldier had managed to land a blow. He grunted but pressed on, fueled by the urgency to protect Gwayne.

“Keep moving!” Criston urged, gritting his teeth against the pain. They burst into the cover of the trees, the shadows swallowing them as they maneuvered through the underbrush.

But the Velaryon soldiers were relentless, pursuing them into the woods. Criston glanced back, his heart pounding as he saw the first of their pursuers breaking through the treeline.

“We can’t stop now!” Gwayne gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “We have to find a way to shake them off our trail!”

Criston nodded, determination flooding his veins.

“This way!” He led Gwayne deeper into the forest, the sounds of battle fading behind them, but the threat still loomed close.

As they ran, Criston couldn’t shake the feeling that their fight was far from over. The Dance of the Dragons was a brutal game, and they were caught in its deadly embrace.

Criston and Gwayne pushed deeper into the forest, the sounds of their pursuers fading into the distance. The trees closed in around them, the dense underbrush providing a temporary veil of safety. Just as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them, they stumbled upon a hidden grove, a serene clearing bathed in moonlight.

“Here!” Criston gasped, motioning for Gwayne to follow him inside. The grove was lush and secluded, thick trees forming a natural barrier against prying eyes. They collapsed onto the soft grass, their bodies heavy with fatigue.

“Are you hurt?” Gwayne asked, his voice strained as he caught his breath. The anger that had simmered between them lingered, but the urgency of their situation forced them to focus.

Criston shook his head, though the pain in his side throbbed insistently.

“Just a scratch,” he lied, not wanting to add to Gwayne’s worry. But the truth was that the blow he’d taken was deeper than he cared to admit.

Gwayne’s eyes narrowed, the fire of his frustration reigniting.

“You’re bleeding, Criston. Let me see.”

Before Criston could protest, Gwayne moved closer, his hands gentle yet firm as he examined the wound. The anger in his eyes was mixed with concern, and Criston felt a pang of guilt wash over him. He had put them both in danger, and now Gwayne was forced to tend to him.

“Why did you have to kill him?” Gwayne asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of the question hung heavy in the air. “You could have found another way.”

Criston clenched his jaw, the memory of Corlys’s defiant face flashing in his mind.

“I did what I thought was necessary. We were out of options, Gwayne.”

“Out of options?” Gwayne’s voice rose, the tension between them palpable. “You think murder is a solution? You’ve made an enemy of an entire house! We could have negotiated, but now we’re hunted!”

Criston felt the sting of Gwayne’s words, the truth cutting deeper than any blade.

“I was trying to protect you! I thought—”

“Thought what?” Gwayne interrupted, his blue eyes blazing with anger. “That killing a lord would somehow save us? You’ve only made things worse, Criston!”

Gwayne’s hands worked deftly as he cleaned the wound, the sharp sting of antiseptic pulling Criston back to the moment. “You’re reckless,” Gwayne continued, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “You act without thinking, and it puts both of us at risk.”

Criston sighed, the weight of Gwayne’s words settling heavily on his shoulders.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I thought I was doing what was best for us.”

Gwayne’s expression softened slightly as he finished bandaging the wound.

“We need to be smarter, Criston. This war isn’t just about fighting; it’s about strategy. We can’t let our emotions dictate our actions.”

Criston looked into Gwayne’s eyes, the anger slowly giving way to understanding.

Gwayne nodded, though the tension remained. “We need to focus on getting out of here. The Velaryons won’t give up easily.”

Criston pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he tested his injury.

“We’ll find a way.”

As they stood in the hidden grove, the air thick with tension, Gwayne turned to Criston, his expression resolute.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion. “Once we get out of this ambush, I’m going back to my sister. I won’t fight alongside you again.”

Criston felt a rush of cold dread wash over him, as if the very ground beneath his feet had crumbled away.

“Gwayne, wait—”

“No,” Gwayne interrupted, his blue eyes fierce. “You don’t understand. I can’t follow you into this madness. You’re reckless, and I won’t be part of it anymore.”

Heart pounding, Criston struggled to find the words. He could feel the weight of Gwayne’s decision pressing down on him, suffocating.

“You can’t just abandon me,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re in this together.”

“We were in this together,” Gwayne corrected, his voice firm. “But you’ve crossed a line I can’t follow. I can’t fight for a cause that’s built on bloodshed and violence. I won’t become like you.”

Criston’s heart sank at the accusation, the sting of Gwayne’s words cutting deeper than any blade.

“I did what I thought was necessary to protect us! To protect you!” His voice trembled with the weight of his emotions, but he knew he couldn’t reveal the full extent of his feelings.

Gwayne shook his head, frustration and disappointment etched across his features.

“You think killing Corlys was protecting me? You’ve only put a target on our backs. I can’t trust you anymore.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the tension crackling like a live wire between them. Criston felt the urge to argue, to plead with Gwayne to reconsider, but the fear of exposing his true feelings held him back. Instead, he stood there, his heart aching as he watched Gwayne’s resolve harden.

“I have to go back to Alicent,” Gwayne continued, his voice softer but unwavering. “She needs me. I can’t be your partner in this war any longer.”

Criston felt a lump form in his throat, the reality of Gwayne’s words sinking in.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “We’ve fought side by side through everything. You can’t just walk away.”

“I have to,” Gwayne replied, the finality in his voice sending a chill through Criston. “I can’t be a part of this anymore. I can’t be a part of you.”

The ache in Criston’s chest intensified, a mix of heartbreak and frustration. He wanted to argue, to convince Gwayne that they were stronger together, but the fear of losing him weighed heavily on his heart.

“If that’s what you truly want…” he started, his voice faltering.

“It is,” Gwayne affirmed, his gaze unwavering.

Criston swallowed hard, the pain of their impending separation settling in.

“Then I won’t stop you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t promise I’ll let you go easily.”

Gwayne’s expression softened for a moment, a flicker of regret crossing his features.

“I don’t want to lose you, Criston. But I can’t stay.”

As they stood in the grove, the threat of the Velaryon soldiers looming outside, Criston felt the weight of their choices pressing down on him. The bond they had forged was unraveling, and with it, the fragile hope he had held onto for so long.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here,” Gwayne said, breaking the silence. “We can figure the rest out later.”

Criston nodded, though his heart felt heavy with the knowledge that their paths were diverging.

[faibleprompts]

Today's Faible prompt!

Did I make this prompt just so I could say 7/11 ... maybe

[sachafaible]

Check out the Faible I made from the prompt!

Eleven and Seven escape Hawkins Lab and must navigate a world filled with supernatural threats. Together, they strive to close the portals to the Upside Down and save Hawkins from a looming catastrophe.

Faible is an interactive storytelling experience that unlocks the creative storyteller in everyone. Leverage the power of AI to create immer

[sachafaible]

Dream Catcher

Original story and characters- A peasant fairy girl with the power to see the future through dreams embarks on a perilous journey to save Princess Peytra, facing mythical beasts, ancient spells, and a forbidden romance along the way.

Lysandra stood at the edge of the shimmering lake, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on the water's surface. Her wings fluttered gently in the cool night breeze, and she closed her eyes, focusing on the dreamscape that awaited her.

Tonight, she was determined to find answers, to unravel the cryptic visions that haunted her sleep. As she drifted into the dreamscape, the familiar swirl of colors and shapes enveloped her. She found herself in a grand hall, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the history of the Fairy Monarchy.

At the center of the hall stood Princess Peytra, her silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. Her piercing blue eyes met Lysandra's, filled with a mixture of fear and hope.

"Lysandra," Peytra's voice echoed softly, "I need your help. The prophecy... it speaks of my death. I don't know how to stop it."

Lysandra stepped forward, her heart pounding.

"Princess, I've seen glimpses of your fate. But the future is not set in stone. We can change it." Peytra's eyes widened, a spark of determination igniting within them.

"Then we must act quickly. The prophecy foretells that my death will bring chaos to Elaria. We cannot let that happen."

As the dreamscape began to fade, Lysandra reached out, her fingers brushing against Peytra's.

"I will find you, Princess. Together, we will defy fate."

With a jolt, Lysandra awoke by the lake, her mind racing with the urgency of their mission. She knew she had to reach the Fairy Castle and warn Peytra of the dangers that lay ahead. Gathering her courage, she spread her wings and took flight, the cool night air rushing past her.

The journey to the Fairy Castle was fraught with peril. As Lysandra navigated through the enchanted forest, she encountered Thorn, the rugged guardian who watched over the land. His earthy brown eyes narrowed as he studied her.

"Why are you here, Dream Catcher?" Thorn's voice was gruff, yet there was a hint of curiosity. Lysandra met his gaze, her voice steady.

"I seek to save the princess. A prophecy threatens her life, and I need your help to reach the castle."

Thorn's expression softened slightly.

"Very well. But know this: the path ahead is dangerous, and not all who enter the forest make it out alive." Lysandra nodded, her resolve unwavering.

"I understand. But I have no choice. The fate of Elaria depends on it."

Thorn's eyes glinted in the moonlight as he studied Lysandra's determined expression. With a nod, he turned and beckoned her to follow.

"There is a hidden path through the forest," he said, his voice low and steady. "Few know of it, and even fewer dare to tread it. But it will lead us to the Fairy Castle faster than any other route."

Lysandra's wings fluttered with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"Thank you, Thorn. Lead the way." They moved swiftly through the dense underbrush, Thorn's familiarity with the terrain evident in his confident strides. The hidden path was narrow and winding, shrouded in shadows and overgrown with ancient vines. The air was thick with the scent of moss and earth, and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures echoed around them. As they walked, Thorn glanced back at Lysandra.

"This path is not without its dangers. We must stay vigilant."

Lysandra nodded, her senses heightened.

"I understand. But we must reach the castle before it's too late." They pressed on, the forest growing darker and more foreboding with each step. Thorn's keen eyes scanned their surroundings, ever alert for any signs of danger. Lysandra's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with thoughts of the prophecy and the fate that awaited Peytra. After what felt like hours, they reached a small clearing bathed in moonlight. Thorn paused, his gaze fixed on a towering tree with gnarled roots that twisted like ancient serpents.

"This tree marks the halfway point," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We must rest here for a moment."

Lysandra nodded, grateful for the brief respite. She sank to the ground, her wings folding around her like a protective cocoon. Thorn remained standing, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the clearing.

As they rested, Lysandra's thoughts turned to Peytra. The vision of the princess's fearful eyes haunted her, urging her to push forward. She glanced up at Thorn, who seemed lost in thought.

"Thorn, do you believe in prophecies?" she asked softly. Thorn's gaze met hers, his expression unreadable.

"Prophecies are tricky things. They can guide us or mislead us. But I believe in the strength of those who fight against them."

Lysandra smiled faintly, finding comfort in his words.

"Thank you, Thorn. Your help means more than you know." Thorn nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"We should move on. The castle is not far now."

With renewed determination, they continued along the hidden path, the forest growing denser and more treacherous. But Lysandra's resolve was unwavering. She would reach Peytra, and together, they would defy the prophecy that threatened to tear their world apart.

As the night deepened, Thorn and Lysandra found a hidden grove to rest in. The canopy of trees above them formed a natural shelter, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. Thorn built a small fire, its flickering light casting shadows on their weary faces. Exhausted from the day's journey, Lysandra lay down on a bed of moss, her wings folded delicately around her.

Sleep came quickly, and with it, the familiar pull of the dreamscape. Lysandra's consciousness drifted into the ethereal realm, where colors swirled and shapes shifted.

But tonight, the dreamscape was different—darker, more foreboding. She found herself in a dimly lit chamber, its walls cold and damp. The air was thick with an oppressive sense of dread. In the center of the chamber, Peytra stood, her silver hair disheveled and her piercing blue eyes wide with terror. Chains bound her wrists, and shadows lurked at the edges of the room, whispering ominous threats.

Lysandra's heart ached at the sight of the princess in such distress.

"Peytra!" Lysandra called out, her voice echoing through the chamber. Peytra's gaze snapped to Lysandra, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

"Lysandra, you must hurry. The prophecy is unfolding faster than we anticipated. I can feel the darkness closing in."

Lysandra stepped forward, her hands trembling.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Peytra. We'll find a way to break the chains of fate."

The shadows around Peytra seemed to grow darker, more menacing. They whispered words of doom and despair, their voices like a chorus of malevolent spirits. Peytra's expression twisted with fear and pain, and Lysandra's heart tugged painfully at the sight.

"Please, Lysandra," Peytra's voice was a desperate plea. "Find me. Save me." The dreamscape began to crumble, the chamber dissolving into a swirl of darkness. Lysandra reached out, her fingers brushing against Peytra's before she was pulled back into the waking world.

With a gasp, Lysandra awoke in the hidden grove, her heart pounding in her chest. The fire had burned low, and Thorn sat nearby, his eyes reflecting the dying embers. He looked at her with concern.

"Another vision?" he asked quietly. Lysandra nodded, her voice shaky.

"It was Peytra. She's in danger, Thorn. We have to reach her before it's too late." Thorn's expression hardened with resolve.

"Then we must not waste any more time. We'll leave at first light."

As the first rays of dawn began to filter through the canopy, Lysandra felt a renewed sense of urgency. The nightmare had strengthened her resolve, and she knew that she would do whatever it took to save Peytra from the dark fate that loomed over her.

--

Peytra paced the opulent confines of her chamber, the silken drapes billowing slightly in the morning breeze. The sunlight filtered through the intricate glass panes, casting colorful patterns on the polished floor.

Yet, the beauty of her surroundings offered little comfort. Her heart felt heavy, a weight she couldn’t shake off. Her family had become distant, their conversations laced with hushed tones and sidelong glances. The warmth that once enveloped her home had been replaced by a cold, suffocating air. Every time she approached her parents, they exchanged furtive looks, as if she were a puzzle they could no longer solve.

“Peytra,” her mother had said the night before, her voice sharp and clipped, “you must stay within the castle walls. The world outside is not safe for you.”

But why? Peytra’s instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. She could feel it in the very marrow of her bones. The whispers of the court, the fleeting glances exchanged between her parents, the way they flinched when she entered a room—it all pointed to a dark secret.

That night, she had fallen into a restless sleep, her dreams swirling with images of a girl with auburn hair and emerald-green eyes. The girl called to her, a name dancing on the edge of her consciousness: Lysandra. But who was she? Why did Peytra feel such an inexplicable connection to her? In her dreams, the darkness loomed closer, shadows creeping in from the edges of her vision. She could hear the whispers again, taunting her with words she couldn’t quite grasp.

“You are bound by fate. You cannot escape.”

Each night, the dreams grew more vivid, more terrifying. Each morning, she awoke with a sense of urgency, her heart racing as if it were trying to break free from an unseen chain. Peytra approached her window, gazing out at the sprawling gardens below. There was a world beyond the castle walls, a world she longed to explore. But the walls felt like a prison, and her heart ached to break free. She had to discover the truth behind the shadows that haunted her dreams.

“Lysandra,” she whispered, hoping that the name would bring clarity. “Who are you?” As if in response, her heart tugged with a sense of longing.

The dreams had shown her a bond, a connection that transcended the barriers of their worlds. Peytra felt an inexplicable pull toward this girl, a desire to understand the visions that intertwined their fates.

Determined, she turned away from the window. She would confront her family, demand answers. The time for secrets was over. The prophecy that loomed over her life was not just a tale to be whispered in the dark; it was a reality she needed to face. Peytra took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation ahead. She would not let fear dictate her life any longer. If something was to happen, she would be ready to fight for her future, for her love, and for the girl who had become a beacon of hope in her dreams.

Continue reading it here.

[sachafaible]

The White Cloak Chapter 9

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Criston Cole stood at the edge of the forest clearing, his gaze fixed on the distant walls of Driftmark. The moonlight cast a silver sheen over the landscape, highlighting the tension etched on his face. Gwayne Hightower stepped up beside him, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot the only sound breaking the silence.

"We can't afford another failure," Criston muttered, his voice a low growl. "The Greens need this victory."

Gwayne nodded, his blue eyes reflecting the same determination. "We will succeed this time. The men are ready, and we have the element of surprise."

Criston glanced at Gwayne, the unspoken bond between them a comforting presence. "Let's hope your strategy holds. We've lost too many already."

Gwayne placed a hand on Criston's shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. "Trust me, Criston. We'll take Driftmark and secure the fleet. For Queen Alicent."

Criston nodded, his resolve hardening. "For Queen Alicent."

As they turned to rally their troops, a sudden movement in the shadows caught Criston's eye. He drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. "Who's there?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

A figure emerged from the darkness, hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Wait! I'm a friend," the man said, his voice trembling. "I have information that could help you."

Gwayne stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Speak quickly. We have no time for games."

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting between Criston and Gwayne. "The Velaryons are planning a counterattack. They're gathering forces at the western gate. If you strike now, you can catch them off guard."

Criston exchanged a glance with Gwayne, the tension between them palpable. "Why should we trust you?" Criston asked, his grip on his sword tightening.

The man took a deep breath, his fear evident.

"Because I have nothing to gain by lying. My family is trapped in Driftmark. I want to see them safe."

Gwayne studied the man for a moment before nodding. "We'll take the risk. Criston, gather the men. We move now."

Criston hesitated, his instincts screaming caution. But the determination in Gwayne's eyes swayed him.

"Very well. Let's hope this isn't another trap."

As they prepared to move, Criston couldn't shake the feeling that their fate hung by a thread. The Dance of the Dragons was far from over, and every decision could tip the scales.

Criston and Gwayne moved swiftly through the forest, their men following in silent formation. The informant led the way, his steps hurried and anxious. As they approached the western gate of Driftmark, Criston's unease grew. Something felt off, but there was no turning back now.

"Stay alert," Criston whispered to Gwayne, who nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

Suddenly, the informant broke into a run, disappearing into the shadows. Criston's heart sank.

"It's a trap!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

Arrows rained down from the trees, and Velaryon soldiers surged forward. Chaos erupted as Criston's men clashed with the ambushers. Gwayne fought beside Criston, their movements synchronized, a testament to their bond forged in battle.

In the midst of the melee, Criston spotted the lord of Driftmark, Lord Corlys Velaryon, directing his troops. A plan formed in his mind.

"Gwayne, with me!" he called, charging towards Corlys.

They fought their way through the enemy ranks, their determination unwavering. Just as they reached Corlys, a Velaryon soldier lunged at Gwayne, slashing his side. Gwayne cried out, stumbling but managing to stay on his feet.

Criston's rage ignited. With a fierce roar, he struck down the soldier and grabbed Corlys, holding his sword to the lord's throat.

"Call off your men, or he dies!" Criston bellowed.

The battlefield fell silent, the Velaryon soldiers hesitating. Corlys raised a hand, signaling them to stand down.

"You have me, Cole. What do you want?"

Criston tightened his grip, his voice trembling with fury. "We want Driftmark and your fleet. Surrender, and your life will be spared."

Gwayne, clutching his wound, leaned against Criston for support.

"We need to negotiate, Criston. We can't win this by force alone."

Criston glanced at Gwayne, his anger tempered by concern.

"Negotiate, then. But if he tries anything, he dies."

Corlys nodded, his eyes calculating.

"Very well. Let's talk."

The two battalions stood at a tense standstill, the air thick with anticipation. Criston held Corlys firmly, his mind racing. Gwayne's injury weighed heavily on him, fueling his anger and determination.

As the negotiations began, Criston struggled to keep his emotions in check. The fate of their mission, and perhaps their lives, hung in the balance. He could not let this Lord run free and risk th rest of the mission's wealth.

The tension in the air was palpable as Criston held his sword to Lord Corlys Velaryon's throat. The negotiations had dragged on, with Corlys stubbornly refusing to yield. Gwayne, leaning heavily on Criston, grew paler by the minute, his frustration and illness evident.

"I'm not giving up Driftmark or my fleet," Corlys declared, his voice steady despite the blade at his neck. "You Greens think you can bully your way to victory, but you'll find the Velaryons are not so easily cowed."

Criston's grip tightened, his patience wearing thin.

"You're in no position to make demands, Corlys. We hold your life in our hands."

Corlys sneered. "Kill me, then. But know that my death will only strengthen the resolve of my people. You'll gain nothing."

Gwayne's breathing grew labored, and he clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

"Criston, we need to find another way. This isn't—"

Criston cut him off, his anger boiling over.

"Enough! We don't have time for this!" With a swift, decisive motion, he drove his sword into Corlys's throat, silencing the lord's defiant gaze forever.

Gwayne's eyes widened in shock and horror.

"Criston, no!" he cried, stumbling back. "What have you done?"

The Velaryon soldiers erupted in chaos, their shouts of rage and grief filling the air. Criston turned to Gwayne, his face a mask of fury and desperation.

"He left us no choice, Gwayne. He was never going to surrender."

Gwayne shook his head, his voice trembling with emotion.

"You didn't have to kill him! We could have found another way. Now you've made things worse."

Criston reached out to steady Gwayne, but the younger man recoiled, pain and betrayal in his eyes.

"Stay away from me, Criston. I can't believe you did this."

The battalions on both sides stood at a standstill, the fragile truce shattered by Criston's impulsive act. Gwayne's condition worsened, his body shaking with fever and pain.

Criston felt a pang of guilt, his anger giving way to regret.

"Gwayne, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Save it," Gwayne snapped, his voice weak but resolute. "We need to get out of here before this turns into a bloodbath."

As they retreated, the weight of Criston's actions hung heavy between them. The path ahead was uncertain, their bond strained by the violence and betrayal that had come to define their journey.

As the lifeblood of Lord Corlys Velaryon pooled around Criston's feet, the anger and sorrow of the Velaryon soldiers erupted into a frenzy. Shouts of vengeance echoed through the clearing, and Criston felt the ground tremble beneath the weight of their fury.

“Criston!” Gwayne shouted, panic lacing his voice. “We need to move, now!”

Without waiting for a response, Criston grabbed Gwayne’s arm, pulling him away from the scene of chaos. They ran, the sounds of clashing steel and enraged shouts growing louder behind them. The Velaryon soldiers, fueled by grief and anger, surged forward, seeking retribution for their fallen lord.

“Over there!” Criston yelled, pointing towards a thicket of trees. “We can lose them in the woods!”

They darted into the underbrush, Gwayne struggling to keep pace. Criston could feel the heat of the enemy’s pursuit closing in, the adrenaline coursing through him. He glanced back, catching sight of a group of Velaryon soldiers, swords drawn and eyes wild with rage.

“Keep going, Gwayne!” Criston urged, pushing them both deeper into the thicket. The branches snagged at their armor, but they pressed on, desperation driving them forward.

Suddenly, a shout rang out from behind. “There they are! After them!”

Criston turned, drawing his sword as the first soldier broke through the foliage. With a swift motion, he parried the attack, the clash of steel ringing in the air. Gwayne, still weak from his injury, struggled to keep his footing, but he stood beside Criston, drawing his own blade, determination shining through his pain.

“Watch your left!” Criston warned, deflecting another blow aimed at Gwayne. They fought back to back, their movements instinctual, a dance born from countless battles fought together. But the Velaryon soldiers were relentless, their numbers overwhelming.

“We can’t hold them off forever!” Gwayne gasped, his voice strained. “We need a plan!”

Criston’s mind raced. “There’s a cave up ahead! We can use it as a shelter!” He pointed toward a dark opening in the hillside. “If we can reach it, we might have a chance to regroup.”

“Let’s go!” Gwayne shouted, his resolve igniting as he slashed at an approaching soldier. They pushed through the chaos, dodging blows and retaliating with fierce precision, inching closer to the cave.

Just as they reached the entrance, a Velaryon soldier lunged at Gwayne, catching him off guard. Criston reacted instantly, tackling the soldier to the ground. The two men struggled, but Criston’s fury fueled his strength, and he quickly overpowered the attacker.

“Gwayne, inside!” Criston urged, pulling Gwayne into the cave as they barely escaped the clutches of their pursuers.

Once inside, they collapsed against the cool stone walls, panting heavily. The sounds of battle echoed faintly outside, but for now, they were safe.

Gwayne leaned against the wall, his face pale. “Criston… what have we done?”

Criston’s heart sank, the weight of their choices crashing down on him. “We did what we had to do. But we can’t let this be the end.”

Inside the cave, the air was thick with tension as Criston and Gwayne leaned against the cool stone walls, their breaths heavy with exhaustion. Shadows danced around them, flickering in the dim light that filtered through the entrance. Gwayne’s face was pale, a stark contrast to the anger that simmered beneath the surface.

Gwayne’s voice trembled, a mix of frustration and fear. “You killed him! You didn’t have to! We could have negotiated!”

Criston’s jaw clenched, his green eyes blazing.

“He would have never surrendered! We needed a show of strength, Gwayne. You know that.”

“A show of strength?” Gwayne shot back, his voice rising. “You think killing him was strength? It was madness! You’ve put us in more danger than before!”

Criston stepped closer, the heat of his anger radiating off him.

“Madness? I did what was necessary! You think they would have listened to us otherwise? We’re at war, Gwayne!”

Gwayne shook his head, frustration spilling over.

“You’re blinded by rage! You’ve sacrificed any chance we had for peace. You’ve made an enemy of an entire house! What were you thinking?”

Criston’s fists tightened at his sides. “I was thinking of our survival! I was thinking of you! You were injured, and I couldn’t let Corlys threaten us any longer.”

“Don’t you dare use my injury as an excuse!” Gwayne snapped, his voice cracking. “You acted out of anger, not strategy. You’ve put us both at risk, and for what? To satisfy your need for vengeance?”

Criston’s heart raced, the weight of Gwayne’s words hitting him like a blow.

“I did it to protect you! To protect our cause!”

“Protect me?” Gwayne’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice softening. “You think killing a lord will protect me? You’ve only created more enemies, and now I’m caught in the crossfire of your choices.”

Criston felt a pang of guilt, the fire of his anger flickering as he looked at Gwayne.

“I… I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it would show our strength.”

Gwayne took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Strength? This isn’t strength, Criston. It’s reckless. You’ve lost sight of what we’re fighting for.”

Silence enveloped them, the echoes of their argument fading into the shadows. Criston’s heart ached with the weight of his actions, the realization that he had not only endangered their mission but also the bond they had forged through fire and blood.

“Gwayne, I—” he started, but Gwayne cut him off.

“Just… just give me a moment,” Gwayne said, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned against the wall, his expression a mixture of pain and disappointment.

Criston felt the distance between them grow, the intimacy of their shared struggles now tainted by the consequences of his choices. The cave felt colder, the shadows deeper, as he grappled with the reality of what he had done.

[faibleprompts]

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If you’re interested in exploring a unique new storytelling method or if you enjoy my Faible prompts and want to bring those stories to life, this group is for you. Connect with like-minded individuals, share your creations, and immerse yourself in the vibrant world of Faible.

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The White Cloak Chapter 8

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The first light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the cabin, casting soft beams across the small room. Criston stirred awake, the warmth of the previous night still lingering, but the weight of their mission quickly pulled him from the remnants of sleep. He turned to find Gwayne already awake, his expression thoughtful as he gazed out at the forest beyond.

“Morning,” Criston greeted, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Morning,” Gwayne replied, turning to meet Criston’s gaze. There was a moment of silence, a shared understanding of the tension that had lingered between them, but the urgency of their situation quickly took precedence.

“We need to gather our troops,” Criston said, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. “The longer we wait, the more time the Velaryons have to fortify their defenses.”

Gwayne nodded, determination etching lines across his face. “We’ll need to formulate a solid plan. We can’t just charge in without knowing their strengths and weaknesses.”

They quickly dressed, slipping back into their now-damp clothes, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The peasants had already begun their daily routines, the sounds of laughter and work filling the clearing. Criston felt a swell of gratitude towards these people who had offered them refuge, their lives entwined with the fate of the realm.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Criston called out to the gathered villagers, who paused to listen. “We must gather our troops and prepare for what lies ahead. If any of you have information about the Velaryon patrols or defenses, it would be invaluable.”

An older woman stepped forward, her face lined with wisdom and experience. “We’ve seen the guards moving throughout the woods. They’re on high alert since the attack, but they still have routines. We can help you with that.”

Gwayne stepped forward, his voice steady. “Any information you can provide will aid us in our mission. We’re fighting not just for our cause, but for the safety of everyone here.”

The villagers exchanged glances, a sense of unity forming as they began to share what they knew. Criston listened intently, piecing together the details of the Velaryon defenses and patrol schedules. The knowledge was crucial, and with each bit of information, their plan began to take shape.

After gathering all the intel they could, Criston and Gwayne convened with the peasants in a small clearing, the atmosphere charged with purpose. The villagers formed a protective circle around the knights, their faces resolute.

“Here’s what we know,” Criston began, spreading a crude map of Driftmark on the ground. “The Velaryon guards have established a perimeter, but there are gaps in their patrols. We can exploit these to our advantage.”

Gwayne pointed to a section of the map.

“If we can move through the woods undetected, we can approach from the north. It’s less fortified, and we’ll have the element of surprise.”

The villagers nodded, murmurs of agreement rippling through the group. Criston felt a surge of hope; they were not alone in this fight.

“We’ll need to move quickly,” Criston continued, his voice firm. “Gather what weapons and supplies you can. We’ll regroup at the edge of the forest and make our final preparations.”

As the villagers dispersed to gather their resources, Criston turned to Gwayne, a sense of urgency in his eyes.

“We need to be ready for anything. The Velaryons will not take our approach lightly.”

Gwayne met his gaze, determination shining in his blue eyes. “We’ll do what we must. For Alicent. For Driftmark. And for each other.”

The words hung in the air, a reminder of the bond they had forged through fire and conflict. Criston felt a flicker of something deeper, a connection that transcended duty, but he pushed it aside. There was no time for distractions.

As the villagers rallied around them, gathering weapons and preparing for the impending confrontation, Criston felt a renewed sense of purpose. They would take back the castle, not just for their own cause but for the lives of those who had placed their trust in them.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, illuminating the path ahead. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay in wait.

--

With the sun rising higher in the sky, illuminating the path ahead, Criston and Gwayne led the gathered villagers as they set out towards Driftmark. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of their mission pressing heavily upon their shoulders. Each step felt like a march towards destiny, and Criston’s resolve hardened with every passing moment.

As they moved deeper into the woods, they began to encounter scattered remnants of their disbanded troops, each group of soldiers appearing more ragged than the last. Criston felt a surge of pride as he recognized familiar faces among them—men who had fought valiantly for the Greens, who had not given up hope even in the face of overwhelming odds.

“Form up!” Criston commanded as they reached a small clearing where a handful of soldiers had gathered. The men looked weary but determined, their eyes lighting up with renewed purpose at the sight of their knights.

Criston stepped forward, his heart pounding with the weight of what lay ahead.

“Listen up!” he shouted, his voice carrying through the trees. “We’ve all faced challenges that would break lesser men. We’ve been scattered, hunted, but we are not defeated!”

The soldiers exchanged glances, a flicker of hope igniting in their eyes. Gwayne stood by Criston’s side, watching as his companion’s demeanor shifted from the calm strategist to a fierce leader, the fire of battle igniting within him.

“We’ve lost too much!” Criston continued, his voice rising with intensity. “Our homes, our families, our very lives! But today, we take back what is ours! Today, we show the Velaryons that their tyranny ends here!”

The soldiers began to murmur, their spirits lifting as Criston’s words resonated within them. He could see the anger and determination mirrored in their faces, the flicker of rebellion igniting once more.

“Are we going to let them dictate our fate?” Criston challenged, his eyes blazing with fervor. “Are we going to cower in the shadows while they fortify their walls? No! We will fight! We will reclaim Driftmark, not just for ourselves but for every man, woman, and child who has suffered under their rule!”

Gwayne watched, a mix of admiration and apprehension swirling within him. Criston’s anger was palpable, a force that drew the men together, yet it also unnerved Gwayne. He had seen the toll that such fervor could take on a man, the thin line between righteous anger and reckless abandon.

“Let them come!” Criston roared, raising his sword high. “Let them feel the fury of those they’ve wronged! We fight for our queen, for our honor, for our home! Together, we will bring justice to Driftmark!”

The soldiers erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a cacophony of determination. Criston felt the energy of the crowd, the surge of adrenaline coursing through him. He turned to Gwayne, who stood wide-eyed, caught between admiration and concern.

“Are you ready?” Criston asked, his voice lowering slightly, the fire still burning in his eyes.

Gwayne hesitated for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

“I am,” he replied, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the uncertainty he felt. “But we must be careful, Criston. Anger can blind us.”

Criston nodded, acknowledging the truth in Gwayne’s words.

“I know. But sometimes, it’s that very anger that fuels our resolve. We’ll use it wisely.”

With their troops rallied and spirits ignited, Criston led the way towards Driftmark, the path ahead filled with purpose. The sounds of their march echoed through the trees, a testament to their unity and determination.

As they approached the edge of the forest, the silhouette of Driftmark rose in the distance, a stark reminder of the battle that awaited them. Criston’s heart raced, the weight of leadership heavy upon him, but he felt a sense of clarity amid the chaos.

The air was thick with tension as Criston led his assembled troops through the final stretch of forest, the imposing silhouette of Driftmark looming ahead. The time for words had passed; now was the moment for action. Criston’s heart raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he took in the sight of the castle gates, guarded but unaware of the storm that was about to hit them.

“On my signal,” Criston instructed, his voice low but firm. He could feel Gwayne’s presence beside him, a steadying force amidst the chaos. They had come too far to turn back now.

As they approached the gates, Criston raised his sword high. “Now!” he shouted, charging forward with Gwayne and their troops at his heels.

The element of surprise was on their side. The Velaryon guards, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, scrambled to react as Criston and his men crashed against their ranks. The sounds of steel clashing against steel filled the air, mingling with the shouts of battle.

Criston fought with a fierce determination, every swing of his sword fueled by the anger and pain of all they had endured. Gwayne was at his side, his movements fluid and precise, the two knights working in perfect harmony as they carved a path through the chaos.

“Push forward!” Criston shouted, rallying his men as they pressed against the guards. The tide of battle began to shift, the Velaryons struggling to maintain their ground against the ferocity of the Greens’ assault.

As they fought, Criston caught glimpses of the castle’s interior—the banners of House Velaryon fluttering in the wind, the stone walls that had once felt so imposing now appearing vulnerable. The realization that they were reclaiming their home fueled his resolve.

But just as victory seemed within reach, a horn sounded from within the castle. Criston’s heart sank as reinforcements began to pour from the castle gates, the Velaryon soldiers rallying to defend their stronghold.

“Fall back!” Criston shouted, recognizing the need for a tactical retreat. “Regroup and hold the line!”

As they pulled back, Criston felt a surge of frustration. They had fought so hard, and yet the battle was far from over. But Gwayne was at his side, his voice steady. “We’ll find another way, Criston. This isn’t the end.”

With their troops regrouped and the battle still raging, Criston knew they had to adapt. They would not be defeated so easily. Together, they would find a way to reclaim Driftmark, to honor the trust of those who had fought beside them.

And as the sun began to set behind the castle walls, casting long shadows across the battlefield, Criston felt a renewed sense of purpose. They would not falter. They would not fail.

In that moment, surrounded by allies and the promise of a brighter future, Criston and Gwayne stood united, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The story of their fight for Driftmark was just beginning, and the threads of fate were weaving a tale of courage, loyalty, and the indomitable spirit of those who dared to stand against tyranny.

[faibleprompts]

Midnight Confessions

Korrasami fic based off of today's Faible prompt:

The moon cast a silvery glow over the courtyard of Air Temple Island, illuminating the serene gardens and ancient airbending structures. Korra and Asami sat side by side on a stone bench, their shoulders touching ever so slightly. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant sound of the tide created a tranquil backdrop for their private moment.

Korra glanced at Asami, her heart pounding in her chest. She had faced countless enemies and overcome immense challenges, but nothing had prepared her for what she felt now. "It's so peaceful here," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wish every night could be like this."

Asami turned her head to look at Korra, her green eyes shimmering in the moonlight. "Me too," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's nice to have a moment to just... be."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Korra's mind raced with memories of their shared adventures, the trials they had faced together, and the unwavering support Asami had always offered. She wanted to say so much, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.

Asami, too, was lost in her thoughts. She remembered the first time she had met Korra, the initial rivalry that had blossomed into a deep and trusting friendship. Over time, her feelings had grown more complex, and she found herself yearning for something more. 

"Korra," Asami began, her voice trembling slightly. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you..."

Korra's heart skipped a beat. She turned to face Asami, her blue eyes wide with anticipation. "What is it, Asami?"

Asami took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she reached out to take Korra's. "I... I care about you, Korra. More than just as a friend."

Korra's breath caught in her throat. She felt a rush of emotions—relief, joy, fear—all swirling together. "Asami, I... I feel the same way."

They stared at each other, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging in the air. The moment was charged with tension, each of them waiting for the other to make the next move.

Korra's heart pounded in her chest as she leaned in closer to Asami, her breath mingling with the night air. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate, moonlit moment. Her eyes locked onto Asami's, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But all she saw was warmth and longing reflected back at her.

Asami's breath hitched as Korra's face drew nearer. Her heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, but now that it was happening, it felt almost surreal. She could feel the heat radiating from Korra's body, the intensity of her gaze, and the electric tension that hung between them.

Korra paused for a brief moment, giving Asami one last chance to pull away. When Asami's eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted slightly, Korra closed the remaining distance and pressed her lips gently against Asami's. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, filled with all the unspoken emotions they had both been holding back.

Asami's hands found their way to Korra's shoulders, gripping them lightly as she leaned into the kiss. The world around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the sensation of Korra's lips on hers, the warmth of her touch, and the heady rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Korra deepened the kiss, her confidence growing as she felt Asami respond. Her hands moved to cup Asami's face, her thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. The kiss became more urgent, more passionate, as they poured all their pent-up feelings into that single, electrifying moment.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless and flushed. Korra rested her forehead against Asami's, her eyes still closed as she tried to steady her racing heart. "I've wanted to do that for so long," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Asami smiled, her fingers tracing the line of Korra's jaw. "Me too," she replied softly. "I was just too scared to say anything."

Korra pulled back slightly, her blue eyes searching Asami's face. "You don't have to be scared anymore," she said firmly. "We're in this together."

Asami nodded, her heart swelling with a mix of love and relief. "Together," she echoed, her voice filled with conviction.

Korra took a deep breath, her fingers still lightly touching Asami's face. "There's something I want to share with you," she began, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "I've had this dream... about our future together."

Asami's eyes widened with curiosity. "A dream? Tell me about it."

Korra smiled softly, her gaze drifting to the moonlit sky for a moment before returning to Asami's eyes. "In the dream, we're living in a beautiful house by the ocean. It's peaceful, and the sound of the waves is always in the background. We're happy, Asami. Truly happy."

Asami's heart swelled with warmth at Korra's words. She could almost picture the scene in her mind, the two of them sharing a life together, free from the chaos and dangers that had defined their past. "That sounds wonderful," she said softly. "What else happens in the dream?"

Korra's smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We have a garden, filled with all kinds of flowers and plants. You spend hours working on it, and I help whenever I can. There's this one spot, right by the edge of the cliff, where we sit and watch the sunset together every evening. It's our special place."

Asami's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dream Korra described was everything she had ever wanted—peace, love, and a future together. "Korra," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "That's beautiful."

Korra's expression softened, her thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped down Asami's cheek. "In the dream, we're not just happy because of where we are or what we have. We're happy because we're together."

Asami leaned into Korra's touch, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "I want that too, Korra. I want a future with you."

Korra's eyes shone with determination and hope. "Then let's make it happen," she said firmly. "We can build that future together, one step at a time."

Asami nodded, her resolve matching Korra's, and they sat in silence for a moment, basking in the warm night air. The future they both dreamed of feeling closer than ever.

If you like this fic play it out for yourself on Faible: https://app.faible.ai/?faibleId=db663409-a0c1-4401-8e5c-6e140591e195

[sachafaible]

Ugh love this fic, got to make my own ending in Faible!

[sachafaible]

The White Cloak Chapter 7

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

As Criston and Gwayne navigated the dense underbrush of the forest, the sounds of their hurried footsteps mingled with the rustling leaves and distant calls of nocturnal creatures. The weight of their recent battle lingered in the air, but they pressed on, determined to regroup and strategize.

After a few moments of careful movement, they stumbled upon a small clearing illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. A group of local peasants had gathered, their faces illuminated by the flickering light. The sight was unexpected, and Criston instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for any sign of hostility. But as they drew closer, the peasants looked up, their expressions shifting from surprise to recognition. One of the older men stepped forward, his face weathered but kind.

“You’re the knights from Driftmark, aren’t you? We’ve heard whispers about the trouble brewing at the castle.”

Criston and Gwayne exchanged a glance, the tension in their shoulders easing slightly.

“We are,” Criston confirmed, lowering his hand. “We need your help. The Velaryon guards are searching for us.”

The old man nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes.

“You’ve come to the right place. We know these woods better than anyone. You can hide with us until it’s safe.”

Gwayne stepped forward, his voice earnest. “We appreciate your kindness. We’re fighting for the realm and need to regroup with our men.”

The peasants nodded, their resolve evident.

“Follow us,” the old man urged, gesturing for them to join. “We have a safe place nearby.”

As they moved deeper into the woods, Criston felt a swell of gratitude towards these simple folk. They were risking their safety to help him and Gwayne, and it reminded him of the stakes they were fighting for—not just for nobility but for the lives of those who had little power in the grand schemes of the realm.

They arrived at a small, hidden cabin nestled between the trees, its walls covered in ivy and moss. The peasants ushered them inside, where the air was warm and filled with the scent of herbs and wood smoke. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a comforting glow.

“Stay here,” the old man instructed. “We’ll keep watch. You can rest and gather your strength.”

Criston and Gwayne exchanged weary glances, the weight of the day’s events crashing down upon them. They settled near the fire, the warmth seeping into their bones, and for a brief moment, they allowed themselves to breathe.

“Thank you,” Criston said, breaking the silence. “For helping us. We know the risks you’re taking.” The old man waved a dismissive hand.

“We’ve seen enough bloodshed in these lands. We support those who fight for justice, not just those who wear crowns.” Gwayne looked around at the humble setting, gratitude in his heart.

“We will repay this kindness. Once we’ve secured our cause, we’ll ensure your safety and well-being.”

As the peasants continued to prepare food and gather supplies, Criston leaned closer to Gwayne, his voice low.

“What now? We need to find a way to regroup with our troops and get back to Driftmark.”

Gwayne nodded, his expression serious.

“We’ll need to gather intelligence about the Velaryon patrols. If we can find a way to outmaneuver them, we can re-enter the castle and complete our mission.”

Criston felt a surge of determination.

“We’ll need to be cautious. The search parties will be relentless. But with the support of these people, we have a chance.”

As the fire crackled and the peasants shared stories of their struggles and hopes, Criston felt a renewed sense of purpose. They were not just fighting for a queen or a cause; they were fighting for the lives of those who had placed their trust in them. And as the night wore on, he realized that whatever challenges lay ahead, he and Gwayne would face them together, bound by loyalty and a shared commitment to protect those who could not protect themselves.

As the night deepened and the fire in the cabin crackled softly, Criston and Gwayne settled into a corner of the small space. The warmth of the flames provided a comforting glow, but the tension in the air was palpable. The cabin, though cozy, was cramped, and the only available bed was a small, simple frame draped with a threadbare blanket. Gwayne glanced at Criston, a hint of uncertainty in his blue eyes.

“Looks like we’ll have to share,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood. But the smile that accompanied his words didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Seems so,” Criston replied, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of tension. The proximity of their bodies, the intimacy of sharing a bed, stirred a whirlwind of emotions within him—emotions he had fought so hard to suppress. They climbed into the bed, the mattress creaking under their combined weight. The blanket was thin, barely offering enough warmth against the cool night air. Criston lay on his back, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, acutely aware of Gwayne's presence beside him. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Criston felt the heat radiating from Gwayne’s body, a stark reminder of their shared ordeal and the bond that had grown between them. The memories of their fight, the moments of vulnerability, and the chaos of the day swirled in his mind, making it difficult to focus.

“Criston,” Gwayne finally broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant. “About what happened earlier… I’m glad you didn’t leave me behind.”

Criston turned his head slightly, meeting Gwayne’s gaze.

“I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I had,” he admitted, the sincerity of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Gwayne shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his expression earnest.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we’ve faced together. The battles, the secrets… and how close we came to losing everything.”

Criston felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“We’re still in danger, Gwayne. We have to focus on our mission.”

“I know,” Gwayne replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But it’s hard to ignore the bond we’ve formed. I can’t help but wonder what it means for us.” Criston’s heart raced at the implications of Gwayne’s words. He could feel the weight of their shared experiences pressing down on him, the unacknowledged feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface. But he was a knight of the Kingsguard, bound by duty and honor, and he couldn’t allow himself to cross that line.

“Gwayne, we can’t—” Criston began, but Gwayne interrupted, his voice filled with quiet intensity.

“Why not? Why can’t we acknowledge what’s happening between us? We’ve faced death together. We trust each other with our lives. Isn’t that worth something?”

Criston turned fully to face Gwayne, their faces mere inches apart. The tension crackled in the air, thick and electric. He could see the earnestness in Gwayne’s eyes, the vulnerability that mirrored his own.

“Because it complicates everything,” Criston said, his voice strained. “We have a mission to complete, and feelings like this can’t cloud our judgment.”

Gwayne’s expression faltered, hurt flickering across his features.

“So you’re saying you don’t feel anything? That this—whatever it is—means nothing to you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Criston’s heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to find the right words.

“It’s not that simple,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. Gwayne’s gaze softened, the tension between them shifting into something more profound.

“Then let’s not pretend it doesn’t exist. We’re in this together, Criston. Whatever comes next, we face it side by side.” Criston felt the warmth of Gwayne’s breath against his skin, the proximity igniting a fire within him that he had long fought to suppress. The battle within him raged—duty versus desire, loyalty versus love. As they lay there, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in that small cabin, suspended between friendship and something more. The night stretched on, filled with unspoken words and the weight of choices yet to be made.

[sachafaible]

Collections!

Hi all! My story Criston x Gwayne fanfic, The White Cloak, has been publish on Faible's site, under my username sachan600.

If you enjoy the story, be sure to check out the interactive version on Faible! I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow!

[faibleprompts]

Today’s Faible prompt! 

I’m thinking about making this a collection on Faible - everyone loves a classic vampires and werewolves story! 

[sachafaible]

Awesome prompt! Reminds me of a more mythical Twilight! I made my own Faible but I'd love to read your collection!!