#!autbt

[arborvitas]

       “Is...anything wrong?” There is definitely something off about their interactions tonight, and Julia’s not sure why. Usually her Fereldan lessons were awash with playful looks and flirtatious banter, but not this time. “You seem a little...not yourself.” She hopes she knows him well enough now to say so. 

@didshine​ just because!!! 

[arborvitas]

       “Hold still,” she says, gently. Julia’s hands are gentler still as she cleans blood away from the wound on his face. She’ll check the one on his chest next—hastily tended as it was, the bandaging held through their escape. Her heart aches with the silence, but she can’t fathom any words to fill it, wondering how they’re meant to survive this. You weren’t meant to survive this, Julia reminds herself. You were supposed to die. She swallows hard. There are no words for something like this. 

@didshine​ wanted a thing so here they go 

[arborvitas]

@oathbroken​​ — balfour.

    He has never looked at her with quite so much mistrust before. But there is something else there, just beneath it. An old hurt, an old grief pricking at his eyes again and closing its hand around his throat. All this time, she says as she steps forward, and Balfour steps back in turn, his hand moving to the dirk still upon his belt. I thought you were dead.

    He hates this blighted world. In all its hideous cruelty. Is there nothing Fillory’s creatures are not willing to twist, to turn against him? Even the very face of the woman he loves? He feels sick. He looks at her and he aches. With sadness, with anger, with a longing he has tried to rid himself of and failed. I thought you were dead.

    ‘ And I know… Julia is. ’ He swallows. It is only by sheer force of will that Balfour does not look away, that he does not let his face crumble. As much as both those things are begging to happen. ‘ It’s a poor trick. Whatever you are. Show yourself to me — or we shall burn your ship to ash with you inside, and leave you to your mystery. ’

       “it’s…not a trick.” julia’s voice is little more than a whisper, eyes focused on balfour’s hand at his belt. on his weapon. as if it didn’t sting enough to see him back away from her approach. it’s not right, the way he’s looking at her, and she has to gather some resolve before lifting her eyes back to his face. 

        she clears her throat before speaking again—stronger this time, but measured. “and before you go burning her to ash, you should know the muntjac is alive. and endangered. so, please…don’t…do that.” 

        what the fuck is she talking about? julia swallows and shakes her head, runs a hand through her hair and notices a slight tremor. balfour’s eyes are so cold and his face so stony, she’s teetering on the edge of breaking under his stare. what has fillory done to the man she knew? julia’s brow furrows, a sort of desperate sadness flashing across her features. he’s still looking at her like he’s hoping she’ll give him a reason to draw his blade and all she wants to do is touch him again, just to check that he’s really real. 

       “okay...okay.” julia holds her hands up, trying to appear nonthreatening. “i know this seems impossible, but...you’re here, right? three hundred years later, you shouldn’t be possible either. but this is fillory.” she can tell it’ll take more than words or reason to convince balfour she’s not some wretched creature using his memories against him like the lamia. 

        julia’s hand moves suddenly to her chest, feeling for the necklace hidden under fabric. how could she forget? “you gave me something, before i left to help my friends.” she looks at him so earnestly as she draws the chain out from beneath her clothes and lets the ring hang between her fingers where he can see. “do you remember?”