#sparrowxdaeran

[cassynite]

Occasionally, I will actually draw these two together

[cassynite]

For the fluff ask: how about confessing love when they're tired so they don't remember? For Sparrow and Dae :D

Thank you so much!!! Unfortunately I have once again ignored the spirit of these prompts so there is very little fluff if any--have some hurt/comfort instead :)

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Daeran finds Sparrow curled up against the stone wall at the far end of the mining shaft, staring out at the abandoned crystal harvesting operation. The stones' otherworldly luminescence cast her face in a pale, sickly light, and her expression is blank and grave as she gazes out at nothing.

It is, unfortunately, an improvement. At least her posture is relaxed, limp instead of wound so tight her bones looked ready to snap. At least she doesn't flinch away when he drops to sit down next to her, though her near complete lack of reaction is troubling in its own way. She's like a puppet with her strings cut, and there is a very worrying second where Daeran wonders if something in her had broken completely when that smiling beast of a demon had snapped that collar around her neck.

But then she tilts her head in his direction, and her attention finally focuses on him. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I have no idea to what you are referring," he says. At her flat look, he shrugs. "I think your reaction to being manhandled into battle slavery was perfectly reasonable. Perhaps you could have smashed that demon's head a little more thoroughly when you stomped on his body--I think I caught some identifiable pieces of skull in the viscera you left behind. But other than that I had no complaints."

Sparrow doesn't laugh. "You know what I'm referring to. My behavior was inexcusable."

Daeran sends a quick mental curse Regill's way. It was the paralictor of all people who had found Sparrow when she'd retreated from the group, after she had screamed at them all not to touch her, after they saw the Cheliaxian brand on her back. He has no idea what was spoken of, but Sparrow had returned to the frantic group calmer, if brittle in her behavior, and had explained in short, blunt terms what Daeran had already pieced together with a dawning sense of horror: that she had never been Evaethi Arvanxi, lady of Cheliax, but Sparrow the slave, chained for years before the luck of Kenabres' destruction freed her.

 Such a complete loss of control, for so long--and then to have that new freedom ripped away from her again, and by demons? Quite frankly, Sparrow's reaction was rather tame in Daeran's opinion. No one but Irmangaleth died, after all.

Derenge certainly would have done nothing to alleviate the shame that hung on Sparrow's face, and Daeran wonders how much of her self-flagellating thoughts are spoken in his words. He curls his lip. "It happened," he says. "There's hardly any point crying over it. And, to be blunt, this is the Abyss. I feel that each of us are owed one good breakdown. You have officially gotten yours out of the way."

Sparrow finally lets out a small huff of breath, not quite laughter but close enough for Daeran's purposes. "Each of us? Let's hope the Hand doesn't do that. I don't know where we'd be without his purification ritual."

"You misunderstand. I spoke only of mortals. An angel should be well equipped to handle being trapped in a different plane."

She slumps against the wall--it's not just the sickly pallor of the Abyssian air that's left her looking so haggard. Exhaustion carves itself under her puffy eyes and in the corners of her mouth, as if she has not slept in the twenty-seven hours it has been since she was first abducted. Slowly, she lists to the side, until her head lands on Daeran's shoulder--the weight isn't as heavy as it should be, still tentative. Daeran stays still and feels the pressure increase as she finally relaxes against him.

"I would have told you eventually," she says after a moment. "About me. And my past."

"It was hardly required of you," Daeran says. "We are all entitled to our secrets."

"Still. I wanted you to know. I was..." A yawn. "Frightened, I suppose. It seems silly now."

He does not acknowledge the small shift inside of him that occurs at her words. Certainly, he'd had a sense of smugness for most of his time in the Crusade, the joy of being in on a joke few others were aware of--he knew before anyone else that Sparrow had not been her name before Kenabres, that she'd dropped her life as a Chelish noble like a hot coal to take on this new identity. Even after others found out, it was only Daeran who had met her when she wore the stiff black dresses of the Cheliaxian court and hid in the corner of Mendevian banquets.

But it was the noble specter that had been a lie, and Sparrow the truth all along. That realization, and all that came with it--the reveal of her tracking brand, her agonized explanation of her past--disputed many things Daeran thought he knew about her. And, to his horror, he had felt a sense of betrayal. She'd looked at him, at all of them, like she expected a blow now that it was out in the open. That she anticipated them to--what? Leave her to go fend for themselves in the Abyss?

Daeran is a selfish horrible person who tramples on others' feelings when it's convenient for him. But he had thought she thought him better than that. Which is absurd, of course. As is the relief that spreads through him as Sparrow lets herself be vulnerable in her exhaustion and her sorrow, and tells him that she would have let him know her most painful secret on her own terms, with enough time.

"Get some rest," he recommends. It's hardly a needed suggestion, considering how heavy Sparrow is against him. If she isn't already asleep, it's not for her body's lack of trying. "I imagine we will have many more delightful tasks ahead of us tomorrow to gain the attention of Our Lady in Shadow." He really should drag her back to the sleeping pallets, but that would require putting her in front of the fretful attentions of their other companions.

He knows what it's like to need to lick wounds in private. And if his shoulder is a comfortable enough pillow, he can endure for at least a little while.

"Hmmm," she says. "'Kay."

He snorts. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she replies. Her voice is half-faded, already slipping into the realm of dreams. "Love you."

Daeran stops breathing for a moment, able to keep himself from jerking away through sheer will and the knowledge that it would be the worst possible reaction to her...declaration? But when he looks at her, she is finally peaceful in unconsciousness.

A slip of the tongue, then. But Sparrow has never been easy with affections, has spoken nothing even close to that intimacy in all their time together. If anything, she is too careful with her words, guarded to the point of affecting disinterest to those who aren't paying attention. He beats down the wild impulse to shake her awake, ask her if she meant it, as if he's some callow youth finally given attentions by some fine lady from across the dance hall.

Love you. Love you. The words circle in his mind, rattling around the sickening hollow in his chest. It's been there for over a day now, ever since Irmangaleth first put that collar on Sparrow and whisked her away. He doesn't want to think about those dark hours after, when everyone scrambled to come up with some strategy to save her and failing--he's successfully avoided thinking about any of it except what has happened right in front of him until this moment. But Sparrow's weight at his side hasn't lessened the chokehold of terror that throttles him, and her half-murmured sleep talking seems to only make him think on that period when he thought she was gone.

If it weren't for the ambitious tiefling giving them a way to take down the Battlebliss's master, Sparrow would have been gone. There is no way into the battle slaves' quarters without the key; none of them were strong enough to fight for possession of one. Iomadae's righteous Hand had disappeared with Sparrow--keeping her company and protecting her in what little ways he'd deemed appropriate, they'd learn later, but at the time seemingly abandoning them all with the goddess's champion captured. There had been a harrowing discussion of worst case scenarios, a tentative plan to escape the Abyss without Sparrow should her death be confirmed, even if it was roundly rejected on principle. No one wanted to admit that possibility that Sparrow was beyond reach.

Beyond reach. Gone, dead, worse. Trapped by demons, in a demon city, with no resources and none of her companions and her supposedly goddess-given powers useless. Trapped in, what he knows now, to be a nightmare powerful enough to nearly break her spirit. All he'd known was that he had no clear way to get her back--that he'd lost her.

Not lost. He keeps his breathing even. She made it through, as she always does, emerging victorious from the Battlebliss even if she was worse for wear. A good sleep, and she'll put on that mantle of Commander and trudge on with her head high, because he can't imagine her doing anything else. Protecting everyone around her with that quiet intensity of hers, leading them with her own inner light. Looking at him, over and over again, seeing past all of his acts and his banter to what he really wants to say, and responding to it.

Love you, she had said. The words circle in his mind as he leans back against the awful rough rock and closes his eyes. His hand drifts to her hair, not quite touching, but close enough that he can almost feel it, the weight of her presence. I love you.

He's no longer sure if the voice in his head is hers or his own.

[cassynite]

“kissing them as a bribe to keep them in bed” for sparrow and daeran if inspiration strikes!

Thank you so much for the prompt Taylor!! Life really got in the way of getting this one done so it took a minute for me to write it but I had SO much fun once I did start it.

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Sparrow blinks awake in near-perfect darkness, the soft vague shapes around her only recognizable as her bedroom in Drezen through months of familiarity. Outside the stone walls, she can hear the faintest sounds of a city beginning to wake, shuddering against the pre-dawn chill, but it doesn't quite yet permeate the Citadel. It will be a while yet before sunrise.

It's only her rigid internal clock, trained to be up and moving before the sun, that drags her to consciousness. They had only returned from Wintersun last night and her body aches from long travel and the struggles they'd found there. She hadn't looked at a single problem that had accumulated in her time away, doing almost nothing except collapse into bed.

It's why she's so confused at the warmth at her back, cocooned with her under the thick blankets against the frigid air. From where the covers have slipped off her shoulders, a single, golden-skinned arm rests in front of her, draped over her hip and glowing faintly. She can just hear the gentle sounds of Daeran's breathing behind her, his breath ghosting against her ear.

Sparrow had half-thought it a dream, Daeran appearing in her quarters last night and laughing at her exhausted notice that she was not up for anything but sleep. "I know I have a reputation, but even I'm not in the mood tonight," he said, but then he hadn't left, either.

It was the first night he'd done that--slept with her, just sleep, ever since they first started their frequent liaisons.

Sparrow tries not to read too much into it. Daeran might have decided not to bother going back to his rooms on the north side of Drezen and stayed for convenience's sake; there didn't have to be any kind of emotional significance to him wanting to be in her company beyond sex. Certainly, if his presence last night had helped ease some of the heartache she carried from Wintersun, kept the nightmares of the villagers' screams at bay, then that was just a benefit for her. He hardly could have known about it when he'd tucked himself at her side.

It hurts a little that she wants it to be more than that. Daeran set his boundaries, made it clear what he expected of the relationship when they started--that this isn't one, not really, just some fun and something to distract and relax each other.

And it's a little relieving, to have it at that level--nothing too serious, nothing to get too attached to. Daeran will stay until he gets bored, because that's what he does, that's what he's told her he does, and one day he'll run off to the next shiny person that captures his interest and Sparrow will be an adult about it when that happens.

But. Sparrow knows she's never been good about separating what she wants from what she knows is the truth--that little seed of hope always blooms, frail and pathetic but still insistent. It grows in the roses that still decorate the war room, perpetually fresh and fragrant; it hides between the lines of the note that stays folded on her desk, Daeran's hand telling her to remember him when all else fades. It's in the ghostly apparition of the boy she'd seen at Heaven's Edge, who had everything ripped away from him and had been left utterly alone. Sparrow recognized that emotion, feels that same isolation in herself.

And ever since they started their not-relationship, that feeling of kinship has only grown stronger--she understands him better now, reads his moods more easily, understands his jokes and his thought processes from the late-night conversations they've taken to having, from the way he moves with her. She wants permanence, even if she wouldn't know what permanent would look like with them. Even though she knows that this is ephemeral, and she needs to listen to what he tells her and not just what she wants to hear.

His companionship has made the stress of leading an entire Crusade more bearable, and the feeling of actually being vulnerable with someone has been...nice. She shouldn't get upset that it isn't more, might not ever be more. She can temper her expectations.

Of course, she'd said the same thing when she let herself become friends with Woljif, who told her every moment he would leave, and then she was still devastated when he disappeared, still felt so relieved when he returned. But she can do better this time. She can still try.

And the first way she can do that is by not wallowing. The room has slowly grown brighter since she first opened her eyes, the beginnings of dawn peeking through the heavy curtains, and Sparrow can't justify staying in bed any longer. Daeran's breathing hasn't changed, still deep in sleep, but then she expects he won't rise until mid morning at the very earliest and wouldn't be surprised if she didn't see him awake before noon. Slowly, she slides across the bed, pulling up the covers to climb out without disturbing it too much--

The arm draped over her tightens, pulls her back under. Sparrow twists to look at Daeran's smooth, sleep-still face. A reflex? But then he grimaces, slitting his eyes open blearily. "Cold," Daeran mutters.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sparrow says. Guilt over waking him wars with something softer that sparks at seeing his mussed, open expression, free of artifice and polish. "It'll warm up quickly when I'm gone, just stay under the covers. I didn't mean to wake you."

Daeran blinks, unfortunately seeming to grow more awake with her words. "Is the fortress on fire? Or has someone died? I can't think of any other justifiable reason to be awake at this unholy hour."

That does draw a short huff of laughter from Sparrow. "I'm usually up at this time," she whispers. Really, he ought to know this by now. He's slept through plenty of mornings where Sparrow rose and left her rooms before he even flirted with consciousness. "Really, it's fine. Go back to sleep. I'll be quiet."

Daeran makes a noise of deep grievance. "It was past midnight when you finally went to sleep," he says. He pulls her closer and presses his lips against her shoulder, her neck, then the arc of her jaw. The touches leave spots of sparking heat in their wake, points of warmth that spread over her body like submerging into hot water. "After the nonsense we dealt with getting that key, you deserve more than four hours of sleep. The day can wait until it's actually day, for once."

That sounds so nice Sparrow struggles to remember the weight of all the tasks waiting for her, over a week's worth of administrative duties the excursion to Wintersun made her ignore. "I really--"

The words are cut off by a full kiss, soft and slow and then deepening. It's lazy and tired; Daeran is just as exhausted as she is. "It can wait. No one will care if you achieve some proper rest for once, and if they do you can welcome them to go hiking through these blighted lands in your stead. Stay. The bed is too warm to leave right now."

Maybe he's right. Sparrow certainly feels warm, warmer than even the heavy blankets and Daeran's body can explain. Slowly, she settles back down, facing him this time, hesitantly slotting her body against his. Daeran's arm wraps back around her body, and she closes her eyes.

Sparrow never stays in bed past sunrise. And yet, it is the easiest thing in the world to fall back asleep.

[cassynite]

4, 13, and 14 for sparrow and daeran?

Thank you so much Ama 🥺

4. First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

Hahahaha not at all! The first time Sparrow and Daeran meet is actually before the game even starts; they cross paths in Nerosyan when Sparrow is pretending to be Lady Evaethi. She pays just enough attention to him to note that he is a hedonistic dilettante and therefore unlikely to notice or care about her, and dismisses him entirely. Daeran does notice her then, but only enough to make fun of her tendency to hide in corners during banquets and sneer at her Cheliaxian-style dresses. When they properly meet in Kenabres, they have opposite reactions, though that’s still not positive: Daeran suddenly becomes the only person who might recognize her as Lady Evaethi and is therefore a threat to Sparrow; Sparrow’s efficiency in fighting off the demons that crashed his party suddenly makes her mildly interesting to Daeran, though that impression fades relatively quickly when Sparrow does her damndest to put her most boring foot forward. They do eventually warm up to each other, obviously, but that process won’t even begin to start until partway through fighting demons together in Kenabres, and won’t fully form into something like friendship/respect/more until basically Dae’s birthday party.

13. - What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?

Switch things up, definitely! One of the big things that becomes a point of compromise in their relationship is their desire to do things together warring with the fact that their definitions of ‘fun activities’ include very different criteria. They’re the kind of people that find enjoyment in basically any activity as long as the other person is there and they enjoy it, so it’s not a struggle or anything, but it does mean that Sparrow attends a lot more banquets, hosts parties, and ends up in escapades than she’d ever indulge in on her own, while Daeran finds himself with a lot more quieter afternoons with just Sparrow or maybe a small gathering, organizing charity events, working in politics for Sparrow’s causes, and more slow-paced or solitary activities with her. They do end up finding activities that they both like a lot though! Daeran is more open about enjoying museums and art galleries with Sparrow, and Sparrow ends up really liking opera. Regardless most things they end up doing together are made fun by the other's presence.

14. Anything they both dread?

The other person realizing that the relationship isn’t worth it or that the other values something more than them/what they have and subsequently giving it up. This happens way more often with Sparrow, who struggles to understand why Daeran loves her to begin with and questions if she will ever become too boring/too much for him to deal with and him leaving, but Daeran definitely holds those fears as well to a lesser extent—that Sparrow will decide she won’t tolerate Daeran’s selfishness or his exploits, or that she will choose honorable goodness over their continued happiness. Over time they both stop having those fears as time and natural disagreements in their marriage show they both prioritize their relationship and each other as basically the most important thing in their lives, but it takes a while.

[cassynite]

So the opposite of this little prompt was to have the KC's LI explain why they love their KC...as usual, it started off that way, and then this became something else entirely lol. And a bit of a monster. I just posted the WIP for this and then spent the next x amount of hours finishing it in a fugue state lmao.

I hope everyone who decides to read enjoys!

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The wedding between the Count and new Countess Arendae is, thankfully, about as respectable as you could have hoped. Neither the Knight-Commander nor your cousin put up more than a token resistance to the guest list you had recommended, and the ceremony was nearly indistinguishable from any high court function as long as one ignored a few key details--the handfasting was not done in Iomadae's name, or in any god's name, and the kiss to commemorate the union went on for about twice as long as appropriate.

Both of those features can and are easily dismissed; the Knight Commander is well known to be an angel herself, her wings folded sedately against her wedding dress, and this fact somehow makes even the more pious of the gentry willing to overlook the lack of explicit worship to Mendev's patron goddess. As for the kiss--well. Despite the rumors of the union being arranged by yourself of all people, it's obvious that your kinsman has, despite all odds, found a heart's companion in the Knight Commander.

You can't pretend you aren't surprised. Knight-Commander Sparrow had been a desperate gamble that paid off in many ways, leaving you with a powerful ally and a competent leader at the head of your army. Even in the beginning, before she settled into the sea of tranquil calm she now exudes, she carried herself with an unbreakable composure, taking the position you had given her without complaint and staring down the insurmountable task of taking Drezen with a clear-eyed focus that was deeply admirable. You recognized a like spirit in her, someone who knew her duty and the costs, and could be counted on to see them through.

Your flighty, selfish cousin, so wrapped up in his own self-interest he barely understands the world around him, shouldn't have caught such a woman's interest. But he did, and even more surprising, she had captured his interest as well--and his heart. Unless this is one long prank, some grand snub against the sanctity of marriage and the reputation of the hero of the Crusades.

You watch your cousin finish his dance with his new wife at the banquet from the corner of the room. He places a gentle kiss on her knuckles after they've slowed to a stop, grinning with astonishingly open joy as she covers her mouth with her other hand. There is nothing false in the way he looks at her, and you'd know; despite what Count Arendae thinks, you've never found him a particularly good actor.

He moves away from his new wife, his gaze flicking over the crowd and finding you at the fringes. His expression cools, and he gives you a much more familiar smile, one on the knife's edge of polite and dripping with disdain. You ignore the implied insult, long used to the steps of this particular dance. You tolerate his insolence most of the time, because it is harmless most of the time. And, if you are being honest, that insolence reminds you of his mother, as well as the way he will double down if you try to fight it. So you don't.

"Your Majesty." He stops a respectable foot away from you and bows just a hair too shallow for a queen. That is an annoyance, but not for the reasons Count Arendae might think. It frustrates you to see what is clearly a brilliant mind occupy himself with the minutiae of court etiquette just so he can give plausible deniability to his snubs and just skirt the line on the wrong side of propriety. So much wasted potential, potential that he might never fulfill, at least not willingly.

That fact is unfortunate, depressing, and at least partially your fault.

You brush the thought away. "Count. I trust the wedding ceremony has been to your liking?"

"Dearest cousin, are you asking me if I enjoy the experience of being married to the woman I love?" His voice drips with insincere incredulity. "I suppose I am, yes. For a party, it practically puts one to sleep, but there's always the celebration after this ceremony to look forward to."

You nod, ignoring the innuendo in his tone. You are aware that Sparrow had planned a second, more private gathering after this--you are invited, technically, though it was clearly an invitation with the understanding that you would politely decline. You glance over to the other side of the room where the new Countess Arendae still stands, poised and attentive to whatever Lord Isolde is speaking to her about. For a moment, her gaze meets yours across the room, assessing the moment between you and your cousin. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, or at least not raise any hackles, as she returns to the conversation with the lord being none the wiser.

Sparrow does not have the flash and draw of a true politician, but her guarded countenance makes it difficult to read her opinions easily, and she wears the mantle of her titles with ease that could turn into the kind of confidence that can sway a crowd. She would do well in court, talking to people like Lord Isolde, you think. At least, with some practice, practice you were willing to offer her on her own terms as an incentive to get her to stay and help with rebuilding efforts. Practice she will now never get, because you can't imagine your cousin bearing the dullness of high court functions enough for her to learn.

It's frustrating, how the tentative plans and alliances that could have helped push Mendev back into a semblance of normalcy are upturned with a single union. The frustration burns alongside your curiosity of just what, exactly, happened between these two.

"I will admit, I was surprised when I learned of your proposal," you comment. "When I first assigned you to the Crusade, you hardly seemed to want to be in the same room as her."

"And I changed my mind," Count Arendae says sweetly, "as one does, occasionally, when they get to know someone."

"But what has made you change your mind?" you press. It's blunt, far more forward than you like to speak, but you will only have your cousin's attention for so long before other guests notice you both lingering in the shadows and demand both of your time.

The count blinks at your forwardness, amusement and annoyance warring with his features. "Heavens, you sound like an overly concerned nanny. Are you attempting to protect my virtue from some unscrupulous suitor? You might have voiced your concerns before I made my vows if that were the case."

"Perhaps I am concerned for her," you say stiffly. It's not entirely true--you are sure that of the two of them, the count is far more likely to hurt the countess than the other way around. But the count is your cousin, and for a brief period of time you were his de facto guardian. "I only wish to know what you see in her that drew you to marriage, when you have insisted you would remain a bachelor your entire life."

"Can a man not change his mind? I know with my wizened age it seemed impossible for me to alter my opinions on anything, but even an old dog can learn new tricks." At your stare, he sighs. "...What do you want me to say here? I love her."

"But why?"

"She makes me happy," he says simply. At your silence, his expression finally tilts over into full annoyance. "There really is nothing else to it."

"I will admit to not being your wife's closest companion, so I may be incorrect in this, but Sparrow does not come across as someone who is very...fun." The count, with his endless revelries and trysts, his giant shows of disregard to propriety and duty and care, could not possibly find her fun.

"Well, I didn't say she was. Though she is, if you know what to do with her," the count says. His voice gets harsher, more impassioned. "I said she makes me happy. She wants happiness and builds to it, whatever form that may take. She--" He cuts himself off, as if suddenly remembering who he is speaking to, and his expression smooths back into the poisonous almost-sneer he likes to wear around her. "Are you jealous, cousin? Perhaps wishing for your own commander to sweep you off your feet?"

It's a badly shot barb, almost embarrassing in how obvious an attempt to change the subject it is, but you barely acknowledge it. The fierceness in his words was genuine; whatever the full reason for his affections, you now know that he means them truly. Because she makes him happy.

And suddenly you are standing in a different wedding, watching over the union of the previous Count and Countess Arendae. Silaena had found you during the banquet after as well--far less surprising for her to be torn away from her new spouse, who was her father's age and an old friend of the Arendae main branch. They had smiled together, her holding his wizened hands, and she had held the crook of his elbow with easy familiarity, but no kiss was shared and when he drifted off to speak to the Dowager Count, you saw no grief or pain of abandonment.

You still remember that conversation, her voice clear in your head as a just-struck bell. She'd found you in the far corner, only a perfunctory guard acknowledging your presence as you took a few minutes of solitude away from the heavy showmanship that came with being the queen in public.

Silaena had noticed you, though. "Is her majesty hiding?" She sank onto the bench beside you with a smile. "I expected some kind of speech when I saw your honored presence among the guests. Perhaps a rousing call for recruitment to the effort to beat back those demons."

"I'm taking the day off," you chuckled. "Wedding attendants are hardly going to want to take up their swords."

"Quite right, of course, silly me. Your speech would obviously be a rousing call for donations to beat back those demons instead."

You had to cough to keep your laughter down; you didn't want to be too loud and attract unwanted attention. "I'll leave that for another day." You paused, and stared at her, the roses twined in her hair, the flash of her storm-gray eyes. She looked the perfect portrait of a happy bride, but you'd known her long enough to recognize that a portrait was sometimes just paint. "And what about you? Planning on dancing your shoes to ribbons? Or just bask in the joy of your nuptials and new title?"

"Oh bask, definitely. You can only dance for so long before you grow bored of it, and noble dances are rather stiff, aren't they? I'm going to spend the night letting everyone come to me and pretend they're happy that I got all the reward and none of the punishment for my errant behaviors, and plan out exactly what I'm going to do with my new home once I'm free of them all."

"You have a good plan, then?" Heaven's Edge, the seat of the Arendae family, was going to Silaena as the new matriarch of the clan. Her father had already openly moved into one of the Arendae estates at the capital, ostensibly to focus on Council duties.

"It will be wonderful," Silaena said. Her cheer was bright and far too even to be natural. "I will have the whole estate, and Nevis--Count Arendae--oh, you know him, what am I saying, Nevis--he says that he wants to start some kind of club to play chess and won't that be exciting, I plan to wipe the floor with them all. And, of course, my father is never going to step foot in Heaven's Edge again, and honestly I'll take a sentence in the Condemned for that."

"Silaena," you chided. She'd been far more circumspect since she returned home, so the blunt candor is almost surprising. Almost. You still remembered her during her first years out of university, a silver-glinting flit of bubbling laughter and sharp snubs, taking ten years off the life of every Royal Council member and twice as many for the two members she hated the most. When the previous Countess Arendae passed of heart palpitations, there were plenty of cruel remarks of how she had been driven into an early grave by her wayward, unfilial daughter. Many of them were made by the Dowager Count himself.

"What? No one's around. You know just as well as I do how he is, how they both were. Honestly, I'm only sorry Nerosyan is going to have to endure his presence year-round now. I already told him he's never meeting my child--any child I might have, and Nevis has agreed with me because he's a wonderful friend, and my father can't say anything about it now." She sighed, leaning back. "I'm free as I'll ever be."

Your chest warmed, seeing the smile on her face grow genuine. As far as your extensive line of distant relatives go, she had been your favorite by far; cleverer than most of the court gave her credit for, bright in a way that went beyond the silver glow emanating from her pale blonde hair. When she laughed, the room laughed. Talking to her for more than a few minutes has always given you the sensation of putting down a heavy load after so long carrying it you no longer noticed its weight. You are glad she's back in court.

Perhaps it was that warmth that loosened your tongue. Or, the knowledge that Silaena Arendae would never, ever betray you, not after those long talks in the gardens you used to have, not after she had told you of her plans to run away, and you had kept it to yourself. "Why did you come back?" you ask. "You could have been actually free of all this." You gestured to the party.

"You sound envious," Silaena noted. "Would true freedom be something you want?"

"No," you said, instead of the truth, which was that you couldn't even imagine that future for yourself. "But you did. And you came back anyway. Why?"

"Oh, you know." She gave an artful shrug. "Can't run away from your name forever. I tried. But someone has to be Countess Arendae."

The words hang in the air between you, far too familiar. Someone has to be Countess Arendae, indeed. You both sit in silence, watching the banquet happily continue on without input or presence from the bride, and you wonder if her title feels heavy on her shoulders.

After a moment, Silaena blew out a breath. "Do I want to still be with the troupe I sang with, traveling the world? Yes, of course. There is no circumstance where I would not want that more. But I'm not going to let this title be the shackles that my parents wanted to put on me." Her voice grows fierce. "I might not be happy but I can make happiness where I am. I'll have my estate, and the gardens. I'll make friends. I'll do right by the people I'm responsible for. And one day, my child will have a wedding to someone whom he is fond, and he will not feel the same sense of creeping doom that I do. I will make sure of it."

You took in a deep breath around the fullness of feeling that her words sparked within you. It was dark, and no one was looking your way; you grabbed her hand, felt the soft smoothness of her palm against your sword callouses. "I wish..." You swallowed down your first choice of words. "I wish I had been able to make your life easier sooner. I am sorry that this burden has come to you."

Silaena laughed at you, and squeezed your hand. "What could you have done? You are only the queen. No--I mean it. You have too much on your plate to care about the squabbles of your distant cousins. You have been my friend these long years, and I knew that coming back would at least mean seeing you again, and that has been a boon to me." She gave you a dazzling smile. "One day we will no longer have the specter of demonic invasion hanging over our heads, and Iomadae willing, I will be alive to see it. And that will be because of you. And when my son has his wedding and I am a better parent than mine ever were to me, you will be there too, to wish him and his spouse well. Do we really have a right to ask for more?"

And then she stood and joined the party, leaving you to ponder the words that, years later, would turn out to be almost entirely false. The demonic invasion is no longer a threat, but not because of you; Silaena has long passed through Pharasma's Court and knows nothing of who she was, whatever space in Elysium her soul surely now rests. She can never see her son marry, but you are here instead, not friend to him nor, you hope, foe.

You are here instead. The chasm of absence stretches between you and the count, and you can't cross it; Silaena was larger than life, and the hole in her wake is far too wide. And if it could be traversed, it would not be by you.

You have chosen your country and your duty over all other things; you have always done this, time and time again. And you don't regret it--if you had to go back and do it all over, you would make those sacrifices all the same, because Mendev needed their queen more than you needed anything or anyone else. But you look at Silaena's son, whose icy eyes thaw when he looks at his new wife, and you wonder what this conversation would be like if you had been more selfish.

But, at the very least, Daeran Kael Nevis Arendae has married someone who makes him happy. You are sure that Silaena would have never wanted anything else for her son.

So you say, "I wish you and Sparrow well, Daeran."

He seems taken off guard by the sincerity in your voice, pausing before what was likely an acerbic response before finally, hesitantly nodding. "Your Majesty." He bows again, and then goes to Sparrow, twirling her around into the beginning of another dance.

You watch them for a few minutes more, unnoticed by the crowd in the shadows for a brief moment in time. Then you sigh, step out into the light, and become the queen once more.

[cassynite]

28 and 33 for sparrow & daeran!

Aaah thank you so much Taylor!

28. What are their vacations like?

Oooh…good question. Vacations tend to be big affairs, per Daeran; he likes to make them special occasions. With his money it’s almost always “let’s go travel somewhere”—he’ll coordinate with festivals, area-specific locales, etc—places with something to do and something to learn, not necessarily the most “tourist-y” areas. Sparrow likes to learn about the history of the places they visit and enjoy the sights, but she’s almost always enjoying herself most in areas where there’s a beach or body of water to enjoy. She’s partial to boat rides and coastal cities herself and the few times she’s taken charge of planning those are where she tends to want to go.

33. What kind of presents do they get each other? Do they only do it on special occasions?

I actually wrote a small story here where Sparrow and Daeran exchange gifts! I’m going to stand by some of the details I put in there. Daeran is going to go for flashier gifts—surprise parties, clothes and jewelry he notices Sparrow might like, a room full of roses of course—things that make it clear he loves her and wants the world to know that as well. He also gifts her with things pretty consistently, because he enjoys how flustered and pleased it makes her. While big occasions, like holidays and her birthday, are definite gift-giving occasions, sometimes he’ll just do it for no reason at all. Sparrow’s kind of gifts are smaller and more likely to be cheaper but more personal—things she’s noticed Daeran comment on that he wouldn’t necessarily just get himself or be able to obtain on his own, or things she comes across she thinks he’d like. Hard-to-get books, tickets to an exclusive event he mentioned thinking about, mementos from places she had to visit without him, that sort of thing. They also tend to be more informal—for things like his birthday she tends to do things for him rather than give him physical gifts because she gets frustrated trying to actively find something to give to him on designated dates. It’s easier to ‘gift’ him special moments or put together something for him, and actually gift him things she just happens across.

[cassynite]

So there was a writing exercise introduced in the discord to have your KC explain why they love their LI. I decided to do it for Sparrow and Daeran to get out of my writing funk and I got this!!!

Anyway I know a few other people were planning on doing something similar and I encourage anyone who's intrigued to do it as well because it was fun and very helpful! Though mine isn't entirely about Sparrow just explaining her feelings lol.

------

"Why do you love him?"

Sparrow, Countess Arendae, blinks from where she sits across from you in the tea room of Heaven's Edge, the rare sign that she's surprised at the question. You don't blame her--you're surprised you asked. You hadn't intended to. This was meant to be a short visit, one full of meaningless talk and, maybe, the thing you actually came here to say if you were brave enough. Not this.

But you've long since come to peace with the fact that your mouth gets ahead of your brain more often than not. You just wish you hadn't done it here, with the heavenly former Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade and one of the most important people in Mendev. She looks the part now more than ever, a noble in truth: with her bright fine though unfashionably high-waisted dress, the ribbons pulling her hair back, the jewelry glittering at her neck and arms, the feathers on her face and her folded wings shining under the sun that pours into the room. She looks like a portrait you'd find hanging in the walls of a palace, and you are grubbier than you've ever been, after weeks on the road and still wearing your armor. You don't deserve to push into Sparrow's personal life.

It had just been a question nagging at you for years now, ever since the marriage was first announced. You'd heard the rumors, of course--that it was arranged, by the queen as a reward so that the successful Knight Commander could be titled a princess, by the queen as punishment to finally pull in Count Arendae's reckless and rakish ways, by the two themselves as a political alliance to do some high-minded things you would never be able to wrap your head around without hurting your brain in the process. Certainly, no one ever thought that the infamous noble pain in the ass and Sparrow married for anything resembling affection. And yet, they were wrong. You were wrong.

You're not here to try and dig into why Sparrow took the title and the manor you currently sit in, when it's attached to one of the nastiest people you've had the displeasure of meeting. But to your surprise, Sparrow doesn't look away and change the subject, or pin you with a thousand-pound stare meant to make you regret entering the room. Instead, her expression softens, turns thoughtful. She's actually coming up with a response. You hold your breath to stop yourself from blurting out anything before she starts, a surefire way to make sure she never finishes her sentence. Even if you don't deserve to know, you are curious.

Finally, after several moments of silence, she says, "He makes me laugh."

Is that it? you almost say. I made you laugh, too, you definitely do not say. But she sees something of it on your face--the first one, hopefully not the second--because her mouth quirks up the tiniest bit, the closest Sparrow ever gets smile. It makes you relax a little in your chair. Sparrow never, ever smiles without meaning it.

"I don't know how to describe it," she finally admits. "How do you speak on nature of love? Sometimes it feels like I've always loved him. That there's never been reason, just existence of it." Another pause as Sparrow struggles to place her words. "He makes me laugh, when there is so little to laugh for. He is--he can be--kind, and thoughtful, and when he looks at me like I'm the only person in the room I know he means it. He..."

Sparrow turns her attention to the window, to the gardens beyond. From your vantage point you can see the entrance to the manor, stone steps leading to the door that opens to the main hall. There are giant flowering shrubs lining the staircases, slightly untamed but still cared for. It's almost summer and the weather has only just become bearable this far north for you; the animals that live here, however, are far more used to the freezing air, and there is life exploding outside, providing movement where the windless air does not. Bees buzz around open flowers, butterflies flit through the air, and birds call from their places in the tree branches beyond the main courtyard.

"His family died here," Sparrow comments. You jerk back to her at the sound of her voice, wide-eyed.

"Uh..."

"It's not a secret," she continues, as still and calm as the trees outside. "Anyone in Mendev can speak on the bare bones of the tragedy of the Arendae line. The Count's family died, and badly. They died in these rooms, and then my husband left, because he couldn't stay."

You did know this already. Sparrow isn't joking that it's common knowledge; when you brought up where you were headed at the nearby Pathfinder lodge, the quartermaster there told you the entire sordid history, just casual conversation. Demons, plague, and a single survivor, just a child at the time. It's all very sad, but it makes you wonder why Sparrow is bringing it up.

"During the march to Drezen, we passed by Heaven's Edge. At my request we visited it, and he threw a party here, forced liveliness into the halls where a demon murdered his family. I didn't understand it at the time; but then, grief is so personal. There is no wrong way to mourn and I wasn't going to judge. Even if I did there were...other circumstances involved as well. It wasn't until after that I realized how terrifying this place was for him, how lonely it had made him. And how he refused to just let it fester as the place where he lost everyone he cared about. He didn't just abandon it--and when the war was over, he came back and he made this place a home with me."

Your hands clench the armrest. She's talking about the Count, but is she really talking about you, who ran away from the place that hurt you and the life that trapped you? Or is she seeing herself, someone who also tried to run away in a moment that makes you flinch even now? You're not sure which is worse--maybe she's not comparing him to anyone at all, which you think might be the actual worst option, that she does not think of you enough to put you side-by-side with the man she loves.

Sparrow's knuckles press against her lips, deep in thought. You've rarely, if ever, seen her put so much care into her words, and unlike you, Sparrow has never been someone who speaks carelessly to begin with. The weight of it, what she's telling you, wraps around you both, makes the sitting room feel small and intimate. "To search for joy in the teeth of spite. Staring at the ghost of the place you loved and refusing to let it go forever...it's brave. I've always thought it was brave, how he refuses to walk away from the things he loves. He stays, even when it's difficult, and he refuses to let life make him anything but happy or keep him from the things he loves. He makes me want to hold on. He finds joy in living, and it me want to live even when it's frightening."

Your breath catches in your throat. She's not looking at you, but you can feel her attention anyway, noticing your reaction to how the conversation has become more than just the shape of Sparrow's love. He stays. And you didn't, and you hadn't meant to hurt Sparrow the way you did, you hadn't thought it would hurt, but it's been a long time since you last left Heaven's Edge in tears and misplaced anger, and you've finally learned that not meaning it, or not knowing, had never been an excuse.

It's enough to make your rehearsed words, the speech you practiced, fly from your brain; but it also gives you the strength say the actual thing you had come here to say. "I'm sorry," you tell her. "For...for everything." It's not enough, but you don't think even the long speech you'd written on the way here would be enough. All the work you've done on yourself and for others since you left isn't enough, and nothing you ever will do could be enough either. You can't change the past. You can't become someone who stayed.

"I know." It's not forgiveness, but her voice is gentle and her expression when she finally looks at you is kind. "I'm glad you came anyway."

The conversation moves on, and the intensity in the room slowly lets go of its grip in the conversation. It's not much longer before there's movement outside--a horse carrying a single passenger in fine riding clothes, his long hair glinting like raw sunlight. He jumps off with practiced ease, turning to where you know the stables are. For a moment, his head turns to the window where you both sit and you swear he sees you both, even at a distance. Even if he doesn't, the moment he sees your mare in the stables he is going to know who has come by.

"I should go," you say, rising. You'd already spent more time here than you expected you'd be allowed, and the last thing you want to do is struggle through another conversation with Sparrow's too-smart, too-cruel husband. Sparrow might be happy you are here, but Count Arendae made it clear the last time you spoke that he hoped to never see your face again, and you can't imagine that opinion has changed over the years.

"You don't have to," Sparrow says. "I already let the staff know there would be three at dinner tonight."

"Ah, well, I don't think the Count is going to be very happy with that--"

"It will be fine. I've been thinking about family," Sparrow cuts you off, so unexpected it stuns you to silence. There is more to her now, than you've ever seen in her. She's grounded, her space filling the room. She's not afraid to speak over objections any more. "And I am tired of staring at the ghosts of the people I loved and letting the pain of it keep me away. If you do not want to stay, there is nothing I can do to keep you, but I would like your visit to continue, and maybe for you to visit again afterward. Besides I have--news, that I hadn't had a chance to speak about now. I would like to tell you about it with my husband present." She holds out a hand to you. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

You think about the high-waisted dress she's wearing, so oddly out of fashion, and think you might already know the news she's hinting at. But then, you might not--you've never been good about guessing what secrets other people keep. But you want to know, either way. You have missed her for a very long time, and seeing her hand reaching out to you has caused tears to prick at your eyes. After a moment, you finally have the strength to take it. Her grip is as strong as ever.

"Thank you, Sparrow," you say, and her eyes light up at you using her name. "I would love to."

[cassynite]

Sparrow, please tell us about your most embarrassing situation in the bedroom.

OH MY GOD SPHINX LMAO

--

Sparrow chokes, her face twitching. "Excuse me? I--" She buries her face in her hands. After several seconds, her voice emerges, muffled, from her hands. "It wasn't in the bedroom."

It takes another few moments for her to regain her composure, hands on her lap, shoulders back. Only the scalding red on her face reveals her actual thoughts on discussing the matter. "This was. Several years ago. We were in Nerosyan, to help push through a bill that would solidify the number of years an individual is required to reside within the country borders before being considered a proper citizen and given related rights. There was pushback, mainly from the Royal Council, and many of the lords who were there to vote were undecided on the matter. The matter was at a standstill, we were on day thirteen. It was exhausting, no real progress in sight. If Lord Bravas would bother to take a side, the rest would follow like lemmings. He liked our proposal but disliked us, or me specifically, and dragged his feet on the matter."

There is a pause, but Sparrow clearly cannot talk around the answer any longer. "During recess Daeran suggested we...find a way to de-stress. Blow off steam. I don't...usually, outside of a bedroom...definitely never outside of our home...but the recess was not long enough to return to our chambers--no one used that parlor, it was so out of the way, it should have been--"

She abruptly cuts off straightens again, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Apparently, Lord Bravas wanted a book to occupy his time. We were. Already. We couldn't really hide what we were doing.

"And the worst part was that it ended up helping us." Sparrow pinches the bridge of her nose. "Lord Bravas wasn't offended, he was amused. Friendlier than before. Apparently catching us in flagrante delicto gave him a sense of...kinship? Or perhaps he really was just happy to learn I was 'actually a person underneath it all.' Either way, he supported my bid and we finally pushed through the proposal.

"Now, whenever any council meeting takes longer than a day to conclude, Daeran always has the same recommendation of how to move things along. I'm going to hear about that escapade until the day I retire."

Intrusiveness level: 100000000/10