Chapters: 4/?
Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik
Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character)
Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans, You Know All That Good Stuff
Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3
Summary: Mei hesitates a final moment. She doesn’t know how this request will be taken, but has to work with what she has. “Their names are Ivan Sakharov and Fedyor Kaminsky, Your Majesty. They are both Heartrenders, well known to you and the entire Grisha order. We traveled together for a time, from Ahmrat Jen to Ketterdam, and then were separated in the course of several misadventures. But we were pursuing a deadly weapon, the one that was used against you at your own coronation. It is called jurda parem. If you help me find Ivan and Fedyor, I will tell you what I know about it.”
There is a very long pause. Alina’s eyes remain that same unsettling, hungry black, until she looks up. “Indeed, Mei Kir-Azaan,” she says, and smiles. “I would very much like to take that bargain.”
Sequel to we could stay like this forever [lost in wonderland].
/whispers/ So maybe I now have to ask for Ivan and the No Good Terrible Very Bad Day Attempting to Babysit a Grisha Child Who Can Summon Light and Shadow. How could this possibly go wrong.
Once again, this got long, so here's the first chapter of A Day in the Life of Ivan, Or: Ivan’s Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
The worst day of Ivan’s life begins years before the fateful day itself, if that’s possible. He’s grateful not to know the precise day, but he knows who—or what, rather—is to blame.
It’s the damn heterosexuals. They just won’t stop fucking, and they’ve made it everyone else’s problem now.
The heterosexuals in question are, of course, Kirigan and Alina, or as they’re known now, the Tsar and Tsarina.
&&&
About three years before the Worst Day™, Ivan is minding his own business, just trying to find some decent food after returning from a mission to the northern border. It wasn’t a bad trip; Fedyor had been with him and they’d enjoyed the opportunity to spend some time together outside the political games of Os Alta.
Nevertheless, Ivan is eager to eat some food that isn’t dried and to sleep in his own comfortable bed. He’s already debriefed with the Tsar and bathed, so he’s delighted to find it’s time for dinner. It’s to be a small group tonight, just the king and queen, Nikolai, Zoya, Tamar, Nadia, Fedyor and him. He can tolerate them all (except Fedyor, who of course is the light of his life), though Alina remains permanently on thin ice. She makes the Darkling light and happy, and it’s just unnatural.
They settle around the table and fall into comfortable conversation. Tolya is on an assignment and intends to travel to Kerch after this. Tamar and Nadia are beginning to formalize their union and are looking for a house. If their bickering and the obscene looks Zoya and Nikolai are giving each other are any indication, Ivan expects some kind of announcement from them any day. The Tsar intends to invite some dignitaries from Novyi Zem to the palace in a few weeks.
And Tsaritsa Alina is pale and...unwell. She looks queasy, and Ivan feels a moment of alarm. Grisha can’t get sick, not unless they don’t use their powers. Given that Alina is the Sol Koroleva, the renowned Sun Summoner, that seems unlikely. Few things lead to such ill appearances. Maybe some kind of poison? If she or her food are being poisoned, they need to know as soon as possible.
Ivan does his usual first step; he counts the heartbeats, checking their speeds. One, two, three, four, everyone is normal, five, six, seven, eight, nine...ah, the ninth is faint and fast.
Wait. Nine? There are only eight of them here at dinner, and the attendants have long since departed.
It hits Ivan like a lightning bolt, and he gasps aloud in shock and horror. The most reasonable explanation for the extra heartbeat and Alina’s ill looks is—oh, saints protect them all—a baby.
Everyone turns to look at him, as though he is the one who’s done something strange and dangerous.
Ivan gapes at Alina and points a finger accusingly, “You’re pregnant! With a baby!”
Beside him, Fedyor closes his eyes and shakes his head, letting out a sigh. Tamar and Nadia exchange a knowing, amused look, though they manage not to laugh. Zoya raises one shapely eyebrow.
Nikolai grins. “One generally is pregnant with babies, as opposed to anything else. Except perhaps with genius ideas, in my case and David’s. Alina, moi tsar, congratulations to you both.”
Alina glares at Ivan. What? He’s not the unholy saint about to unleash terror onto the earth from their womb.
Once he glances at Kirigan, though, Ivan stills. The Tsar is ashen and looks as though someone has dropped an iron on his head, or told him that his beloved horse is Grisha too.
“Aleksander, I wasn’t sure. I was waiting until I was to tell you,” Alina says, one hand on her husband’s forearm. “Are...are you all right?”
The Tsar opens his mouth, but no sounds come out.
Tamar and Nadia stand, hand-in-hand. “We, ah, think we’ll take our leave now. Thank you for a lovely dinner, Sol Koroleva, my King,” Tamar says, and she and her fiancée flee.
Zoya clears her throat and gives Nikolai a look that is very different from the hungry one Ivan so despises on faces that aren’t Fedyor’s.
With a nod at her, Nikolai stands and helps her to her feet. “Indeed. Your hospitality is, as always, boundless, though I can’t help but feel we’re trespassing on it every second we linger here. Erm, do let me know when I can get you a gift.”
“Congratulations,” Zoya says, and to Ivan’s disgust, she actually sounds sincere. He watches as she and Nikolia leave, one of the Lantsov pup’s hands at the small of her waist. One would think the heterosexuals would have learned from this evening that touching each other is dangerous, but apparently some of them are just utter fools.
Fedyor elbows him, and Ivan turns to scowl at his beloved. “Wha—”
A point of his head in the direction of the Tsar and Tsaritsa quiets Ivan.
Alina is kneeling beside her husband’s chair, stroking his arm. Aleksander Kirigan, King of Ravka, Shadow Summoner, the Black General, sits still as a statue, eyes wide with shock.
“We’ll head out now too,” Fedyor says.
Ivan nods, grabbing Fedya’s arm and hauling him from the room. Over his shoulder, Ivan yells, “Good luck!”
Fedyor smacks him, whispering furiously as they close the door behind them. “‘Good luck’?! You’re supposed to say ‘congratulations,’ or ‘have a nice evening,’ you utter troll.”
“I’m a troll now? See if I give you a massage when we get back to our rooms,” Ivan grouses. He pulls Fedyor along, pulling him away from where he seemed inclined to linger by the door. Eavesdropping, pah. He can’t believe he’s married to such a busybody.
Who would want to stay to hear whatever nonsense the Darkling and his wife are about to say or do? He’s had enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much.
Ivan shudders. The two most powerful Grisha on the planet, one a sun summoner and the other a shadow summoner, having a baby? The world is definitely doomed.
&&&
The next day, Ivan receives a summons to go see the Tsar. Dread churns in his stomach, and he rubs his eyes. He hadn’t slept well, especially after he and Fedyor had a tiff about “inappropriate behavior and outbursts.” And now he’s to see his boss, probably about said outburst the previous night.
He accompanies Anton, the young oprichnik to the Tsar’s quarters, and the boy brightens with excitement to be talking to one of the Tsar’s most favored Grisha. “Thank you, Andrei. I’ll make my way from here.” The boy’s face falls, but Ivan dismisses him with a nod. If the oprichniki got any more friendly, they’d start calling him Vanya without his permission. Appalling.
Ivan takes a deep breath, then knocks at the door. He’s long since learned the value of knocking after Alina and the General got together, especially now that they share their quarters. Unfortunately, no healer has yet to find something to wipe certain sights from his brain.
Ivan lets himself into the room, waiting while the Tsar steps around the corner from the bedroom he shares with his queen.
“Good morning, Ivan.”
“Good morning, moi soverennyi. I hope you rested well,” Ivan replies, tone funereal. Saints, he prays he’s not about to be sent to Tsibeya permanently. He runs his hand under his collar, annoyed to find he’s actually sweating.
Kirigan’s face gives nothing away. “I did, thank you. The Tsaritsa is with Genya and one of the healers.”
“And she...she is well?” Ivan gulps.
“Yes. She was apparently a bit surprised last night herself, as she’d only just begun to suspect she might be pregnant.”
As much as Ivan hates when the Tsar’s feelings show—it’s usually him making soppy, annoying faces at Alina—he wishes Aleksander would just say what’s on his mind.
“My apologies, sir, I was also surprised. She seemed unwell, and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t, say, being poisoned.”
“You thought someone might be poisoning my wife?” Kirigan is incredulous.
“Things have been very calm with Fjerda lately. I don’t trust it.”
The General mutters under his breath, something about not trusting anything.
Ivan waits. Finally, Kirigan breaks the not-so-silent silence. “Well, thank you for your concern. And, ah, the surprising news.”
“You’re most welcome,” he replies gloomily.
“You don’t seem thrilled.”
“Forgive me, moi tsar, but I don’t see a need for excitement at a natural result of your conjugal activities. Sir.”
Oh, saints, is Kirigan frowning at him? Ivan mentally starts packing his belongings when the frown becomes a smile and then a laugh.
Perhaps Aleksander still isn’t quite recovered from the shock of his impending fatherhood.
He’s not paying attention to Ivan anyway. Kirigan makes his way to the table, shuffling the papers there unseeingly. “I didn’t think it was possible, you know.”
“I did not.” And Ivan would like to keep it that way.
Alas, Aleksander seems inclined to continue talking. “In all my long life, longer than you know, I’ve never fathered a child.”
Ivan grimaces. The world is probably grateful, though now it has much to fear. “It would have been challenging to have had a child during the wars, sir.”
Kirigan waves this aside, and unfortunately continues speaking. “Still, for it to happen with Alina...I’m so thrilled, Ivan.”
“And I am...happy for you, General.” Make it stop. Ivan is queasy.
“Of course, it’s probably for the best that it didn’t happen when Alina and I first got together, especially now that I know how possible that was.”
Ivan wants to cover his ears and sing “la la la la la,” but the implications of what his boss is saying finally sink in, and his horror at this whole situation increases exponentially. “Wait. Do you mean to say you weren’t using, ah, preventative measures?”
Kirigan’s face grows sheepish. “Until my conversation with Alina last night after you all departed, I wasn’t aware there was such a thing. In my day, one simply planned around the time of the month or withdrew from—”
“I beg you to stop talking. Moi soverennyi,” Ivan adds as an afterthought.
The Tsar falls silent, and Ivan sighs with relief.
But something bothers him. “Did you not get any sort of talk about how to prevent pregnancy when you were training? Even I did when I was young, before everyone knew I wouldn’t have to worry about that.”
“Like I said, there weren’t those kinds of options when I was young, as far as I know,” Kirigan says with a shrug.
Ivan begins to realize that his boss is, in fact, much older than he thought. That explains the herring and rye, too. He hesitates before venturing to speak. “Do...was Alina—the queen, that is, did she explain the different kinds of birth control, or…?”
“Well, I can’t get her more pregnant, Ivan.”
It’s too horrible to even contemplate, and Ivan shudders.
Kirigan laughs and slaps his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to give me The Talk. Alina was so upset I didn’t know that she told me everything last night.”
Ivan’s lips twist in dismay at Aleksander’s rapturous expression that indicates there was a demonstration of some practical applications. Ugh. “Small mercies.”
“Well, hopefully you’ll consider this next a mercy: I want you and Fedyor to stay close through Alina’s pregnancy, especially once word gets out.”
Staying in Os Alta won’t be so bad, but the idea of dancing attendance on Alina, all while some parasite hijacks and distorts her body...well, hopefully he’ll get a good field assignment once this pregnancy is over. “Of course, moi tsar. And when will it end? I mean, ah, when is the blessed event?”
“In seven and a half months or so, perhaps eight. She’s about five or six weeks along, the healer says. And that, well…” Kirigan smiles at what is clearly the memory of this child’s conception.
Ivan fervently wracks his brain, desperate to keep his boss from offering more information that will give him nightmares about heterosexual intercourse. “And is there any way of knowing whether the babe will be a shadow summoner or sun summoner? Or both?”
A stricken look comes over Kirigan’s face. “Both?” He clearly hasn’t considered this possibility yet. “But that…” He doesn’t continue, instead going to fall into his chair and stare into distance.
It’s going to be a long few months.
&&&
It’s roughly eight months after that when Ivan is rudely pulled from sleep by Genya bursting into his and Fedyor’s room like she has the right.
It’s obscenely early in the morning, Ivan is, as is his usual habit, sleeping on his side facing the window. Fedyor, as is his usual custom, sleeps with his arm slung over Ivan’s waist and his head buried between his shoulder blades. It’s very soothing, normally.
Not today, though. The door opens with a bang, and Genya yells, “It’s time! She’s here!”
Ivan, suddenly wide awake, goes to jump out of bed. Instead, he finds that Genya has slowed their heart rates enough that hurrying is impossible. He glares at her. “What the fuck are you doing in our room? Who is here?”
“The baby is here. The tsarevna.”
“It’s a girl?” Fedyor asks with a smile.
Genya grins back. “Yes. She’s adorable.”
Ivan does not smile. “I’m glad she’s arrived. But why are you here in our bedroom at—” he glances at the clock and continues, “4:52 in the morning?”
“Everyone is going to see here. You’re the Tsar’s right-hand man, Ivan, so they’ll be expecting you.”
“Well, Genya, darling, you’ll have to let our hearts do their normal thing if you want us to do that,” Fedyor adds.
She shakes her head and drops her hand. “Of course. Sorry. See you there in fifteen minutes, and please be wearing pants. And shirts.”
Ivan grumbles, but gets out of bed. It’s difficult to want to leave when Fedyor is looking over him like that, but Kirigan probably will be upset if they don’t come to fawn over his spawn in what he deems a reasonable amount of time.
He and Fedyor make their way down the halls of the palace to Aleksander’s and Alina’s private apartment. The door is open, but Ivan nods at the guards and knocks anyway before stepping inside, Fedyor on his heels. He walks back to the bedroom, where he can hear hushed, happy conversations.
Alina is lying on the bed. She looks sweaty and disgusting, but in a radiant and maternal way that the Tsar seems to find beautiful, since he can’t look away from her. Typical, and exactly what got them into this mess.
The mess in question is wrapped in a blanket in her mother’s arms. Ivan glances at the small bundle, which seems to be sleeping. It is certainly very red.
Kirigan sits in a chair beside the bed, as close to it and his wife and new daughter as he can. He’s resting one hand on Alina’s shoulder, while the other trails along his daughter’s tiny head.
“The tsarevna is lovely,” Fedyor says, smiling down at the family.
Ivan thinks that’s a bit of a stretch, but he nods. “She looks like a baby. A healthy one.”
Fedyor elbows him, but Alina just rolls her eyes. “Thank you, I think.”
“She’s beautiful,” Aleksander says firmly, his face still disturbingly dreamy. “We’ve decided to call her Anastasia.”
Nastia. That seems about right.
Just then, the wee girl stirs and starts to wail. As her cries grow louder and Alina shifts to be able to feed her, shadows creep into the room. Then through the darkness, Ivan sees little flashes of light coming from the baby.
Fuck. This tiny child can summon shadows and light.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik
Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character)
Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence
Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik
Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character)
Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans
Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Background Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov
Characters: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov
Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, Post-Season/Series 02, Sub The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Dream Sex, Oral Sex, Pegging, Smut, Dark Alina Starkov, The Vibes are Questionable But The Consent is Enthusiastic, Twisted Soulmate Bullshit, Episode: s02e08 No Funerals (Shadow and Bone TV)
Summary: “You’re dead.” Alina spits it at him as if he might have forgotten. “This is just a dream.”
“Is it?” He moves again, threatening to emerge from behind the table, to take tangible shape and form. “Then none of this matters, does it?”
He is, Alina supposes grudgingly, not wrong about that. Without her noticing, she has likewise moved closer, until if both of them reached out, they could brush their fingers together. And she – she wants it, she can’t even deny it. Even as hot as her hatred for Aleksander has burned, there is a desperate, yearning chasm as well, an abyss that can never be filled, a scream into eternal silence – where are you, where are you? Except even after she drove a knife into him, he’s here, he’s looking at her, he’s waiting, deep and quiet as still water, daring her to dive. She wants. Saints, she wants, and for once, she can’t think why she should pretend otherwise. This is just a dream. This isn’t real. Maybe she has finally snapped, is whispering to herself in an empty room, a palace and a cage all at once, and there is nothing but that madness. But what a sweet insanity, even so. What a dark and terrible blessing.
Do you have like a rec list or a master list of darklina fics? Or a list of your darklina works? I’m feeling down right now 🥹
My Darklina fics, in various stages of completion, are here on AO3. Their relationship does not directly feature but is still an important plot element in A Phantom in Enchanting Light. I am also planning to write some Darklina smut once I finish s2 (and honestly, if they're doing what I think they're doing, I am so here for it. Ngl.)
75. "Promise me just one thing…" for Darklina? Sending lots of love and hugs your way!
75. "Promise me just one thing..."
The great Basilica of the Saints is huge, echoing, and crammed with thousands of people that Alina has never met before in her life: diplomatic delegations from Fjerda, Kerch, and the Shu Han, the serried ranks of the Ravkan nobility, the Grisha in their formal keftas, First Army in dress uniform, and everyone else who has traveled to Os Alta in order to see this happen, and craft their new plans and cunning political stratagems accordingly. It's all on this. All on her.
Alina stands by herself in the vestry, her veil obscuring her face, her splendid white-and-golden gown glittering with painstakingly handmade embroidery. Her heart rattles like a broken dish in her chest, and her hands tremble where they clutch the bouquet. Genya stands behind her, silently holding the heavy rim of her train. She has kept her opinion of this to a tactful minimum, but Alina knows that she, to say the least, has reservations. All of them do. But if this is the only way -- if she can end the war and bring back peace and maybe reach the idealistic, good-hearted boy that the terrifying man used to be --
She can hear the patriarch praying the nuptial liturgy, hands upraised to the gilded eyes of the icons that gaze down from all sides of the dome. Then the real eyes of the crowd turn to her like a thousand candles, burning into her more brightly than her own sun, and Alina quails. For a moment, she almost breaks. Almost throws down the flowers and turns and runs. Doesn't want to do this at all. Can't. Can't.
But she does.
Slowly and regally, she moves out of the shadows, as Genya gets a better grip on her train and matches Alina's measured, carefully rehearsed steps down the aisle. The two of them walk what seems an endless length, a mile, down the nave, past all the watching eyes and the wary guests, waiting to see if this is, in fact, a new era or merely the great and terrible culmination of the old. The patriarch glitters in his tall hat and ceremonial stole. And at the altar, waiting --
Aleksander looks very handsome, of course. He always does, and even now, after all they have been through, it's still enough to turn Alina a little weak in the knees. For once he's shed his trademark blacks, and his bridegroom's clothes are as white as hers. It's a lie, Alina thinks. It's a lie, but I have to make it true. Somehow.
She reaches the foot of the altar. This is her last chance to flee, if she's going to. But she doesn't. This is her duty, her choice, and she's made it. She mounts the steps, careful not to trip on her beaded hem, and reaches the waiting men. Aleksander holds out a hand to help her, and Alina braces herself not to flinch at his touch. Whether from fear, desire, or both, she doesn't know.
"You look lovely," Aleksander says under his breath, as if he's truly seeking to put her at ease. "Truly."
"I... thank you. Sir." The formality helps her, a little. But Alina screws up her courage, looks him in the eye, and swallows hard. "Aleksander," she corrects herself. "Promise me just one thing."
His eyes hold hers, unblinking. "Of course."
"Please," Alina whispers, so quietly that she can barely hear herself. "Please don't betray me again."
The almighty Darkling flinches, just a little. His hand squeezes hers, holding her tight, drawing her in and turning her to face the patriarch, who raises his psalter and prepares to begin the ceremony. "I'm sorry," he says, not looking at her. "I know I've hurt you before, and I can't promise that I won't do it again, even by accident. But you have my word, Alina. I'll.... I will try my best."
That might not be the answer she wants, but Alina can grudgingly respect the fact that at least, this time, he won't lie to her. That's not much to build on, not nearly what they used to be, but it's a start, and she is determined to seize it. And so, as the voices of the choir swell toward the sky, the congregation sits with a whisper and a murmur and a scrape of chairs, she draws a deep breath, tells herself to be brave, be brave, and turns to marry Aleksander Morozov.
