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if i think too hard about nikkiās experience in Obsession i feel physically ill. imagine one second youāre just walking up to your house after a night out, and then the next, youāre looking out of your own body, but youāre not longer in control. youāre a prisoner to a terrible, unnatural version of yourself that only exists because of a choice someone else made. when you scream, nobody listens. when you claw your way out for long enough to explain that this isnāt you, nobody listens. when you beg the man who trapped you in this situation to put and end to it, to set your free, he just. doesnāt. listen. and then when you do finally regain control, all your friends are dead, and you are covered in their blood. because of a choice someone else made
I genuinely appreciate how obsession doesn't try to frame bear as morally grey but just fully leans into how deplorable he is. a lesser movie would have tried to give him redeeming moments along the way but no, at every single crossroads bear makes the wrong choice. when the customer service rep asks him if he wants to cancel his wish, he says no, and asks to alter it. when nikki, the real one, begs him to kill her, he asks her "if it would be so bad to love him", and right at the end, backs out of killing himself and tries to throw the pills up. he is the villain, not another victim, not a confused, cowardly boy, the villain.
Just saw the interview where Curry Barker explained that it's totally possible to get a normal wish from the One Wish Willow, and I love the way they did that so much. The reason Obsession happened isn't because it's trying to twist Bear's desires into something evil. It's not even because he phrased his want wrong. Obsession happened because Bear got his hands on a magic item that could do anything in existence, and chose to force someone to fall in love with him, which is an inherently evil thing to do.
Ten years on from the war, Zuko had finally realised it would never be over. There were still families split apart, prisoners rotting in Fire Nation cells, and a deep hatred between the different nations. No matter how much he tried, how many reparations he forced, his family had fractured the world ā and he would need a hundred years to even begin stitching it back together. But he didnāt have that long. Every passing year felt like a decade for his weary bones. He missed his friends. Even his sister. But it had been years since he had anyone by his side. Mai had moved on, and he didnāt blame her for it. She got out before the weight of royalty could crush her. He found himself wishing more and more he could do the sameā
āFire Lord Zuko,ā One of his many advisers interjected his feverish thoughts, as Zuko blinked hard. The fragile skin around his scar stretched with some discomfort at the sudden movement, but he was the only one who noticed. āThe prisoners are all accounted for,ā The advisor exclaimed, gesturing to the fifty or so tired looking individuals crowded into the living area.
Zuko couldnāt help but wince when he noticed there were children amongst them. He hadnāt known, but who would believe him? Certainly not the prisoners who had been locked up for a decade despite the war being over. There were too many eyes on him suddenly, accusing and cold. They didnāt trust his intentions. Any Firebenderās intentions.
āNot prisoners. Citizens,ā Zuko corrected, raising his voice enough that the crowd could hear. A few scoffs echoed around the room, but he was undeterred. āThis is only a temporary measure. Before reallocation can be finalised. A handful of weeks, and thenā¦everyone can go home,ā Zuko explained, as an elderly man struggled forward, a splintering stick under his arm being the only thing keeping him upright.
āHome? What home would that be? My family is gone ā yours wiped them out,ā The man snapped, his eyes burning with a fury that Zuko would have only expected of a Firebender. But the blue sash over his arm told him sure enough the man was from the Northern Water Tribe.
āI cannot make up for the mistakes of my forefathersāā Zuko began, but the man was already cutting him off.
āNo. You cannot. You should leave us in peace until we are truly free. I never want to be forced to look into the eyes of one of your kind again,ā The old man spat out, receiving hurried nods from the crowd.
āYou should speak to the Fire Lord with more respect,ā One of the guards on his right argued, a small puff of fire escaping from his balled fist.
āIt is a reasonable request,ā Zuko mused, earning an odd look from some of his guards. He knew his words sounded weak to them, but he was tired to start another fight over something so fleeting. āI will leave you in the capable hands of Advisor Ukano,ā Zuko exclaimed, waving over Maiās father.
A sharp nod was sent his way by the greying man, only a few years out of prison himself. But who better to show the ex-prisoners that rehabilitation truly was possible than a man who had been in such a similar position? It was a risk. He knew that better than most. But Zuko refused to believe Ukano would do anything that would jeopardise the chances of him seeing his children again. He had already been absent for most of Tom-tomās life. As his newly appointed advisor began speaking to the crowds, going step by step through their rehabilitation plans, Zuko was quick to excuse himself. He waved off the guards who tried to follow, needing a moment to himself. Surely, he was allowed at least that. Shutting the large wooden doors behind him, Zukoās good eye darted around the room to find he had ended up in the kitchens. They were small and barely used, but the building itself had been erected in a hurry. As soon as he passed the bill that would release the last few prisoners of war, plans had to be put in place. Many had spent ten, or even twenty years stuck in the same four walls. They had no idea how to simply be anymore. There were concerns of what they could do and how they could be moulded by the factions growing throughout the world. So, they were sent to be trapped within new walls, to be assessed and reallocated where they could be. If their nations would take them back. Otherwise, the ex-prisoners would likely be carted off to Republic City. A new start, that Zuko found himself foolishly jealous of. Leaning back against the wooden doors, he let out a low sigh, tendrils of fire leaving his lips.
āIf you frown any harder youāll get wrinkles,ā A voice exclaimed, high above his head. Zukoās eyes snapped up to meet the newcomer, finding them leaning back in the steam vents near the ceiling. āAnd no one wants a wrinkly Fire Lord,ā She mused, as Zukoās eyes narrowed, regarding her closer.
She was young. A few years younger than him most likely, wrapped up in the drab prisoner clothes that even from a distance he could see were fraying at every hem. Her bright blue eyes were a stark contrast to the darker hue of her skin, watching him intently. Numerous questions danced on his lips, but only one drew sound.
āHow did you get up there?ā He questioned, as she shrugged her shoulder. His spine stiffened as she raised a hand, and he readied himself for an attack. He was always on alert. He had to be. But instead, it wasnāt him that her interest lay on, but the water slowly simmering away in a nearby pan. His eyebrow shot up as the water flew up into the air, tendrils of transparent liquid whizzing over his head and coming to rest above her waiting palm. His mouth remained slack as her fingers shot out, turning the water into ice in the blink of an eye. Without much thought, she used the ice to slide down toward him, jumping the last few metres as she underestimated how much water she had.
āShouldnāt you be happier? This should be a wonderful day for you ā resolving you of your guilt,ā The girl continued, coming to stand right in front of him, far closer than his guards would usually allow. She waved a hand and had the water from the pan swirling in the air for a moment, before dropping the liquid back where it originated from. Some droplets splattered against the surface of the counter, which caused her lips to twitch. Her movements were far more unsure and jerkier than he had ever seen Kataraās. She was new to bending, or at least being allowed to use it, he mused.
āI wasnāt even in the Fire Nation when most of these prisonersācitizens were captured,ā He clarified, as the girlās lips twitched again, looking like she wanted to argue. He found himself wanting her too, none of his advisors ever did. They chose to speak crassly behind his back instead. āI am only trying to do what is right. Itās what Iāve spent the past ten years trying to do,ā He insisted.
āYour sister was right. You are melodramatic,ā She huffed, even as her gaze drifted over his muscular form, wrapped up tightly in the colours of his nation. His long black hair was tied up, his crown attached atop his head as always, a few wisps of hair framing his handsome features. āYou grew up prettier than she thought though,ā The girl continued, with an appreciative smirk, her gaze returning to his golden eyes.
āThank you?ā Zuko replied, unsurely, finding it somewhat of a backhanded compliment. His mind began whirring then with interest. āYou knew my sister?ā He asked, earning a nod, as she started circling him.
āYears ago. When she was still sane,ā The girl exclaimed, before pouting her lips, thinking better of her words. āHalf sane.ā
āMy sister wasnāt the type to make friends with prisoners,ā He pointed out, attempting to call her out on what he expected was a lie.
āI never said we were friends,ā She corrected, a bitter tone to her words, something which left a bad feeling curling in Zukoās stomach. He knew how cruel his sister had been, and he doubted she had wanted anything good from the imprisoned waterbender.
āMy friend, Katara,ā He began, having to stifle a laugh at how strange the words still sounded from his lips. A decade ago the thought of even having friends seemed impossible. āSheās a waterbender. A Master. Are there others in your group?ā Zuko inquired.
āA few,ā She answered, warily. Giving a precise number seemed unwise. She half expected the Fire Lord to grab her and execute her in the street at any moment. āDo you really think just because your friend is a waterbender that weāll all have some magical connection?ā She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
āUh, no,ā Zuko replied, though that was a clear lie. Of course, he had to remember the girl was probably from the Northern Water Tribe. He still didnāt fully understand their dynamics or politics, but he guessed he had managed to put his foot in his mouth once again. āI just thought it would be good for your people to have someone other than Fire Nation citizens to speak with,ā He explained, as her brow furrowed.
āWhat do you really plan to do with us all at the end of this ārehabilitationā?ā She pushed, using finger quotes in the air.
āI donāt plan to do anything,ā Zuko frowned, not liking where her words were leading. āI would see you free. To go whether you choose,ā He stated, as a sad huff of laughter left her lips.
āChoice? None of us have had any choices in the past ten years,ā She muttered, her anger lacing with the sadness in her tone. Guilt started clawing away at Zuko as it always did. āIām not sure weād even remember how to make choices,ā She confessed, in a quieter tone.
āOnly a wise man is capable of asking stupid questions,ā Zuko mused, as she gave him a incredulous look.
āAre you calling me a man? Or stupid? Or maybe both?ā She retorted, as Zuko began shaking his head vehemently, cheeks burning bright.
āNo! No, no, no, I was onlyā¦ā He trailed off when she saw how her lips circled into a smile, amusement dancing behind her eyes. A similar expression was soon flashing over his own features.
āI appreciate the proverb, but I think my people will need a lot more than that to integrate back into society,ā She pointed out, as he brought his hand up to his chin, thinking hard.
āPerhaps I could help. I was banished ā for three years. It was difficult when I returned home. I could give some advice,ā He continued, as she raised an eyebrow.
āBut no more proverbs?ā She teased, as this time a genuine smile did spread over Zukoās lips.
āI think those are better left to my uncle,ā He suggested, when there was a knock at the door. It grew incessant in mere seconds, his guards calling out his name. āI should be going,ā Zuko said, gesturing to the door, as she gave a firm nod.
āDonāt tell anyone about the vents. I justā¦need some space,ā She sighed, as Zuko gave a nod of understanding. She was then pulling the water from the pan again and using a water-whip to pull herself back up toward the vent. Grabbing the edge of the vent, she shimmied back inside with a few swift movements, clearly having done the same before.
āWait,ā Zuko called up, causing her to go still. She peered over her shoulder, half expecting him to call for his guards. āYou didnāt tell me your name,ā He pointed out.
āWhy do you want to know?ā She asked, as he mulled it over.
āYou know my name,ā He argued, as she pursed her lips, the slight smile returning.
āKahlee,ā She responded, before pressing her finger to her lips and disappearing inside the vents, the sound of her shuffling muffled after a few moments.
Zuko twisted around to reach for the door, ready to let his guards in. But instead his hand hovered in the air, tasting her name on his lips. It felt new, different. And he liked it.
Despite being more fit than he had been a decade ago, Iroh was having trouble keeping up with his nephew that morning. The sun had barely begun to rise in the sky when Zuko had suggested they take a walk for quiet contemplation. Something that was far out of the ordinary for the anxious Fire Lord. Iroh let out a loud puffing sound, as he forced his feet to keep up with Zukoās pace, noticing their walk was leading them toward the Prison Tower he had once spent the months trapped inside.
āThere appears to be a purpose behind your steps this morning, nephew,ā Iroh stated, earning a slight shrug from Zuko.
āI just wanted some time away from the Palace,ā Zuko explained, as Iroh nodded slowly.
āThe pressure on your young shoulders weighs heavy. It would be better shared,ā Iroh pointed out, as Zuko all but rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming next. āPerhaps you should reach out to Maiāā Iroh started, when he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
āMai broke up with me, Uncle. And she was right to do so,ā Zuko murmured, with a downcast expression.
āAs your advisers continuously remind you, Zuko, there are more than enough ladies in this nation waiting for a chance with their esteemed Fire Lord,ā Iroh stated.
āAnd a life of duty,ā Zuko mused, when his feet came to a halt, much to Irohās relief. His forehead wrinkled when Zuko turned to the newly erected rehabilitation building close by to the prison grounds. āI think I will visit our new citizens this morning. To see how theyāre settling in,ā Zuko announced.
āThe Earth Kingdom representatives willāā Iroh said, as Zuko started nodding, though he was hardly listening.
āBe arriving this afternoon. Itās barely sunrise. It will just be a quick visit,ā Zuko retorted, a swell of excitement growing inside him as he picked up his pace and set off in the direction of the building.
Iroh watched his nephewās hurried footsteps, shaking his head fondly, simply hoping he knew what he was doing.
Kahlee brushed her spoon over the sludge they were being fed that morning. It was a slight step up from the inedible stews they were all but threatened to consume in prison. But not much. She couldnāt remember much about the food she had eaten at the North Pole, but she was certain it tasted better than the beige paste on her tongue. Just as she was about the bring the spoon back to her lips, a shadow was cast over her. She glanced up, both eyebrows shooting up when she found the Fire Lord standing beside her. She had to push down the urge to laugh at the awkward wave he sent in her direction before slipping into the seat opposite her. He stood out immediately, not only because of the red and golden colours he wore, but his shoulders alone were broad enough to shield her from the view of everyone else in the room. Not that it was a bad thing.
āBack so soon, Fire Lord?ā She exclaimed, as he pulled the bag away that had been clasped over his shoulders. Some of his dark hair fell free from the topknot he wore, distracting Kahlee for a moment, before she shook herself out of the odd trance.
āI said I wanted to help. And my uncle always says that food is the best olive branch,ā Zuko explained, as he pulled out a tray of Fire flakes from the bag, still steaming slightly.
āYouāre uncle sounds like a wise man,ā Kahlee snorted, as Zuko then slid one of the pouches toward her. He didnāt miss how she flinched a little, but she was quick to mask her reaction, her cheeks reddening a little. He doubted any of the prisoners had been treated well by the Fire Nation guards, and muscle memory was a hard thing to break.
āItās not poisoned,ā Zuko said, as a teasing smile grew on Kahleeās lips.
āI hadnāt thought to ask, but thanks for the heads up,ā She sniggered, before picking up a handful of the Fire flakes, her eyes going wide. A surprised huff escaped her, as she was quick to grab another handful and drizzled the flakes over her bowl.
āWhere have you Firebenders been hiding these?ā She gaped, picking her spoon back up and all but devouring the spiced sludge.
āI thought you might like it,ā He exclaimed, voice tinged with amusement when he noticed her bowl was finished.
āYou know, you donāt need to bring me gifts to find out more about Azula,ā Kahlee murmured, slurping up the last bites of her food.
āThat wasnāt my intention,ā Zuko said, as blue met with golden, both studying each other for a moment. When Kahleeās gaze seemed to drift to his scar, he allowed the loose pieces of his hair to press further against his cheeks, attempting to hide that part of himself.
āReally? Then why come back?ā She pushed.
āApart from me, you seem like the loneliest person in this city,ā He pointed out, worried that he had taken a step too far when he saw how her face twisted.
āā¦Third,ā She argued, as he cocked his head to the side in confusion.
āWhoās first then?ā Zuko inquired.
āYour sister,ā She mused, as Zukoās face fell, imaging his sister bundled up in a straitjacket, muttering to herself in her cell at that very moment. āShe wanted me to help heal her mind ten years ago. Thatās why she came to see me,ā Kahlee informed him.
āAnd?ā Zuko frowned, not having expected those words.
āSome peopleā¦theyāre just too far gone,ā She replied, as Zuko grit his teeth together when he felt his eyes starting to sting. Without his parents, Azula should have been the closest family he had. But he had her locked away from the world, drowning in her own hatred. She would forever feel he had betrayed her.
āI know,ā Zuko mumbled, suddenly standing up from his chair, tugging at the neck of his shirt, the fabric seeming too tight against his skin. He gestured to the other pouch of Firs Flakes, attempting to steady his breathing. āFor the others,ā He told her, before twisting around, ready to sprint out of the room.
āThis helps,ā Kahlee began, as his feet came to a sudden halt. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as she ran her teeth over her bottom lip for a moment. āIf you have the time, you could come back,ā Kahlee continued, as a proper, genuine smile grew on Zukoās lips.
āEven if I am Fire Nation scum?ā He suggested, as Kahlee rolled her eyes.
āFire Lord scum. Thereās a difference,ā She corrected, standing upright and sauntering over to him. The guards on the other side of the room stood to attention as she came to stop right in front of him, close enough she could feel the heat radiating from his body. āBesides, I could use some entertainment around here,ā Kahlee smirked, as their eyes met.
it's unpleasant to admit but the master does human bigotry on purpose. not because he has any stake in the game, i think he just relishes in any chance to be mean. misogyny means nothing to him, but any opportunity to make life worse for other people, you know?
this whole ao3 disaster just proves that fic writers are essential (!!!) to fandoms. so many people find themselves dependent on these stories and having a 24/7 access to them and they don't really think how much work goes behind that
so when ao3 is up, please let the writers know how much you appreciate them! donate to ao3 if you can so their team is able to support the platform and protect it!
with ao3 down i hope this reminds us of what a fanfic-less existence looks like. donāt take it for granted! because it sucks not to have it.
fanfic would not exist without the hours of free labour from fanfic writers and volunteer staff. donate to otw if you have the means. taking a second to give kudos is nothing compared to months of work for writers. a comment will probably make their whole day! sharing and reblogging spreads their work. itās so discouraging when you give your heart to something, only to receive nothing in return.
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Kesia set her gaze upwards towards the sky, taking note of the lack of clouds above, sunlight warming her skin for what she assumed would be the last time. Come nightfall, she expected to be dead. Pleasing Lord Ashford was one thing, but a Targaryen Prince? Their madness and impulsiveness was known throughout all realms. She was sure to be a disappointment. Putrid breath was against her neck a moment later, as Lord Ashford stepped closer to her, a warning look in his gaze. She strained her bound hands instinctively, the rope tied around her wrists cutting against the fragile skin.
"You will do what is asked of you. Without your usual hostility," Lord Ashford hissed, close to her ear.
"I may find it easier to do as I am ordered if I had free use of my hands," Kesia retorted, earning a sharp laugh from the plump man.
"You think me stupid, girl? If the Prince wishes to have you unbound, that is his choice. But whilst you are in my presence, you will be restrained," Lord Ashford muttered.
Cheers could be heard echoing off the walls, followed by the galloping of hooves. The Targaryen's precession drew closer. Kesia straightened her back, trying her best to keep her face as impassive as possible. If she were to die, she would do it silently. Men had already taken enough from her. From across the courtyard, there was a flurry of movement, but it was no dragon that she found staring at her. A tall man, towering a foot above most, was gazing with a look of such concern, it had Kesia taken aback. She was quick to realise his worry must have stemmed from seeing a young girl tied up by the honourable Lords. Her brow furrowed as she noticed he began marching forward, shoulders rigid as if he expected his next words would end with him in the gallows. Before he could approach, Lord Ashford was racing forward, as fanfare began. The Targaryen sigil came into view, red and black, such as the clothes the riders wore.
"Our Lord of Ashford humbly welcomes the great and honorable Baelor Targaryen, firstborn son of King Daeron the Good. Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King and heir to the Iron Throne."
Lord Ashford ushered his young daughter forward, as Kesia was forgotten in the background, something she was grateful for. Prince Baelor dismounted his horse with ease, carrying himself in a way one would expect from royal blood. Kesia curtseyed as best she could as he approached, sharing a hearty handshake with her captor.
"And his brother, Maekar."
The white-haired Targaryen clenched his jaw at the dismissive nature of the words, throwing himself off his horse, as mud splattered up his boots. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders, muttering a curse as he stormed over to them. Lord Ashford peered over his shoulder at Kesia, clicking his fingers, expecting her to step forward.
"It is a great honour to receive, your Grace," Lord Ashford exclaimed, evidently sweating from even a far distance. He was then holding out his arm, to gesture to Kesia, as all eyes turned to her. The violet hue the Targaryen's held was enough to strike fear into most, and she found herself no different. "The gift you asked for, my Lord. I trust you will find her adequate," Lord Ashford said, as Maekar's gaze narrowed, sweeping over her for a moment.
"She is as gifted as you say?" Maekar questioned, earning a hurried nod in response.
"Oh yes, my Lord. She is yours to do with as you wish," Lord Ashford stated, as Kesia's jaw ticked, pushing down to the urge to bite the old man for such words.
"You truly plan to see this madness through?" Baelor huffed, a light scoff escaping his lips.
"Bring the girl to my chambers," Maekar ordered, dismissing his brother's words.
"...Now, my Lord?" Lord Ashford inquired, as Maekar let out an exasperated sigh.
"Did that sound like a fucking question?" Maekar huffed, as Lord Ashford grabbed Kesia by the shoulders, all but shoving her forward to follow the Targaryen Prince who was already storming inside the castle.
Kesia glanced behind her to see the tall man gritting his teeth, hand on the hilt of his sword, before he averted his eyes to the mud. He must have realised she was a prize not worth risking his life for. And she could hardly blame him. Maekar was led through to his chambers, not as grand as his older brother's, who was to be given Lord Ashford's own bed. Another scoff left him as he marched over to the bedside table where a flagon of wine was waiting for him. There was a chill in the air, as the wind whistled through the gaps of stone in the chambers, the only sound for some time. Lord Ashford wrung his hands nervously as the guards left the room, leaving him alone with the Targaryen Prince and his prisoner. Once Maekar had finished his first goblet of wine, he spun around, ushering for Kesia to come forward.
"Remove her bindings," Maekar ordered, as Lord Ashford's eyes darted between the pair for a moment.
"That may be unwiseā" Lord Ashford began, but the irritated look from Maekar was enough to have him clamping his lips shut. He strode forward, and with a few hard tugs, free Kesia's wrists. Once she was free, he all but jumped back, careful to stay out of her reach.
"Leave us," Maekar said, waving a dismissive hand, as Lord Ashford immediately did as he was asked, knowing better than to question the Targaryen once more. The sound of the large oak doors slamming shut had Kesia flinching, as the realisation of how dangerous her situation hit her suddenly.
"Don't look at me like that, girl. My intentions are not as perverse as you appear to fear," Maekar huffed, leaning back against the wooden table his wine sat upon.
"My apologies, my Lord. I did not mean to offend," Kesia responded, as he grunted.
"I have far more to be concerned with than your disgruntled expressions. I presume the disappearance of my sons has been spoken about within these walls?" Maekar mused, as Kaela debated over her next words. Silence hung in the air, becoming irksome to Maekar. "Speak, girl," He instructed.
"I was merely trying to choose the words that would allow me to keep my head on my shoulders," Kesia pointed out, as Maekar raised a white brow.
"Quick tongue. Hmm. That may make your task difficult," Maekar mumbled, as Kesia's forehead wrinkled, daring to take a step forward.
"Why have I been bought, my Lord?" Kesia questioned, as he rose from his slouched position.
"I require a demonstration first," He told her, approaching her in a few swift steps, holding his hand out to her. Kesia stared down at the offered limb for moment, wondering how long it had been since she had been allowed to touch another's skin.
"What do you wish to see, my Lord?" She asked.
"It matters not as long as my mind leaves this dreary place," Maekar explained, as Kesia gave a slow nod, moving her hand to hover over his.
She was apprehensive. She knew what her touch could do ā if she was to cause a Targaryen Prince to lose his mind, her death would be something unimaginable. Sucking in a shaky breath, she clasped the older man's hand, her eyes snapping shut. His mind was warm, but jumbled. She could feel the fear seeping into his bones, so much worry for his missing sons. A young boy, with deep purple eyes and white hair came to the forefront quickly. She brought them to a meadow, with trees higher than any man had seen. His son chased a squirrel in the branches, a beaming smile on his face, appearing happier than could be. A simple trip had the tiny boy hurtling toward Maekar, who leapt forward to catch his son, holding him close in his arms. The sound of the boy...Aegon, could be heard echoing around the meadow.
Loosening her grip on his hand, Maekar's eyes slowly fluttered open, wet and with a sadness she could not decipher. He could still hear his youngest's laughter in his ears, the warmth of his skin against his own. He didn't fight against the tears in his eyes, welcoming the bittersweet feeling, fearing it might have been the last time the emotion washed over him.
"Did my performance suffice?" Kesia questioned, as Maekar huffed out something akin to a laugh.
"I think you will do nicely," He mused, twisting around to pour himself another goblet of wine. She had been asked to show some of the most heinous, disturbing images imaginable in the past, leaving her to fear what a Targaryen's mind might wander. "I have bought you for my son. Aerion," Maekar informed her, causing her frown to deepen.
The smallfolk often spoke about how Aerion was the cruellest Targaryen alive. Half mad. And now his father wanted her to be his plaything? Kesia glanced at the large window and the grey sky outside. She mulled over the impulsion to jump. It would surely be a quicker death than whatever Aerion would have in store for her.
"The Prince has requested a Skinchanger?" Kesia spoke, as Maekar shook his head, taking a large gulp from his goblet.
"My son's mind is rotting. Even I can see this is so. But you...you can walk through his mind. Find what plagues him, cut it out root and stem," Maekar explained, as Kesia shot him a look of disbelief.
"If a mind is not willing for me to enter, there can be...consequences," Kesia warned, as Maekar's fingers stilled against his cup.
"With his mind as it is, even those consequences would be better than allowing his sickness to continue," Maekar sighed, placing the cold goblet against his forehead, still appearing conflicted. "You are not a mother?" Maekar asked.
"No, my Lord. Thank the Gods," She mumbled, unable to think of anything worse than forcing a child to live the life she had.
"Then you cannot understand why I act this way. Aerion is a monster. But he is still my son. My boy," He told her, shaking his head a little, the image of his son whilst he was still young and hopeful etched into his mind.
"And if his mind cannot be swayed?" Kesia pushed.
"I am at the end of my rope. Do what you can. Help him," Maekar all but pleaded, as Kesia's eyebrows rose a little. To ask for her assistance so blatantly, she knew the Targaryen was desperate. An opportunity to exploit, she mused.
"What will I be promised if I do? If Aerion can become the heir you wish him to be?" Kesia insisted, as Maekar pursed his lips, watching her closely.
"Freedom."
The Prince's chambers were stifling. The fireplace in the corner had been piled high with wood, causing the flames to scorch the stone surrounding them. Smoke wafted in the air, causing Kesia's breath to catch for a moment. Though it may have had something to do with Aerion Targaryen's striking appearance. He sat at his dining table, an array of meat and fruits scattered around, as his violet eyes shot up to meet hers. They pierced right through her. Aerion cocked his head to the side, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe, a mocking smile spreading over his lips.
"Your father sent for me to join you this eve, my Lord," Kesia announced, keeping her voice steady despite the way her heart was pumping hard in her chest. A sharp laugh left the Prince's lips, a slight bitterness to the tone.
"Is my father so concerned with keeping me in line he sends me whores to occupy my time?" Aerion mused, pursing his lips for a moment, before his waving his hands to the guards that had allowed her to enter. "Leave us," He exclaimed, pushing himself up from his seat, sauntering to the end of the table.
His jacket was a rich, blood-red, a striking contrast to his pale skin. Underneath he wore a shirt adorned with what appeared to be chainmail. Or...dragon scales? It was difficult for Kesia to tell in the dimming light, and she knew better than to be caught staring. Averting her eyes to the ground, she heard the doors shut behind her, leaving her alone with the strange Targaryen. The creaking of wood had Kesia daring to glance up, seeing Aerion leaning back against his dining table, holding himself in a similar his father had done earlier. He was quick to remove his sword belt from his waist, placing the weapon behind him on the table. His fingers danced along the hilt for a moment, as the threat hung in the air. He was no fool then, Kesia realised. He knew better than to trust a stranger in his chambers, even if she was just a girl.
"My father picked well," Aerion mumbled, thrusting off the table to march over to her, his violet eyes poring over her once more. Her looks were different than most girls he had. With black hair, and green eyes so light they almost seemed white in the candlelight, he gave a pleased nod. "Despite that unsightly scar," Aerion said, his gaze falling on the white line that ran from her chin up and over her lips.
"It is hardly a blemish I was born with," Kesia retorted, as Aerion's eyebrow shot up.
"Turn around."
Pressing her lips together, she did as she was ordered, without a word. Her mouth had already troubled her enough in the past. Her hands twitched by her side, finding her heart was racing at the fact that the Prince was now out of her eyeline. Maeker had warned her to watch herself around his son. 'A proclivity for the immoral'. Considering Targaryen standards, Aerion's behaviour must have been a different type of deviant to cause his father such concern. Any thoughts were quick to leave her mind as Aerion's hand was suddenly clasping her hip, his fingers pressing into the skin above her hip bone. A hum left his lips as Kesia felt him press the hard lines of his body up against her back, his hand moving to trail over her stomach, keeping her still.
"I think this position will be far more favourable," Aerion murmured, as a soft scoff left Kesia's lips.
It seemed the action was loud enough for Aerion to hear, as his warm body was quick to leave her. His hand was then ushering for her to spin back around. Kesia's eyes widened as she watched him strip off his red jacket, leaving him in the dark scaled shirt, the fabric tight enough to stretch with every breath he took.
"Take off your clothes. On the bed," He told her, in a dismissive tone, his hands going to his breeches.
"I believe my Prince has misunderstood why I have been sentā" Kesia began, when he cut her off.
"I prefer my whore with their mouths closed," Aerion informed her, in a cold tone.
"I am no whore," Kesia spat out, eyes burning with rage, as Aerion regarded her closely for a moment.
"You are what the Dragon wills you to be," He exclaimed, before striding forward, his hand raised, whether to grab her neck, she would not find out.
Before he could touch her, Kesia's own hand was lunging forward and clasping around his wrist. The Prince was startled for a split second, not having expected for her to do something so bold. And that was all she needed. Scrunching her eyes shut, she delved into the recesses of his mind, surprised with what she found. It was feverish. Flames burning high through every memory she tried to walk through. Unlike most, they were no faces that Aerion held onto, rather flashes of dragon scales whizzed past her closed eyes. It wasn't the first time she had conjured such a beast in a man's mind, but whilst most wished to ride a dragon, Aerion was different. She could feel it. He wanted to be as one with the extinct beasts. She did as he wished. She turned his skin to hardened scales, eyes a monstrous amber, and breath hotter than any fire imaginable. Aerion's hands ran down his arms, amazed at the cold scales underneath his clawed fingers. He could feel the heat of his own breath against his lipsā
His knees were giving out a moment later, as he staggered to the stone floor. His brow furrowed as he looked down to see only pale skin and ten pink fingers. But the feeling of scales was still stained in his mind. His violet gaze snapped up to Kesia's, who barely appeared winded by the feat.
"As I said, my gifts are far rarer than being able to pleasure a man," She huffed, as Aerion's face contorted, refusing to be bested by the girl.
"How were you able to concoct those images in my mind's eye?" He pushed, as he stumbled back to his feet, now towering above her.
"I assume you have never met a Skinchanger before," She replied, taking a step back, half fearing he might strike her.
"I know of the gifts a Skinchanger possesses. That was something else," Aerion insisted.
"I push further where most men are afraid to go. Perhaps I am simply more imaginative than most," Kesia shrugged, as Aerion ran his tongue over his dry lips.
"Why did my father send for you?" Aerion pondered.
"He believes your mind to be diseased. I imagine I am to be the cure in his eyes," Kesia went on, as a haughty laugh left Aerion's lips.
"Then he will find himself disappointed. I am as sane as he is," Aerion argued, as Kesia quirked a brow.
"You should know better than to lie to someone who has seen inside your mind, my Prince," Kesia said, daring to allow a slight smirk to grace her lips.
In one swift motion, Aerion had pulled free a dagger he had hidden within the confines of his shirt, and had raised it to her neck. Kesia's eyes grew as the blade nicked at her neck, as tense silence engulfed the pair. She truly thought she was about to die, but then, just as quickly as the blade had appeared, Aerion was dropping the weapon back to his side. An amused laugh fell from his lips, seeming to enjoy the fearful expression on her face.
"Watch your mouth, girl, or I'll give you a matching scar," Aerion warned, reaching out to run his thumb over her scarred lips. Kesia flinched a little at the gesture, but she didn't pull away as Aerion dragged his thumb down the line of her jaw, before wiping away the small stream of blood running down her neck. With his thumb now bloodied, he stared down at the offending hand for a moment too long. "Skinchanger or not. All but the Dragon bleeds," Aerion mused, bringing his thumb close to his face, leaving Kesia to wonder whether he would lick the digit clean.
"I thought it was only burning that dragons were immune to," Kesia pointed out.
"Perhaps," He mused, turning around to march back over to his dining table, pouring himself a goblet of red wine.
"Truthfully, I care little for healing what plagues you. But I have been promised my freedom for such a task. A deal could be struck, could it not?" Kesia exclaimed, as Aerion twisted back around, bringing to goblet up to his lips, his intense gaze not leaving hers.
"And what do you have that I would want?" Aerion retorted.
"Was my demonstration not enough?" Kesia scoffed, as sucked against his teeth, pondering.
"I do not want some peasant girl pawing at my inner thoughts," Aerion told her, as Kesia felt her heart drop. If Aerion refused her, what would happen? Would Lord Ashford take her back, or would she simply be slain? "Though I can see how your gifts may bring some entertainment," He mumbled, something dark flashing across his face.
"I am not a weapon for you to brandish," Kesia argued, as he took a long gulp of his wine, his lips appearing reddened as he placed the goblet back on the table.
"No?" Aerion asked, in a mocking tone. He didn't seem to be as angered as some Lords had been in the past in regards to her sharp tongue. In fact, she was starting to think it was quite the opposite. He liked a challenge, she realised. "Would you prefer to be my maid? My whore?" He mused, his gaze lowering down to her body again, tilting his head to the side.
"If you wish to get a rise out of me, my Prince, you must use cruder language," Kesia informed him, before sauntering forward, noticing how Aerion's hand moved behind him to clutch the hilt of his sword. There was no fear in his eyes, only distrust. "And frankly, I would rather drink myself into a stupor than any of your suggestions," She huffed, reaching out to take the goblet he had abandoned.
Their eyes met as she drank the wine, something unspoken laying heavily in the air. Once she had drank her share, she passed the goblet back to the Prince, who's gaze had never dropped. Careful to avoid her slender fingers, he took the offering.
"You will not touch me. You will not enter my mind. Is that understood?" Aerion pushed, as her brow furrowed.
"You have seen what I can do. Why do you not wish for more?" Kesia frowned, as he finished off the wine in the goblet.
"Your questions bore me," He announced, reaching for his sword belt, looping it back around his waist, as an almost sinister smile grew on his lips. "The night is still young. Show me what else you can do, Skinchanger. And I may just keep you," Aerion told her.
Kesia was not used to the pitiful looks that were thrown in her direction as she hurried after Aerion's long strides through the camp. Knights and whores alike would shake their heads as she passed, muttering about what she could have done to deserve such a fate. It hardly helped the fear that had settled in her chest. Aerion almost appeared to have a jump in his steps as he marched past the tents, seeming to look for the right kind of man. Perhaps victim was the better word, Kesia mused. His black coat billowed in the cold night, making him appear far more imposing, as many bowed as he passed by. But not all.
"All I'm saying is those damn dragons never bring anything good. Incestuous bastards, the lot of them," The words carried on the wind, as Aerion's footsteps stopped in the mud. His feet twisted, head raised high, searching for whoever had uttered such an accusation. He soon found the Knight, who had no idea of the danger he was now in.
"No wonder Maekar's youngest have tried to escape his clutchesāwhat?" The dark-haired knight frowned, when he noticed the way his commrades faces had turned grey. He spun around to see Aerion some metres away, his hands clasped in front of him, the beginning of a smirk on his lips.
"Go on," Aerion goaded, the glint of his sword shining in the candelight as he took a step forward. "What was it you were saying about my brothers?" Aerion pushed, as the knight audibly gulped.
"I meant no offence, my Prince," The knight replied, as Aerion gave a slow nod.
"It matters not to me whether my brothers are halfway to the Wall or dead in a hedge afar," Aerion continued, his feet brining him closer to the knight, like a predator stalking their prey. The knight seemed even more unnerved by his words. "But I believe you called me...Skinchanger, what was it?" He called back, peering over his shoulder, waving her forward.
"An incestuous bastard," Kesia repeated, as Aerion gave a firm nod, reaching up to run his fingers over his lips.
"My cups have clouded my judgement this eve. I truly did notā" The knight began, as Aerion tapped at his lips with his forefinger.
"Reach for him," Aerion commanded, glancing to Kesia, who gave him an apprehensive look. The knight was stupid, that was for certain, but the excited look in Aerion's gaze had her feeling a slither of pity of the man. "Now," Aerion insisted, his violet eyes piercing into her so deeply for a moment that her thoughts dissipated.
Before she knew what she was doing, she had lunged forward and grabbed the man's hand. His mind was a little stronger than she had been expecting, but with her eyes fluttering closed and fingernails digging into his skin, she felt herself falling into his mind. There was so much fear. Scared of the Prince, of the morning that would come, even his own father. She felt Aerion's presence close behind her, his breath against the back of her neck, causing her to shiver momentarily.
"Show him the fire a dragon holds," Aerion commanded, and just like that, she set the knights mind aflame.
A horrible screech came from his lips, as Kesia scrunched her eyes shut tighter. She could feel how he must have fallen to his knees, his arm dragged down to the mud. She kept her hold on him, causing even the deepest recesses of his mind to burn. The knight began choking, horrible racking sobs escaping from him every so often, as he felt smoke entering his lungs. Even she could feel the stifling warmth against her own skin. Kesia's eyes were snapping open a moment later, when she realised it was Aerion who had taken hold of her hand. With one swift tug, he had pulled her palm away from the man, who collapsed in a heap in the mud. The crowds that had surrounding them began dispersing silently, only the knights terrified cries could be heard over the flickering of the torches around them. Movement caught her eye, as she peered to the side to see the tall man from earlier that day, his mouth hung agape. There was no concern in his bright eyes now. Only fear. Kesia felt her chest twist and tighten. She hated that look.
"Very good," Aerion mused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he came to stand in front of her. Kesia blinked back at him, surprised to see there was still no terror in his gaze. In fact, he seemed more enthralled than ever. "What did you say your name was, girl?" He questioned, as it took a few moments for her lips to remember to move.
"Kesia," She responded, as his lips twisted into a grin.
"I must thank my father come the morn," He announced, reaching out to hook his fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I think you may be the most captivating gift I have received ," He told her, his grin growing.
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