Sailor of Midnight Seas

Multiple fandoms: Moriarty the Patriot/ Tolkien/ AoT/ A:tlA/... AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorA2/works

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Welcome!

Welcome to my page!

I am a young wannabe author who writes fanfiction for various fandoms and unpublished private projects.

While I am not as active as I could be, I try to post cross-post my fanfics. You can find them mostly on Ao3!

Masterlist

Love and Deepspace

Stormlight Archive

K-Pop Demon Hunters

Tolkien

[maffi-maffi]

"I wore his ring, but she held his soul."

POV: You are the non-MC wife. You thought the marriage would save you, but the moment you crossed his precious MC, you became nothing more than a target. He didn't even hesitate.

God, the angst of being the disposable villain in someone else's love story is unmatched 💔

Credit: osk_purinnumee

[sailorofmidnightseas]

A secret morning

Pairing: Jasnah Kholin x FOC

Summary:

It was way too early. Jasnah Kholin was a woman driven by a goal in research and wanted to use the day as much as possible, thus making her an early riser, but even she knew it was not yet time to get up. So why was the sun already peeking between the curtains? Irritated, Jasnah opened her eyes and grabbed her phone on the bedside table to check the time. 5:06 am. - The mattress shifted behind her and Jasnah was suddenly aware of the warm metal arm around her waist. She rolled over to look at the woman next to her. Frankly, Raevenne was hideous and thus quite the opposite of Jasnah, who has won the genetic lottery. --- After attending her mother's birthday party, Jasnah stays the night at the family mansion. However, this does not stop a certain someone from sneaking in and spending the night with her. This is the following morning.

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It was way too early. Jasnah Kholin was a woman driven by a goal in research and wanted to use the day as much as possible, thus making her an early riser, but even she knew it was not yet time to get up. So why was the sun already peeking between the curtains? Irritated, Jasnah opened her eyes and grabbed her phone on the bedside table to check the time.

5:06 am.

For the Stormfather’s sake, why was she awake already? Putting the phone away again, Jasnah burrowed into her pillow and tugged her blanket closer. The fabric was smooth against her bare skin, but that was to be expected. Only the best quality in the Kholin household. She closed her eyes, yet sleep evaded her. The mattress shifted behind her and Jasnah was suddenly aware of the warm metal arm around her waist. She rolled over to look at the woman next to her.

Frankly, Raevenne was hideous and thus quite the opposite of Jasnah, who has won the genetic lottery. A long, thick scar crossed over Raevenne’s face, starting from one eye and ending below the lips. Her smile was forever ruined and frightened people or made them uncomfortable instead of easing the atmosphere. Jasnah knew her body was covered with scar tissue; some having healed better than others. Her right arm was replaced with a prosthetic, which, thanks to the fabrials, she could move like a regular arm. Also not fitting into Alethi beauty standards was her muscular frame. Women were not supposed to be visibly strong; it was only attractive on men.

Physically, Raevenne truly wasn’t attractive and no Alethi man would waste a thought on approaching her, but it hadn’t been her appearance which had caught Jasnah’s attention, but the woman’s brilliant mind which was slowly revealed as their relationship slowly progressed from acquaintances to friends. The ease with which she deduced people and situations, the knowledge she possessed and a^1 wit rivalling Jasnah’s made all physical flaws disappear. However, over the course of their relationship, Jasnah has grown to love the body housing that sharp mind.

“Why are you awake already? Go back to sleep.”, a raspy voice brought Jasnah out of her thoughts. She looked up and was met with frozen pupils in teal eyes.

“I can’t. Besides, you need to leave soon. You know my family can’t see you.”

While her mother, brother, uncle and cousins don’t know about Raevenne’s existence (or current presence), Jasnah knew they would not welcome her for two reasons:

Raevenne was not in the same social class, but rather a social outcast.

She didn’t have the most legal profession, being part of the mafia.

Raevenne rolled on top of Jasnah and lazily kissed her neck. “Relax, you know I am sneaky.”

“Still, even you could make a mistake-“

“Jasnah, dear, it’s half past five in the morning. Don’t power up your brain to its full potential yet. Relax and enjoy my company.”, Raevenne drawled and continued lavishing her neck with kisses, sometimes even moving down to her collarbones. The rough scar tissue created a stark contrast to Jasnah’s soft skin. After she deemed her job done, Raevenne laid her head on her lover’s chest. Absent-mindedly, Jasnah began threading her fingers through ink-black hair and Raevenne hummed.  

“I should do that to you. Perhaps it’ll coax you back to sleep. Your family won’t wake up until 8 a.m., so there is no reason to worry. Although, I would love to see their reaction when they find out just how much if a worrywart the cold and distant Jasnah Kholin can be.”

Jasnah lightly swatted her shoulder and glared at the scarred woman, who propped herself on her elbows and looked down at Jasnah with an amused smile.

“I am surprised you even attended your mother’s birthday party. It wouldn’t have been the first time you’d have sent her a mere text or birthday card.”

“Shut up.”, Jasnah ground out and Raevenne chuckled. She knew Jasnah had only reluctantly attended and was far from happy at being away from her books and lab. The eldest Kholin narrowed her eyes at her girlfriend, before a tight-lipped smile tugged on her lips.

“You know, mother was asking me again if I’ve got a boyfriend. She even implied that one of the attendant’s is throwing a get-together soon, where all the bachelors and bachelorettes can attend to find a spouse. Who knows, perhaps I might attend as well.”

Triumph rose in her when Raevenne’s face darkened. Her expression stayed haughty, even as Raevenne tightly gripped her at the back of her neck almost painfully, forcing her head backwards. Undauntedly, she met Raevenne’s cool eyes, despite the vulnerable position she was in.

“It seems, dear”, Raevenne slowly began, narrowing her eyes, “that you’re forgetting your place. Perhaps a little reminder would do you good.”

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Her eyes, cold as winter yet so warm

Pairing: Kaladin x FOC

Summary:

Kaladin was just a boy when the Ryángi, a nomadic caravan moved through Hearthstone and set camp outside the city gates. After a brief miscommunication, he befriends Nyaka, the chief's daughter, but alas, they move on eventually and their lives continue.

When Kaladin was captain of Dalinar Kholin's honorguard, he finds something on a Parshendi: hair jewellery with all too familair carvings. Were the Ryángi on the Shattered Plains? What happens once he and Nyaka reunite? How have the years changed them, and what do the coming years have in store?

Chapter: 1 2 3 4

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Chapter 2: He was eleven, she was thirteen when she left

Kaladin blinked against the rain and wondered why he had allowed himself to be convinced to go outside. The Weeping had reached its midpoint, and crem covered the land. Yet Kaladin had found that there was little he could deny Nyaka in the two years the Ryángi stayed outside of Hearthstone. 

Whatever apprehension Kaladin might have had in the beginning had vanished the more he got to know the Ryángi. Their chief was a loud man, and he loved to laugh, which swiftly removed the boy’s fear from the burly stature. Kaladin had thought being a leader meant being respected by fear or unease - you were supposed to feel your inferiority. 

Kaladin liked the chief. 

Nyaka’s mother was her husband’s opposite. She was quiet, and preferred to observe. Her eyes seemed to penetrate right through Kaladin’s body to his soul. Often, Kaladin wondered whether the tahal disapproved of her daughter befriending a Vorin boy, and he shrank in her presence. But then again, she prepared him food and even gifted him a wooden ring with an unfamiliar glyph carved into it. 

Perhaps she liked him after all. 

Of course, not everyone approved of their friendship - mainly the people of Hearthstone. The people already thought Lirin strange, and now Kaladin was friends with one of the “heathen girls”. Hesina, though glad he had a new friend - the Almighty knew Kaladin had too few of them - she was worried for his future. Nyaka was nice, but Laral was right here and perhaps, if the Almighty was kind, there could be more between these two. 

Speaking of Laral, the girl was far from happy that Kaladin spent time with Nyaka. Now twelve years old, the citylord’s daughter decided on a more feminine approach to portray her displeasure: Treating him coolly. However, Kaladin did not seem to understand why she was mad at him - only that she was. It frustrated her even more, and she wondered how he could be so daft.

She had also decided to feed him the idea of becoming a soldier instead of a surgeon. It was far more honourable, and he could win Shards - he could close the gap between their ranks even more. For now, Kaladin was not yet fully convinced, and Laral was confident it was Nyaka’s fault. From her window, she could see the camp in the distance. Hopefully, they left soon. 

*

Listlessly, Kaladin kicked a stone away. It was not long until he heard Nyaka approach. 

“You came!”, she said, her face alight with delight and Kaladin’s heart did a funny little thing in his chest. He wondered if he was developing a cardiac problem, perhaps some illness? 

At thirteen, the first signs of womanhood had begun to develop - a slight elevation in the chest area and a growth spurt. Kaladin was still awaiting his, and now they rivalled each other in height. If she were Vorin, Nyaka would cover her safehand already. 

“We said we would meet”, Kaladin noted, realizing she was still waiting for his answer and Nyaka cocked her head. 

“Yes, but I know you are not too fond of being in the rain.”

“It is more the crem.”

“Ah. It is a pain indeed. I was surprised when I first saw it. We do not have crem in the North.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It just rains.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle when she grabbed his hand.

“Run with me through the rain.”

“I am not sure, just look around. We would be filthy.”

Nyaka sent him a deadpan look. “That is not your worry, is it?”

“No”, Kaladin said and grinned. “But mother will be angry.”

“Tell me about it”, Nyaka snorted and Kaladin admired her courage for risking her stern mother’s wrath. Then again, she would probably hide behind her father - the chief had mastered the skill of calming his wife’s fury like no other. 

He chased her through the rain, the hood of his coat falling off. In a matter of minutes, his hair was plastered to his head, but Nyaka looked no different. She seemed to come alive in the rain, dancing and singing songs in a language he did not understand. They slipped and slid on the crem-covered ground, but Kaladin just laughed - a sound which grew rare the older he got. 

Nyaka shrieked when a ball of crem hit her back. 

“Oh, you are so on!”

A fierce fight commenced between the children, and by the end, they were covered in crem from head to toe - even their hair was not spared.  

When they returned to their respective homes, Hesina was about to scold her son for dirtying himself to such an extent, but she swallowed her words when she saw the happy twinkle in Kaladin’s eyes. In the end, she simply sent him to the bathroom and said that he would have to wash his clothes tomorrow. 

*

Two days later, Kaladin waited for Nyaka once again. When the girl came, she lacked her usual joy and energy. Kaladin frowned.

“Nyaka, what is the matter?”

“...We are leaving, Kal”, she said softly and Kaladin blinked. 

“What?”

“We are leaving in a few days. It takes a bit to take down the huts and pack everything, but I expect us to depart in two days.”

“Why are you leaving now? It is the middle of the Weeping and everything is full of crem.  Wait a few more weeks.”

“We cannot. It has…religious reasons”, Nyaka confessed and even though Kaladin no longer cared for her heathenry, for a moment he hated it. 

“What reason?”

“A full moon lunar eclipse.”

“Ah”, was all Kaladin knew to say. 

Nyaka hugged him tightly, and Kaladin reciprocated once he found his footing again. This close, he could smell the scent of her hair, and the smell of pine and elderflower soothed the ache at the thought of her leaving. 

After a few minutes, Nyaka pulled back. Her eyes - these beautiful lakes of ice - were rimmed with red. Her leaver glove-covered fingers laced with his. 

"Goodbye, Kal. I…I do not know when, or if, we will see each other again.”

“I will be either here or in Karbranth”, Kaladin said quietly. Nyaka smiled wistfully. 

“I cannot promise anything, but I will try to get us back here sometimes.”

“Okay. Do not forget me, will you?”, Kaladin joked and regretted it immediately. 

“I do not think I could”, Nyaka admitted and her smile grew warmer. 

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, biting her lip uncertainly. Then, before Kaladin could react, she leaned forward and pecked his cheek. It was brief, yet long enough to feel the cracks of her lips. When Nyaka pulled away, she retreated a few steps, her cheeks rosy. Even Kaladin, with all the emotional aptitude of an eleven-year-old boy reaching puberty, knew it was no longer simply because of the cold. 

“Well, I…I should get going”, Nyaka said. “Goodbye.”

“...Goodbye”, Kaladin said, dazed and caught off-guard like a boy who just received his first kiss from a girl - even if it was a peck on the cheek. He watched her leave, his heart heavy with an emotion he could not yet name. His fingers traced the spot her lips had touched. 

Suddenly, Nyaka halted and turned around. 

“By the way, Kaladin is a lovely name. Do not hide behind Kal.”

Then she continued and Kaladin stood in the rain until she was gone. 

It was only a few years later when he began feeling sheepish in Laral’s presence, paired with the urge to impress her, that he understood what had resided in his eleven-year-old heart. It might not have been love, but the cracking of its seeds in the fertile soil.  The Ryángi did not return, and Kaladin, unlike he had told Nyaka, did not go to Karbranth. 

He joined the army to protect Tien. 

He lost everything.

Eventually, those two years of happiness seemed like a distant dream.

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Her eyes, cold as winter yet so warm

Pairing: Kaladin Stormblessed x FOC

Summary:

Kaladin was just a boy when the Ryángi, a nomadic caravan moved through Hearthstone and set camp outside the city gates. After a brief miscommunication, he befriends Nyaka, the chief's daughter, but alas, they move on eventually and their lives continue.

When Kaladin was captain of Dalinar Kholin's honorguard, he finds something on a Parshendi: hair jewellery with all too familair carvings. Were the Ryángi on the Shattered Plains? What happens once he and Nyaka reunite? How have the years changed them, and what do the coming years have in store?

Chapter: 1 2 3 4

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Chapter 1: He was nine, she was eleven when they first met.

For most of the year, life in Hearthstone was predictable. Brightlord Wistiow was a passive citylord, yet few minded him. Lighteyes were often cruel, and the people of Hearthstone ignored Wistiow as much as he ignored them. 

As was often the case, Kaladin assisted his father who hounded him with medical questions while bandaging a young farmer’s deep gash on his thigh. Lirin was set on Kaladin following in his footsteps and the boy did not object. He played with Laral and Tien. 

Life was simple. Life was predictable. 

Yet sometimes, the monotony was unexpectedly broken.

*

It was a few weeks before the Weeping that Kaladin and Laral were playing in the outskirts of Hearthstone. Hesina had managed to convince Lirin to let Kaladin play, arguing that he had worked much the past days.

“He is always working hard, and can answer most of the questions you ask him”, she had said. “Give him a day off. Laral has been asking for him as well.”

Kaladin did not understand the look his mother had thrown father, nor the strange emphasis on Laral, but Lirin had relented, so he did not question it. Kaladin wondered why his mother insisted on making Laral his friend. His family might be second nahn, but Laral was still a lighteyes, and the citylord’s daughter.

The children had just finished a game of tag and were catching their breath when Tien came running. 

“Kal…people…quick”, the boy panted and Kaladin and Laral exchanged a look.

“What?”, he asked.

“There are…people coming”, Tien said. “It is like a caravan and they look so weird! You must see them!”

Without waiting for an answer, he ran back to Hearthstone, but Kaladin and Laral were right behind him. A crowd had gathered along the main road and Kaladin, alongside Laral and Tien, squeezed through the crowd to the front. 

‘Weird’ was not the word nine-year-old Kaladin would use to describe these people - in his mind, ‘frightening’ fit them better.

They were tall, and white as snow. It posed a stark contrast with their dark hair. Lirin always said not to judge people by their appearance, but Kaladin could not help it. He had never seen people who had symmetrical facial tattoos and strange jewellery hanging from their ears and hair. Strangely, lighteyes and darkeyes rode next to each other as if they were equals.

Kaladin’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked at the wagons pass by. 

“Heathens”, Laral whispered next to him, her voice thick with disgust.

Yeah, Kaladin thought, amazement and discomfort warring in his chest. Heathens. 

The horses snorted and whinnied, and suddenly, the caravan halted. 

“Is there a doctor nearby?”, a man of high rank asked. He had elaborate facial tattoos, and upon his brow sat a band with a pair of capricorn horns. Next to him, sitting on a black steed, was a woman with just as elaborate tattoos. Her bright eyes seemed to glow under the black paint across her eyes. She wore a pair of antlers on her head.

“I am a surgeon.”

Kaladin craned his neck. Lirin stepped forth and Laral tugged Kaladin’s sleeve.

“Your father is not helping them, is he?”

“He always helps when he can”, Kaladin said and Laral scoffed. 

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Kal. The ardents say people like them cannot be trusted. Heathens lack morals.”

Kaladin looked at her and then back to the heathens. The ardents did imply immorality in those rejecting Vorinism and the Almighty. And the women’s safehands were uncovered - surely, that must count for something. On the other hand, Lirin had also told him of other countries which rejected the Almighty - surely, not all of them lacked morals and decency. 

The caravan began moving again and vanished outside the city gates. 

One wagon, however, pulled up to Kaladin’s home. Kaladin and Laral peeked around a corner of his parents’ house, and observed. 

An adolescent boy of sixteen or seventeen stumbled out of the wagon, supported by a girl not much older than Kaladin. Hesina rushed to help the girl before she was crushed by the boy’s weight. The three vanished inside, and Laral declared she would be going home now. Kaladin could not quite say whether it was because of the hour or the patient inside. 

Probably the patient, Kaladin thought, glancing at the sky. 

Secretly, he was glad when Lirin did not call for his help. Once Kaladin glimpsed through the gap into his father’s working room, and even though the boy on the cot seemed weak and feverish, the sight of him frightened the boy enough to escape to his room. 

*

Three days the heathen man - his name was Rónnen - stayed with Kaladin’s family before he was deemed healthy enough to join his caravan which had made camp a comfortable distance away from the city gates. Kaladin had been unable to avoid him forever, and his fear had turned into cautious curiosity. 

Ryángi - that was what they called themselves. Apparently, they hailed from the north, and Kaladin wondered what they were doing in Alethkar, but he lacked the courage to ask. More questions burned in his mind: Why did they wear facial tattoos? For how long do they travel? Why do they only have four fingers? Hesina’s knowledge was limited, and his father showed little interest in them. 

On the third day, when Rónnen finally returned to his people, Kaladin was waiting for Laral. It had rained, and the ground was still covered with crem. His mother would not be happy with him once he brought her his dirty clothes. 

“Hello”

Startled by the sudden girlish voice and the tap on his shoulder, Kaladin slipped on the crem-covered floor and landed on his bottom. He groaned when he hit his tailbone, and in disgust at his crem-covered hands and clothes. Behind him, the girl giggled and Kaladin rose to his feet - or attempted to. His feet slipped again and his face burned when the girl giggled again. Kaladin sighed and simply opted for turning around. 

Oh. She was pretty. Kaladin was only a nine-year-old boy, but he was not blind. Colourful ribbons were woven through her black braids, and her hair ornaments clinked softly with each movement of her head. Her face was free of tattoos. With her pale skin, it was obvious she was from the caravan. 

Kaladin wondered how eyes of such an icy blue could be alight with warmth. 

“Hello”, the girl said again. “I am Nyaka.”

“Kaladin, but I prefer Kal”, Kaladin said and Nyaka nodded.

“Okay. Here, let me help you up”, she said and offered her hand.

Kaladin found himself confronted with a few things which made him feel awkward. 

Firstly, her light eyes. He knew from Rónnen that the Ryángi did not differentiate between lighteyes and darkeyes like the Alethi did, but learned instincts were hard to forget. Even with Laral he sometimes caught himself pondering the nature of their friendship. 

The simple acceptance of a person’s eye colour also led him to the second point of awkwardness: She was a heathen, a non-believer. Kaladin did not know what the Ryángi believed in, but it was not the Almighty. Kaladin was a good Vorin boy. He knew his place, was familiar with the ardents’ lectures and did not know how to read. 

Thirdly, she was a girl. She might not be much older than him - one or two years, perhaps - but sometimes, Kaladin simply did not know how to interact with girls, especially those who were almost old enough to cover their safehand. Almighty, that girl would never cover her safehand! 

The silence stretched uncomfortably long. Nyaka’s expression fell, and Kaladin was surprised how cold a young girl’s eyes could be. Perhaps it was the colour. It was an astonishing icy blue, as if winter itself was trapped in her body. Nyaka pulled her hand back and averted her eyes.

“I am sorry. I simply wanted to thank you for helping my brother. I could not find your father, and your brother told me you could be here so I - forget it. Just…thank you. Tell him that.”

Then she was gone, running away from him, and Kaladin slapped his hand over his face. 

*

“Kaladin, eat your dinner”, Hesina said. Evening had set in, and Lirin eyed his son who was shoving his food around with a sulky expression.

“Did you have a fight with someone?”, he asked and Kaladin shook his head. “Then what is it?”

“Nyaka said I should extend her thanks. She could not find you, and found me, so…”

“...Thank you”, Lirin said after a pause. 

“Did you and her fight? She is a lovely girl - it is a pity you never talked to her while Rónnen stayed with us”, Hesina said. Kaladin shook his head again. 

“I did not…talk to her much, when she approached me today.”

Lirin laid down his spoon and Kaladin kept his eyes on his food.

“Why did you not talk to her? She is not much older, and her being the tahal’s daughter should not freeze you, since you regularly play with Laral”, Lirin said.

“What is a tahal?”, Tien asked.

“She is the spiritual leader. Something of a priestess”, Lirin said. “The tahal is usually the chief’s wife.”

“Is that the problem, Kaladin?”, Hesina asked softly. “Is it because she is not Vorin?”

His eyes burned with unshed tears. Kaladin did not know why he felt like crying. Was it because he had hurt her? Was it shame, because he had met her with silence when she had extended her kindness? Because his father had taught him better than that?

“A surgeon saves lives, no matter whose. The priority is life, not the person.”, Lirin always told him.

The chair scraped against the floor as Kaladin wordlessly left the table and went to his room. He hid underneath the blanket. There were heathens just outside of Hearthstone. Heathens with tattoos on their faces and bodies. Women who sometimes wore pants instead of dresses. Men who could read. Women who walked around with an uncovered safehand - that was not allowed, at least as far as Kaladin knew.

Three knocks, then a brief silence before the door to his room opened and closed. 

“Kaladin?”, Hesina asked softly and the edge of the mattress dipped under her weight. “What happened, my boy?”

“Nothing”, Kaladin said, his voice muffled through the blanket. “She startled me, I slipped and when she offered her hand to help me up, I did not take it. She ran away.”

“Oh, Kaladin”, Hesina sighed and shook her head. “And here I thought something terrible happened. Tell you what: We bake a blueberry tart and you take it to her to apologize.”

Kaladin peeked out of the blanket - it was growing warm - and wide-eyed shook his head.

“I cannot go there.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because they…look frightening. They are so pale and their tattoos are strange.”

Hesina laughed and ruffled her son’s hair. 

“I promise they are nice people. They just like to decorate themselves. There is no reason to be afraid - had you talked to Rónno, you would know that.”

“...What if they do not accept the apology?”

“Kaladin, you did not kill any of them. This is merely a matter of miscommunication, and one without hurtful words. Nyaka will accept it, that I promise you.”

“...Okay”, Kaladin relented and Hesina ruffled his hair before urging him back to the dining room to finish his dinner. 

The next morning was filled with baking. With a serious expression, Kaladin stirred the batter over the hot stove, and Hesina smiled softly. Loud, impatient knocks interrupted them, and Hesina opened the door. 

“Laral?”, she asked, surprise colouring her voice. The young Brightlady never fetched Kaladin personally - they always met in their spot. 

“Where is Kaladin? We said we would meet today”, Laral said, her small face frowning. Kaladin’s head popped up from the archway to the kitchen.

“I am sorry, Laral, but I cannot play right now. I must bake a tart.”

“A tart? Why are you baking?”, Laral asked in utter disbelief. 

“Kaladin, be careful that the dough will not start burning!”

Kaladin vanished again to resume his stirring and Hesina turned her attention back to Laral.

“Just an apology to Nyaka. There was a small miscommunication yesterday, and he will apologize today with a blueberry tart.”

“...Ah”, was all Laral said.

“He will be free in the afternoon.”

“Okay”, Laral said noncommittally. Hesina winced slightly.

“You could also accompany him later.”

“No, I will not go to that camp. I will see him in the afternoon.”

With that, Laral turned around and left. Two hours later, the blueberry tart was ready and smelled delicious. Nyaka cannot say no to that, Kaladin thought. After lunch, he set out. His stomach was coiled tightly and he contemplated turning around when he spotted the camp a few hundred meters away from Hearthstone. 

It was like entering a different world. Even though it was the middle of the day, a few were dancing and drinking. Despite many familiar sounds, everything seemed much more…open. The Ryángi’s life seemed to happen primarily outside. A few of them threw Kaladin curious looks, no doubt wondering what the boy was doing here. 

A couple teenaged girls crossed his path, and Kaladin hastily lowered his gaze before he could see their exposed safehands. At some point, he had to accept that he could not find the chief’s hut on his own. Kaladin fought with himself to muster up the courage to ask for directions, when he spotted the girl in question in the distance.

“Nyaka!”

Her name slipped out of his mouth before he could think, and the girl whirled around, searching the surroundings before her eyes found him. She seemed confused by his appearance, and slightly apprehensive when he approached. 

“Hi”, Kaladin said and said nothing more. Nyaka hesitated a few seconds.

“...Hi?”

“Um, can we talk somewhere more private?”, Kaladin asked sheepishly, aware of the eyes on him and after a moment of consideration, Nyaka nodded her head to follow her. She led him behind one of the huts and looked at him expectantly.

“What brings you here?”, she asked curtly and Kaladin shuffled on his spot. 

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I did not mean to come across as…hostile? So, yeah…sorry?”

He smiled slightly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, and pushed the blueberry tart into her hands. Nyaka blinked a few times, and when she said nothing, Kaladin began rambling.

“I made it this morning, so, um, it is still fresh. If you do not like blueberries, it is fine, you can give it to someone else…I just wanted to -”

Nyaka giggled and Kaladin clamped his mouth shut before he could embarrass himself even further. 

“Coincidentally, blueberries are my favourite fruit”, Nyaka admitted and she smiled broadly at him. “Thank you, Kal.”

It truly was fascinating how warmth changed her eyes. 

[mayskalih]

commission for @kaoruhana08

[elnotwoods]

waiting for ao3 maintenance to be over like

[princessxmin]

HUSBAND HCS! - SYLUS QIN !

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ : including — sweet hcs, soft!sylus, tooth rotting fluff <3 [♡₊˚ ♕]: her highness's decree: since sylus won the poll, here's his solo! Hope you all like it <33 (love this hot loser <3) [♕]: want more of sylus? check out--> this masterlist

୨ৎ. Unashamedly sentimental: He keeps the dried flowers from your wedding bouquet tucked inside a book. He refuses to admit it outright, but you’ve caught him looking at them more than once with that faint, unreadable softness in his expression. (you pounce on him and start kissing his face soon after)

୨ৎ. Randomly starts carrying you places; especially if you’re all dolled up that day. He’ll scoop you up in his arms or throw you over his shoulder without a hint of warning, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you squeak or protest, he only smirks and murmurs, “My beautiful wife shouldn’t waste her steps tonight.” Sometimes he’ll carry you all the way to bed, other times just to the kitchen—setting you gently on the counter so he can stand between your legs and kiss you like you’re dessert.

୨ৎ. Naturally gravitates to your space & energy: If you’re napping on the couch, he’ll sit beside you quietly with a book, hand resting on your ankle or thigh. Sometimes he doesn’t even read—he just stares at you, lips curving soft like he can’t believe you’re real.

୨ৎ. Adores anniversaries: Even if you insist you don’t need gifts or grand gestures, Sylus always finds a way to honor the date—whether it’s reserving an elegant dinner, slipping a new piece of jewelry into your hand as if it had always belonged there, or whispering freshly written vows against your skin before bed. (He's doing all of that and more) He'll always ensure your spoiled thoroughly throughout the day <3

୨ৎ. Red eyes soften & twinkle like gems when he hears you call him as my husband; y’all could’ve been married for 2 years at this point and he’ll still react this way. No matter how casual you say it—whether you’re introducing him to someone, muttering it half-asleep, or even jokingly—his whole expression shifts, softening. Lips curve into the faintest smile, his hand always reaching for you instinctively, grounding himself in your touch.

୨ৎ. Washes your tired body and hair for you when your tired; and of course it's sylus he'll make a comment about how you look as captivating as always (despite the bags under your eyes) and press a kiss to your shoulder as you lean against him in the shower

୨ৎ. Calls you his beautiful bride: It almost feels like he wants you crying in his chest when he says it so softly, so sweet in that tone. When you’re curled up in his arms, on the brink of sleep, his warmth overtaking your form and pulling you deeper—and just as you start to slip, you hear it. “My beautiful bride.” His lips brush the crown of your head, his voice low and reverent, as though it’s a prayer he can’t stop repeating. You shift faintly, murmuring something incoherent, and he only holds you tighter, thumb stroking lazy circles at your hip.

What he doesn’t tell you is that he says it not just to soothe you, but to remind himself too. To remind himself that somehow, you’re his, forever—his wife, his anchor, his love.

♡ princessxmin please do not alter, copy or translate my work !

[sylusxyou]

My Space | LaDS Sylus x Reader Fic

Summary: Sylus is accustomed to a lavish lifestyle. When he comes over to your apartment for the first time you are plagued with feelings of insecurity. He comforts you and shows you that you have nothing to be insecure about. (I hate summaries).

Pairing: SylusxReader (Non-mc? MC? Could be either)

Content: Mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, mentions of arousal, Sylus really enjoys spending his money on you.

Word Count: 2.9K

Author’s Note: This is the first thing I have written in soooooo long. Like years. So if it’s total shit, I apologize. If you read this, I hope you somewhat enjoy it. The more I write the better it will get. I just need to get stuff out of my head, start sharing, and not overthink it. Enjoy or don’t, just don’t tell me if you don’t :) 

You couldn’t help but pace around the living room of your apartment. Every spot had been cleaned and checked twice over but there was no calming down the antsy feeling in your stomach. Anxious thoughts filled your mind, ‘What if I missed something? Is my decor too plain? He’s used to luxury; my space is so small compared to his. I hope he’s not uncomfortable.” Sylus was on his way to your apartment for the first time. Until this point, all of your time with him had been spent either out in the city or in Sylus’ extravagant mansion. As your relationship slowly progressed into what it is now, ambiguously intimate and occasionally romantic, he had made multiple requests to come over to your apartment. At first you took it as unserious flirting but after the fourth mention of it, you realized he was being sincere. You had put it off as long as you could. It was hard not to feel a bit self-conscious about how much less you had. Even though you did well for yourself, Sylus’ wealth was untouchable and he constantly used it to spoil you. Not being able to do anything like that for him upset you sometimes. Deep down you knew Sylus didn’t care about that but that knowledge was really deep down and you didn’t currently have the will to dig that far. 

Three loud knocks sounded at your door and your heart began to race. Whether it was more from your nervousness of Sylus seeing your place for the first time or the excitement of seeing him, you weren’t sure. You quickly made your way to the door and looked through the peephole. There he was, tall, broad, and gorgeous as ever. He fiddled with his hair a bit and there was a look of something unfamiliar in his eyes. Was it anticipation, eagerness, uncertainty? Surely he wasn’t nervous like you. Sylus was consistently composed and confident, moving through life as if nothing in the world could throw him off balance. Something in your heart squeezed to get this rare glimpse of a moment where his composure was even the tiniest bit wavered. 

He moved to knock again and you quickly opened the door before his knuckles could reach it. As soon as his gaze met yours affection filled his eyes, “Hello, kitten. Are you going to invite me in?” 

You smiled, “Mmm, I’m not sure. I don’t make a habit of having shady individuals over to my apartment.” 

Sylus chuckled and slipped passed you through the front door, “You’re the one who called this shady individual over.” He stopped in the entryway, looking around the space in front of him where your living room and kitchen were. “Cute,” he turned back and smirked at you, “It’s very you, sweetie.” 

Unsure of what he meant by that, you bent down to the shoe rack next to your door and grabbed a pair of slippers, “It’s not much but I love it.” You dropped the slippers in front of Sylus for him and moved into the living room, “I would give you a tour but you can pretty much see everything from here.” 

“What about your bedroom?” You caught Sylus’ eyes and they sparkled with mischief and desire. He was teasing you but there seemed to be a quiet promise underlying his words. 

There was no helping the light blush that rose in your cheeks, “Let’s come back to that later.” 

A short laugh escaped Sylus and he walked through your living room, slippers now snug on his feet. His attention was turned to the bookshelves that lined the wall around your television. The shelves were full of books, some you had read but most unopened, as well as plushies, pictures, and plastic plants. He perused the contents of the shelves with a soft smile on his face. It was clear he was enjoying this glimpse into your interests. As he moved across the shelves he came to a sudden stop, something particular grabbing his attention. His hand reached out to grab a small picture frame. An expression of surprise took over his features and his head shook softly, “Well look here,” He turned to you and lifted the frame in your direction, “I guess I have been here before.” 

In the frame was a picture of you and Sylus. You were at an arcade, a line of claw machines sat behind you. In your arms was a plush penguin that Sylus had won you after countless attempts. Both of you were unsure of how much money he had actually ended up spending but you were sure he could have bought you a least five of the plushies online for the amount he spent on the one in the claw machine. It was the first time you and Sylus had done something that felt remotely like a date and you wanted to commemorate it with a picture. Of course, he had acted disinterested in taking it, letting you know that he was saying yes because you wanted to. However when you looked back at the photo your heart burst when you saw Sylus. While you smiled brightly at the camera his eyes were set on you, soft and adoring. It was the most gentle expression you had ever seen on his face. It was the look of a man in love. For this reason you had printed the photo as soon as you got home that evening. Something in you knew that it marked a beginning for you two. 

Perhaps you should be embarrassed that you had a framed picture of the two of you displayed in your home but you knew Sylus was silently reveling in his discovery. Not so he could hold it over you but because it revealed something about your feelings towards him. With no words to say, you simply shrugged at him. 

Sylus put the picture back and moved to the kitchen. He took his time as he opened your refrigerator and scanned it’s contents then began opening all of your cabinets and drawers. You raised an eyebrow watching him, “Are you looking for something specific or do you just enjoy snooping?” 

He continued his search of your kitchen space, “I just want to get an idea of where everything is.” His tone indicated this is a space he planned to spend more time in. After he closed the last cabinet he came to stand in front of you, “There wasn’t much food in there.” He nodded towards the refrigerator, “Do you need me to order you some groceries?” 

You rolled your eyes, “No, I’m perfectly capable of getting my own groceries. It’s just the end of the week. I was planning on going to the store tomorrow. Tonight is takeout night.” 

Sylus came closer to you, “Next time I’ll cook us dinner.” 

“You’re the guest here. Next time I’ll cook us dinner.”

“Kitten,” his hand came to rest on the top of your head, “You and I both know in the kitchen you are a lethal weapon.” Memories of your first dinner at Sylus’ drifted through your mind. He had insisted you just sit and watch as he prepared steak and salad. You wanted to be helpful though and you knew if you pressed hard enough, gave him your best kitten eyes, and cuddled close to him he would have no chance at resisting. He decided that chopping cucumbers for the salad was the best way you could be helpful. It felt like a child’s task but at least it was something. However, you managed to slice your finger and Sylus spent five minutes tending to your wound before putting you on steak watch duty. You were supposed to flip the steak after three minutes and then let him know you had done so. It sounded simple enough but you got distracted watching Sylus cut vegetables and wash the lettuce. After a while, he felt your eyes on him. He looked up and grinned at you, then his eyes shifted to the steak on the stove next to you, “You haven’t flipped it yet?” That snapped you out of your Sylus induced trance. When you flipped it over it was clear this cut was ruined. Neither of you were too interested in medium-well done steak and that was being generous. After that, you were ordered to sit on the sofa until dinner was ready

You shook your head, forcing the memory to dissipate, “Alright, I get it. You can cook for us next time.” 

Sylus smiled at you and put his arm around your shoulder. He led you to the couch where you sat nestled in his side. The two of you put on a movie while you decided on what to eat. The decision went the way it always did between the two of you; you said you didn’t have any preference and then rejected every restaurant Sylus suggested. After five tries he sighed, pulled out his phone, and put an order in somewhere. He wouldn’t tell you where just that you should trust him and you wouldn’t be disappointed. He pulled you closer and you sank deep into the couch, putting your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. There was no doubt in your mind that whatever food Sylus had ordered would be exactly what you were in the mood for. 

The two of you sat quietly on the couch, watching the movie and waiting for your food to arrive.  Every so often Sylus would shift next to you. It didn’t register at first but as it continued you realized how small your couch was and how large Sylus was. It certainly wasn’t the large, plush, luxury sofa that sat in his living room. Suddenly a wave of thoughts hit you, ‘He’s not comfortable here. Why would he want to spend time somewhere he isn’t comfortable? He’s probably desperately waiting for the food to arrive so he can get up.’ 

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of the discomfort you were so sure he was experiencing. His eyes shifted from the movie to you with a quirked eyebrow, “Am I more interesting than the movie?” 

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, “No, that’s not it.” You sat up and turned towards Sylus, “Are you comfortable?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “I was more comfortable when you had your head on my shoulder.” It was a light and teasing response. 

You shook your head, “I’m being serious.” There was a severity in your tone that raised a flag in Sylus’ mind. 

“Okay,” he shifted his body to fully face you, “of course I’m comfortable. Why are you worried about that?” 

You glanced down at your lap, “You seem cramped here. It’s a smaller couch than you’re used to and not nearly as soft.” The moment the words left your mouth you flushed with embarrassment. While the insecurity was overwhelming your thoughts it sounded trivial when said out loud. 

Sylus reached a hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear and cup your cheek, “Have I done something to make you think I care about the size of your couch, kitten?” 

“It’s just-“ your eyes squeeze shut for a moment. You can’t believe you’re actually about to admit to your inferiority complex. “It’s just, you live a pretty extravagant lifestyle and you’re always spending money on me. I can’t give you anything like the things you give me.”

Suddenly Sylus was leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. It was gentle and light, barely there, but his mouth lingered on yours. A few moments passed and he pulled back, his thumb rubbing across your cheek, “I don’t need you to give me anything, sweetie.” 

“I know you don’t need me to. I don’t need you to do any of the things you do for me either, but that doesn’t stop you.” 

He hummed, “I suppose it doesn’t.” Silence sat between the two of you as you looked at each other. Sylus seemed to be searching for something in your eyes. It didn’t take him long to find it as he sighed and dropped his head, “I’m sorry.” 

Panic shot through your body, “Sorry? What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” 

“I didn’t consider how my frivolous spending on you might make you feel.” He scooted closer to you and pulled towards him, pressing your head to his chest, “It makes me feel so good, I just assumed it was the same for you.” 

You wrapped your arms around his torso, “It makes you feel good to spend money on me?” 

“Of course, kitten.” A laugh rumbled in his chest, “Why on earth would I do it otherwise?” 

Behind him, you pulled your arms tighter, bringing your torso flush to his, “Out of habit, I guess? Or because you felt bad for me that I don’t have the things you have.” 

“You thought I wanted to elevate your lifestyle to what you believe my standards are?”

“Yea,” you nodded your face against his chest, “I guess you could put it like that.” 

Sylus leaned back and put his fingers under your chin to lift your gaze to him, “I don’t believe having money makes me better than you, sweetie. Maybe other people, but not you.” He leans down to press a soft kiss on your right cheek, your forehead, then your left cheek. “I’m not spending money on you because I need you to have expensive things. I do it because I want to give you everything.” Sylus takes your hand in his and presses it to his heart, “Do you feel that?” Beneath your hand his heartbeat drummed rapidly. For some reason it made you blush. “This is what it does to me, spending my money on you.” 

His confession felt overwhelmingly intimate. There was something sensual in his voice that made your brain fuzzy. “I don’t understand.” 

Sylus dropped his head as he laughed, “Okay, kitten. Let me be more direct.” His hands made their way down your back, sliding under your ass. In one swift motion he lifted you up and placed you on his lap. His voice was quiet when he leaned in to your ear, “It turns me on to use my money to buy you whatever you want.” 

There was no hiding the shiver that ran over your body. The two of you often teased each other and as your relationship progressed the teasing slowly became more suggestive. This was the first time Sylus had made such a blatant declaration though. His flirtation flustered you and you weren’t sure how to respond. Thankfully you were saved by the ring of the doorbell. “The food.” Your voice barely a whisper as you quickly scrambled off Sylus and made your way to the front door. Behind you he huffed out a laugh and rose off the couch. You grabbed the food from in front of your entryway and brought it into the kitchen, all the while avoiding eye contact with Sylus. Even without looking at him directly you could feel his gaze burning into you. As you began taking the food out of the bags, you took deep breaths to try and steady your racing heart. It was futile, of course, and only made worse by the strong arms that placed themselves on either side of you, leaning on the kitchen table. 

“Why won’t you look at me, sweetie?” Sylus brought his mouth close to your ear, his breath warm and tickling. The shiver returned and you knew he was grinning. 

“I’m just trying to get the food out.” 

Sylus’ strong hands gripped your shoulders and he gently turned you to face him. The look in his eyes was searing and he dragged his hands down your arms tortuously slow. Desire was thick in the air between you. This wasn’t the first time you had a moment like this but it was still overwhelming for you. No one had ever wanted you the way Sylus did, desperately and unyielding. You were still figuring out how to match his confidence. 

“Leave the food for a bit.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, your neck, your collarbone. 

You let your head fall back a bit, eyes fluttering shut, “Sylus, it will get cold.” 

“I’ll order us more.” Suddenly you were hoisted up with a yelp, legs wrapping around Sylus’ waist. “I think it’s time you gave me a tour of your bedroom, kitten.” His lips claimed yours in a hungry kiss, his true intention never more clear. After a few moments Sylus pulled back, breath heavy and hot, lips already turning a deeper red. “Where?” He whispered. 

Your brain was foggy with need making it difficult to form words. You pointed in the direction of a door across the living room. This made him smirk, clearly enjoying your sudden loss for words. As he carried you towards the door he dove back in for your lips. It was impossibly gentle and intense at the same time. One thought crossed your mind as you savored the taste of him and heard the door open, ‘Sylus is about to become very acquainted with my bedroom.’

[sleo00]

the beauty of this man - inside and out - can simply not be put into words.

[miss-hunt3r]

🥺

[miss-hunt3r]

This and nothing else 😔

(Cr: nan_artwork, repost with permission)

[itsberru]

I'll never be that far away 🖤

[ageae]

[zepskies]

One Promise

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader 

Summary: After the battle at Helm’s Deep, you find it difficult to enjoy the victory feast. Aragorn notices your melancholy and tries to comfort you.

AN: Don't worry, I've got more Dean Winchester, Jason Teague, and Beau Arlen stories coming soon, but I had to finally get out my first ever LOTR story. So if you're a LOTR fan, I would love to know what you think of this! I thought it would only be right to start with Aragorn, our rugged hero. In this one, the reader is Éomer and Éowyn’s sister (the middle child, age-wise).

Word Count: 1.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, hurt/comfort, and fluff

“Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country,” said Théoden King.

You watched from the crowd before him in the great dining hall of Medulseld, unable to hide your heavy heart. You needed no reminder of what the victory at Helm’s Deep had cost your people.

Théoden raised his chalice full of Rohirric ale and declared, “Hail, the victorious dead.”

“Hail,” the crowd echoed back to him, as was the custom. You repeated yours more quietly before you drank from your cup. The ale tasted like swill on your tongue; not because it wasn’t well-made, but because you didn’t have the heart to enjoy it.

Soon the hall was filled with the chatter and boisterous laughter that came with good food and heavy drinking, and after a battle such as this one, there would be no shortage of spirits. You weren’t surprised that Éomer, your older brother, instigated a drinking game with Rohan’s guests.

“No pauses, no spills,” he said, handing Gimli and Legolas each a pint poured straight from the cask.

“And no regurgitations,” the dwarf added, a mischievous gleam in his eyes when he glanced at the elf.

You smiled, but even in that, it didn’t reach your eyes. Éomer noticed you, or more accurately your unusual quietness.

“Are you all right?” he asked. You saw through his usual stoic expression to the concern laced underneath. You tried to give him a proper smile when you nodded.

“Yes, perhaps just tired,” you said. You took your leave of them with the idea that you might get some fresh air, see the night stars. The memory of being trapped under the depths of Helm’s Deep while a bloody battle raged above was seeped in your subconscious. After the fortified walls of the stronghold crumbled, you remembered thinking, A great crypt this will make of us. Buried forever under ash, orc blood, and bone.

And then the morning came, along with the sun—

“Oh,” you gasped at knocking into someone’s sturdy form. Aragorn, the Ranger, stopped you from tumbling to the floor. His hands were strong, but gentle holding you steady by your arms. Your gaze caught on his left hand, where a silver ring on his forefinger, holding a small green jewel, reminded you that he was no mere rugged ranger. He was the main reason any of you survived the long siege.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked. His voice was even and kind. Always kind.

You tried to steady yourself inside. You always struggled to do so when you looked too deeply into his eyes, so wonderfully blue as a cloudless day. Your face began to warm in a blush.

“I am sorry, my lord,” you said, quick and breathless. Your sloshing cup lied between you two. After a moment, it settled a little. You noticed he didn’t have a drink of his own, and so you found yourself raising your cup in offer to him.

Those cloudless eyes rose to meet you. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his hands slid around yours to bring the cup to his lips. You were spellbound where you stood; you couldn’t even remember blinking while the man took one long sip. He eventually released your hands and inclined his head in thanks.

When you smiled, it almost reached your eyes.

His head tilted slightly. “Are you truly well?”

Your brief happiness faded, and your lips pursed. “Why must everyone ask me that?”

His earnestness shifted into amusement.

“It is a good night,” he said. “One that is hard won.”

“Hard won, indeed,” you agreed, but your tone was heavier.

It didn’t escape his notice as you nodded to him in respect, hesitated briefly, then slipped away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw your younger sister Éowyn watching, a small frown marring her features. She had been looking for him.

Aragorn gave her a reserved smile to acknowledge her, but his gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to the path you took away from him. So, he followed you.

He found you based on where his instincts led him—out of the dining hall, and onto a wide ledge that served as a balcony overlooking the immense hill on which Meduseld stood. The cold night air tugged at the skirt of your dress and blew your hair wild on the wind. You held yourself against that cold.

You also flinched at Aragorn’s hand on your back, no matter how gentle he was. His brows furrowed.

“I apologize for intruding, but it is cold out here,” he said.

After a moment, you shook your head and turned to him, drawing your cloak closer to your body. “You are not intruding, my lord. I only…I needed room to hear my own thoughts.”

A weight settled over Aragorn’s heart when he looked at you, so forlorn. Since he’d come to Rohan, and since Théoden King had been freed of his madness, the light in your eyes had begun to brighten day by day.

Aragorn fought at Helm’s Deep for all of Rohan so that its Golden Hall might not fall to Sauron’s malice. But in his mind, it was also your face that too often flashed before his eyes while he fought and scraped. He drew strength whenever he remembered your smile, however rare it was to behold.

“And what do they say?” he asked you in a quiet voice. Quiet, but not without care.

You were looking out at the dark horizon instead of him. You held yourself tighter against the chilled wind.

“That this peace is a lie,” you said. “That all too soon, the next battle will be upon us…and you will leave.”

You looked over at him then, holding his attention far greater than you knew.

“You all will leave, and this hall will once again become a colder, darker place,” you said.

Your admission struck him, so much that he didn’t at once know what to say. He only knew that he didn’t want to see you walk away from him again.

He reached for your hand, the one that lay at your side. He stepped closer into your space, until his broad form was all you could see. Admittedly, there was nothing else you wanted to see, save for the pale glowing stars above. There was a time that you thought you might never see them again.

Aragorn raised his free hand to curl a finger beneath your chin. He murmured your name, and you allowed him to tilt your face upwards so he could see you. Your tearful eyes slowly met his.

“Hope is not lost,” he said.

“But you cannot promise that all of you will return,” you said. With a steeling breath, you finally allowed yourself to be more honest. “That you…will return.”

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly after he caught your meaning. Then, he softened.

“No. I cannot promise that,” he said.

You bit your lip as a tear fell down your cheek. He swept it away, drawing his thumb tenderly there against your skin.

“But there is one thing that I can promise,” he said.

Your head tilted in question, and it gave him the perfect opportunity. He leaned down and touched his lips to yours. At first it was cautious, a question. You inhaled deeply. Your eyes fell shut.

His second kiss was firmer, heady like red wine. Your trembling hand rose to touch his bearded cheek, and he steadied you by holding your hand there. He broke from you, just to press another tender kiss into your palm, then the inside of your wrist. Your breaths came out in a shaky rush.

“What does this promise mean?” you asked.

Aragorn paused, looking up at you again. He found you smiling. It was small but true as it lightened your face from its despair. Now, he saw hope. He saw fledgling joy.  

His lips tugged at a similar smile. “It means I will carry you with me, even when we are apart.”

He moved your hand to rest over his heart.

“It means I carry you here now, even though I stand before you,” he said.

You splayed your fingers out, so your thumb could caress at the edge of warm skin not covered by his collar.

“Then I will do the same.”

AN: Eomer is coming next on the LOTR train! 💜

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@twilightontop @kmc1989

[sailorofmidnightseas]

Sunshine meets motionally repressed Grumpy

Pairing: Finrod Felagund x FOC

Summary: After being surprised by a snowstorm on his hunting trip, Finrod finds shelter in a small hunter's cabin in the forest. While inspecting it, someone else had the same idea of seeking the cabin. Kazaheril is prickly and anything but happy to be trapped in the same space as the elven king.

Brief info about Kazaheril (OC): Kazaheril is a Naryii, an original species living in the far eat of Middle Earth. She was born into a group of Naryii which had left Sheiye (their homeland) to explore. When Kazaheril was merely a child, Orcs killed her family and she was brought to Angband, where she worked as a slave for many years. When she was a teenager, she caught Sauron's eye and he took her under his wing as his protegée. Under his tutelage, Kazaheril mastered dark sorcery and made her name as the Dark Sorceress of Angband.

_

Finrod wanted to sob in relief when a small, abandoned, wooden cabin stood before him. Drenched from head to toe in snow, he prayed to the Valar that it was unlocked. Otherwise, he’ll have to kick in the door and he would dislike damaging strange property. Fortunately, that was unnecessary. Never had the creaking of a door been a sound more blessed than in this moment.

The inside was truly small and consisted of a tiny kitchen, tiny bathroom, tiny combination of dining and living room and a tiny room with one bed. It had a slightly inconvenient size: too big for one individual, but a tight fit for two. Overall, the cabin offered (tight) space for two adults, or space for three small individuals.

After having rid himself of his drenched, frozen coat and boots, Finrod prepared a fire in the hearth. He wanted to kiss whoever had been here before. He mustn’t forget to refill the firewood once he left. Sitting in front of the crackling fire, he hoped Orodreth would not be too worried.

Finrod sighed forlornly. He had simply wanted to go on a small hunt, and getting surprised by a snowstorm and separated from his hunting party had not been his plan. He hoped his company had found shelter somewhere. The stiff limbs and cold seeping to his bones had him curl to a ball in front of the fire, a reflex Finrod still possessed from the crossing of the Helcaraxe.

When he didn’t feel frozen to his bones anymore and the memories of the Helcaraxe were banished once again, Finrod got up to inspect the bedroom. The mattress was hard yet worn and the blanket was thin, but it was better than nothing. Suddenly, he stilled. There was a noise at the door.

It creaked open.

Someone entered. Heavy boots met wooden floor, as if the intruder was wearing armour, and then, there was silence. Finrod cursed. His weapons were still in front of the fire. If the person was armed, he would have to be creative. He snuck to the door separating the bedroom from the living room and peeked out.

Someone was standing in front of the fire. They were wearing a cloak – only sensible in this weather – which hid their face and their arms were stretched towards the fire. The gloves were lying a few feet away, having been carelessly stripped off.

At first, Finrod thought the intruder to be an Orc, but the thought left as quickly as it came. Albeit hidden underneath the cloak, the figure was too tall and well-formed, and the hands and fingers had a certain elegance no Orc possessed. The fingers were slender; a woman?

He didn’t sense any malicious intent from the person, but before he managed to step forward, he froze as his eyes fell on the helmet he hadn’t noticed before. It rested on the floor against the intruder's ankles.

Angband.

Finrod has seen its armour too often not to recognize its designs. He clenched his jaw. Whoever this was, based on the helmet's design and details, they were a high ranked member of Angband’s military.

“How long do you intend to watch me from behind the door, elf?”

Finrod startled. The voice was deep, authoritative and feminine. Slowly, he stepped forth and the figure turned its head towards him.

“My, who would have thought the king of Nargothrond was trapped in this small cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

“If you know me, don’t you think it would only be fair for me to know your identity, soldier of Angband? Although, if I look at the helmet of yours, you are more than that, aren’t you? Captain? General? Lieutenant?”, he retorted calmly to her mockery.

“The only lieutenant is Sauron, but I am of high rank, if that sates your curiosity."

“And will the esteemed high-ranked stranger not reveal her face and name?”

“I don’t think she will.”

Fast as lightning, Finrod grabbed and unsheathed his sword. Metal met metal when it clashed with Angband’s blade. However, the sudden movement had the hood fall back and as Finrod had wished, her face was revealed.

Orange eyes surrounded by black lashes met surprised blue. Her skin was of a darker complexion, a startling difference to his fair skin. Her onyx hair was bound in a high braided ponytail. To Finrod’s surprise, she had lovely strange long, sharp ears, which were flattened against her skull. She snarled at him, but Finrod was strangely endeared.

His smile was bright, and his eyes crinkled. “Ah, there you are."

The woman's snarl etched itself deeper into her face and her ears gave a quick flick. Finrod sheathed his sword and after a moment, she did too. He looked at her expectantly and she was disturbed by his bright eyes. After grumbling something underneath her breath, the woman sighed in irritation.

“Kazaheril”

He returned the greeting. “Finrod Felagund. I am afraid, dear Kazaheril, that we are stuck together.”

“You don’t say.”, Kazaheril said and sighed as if a heavy burden rested on her shoulders.

-

Hours passed, and the storm didn’t seem to lessen. Finrod was bored and Kazaheril, who was sitting in front of the fire, wasn’t exactly pleasant company. She was prickly like a porcupine and only gave short answers whenever he tried to start a conversation. So, he opted to observe her.

Sharp facial structure. Tall, broad build. Five fingers. Two orange eyes. Those peculiar ears which, to his amusement, seemed to move according to her moods. They twitched whenever he moved, and Finrod resisted the urge to reach out and touch them. He had a hunch he would lose his hand in the process.

He wondered what creature she was. Was she a product of Morgoth’s corruption? Perhaps another, but improved version of maimed elves, like the first Orcs? But he didn’t sense a mindless evil coming from her.

The other, sadder option was: She was a slave. It was no secret that Morgoth bound his underlings to him, no matter if low slave or captain. Finrod’s kind heart bled for her and the fate she could never escape, not unless Morgoth was destroyed.

“Are you done staring at me?”, Kazaheril suddenly asked and Finrod flinched.

“Forgive me, it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Kazaheril sighed. “Spit it out. No, wait. I am a Naryii. Any other question is yet too personal.”

“What about the question on how long you’ve lived in Angband?”

“I grew up there.”, Kazaheril said, her ears twitching.

Finrod’s heart broke. He heard Maedhros’s tales about the horrors of Angband. Imagining a child growing up in Morgoth’s darkness was a nightmare. While he had played underneath the Two Trees with a loving family, she had struggled in the dark caverns filled with monstrosities. 

He shuffled closer. “I’m sorry.”

Kazaheril turned to him with a hard expression, a sharp retort on her tongue already, but when she looked at him, she saw he was genuine. This stupid elf knew nothing about her and yet he was genuinely sorry for her fate. It threw her off tracks.

“I don’t need your pity.”, she grumbled and got up. “Scram, will you? I’m tired and you are making me claustrophobic.”

Finrod looked at her incredulously. “Are planning on sleeping on the floor?

“Is there a problem I fail to see?"

“Yes. There is a nice bed in this cabin. You take it and I sleep on the floor.”

“I’ve slept on more uncomfortable things than a wooden floor.”

“Which is even more a reason why you should take the bed.”

Kazaheril threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “Quit your gentleman act. You were here first; thus, you take the bed.”

She gave him another sharp grin. “Unless you want to fight for it? I doubt a shiny elf like you would want to squash himself next to someone from the darkness of Angband.”

Finrod flushed slightly. Neither of them was married, at least he hasn’t spotted anything which would indicate that and frankly, he didn’t think Kazaheril would be someone who married - did marriages in Angabnd even exist? - but he pushed the feeling of indecency aside. Neither would budge and he certainly did not want to fight for it.

“Alright, if you’re sure. Then we’ll share. But both of us leave our weapons near the hearth.”

Kazaheril’s amused-mocking expression dropped in surprise. She looked away in annoyance. “Fine.”

Finrod smiled. “Glad we could agree.”

Then, he left for the kitchen and Kazaheril stayed sat in front of the fire. The king irritated her. Not one bait did he swallow, and she had been eager to let out her frustration in an argument. Stupid elf.

Gradually, the smell of dinner filled the small cabin and Kazaheril’s stomach grumbled, but she didn’t move from her place.

“What did the fire do to you to deserve being glared at like that?”, Finrod asked and sat next to her, two bowls filled with steaming stew in his hands. Catching her gaze dropping to them, he grinned sheepishly. “It isn’t much, but I found something edible. We’ve been here for hours, and I don’t know about you, but it has been too long since my last meal.”

Heartily, he dug in, but Kazaheril didn’t touch her plate. Finrod looked at her.

“What’s the matter? It’s not poisoned or anything. Here, let me prove it.” He took a spoonful of her portion and ate it. Nothing happened and Finrod smiled. “See?”

Faster than he could react, Kazaheril snatched the bowl from him and put an extra metre between them. Silence reigned as they were busy with dinner. Kazaheril was twice as fast as Finrod and the moment he was finished, she snatched his bowl.

“You cooked, I’ll clean the plates.”, she grumbled.

"Thank you."

"Be quiet."

-

Later, after they had decided it would be smarter if they went to bed at the same time, Finrod had the confirmation about his first impression on the bed: It was a tight fit, especially since someone was still wearing her armour.

“Kazaheril, would you be so kind and take off your armour? We do not have much space.”

“Nice try, elf, but you will not get the chance to kill me tonight.”

“I am not wearing my armour either, and we left our weapons at the hearth.”

“Because you are stupid. Now go to sleep.”

“My name is Finrod, by the way. Not ‘elf’.”

“Great, you know your name. Congratulations.”

Finrod sighed. It was useless.

Somehow, he must have started dozing off, for he was woken by Kazaheril slipping out of bed. At first, he tensed, but then he heard the quiet ‘clink’ of metal being laid on the ground and hid his smile. When she slipped back, the bed was more comfortable and slightly more spacious.

When morning came, the first noticeable thing was the lack of howling wind. Next, Finrod noticed the lack of a second body next to him and shot up. It was then that he heard someone kicking against something. It was a dull sound, like a foot against wood. After straightening his clothes and combing his hair with his fingers, he left the bedroom and saw Kazaheril broodingly crouch in front of the door. Finrod nearly fainted at the sight of her ears pressed against her skull. It was so incredibly adorable and he knew Kazaheril would punch him if he said it out loud.

“Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”, Finrod greeted her and merely received a grunt in return. “I take that as a yes.”

Kazaheril stood up and pointed outside. “How can you be so chipper? The storm last night brought so much snow the door blocked, and the windows are covered as well. “

“Then we wait a few hours. Today seems to be a sunny one and perhaps she will melt part of the snow. In the meantime: Have you had breakfast yet?”, Finrod asked with a brilliant smile and Kazaheril groaned internally.

Stupid elf.

This time, Kazaheril observed him preparing the food. “Explain. How does a princeling know how to cook? Do you not have servants who do that for you?”, she drawled and Finrod chuckled.

“Well, it’s fun and it’s a skill which doesn’t hurt to have.”

“…Mn.”

-

It was in the afternoon that Kazaheril’s patience snapped. Finrod unnerved her and she didn’t know how to deal with someone so bright and happy and kept those qualities despite being stuck in a cabin. She grabbed her sheathed sword. He could not know of her magic.

“That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

“Kazaheril, what are you talking – WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

The Naryii had targeted the window next to the door and smashed it with her sword. The window burst into hundreds of shards and some of the melting snow fell inside. Finrod facepalmed in exasperation while Kazaheril crawled outside.

“Freedom! Finally, freedom!”

“I am not that bad a company.”, Finrod pouted and joined her outside once he was fully dressed in his winter gear. The sun warmed his face and he spread his arms in delight. Kazaheril looked at him as if he had lost his mind. He grinned at her.

“You have to appreciate the small things and the beauty of the world.”

“…Ah.” Kazaheril had no idea what he was talking about. No one appreciated ‘small things and the beauty of the world’ in Angband. She shook her head. “Whatever. Here our ways part, elf.”

“I guess they do.”, Finrod said, “Take care.”

Kazaheril grunted. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry. Angband is a dangerous place to live.”

“…”

Kazaheril didn’t know what to do when faced with such brutal sincerety, so she put her helmet on and missed Finrod’s small frown.

“Anyways, I should go. But I have a feeling our paths will meet again…Finrod.” Kazaheril’s voice sounded hollow in her helmet and Finrod gifted her another brilliant smile.

“You said my name!”

Kazaheril took a few steps back before suddenly turning around and dashing off. Finrod waved after her and slowly made his way back to Nargothrond. Of there was a small prance in his steps, it was his own secret.

[zutara]

"I promised a mysterious couple and I delivered ✨ Katara and Zuko cuz they were canon in my head when I was 12."

-Art by Paulina Klime