#vendave

[kclenhartnovels]

[Happy (late) Birthday, @gingerly-writing! For your viewing pleasure, a continuation of this prompt with an AU of Vendave for you. I hope this is a satisfactory gift :3. TW: torture, dehydration, captivity]

Vendave castle had withstood more battles in the past three years than she had two decades prior. Nestled so far into the heart of her country, she had stood vigil as promise more than fortress, until Kendrick had swept his armies out of the mountains and started his siege. Since then the castle had changed hands between both armies multiple times, had been burned twice, flooded once, and once even had a herd of livestock stampeded through the Great Hall. That had been a move that caught Kendrick by surprise, to the point where even being led through the chamber gave him echoes of snorts and stamping hooves. He almost smiled. 

“Do you want him in the dungeons, sire?”

“No,” Delgos answered, without turning. His broad back supported a velvet cloak, and though the edges were tattered, he looked every inch the Prince Consort he had become sometime during the long war. How they had time for marriage, Kendrick had no idea. How he still wanted to marry Constantine when he was dethroned and crippled, Kendrick really didn’t understand. “Take him up to the southern tower, and chain him there. I want a guard posted at all times. One of ours, please.” 

The guard saluted. “It shall be done, Your Highness.”

Maybe, Kendrick decided, as he stumbled up the spiral staircase, encumbered by chains and hustled along by spearpoint, the marriage had been for the title and power that would come with it. After all, now that the Vendavens had retaken their lands, the throne was Constantine’s again, and he was in little position or inclination to rule at the moment. Kendrick hadn’t seen him in months, not since removing the little whelp’s arm in a swordfight. Maybe he had died of infection afterwards, and they were keeping that fact hidden from the troops for morale. He had done much the same thing after his father’s death anyway. All things considered, he rather thought Delgos would make a better King than Constantine. Constantine was weak and uncertain. Delgos was a battle-worn commander now, all hard lines and discipline. His men would respect that, far more than they would ever be willing to kneel to the short, one-armed, defeated King of Vendave. 

Though if Kendrick found any of his men willingly kneeling to any of the Vendaven people, he would personally kill them once he was free of here.

Kendrick sat against the wall under the prod of the spearpoints, and sighed through the gag when his aching arms were pulled over his head, wrists secured close together. He heard a groan of protest from his shoulder joint; ever since an arrowhead had been dug out of it six months ago, it had given him trouble with rotation, and the current position did him no favors. His ankles were manacled to the floor, and the gag stayed firmly, annoyingly, in place. Had it not, Kendrick would have had some choice suggestions on how to make a prisoner more uncomfortable. He had perfected it over the years, after all.

As it was, he sank back against the stone wall, rolling his shoulder carefully to try and work out some of the pinching ache. It didn’t help much, and he was too tired to try and rise enough to relieve some of the pressure. It would work itself out eventually, or he would grow accustomed to it enough to put it to the back of his mind. 

He closed his eyes. His mouth still tasted like copper and leather, the gag biting into the corners of his mouth. It was too kind of a thing; he would have used a brank, like he had on T’ke so many years ago. Gods, how long ago had that been? He had still been a Prince then, still fighting the last of his brothers for the right to the Kingdom. And his white ghost had been the one to secure the title for him, before disappearing like smoke and ash. It had been enough. It had gotten him this far. 

And he had gotten so close. 

He had gotten the castle, and swept his way towards the sea, chasing the tails of the bedraggled army. And then at the coast, ships had sailed in out of Reckson, trained mercenaries calling up old allegiances from the last war, and the tides had turned. And turned. And turned. Again and again they came so close to murdering each other, to taking out the high command and delivering the final crippling blow to the enemy. And it was Delgos who had finally swung the strike that took him down. 

Well, at least it hadn’t been Constantine. That might have been shame enough to stop his stubborn heart. Maybe. 

Kendrick wasn’t sure if he truly slept, or just wavered in and out of dreams and memories, hanging as slack as the chains would allow. He still stank of blood and battle, and the tower was eerily quiet. He could practically hear his own heartbeat echo off the stone walls. All of the tapestries and most of the furnishings had been destroyed in one conquest or another, and all that remained in the circular tower was arrow slits, a low table, and two stools. Maybe those had been brought up recently, for whatever purpose Delgos had devised. 

Breaking him. Hah. He doubted Delgos had it in him. All he would have to do was bide his time. If he could be free of here, he could make his way back to Ciel and regroup, rebuild. He was still King on the mountain. Diana had been minding the castle in his absence. He trusted her implicitly, and fully expected to return home to a kingdom running better than when he had left. Now all he had to do was return to her. Somehow. 

He wasn’t sure if he slept, but he was certain when he woke. It wasn’t the sound of footsteps that brought him around first, but rather the smell of food. His empty stomach growled, and he opened his eyes to see Delgos walk into the room carrying a tray on one arm. The Prince Consort had shed his armor and finery, and wore such a plain and shirt and breeches he could have been mistaken for a servant, were it not for his bearing, and the scars of battle so clear on his dark skin. The top of a tattoo peeked through the laces on his shirt, but Kendrick couldn't make out the image.

“It still smells like smoke up here,” Delgos remarked with a wrinkle of his nose, setting down the tray and moving one of the stools around so that he could face Kendrick. “Half the castle still reeks of it. What sort of oil did you pour on the walls before you set it alight? We won’t be able to breathe freely in here until next spring.”

Kendrick wasn’t sure what sort of answer the other man was expecting, and he just gave him a simmering look around the gag. Delgos rested his elbows on his knees. A thin silver coronet was mostly lost in the waves of his thick black hair, but it glimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the narrow wall slits. Kendrick could see why Constantine had chased him. For being a halfbreed merchant’s son, he had an aristocratic face, and the sort of patience that Kendrick rarely saw outside of the spotted mountain cats, picking their way across icy crags after nimble and tender goats. What he couldn’t understand is what he saw in the Runnemede brat. Constantine was no lion, regardless of what banners they flew. 

“I’m not a cruel man by nature,” Delgos went on, since Kendrick could do nothing to interrupt him. “I have tried very hard to be a fair and patient man. But you have put me in a position that makes that impossible. So.” He leaned forward, catching the buckle on the side of the gag and slipping it loose. “I am going to have to start to mirror you instead, dragon.”

Kendrick flexed his jaw with a sigh of relief, aware of how dry his mouth was when he finally spoke. “Lesson one: don’t give your captive a nickname that instills fear.” 

Delgos backhanded him so sharply that Kendrick saw stars. The hit came too fast for him to expect, and he gagged on his words, blinking hard. 

“Do I look like a man that’s afraid of you?” 

Kendrick couldn’t see him for a moment until his vision cleared, but even so--no. Delgos did not look like a man afraid. He looked calm, collected, and faintly amused. “So, dragon, have you finished blowing smoke?” 

Blowing smoke. He snorted quietly, but said nothing. Blood trickled over his tongue; he had cut the side of it on his teeth from the blow. It made his throat feel more raw, and when he swallowed it felt like there was sandpaper lining it. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d had even a mouthful of water, but he felt it now. 

Delgos leaned back on his stool, and picked up a mug off the tray. Condensation beaded on the outside, rolling over his fingers and down the sides of the silver mug. Kendrick reflexively swallowed when Delgos did. A foam of ale misted on his lips for a minute, then disappeared with a sweep of his tongue. Fuck. 

“You know the biggest problem with the way you ran your Kingdom and your soldiers?” Delgos asked, when he seemed pleased at the stretch of silence. “You rely on fear and awe. You don’t instill loyalty, or respect. You treat your men like they were dogs. Worse than dogs. A good dog isn’t expendable.” He leaned forward again, enough to slosh some of the ale over the side of the mug. More of the liquid slid over his fingers. Kendrick watched the droplets hit the dusty floor, soaking into the hay and disappearing. If he’d had enough moisture left in his mouth, he might have whimpered. He hated it. 

“Do you want to die?” Delgos asked at last, tapping the red mark on Kendrick’s face with damp fingers. 

Kendrick gritted his teeth, and forced his focus back on the other man’s face. “No.”

“Good. Because starvation is a long, slow, terrible way to die.” He took another slow drink of ale, then held the mug in front of Kendrick’s face. He could feel the chill off the mug against his inflamed cheek. “And I would rather not watch you waste away. I just want you to break.” 

Good fucking luck with that. Kendrick curled his lip slightly, but couldn’t stop from watching Delgos dip his fingers into the mug of ale. He brought his hand up, and the liquid rolled down his fingers, finding every little crease, every callous and scar. Scars that Kendrick had helped put there. War and strife and sorrow, the droplets channeling like blood and tears, slipping away to fall into the straw. He leaned forward as much as the chains would allow, his dry throat aching to stop the waste.

Delgos smiled. "Is there something you want?"

"I am going to skin you alive when I am free of here," Kendrick warned. "And I'm taking your lips first."

He shrugged, sitting back again. He crossed his legs comfortably, and pressed the sole of one boot to Kendrick's chest, applying pressure to force him back against the wall again. "We'll see what wins out first, dragon. Stubborn ego, or thirst. You let me know when your pride has started to whimper, huh?" And he settled back, drinking his ale, carving hunks of bread and cheese from the platter, and looking over a few papers that had come with the tray.

And all the while his heel dug into Kendrick's chest. Not painful, but persistent. He rolled his sore shoulder again, trying to find a new position that hurt less. The chains rattled. Delgos didn't so much as twitch.

The beam of light from the window slit slowly crept across the floor.

Delgos had finished eating. He toyed with the last of the ale, swirling it in the cup so that Kendrick could hear nothing but the slosh of liquid, see nothing but the beads of it sliding down the metal side, pooling in the creases of the other man's fingers, and staining the hem of his sleeve a shade darker. With a contented sigh, he finally swung his legs around, freeing the pressure from Kendrick's chest, and stood. 

"I will be back tomorrow," he said, balancing the mug between his fingers, letting it tilt down until the remaining liquid pooled dangerously near the rim. "Think on what you want until then."

What he wanted was to wrap the chains around Delgos' neck until he was begging for mercy. What he wanted was his throne back, with his soldiers and his lovers all back at heel. 

What he wanted was water. 

Kendrick didn't sleep. He tried, dozing until his head drooped, snapping awake again when his chin hit his chest, the strain sending pain down his back. He fought the chains, chafing his skin until it bled. They didn't loosen. He scuffled at the hay and grime at his feet, finding nothing useful and stirring up enough dust and soot to make him sneeze. His eyes watered. His throat burned. He didn't sleep. 

Morning light cracked through the window and lanced across his face with fresh insult. He craned his neck back as far as he dared, trying to both stretch the aching muscles and get the sun out of his eye. He grimaced, arching his back and pulling at the chains. His shoulder screamed protest, and he heaved free a frustrated noise at last, the breaking of the silence so harsh it almost startled him. No noise followed from outside, and Kendrick swore loudly. His own voice was hoarse, and he screamed his frustration to the walls, to the slice of sunlight, to the chains. He yelled and cursed and thrashed until his dry throat allowed no more noise but a hiss of angry air. 

"Do you feel better now, little dragon?"

Kendrick felt his cheeks flush; he hadn't heard the door open, too busy listening to his own frustrated echoes. He tried to speak, but he had worn away what little voice he had left, and nothing but a rough sound followed.

Delgos smiled, leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded comfortably. "I hope it helped. Are you ready to be reasonable?"

He glared. It felt ineffectual at best.

At last, Delgos stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his foot. He knelt in front of his captive, and ran his hands up Kendrick's arms, finding the trails of dried blood left behind, searching the raw skin around his wrists with a gentle touch. "Were you growling all night long?" he asked, sounding amused. "I don't even have to hurt you. You'll do that yourself."

He rocked back on his heels at last, and freed a waterskin from his belt. The sound of the sloshing liquid made Kendrick's throat ache with longing. Delgos popped the cork, then waited. 

Kendrick could have strangled him. His fingers trembled, and his throat strained for a painful, dry swallow. He tried to breathe through his nose, but it did nothing to relieve the dryness of his mouth. His lips were cracked. 

"Well?" Delgos asked at last, tilting the waterskin so that a few jewelled drops slid over the back of his hand. He pressed his knuckles to Kendrick's cheek, and he automatically turned towards the promise of water. 

A bubble of curses died in his sore throat, and he closed his eyes. He pressed his face against the cool of Delgos' hand. "Please," he rasped, not sure how he found his voice enough to beg. 

No matter his hurt pride, when Delgos tipped the water between his lips at last, the cool flood of relief was like opium smoke. Delgos supported the back of his head, giving him a few mouthfuls before he pulled it back again. "Not too fast, you'll make yourself sick."

Kendrick licked his lips, catching the last drop of water before it could roll down his chin. He cleared his throat. It hurt marginally less than the last time. "How long--?" His voice cracked. He swallowed, then tried again. "How long do you plan to keep me like this?"

Delgos smiled. "Until you break. How long that takes is entirely up to you." He tilted the waterskin towards him again. "How comfortable you are is also entirely up to you, too."

The chains rattled as he shifted. "Uncuff me then."

His smile widened, sharpened. "No."

Kendrick scowled. "Uncuff me, please."

"Marginally better," he allowed. "But no. When I hear your genuine begging, little dragon, and I am in a good mood. Then maybe." He moved the waterskin over again, waiting until Kendrick leaned towards it to pull it away. "Ask me again."

Kendrick closed his eyes. Survive this, and a chance for escape. But he had to survive first. He had to live first. He had to. "Please," he whispered, his voice coming rough again. 

"What do you want?" Delgos needled.

"Please, can I have more water?"

Cool fingers cradled his jaw again. "Look at me."

He didn't want to. He knew all the tricks for breaking captives, for snapping stubborn will and leaving a man crawling. He knew. So did Delgos. He had seen the broken things that Kendrick had left behind. And Kendrick, in the pit of his aching stomach, knew it was only a matter of time before hope of escape would poison into the despair of inevitability.

He opened his eyes. "Please," he repeated, each word like a grain of sand in an hourglass as he looked into Delgos' face, "can I have more water, Prince-Consort?"

"That is a mouthful of a title, isn't it?" Delgos tsked thoughtfully, and poured the water into his cupped palm, then tipped that into Kendrick's open mouth. "Let's keep this simple, as you may find it hard to talk later. You can call me My King.” 

“You’re not King of Vendave.”

“No,” Delgos agreed, holding his gaze like a viper pinning a mouse. “No, little dragon. But I am your King, now.”

[rrrawrf-writes]

merry christmas @kclenhartnovels​ this is self-indulgent as all hell

“Kamin.” Banner didn’t follow. It took a moment for him to put together what he wanted to say, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Kamin in the face when he spoke again.

“I am sorry,” he said, quiet and sincere. “I was negligent, I - I wasn’t keeping a proper watch, and I’m sorry.”

Kamin looked back to him at that, and his smile was easy and forgiving. “You are not responsible for me, Banner. I have spent long enough wandering the wilds on my own that I know the dangers every time I step off alone. That morning was no different. I don’t blame you at all--and don’t let Jinx try to hold you responsible for it, either. I am not one of your people, I am not one of your soldiers; I am your friend. I forgive you for not noticing my absence sooner, and as far as I am concerned, you have already repaid that debt by helping to rescue us.”

He realized how long he had been talking, and blushed again. “Do you need help with the knot on that collar?”

“Jinx doesn’t matter.” Banner was more than capable of holding his own guilt. He let out a soft, frustrated gruff; it seemed that not all his dog-like mannerisms had faded, and Banner’s teeth were still a little too sharp as he spoke. “It was my watch. I want to - I’m supposed to protect you.”

He ignored Kamin’s attempt at changing the subject. “I can’t make up for what they did to you and Brody.”

“What did they do?” Kamin asked with a light smile, tugging his shirt down to expose his neck and chest where they had carved more stars into him, no trace of any injury remaining. His smile faded some, and he leaned up to soothe his fingers across Banner’s brow in a light touch. “Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. If you want to be forgiven, to make amends, then you must do so in the Ekanti manner, huh?”

His smile returned, and he pressed his hand firmly against Banner’s chest. “When you feel guilt, spread joy. When you feel anger, make laughter. Wash your grievances by protecting and helping those who cannot protect and help themselves.”

Banner tensed slightly at Kamin’s touch, before relaxing; both motions were nearly imperceptible. He reached up and put his hand on top of Kamin’s, tan lines across his fingers from where he usually wore his rings.

“They hurt you,” he said, in a low growl, “and just because those marks are gone now doesn’t erase what happened.” Banner glanced off to the side, glaring so intently at one of the flowering vines it was a wonder it didn’t shrivel up and wither away.

“I’m not Ekanti,” Banner said, after a long moment; his fingers unconsciously curled around Kamin’s hand on his chest. “I don’t sing, or tell stories. I’m just a soldier - barely even that, these days. But while you’re still here, I won’t let anyone else hurt you again.”

Kamin was glad his hand was on Banner’s chest, and not the other way around--not with how he could feel his heart trip. “You never know,” he said lightly,”you might earn your stars one day.” He freed his hand at last, only to lean up on his toes again, reaching around the other man’s neck and undoing the knot on the collar. Carefully, he emptied the rings off of the leather strap and into his palm, offering them to Banner.

“I have met many soldiers, and very few of them have I ever liked. I don’t know what makes a good soldier--but I do know what makes a good man.And you, Banner, are a good man. I can not imagine many men that I would feel safer with.”

[gingerly-writing]

Just for not accepting that you are awesome, I'm killing off another character. Probably one of your favorites.

THEY’RE ALL MY FAVOURITES AND YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THAT ANYWAY

MONSTER

[knightedwriter]

Also I saw you mention at one point that Der was ashamed of the scar on his back and tried to keep it hidden. I just want you to know that T'ke grew his hair out long to add another layer of protection over the whip scars on his back. Can we stop writing each other's books yet?

kajfdksjdbfkjsd are we on a mental link or something?

Der won’t even take his shirt off in front of Garrick for literal months after they start dating. Hell, there’s a point where Garrick tries to push things a little by reaching up his shirt and Alderon flinches back when he touches the scar. 

[kcl-teaches]

Bloop bloop!

Two bloops deserves two random facts!

How about my favorite Ekanti kids?

Jinx is really good at improvising weapons. She’s taken down people with broken spears, her bare hands, other people’s weapons, and I wouldn’t put it past her to use her teeth.

Kamin loves purple, green, and gold. I don’t know why, but that’s always been his color scheme. His dream ending is to marry a big muscle husband and adopt 10,000 children.

[kclenhartnovels]

🎧 or 🔬 or 🤐 for Isthe <333

[Whump prompt: I’m going to pick the sensory deprivation one. Since I owe you a birthday present, I hope this suffices!

Content warnings for torture, blood, and obviously sensory deprivation.]

It took Silas’ mercenaries two hours to discover that it wasn’t that Isthe wouldn’t talk, but rather that he couldn’t.

To be fair, Isthe refused to even try. Their questions and threats had been met with snarls and clenched fists, and more than once he had broken through the ropes to take a swing at them. Once he had made it as far as the door before a cudgel had hit his leg with enough force to bring him to the floor before they hauled him back again. It wasn’t until they had finally hit a point painful enough that he opened his mouth, and instead of a cry of pain it was a rough coughing sound.

The mercenary tapped the ugly scar on Isthe’s throat. “So if this one won’t help us find that wolf, you think he’ll come to get him?”

Katze shrugged, toying with his bloody knife and watching the dark stains on the front of Isthe’s tunic, the way his shoulders trembled and his blond hair stuck to the sweat on his neck. “Only one way to find out, I suppose. It won’t hurt us to keep the dog for a day or so.”

Isthe pulled against the ropes. The chair he was tied to creaked protest. The other mercenary grinned. “We’ll need a sturdy cage for that.”

Katze’s smile was an executioner’s hood. “I have one in mind.” He stepped up to Isthe, tilting his chin with the tip of his knife. “You’ll have to forgive me. Way out in the country like this, we have to make do. Were we back at the castle, I could show you such things. I spent a week in one of Silas’ pits before he knew he could trust me. No light, no sound, no company. Just a dark ring barely big enough to lay in, and when you stood your head brushed the ceiling. Were I an inch taller, I would have been hunched and crying a few days in. Lucky me, huh?”

Isthe curled his lip in a snarl. Blood stained his teeth.

“Don’t worry, dog. Like I said–we’ll make do.”

Worry wasn’t the right word for the tightness that squeezed Isthe’s chest. He knew Katze was right, of course; Medvetis would come for him. T’ke would come for him. They would move the stars to keep him safe, as he would for them. He could be patient. He could be confident.

What he could not do, what made him dig his heels into the dirt and growl and fight the firm hands, was the small dark hole that Katze held him above.

“Used to be a cellar,” the mercenary crowed, his words echoing like the circle of ravens overhead. “The house burnt down due to some tax evasion and crown retribution, but the cellar held up. All we had to do was fashion a new latch. It’ll work as well as a prison pit, don’t you think?”

Isthe thought a lot of things he could not vocalize. He thought of the army marching towards the camp of mercenaries; he thought of Medvetis’ concern making the black stallion prance beneath him; he thought of T’ke sending his damned hawk into the sky again as if the bird could tell him where to find their lost Captain; he thought of the rolling tide against the old docks of Cember, the way it made the ships creak and groan, and the men groan, too; he thought of attack dogs and graying kings and tax evaders.

He thought he would not make it until he was found.

Isthe hit the bottom of the pit, sending up a cloud of dust and rewarded with a mouthful of dirt and blood. He flipped onto his back, pulling at the ropes still binding his arms and looking up just in time to see a heavy wooden lid drop over the circular opening, and throw his small prison into blackness.

He couldn’t breathe.

He forced himself to stay still, blinking a few times until his eyes found the barest ring of light around the hatch. He sucked in a breath through his nose. He spit out dirt. He heard muffled voices overhead. He watched as the ring of light slowly was replaced with nothing but absolute blackness, the mercenaries overhead filling in the seams with more dirt until he could see nothing, nothing, nothing.

Nothing.

Isthe closed his eyes; it made him feel better, at least. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see. He just chose not to. The voices overhead faded away as footsteps receded, and he was left with nothing but his own wheezing breath, and the press of the cool dark earth against his back.

He counted to ten. The ache in his chest remained; perhaps it was more from the bruising and cracked rib of earlier than it was panic. Slowly, he worked his arms free of the ropes, numbly aware that their bindings had been only firm enough to safely move him from chair to pit without him causing another black eye or broken nose.

Katze’s nose had been broken before, anyway.

Isthe wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and cracked one eye open. He shut it again quickly when he could discern no difference, and his heart began to pound. The sound of it echoed in his ears, drumming panic with every hard, quickening beat. Medvetis would be coming for him.

He coughed just to hear a new sound. He could wait.

He couldn’t wait.

With no way to tell how long the time had passed, it could have been minutes or hours. Days. Weeks. He tried to climb the walls, but hit nothing but soft clay and damp earth, unable to get enough of a grip to haul himself up. No roots or rocks stuck out to give him support, and the effort only left him aching for breath that wasn’t clouded by grit.

Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks.

He took off his leather binder to sleep, relieving some of the pressure on his aching ribs. He thought of familiar voices, of the water against the docks, of some creature groaning protest to the tides. (That creature may have been him.)

Nightmares of an attacking dog and a high fever.

Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks.

He put his binder back on and gave up on sleep.

Isthe kept his eyes closed as much as he could, and leaned his back against the curved wall. He took his gloves off. He put them back on.

His stomach growled.

Hours. Days. Weeks.

He tried climbing the walls again. He threw clumps of earth at the hatch. It fell back onto his face. He spat out dirt. It dried his mouth out even more.

He wished he could at least make enough sound to talk to himself.

Days. Weeks. Months.

They had called him a madman for years now, because he couldn’t talk, because he couldn’t write, because he couldn’t learn, because–because he didn’t try to convince them otherwise. Medvetis and T’ke saw through it. But if they found him now, sitting in the dirt, counting his heartbeat and contemplating peeling his own skin to pass the time, would they still think the same?

Days. Weeks. Months. Years.

His stomach growled. His mouth became paste, more dirt than anything, with the barest taste of iron still lingering. He picked at the cut on his lip. The blood tasted too salty. His mouth filled with the coin Katze would be making from this, if Silas got a hold of Medvetis. If this worked. If he died alone in this pit, and the mercenaries captured his friends.

Weeks. Months. Years.

He didn’t take his binder off to sleep. He wasn’t much aware of the difference between sleep and wake. His dreams were just as vivid. The sunlight off the sea. The fog across the docks. The steam curling across the top of his mug. T’ke’s hands bandaging his wounds. Stars winking in the night. Medvetis’ laughter. The silky mane of his horse as he braided it. The foam on top of an ale. The smell of T’ke crushing herbs in a wooden bowl. Medvetis showing him how to draw a bow. The bite of frost after the first winter snow. The smell of summer hay. The way pollen stained his gloves after picking flowers. T’ke’s little smile. Medvetis’ warm hands. The crackle of a fire.

The way his teeth ached. The weakness in his limbs. The smell of old earth. The utter blackness. The taste of decay. The sound of his own breath. The way his fingers curled and uncurled. The beat of his heart, too tired to trip any longer.

Months. Years. Decades.

When the seam of light first appeared again, Isthe was sure it was a dream. After all, why would his eyes be open? He had barred them from opening. Or, had he been in darkness so long, he forgot if they were opened or closed?

The light blinded him. The hatch popped open, and the sunlight hurt. He turned his face away with a whimper, and thought at last he had died. This would be the afterlife he wanted, after all: the sound of familiar voices, familiar hands lifting him out of the dirt, water dabbed at his dry lips.

“He’s alive,” T’ke said quietly, and pressed a palm to his cheek.

Isthe cracked his eyes open. Medvetis had blood on his face, and the worry that furrowed his dark eyes was enough to make Isthe smile. That worry was summer wheat, a cool stream on a hot day, pollen on his gloves, the first frost of winter, the foam on his ale. It was home.

He was home.

[kclenhartnovels]

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻-(obvi u don't have to do em all)-🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

119 flowers, Lisa. 119. You think I won’t answer all of these? You’re a fool. I’m a fool. I’m going to answer all of them, and they’re all going to be Wolf at the Gates related so I can break your heart again. Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I’m putting it all beneath the cut so that not everyone has to suffer through this. Just you, Lisa. Suffer with me.

🌻 Here we go. Let’s go. First of all, WatG is about 18 years old. It’s older than most of tumblr. That being said, I found a fun game someone else did that has first and last lines of characters, so I’m gonna do that with the major players:

🌻 T’ke: “T’ke” and “I haven't lost it yet.”

🌻 Medvetis: “What has this man done?” and “Isthe, don't.”

🌻 Isthe: Is mute, has no dialogue

🌻 Constantine: “I don’t recognize him.” and “Long live the King.”

🌻 Delgos: “You’re supposed to be socializing, Con—my Prince. I’m not sure your father would be pleased about—”  and “May the stars guide his spirit.”

🌻 Alastair: “Just a few words. Can you spare the time?” and “I am sorry, but we will have to bind your wrists, in order to maintain appearance.”

🌻 Samantha: “Sir Alastair Lobane, am I right?”  and “Well, that could have gone worse.”

🌻 Valerian: “Mine ran off when I was attacked.” and “Away with you, rogue, before I lose my composure entirely.”

🌻 Kamin: [Not counting songs, because his first and last lines are actually both songs] “Any requests, my Lord?” and “If you would allow it.”

🌻 Jinx: “Pitiful crowd tonight.” and “Anger is all I have left, Delgos. Don't try to take that from me, too.” 

🌻 Ashleigh: “Oh, I can hold my own. Why do you ask?” and “Stay in here to sleep tonight, otherwise the men will raid your bags for scraps.”

🌻 Silas: “Only one word? From Valerian? I didn’t think it possible.” and “Dismissed. Both of you.”

🌻 Aashiq: and “Safe journey, little cousin. Don't lose that bright head of yours.”

🌻 Tallest character: Ash, followed by Medvetis

🌻 Shortest character: Kamin, though narrowly, and of course Constantine is next

🌻 Most popular: Valerian 

🌻 Least popular: Silas

🌻 Smartest: T’ke

🌻 Dumbest: Isthe is the least educated, but Con is the biggest dumbass

🌻 Oldest: Major characters only, Valerian. Otherwise, Silas.

🌻 Youngest: Kamin

🌻 Most talkative: V a l e r i a n

🌻 Least talkative: Not counting Isthe, Alastair

🌻 Since it’s pride month, let’s talk about orientations! Main character first! T’ke: Cis, Aro/Ace (touch-repulsed)

🌻 Medvetis: Cis, Demi-romantic, asexual

🌻 Isthe: Trans, ???romantic ??sexual, canonly has sex with a woman, probably at least bi

🌻 Constantine: Cis, super gay both romantic and sexual

🌻 Delgos: Cis, panromantic, pansexual

🌻 Alastair: cis, heteromantic and heterosexual (and so in love with Samantha)

🌻 Samantha: cis, ??? but definitely in love with Alastair

🌻 Valerian: cis (but honestly more gender-flexible if he allowed himself to be), bi but in denial about it

🌻 Kamin: cis, also extremely gay

🌻 Jinx: Cis but genderflexible, aromantic, pansexual

🌻 In the original draft, Samantha’s child from the first marriage died. But there was no real reason for it, and now she and Alastair just get to keep collecting children and they’ll all star in book 3 whenever I get around to it.

🌻 The original original draft was a short story. A short story. A short story. Save me.

🌻 This story has been around so long, the good news is I’ve been able to develop a lot of the world and backstory, such as:

🌻 Three generations of Vendave Kings and what happened during their rule: Marius, Silas, and Constantine

🌻 Two generations of Cielan Kings and their rule: Antony and Kendrick (after he takes out his brothers)

🌻 Two generations of Reckson Kings: [Ash and Xav’s father which I have not named], then Xaviastriuos and Ashleigh fighting over the throne.

🌻 Tawrivers, which was conquered by Vendave during Silas’ rule

🌻 Jinx is one of my favorite characters to write because she’s so unapologetically angry, bordering on feral. She is passionate and injured, and ready to take revenge because no one else will help her and her people.

🌻 Honestly, Jinx would have joined Medvetis and company in a heartbeat, if Valerian and Alastair hadn’t given them shelter and respect first. They are the only reason she didn’t join the rebellion.

🌻 T’ke has dysthymia, and is touch-aversive due to trauma in childhood. He is also very sensitive to sunlight due to his albinism. He wears so many layers both to protect his skin from the sun, and to hide his scarring as much as possible.

🌻 Isthe is mute thanks to a dog attack in his youth, and the attack led to a high fever for many days that nearly killed him. The infection damaged part of his memory, and as a result he has trouble learning new things. This is why T’ke is never able to teach him how to write. He prefers expressive communication anyway.

🌻 T’ke also gets seasick and it cracks me up every time because he’s so annoyed by that fact.

🌻 Valerian has severe agoraphobia, and after he was harassed by bandits in the beginning of the book, he never leaves Angaroth again. Samantha goes in his stead whenever he has to represent the area.

🌻 Alastair has lung problems thanks to his town being razed when he was a child, and severe smoke damage from the fire. It gets progressively worse as he gets older, but he tries very hard not to let it affect his work. 

🌻 Constantine is an excellent swordsman and a terrible horseman. He gets thrown from his horse at least twice over the course of the book. May have been three times. 

🌻 He also almost dies from sickness, gets strangled twice by Isthe, trips up the stairs during a swordfight, and generally gets his ass handed to him over and over again.

🌻 The beginning of each chapter has a journal entry from T’ke. If you take them all out and read it in order, it is a singular letter of sorts explaining his feelings about the whole story.

🌻 Delgos and Alastair have a very quick bromance that stays a strong friendship to the end of the book.

🌻 Alastair is the first person that Delgos comes out to. Unfortunately, Delgos confessing his love for Constantine flies way over Alastair’s head, and the response is more or less “you’re such a good guard, of course you love your king.” Whoops. He tried.

🌻 T’ke makes a binder for Isthe so he stops bruising his ribs with bandages. It then becomes a battle to make sure Isthe takes the binder off every night to sleep so he doesn’t injure himself. 

🌻 T’ke is such the mother of the dynamic trio and he would hate it if anyone points it out.

🌻 That being said, he also spends most of the book making all three of them immune to poisons by gradually introducing them all to it. 

🌻 One of the things that changed very little between initial writes and editing is Valerian’s dialogue. It remains paragraphs, rambling, warm, and ridiculous. I love him.

🌻 I need to make it more clear that Delgos is mixed race from a low-ranking family, because his change from middle child of a merchant sailor to Captain of the Guard speaks a lot about him, and about how much Constantine cares for him.

🌻 Valerian has two pet deerhounds that he adores, and are never used for hunting. They just lay all over everyone in the house instead. They were a gift from some nobility, but he never leaves the house to hunt with them.

🌻 T’ke keeps a pet hawk for a good portion of the novel. Isthe is inexplicably jealous of it.

🌻 Alastair gets incredibly attached to his horses, and names all of them after flowers from his mountain home.

🌻 Aashiq is also very attached to his donkey. 

🌻 Uh, let’s see. Book one is technically Medvetis’ story arc

🌻 Book two is Alastair’s arc

🌻 Book three is the next generation

🌻 T’ke’s story spans books 1 and 2. His journals cause book 3

🌻 Alastair’s sons are identical twins. Poor Samantha.

🌻 Seeing how Alastair was raised by a single man makes Constantine think very long and hard about adopting an heir rather than trying to make one by blood.

🌻 Most of the reason why Silas passed such terrible laws was because he was in love with Elophia, Kamin’s mother.

🌻 Kamin is the youngest of three. His two older sisters were taken to Tawrivers for sanctuary, but Kamin was too young to travel so far, so he was adopted by Jinx’s family.

🌻 Constantine and Kamin are about the same age, and should have been King and chief advisor if Silas hadn’t been a raging bag of dicks.

🌻 Constantine’s mother died from complications of childbirth. Silas blamed Elophia for not saving her.

🌻 Kamin was an unplanned child. They didn’t think that they could have any more children after the two girls. His name roughly translates to gift.

🌻 Which, incidentally, is what Nafal’s name translates to. Aashiq adores his son beyond all measure.

🌻 Jinx is not her real name, but it’s what she’s been called since she was a toddler, and she protects her real name as if she could some day go back to it.

🌻 Harper is Kamin’s title, not his last name. He is, after all, royalty.

🌻 Kendrick is Alastair’s cousin. There’s no accounting for family sometime.

🌻 I fixed Patience’s autonomy, and I can’t wait for her to pop back up later in book 2 or 3

🌻 At one point, Constantine accidentally breaks Medvetis’ nose. 

🌻 It probably wasn’t the first time Medvetis had his nose broken.

🌻 Speaking of single dads, Medvetis was raised by one, too! His mother died from the plague that rocked Vendave and its surrounding lands when he was young, and Cohen took over teaching and protecting him. Medvetis loved his father.

🌻 Oh! Apparently I have a wealth of single dads. Valerian more or less raised his daughter alone, as his wife’s schizophrenia got so bad she confined herself to her room for fear of hurting them. 

🌻 Silas theoretically raised his son alone after his wife died, but let’s be real, Silas didn’t do any raising. The servants did. 

🌻 Delgos was raised primarily by his mother and older siblings; his father was at sea most of the time.

🌻 T’ke was raised by Khalid and the rest of the merchant caravan, and they ruined him. 

🌻 Isthe was raised on the docks with the other street orphans, running with a group of kids and probably one or two pseudo-adults that kept them in line. I have no idea what happened to his parents, but it’s likely they died at sea.

🌻 Delgos really wants to have kids, and Constantine is slowly warming up to the idea. They will likely end up adopting later, and have the discussion about it in book 2

🌻 T’ke hates children. He actually just generally hates people. 

🌻 Medvetis wouldn’t mind having kids, but he would adopt and not have them naturally. As much as he would want kids, he doesn’t want to have sex.

🌻 Isthe loves kids. He loves people. Kids usually find him weird.

🌻 Isthe is also incredibly lucky at gambling, specifically dice games. I guess it balances out his poor luck when it came to the dog attack.

🌻 Isthe isn’t his birth name! He refused to let anyone know his birth name after he was attacked by a dog; he thought someone had used it to curse him. So, he made up a new one.

🌻 Delgos has a tattoo of the Runnemede lion on his chest. (Constantine thinks it’s incredibly hot)

🌻 Isthe gets a tattoo of Medvetis’ wolf on his arm at some point.

🌻 Kamin, of course, has his stars on his cheeks.

🌻 Jinx has the stars on her neck, plus another tattoo in her lower back

🌻 In the dark!AU, Delgos has a tattoo of the Cielan dragon instead :D

🌻 Speaking of defining marks, Medvetis has freckles and it is the most adorable thing

🌻 Also defining, Jinx’s red, red hair.

🌻 Ashleigh’s full name is true Reckson style: Ashleigh en Crowenne Brighton di Reckson

🌻 Originally, Wolf at the Gates and Dragon on the Mountain were one big book named Vendave because I had no idea what to title it. One big book. Thank god I had the sense to cut it in half.

🌻 Book 3 has nothing written on it yet, and only a vague idea of what the heck I’m doing with it.

🌻 Book 2 needs major rewrites but it’s not on the next “to do” list

🌻 I have no idea what any of the characters’ birthdays are, even though Medvetis turned 18 during a battle in the book.

🌻 These dumb kids are all so young in the book, it’s no wonder they suck at everything.

🌻 That’s a lie they mostly just suck at emotional stability and the ability to compromise.

🌻 Literally half the plot would fall apart if they all just sat at a table and talked it out.

🌻 All of the plot would fall apart if Silas hadn’t been a raging bag of dicks when he was alive.

🌻 Honestly I’m so mad that he just died in his sleep. He deserved a worse death and a shorter life but unfortunately the author let him get away with all of it. Damn it.

🌻 I thought a lot about cutting all the songs in WatG, but you convinced me otherwise. And no other beta readers were bothered by it. 

🌻 Have I mentioned yet that I had the best beta readers for this book? Because I had the best beta readers for this book. They were SO helpful.

🌻 I’m both tired of editing it, and very excited about editing it.

🌻 I’m debating on commissioning someone to make a map for me because I don’t want to, but the book really needs it. I have a rough sketch, but that’s it.

🌻 A part of me wants to go back and rewrite the book as pure medifant, instead of low fantasy, but I don’t want to develop a complex magic system, and it would change too many things. I just want it for the aesthetic really.

🌻 That being said, it’s heavily implied throughout the book that T’ke may really be magical, which is fun in a no-magic world. 

🌻 I was able to weave in some of the Ekanti “magic” though, including healing songs and tattoo work! 

🌻 Valerian is slightly magical too in that it seems like he doesn’t need air to keep talking. He just goes without ever pausing for breath.

🌻 When Samantha married Alastair, she takes Valerian under her wing too, and tries to keep him from getting beheaded by the crown, or at least getting his tongue removed.

🌻 Speaking of, an assassin later in the book has his tongue removed. Gross.

[kclenhartnovels]

🌻 🌻 🌻

How about some facts about everyone’s favorite villain that isn’t even going to be present until book 2 but go off I guess

🌻 Kendrick was definitely not first, or even second in line to be King. There was so much quarreling over who would inherit the crown, and so much fraternal backstabbing, that the entire Ciel children kept the King’s death a secret from the public until they sorted it all out, lest someone stage a coup.

🌻 While it’s barely a plot point, Kendrick and Alastair are actually cousins. Speaks a lot to nature vs nurture I guess.

🌻 He was terrified to end up with children of his own. After how much he loathed most of his siblings, he was sure he would be a terrible father and his kids would hate him and each other. Of course, children happened anyway, and he absolutely adores them, and tries very hard not to repeat his father’s mistakes with his family.