Random Pairing Contest

[Skittlebug]

This will be a short fanfic contest.

Everyone can submit as many characters as they would like up until Sunday.

On Sunday I will throw all of the names together and draw them in pairs. Every person who entered charcters will be assigned a pair. You must submit at least one charcter if you want to participate.

You must write a short fanfic about how your pair might hook up.

Every entrant must write at least one, but additional pairs can be requested. The only catch is you have to write a fic for each pair you get.

Everyone gets one veto.

You have until the end of the month, when the most amusing fic will be crowned.

All fics are to be PMd to me. I will post them in this thread and reveal the authors once the winners are decided at the end of the month. (on the slight chance that no one's guessed who wrote everything)

The winner gets 50 brownie points, as well as one sketch of the pair in the winning fic, and one of the pair from any other fic of their choosing.

Runner up gets 25 brownie points and a sketch of the pair in the runner up fic.

Edit: If you need info about one of the characters you were given, feel free to pm their owner. ^^

Here is the list of extra pairs, once you have submitted your first fic, you can request one of these, which I'll cross off =p

Smoke and Harmony
Acqua and Sain
Kleio and Adam
Emerald and Shadow
Ann and Libre
Zira and Morrigan
Jonathon and Schuldig
Demetria and Dreamwarp
Arcan and Divria
Zack and Dusk
Filly and Scarlet
Noel and Jane
Drake and Fiest

[Darastrix]

I'll toss in a few so we can start a good pool of potential pairings, and since the chosen pairs will be hooking up, I'm including their orientations.

• Zira, homosexual
  
• Zack, primarily heterosexual
  
• Schuldig, pansexual
  
• Lucifer, asexual
  
• Smoke, homosexual
  
• Dusk, bisexual
  
• Sabine, heterosexual
  
• Scarlet, heterosexual
  
• Jane, heterosexual
  
• Fiest, bisexual
  

[Kender Bard]

Callum, Straight
Filly, Bisexual
Fausta, Straight but will be bisexual if the job calls for it
Sain, Straight
Jonathan, Hyposexual Straight
Lya, Straight
Demetria, Straight
Arcan, Straight
Morrigan, Straight
Dreamwarp, Bisexual
Harmony, Straight
Kleio, Homosexual
Libre, Straight
Thelon, Straight
Cascata, Straight
Divria, Straight
Emerald, Straight
Delilah, Primarily straight with bisexual interest
Noel, Straight

[Northen Light36]

Acqua, Straight
Mat, Bisexual
Echo, Bisexual
Ann, Straight
Shadow, Straight
Zevran, Bisexual
Gemma, Straight
Artica, Straight
Daniel, Straight

[blackjack6124]

Jack - Straight, open to bisexuality.

[Skittlebug]

Because I can.

Drystan - Straight as an arrow

[tuo]

Ah heck, I'll at least provide characters if nothing else.

Calan, straight but can be bisexual for extra influence or if it contributes to future goals

Bael, straight

Adam, bisexual with straight preference

Drake, straight but a little bi curious

[Northen Light36]

Pairing submitted.

[Skittlebug]

Entry 1
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Echo hears it first and the flicker of fear in her eyes alerts the other two. Acqua swallows hard and lifts a hand to trace the finger prints bruised onto her throat. Mat frowns, gesturing for the girls to stay quiet while he judges the sound of the on coming footsteps.

Fast and heavy. He's angry. Clearly his night hasn't gone well and all three in the little room know full well that it'll be one of them who'll pay the price. Echo shifts, bracing herself to go out and get his attention, but Mat stops her with a hand. “Go to bed, girls. Quickly.”

“But... Mat...” Acqua is torn between protest and relief. She hasn't yet healed from the last of Daniel's 'affectionate' gestures and fears his wrath even more then usual.

Mat meets her eyes then looks away again. He pities her more then he does himself or Echo. She had once had people who loved her, until Daniel had sunk his claws into her, had stolen that last piece of innocence that Flux had failed to take. He and Echo had merely gone from one cruelty to another and had lost nothing along the way. “It's not so bad for me,” he lies to offer a drop of comfort. “Bed, hurry.”

All three hasten to their beds and the two girls give Mat one last sorrowful look before faking sleep. They know better then to believe that their master will truly be fooled, but unless it's one of them in particular who's angered him, Daniel tends to go for the easiest target for his games.

When Daniel flings open the door, the girls continue their pretence while Mat jumps, acting as though he had been startled out of a daydream. Hastily he slides from his bed and drops to his knees. “How may I serve you, master?” he murmurs, the words coming to his lips with trained ease.

Daniel stares down at him, temper burning in his eyes. When he says nothing however, Mat risks glancing up through his eyelashes and sees Daniel eyeing the two girls. Forces damn this, he thinks but says only, “The girls are tired. They could not s-satisfy you tonight, Master. P-please, allow me to serve you.”

Daniel notices the slight stutter, knows Mat is forcing the words out and smiles to himself. The reluctant offer is almost as satisfying as he finds Mat's defiance in protecting the girls annoying. That rebellion, slight as it is, must be punished. “You wish to serve me, do you?” His voice is gentle, the sweet softness that had, at one time, lured all three of his servants into his grasp.

Mat knows the poison that lies under the velvet, however, and he shivers with nerves as Daniel runs a fingernail lightly over Mat's bare chest. “It is my duty and my honour to serve you.” He tastes blood when Daniel splits his lip in a casual backhand and hears Acqua's sharp intake of breath. Keep your eyes closed, he thinks desperately, wishing he had a mind sign. He dares not look over and risk drawing Daniel's attention to her. That will only lead to both of them paying this price.

“I do despise lies,” Daniel remarks casually, tilting Mat's face roughly upwards. “Particularly when you do it so badly.” He makes a soft tsking sound, like a parent disapproving of a child's misbehaviour. “What use are you to me when you cannot even manage a simple lie? Worthless boy, are you not?” He draws a dagger and fingers it idly, a silent challenge for Mat to prove his worth – in the manner they both know Daniel expects of him.

“I have my uses,” he murmurs softly, reaching up to unbuckle Daniel's belt. He stalls what is coming for a moment by stoking the other man's hips, buying time to focus his thoughts. This is merely another con, another time to use his body as a diversion. He knows that allowing this to register as the violation of trust it actually is would destroy him.

So Mat thinks only of the girls he will eventually steal away as he takes Daniel into his mouth. He thinks of the wealth and power all three of them will own one day as Daniel shoves him into Daniel's own room. And when Daniel takes him with enough force to make him bleed, Mat thinks only of a night spent on the shore of the Great Lake, where a cool breeze had blown over his bare body while he lay between the two girls he loves, content and safe.

So powerful is the memory that he barely hears his own screams as Daniel, unsatisfied by Mat's lack of reaction, turns to other methods of satisfaction. Safe in the memory of the Great Lake, Mat will never know the exact cause for the scars he'll carry for the rest of his life.

[Skittlebug]

Rescue Me

Thelon pushed away from his desk, tense and upset. A Mind. Was it one of my people?

He had to find out. He had to begin hunting for who killed his wife. His fingertips reached up to brush his signs and he-

~Master Thelon, I must speak with you~, a voice interrupted his thoughts. He grit his teeth against the surge of annoyance he felt.

~I'm busy,~ he replied sharply. ~Please take whatever concerns you might have to my advisors or my son.~

~This is a matter that requires your personal intervention~, the feminine voice insisted. ~Please, Master Thelon. This is an international matter.~

Of all things, of all times. ~Fine,~ Thelon muttered. He reached out to the other Mind contacting him and passed over her surface thoughts. It was a priestess of Etaf from within Sensatia. ~Spit it out ~

~Could you come to the temple?~ The priestess beseeched. Thelon sighed and teleported to the Etafian branch of the temple, arms crossed. The priestess dipped into a low curtsey. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Now what is so important?”

The priestess rose again, looking a bit flustered. “I speak to you on behalf of another who was unable to be here. I was recently approached by a brother of the cloth from across the seas. His name is Ragnar Simeon. He hails from Grandisle of the Firegem Islands in the far south.”

Thelon gave a small nod at that information. “I'd heard of the islands. Go on.”

“Recently Grandisle has been attacked,” the priestess went on. “Taken over by combined forces of Fireteeth and and Morilanta.” Thelon's lip curled slightly at the mention of Morilanta. “Many were slaughtered and the rest taken prisoner as either slaves or hostages of their own homeland. Ragnar was able to flee before the pirates arrived, in hopes that he could bring word of the fall of Grandisle to Naruta and seek the help of the nations here. Packleader Thavan, whom he had met before, suggested he come to Sensatia and speak with you. You're able to inform the other leaders quickly. Furthermore, he has a personal request of you alone...”

“Where is this man?” Thelon asked suddenly. “You're speaking on his behalf but it sounds like he has already arrived. Why aren't I talking to him directly?”

“My lord, he is not allowed in the city,” the priestess mumbled. “By your own laws. He is a Clear.”

Thelon shook his head. “I do not help Clears,” he said simply, reaching for his signs.

“This goes beyond one man, Master Thelon!” the priestess cried out. “Please! Don't brush things off so lightly!”

“I will inform the other leaders of what has happened in Firegem, of course,” Thelon told the priestess. “Don't worry about that. But I will not help for whatever 'personal' request this Clear might have.”

“It's to help a woman,” the priestess snapped. “One who is not even a Clear. She is a Wind. Will you listen now?”

Thelon's eyes flashed with anger and the priestess hesitated. “Mind your tone to me,” Thelon warned, but he did lower his hand from his signs. “Make this quick.”

The priestess nodded, swallowing. “Queen Delilah Valerianus remained behind after she bade Ragnar to flee to Naruta. The queen not only was like a daughter to Ragnar, but she has struck up a positive note with a number of the leaders here already on her prior visits. If she could be rescued and brought back, it would go a way towards further encouraging the other nations to lend a hand against the attackers and reclaim Grandisle. Furthermore, I can vouch that Etaf herself encourages this course of action. Immediately after being given this request by Ragnar, I received a brief vision to reinforce the necessity of this plan. It's quite possible that rescuing the queen will have further implications that I cannot see but which would be crucial to... something. I'm not sure. I will admit that you featured in these visions, my lord. I strongly encourage you to consider this course of action. Ragnar singled you out because of your strength as a triple Mind and because of your considerable specialties, which make you well suited in taking someone out of captivity with ease.”

Well, that much was true, Thelon conceded. His telepathy would allow him to speak with Delilah from a safe distance, if he could find her mind, and from her he could receive a vision of her location and teleport to her, grab her, and bring her back to a safe spot. All before any guards would likely recover from the shock of what had just happened. And though Thuoth was his primary Force of choice, he held respect for Etaf as well.

With a small start, he realized that since being contacted, he'd pushed the entire matter of Tres's vengeance out of his mind. Feeling guilty, he considered blowing this all off to continue pursuing his goal... But... “What was the vision, precisely? I know you Etafians tend to be tight-lipped about this sort of thing, but if the prophecy featured me, I would like to know.”

The priestess looked acutely uncomfortable at the request, but nodded agreement anyway. “In my vision, you were racing against yourself on a trail. There was a fork and each of you took a different path. One led to the ocean where you boarded a ship and set sail. The other led to nowhere and you became immolated in fire.”

“That's ominous,” Thelon muttered, wondering what the fire could possibly mean. Perhaps it just related to Tres in some manner, or Naurorod. It was difficult to say.

“I will.... I will do this,” he finally decided. He still wasn't sure about the whole affair, but he couldn't deny that to just callously leave this foreign queen in the hands of Morilantans didn't sit well with him either. He would go, collect her, and try to pick up the trail again when he returned.

“Thank you my lord,” the priestess breathed in relief. That gave Thelon pause. Had he done much, lately, to warrant such nervous tension? “How will you reach her? I had heard that the south is deeply embroiled with an internal conflict of some kind.”

Well didn’t that just figure? “I suppose I’ll speak with Mother Cascata then, and see if she can lend me a small vessel and a crew. She’s a kind, soft-hearted woman. I imagine she would be amiable to the idea of assisting this woman’s plight.” Already his mind was set to working on this new plan, this rescue. And thoughts of revenge faded away, blown to the back of his mind. He touched his signs and teleported away.


Thelon leaned back against the main mast of the Rondian ship he’d been on for almost a month, he thought. He somewhat lost track of time. During the long voyage, he began to curse himself for his decision. He should be back home, hunting Tres’s killer. Not on some boat in the middle of the ocean. But by the time the doubts and regrets were coming on strongly, it was too late to do anything about it. It was far beyond even his teleportation reaches.

“My lord, we are nearly at the point where we must drop anchor,” one of the crewmen, a Rondian, informed Thelon. “This is as close as we dare get to the island. Even this far away, we’re still at risk for being discovered. We have little way of knowing how far the Morilantans or Fireteeth ships will be ranging in their patrols.”

“Well that’s the nice thing about being a Mind,” Thelon remarked, reaching up for his signs. “We tend to be very quick in our dealings.” It was part bravado, however. He was up for quite a task. Already, as he groped for minds to touch, he knew it was going to be pushing his limits. They were much farther than he was comfortable with, and he had no idea what the queen’s mind felt like. He had to be cautious to not intrude too forcefully upon another Mind from the enemy camp or their suspicions would be aroused. Of course, none of them would have the range he does, so he was perfectly safe on an elemental level. But it would drastically cut down the amount of time he had to work and many of his advantages if he lost the element of surprise in this endeavor.

With a very mild ache in his mind that was almost sweet in its familiarity, Thelon stretched himself, pushed his limits as far as they would go. Unencumbered by his Sensatian web of minds, he was a power to be reckoned with, and for a brief time, he reveled in his own abilities, trying to feel out as many minds as fast as he could until he checked himself and began to listen in carefully rather than touch a mind and move on. Several times there were close calls and even more often he found himself growing melancholy by the thoughts of the slaves he listened to. With much laboring, however, he managed to brush against his target.

Listening in, he could hear the queen’s inner monologue. It was like a quiet whisper in his ear as she ruminated about her people and especially Ragnar, the second father of her life.

There you are, Thelon thought with a surge of triumph, and he pushed a little harder. ~Queen Delilah Valerianus?~

Although he wasn’t able to see her, he fancied she jerked with surprise. There was certainly a startled quality to her mind voice as her personal thoughts abruptly cut off. Who is this? She didn’t recognize the voice and she was wary. Was this some new trick of her captors? Gingtaras had threatened… But whatever that was, she smothered it out of Thelon’s ability to hear without digging for it.

~I am Master Thelon Redway of Sensatia in Naruta~ he introduced formally and was treated to another surge of surprise from the queen. ~And I am here to rescue you.~

How? Delilah thought back with wonderment. This was a trick. It had to be a trick.

~Your Ragnar reached me,~ Thelon assured Delilah. ~I heard of your plight and agreed to come and take you away. I just need you to really get a good mental image of your surroundings. Concentrate on where you’re at so I can see it in your mind. I’ll teleport to you and free you.~

Well there’s a problem with that, Delilah thought wryly. I can’t see.

Thelon started at that. ~What?~

I’m in the dark, Delilah explained. I’m chained and there’s not even the slightest bit of light in here. I’m in a cell in a dungeon. There’s no guarantee you’d be able to find the specific one that I’m in just based off what I remember.

Forces damn it. Why did everything have to be complicated? Thelon balled up his free fist and slammed it back against the mast he was leaning on in frustration. ~Perhaps I will take my chances.~

He comes, Delilah thought with fright. Thelon decided to not rush off just then. It wouldn’t do to get the drop on a meeting. He did not withdraw his presence from her mind, however. Not being a Sensory mind, he was lamentably unable to see what she saw with ease or hear what she heard. But he did catch glimpses of images as her mind turned over what she was seeing. Light had been brought into the room in the form of a guttering lamp. For a brief instant, she focused on her surroundings. True to her words, it was a plain stone cell with little in the way to make it remarkable. That was troublesome. Thelon would have to, possibly, make a dozen jumps just to try and find the right room. Or he’d have to do a blind jump out of a cell, but he didn’t think he would. He wasn’t feeling suicidal.

Her mind shifted, flashing images of a man. A big, burly man with a look of murder in his eyes. Gingtaras. Thelon tried to follow along, but it was like trying to see through a window while it rained pictures of the past. He caught what he thought was a brief glimpse of what she was seeing.

No, Delilah was thinking. She sounded sick and afraid but also angry. It was an anger that Thelon knew well. Were he an empath, he could have drunk that anger up like a familiar wine. It was the anger of injustice and hatred. I won’t cry. I won’t scream. I won’t give this swine the satisfaction. I don’t care if he puts hot coals on my skin or worse.

Thelon’s stomach twisted at hearing her resolve even as he found himself admiring the woman with the courage to feel that way even in her private thoughts. ~What is he doing? Who is Gingtaras?~

My captor, Delilah thought with despair. And I don’t know what he’s going to do. He could just be here to gloat or he could be here to satisfy himself.

Thelon’s eyes widened. ~What?!~ That tore it. He’d be damned if he’d stand there in the mind of a woman who might be tortured or raped or Thuoth knew what else. ~I’m coming, Delilah.~

He went without a word, likely leaving his crew startled as he disappeared abruptly. He landed in darkness and silence. Wrong cell. Groping around blindly in the dark, he found a wall and followed it until his fingertips brushed hard wood and cold metal. After finding the handle, he gave it a hard tug, almost falling back when it opened easily.

Well of course. Stupid, Thelon. What reason would they have to lock an empty cell? No shouts were raised in the hallway. He likely did not startle any guards, if there were any. Getting up and dusting himself off, he poked his head out and glanced around carefully. There was a man in the hall, but far down on the opposite end. He was stationed outside of a door and voices were echoing against the stones from that direction. Delilah would be in there. Thelon still hesitated to blindly jump for her cell. He suddenly realized how woefully underprepared he was and how his carefully laid, simple plan had quickly gone awry because of his impulsive move. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he be so impulsive? But he thought of Delilah’s fears and wondered how he could not. He also remembered the glimpses of Gingtaras he’d seen. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He studied the guard and decided that man had to go first. He conjured up a mental image he’d become all too familiar with—the open sea, the waters rising and falling, sunlight glistening off the expanse, and a sky that went on for as far as the sea was deep. Holding that in his mind’s eye, he teleported next to the guard, touched him, and took them both to the ocean. He was a bit close to his ship, he noted as they both fell freely through the air, the man with him so surprised he couldn’t scream. Oh well. The crew could deal with him if he tried to board them. Letting the man to continue his free fall, he jumped back to the stone hallway soundlessly. Gritting his teeth, he felt pain flare up behind his eyes. He really was quite a distance away from the island, and that had been a stupid move. But he still had strength to take himself and another back to the ship, if he was careful.

There came a short and muffled cry. It was Delilah, he knew for certain. I won’t cry, she had vowed to herself in a mindvoice that trembled with fear but smoldered with that righteous fire. He could tell she was trying her best. Something in that helpless little sound enraged Thelon to near madness. It touched on a primal part in his heart. He charged into the room.

Gingtaras loomed over Delilah like the very paragon of a villain. She was bound to a chair, her arms pulled back around the back and her legs lashed to the chair legs. One of Gingtaras’s hands gripped her hair and pulled it back hard and cruelly, forcing her head back so she stared at the ceiling. Tears swam in her eyes, but had yet to spill down her cheeks. Her ragged dress, once something of great finery, hung in ragged shreds on her frame, filthy and tattered, torn down most of the front so that it was pointless to even leave it on. Gingtaras’s mouth was next to her ear. There were marks on her neck, and it was hard to tell in the dim light whether they were wounds or marks of an unwanted passion. Thelon barely noticed them. He took it all in during one quick sweeping glance. Delilah couldn’t see him, and Gingtaras had his back to him. Unfortunately, Thelon was woefully unarmed. He hadn’t come with the intention of fighting. There wasn’t even anything near at hand he could use for an improvised weapon. If he pulled that teleporting stunt again, he wouldn’t have the strength to come back and get Delilah.

He licked his lips and whispered under his breath. Gingtaras was deeply absorbed in his sick games and didn’t notice right away. When he did suspect he heard Thelon’s sibilant whispers, it was too late.

“Gingtaras,” he called. Gingtaras released his hold on Delilah and turned around, which was all the Master wanted. Thelon jerked his hands upward and slammed Gingtaras’s head against the ceiling, knocking him out cold. It’d taken a bit of effort, but it wasn’t so draining that Thelon didn’t have it in him to make it back.

Delilah’s head snapped back forward with a sharp gasp from the sudden relief. Thelon was there at her side, fingers nimbly working the knots. They confused him a bit—they were the knots of a seafarer. Well, the chair wasn’t bolted to the floor and didn’t weigh much more than a person. He gave up trying to untie her.

“Wait,” Delilah said suddenly. Thelon paused, wondering what was so important they couldn’t leave now. “There’s one more thing I have to do, but I can’t while I’m tied up. Will you do it for me?”

Thelon was thoroughly puzzled now. “What is it, Majesty?”

In a voice of pure venom, staring at Gingtaras’s unconscious form, she ordered, “Kick that fucker’s teeth in.” Thelon couldn’t help but grin at that.

“With pleasure.”

The deed done quickly, Thelon touched Delilah and summoned every last scrap of his strength. He wasn’t sure how much time they had, but he couldn’t imagine it was a great deal. The jump to the ship was made, but he felt drained to the core. Pain flared up in his head, and he fell to his knees in front of Delilah, who made for quite a sight still tied to her chair on the deck of a ship now. Thelon had the chance to look up into her face briefly. The look she gave back to him was one of heartfelt gratitude.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the tears she’d held in check finally falling freely.

Thelon smiled back, and then passed out on her lap.


Thelon winced as he woke from his enforced slumber. Someone had been kind enough to help him to a cot in the sailors' sleeping quarters and draped a blanket on him. He wondered how long he'd been sleeping. Rubbing his head, he was relieved to find that he didn't have a headache. I must have been out for a while, then, he deduced. Climbing carefully out of the tiny bunk, he made his way up on deck and asked for where Queen Delilah was being kept. The man pointed towards the captain's quarters and for a brief moment Thelon felt a surge of worry and betrayal. Had the captain taken the queen in her weakness and vulnerability? He hastened to the cabin and knocked.

“Enter,” he could hear Delilah call out. He opened the door and stepped in, relieved to see that she was quite alone. She was curled up in the bed, dressed in spare clothing offered to her from one of the female deckhands. At his approach, she smiled up at him. Thelon paused, struck still by that sweet smile. “Hello. Master Thelon, you said your name was, right? I'm relieved to see you're well.”

Thelon eased himself down on the edge of the bed next to her. “I could say the same,” he said. Her dark skin had a sheen of sweat to it, though, and that worried him. It wasn't all that hot. “Are you well?” He struggled with the urge to feel her forehead.

“I have a fever, it would seem,” she admitted. “But the Waters aboard the ship dosed me very generously. It will probably break tonight if not sooner.”

“That's good,” Thelon murmured, looking her over carefully. Now that he wasn't rushed or under a great deal of stress, he could notice far more that he had missed at first seeing her. To begin with, she was painfully thin. For a woman her size, he imagined she was normally quite dainty. But this was a sickly thinness, the kind brought on by starvation. Her bones showed sharply against her skin. He could see scars in her skin as well. They were still shiny and new, for the most part. There was one that started under her jaw and trailed down her neck and over her collarbone, disappearing down into her shift. Thelon hastily snapped his eyes back up and noted a half a dozen other small scars between her face, her arms, her hands. He wouldn't be surprised if there were many more. Delilah withstood his scrutiny calmly and without offense.

Her wide, soulful eyes, though, and lustrous black hair that tumbled down her back and pooled around her were captivating. He wondered at her hair; perhaps Gingtaras couldn't bring himself to ruin it. Though considering it was well kept, and her skin was actually quite clean, he suspected he kept his prisoner clean for his viewing pleasure. Or other kinds of pleasure. Thelon felt a ghost of the rage he'd felt earlier twist in his belly. He looked at her hands and traced a crescent shape scar along the back of her hand with a sad look.

Delilah had the grace to blush. “Gingtaras didn't mind scars,” she said. “And so he had no qualms with marking his prize up.”

“I'm sorry,” Thelon said quickly and snatched his fingers away. What had come over him? “I shouldn't be so bold.”

“I don't mind,” Delilah said simply. “I like to be touched by a kind hand.”

Thelon tugged at his collar. “Tell whoever is bringing you meals that I want you to have double rations. I'll pay extra to make up for it. You're not much more than skin and bones.”

Delilah moved a hand to lay atop his own. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said quietly. “I know I've said it already, but it can never be said enough.”

“No, I was glad to,” Thelon lied. Perhaps he hadn't been before the fact, but now he was beyond glad he'd made the trip. If he hadn't... The poor woman. What more would she have been able to endure? “When we make landfall, you'll be an honored guest in my home... That is if you wish to be.”

“I would be very glad for that,” Delilah answered with a small smile. “Will Ragnar be there?”

Thelon managed to not wince. The Clear... Was this woman ensnared by him? No, he realized. That would have long worn off. Her care for this man was genuine, which puzzled Thelon a little. He didn't have the heart to refuse her. “Of course.” Her radiant smile was reward enough and he found himself smiling back in kind.

“You seem weary,” he noted, rising. “I'll let you rest and recover.”

“Come and see me again later?” Delilah asked him hopefully.

“Of course,” Thelon was quick to promise.

And he kept to that promise. He returned that night, the next morning, and more. Each time he lingered a little longer until he was spending nearly every waking moment with the queen. When she had regained some of her strength, they walked together up on the deck during the pleasant weather and huddled in the captain's cabin when it was not so pleasant. Together they talked and learned of many things—Thelon learned of the Grandisle people and their inglorious fall. He, in return, talked of his own homeland and the rise of the Minds, the struggles he had in maintaining his good image and position amongst his people, and more. By the time their ship made landfall, they had become fast friends.

Delilah had regained much of her strength and health as well. She was still thinner than Thelon liked, but she no longer looked as though she were made of twigs. Some of the healthy luster returned to her skin and her bruises faded. Though she'd never be the perfect beauty she once was, Thelon had difficulty tearing his eyes from her all the same.

After landing, he took her directly to Sensatia and his home. “I'll have much to do, I'm afraid,” he told her apologetically. “My advisors and son will have been forced to put up with a great deal in my absence.” He did feel a stab of guilt at that. He'd told his children of his mission to save the queen, and stressed that time was of the essence. Libre had not been happy, but he understood. Flame had not. That hadn't surprised Thelon, nor hurt any less.

“I understand completely,” Delilah assured Thelon. “Where are your children?”

“My son is in the study or else he's about the city,” Thelon explained. “Flame is being kept with her home clan.” Where, likely, hateful eyes and sharp words awaited him from everyone there, his own child included. Delilah evidently saw something pained in him. She gave him a quick little hug.

“One thing at a time,” she admonished gently. It was something she had been forced to remind her husband time and again when problems began to arise.

Some of the tension eased out of Thelon. “Yes,” he agreed and returned the embrace. “One thing at a time.” After directing her to where the temple was, and asking the Etafians to bring Ragnar to her, Thelon set about the busy work of getting caught up on his nation's needs. It wasn't until nightfall, well past the reasonable hour to stop working, that he finally emerged from his study. Libre had greeted him warmly, pleased that Thelon had come back. Thelon bade him to act as host in his stead and see to Delilah's wants and needs. And that had been the last he saw the outside of his study until he had burned down part of his second candle for the night.

“There you are,” Delilah said softly as Thelon walked through the darkened home to find some wine and leftover dinner. Delilah was seated at the dining table. She pushed a plate of cold leftovers towards him. “Here. I made sure that you would have a plate saved after dinner.”

Thelon was surprised, but pleased. He took a seat next to her and pulled the cold dinner towards himself. “You really didn't have to do that,” he remarked while picking up his fork.

“I think I did,” Delilah laughed. “Because if not me, it would have been your son. Libre seemed to think this was normal behavior from you.”

“It is,” Thelon admitted before eating.

Delilah frowned at that but waited until he'd finished before she picked the conversation up again. “That's not healthy.”

“You sound like my wife,” Thelon said in a low voice, staring at his empty plate. “She would have made sure I had something to eat too.” He'd mentioned Tres and her death to Delilah on their voyage home. Delilah leaned over and squeezed Thelon's hand gently. “Tomorrow I'll be going to see Flame.”

“You sound so distraught,” Delilah murmured.

“Perhaps because she hates me,” he said in a snort.

“That's not true.”

“It is,” he said, standing quickly. His voice broke slightly. “It is.”

Delilah stood as well and hugged him tightly. Thelon lowered his head down on her shoulder as her fingers stroked through his hair gently. To his dismay, he began to cry softly. “Shh,” she whispered in his ear. “It's okay.” He managed to pull himself back together and pulled away a little, swiping at his eyes. Delilah studied him in the dim light. “When my husband died, I had to be strong too. Not for my family, because I had none, but for my people. But nobody can stay that way forever, and there's no shame in letting go now and then.”

“I've had to stay strong my whole life,” Thelon retorted huskily. Delilah's fingers moved from his hair to his face, brushing away his tears and stroking his cheek. Thelon swallowed hard at that gentle touch.

“You don't have to be that way for the rest of it,” she murmured. Thelon's hand brushed back her hair gently in return. “It's okay to let down your guard, especially when no one's looking.”

The arm Thelon had wrapped around her tightened and pulled her a little closer against him. “You're looking,” he noted with a half-smile. A pleasant scent filled his nose; she'd managed to procure some jasmine perfume at some point in the day.

“I won't tell anyone,” she promised him with a smile. Thelon leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. “Promise.”

“I believe you,” Thelon murmured and closed his eyes as his mouth found hers. They held tightly to one another in the dark, kissing with an almost desperate passion. After a few minutes, Thelon pulled away abruptly. “I don't... I don't know why I did that.” He felt horribly guilty. “I'm so sorry.”

“I don't believe I was telling you to stop,” Delilah protested. But seeing Thelon's distress, she tried to comfort him. “You're lonely and hurting. That's plenty motivation to want to reach out and feel another person.”

“I shouldn't,” Thelon protested. It didn't seem right. Not with Tres so recently dead. But he couldn't deny his attraction to Delilah. It felt like infidelity.

To Delilah's credit, she didn't sigh or look exasperated. “Then you don't have to,” she said simply. She did cuddle against him briefly before moving past him. “Goodnight, Thelon.”

Thelon stood, a bit helpless as he watched Delilah head to the guest room she'd been given. He wondered if he'd just missed out on a fleeting chance at... something. More than just sex. Happiness?

The subsequent months were a little less warm between the pair of them. Thelon had much to attend to in his nation and Delilah began to have other concerns as well. Thelon ferried her between the nations and let her speak with the various nations about the plight of her people in hopes that she might be able to save some of the Firegemmers. Thelon put political pressure where he could to help her cause. But their personal relationship remained cool and steady at a simple friendship. Now and then there was tension between the two; a shared moment, a look, a touch, but Thelon did not act on those impulses again.

It was five months before he realized that he had grown caught up on his work again. He'd done his best to reconcile with his children. Things began to go back to the way they were.

“Delilah,” Thelon called out as he knocked at her door. She was still living with him. Thelon had made some token efforts to find her a home for herself, but he hadn't tried too hard and Delilah had not made any indications that she wished to leave. It made things awkward between herself and Flame, but at least Libre was pleased to have a grown woman in the house again.

“Come in,” Delilah sang out. She was seated at a desk, writing a letter.

Thelon shut the door behind himself. “I've decided to take a rest tonight,” he announced.

Delilah smiled wryly. “It only took you several months.” Thelon winced. “I tease. But since you're telling me, might I guess that you have plans?”

“I would like to take you out to dinner,” he agreed. “To Anarlina, a restaurant called Starlight. I think you'll adore it. I hope you don't have other plans.”

“I don't,” Delilah assured Thelon. “I'd be happy to go with you to dinner.” There was a soft 'tink' as Thelon lay a small pouch of coins near her, grinning. “What's this?”

“I know how much you like to shop,” he said. “So I want you to treat yourself beforehand.”

Delilah picked them up, a startled look on her face. “Thelon, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” he assured her. “Go out and buy a diamond covered comb for your hair or whatever catches your eye.” Delilah couldn’t stop the grin of excitement that spread over her face. “There… Now that’s worth gold and silver.” He reached over and affectionately tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll come to your room again by nightfall.”

“I haven’t much time then,” Delilah laughed, rising and hastening to the market with her bag of silver and copper coins.

By nightfall, she waited for him in her room. Her lamentable loss of hair stylists meant her hair was simply pulled back, partially braided but mostly left to hang long. She did take his recommendation to add a decorative comb, stylized after a white lotus. In her time since coming to Sensatia, he had given her gifts of money before to do with as she pleased, and so she at least had something appropriately lovely to wear. She’d managed to work with the tailor to get a dress that reminded her keenly of home, done in an odd mixture of the Sensatian and Grandisle style. It was a sontief she was told, but she incorporated the long, tapered, flowing sleeves of Grandisle and breezy, wide skirt-style bottom. The fine, brightly colored Rondian silks complemented her mocha skin and dark hair nicely. Thelon felt his breath stolen away from the sight. “Delilah,” he whispered.

“Thelon,” she greeted in kind, smiling slightly with painted lips. Kohl around her eyes, a dusting of rouge on her cheeks, and a careful application of crushed, colored minerals for above her eyes lent a dramatic look to her. “You look well.”

Thelon glanced down at his fine, expensive overcoat embroidered shirt. “It’s plain,” he admitted. “I feel like a crow next to a brightly colored Beastlands bird.”

“Isn’t your nation’s symbol the raven?” Delilah laughed softly. “It seems fitting to me.” She held her hand out to him, and Thelon took it tenderly, his thumb running softly over her knuckles. He couldn’t tear his eyes away and he wondered if he would ever breathe again. “Shall we go?” Delilah prompted gently after a prolonged silence.

“Y-yes of course,” Thelon agreed, teleporting with Delilah to Starlight. Delilah was nicely enchanted by the themed restaurant. Thelon barely noticed it. Delilah commented at length about the high quality of the food, the savory tastes that danced upon her palette. Thelon could have been eating wood for all he noticed. Delilah spoke at length about a variety of subjects, holding up the conversation almost with herself while Thelon remained silent and staring.

After dessert had concluded, Delilah folded her hands in her lap and looked at Thelon inquiringly. “You haven’t been very energetic at all tonight,” she noted. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he assured her quietly. “Nothing could be better. I’m enjoying myself immensely, I assure you. Truth be told, I’m sad to see the night drawing to an end.”

Delilah glanced away demurely, but her words were anything but. “It doesn’t have to be,” she said simply. It took Thelon a moment to catch on, but when he did, his blush made her laugh. “I’m sorry; was that too forward?”

“Sometimes, people need to be forward with me,” Thelon admitted, rising. He dropped the cost of the meal onto the table to be collected. “I have a terrible habit of becoming distracted and oblivious.”

“So it is with many Thuothians,” Delilah teased, leaning into Thelon as he put an arm around her. In an eyeblink, they were somewhere else—a luxurious looking inn. Delilah blinked in surprise. “Where are we?”

“This is my favorite place in all of Sensatia,” Thelon explained. “The Master’s Inn.” Grinning, he left her side to pay for his favored suite. It was costly, but Thelon didn’t mind. Every copper bit paid was worth the luxury of the softest beds in the nation, the faintly perfumed air, and all the hot baths he could want for later. “Shall I show you the room they built in my honor?” He asked.

“I think I would like tha-AH!” Delilah’s answer was cut off as Thelon abruptly scooped her into his arms. She tilted her head back and laughed in delight while Thelon carried her off to the room. She had her eyes closed, so as not to grow dizzy while her head lolled back like that. Shortly, she squealed again as he dropped her lightly on to the soft feather bed. “Ooh,” she cooed, spreading her arms and legs back and forth against the soft, cool sheets. “This is fantastic!”

“The fabric is satin,” Thelon admitted, sitting down next to her and leaning over, hands braced on either side of her. “They have a fleece and wool blanket set for the winter that feels like you’re covered by a cloud.”

“How terribly interesting,” Delilah tittered, one hand reaching up to caress Thelon’s cheek. Her fingertips moved gently down the back of his neck and back up into his hair.

“Are you’re sure you’ll be okay with this?” Thelon asked, leaning in closer. He couldn’t help but lightly lick his lips in anticipation.

“Are you?” Delilah rebuttaled with a very serious look, all humor fled in an instant.

“I… I think so, yes.”

“Regret is a terrible burden,” Delilah told him quietly. “It sinks its claws into your heart and doesn’t let go for a very long time. I don’t want you to inflict that on yourself, or me.”

Thelon closed his eyes. He thought, briefly, of Tres. He would miss his wife for a long while yet, but… The Naurites always did believe in living life as wholly as possible. He felt she wouldn’t judge him harshly for wanting to soothe the pain in his heart with an agreeable woman he’d come to care for. And he did care for Delilah, deeply.

“I’m sure,” he said softly. His heart fluttered lightly in his chest.

“Then so am I,” Delilah whispered, rising up to meet his mouth in a passionate kiss. Thelon lost himself in the sensation of their lips pressed ardently together. His world was nothing but a whirlwind of sudden sensations in that moment; the scent of her skin and hair, the feel of her hands on his back, the soft warmth of her body against his. He felt a little giddy, as though drunk.

“Delilah,” he whispered weakly against her lips when they broke their kiss. She just smiled. He wanted to drown in her. Wrapping his arms tightly around her lithe form, he rolled on to his back and pulled her with him, gazing up into her bright eyes and grinning with a fierce happiness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “Forces, you’re beautiful.”

“You talk too much,” she teased.

Thelon chuckled. “Then silence me, my queen.” Her mouth did so, adequately, but her questing hands broke the spell. He was far from silent that night, but he didn’t speak another word.

And later, as he lay with her held close to his side, their sweat-slicked forms molded comfortably against one another, her sleeping peacefully and him about to nod off, he smiled and gave silent prayer to the Forces for bringing joy back to him, even for this little while. Delilah was a treasure he would never forsake.

Whether anything would come of their new relationship was uncertain to him. It didn’t matter, really. They were happy.

Time did not heal all wounds. But, sometimes, love did.

[Skittlebug]

Man Club Woman, Live Happily Ever After

Divria smiled to herself as she struck down the eastern road that skirted along the bottom of the Caelium hills near Maelstrom. She loved her job, her family, and her home, but she would always have the thirst for wandering in her. Perhaps for as long as she lived, even. She and her brother were very alike in that respect. She couldn’t blame her brother for not wanting to settle down and instead taking up the high risk life he had. She wouldn’t have wanted to do anything quite so dangerous, but a rambling walk across the nations? That she could do.

Worn, she detoured off the road towards a creek that she’d been keeping an eye on for some time now. The weather was pleasantly mild, it still being early summer and this far north, but she still wanted to cool off. Kneeling by the water, she splashed her face and neck, sighing in relief.

There came a soft ‘thump’ behind her. She had just enough time to open her eyes and start to twist around before something hard clubbed her in the head. She went down, hard, seeing stars. Whoever or whatever was attacking her didn’t let up. Divria closed her eyes and tried to fight back, a bit ineffectually. After the third well placed blow, she grew slack, unconscious.

When she woke again, she was in the sky. A primal part of her wanted to scream in shock, but she managed to throttle it down. Although she didn’t fly much, as a Wind, she was certainly in no danger in the air. She was being held from behind by a strong pair of arms. She began to squirm.

“Stop that,” a low male voice rebuked her. His accent was very strange to her ears; she couldn’t recall ever hearing it before. There was something almost guttural to it, though two words weren’t enough to say so conclusively. She squirmed some more. Her captor growled in annoyance actually bit her on the ear.

“Ow!” she cried out, shocked. “Ow, fuck, did you just BITE me?”

“My hands are a little full,” Arcan snarled. “If you want, I will give you a proper black eye when we land.”

“Where are we?” she asked. Below her, a green landscape rolled out in dips and rises that grew increasingly taller the farther they went. But they were descending down at a gentle angle. She began to register now the sound of flapping wings. She glanced to the side and saw a flash of black feathers block her vision momentarily.

“We’re going to my camp,” he informed her. “My brother hasn’t caught up yet.”

“Are you a bandit?” she asked in a quiet voice. She experienced a new surge of fear. Of course he was; he’d knocked her senseless and was now running off with her. “I don’t have much money.”

“I’m not a bandit,” he answered mildly. His grip on her tightened considerably, making her wince at the pressure on her ribs. He was navigating a tricky area, gliding down towards a large gap in the forest canopy without catching his wings on anything. “But… I am probably not much better than one.” She could feel his deep chuckle as much as she could hear it, so close she was to him. “I am an Outcast.”

“What’s that?” she asked. Maybe if she could keep him talking, she wouldn’t face whatever was coming. She could find a way to escape.

“Narutans,” Arcan answered with a scornful snort. “None of you know anything.” Just before the touched down, a gust of wind lifted up Divria’s legs and Arcan shifted his grip on her to a bridal carry. He touched down a bit too fast and had to run a short distance before slowing in order to not pitch forward on his face. Divria began squirming anew. “Stop it!” he barked at her and began to dig his sharpened nails into the flesh of her thigh. Divria winced and lay still in his arms. “That’s better.” And so he carried her like that all the way to his camp, which wasn’t far. It was a modest affair. There was a small fire pit and a makeshift tent out of canvas that had enough holes to render the whole thing nearly pointless. Stopping by a pack that she presumed was his, he grinned at her. Divria swallowed at that nasty smile. He had a somewhat handsome visage, but it was covered in dirt and there was wildness in his eyes that shook her to her core and made her instincts scream that she was in danger. “Now. If you do anything but sit here quietly, I’ll burn you down to ashes. Got it?”

Divria gave a numb nod. Burn her. So he was a Fire as well as a Wind. That didn’t bode well for her at all.

“Good,” he said, and then dumped her unceremoniously to the ground. The sudden fall made Divria shriek and winded her when she landed. She lay there, completely stunned for a moment while Arcan bent down and rummaged in his pack. He pulled out a length of rope.

“Are you going to tie me up?” she asked. It was kind of a stupid question. He obviously was. But she asked it anyway because stupid questions never got in her way in the past before.

“Sort of,” he said and bent down to tie one end of the rope around her ankle. It was uncomfortably tight and she wasn’t familiar with the complicated looking knot he’d used. Then he took the other end and tied it to a broken branch jutting out of a nearby fallen log.

Divria stared in disbelief. “That’s it?” she blurted. He was tying her to a log? He hadn’t even bothered to bind her hands! Granted, she wasn’t sure how the knot was done up, but he didn’t know that, and what was to stop her from finding something to cut through the rope?

“Try to escape,” he dared her, crossing his arms and grinning smugly. Divria huffed, wondering if it was a trap. But that smarmy look on his face irritated her enough that she tried anyway. First she tried to undo the knot that kept her to the rope. That only resulted in tightening it. Wincing, she moved to the log and worked at that instead.

Arcan gave an exaggerated yawn. “Whatever would have been occupying my attention probably wouldn’t have this long. I’d have already been back and slapped you for your attempt to escape.”

Divria huffed and pressed her lips together, whispering out the corner of her mouth as she chanted.

Arcan began flapping his wings hard enough to kick up dirt and debris towards her. Divria flinched, covering her eyes, distracted. And then Arcan abruptly tackled her, knocking her back hard as he rode her down to the ground. The breath went out of her again. She was getting really tired of that. Arcan lay atop her, grinning widely as if this was all some great and wonderful game.

“I’m not that stupid,” he told her. “And if you demonstrate a willingness to use your signs like that again, I’ll have to make sure you can’t reach them or chant. A gag would take care of both nicely.” He chuckled again. It wasn’t a malicious laugh either, but one of genuine amusement. He was having fun with her. “I don’t need my wife to speak. In fact, back in my homeland, some wives had their tongues cut out if they were too chatty. Blah blah blah.”

“Wife?!” she blurted.

“I saved your life,” he announced, sitting up but not getting off her. He fanned his wings and for all the word looked to preen over the fact. “A true bandit had fallen upon you. I swooped down and killed him. Then I took you away. You owe me.”

“That doesn’t make me your wife!”

He gave her a sly look. “In some places it would. You’re just a woman. You don’t really get a say.”

Divria glared up at him. “I don’t care where you’re from; you do not treat people like this. Stealing a vulnerable woman away isn’t a marriage, it’s called kidnapping! And… I already have a husband anyway!”

Arcan snorted. “Then he is a poor husband to not look after his woman and doesn’t deserve you. You’re my woman now.”

“No I’m not!” Divria protested.

Arcan suddenly pushed his face into hers and snarled angrily, “Yes you are! Now be silent or I really will give you that black eye!”

Divria fell silent. It had been too easy to slip into an argument with this man. She must not forget that he was very dangerous. She highly doubted his story; it was much more likely he just saw her alone and decided to attack her and spirit her away.

And he mentioned a brother. Was this brother going to come and join in on this sick and demented game? She realized she needed to get away, but to do that she would need to bide her time. She was in no position to do much of anything now except to get hurt. Arcan got off of her, much to her relief. He disappeared briefly into the tent and returned with a pair of dead rabbits, tossing them down next to her. They’d already been skinned. She recoiled in revulsion. It had always been Timble who handled the dead animals they had feasted on in the streets from time to time.

“As my wife, you must tend to my wants and needs,” he explained. He moved to another spot in the camp and tossed down two sharpened sticks next to the dead rabbits. “And that starts now. Make me dinner.”

Divria looked down at the dead, skinless things and shuddered.

“Do it!” Arcan snapped, thinking she was being obstinate.

Divria gingerly picked up the creatures and tried to work them on the stick, nearly snapping it in the process. She made a distressed sound. Arcan laughed, suddenly, apparently amused by her squeamishness.

“You are not a very good wife,” he chuckled. His moods were so mercurial; it was difficult for Divria to anticipate how he would react. He touched his fire sign and muttered and she squealed in fight, curling up in a ball. There was a whoosh of fire, and the old, half burnt logs in the firepit began to burn again. Divria calmed her racing heart. He wasn’t mad, she didn’t think. He was just getting the fire going. She finished the deed and thrust the carcasses into the fire. Dim, blurry memories from her twin’s perspective reminded her to try and brace the sticks in the ground next to the fire rather than hold on to them.

“Good,” Arcan told her approvingly. He went to the log and untied her, holding the rope like a leash. “Now, come.” He handed her a pair of empty waterskins and then marched her with him through the woods until they came to water. It was possibly another point on the same creek that Divria had been pounced. She wasn’t sure how far away from the road they were, but she suspected she hadn’t been out for too long. They were probably somewhere in the Maelstrom hills, now that she thought about it. Arcan hunted about until finding a low branch. He tied her rope to this, as if she were a horse. It severely limited the distance she could move. “Fill the skins.”

Sighing, she knelt and did just that. On the second skin, she noted movement to the side and glanced over to find Arcan stripping naked. She gaped, dropping the skin into the water. It began to float away.

“Hey!” he yelped. He dove for the skin, got his legs tangled in the trousers about his ankles, and fell flat forward. Divria couldn’t help herself. She began to laugh. It was mostly a relief from the stress she was under rather than because it was funny. “Get the skin!” She just held her sides and kept laughing. Snarling, Arcan kicked his trousers off and dove into the water after the skin. He emerged a bit farther down, dripping wet and mostly naked. Divria’s laughter was beginning to subside, but it cut off entirely when he punched her with all his strength. Divria went down hard with a cry, clutching the spot he’d struck her. She began to sob. He threw the half empty skin at her too, for good measure, and stalked a distance away. He wasn’t so far that she could get away without him noticing, but she was far enough for the illusion of semi-privacy. She curled up and sobbed at her situation and her pain.

Arcan went back into the cold water and scrubbed at his hair and body roughly. After a short while, he emerged and returned to her, dripping wet. “Stop crying.” She choked on a sob.” Rather than grow angry, though, he sat down next to her, cross legged. He had a pensive look on his face. “Stop. I order you.” She did her best, but it was hard. She trembled and made little whimpering sounds instead. He sighed, deep and heavy, and picked up the skin he’d thrown at her. After filling it full in the creek, he knelt next to her and lay it with surprising tenderness on her face where he’d struck her. The cold waterskin felt good. Divria shifted and looked at Arcan through her good eye and was shocked to see a look of chagrin and guilt on his face.

This man was insane.

“I have a temper,” he admitted.

“No,” Divria said with a touch of scorn and sarcasm. “Really?”

Arcan gave her a disapproving look. “In my homeland, it made me a highly valuable, mighty warrior. The rage would come on me, and I left little of my clan’s enemies. In this horrible land, it amounts to very little at all. I hate it here.”

“If you hate it so much, why don’t you go back?” Divria sniffled with a glare.

“I can’t,” he said, looking terribly sad. “My home is gone forever. It sank under the waves. I have no home now.”

A Contrastan, Divria realized. And probably Morilantan. Or an ‘Outcast’ of the Anarlinans? Either way… And she couldn’t help but feel a short stab of sympathy at the forlorn look on his face. She squashed it. This is complete madness.

He disappeared again, coming back with his shirt dripping wetly from the creek. He had her sit up and then began to wipe her face off with a gentle touch.

“What are you doing?” Divria asked. She winced as he brushed the cloth over her sore eye. That was going to be a beauty later if it wasn’t already.

“Washing away your tears,” Arcan told her. “A husband tends to his wife’s needs too.”

“I need you to let me go,” Divria said.

Arcan shot her an annoyed look. “No,” he said.

“Then don’t act like you care about me,” she snapped and slapped his hand away. She could see the rage come on him again. But this time, rather than strike her, he wrestled with himself long enough to throttle his anger back.

“You have no idea how hard that was,” he told her in a tone of long suffering. “You should be honored I bothered.” He threw the heavy wet shirt at her, not too hard, and did the same with his trousers once gathered. She gathered them up without really thinking about it while he untied her and began to march her back to camp. She realized, then, he was still naked as the day and began to blush and avert her gaze. At the camp, he tied her to her prison-log again and pulled a fresh change of clothing out of his pack, slipping them on, much to her relief. By then, the rich and savory smell of roast rabbit was teasing at their noses. Her stomach grumbled hungrily. Arcan snatched up the rabbits and began tearing into one.

“Hey, don’t I get one?” Divria protested.

“I don’t see why you should,” Arcan grumbled. He didn’t seem to mind that the meat was still piping hot as he tore into it, licking up the juices that dribbled down his lips. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since I got you here.”

“A husband sees to his wife’s needs,” she retorted. Arcan snarled and tossed the skewer with the second rabbit on it at her. She didn’t catch it but she wasn’t hit either. She picked up the skewer and began to pick and eat at her food delicately.

“I wonder if my father ever had this kind of trouble with my mother,” he snorted.

“If he clubbed her on the head and dragged her back to his camp, I hope he did,” Divria answered waspishly.

Arcan laughed harshly. “Actually it was the other way around. My mother’s clan found my father and kidnapped him. They probably would have sacrificed or ate him. Or both. But my mother intervened and claimed him for herself.”

“That’s… really horrible,” Divria answered.

“Why?” Arcan asked, brows raised in surprise. “She saved his life. He was a bard. She thought he was beautiful and loved his voice. She was one of the special women of the clan, one of the ones who taught the young children important things until they were old enough to go to their fathers and learn to hunt. Or stayed with the women and learned all that stuff. She was a good teacher.”

“Did she teach you your charming manners?” Divria asked. And, to her unending surprise, Arcan looked abashed. “Wait, did she?”

“My mother taught me things that were… not in accordance with the clan,” Arcan admitted. “My father was Anarlinan. My mother had only known of Evil all her life. He taught her of Love. And she taught my brother and me, quietly. In her eyes, it was a better way of life. Kinder. But I spent a lot of time with my clansmen the older I got. I was important, I told you. I was often called away from my family’s fire to sit with the chief or the older warriors. And they taught me their own things.” He toyed with a bone, worrying it with his teeth idly, staring into the camp fire with considering eyes. “It was hard to…” he groped for the word. “To bring them together.”

“Reconcile?” Divria suggested.

Arcan nodded. “Evil and Love are night and day. Both exist in men. Both are part of the whole. But they are utterly unlike each other. My father told me to treat others gently. That kind words were better than pain. But my chief and my brothers in arms told me that pain was power and that power was life. Love is weakness. Why use words where a knife would suffice? Why bargain when you can take?”

“If that’s how you felt, then why listen to your father at all?” Divria asked quietly.

Arcan took on that deeply sad look she’d seen earlier. “Because my father loved me. He was right. Love IS strong. It is binding. I couldn’t raise a hand to my father any more than if he had bound me in chains or cut off my arm. Whenever I did something he disapproved of, he would give me this look that was both sad and disappointed, and it hurt just as much as a blow to the face would have. Love and pain… They’re not so different. That is what I came to conclude. But old habits die hard. And I did tell you, I have a temper.”

“And how would your father have felt about you kidnapping a woman and taking her to ‘wife’?” Divria pushed.

But that was going too far. She saw the pained look of regret and shame on his face, but only briefly. He drowned it in anger. Divria suspected that Arcan was not a man who enjoyed complex emotions and that anger was his armor against it. She cringed. But he simply rose and walked off, leaving her alone.

Now was her chance. She knew she couldn’t get that infernal rope untied, but she could cut herself free. She had no blade with her, but she didn’t need one. Hoping he didn’t come back soon, she pressed her lips together and mumbled a chant around them until she had a blade of ice, wickedly sharp. She set to work, cutting at the rope. It was slower work than she liked, and she had to renew the sharp edge of her knife. But Arcan stayed gone long enough; so much for his brave words. She half smirked at that.

After what felt like an eternity, she cut through the rope with a cry of triumph. Tossing aside her ice blade, she used the stored energy she’d built up while cutting to take off to the sky, lifted on the winds. Free. She was free!

A harsh cry on the winds caught her attention and she jerked in the air, seeking the source. A second ragged shout helped her pinpoint it. She soared over the treetops until locating another break from which to see the scene play out down below. Arcan was pinned beneath some foul creature the likes of which she had never seen. It looked like a mountain lion but only somewhat. It’s spine protruded from its back with tiny spines jutting out through its fur from it. It was also big. Bigger than any wild cat she’d ever seen, and she’d seen a few in the Beastlands. It had muscles as thick as her. And Arcan wriggled away from it, real fear in his eyes. He’d managed to wound the creature; there was burnt and singed fur as well as deep furrows made from a weapon of some kind. If Arcan had a weapon, he’d lost it; he was empty handed now, dripping blood as he shuffled away. Though he was afraid, he was also angry. Divria held her breath in shock as he suddenly gave another loud shout and actually threw himself at the monster in a flurry of feathers and fists.

He’s going to get himself killed, Divria realized with a start. She shouldn’t care; he was a bad man and probably deserved to die. The cat-monster bit into Arcan’s already injured leg, tearing a scream from him. Divria shuddered; even if he deserved it, she was not the kind of person who could simply watch as another died before her eyes.

She tended to run away from conflicts, not towards them. But she remembered a few tricks, dimly, from her brother. She pressed her lips together again and called on her reserves to form ice from her hands. They were small, but sharp. And dropped from this height, raining from her outstretched fingers, they were efficient. The sudden rain of deadly icicles fell on the cat monster who yowled loudly in pain, the ice tearing at it, even embedding in it. Arcan scurried back out of the hail. The monster evidently didn’t feel this was a fight worth staying for. It turned tail and ran. Divria landed in front of Arcan, a little wide-eyed. He stared back at her with rage, momentarily, but then it swiftly fled him and he simply looked exhausted and hurt. The two locked eyes for a long moment.

“Well then,” Divria said, wondering if she was in trouble now with him. Why had she come back? Forces, that was stupid.

“Ow,” Arcan replied and slumped over.

Divria sighed. She grabbed hold of Arcan and began to head back to the camp with him.


When Arcan awoke again, he was in tremendous pain. He drew in a sharp breath, cringed, and then cringed again. He hurt.

He felt something cool on his body and opened his eyes. Divria was kneeling next to him, carefully cleaning the blood off of him and tending to his wounds. She’d evidently pillaged his pack and was using his old clothes as bandages. He made a confused sound at her presence.

Divria started but then relaxed. “You’re not in great shape,” she warned him. “But you’ll live. These aren’t as deep as they look. I’ve taken worse.” Not often, but still. She’d stripped him naked (sigh), and boggled at how many scars he had on his body. He really was a warrior.

Arcan grunted. “Thank you.” Then, sounding almost put out, he noted, “You got free.”

“If you tie me up again, I’m going to finish what that cat started,” Divria told him savagely.

Arcan grinned in response at her fierce answer. “She-cat,” he chuckled weakly, and then grimaced. “I will call you that.”

“My name is Divria,” she told him tersely. Forces. All this time and they’d never even exchanged names.

“Divria She-Cat.”

She rolled her eyes. “And what is your name, anyway?”

Arcan was still smiling at her. “I am Arcan… Arcan Kendrick, son of Thakur.” He’d gotten accustomed to, and enjoyed, the naming traditions of Naurorod during his time there.

“Well, Arcan, you should rest,” Divria told him. He noticed that it was late; the stars were out in force. The fire was burning low.

“Need more wood,” he mumbled and started to get up, hissed, and lay back again.

“I’ll get wood,” Divria sighed. “I don’t want that… Thing… Whatever it was, to come back here.” Arcan watched as she got up and left to do just that. He tried to stay awake long enough to see her return, but the next time he opened his eyes it was even later. The fire was burning a little higher from the fresh wood that Divria had brought to it. The young woman was curled up by the fire, her back to Arcan.

You should never leave your back to an enemy, he thought scornfully. Oh well. She wasn’t a fighter, though she’d handled herself well with that cat. He tried to get up again, slower, and managed it well enough. He did hurt, but she was right—there had been worse injuries than this. He moved closer to Divria and leaned over to get a good look at her. In the firelight, sleeping, she seemed more at ease, but there was still tension to her. She must not have been having pleasant dreams. Her brow was creased and she had a half-frown on her face. He reached out and poked her on the cheek, softly, and she stirred with a murmur. He had to struggle not to giggle like a child. Instead he lowered himself down next to her, curling up against her back.

In the early morning, before true dawn had even risen, Divria stirred awake. She opened her eyes… and Arcan’s face was right next to her own. At some point in the night she’d turned and now had an arm draped against him and her head was on his shoulder. She held very still. Had he tried anything in the night? She took quick stock of herself. No. Her clothes were all there and intact. He gave a light snore.

How… vulnerable he looked. And was. She could end his life just this moment if she had a mind to. She sat up.

Arcan moved swiftly, jerking almost with reflexes to pin her down. She gave a yelp of surprise. Arcan lay half against her, his eyes wide open and hostile. Then, just as abruptly, they softened. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Forces,” she breathed. “You’re scary.”

That pleased him. He smiled again. This close, she could see that his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled like that. She fancied that was how he smiled when he was truly happy about something. “Thank you,” he told her with heartfelt glee. Then he kissed her.

She let him, for a moment, out of surprise before jerking and giving a squeal of protest. Arcan scuttled off quickly. The warmth of his lips on hers lingered.

“It was just a kiss,” he protested reproachfully.

“One I didn’t ask for,” she told him frostily.

“Nobody asks for a kiss,” Arcan replied with a half-smile.

Stiffly, she turned her back to him and moved closer to the dying fires. It was almost down to just embers. With her fingers, she tried to untangle her dirty and matted hair. In a few moments, she felt his presence at his back. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

Instead, he joined her in combing her hair with his own fingers. He didn’t bother with the knots. If anything, it was more like he was petting her.

And things just took a turn for the creepy, Divria thought. She tried to move away from him and he didn’t stop her. Instead, when she glanced over her shoulder with a disapproving frown, he pouted at her. He preened at his wings a moment until finding a loose feather, and then came at her again, trying to put it in her hair.

“What are you doing?” she sighed with exasperation, moving away from him again. He grinned at her impishly and kept inching closer. “I said to leave me alone.”

“You are not my wife,” Arcan admitted with a measure of regret and disappointment.

“I’m glad we can finally agree on that point.”

“So,” he went on grandly, “I am going to court you. Come here.” He fanned his wings a little, cupping them in an inviting pose. “I’ll put my feathers in your hair as tokens of affection.”

Divria stared at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t know how to court a woman, do you?” she finally said.

Arcan looked abashed. “Well. Not really. I mean, we didn’t just grab women and bring them home to make our wives. Sometimes we would let the woman know ahead of time that we were interested in her.” He offered her another feather. “By offering them gifts. Usually, uh, nicer gifts. But I kind of have to improvise here.”

Divria sighed heavily. “Arcan, I’m not going to court you.” In truth, she wondered what brought on the change of heart. Was it their discussion the day prior? Or that she had come back? That she had tended to his wounds?

Arcan brushed his feather back and forth against his cheek. “Well. No. I’m courting you.”

“Then you’re in for a long dry spell,” she snorted, rising. “I’m going to go wash off and then we’ll change your bandages.” She went down to the creek, washed, and returned. In that time, Arcan managed to get breakfast settled—trail rations. Joy of joys. He’d also drawn little sun symbols all over near where she had sat earlier. She gave them a sideways glance before discounting them and settling down to breakfast.

“How long until your brother reaches us?” she asked him.

“Soon,” he admitted. “But you’d like him.”

“Is he anything like you?” she asked him with a snort.

“Not at all,” he answered soberly. “Tevran is the son my parents are proud of. A fine warrior, but with a good spirit. He doesn’t have the rage that I do. He is my…” He hesitated. “He… Looks out for me.”

Caretaker, Divria thought. Well. Perhaps then she could wait until he arrived before dumping Arcan off on him and leaving. She didn’t want to leave Arcan alone now, though, not as injured as he was. He could fall prey to any number of things.

She tended the camp and minded the fire. She wasn’t good at hunting but she gave it a try anyway, coming back empty handed. Arcan assured her that was fine; he had plenty of rations. And then they had the rest of the day together.

It was the most awkward day in Divria’s life.

Arcan did everything he could think of to woo her. It was so bizarre, she couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He doodled more sun drawings for her, seeming to think she’d find these somehow meaningful. He made fire in his palms writhe and dance until he had a little fire-person dancing in his hands. She looked as bored as she could manage. He’d even tried to sing for her, a low crooning song in that harsh, guttural accent of his. The man did not have a voice for singing, but he tried his best. She’d finally told him firmly to leave her alone or she’d kick him right in the injuries. He’d slunk off to his tent with an air of wounded pride.

Nightfall came again and she became lost in her thoughts. She didn’t even go out and gather firewood again, sitting instead by the light of the moon and the stars.

Arcan tackled her from behind. She went down with a hard ‘oomph’ and squirmed under him. “Damnit, Arcan!”

He grunted in pain; that couldn’t have been good for him. “Let me sleep beside you,” he begged in his most wheedling voice. “And then I’ll get off.”

“You don’t tackle women down and then ask for that,” she told him sharply. “And though you’re stronger than I am, I think I could get you off of me if I really wanted to. It’d hurt for you, too.”

“You could,” he conceded. “But I’m not asking for much.”

“Just don’t touch me,” she sighed. “Get off.” She didn’t really want to fight with him, and so long as he didn’t do anything funny, everything would be peachy. He rolled off her back, smiling as happily as if she’d promised him diamonds and gold. Shaking her head, she went back to her musings. Arcan curled up beside her, wrapping his wings around himself like a blanket and staying on his side. A snore rose from him soon after and she decided it was safe to rest. Weary and already homesick, she settled down next to him without actually touching him. Hopefully this caretaker brother of his would be back by the morning. Arcan said he suspected he would be.

Her dreams were pleasant ones this night. She dreamed she was wandering a strange and enchanted forest in the night. The trees were tall and dark but welcoming and lowered their branches to brush against her as she walked underneath them. It was a soft, pleasant touch. Often they would brush against her cheek and move down her side or back. She found a weeping willow who caressed her sweetest of all and sighed happily at the pleasant sensation. The tree made a sound as well, a ‘hmm’ that was decidedly amused. Then it began to speak in a sing-song voice, but the words had no meaning to her.

That was strange enough to give her pause. She could feel the remnants of the dream fading away. The touch was still there—soft and warm, starting in her hair and gliding down her neck and back. Or it touched her along the hairline and moved smoothly down the side of her neck and arm. The voice was there too, and she recognized it as Arcan’s. He was trying to sing again, but this time doing a fairly better job of it. It was an uncomplicated song. The words were still somewhat nonsense, but she recognized a lullaby when she heard one.

On one hand, this was violating the no-touchy rules she had laid down. On the other hand, it was pleasant and he wasn’t harming her. It was a little creepy, especially since he thought she was still asleep, but strangely touching to see this brutish, angry man crooning lullabies and stroking her hair as if she were precious to him. This man does not feel emotions by half measures, she realized. She kept her eyes closed and enjoyed the steady rhythm of his singing and the almost ticklish sensation of his fingertips gliding over skin and hair. Then, abruptly, it all stopped. Arcan lowered himself back down next to her, moving an arm to hug around her. He didn’t squeeze too hard, but it was a firm grip. He could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck and shivered slightly. One wing swept over to rest against them both. She found that to be surprisingly nice—the feathers brushed softly over her and his wing was as warm as the rest of him.

And then he whispered quietly next to her ear, “I know you’re awake. You’ve been awake.” She stiffened. “I’m not a monster, Divria She-Cat. Sometimes I am, but…” Whatever he was going to say trailed off. He lowered his face and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. He pressed firmly against her back and lifted himself up slightly he could lean over and lay a gentle kiss on her cheek. His fingers traced spirals against her belly through her clothes. She made a small, involuntary sound.

“Stop,” she managed to gasp.

Arcan nuzzled her temple. “I don’t want to,” he murmured next to her ear. “Do you really want me to?” He nibbled her earlobe, softly. It hadn’t been the ear he bit earlier.

“Yes,” she protested in a whispery, weak voice.

“I won’t force myself on you,” he continued quietly. “But I won’t give up without at least something of a fight.” She worried deeply about what that would mean until he moved and pulled her onto her back. She started to squirm away but he lowered himself against her, slipping his pinned wing free as he did, and kissed her deeply. It wasn’t a quick, hard kiss like he’d given her earlier. This was something more sensual and slower. It drew her in, made her close her eyes. His tongue flicked out and playfully teased her lower lip.

He moved his mouth from hers and, before she could protest again, latched on to her neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin there. She moaned quietly, the sound passing out of her like a sigh. He made a small sound of his own in approval. One hand reached up and buried itself in the tangles of her gold hair. He didn’t pull or tug them, but stroked her head and ran her hair through his fingers.

When he’d finished with her neck he moved his lips back to hers but didn’t kiss her. He just hovered above her, on the edge of kissing her, and waited.

She lay under him, breathing a little harder as her pleasure lingered. She didn’t want him to stop. Forces, but she really didn’t. What was wrong with her?

She closed the gap between them and kissed him. Arcan slid an arm beneath her and pulled her up tight against him as he returned the kiss passionately. He shifted his weight a little awkwardly against her, rebalancing himself with a small grunt of pain. She’d nearly forgotten about his injuries. He seemed more comfortable now, though. His fingers gently quested along her sides, ticklish enough to make her laugh a little. Arcan chuckled too before lowering his head to attack her neck again. His soft touch and tender kisses slowly transmuted to something hotter, harder, and more insistent. There was a growing sense of hunger in how he touched her. Though he was never once painful or rough, she began to get the impression that it had been a long time for him.

Well, it had been for her as well. Maybe that’s why she’d lost her mind at his seductions. From how she reacted strongly to him, he probably had inferred the same about her. He seemed disinclined to give her a moment to collect her wits and put an end to things, but he was forced to pause in order to remove his shirt, his wings getting in the way despite the Sulan-style craft of his clothing.

“This is the third time you’ll have gotten naked in front of me,” she said aloud, and gave a short little laugh at the insanity of it all.

“And you haven’t returned the favor even once,” he replied huskily, his smile flashing in the moonlight and laughter beneath the words.

Divria agreed that wasn’t fair and hastily remedied the situation.

After their lovemaking, which had started off slow and intimate and grown to a furious crescendo, the two spent lovers lay curled up next to each other, staring into each other’s faces. Arcan had a look in his eyes that would have given her pause for concern if she hadn’t been certain he wasn’t going to be moving at all for a while. And she could finally recognize it; they were the eyes of a predator. She remembered her former Beast lover with that expression on his face once in a while, especially after sex or after a successful hunt. Almost possessiveness with a mix of pure, primal male satisfaction.

Men, she thought distantly. Or maybe not all men. She might have just had a thing for dangerous ones, now that she thought about it.

Arcan held her close, his wing draped around her again. He was clearly drowsy but struggled to stay awake for some reason. “Do you really have a husband?” he asked her, his voice a bit thick.

“No,” she had to admit.

He gave a small nod; either he hadn’t believed her or he was glad it was untrue now. “Where were you going?”

She thought about it a while before answering, “I suppose… Nowhere. I was just going.”

Arcan smiled. “Well. That’s a coincidence. I’m going nowhere too.”

It seemed like an invitation to Divria and there was certainly expectancy to his silence after the remark. She would have to think about it. Kissing him once more, she gave herself over to sleep.


The following morning, as Divria changed the bandages on Arcan and he chattered almost endlessly about his travels in Naurorod to pass the time, Tevran arrived back to the camp. His eyes swept over the pair and he stared at them with outright confusion.

“Brother,” Arcan greeted, sitting up a bit straighter. He gestured to Divria, who managed a half-smile for him. She still sported the black eye from when Arcan had punched her. “Meet my wife, Divria.”

Divria gave Arcan an annoyed look and punched him in the leg, near his wound. He yelped. “I am not your wife, damnit.”

Tevran stared at his brother with some measure of disbelief, trying to pick just the right words to respond with. "What the hell did you do while I was gone?!"

Arcan grinned brightly and Divria couldn’t help the twitch of a smile that passed over her face as well.

“Well, it started when I was flying over the road and saw a beautiful maiden being assaulted by bandits…”

[Skittlebug]

First Week of Marital "Bliss"

The first night is their wedding night: his first, her second. Despite the fact that neither of their respective nations consider a marriage official until it’s been consummated, the bride finds herself all alone in the master bedchamber, her new husband nowhere in sight. It shouldn’t bother her, she thinks. Theirs is a marriage of politics, not romance, and they each have an heir. Not that they could produce an heir together if they wished it. Dami had been a surprise several years ago; now her chances of bearing another child are nonexistent.

Her breath catches as she thinks of her son, the Blodhayr of Maelstrom, who is now firmly out of her reach. It’s a blessing that she’s too old for children now; she doesn’t think she could stand to care for another child who might be claimed by the father should this alliance marriage go as wrong as her last.

She’s not entirely sure where things first began to go wrong between her and Shadow, or what the ultimate cause might have been. Maybe it was just the building of things over time. So much had happened, more than had happened to any of the other leaders, and at some point, they’d just…lost touch with one another. Did they even really confide in each other after Dami had been born? Or before that? She can’t remember now. Shadow just had so many secrets, it was as though the further from the past he got, the stronger its hold on him became. So she sought the company of a man more grounded in the present. Her adultery may not have killed their marriage, but it had been the final gust of wind to scatter its ashes.

She shakes herself and moves about the room, the sound of her footsteps deadened by heavy rugs of gold and midnight blue. She runs her fingers across the embossed spines of leather-bound books. The piano and herbalism volumes surprise her as much as the lack of novels doesn’t. The lack of decorative items doesn’t surprise her much, either. Everything she sees that’s pleasing to look at has a purpose: heavy tapestries on the walls to hold in heat, candle holders, an assortment of bottles that contain either medicines or perfumes.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Lady Kazimir.”

The quiet voice, so unexpected, startles her and she jumps, snatching her hand away from the bottles as though burned. “Lord Husband,” she murmurs in greeting, responding to the odd formality in kind as she turns to face Khelek’s king.

Lucifer is a handsome enough man, she supposes. At least the night wouldn’t be a chore in that respect. There’s little time to consider the matter further, though, as he takes a few quick strides to his desk and unrolls a pair of documents, signing each as she watches. Bemused, she takes the quill he offers her and frowns as she scans the pages.

“The final formality of our alliance, I believe,” Lucifer says. “For the sake of appearances, we will have to give the impression that we have both spent the night in this room, but Schuldig is prepared to take you elsewhere to sleep.”

She stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded. “We’re not going to—?” she blurts, cutting herself off with a blush.

Lucifer looks almost amused, arching a brow at her flustered appearance. “Surely, you must agree that there is no point to it. We need no heirs from this union and you can produce none in any case. By our signatures, we may declare our marriage consummated and no more will need to be said on the matter.”

“So you decided—without consulting me—that this is how things would be done?” She knows he’s technically right, but after sitting quietly and putting up with Shadow making so many decisions without her, she doesn’t want to let this slide. And to be so blithely rejected, even if it was a political match, well, it was just insulting!

Lucifer breathes a quiet sigh through his nose. “Lya, I say again: there is no point to it. Sign, and Talen’sul will have her new ally.”

She should concede, she knows. But she’s already spoken up about it and she will not accept a husband’s mandates any longer without her own voice being heard. “And what of our integrity? I have no desire to lie in a contract.”

He’s beginning to look irritated now, brows drawing together over narrowed eyes. “And I have to desire to lie for a contract. This is not a matter that will affect our respective peoples, nor can it be proven one way or the other. Leaders hide things of much greater consequence from their people than this, and I challenge you to say that you have been any different.”

She flushes at that, but lifts her chin in defiance. “I will not swear to something with my signature that I know is a lie.”

Lucifer regards her for a moment more and rolls the documents up. “Then I will not stay.” With that, he exits the room as quietly as he entered, leaving his wife to fume at her own stubbornness, as well as his.

***

The second night, he’s in his library, poring over texts in search of a legal precedent. He’s not sure his wife will accept one if he can find it, but it would be an impartial point in his favour. He really ought to have pushed harder for a straight-forward alliance rather than consent to a marriage-alliance. Nagi is old enough to take the throne should he decide to abdicate, and it wasn’t as though Lya had been fending off suitors. He suspects what suitors there might have been were too concerned about King—no, Primivus Brightmore’s reaction to seriously consider courting the Lady of Winds.

A slightly nasal voice interrupts his thoughts. “If she’s making that big a to-do about it, I’ve got plenty of things that can make you…hm, more receptive to the idea.”

Schuldig, dressed in his black and green priest robes, flops down in a chair across from the King. “Or I might be able to make her think I’m you, though that’d take a bit of work. Screwing with a three-signer’s head without them knowing is kind of tricky. And migraine-inducing.”

“While I have no scruples over just signing those papers and being done with it, that sort of deception, I would rather avoid.” He raises his head and arches a brow at his adviser. “And I imagine you would rather avoid the fallout if your wife were to hear about you pulling a stunt like that.”

Schuldig grimaces. “Point taken. But an up-and-up seduction is still on the table, right?”

“You’ll do as you like in that respect, I imagine. You always have,” he says, turning another page. “Just be discreet.”

Schuldig snorts. “You know I can be discreet when I need to be. I never got called out for being aylor in Morilanta, now did I?”

“Schuldig, what do you want?” he asks. “I am somewhat busy.”

The Lustful grins like a fox. “I want you to let me do my priestly duties. On you. Let Nagi look through this stuff as a backup plan and let me help you into your marriage bed.”

“Thank you, no. I want to avoid that little unpleasantness, not have you drug me into consenting.” He ought to have expected this development; he knows his disinterestedness in Schuldig’s Path frustrates and amuses the man in turns. Schuldig understands a great deal about people from having touched so many minds, but a complete lack of desire is something he’s always seemed to have trouble wrapping even his flexible mind around. On the other hand, it’s something Schuldig would see as a challenge, and since joining the priesthood, he’s been all the more determined in his pursuits.

“Haze and my other treats are just one means to a happy ending,” Schuldig says airily. “There are other ways.”

He looks at Schuldig with a pointedly unimpressed expression and returns to his book. “None of which interest me. If I may remind you, I am not particularly fond of being touched in general. I have no intention of yielding to Lady Lya’s insistence on finalizing things ‘properly.’”

“Fine,” Schuldig says, drawing the word out like a sulking child. His petulant expression and arms folded across his chest only reinforce the impression.

“Now, unless you have anything of use to contribute, I am rather busy.”

Schuldig looks as though he may protest, then he just smiles and shrugs before rising to leave. Lucifer knows this likely doesn’t bode well, but he can’t be bothered to keep Schuldig out of whatever trouble he’s thought up. That’s what he pays Crawford for.

***

The third night, she joins him for dinner. Her mood hasn’t entirely settled since their wedding night, and the fact that he apparently prefers to put off his own dinner until nearly an hour before midnight isn’t helping. She’s tired and her hunger started needling her to irritation well over an hour ago. If she didn’t know better, she would suspect him of trying to avoid her, but that doesn’t seem to mesh with the impression she has of Khelek’s King. His putting off eating until his work is done, however, does.

“Have you reconsidered your position on my proposal?”

The question comes halfway through the main course, and she looks up from her plate to find him regarding her calmly, one brow raised. For a moment, she’s seized by the desire to slap the expression from his face. His composure is grating, the way he seems so aloof and in control, acting as though he knows that her capitulation is merely a matter of time. That thought makes her words more heated than they otherwise would have been. “I have not. I will not.” She lifts her chin and stares at him in silent challenge even as she berates herself mentally.

“I see.” There is no inflection in his tone, nothing that reveals what his opinion of her might be. It’s a statement of fact, nothing more. “But Lady Lya, let me remind you that there is nothing that can come to harm by your signing, and it will allow us to avoid that rather personal unpleasantness.”

She frowns at his phrasing for a moment before realizing that he must be speaking to prevent anyone who might overhear from knowing what they were talking about. Then she goes over his words again, and her frown deepens. “’Personal unpleasantness,’ is it?” The words come out sharp and brittle as any shard of ice and the air around her moves restlessly, making her feathers ruffle and the candles flicker.

He glances at the candles and closes his hand, stilling the breeze with his own Wind sign. “Yes, it is. Unpleasant for me in particular; I imagine that would make it so for you as well.”

She stiffens in her seat at that. Lucifer is a man of subtleties, she knows. She’s witnessed him delivering statements in that quiet, dispassionate voice and watched the listener come away uncertain as to whether they’d just been insulted. Her husband seldom gives anything away, but when she’s looked toward his priest adviser, his dancing eyes and amused grin leave little room for doubt. Schuldig isn’t present now, but she can easily imagine him watching their exchange with the same damnable expression. And why wouldn’t he be? She’s been issued a blatant insult, but in such a tone that it would make her appear the unreasonable one if she were to respond with anger.

“I see.” She loads the statement with several meanings, none of them complementary, and rises from her chair, feathers standing out in anger and frustration. “I must excuse myself now, Lord Husband,” she says, spitting the words like a curse.

Without waiting for a reply, Lya sweeps out of the dining hall in a swirl of lace and velvet, barely registering the nonplussed expression on Lucifer’s face.

***

Four days wed, and he’s already thinking back to his bachelorhood with fond remembrance. Despite all he’s been told about the Primivus’ actions during the course of his marriage to her, he’s beginning to think that the divorce wasn’t all Shadow’s fault.

“You didn’t really think she was going to be a flawless angel, did you?” Schuldig’s tone fairly drips amusement as he helps himself to the decanter of red wine kept in Lucifer’s study.

He cuts his eyes at Schuldig. “I thought she would at least be reasonable.” He still can’t account for her bizarre insistence on adhering to a tradition that neither of them needs to uphold.

“Well, you know what they say about a woman scorned.”

He raises a brow at Schuldig. “Yes,” he says dryly, “but I don’t think the advice of ‘kill her before she kills you’ is entirely appropriate here. We are trying to maintain an alliance. Nor has she been scorned.”

Schuldig snorts softly as he sits, casting him a smirk. The look on his face freezes for an instant before gradually shifting to one of utter and unholy delight. “You don’t know,” he says, almost to himself. Schuldig laughs, glass tipping dangerously in his hand. “You really don’t know!”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Schuldig, I haven’t the time for your games. Either explain or leave me in my ignorance.”

Schuldig sets his glass aside and laughs again. “You’ve managed to be as much of a bastard as I am without even trying. You’ve insulted her at least three different times that I know of, and as calm as you’ve been about it, she can’t make a comeback without looking like a harpy.”

He’s puzzled now, and laces his fingers together on his desk as he regards his telepath. “You’ve been in her mind?”

Schuldig waves his hand in a so-so motion. “She’s been projecting so much that I don’t really need to waste the energy on getting in there. A couple more days of this, and she’s probably going to explode. She’s pissed off and frustrated as hell.”

He frowns and tries to recall when these alleged insults might have occurred, but can only come up with one. “I realize that calming the breeze she created may have been offensive, but—“

“May have been? She’s a three-signed Wind, Lucifer. She’s the fucking Lady of Winds! The only way you could have been more insulting would be if you were a commoner with only one Wind sign.” Schuldig smirks. “And it’s damn bad if I’m the one having to explain this.”

“As I was saying, it may have been offensive, but that was also the point,” he stresses. “There was no reason for her to let her control slip over such a trivial matter and this is my house. I would expect similar treatment if I behaved so in her home.”

“Holy fucking Soahc,” Schuldig mutters, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you never wanted to court anyone. The woman probably would have ended up killing you. Okay, listen up, because I am going to advise you here and I’m only going to say this shit once.”

“Very well.” He’s well aware that however Schuldig chooses to phrase things, when he does give advice, it tends to be worth considering. And if these past few days are any indication, he has to admit that he’s out of his depth when dealing with Lya as an ally and husband.

Schuldig leans forward and holds up a finger. “Okay, first? If she brings up the wind thing, just apologize and drop it. For the love of fuck, don’t tell her you meant it as an insult. She’s already seeing deliberate insults where you’re not giving them. You do not need to add to the problem.”

“I can already tell this is valuable advice,” he says with a wry twist to his lips. “It’s exactly the opposite of what you would do.”

“Well, I would have already ‘consummated’ her to exhaustion by now, so we’re clearly not going to be going by how I would do things.” Schuldig shrugs. “Voice of experience or voice of hypocrisy—either way, I know what I’m talking about.”

“And what have I done that she is taking as insult?”

Schuldig leans back in his chair. “Let’s see…what did you call it? Ah, yes. ‘Personal unpleasantness.’” He rolls his head to the side to look at his King. “Really, Lucifer, I can’t believe it never crossed your mind that that might not be the best way to put it.”

“That is about the most delicate way I could put it,” he says mildly. “We were having dinner.”

Schuldig groans and slumps forward to bury his head in his hands. “It’s not about discretion or delicacy,” he says, voice muffled by his palms. “Neither of you are—okay, well, she’s not a blushing virgin and you just don’t blush.” He raises his head and spreads his fingers, peering between them at Lucifer. “You basically told her that you don’t want to sleep with her. That you think sex with her would be ‘unpleasant.’”

He gives Schuldig an odd look and wonders if he’s been into some new herbs from Humontis. All the man was telling him was what he’d already said. “I know that. That’s what I meant when I said it.”

“No.” Schuldig shakes his head. “You meant that you don’t want to have sex. What she heard was that you don’t want to have it with her specifically. And from that follows that you don’t think she’s attractive, arousing, however she likes to think of herself when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ And I’ll tell you what else—people don’t like shit decided for them, remember? That was my main problem with being made the White Swan. And you —” Schuldig jabs his finger toward the King for emphasis. “—just decided to wrap this up nice and neat with signatures and without talking to her. She probably would’ve agreed if you had. As frustrated as she is, I’m pretty sure of it. But now she’s been pushing for the traditional conclusion and doesn’t want to ‘give in’ to you.”

“And what do you suggest I do now?”

“Oh, I’m not letting you off that easy.” Schuldig smirks. “You know where you went wrong now, so fix it. Just don’t expect her to think like you and treat this as nothing but politics. We’re from a place where marriage is just an alliance, she’s not. You might not love each other, but being married changes things, at least where she’s concerned.”

Lucifer gives an absent nod, already trying to think of how he might mitigate the damage he’s wrought thus far.

***

On the fifth night, she receives a summons to her husband’s chambers. She declines the invitation with frosty civility and has to make a conscious effort to keep herself from slamming the door in the page’s face. At the moment, she doesn’t care whether he’s had a change of heart, wants to apologise, or wants to make another attempt at convincing her to sign. She doesn’t want to see him.

She wishes she had Laura to vent to, but she’d insisted that the Calders return after the wedding to handle affairs in Talen’sul while she and Lucifer spent the week finalizing some details. Now the week is almost out and nothing’s been accomplished due to stalling on a matter of noblesse oblige.

“Now even if I win, I lose,” she mutters as she rubs her forehead. She doesn’t want him. She’d never wanted him, but she could imagine it being at least pleasant rather than the ‘personal unpleasantness’ that Lucifer clearly thought a night with her to be. One would think a man with one of the Lustful as an adviser would be a little more accommodating.

The Lustful. They have herbs to help things along, don’t they? She stops that line of thought as soon as it starts. After the hell Shadow’s mindmelt addiction put them through, she has no desire to use a drug on herself or anyone else, even if the Lustful’s drugs aren’t addictive. Even so, the thought of her perfectly composed Lord Husband disheveled and undone by desire—desire for her—brings a smile to her lips. And since smiles have been in short supply this week, she keeps thinking about it.

He’d be quiet, she decides. She can’t imagine him otherwise. She pictures him flushed, panting, eyes on her as she drags a wing slowly over his naked form, begging in breathy whispers….

A knock at the door makes her jump and she reddens as she realizes that her hands had been far from idle while she played out her little fantasy in her mind. Quickly, she adjusts her bodice and shakes out her skirt before going to the door. If it’s Lucifer, she imagines she can stand his company now.

Schuldig, not Lucifer, stands on the other side of the door. “You,” he drawls, “have quite t he imagination. And I have an idea.”

She takes a step back, blushing. “And just what were you doing, spying on my thoughts?” Her voice, at least, is steadier than she feels.

“I didn’t have to; you were projecting. Don’t worry, though. I’m the only telepath here, so I’m the only one who could have caught anything.” He smiles. “Now, I don’t get that involved with politics, but religious matters are another thing entirely.”

“I’m Etafian,” she says quickly and starts to close the door.

“An Etafian with a fantasy,” Schuldig states, and slides his foot in the doorway. “And fantasies are kind of my specialty. Now, this whole marriage thing is getting ridiculous. You don’t want to give in. You don’t want him to sigh and just give in to get it over with. You want him to want you. Am I right?”

She looks away. “I’d never even considered that unt—“

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “You’ve considered it now. So if you don’t want to give in, and he doesn’t want to bed you just for the sake of a contract, there’s still the chance for a good, old-fashioned seduction. If you can seduce him, you can win without losing.”

“I thought you said you didn’t listen in on my thoughts,” she says, eyes narrowed.

Schuldig grins through the cracked door, unashamed. “I never said I wasn’t listening at the door. Now, let me in and we can figure out just how you might get the chance to get to him. It’ll be an even bigger victory than you imagined; you’ll be his first and only. The only woman to ever crack the ice….”

When she thinks about it, it doesn’t come as a real shock that Lucifer has never had anyone. With that being the case, she finds it a little easier to forgive some of his words. And if she can be the only one…well, that’s a nice little boost to her pride.

Lya nods and opens the door.

***

On their sixth night of marriage, he finds himself alone in his chambers. It’s a nice rest from Schuldig’s constant interruptions, and he has some time to mull things over on his own. He’s surmised that she’s still angry with him; yesterday’s refusal to see him is evidence enough of that. The question is: what to do about it?

Things have been drawn out long enough, in his opinion. True, it’s been less than a week, but he’d planned to have all of the loose ends neatly wrapped up by now. He doesn’t have time to keep going back and forth over something so trivial. If his wife is going to make this a matter of pride that she can’t back down from, then he’s going to end it.

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t like the idea of being in such close contact with someone, but there’s nothing for it. Well, he thinks, holding the vial up to the light, there is something for it. He’s just not sure what it will do. He knows, intellectually, what the red liquid does, but not how it’s supposed to feel. He might not be able to tell if he had a bad reaction as opposed to something he just doesn’t like.

He ought to let Schuldig know what he’s about to do, he knows. His forte is poisons and their effects and antidotes. The substances that make up the drugs of the Lustful are jealously guarded secrets, and though he knows what he’s about to take, he doesn’t know what’s in it. On the other hand, he’s not eager to have Schuldig’s running commentary and offers of “assistance” while he deals with the drug’s effects. And he does know what different kinds of poisoning feel like.

Alone, then. He uncorks the vial and downs the contents quickly, barely registering the taste. The empty vial is set on the table at his bedside and he stretches out on the bed to mentally catalogue the effects, much as he’s done with poison in the past. Almost immediately, he begins to feel warm. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s nothing like a fever, so he assumes the effect is normal. His pulse speeds up and his breathing begins to quicken, though not dangerously so. He wonders if Wrath’s Kiss contains a nonlethal dose of some toxic herb.

Then the arousal hits and he grits his teeth. Despite all of Schuldig’s assurances, he doesn’t find it pleasing. It’s a need with no real purpose. A person needs food, needs water, needs sleep…. It’s not painful, exactly, but this is a need akin to wanting pain to stop. He feels a spike of irritation at the whole situation and growls under his breath. That’s the drug, too.

The next several minutes are spent fumbling toward an end to that feeling, but even afterward, his veins are still thrumming with the effects of the damned drug. The sensation of his own touch wasn’t bad—he can admit that, yes, it felt nice—but it’s nothing he’s in a hurry to feel again. Or ever.

After a bath made unnecessarily longer due to Wrath’s Kiss, he glances over the marriage laws of Khelek once more, eyes settling once more on the clause that was the source of his current problems.

“…husband and wife must lie together for any union of marriage to be legally binding. If it can be so proven that this consummation has not taken place, or if both parties attest that it has not, the marriage may be dissolved and all familial or political alliances arranged in accordance with said marriage are null and void and all properties (bride’s dowry, land, businesses, servants, and other holdings) shall default to their original holders.”

His eyes widen as a thought occurs to him and he reads over the full section carefully once, twice, and a third time before settling back with a faint smirk. “It appears Schuldig was correct,” Lucifer murmurs to himself. “Where there is a will, there’s a loophole.”

***

On the seventh night, she comes to him. “I think I’ve found a way we can compromise on the matter.”

“What a happy coincidence. So have I.”

Her smile falters for a second at that. Was there some obscure law that he’d unearthed allowing proxies? No, that couldn’t be it. Besides, she’s relatively sure that Talen’sul has no such law. “What did you find?” she asks. And what do I do now?

~Just wait and see what it is first,~ she hears Schuldig say. ~ Even if it screws with our plan, seducing him is always an option later. It can be something to do whenever you two get together.~

“Mm. Before I get into that,” he says, “allow me to apologise for my behaviour earlier this week; first for going ahead with a decision that by all rights should have been jointly made and then for what I’ve said regarding the matter. I intended no slight against you, Lya. I was speaking in general terms, not specific. It wasn’t until later that I realized how my words might have been interpreted.”

“Apology accepted,” she replies. After speaking with Schuldig, Lucifer’s actions did make a bit more sense. She thinks he should have thought more about why she reacted as she did, but she’s willing to be generous on that count.

He nods and appears to brush the matter aside. “Now then, the compromise I’ve found is possible due to the wording of the law. Or at least Khelek’s. Ours states that a couple must lie together for the marriage to be legally binding. It occurs to me that though simply sleeping in the same bed would not fulfill the spirit of the law, it most definitely fulfills the letter of the law.”

She stares at him wide-eyed for a moment before a mental laugh echoes in her mind and she has to cover her mouth with one hand. “That’s exactly the conclusion I came to. Our law is similarly worded.”

“Well then.” He looks pleased at this turn of events. “Shall we retire?”

“Would you be willing to wait until tomorrow?” she asks. There are a couple of items she needs to get from Schuldig beforehand. “The entire week is a loss; we may as well wake up together at the start of next week and finish things up.”

He considers it briefly and nods. “All right.”

Lya smiles and excuses herself to her rooms. Tomorrow night will be quite an experience, she’s sure.

***

The eight night is their “wedding night”: his first, her second.

“Well.”

“Um…”

“This is rather awkward.”

“Why did I think this would be a good idea?”

“You’ve been talking to Schuldig, haven’t you.”

“….”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“You took Schuldig’s advice.”

“…but he’s your adviser!”

“Yes. My adviser. Everyone else, he toys with.”

“….”

“What?”

“I’m glad I didn’t let him talk me into taking one of his toys.”

“Mm. You appeared to enjoy yourself at least.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“For enjoying yourself?”

“For this whole week.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“If I could see whether you were smirking, you might just be a dead man.”

“I’m not, I assure you.”

“….”

“Would you prefer me to say that I’ve had better?”

“…not really.”

“Ah, how long does that particular substance last?”

“The Flush? He didn’t say. Why?”

“Just…stop moving.”

“Oh. Well, I could….”

“Ngk! Just…ignore it and it should go away.”

“It would be faster, though, and it’s my fault.”

“F-fine. But tomorrow’s business will be put on hold until we come up with an adequate punishment for Schuldig.”

~I’ll have what he’s having.~

“Agreed.”

[Skittlebug]

Sorry for taking a full day to get the results up!!

Runner up!
Man Club Woman, Live Happily Ever After

Winner!
First Week of Marital "Bliss"

Feel free to PM me about sketch details and whatnot =)