Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tarah walked alongside Ciaran, tugging the strings of the short cape around her shoulders. “Ciaran, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Ciaran gave her a smile, her visible eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t be a fool, you should know as well as anyone, Lord Gwyn knows best, after all.”

Tarah sighed, keeping pace with her fellow Blade. The layers she wore were far too much for the natural warmth of Anor Londo, long sleeves and thick pants with a short, hooded cloak. Her perfectly thin blades were replaced with a pair of curved swords that sat heavy on her lower back. Her golden hair had been raised from its usual braid to a braided bun, off of her neck.

Ciaran led her to the throne room, the silver knights stationed pushing the doors open. As the doors slid open on well-oiled hinges, she heard a firm voice protesting, “My Lord Gwyn, whilst I would never question your decisions, I feel it would be better to join Lord Gwynsen on his journeys myself. I would not suggest a mere squire when I - “

Her eyes followed as Gwynsen’s hand rested on the agitated red head’s shoulder, attempting to soothe him. “Ornstein, it will be alright. There’s no need to worry so much.”

Ornstein’s long braid nearly whipped through the air as he snapped his head to look directly at Gwyn’s FIrstborn. “My Lord!” His eyes flickered briefly, landing on Tarah before narrowing and twisting into a scowl. “Look at her! She is far too small and thin to even think of carrying even your chestplate!”

Tarah felt her brow twitch and followed Ciaran’s bow to Lord Gwyn himself. Their God looked bored, his cheek on his fist and his sharp eyes following between the arguing Captain and his son. The too-tall men appeared to have just been training, a thin sheen of sweat on them both and wearing very informal clothes. If not for the shock of red and white hair respectively, they would almost not look like themselves.

Ciaran motioned for her to step forward, giving them both a polite smile. “Calm yourself, Ornstein. I have picked this squire myself and she is to only ease the journey. Is it to be a safe journey, is it not, my Lord Firstborn?”

Gwynsen nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is merely a diplomatic mission to Oolacile. It’s hardly worth bringing the Captain of my father’s own Knights. If she is only to keep an eye out for me and provide the comforts of home, it would be a waste of your skills.”

Ornstein’s eyes closed briefly, but he nodded stiffly after a slow exhale. “Of course.” He turned, bowing low to Lord Gwyn. “I apologize for my outburst.”

Lord Gwyn waved his hand dismissively. “Thou’rt excused, Captain. My Firstborn, thou’rt to leave in the dawn with thine new squire.”

Gwynsen bowed his head to his father. “Of course. Squire.” Tarah’s focus snapped to him and she stared back for a moment before remembering to bow low to him. “If I do not see you at the gate before the sun rises, you will be left behind. Whether or not you catch up will be left to you.”

She nodded once, looking up at him as she raised into a proper posture. “Of course, my Lord. I will be there and prepared to serve you.”

His dark grey eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer and she stared back evenly. In the corner of her vision, she saw as Ciaran closed her eyes in a brief show of annoyance. She may be presented as far lower than he, but she would not back down so easily.

Ornstein stepped forward, resting his hand on his shoulder as he looked up at Lord Gwyn. “If we are excused, we ought to return to our training.”

Gwynsen was forced to break his unspoken staring contest with Tarah. “Of course we can, Ornstein. I shall see you come dawn.”

Tarah bowed once more, only her chin brought down to her chest. “I shall see you then, my Lord.”

Ciaran bowed to Lord Gwyn properly. Tarah’s eyes lingered back on Gwynsen’s broad form. He was following Ornstein out the other door, away from her, his lips moving in response to the annoyed redhead. The Captain of Lord Gwyn’s Knights had an attitude to match his own strength, it seemed.

“Blade Tarah.”

Her eyes snapped to Ciaran, and then up to Lord Gwyn. She bowed low, hanging her head. “Yes, my Lord?”

Lord Gwyn’s eyes were cold and sharp, staring into her very soul. The silver knights at his sides stared down at her, their gazes hidden yet unyielding. “Thou shall fulfill thine task. If my son is cohorting with dragons, I expect blood on thine blade. If thou’rt unsuccessful, do not return.”

She nodded once. “Yes, my Lord. If I may ask one question, sir?”

Lord Gwyn nodded once.

Tarah saw Ciaran’s eyes dart to her, the subtle tension in her jaw. Of course, she would be the one to question their Lord. To soothe her commander, she chose her words carefully. “My Lord, I mean not to question you nor your plans. But, what if my Lord’s Firstborn is not cohorting with dragons? What if this is nothing but a… misunderstanding?”

Silence filled the room, the grand throne room that hosted grand balls and where Lord Gwyn heard the complaints of commoners. Statues and portraits of Gwyn’s family decorated the room, only further signifying how often this room was meant to be shown, to be filled and never be left silent. The unnerving silence of the silver knights was supposed to be unusual. Not something to be emulated.

Tarah swallowed thickly, noticing how his knuckles whitened and Ciaran’s nostrils flared in an exhale. She opened her mouth to apologize, to begin begging for forgiveness whilst praying he would be a merciful Lord and God. Yet to begin her duty, and already, she would be smited where she stood.

“If, by some chance, such a mistake was made, then thy shall inform me upon thine return. Thou’rt to complete the duty given to thee, either by report or blade.”

She nodded once, fear bubbling in her stomach. “Of course, my Lord. It shall be done.”

He waved his hand, dismissing them. The Blades gave their Lord a low bow, walking out of the throne room swiftly. The doors closed behind them, the silver knights not sparing them a glance as they walked into the hall.

She took a deep breath, hanging her head low. “Gods…”

Ciaran sighed at her. “You are a foolish girl, Tarah.”

Tarah pulled at the strings of the cloak, pushing it off her shoulders to carry over her arm. “I know, I know, my mouth will be the cause of my own death one day.”

Ciaran shook her head at her. “Dare I say, if you survive this mission, I would be proud of you.”

Tarah still gave her a smile, her eyes flicking past her at a glint of sunlight. She stepped towards the open balcony, Ciaran following her closely. Her eyes drifted down to the open courtyard where knights trained and refined their skills.

Gwynsen sat on a bench with a simple lance across his lap, sharpening the tip. In front of him, Ornstein paced back and forth, arms crossed and braid snapping in the air. The prince was unbothered, an easy smile on his lips between responses. He looked far too casual beside his enraged knight.

His head turned and a rare chill darted down her spine. His grey eyes held her dark blue, storm clashing with sea. She was trapped, even at this distance, under his gaze, unable to look away. She could feel him searching, seeking for something just under her skin.

She steeled herself, refusing to let him see. He would not find a weakness in her armor. Cloth or steel, she would not allow him even a glimmer of who she was underneath. Her duty would be done, by his - or her - blood.

Chapter Text

Tarah laced up her boots and dusted off, standing up straight. In the low light of her room, she grabbed the short cloak and leaned in close to her mirror to clasp it. Her heavier swords settled on her lower back and she grabbed her bag of supplies. The hornet ring pressed coolly against her chest, tucked under her layers of shirts.

She shouldered the heavy pack of supplies given to her, blowing the candle on her way out and walked out into the dark hall. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but she would not risk sleeping in. Even if she’d tossed and turned all night, she wouldn’t be left behind.

She stepped out from the side door, glancing up at the ever silent statue guardians. They were always creepy to her, standing just outside major checkpoints and never once stepping away. She was frankly unsure if they were even alive under their armor.

But they continued to simply not move as she began down the stairs. Even after a quick glance over her shoulder as she waited for the stone lift, they didn’t move once. Their helmets revealed nothing, not a man or a statue underneath.

A chill ran down her spine and she stepped onto the lift, rolling her shoulders. She hated their unseeing gazes, lingering on her skin like a grease. For once, she was thankful the warm clothes she now wore hid the rising bumps on her skin.

The lift stopped at the bottom and she swiftly walked down the stairs, spotting wild white hair and a too-long swordspear. She kept the momentum going, ignoring the stone sentinels by the lift. Each slow, leisurely step he took still required three of her own.

He tilted his crowned head as he stopped, turning to look back at her. His eyes softened and he looked down at her. “Ah, you made it in time.”

Her eyes darted to the side, looking up at the barely rising sun. “Of course, my Lord Firstborn.” She quickly bowed to him, remembering her new job. “I would not want to be late.”

He waved his hand. “Oh, put the formalities aside. I don’t want to hear ‘lord firstborn’ the entire way. Call me Gwynsen.”

She blinked once before straightening and nodding. “Whatever you would like to hear.”

He nodded once and turned, motioning her to follow. “Well? Keep up.”

She quickly followed after him, widening her strides in an attempt to keep pace with him. Truly, each one of his took three of her steps. Lords and Gods above, help her during this trek. These Lords were too big to really be fair for everyone else.

He didn’t seem to be in a particular rush as he led her through the city. Anor Londo was truly a fine city, a light mist making the early sunlight glimmer and glitter. The natural stone made the city look even more beautiful, living up to its grand reputation.

Giants pulled the main doors open, more sentinels stationed against it. The doors would stay open until night fell again. Any merchants worth their salt wouldn’t attempt to force entry and would be inside before the sun set. The City of the Sun would never expose itself to the rabble of the outside life.

Gwynsen led her outside the city, their feet landing on the smooth stone road. He walked slightly ahead of her, his longer strides giving him the advantage. His long scarf trailed behind him with every step, waving and fluttering lightly in the subtle breeze.

The sun continued to rise with each passing hour and she eyed each merchant carriage that passed by. Whether or not she was here to potentially - attempt to - kill him, a Blade protected their quarry from other threats. She still had a small blade, barely half the length of a Stinger in her boot, the hilt hidden under the leg of her pants.

“Why did Ciaran of all people choose you to join me?”

Tarah blinked, looking up at him. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, curious grey eye looking down at her. “Oh. I worked for the Lord Blades, dressing as their handmaidens on quests or simply taking care of their belongings. I’ve done some training alongside them, when they allowed it.”

He nodded slowly, tilting his head. “They trained you?”

She nodded, reaching back to nudge the hilt of one of the curved swords. “I requested to learn, to protect myself and to make better use of myself. I wanted to be more than just a servant and pushed myself to even make an effort to reach their beginner level.Even the boldest of humans would give little trouble, if we were to clash.”

He made a soft inquisitive noise, looking ahead. “Truly? Then, I will trust you to take watch when we decide to rest.”

She glanced up at him, noting how his eyes were soft and relaxed. Even his fingers didn’t twitch or curl. “Of course I can. I’m sure I will be hunting and preparing food for you, as well?”

His grey eyes seemed to brighten, widening with mirth. “That is part of a squire’s job.”

She smiled at him, lightly bowing her head. “My apologies, but I am used to the food itself being provided by others.”

Lies spilled from her lips like fine oil. Lie after lie, each word added to the last practiced lie. Born of a small and insignificant family, trained as a servant who cleaned and cared for the bare necessities. Confessing to being a bit of a poor cook had even gotten a light laugh from him.

This would be easy, getting close to him wasn’t appearing to be difficult. She’d heard he was friendly, teasing the knights who yearned to become silver knights and encouraging them. Rumor had it he was in charge of a fortress that trained silver knights, refining their skills and keeping them on their toes.

There was little she didn’t know about him, except for the mystery of his and his siblings’ mothers. There were no clues or hints about who they were, be they servants to Gwyn himself or women simply ‘blessed’ by the god himself to carry his children. She’d heard tale of wetnurses in the castle but hadn’t seen one herself, despite how many times she’d gone to places she wasn’t explicitly allowed in.

Eventually, though, they stopped talking and she continued to try and keep up with him. The sun shined down on them, sweat beading in her hairline and gathering in her clothes slowly. Even her uniform was far more breathable and lighter than these layers of clothing.

He twisted the cap off his waterskin, tilting his head back to drink it. Giving it a small shake, he frowned. “Well, squire, time for a short rest and refill.”

She forced herself to smile, reaching out to take the waterskin from him. “Of course. Here, mine is still quite full.” She unclipped her waterskin, holding it out to him as he slowed his pace.

His hand was big enough to wrap around the entirety of her smaller sized waterskin as he guided her off the road, into the well kept brush. A main river ran alongside it, far enough to not risk flooding the road but close enough to stop and rest. Such as they were doing now.

He drank her waterskin dry, some clear water dribbling down his chin. He licked his lips, reaching up for the long handle of his weapon. It was tilted as he sat down on a smooth stone, the rush of the river audible amongst the song of nature.

She rolled her shoulders after dropping the pack, stretching out her arms. The cloak came off again and she reached for the top buttons, undoing them. “I’ll get these refilled, sir.”

He nodded, offering her her own waterskin. She plucked it from his broad palm and carefully walked through the brush to the river. Kneeling down low, she felt her skin flush under the warm sun. How he was unbothered by all the clothing and armor was nothing less than a mystery of the world itself. Just looking at his scarf made her feel hotter.

Perhaps Lord Gwyn was right, except the heat would be the thing to kill her and not his son.

Chapter Text

They walked.

And, walked.

Surprisingly, they walked.

Tarah’s eyes hurt. The highway was busy, as expected, and each passing merchant or noble had her on edge. Any of them could be an enemy, anyone could make a bold attempt upon the prince’s life. No matter how intelligent some people might seem, someone could always be stupid enough to try.

Gwynsen showed no sign of exhaustion or even being bothered by the heat. He hadn’t rushed her to get back on her feet when they’d stopped for water, allowing her to cool off in the shade. He didn’t say it outright, but it still felt like pity to her.

She tried to keep up, and he didn’t seem to be in any particular rush, but it was a struggle. She wasn’t… human, per se, no Blade was, but she wasn’t a Lord or God, either. Without the added height and wider strides, she was left with only improved stamina to compensate.

None of her training or previous quests could have prepared her for such a simple yet frustrating task. The bright green trees and singing birds did little to distract her from her own annoyance. It didn’t help whenever something caught Gwynsen’s eye from a merchant’s cart, stopping their trek to admire their visible wares. Gold was exchanged a few times, small items tucked into his pockets before she could even try to examine them.

Gwynsen turned, suddenly, breaking off the road and leading her away. She quickly turned, following him into the darkening shade of the forest. He walked easily across the uneven ground, the soft clinking of his armor breaking the chirping of the birds.

He stretched out his arms above his head, the loose sleeves of his clothing rolling down and revealing the golden bracelets underneath. “We can stop here for the night, I’m feeling quite hungry.”

She nodded and sat down heavily on a stump, a patch of grass in front of her dark and singed, encircled with blackened stones. Drinking the last of her waterskin, she tried to hide her labored breathing while watching him move around, kicking gently at some fallen limbs. Her pack was deposited on the ground, careful to not break anything within.

Sighing softly, she rolled her shoulders. “I packed some preserved fruits and meat. I’ll have it prepared shortly.“

He gave her a smile, nodding once. “Of course, I’ll leave you to your work.”

The fire burned hot as Tarah carefully dumped seasoning on the preserved meat, laying it over the fire and warming them. One of the bags of fruit was already in Gwynsen’s hand, his teeth slicing through the soft flesh. He’d been kind enough to offer her a slice as she gathered twigs and branches for the fire itself, at least.

She rotated the strips of meat, sprinkling more of the seasoning over them. Nodding firmly, she closed the small bottle and turned away to tuck it back into her pack. She sat back on the stump, massaging her palms and wrists gently with her thumbs. The fire warmed her cheeks pleasantly, the creeping chill of night already at her back.

Gwynsen rolled his shoulders, tugging his thick bracelets off. “Mmm, well, squire? You’re to help me out of my armor, no?”

Rolling onto her feet, she nodded her head in a slight bow. “Of course.”

He sat straight for her, tucking his bracelets into an unseen pocket as she walked behind him. Lords and Gods help her, he may be sitting low on the grass itself but he was still sitting several heads above her. She had to reach up to untie the pauldrons themselves, with Gwynsen only lifting his arms slightly to give her easier access.

She set the metal down on the ground beside him, her eyes darting over his chestplate. Her fingers slid along the cooling metal to the ties, carefully and expertly undoing them. His hair was shockingly soft where she had to brush it aside, flowing wild and free.

The armor pieces loosened at her gentle tugs, his chest more openly expanding as he breathed. The front half began to slide away and she gasped sharply, taking a half-step back as she caught the back half in her arms. A mortifying thought of falling under the heavy weight chilled her quicker than the rising night ever could. Ornstein’s sharp glare flashed in her mind’s eye, only serving to fill her with dread.

The glint of fire on metal caught her focus as Gwynsen set the front piece on the cool grass. The leather straps coiled loosely on the ground, the metal ends shining softly in the flickering firelight. He turned slightly, looking up at her with that ever-present smile.

“Problem?”

She shook her head quickly, hoping to hide the tremble in her arms as she quickly stepped to the side with the chest piece in her arms. It landed heavily on the ground and she walked quickly to the skewered slices of meat. “It’s fine. Uh, here, shit, I think I let it overcook.”

He chuckled at her and stood up, his outer robe hanging comfortably on his body. “Let me be the judge of that. It only really needed to be warmed, in my honest opinion.”

Her brow twitched, but she took a deep breath as she fanned off the darkened pieces of meat. “At least they smell good.” Mostly.

His immediate pursed lips after he took a bite told her more than enough. The meat was too hot for her, but clearly that wasn’t going to stop him. The taste just might, it seemed, as he drank a mouthful of his water.

He shook his head slightly. “Mm, that is certainly a taste.”

She rubbed the back of her head, looking down at her own piece. “I’m sorry, I’ve never had much skill in cooking.”

He took another bite, though he still made a pinched face at it. “It’s certainly a good thing you won’t have to cook once we arrive at Oolacile.”

She tugged her cloak off, sighing heavily. “Well, until then, I suppose you’ll have to offer me some leniency with my cooking.”

He chuckled softly, drinking more water. “I’ll offer some courtesy, if you refill my water for me again. Lest I choke on this… meal you’ve created.”

Chapter Text

Tarah sat with her back to a tree, her eyes heavy as she held her blanket tight around her shoulders. Her eyes reflected the hot embers of their dying fire, barely any warmth reached the bottoms of her boots, and even less light illuminated Gwynsen’s back. Little moonlight broke through the wide foliage above them, hiding them from the skies above.

She’d nodded off several times already, small bite sized naps that could hardly even be called sleep. A small, nocturnal creature hung from a rope, its body limp and lifeless. It had woke her from one of her short not-quite-naps and had earned a dagger to its heart. It would do for a light breakfast in the morning.

Gwynsen had settled down and slept without a problem after eating his fill for the night, his arms behind his head and stretched out by the fire. His crown rested on the ground beside himself, just within reach. His weapon hadn’t been moved from where he’d left it, the sharp edge barely glinting in the small light.

Oolacile was about a weeks’ walk from Anor Londo, with one small town in the middle for rest. Hopefully, they would stop and rest there. One night of sleeping under the stars and she was already agitated. The fabric between her skin and the bark did little to stave off the bite, from either the bark or the cold.

Just a few days and they’ll have real beds for a night, and then they’ll be at Oolacile. She could make it, she would make it. She would be polite, and would stay polite with him. She may even share some jokes with him, work her way into gaining his trust.

A week of walking and gaining his trust, finding any hint that he was sympathizing with the dragons. All she could do was hope that she’d find something. Her fingers pressed against her hornet ring against her sternum, the metal warm from where it rested.

She rested her head back, carefully tucking the blanket higher around her neck. One more nap wouldn’t hurt. The road had been silent for hours and would undoubtedly continue to be so. Sleep was necessary for anybody, regardless of skill.

Gwynsen awoke to the light of the sun warming his bones. His jaw popped in a wide yawn, stretching out his arms above his head. He softly grunted as he sat up, pushing loose hair out of his face.

Looking around, his eyes landed on the sleeping woman, curled up at the base of the tree. Her short cape and her blanket laid over her body, merely a cocoon of a human. Clearly, she’d gotten quite cold in the night.

Three small creatures hung from a rope, safe from ground scavengers and pests. He raised a brow and stood up, shaking off the leaves and dirt that clung to his clothes and hair. Combing his fingers through his hair, he walked closer to examine the little beasts.

Each one only had one wound, right to the heart from a thin blade. A rapier or a small knife would be the only ones to fit, but her curved swords were too wide and neither carried a bow. Then she was hiding a knife on her person. Smart girl.

He silently untied the three beasts and moved back to sit back down in front of the extinguished flame, carefully stacking in a couple logs. It only took a few strikes of the flint to start the new fire and then he started to skin the little beasts.

The little woman was clearly not a mere human with advanced training. Of course regular humans lived in and around Anor Londo and the palace itself, but very few made themselves quite this important. Some made it to squire after a few average knights, but not even the Silver Knights had humans trailing after them.

If his father truly thought him so stupid, then he would play along. He would allow her to get close, would allow his own tongue to loosen and let slip some of his secrets. She had to have a trigger of some form and he would not be caught unaware.

He carefully skewered the meat he’d sliced and set it over the crackling fire, his eyes catching a slight glint of light. He leaned back and a thin knife flew in front of him, sticking firmly in the dirt where it landed. He reached over to pull it out and rotated it slowly between his fingers, humming softly.

Tarah stared, eyes wide and unfocused. She breathed quickly, her arm extended. She hadn’t thought, hadn’t even woken up properly before the knife had left her fingers, pulled free from her boot.

She blinked slowly, lowering her hand as she recognized the dark robes and white mass of hair. Her cheeks tinted pink and she straightened up, spine stiff. “My Lord!”

He chuckled softly and flipped the knife in the air, deftly catching the blade in his palm before he extended it out to her. “Good morning to you too. Do you wake up every day like that?”

She sighed heavily and leaned forward, taking the knife. She slid it into her boot, tucking it in place. “No, I don’t. Good morning to you, too.”

He smiled at her, watching her push the blanket off and shuffle over to sit by the warm fire with him. “I must be unlucky, then.”

She shook her head, yawning widely. “No. I was just on edge. I hope you slept well.”

He nodded, resuming his combing of his hair. “I did. Did you happen to pack a brush or comb?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, I did. Do you mind if I wash off my face in the river? I’ll only be a moment.”

He shook his head, gently untangling a knot with his fingertips. “I think I will survive a few minutes alone.”

She smiled and bowed her head, standing up and stretching out. She kept an eye on him as she walked away, staring at his back. He didn’t seem tense, not once, even as he’d toyed with her knife. The blade hadn’t cut a single hair from his head, let alone his hand.

Already, she’d outed herself. Cursing herself for her own impulsiveness, she dived her hands into the water and sucked in a breath. The river was ice cold on her skin and she still splashed it on her face, wiping her eyes. She pushed her cold and damp hand under her shirts, sighing at the ring hanging over her sternum.

What had Ciaran truly expected of her?

Chapter Text

Tarah watched Gwynsen play with his own hair as they walked, the mass of white locks pleated into one long, thick braid. At least, most of it made it into one braid. The shorter pieces hadn’t quite made it into the braid and even then, his fidgeting made several strands unravel and slip free.

“If you stop bothering it so much, it’ll look nice.”

He tilted his head, looking down at her. “Hm? We’re only walking, it’s not like I need it to look pretty. Where did you learn to braid so well?”

She held his gaze before shrugging, looking ahead. He looked so much like this father with his hair out of his face. “I’m used to tying up the Lord’s Blade’s hair during quests and such. And I’m proud to say that they held up quite well. Well, usually they did.”

He smiled at her sharp side eye, folding his hands together. “Oh? No one else ever wanted to touch and play with it?”

She blinked and looked up at him quickly, warmth bubbling inside her. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled softly, focusing on the road ahead. “I only meant the lovely braids. I see why Ornstein is so fond of them. The texture is nice and it’s out of the way.”

She hid her soft sigh with a stretch, arching her back. “I’m glad you like them so much. I can redo it before we settle down to sleep.”

He nodded. “I do believe there’s another rest point just up ahead. We could have made it last night if you were capable of longer strides.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed at his chuckle. At least her prince was having a fun time teasing her. Maybe she could use some of that lightheartedness for herself. She’d been told she was far too serious plenty enough. She didn’t need more of it from her own target.

She gave him a small smile. “And perhaps your hair would still look nice if you were capable of leaving it be.”

He gave her a smile in return. “Does my hair not normally look nice?”

She hummed softly, looking away and pretending to admire some of the roadside flowers that sprouted up. “I suppose it looks clean.”

“Oh? Only clean?”

She nodded, glancing back at him. “Mhm, it always looks like it needs a hardy brushing.”

His smile widened, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe then I’ll leave the brushing to you while I have you. Especially since you seem to have so much confidence on the matter.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely, her cheeks warming. “I promise I’ll try to be gentle.”

He leaned down, lowering his voice to not let the passing carriage overhear. “As I, you, sweeting.”

Her cheeks warmed and she knew this was no act or ploy. He was well and truly teasing her! Was this truly what even Ornstein had to deal with so often? Did he treat everyone like this?

She wasn’t allowed much more time to think on it before he was turning off the road, pushing a heavy branch aside and holding it back for her. They followed the well-worn side trail to a wider clearing, an even larger pit for a fire in the center. Sunlight shined down on them, the branches cut back neatly and the canopy of trees thinned out.

Tarah stopped to pull off her bag and dropped it on the ground, looking around the clearing. Giants must have been used to clear out the canopy, given their superior reach. Several places under the trees were neatly cleaned back as well, cut away for suitable lean-to’s or tents. She looked up at the soft thud of a heavy weapon stabbing into the ground breaking the silence.

He rolled his shoulders, sighing heavily. “I’m going to wash off in the river. Feel free to join me, if you’d like.”

She rolled her eyes, unclipping her short cloak to hang on a limb. “I’m going to go hunting for dinner. Maybe I’ll find us a real meal tonight.”

He nodded, motioning deeper into the forest with a nod. “Go beyond the river. I know there are quite a few deer that live around here.”

She rolled up her sleeves and nodded, tightening the tie holding her hair up. “I’ll keep an eye out. Try not to get killed while I’m gone.”

He chuckled softly and she turned away. Her feet had long stopped aching and she knew if she stopped moving now, she’d feel every nerve light on fire at once. She shook her head quickly, focusing on the hunt ahead of herself. There was a deer named dinner awaiting them

Chapter Text

Tarah trudged back to the small camp, a dead deer dragging across the ground behind her. She scowled as she shuffled forward, each step feeling like she was lifting a block of stone. Her arms ached from this heavy lifting she was being forced to do.

Cursing Gwynsen and his demand for a real meal. Maybe if he hadn’t snacked his way through the majority of their rations, she wouldn’t have had to hunt. But a good squire doesn’t complain and keeps her mouth shut, even if she felt wronged.

She pushed forward, hearing the soft stream. Damn her, she’d have to carry this thing across the water. Damn him, too, actually. If he hadn’t been sneaking around and potentially allying with dragons, she wouldn’t even have to be here!

Bubbles and suds caught her eye and she breathed heavily, staring at the small stone path she’d taken earlier. It was easy to hop across without a deer heavier than herself, but now she had just that - a deer heavier than herself. This thing ought to feed any prince, even a freakishly tall one.

She groaned, dropping the end of the rope she’d been dragging it with. Rolling her neck and shoulders, she felt a few things pop in protest under her skin. One more night sleeping on the ground, then she would have a bed to herself.

“Need help, sweeting?”

She nearly jumped a foot in the air, snapping into position to stare at Gwynsen. He sat comfortably, despite his clear nudity, on some warm stones, his long hair weighed down by water against his back. He gave her a small smirk, his fingers gliding through his hair. His bent leg was her only saving grace from seeing his full nudity.

She sighed heavily, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I could, actually, use your help, if you would be so kind.”

He nodded and stood up, turning to her and walking closer. She swiftly averted her gaze, looking down, suddenly very interested in how the water only reached midway up his shins. Water that sloshed easily with every step he took towards her.

He bent to grab the deer by the rope looped around its body and stood up, easily holding it in his hand. Where it had made her struggle and grunt and groan, he had no issue holding it up. His arm barely flexed, where she could see from the corner of her eye.

He didn’t fully straighten up yet, tilting his head closer to her. “I’ll skin this while you wash off. Blood doesn’t suit you.”

Warmth flooded her face and she shuffled, looking up at his face. He lifted a damp hand and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, pulling back to reveal pink. Her lips parted in mild surprise, her eyes locking onto his knuckles. How could she forget how the deer’s blood had splattered when she’d cut its throat?

He chuckled softly. “If you need help, please do call for me.”

She turned her face away and nodded, looking down at the water. “Of course. Thank you, Gwynsen.”

He smirked down at her and straightened to his full height, admiring just how small she was compared to himself for a moment. He walked away from her, lifting the deer to hang limply over his shoulder. Sure, it must be the exhaustion settling in, but someone was letting the grip on her emotions slip.

How ever would she react when the truth inevitably set in, he mused.

Tarah half-glared at his back and shook her head, pulling at the few buttons of her shirt. Her clothes flew off into a pile, her necklace carefully placed in the pocket of her pants. She kicked off her boots and threw them haphazardly onto the pile.

The cool wind slid across her body and she shivered when she lowered herself into the even colder water. She shook out her hair, leaning back slowly to dunk herself back, her arms tightly held over her chest. A few bubbles slipped past her lips, mixing with the natural bubbles that foamed with the stream’s natural movement.

She sat up, sliding her fingers through her hair and shaking it out. Why was he affecting her like this? Was it that he genuinely seemed kind? Was it his teasing? She was by no means a virgin, she had no reason to act like a blushing one.

Perhaps she was overthinking this. He was a handsome man and by far the biggest - or tallest, she meant tallest. The tallest man she’d ever met. Maybe that was it? Maybe the sheer size difference had been enough to fluster her.

Cupping water in her hands, she washed off her face and pulled her knees up. At least the riverbed was smooth enough to not grate against her skin. She didn’t need one more thing to agitate her.

What she wanted was soap and a hot bath. Hopefully soon they’d reach a place to actually get that. What she’d do to get there sooner.

Footsteps called for her to turn and she looked over her shoulder, looking up. Gwynsen had thankfully put on some clothes - his patterned outer robe - and was sliding her comb through his hair slowly. He stared down at her with a soft smile, his eyes flicking over her.

“I thought I would be nice and start cooking our dinner. I found the seasoning in your pack.”

Her brow twitched and she forced herself to smile tightly. “Yes, help yourself. Shall I attend to your hair once I finish?”

He smiled down at her. “I was just going to ask. Take your time, I’ll try to save some for you.”

Chapter Text

Tarah stood behind Gwynsen, her fingers gliding through his hair as she pulled it back into a braid. With his eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed, the prince had nothing to worry about even as small droplets of water dripped down onto their heads. At least under the canopy of leaves they’d slept under, the light shimmer of rain that’d begun had avoided them.

She carefully tied off the heavy braid and stepped around him to slide her comb through the front piece she’d left down. “Two more in the front and then you’ll be free.”

He chuckled softly, opening his eyes to look at her. “Oh? I didn’t realize you were holding me hostage.”

She smiled overly sweetly, tucking the comb in her waistband to start braiding. “Yes, I’m forcing you to sit still so I can fulfill your request yet again.”

The corner of his lip twitched upward. “Why, yes, you are. If your fingers were faster, we could already be on the road.”

She sighed heavily. “Well, I am trying my best. I would hope my prince is more forgiving, especially considering he insisted on watching me bathe last evening.”

He made a dismissive hum, his eyes dragging over her body before closing them. “Hm, well it wasn’t quite impressive.”

Her cheeks flushed and she tied off the braid before dropping it, stepping to his other side. “I - Excuse you?”

He didn’t respond immediately, giving her time to rotate his words slowly. He didn’t really mean it, did he? Of course Princess Gwynevere was far more endowed than most, and he’d been surrounded by women with plumper bodies than hers - curvier, softer, and ethereally beautiful - but she wasn’t an ugly woman by far. None of her previous partners had complained about her before, they’d actually quite liked how bright her eyes were in a low candlelight.

He made a small grunt and his big hand wrapped around her wrist, cutting through her thoughts. “I believe it’s tight enough.”

She tied off the braid, dropping it and tugging at her wrist. “Apologies. I need to finish packing.”

He stared evenly at her, his brow quirking. She stared back at him, steeling her expression. Despite the ever present height difference, she did not back down from him. And he had nothing but time to stare down into her eyes.

She tugged her wrist again and he loosened his grip for her to pull away. She turned quickly away from him, the warmth from the coals hissing as droplets steamed up in thin tendrils. Water landed on her cheek and she shoved the comb into her pack, wrapping up the thin strips of jerky she’d managed to make from their meal in a cloth.

How dare he. How dare this man get under her skin so easily. How dare he attempt to intimidate her. How dare she be pushed onto this job instead of someone nicer, someone better behaved, someone more capable of acting kind.

She tied off the short cloak, inhaling sharply as the string pressed into her skin. Grabbing her bag, she roughly shouldered it and looked over at the rustling of his soft clothes. He rolled out his shoulders, picking up his swordspear to holster it.

“Ready?”

He reached up to adjust his crown upon his hair, wild pieces of white already beginning to fly. “Of course.”

She smiled tightly. “Great.”

He raised a brow as she marched off, her heels digging into the dirt. Humming softly, he kicked dirt over the remaining coals and followed after her at an easy pace. He caught up to her with ease, his eyes drifting down to her.

Her temper matched her stature, and her attempts to keep it under wrap were certainly valiant. The tight braid against his temple proved that she couldn’t quite control it. For as far as he could see, she certainly made a valiant attempt, but he was not one to give in so easily.

The road grew quiet as they walked forward, the sky continuing to darken despite the passing hour. Water droplets began to drip and drop down on his head and he raised a hand, summoning a small wind above his head to keep the pattering rain away from him.

Unfortunately, his brilliant idea sent more rain onto her, wetting her further and making her shoulders hike up.

She stopped, turning on her heel and glaring up at him. “Excuse you?!”

He blinked, tilting his head. “Hm?”

She wiped her eyes as water landed on her face. “Can’t you handle getting a bit wet? Is the water a bit much for the Lord’s Firstborn?”

He hummed softly, looking up at the sky as thunder roared in the distance. “Perhaps we could be resting in the village if you could walk faster.”

Her brow twitched and he watched in barely restrained amusement as her face flushed from pink to the exact shade as Ornstein’s lovely hair. Rain continued to pour down, but she glared through it. “I am walking fast! I have been walking fast enough to keep up with you! My deepest apologies, but I wasn’t exactly provided a horse! I haven’t complained once yet and you have nothing to say about my pace! Not all of us were born with godly parents! Some of us were born of the most minor of godly lineages that you all have forgotten about!”

He stared down at her, face passive. The small wind above his head continued to blow, keeping the water from his own person, but blowing more onto her. “Oh? Did you have anything else you would like to get off of your chest?”

She breathed in sharply and wiped her face with her sleeve, turning away. “No! Let’s just go! I’m done! We have plenty of walking ahead of us!”

He chuckled softly, watching her walk ahead, even as the rain began to pour heavily. She pulled her hood up, each step carrying her further away as she grew wetter. Well, he hadn’t intended to pull that sort of reaction out of her already.

Sighing softly, he walked forward and carefully bent down, reaching out for her. She didn’t look back, her head bowed and her hood pulled taut, giving him the perfect opportunity. His hands extended out, the small, magical wind above his head kicking up the corner of her short cape.

Bending down lower, his arms went under her knees and he scooped her up, straightening up in one smooth motion. He stood up tall and continued walking, glancing down at her. The warm aura of wind around him continued swirling, keeping the ensuing downpour off of their bodies.

The rage on her face morphed into confusion, then the flush on her face darkened and her arms crossed. She looked away from him, resting her head on his arm. “I don’t forgive you.”

He hummed softly, striding forward. “A shame, I was willing to forgive you for your unruly outburst.”

Her brow twitched and he tilted his head down to hide his smile under his scarf.

Chapter Text

Tarah looked up at the darkening sky, yawning widely. She’d crawled partially up onto his shoulder and rested her head on his shoulder, her arm around his neck and her fingers loosely hooked into his breastplate. He had seemingly no issues holding her up, his hand holding her thighs without complaint.

She swung her feet slowly, shifting and lifting her head to roll out her neck. “Do you want to stop? I’d feel awful if my prince tired himself out.”

Gwynsen chuckled softly, tilting his head to look at her. “If you can hold on just a while longer, we’ll be there soon. I do hope your ride has been tolerable.”

She hummed, shrugging a shoulder before settling back down against him. “It could certainly be better, but it would be rude of me to not thank you for carrying me.”

He smiled easily, a small swirl of wind around them keeping the rain off of their bodies. He’d kept it up an impressive length of time, not showing any weakness or waning of energy. Most of the rain had been kept off of their bodies, though some still found their way into wetting their clothes.

Still, he didn’t show any complaints, as his hair was tied down and only the shorter side braids occasionally flew into his eyes. “It would be rude of you. I should hold that against you, however, and find a suitable way for you to apologize properly.”

She hummed softly, reaching up to twirl the damp short braid by his temple. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less.”

He chuckled softly, focusing on the wet road ahead of them. “I’m glad you understand your situation. Hm, how about for now, you elaborate on your earlier words?”

She frowned, running her thumb over the short braid. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He didn’t focus on her, continuing forward. “You do. ‘Born of the most minor of godly lineages’?”

She didn’t respond, her grip tightening around the braid. “Next question.”

He walked easily, unbothered by the mud he was walking through. “Fine. Do you have any siblings?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Two brothers, three sisters.”

He made a soft noise of surprise, glancing at her. “Not a small family.”

She tugged the end of the braid, loosening it to slide her fingers through the surprisingly soft hair. “We’re all quite a few years apart. I’m sure you understand quite well.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “Of course I do. Blessedly, father isn’t as potent as some have thought. Else Anor Londo would’ve collapsed from the inbreeding.”

She nodded, curling the hair around her finger slowly. “Ah, so Lord Gwyn does help himself to the ladies of the court.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, his eyes narrowing in the corners. “The ladies of the court and the servants. Truly, anything with a suitable hole.”

She let go of the damp curl and let it bounce free, sighing as she pressed her face into the soft fabric of his clothing. “And here I’d heard you were the one who didn’t see a soul as off limits.”

He shook his head, his arm flexing as he adjusted his grip, the swords on her lower back pressing against his breastplate. “While I am hardly one to turn down anyone willing, I rarely have to seek it out.”

She tilted her head, looking past the long hilt of his swordspear to the sky as it rumbled. “So, are the rumors of you and Ornstein true, then?”

He lightly laughed, unbothered by the darkening skies. His eyes focused on the lighting of lanterns and torches, windows beginning to glow from light within. “Only if you tell me if someone already holds your heart.”

She shook her head. “No. No one’s waiting for me. Friends, some family, a couple lovers. But no one would miss me for long.”

He shifted his shoulder, squeezing her thigh. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I could forget this journey. Here we are, I doubt you would want to show such weakness.”

She let go of his hair and straightened up, holding onto his breastplate as he lowered her to the ground. Her boots dug into the dirt and she grunted softly, her hand gripping his sleeve for stability. He rested his hand on her back, waiting for her to let go.

When she did, she shook her head and started walking. The magical wind died down and Gwynsen walked with her into the small town. Truly, it was a small town too, with a wooden gate and walls and only two visible lookout towers.

Gwynsen quickened his pace, leading her to the largest building, made of wood and stone. He pushed open the doors of the hall and ducked under the doorway, sighing heavily at the flood of warmth and light. She quickly followed him, turning to shut the doors after them.

By the time she’d turned, he was already across the hall and standing over a well-dressed man, speaking in low voices. The man kept bowing and nodding, his hands motioning towards a pair of double doors to his right.

She walked closer, catching the end of whatever he’d said, “...I truly have the deepest apologies, my Lord Firstborn, but we only have one spare room available and no spare beds that would suit yourself or even your squire. I will have food prepared immediately for you both and if you are to require anything else, please call upon me.”

Gwynsen chuckled lowly. “That sounds quite alright. There is a private bath for personal use?”

The minor lord nodded quickly. “Of course, my Lord Firstborn. I can have - “

Gwynsen raised a hand. “My squire is quite capable of preparing a bath. I will, however, take the key for myself.”

The minor lord bowed and began patting his pockets, procuring a keyring and practically shoved it at Gwynsen. “Of course! Please, feel free to ask for anything else you could possibly need or want. You need not worry while you have blessed us with your presence.”

Gwynsen made a soft noise, his fingers rubbing over the key. “Then I want you out of my presence until morning. With me, Tarah.”

Tarah bowed her head and quickly followed after him, her back straight. Her brow twitched as he led her to the wide double doors, slotting the key in and pushing them open. Again, she was left to be the one to close them behind him.

She turned as Gwynsen grunted softly, rubbing his temple as an unlit candle chandelier swung gently. Despite herself, her lips curled upwards and she giggled softly, holding a hand to her mouth. The ceiling was hardly a foot above his own head, giving him little freedom of vertical movement.

He turned to her and reached back, carefully pulling his swordspear from his back. “Yes, yes, now go draw my bath, squire.”

She rolled her eyes openly and carefully moved past him, frowning when she only came to a thin partition screen. Folding a portion back, she frowned at the large metal tub with a pair of spigots standing freely. There was nothing else to offer privacy to either of them, except a couple towels on a shelf but those were of little use whilst bathing.

Her brow twitched, but she turned a knob and shoved the plug into the drain. At least it looked long and wide enough to fit one Lord’s Firstborn, or four normal humans. The few candles around the bath were lit easily, glowing softly and illuminating the flowing water. Gratefully, steam began to rise within just moments.

She rose to her feet and untied her capelet, walking back into the sleeping area and frowning at him. He sat on the lone bed and unclasped his weighty bracelets, setting them aside. His swordspear had been laid against a wall and she tugged the belt holding her swords loose to set them with it.

Hanging her short cape up, she sighed softly. “Let me help you, my lord.”

He chuckled softly, already tugging a few straps holding his chestplate loose. He waited until she got closer, tilting his head down to her ear and speaking softly. “Don’t sound too disappointed, I was just beginning to think you liked me.”

She frowned at him and lowered her voice, helping loosen the armor. “Is there a reason we’re whispering now?”

He hummed softly, his eyes drifting to the door. “I would be lying if I said I felt fully safe here. We’re resting and eating our fill, but I have no intentions on staying.”

She nodded and gripped the bottom edge of the chestplate, adjusting her weight in preparation. He tugged the last tie loose and she leaned back a bit, holding up the heavy piece of armor. “Will I be required to taste all of your food for poison, as well?”

He shook his head and caught the backplate for her, setting it on the floor with one hand. The large rug under their feet was gratefully plush, helping the room to stay warm. “No. I don’t believe they’re so foolish to try that. Nor do I believe any of their poisons would be particularly effective.”

She nodded and lifted the backplate, pulling it over to join the chestplate. “Do you require further help undressing?”

He shook his head and stood up, carefully stepping around the candle chandelier. “Trust that you will know when you’re needed.”

She rolled her eyes and knelt down by her pack, waving her hand. “Go on. I’m not going anywhere.” Not that she had many places to go to begin with. Let alone places she wanted to go.

Chapter Text

Tarah sat on the large bed, dressed down to her tight undershirt and buttoned pants. The candles flickered softly above her, casting her own shadow over her hands. She’d taken off her necklace and held it now, her pack sitting on the floor within reach and open, awaiting the thin chain.

Her thumb passed over the symbol, her lips pulling downward. Only one of her sisters knew the truth of her occupation and supported her. The rest of her family were disappointed by her appearance as a simple servant. She couldn’t tell them the truth; lying came easily, but it did nothing to quell the shame that came from mere servitude.

One of her brothers had become knighted and the other had married a pretty lady from Lothric, her eldest sister had married upward and into higher society, the second stitched fine embroidery while married to a rough-handed blacksmith, and her younger had moved away quite some months ago to become a sorceress. And she’d joined the Lord’s Blade under the cover of night, trained until her limbs threatened to fall off and learned to act as any role; servant, handmaiden, high lady, concubine, or even innkeeper.

As far as her family was aware, she was only a servant. Her absences were filled with planned letters, lies that she had only been kept far too busy or carted off as luggage for their gods and goddesses. Lies had always come easily to her, be it from her fingertips or her lips.

At a knock on the door, she shoved her necklace into her pack and stood up. Gwynsen’s eyes tracked her through the wooden partition and the water sloshed gently in his bath. “I’m coming,” she called, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug.

She padded across the room and unlocked the door, peering out before opening it. She smiled politely and reached out for the wide tray. “Thank you. I’ll take this.”

The servant bowed her head low. “Let me retrieve the second for you, my lady.”

She stared for a moment, but nodded. “Thanks. Let me set this down.” Carefully balancing and reaching out with her foot, she shut the door to turn and carried the heavy tray to set it on the corner table. Looking up, her eyes locked onto Gwynsen’s, his arms loosely crossed behind his head as he lounged back in the warm water.

She sighed heavily at the light knock and opened the door again for the servant, taking the second tray with a soft thanks. Her eyes flicked over the crystal decanter of water, the freshly shined glasses, and the bottle of wax-sealed wine. Bumping the door shut, she carefully set it down and held the bottle at arms length, glancing over at her superior.

“You want a glass? I’d be willing to bet it’s their finest vintage.”

He chuckled softly. “Give me the bottle. And roll up your sleeves, I want your assistance.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment and walked over to him, setting the sloshing bottle into his hand. “And whatever could you need my help with?”

He held the bottle up to the light, admiring the sloshing liquid within the bottle. “Wash my hair, and do be gentle.” She stared at him, long enough for him to stare up at her with a raised brow. “Well? Do I need to repeat myself?”

Her brow twitched and she started rolling up her sleeves sharply, bunching them at her elbows. “Of course. However could I have neglected my lord?”

He wiped his hand dry on a towel and gripped the sealed top, his wrist flexing as he pulled it off, the cork pulling free and dropping onto the floor. He rolled his shoulders and sat up, tipping the bottle back to drink a mouthful. “Hm, certainly their oldest. Not sure I'd classify it as fine.”

She carefully sat on the edge of the smooth tub and reached over to grab the small wooden bowl, scooping water into it. “Well, with a small town as this, I’d be surprised if it did fit your standard.”

He rested his elbow on the edge, tilting his head back slightly as she gathered his hair back, her fingers gentle as she slid it past his shoulders. “Oh, don’t think I’m disparaging. I’ve travelled plenty and developed quite the varied pallette, if I say so myself.”

She nodded, sliding her fingers through his hair as she poured water over it, wetting it thoroughly. “I’d hope so. But, you never did answer my question earlier. What is your relationship with Ornstein?”

He chuckled, drinking more of the bottle. “We are certainly each others’ confidants, but far from monogamous. He’s far more particular than I with bed partners.”

She hummed softly and reached for the bar of soap, lathering her hands before sliding her fingers against his scalp, letting her short nails drag and drawing a low groan from his throat. “I’d be surprised if he was more promiscious, honestly. I think I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him without his armor on.”

He leaned his head into her hands, his eyes closed. “Keep doing that. Yes, Ornstein is… hm, what’s a way to say it without insulting him? Ah, short-tempered.” He suddenly laughed lightly, his smile widening. “I do surround myself with short-tempered people, don’t I?”

She rolled her eyes, scratching the foaming soap into his scalp and massaging it into the long hair. “Yes, very funny. Lucky you.”

He chuckled, the water rippling around his flexing chest. “I do feel quite lucky. And, that is far from any of my father’s influence.”

She shook her head slightly and grabbed the bar of soap, lathering her hands again with fresh suds. “I understand, you’ve got a tense relationship with your father.”

He tilted his head back and she looked back to meet his gaze, holding her in place. “It’s always one parent who goes wrong, no?”

She stared back at him evenly and exhaled slowly out her nose, nodding once before diving her hands into his hair once again, the ends of the long locks swirling in the water. “I won’t disagree to the truth.”

He hummed, closing his eyes and helping himself to another heavy swallow. “Do you sing?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning over to gather more of his hair to lather. “No. Do you?”

He shrugged a shoulder, resting his arm against the edge and leaning into it. “Not well.”

She nodded, running her hands through the long hair and working out the knots. Like hell she was going to sing for the prince during his bathtime. It was bad enough she’d been commanded to wash his hair for him, she wasn’t going to indulge him further.

Silence fell between them, giving her peace to slide her fingers through his hair as she rinsed out the suds. Foaming water swirled gently, droplets landing on her pantsleg when she shook his hair gently. He occasionally moved to drink his wine, letting the last red drops fall onto his tongue.

She poured warm water over his hair one last time and straightened up, grabbing a towel to dry off her hands. “There.”

He chuckled softly and lifted his hand, sliding his fingers through his hair. “Not going to wash my back? I’d get yours.”

Her brow twitched and she pressed the towel onto her lap, staring evenly at him. “No. I don’t want you to get my back.”

He smirked at her, sliding his hand to cup her jaw. “And, what do you want?”

She felt warmth flood her face and frowned, pulling her face away. “I want to finish this journey and return home. Take your time, I’m going to eat and bathe when you finish.”

He hummed softly, letting her pull away and stand. She avoided looking at him as he settled back again. “I’ll finish soon enough.”

She couldn’t get away from his gaze, even as she ate her food at the table with her back to him. She could feel his eyes boring under her skin, peeling her back layer by layer. Whatever he sought from her, she could not allow him to see her secrets and truths.

Gripping her fork tightly, she breathed slowly as she realized her mistake. She wasn’t supposed to tell him the truth about herself, she was supposed to be from a small family and not let her own emotions get ahead of her brain like that. How could he have already pried one truth from her?

The water sloshed noisily and she turned her head slightly, seeing only small parts of his wet body through the gaps of the partition. Water dripped and swirled as it drained and loosened her grip, dabbing her mouth clean with her napkin, gathering herself. Regardless of what he’d done to her, she would not fall so easily.

Gwynsen’s eyes flicked to the now-lit chandelier and he held the too-small towel around his waist, another around his shoulders. “Your turn.”

She stretched her arms out and stood up, motioning to the table. “I’ve had my fill, have yours.”

He rubbed the towel against the side of his face, closing an eye. “Take as long as you need, but I will be sleeping soon.”

She glanced over at the bed, stepping out of his way and towards the bath. “Leave a pillow for me at least, I’ll take the floor.”

He raised a brow, gratefully keeping a hand on his waist towel as he walked past her to sit, ignoring the wooden chairs soft squeak of protest. “I doubt you take up so much space to bother me.”

She turned on the water again, leaning back against the edge. “No, but it would be highly inappropiate.”

He shrugged a shoulder and leaned back, the chair protesting again. He made a show of waving his hand around, looking around the room. “Who would see us in the privacy of our room? The walls do not truly share secrets on their own.”

She shook her head. “Well, perhaps I simply don’t want to and I would like my wishes to be respected.”

He chuckled softly. “First it’s inappropiate and then it’s a matter of what you want. What is the truth, Tarah?”

Her brow twitched and her brow furrowed, her fingers tugging sharply as she pulled at her tunics ties. “I don’t see how those two phrases contradict one another. I can find it inappropiate and also want space for myself. I would hope that you trust me enough to trust me when I’m telling you the truth or a lie.”

He held up a hand, silencing her, the light tone absent from his voice. “The nights are cold. Don’t act like you don’t feel it. I don’t care about decency, I will not have my squire freezing to illness and slowing us down further.”

She felt her face soften and looked down at the floor, turning away to turn off the water. “Fine. At least put your pants back on.”

He nodded and turned to his food. “I shall concede, in exchange for your own concession. Enjoy your bath, I won’t keep you.”

Her tunic fell to the floor in a heap with the rest of her clothes and she sank into the water, eager to wash off with proper soap. The heat sank into her very bones and she sighed heavily, leaning back to sink underneath the water. Her fingers slid through her hair, sending the golden strands through the water.

Sitting up straight, she pulled her knees up and wiped her face free from water. With her back still turned to him, she could still feel his gaze on her. His fork scraped against the plate, but thankfully he ate far quieter than other men she’d met. She supposed if anyone was tolerable to share a room with, it would be her crown prince.

Lathering her hands, she took her time to wash off and give him ample time to eat. She heard as he moved around and fabric rustled before wood groaned in mild protest. Her lips pulled into a slight smile as she poured warm water over her head and hair.

“Don’t laugh over there.”

She rolled her eyes, combing her hair with her fingers. “I’m not laughing.”

“I can hear that smile.”

She shook her head and pulled the plug, standing up to wrap up in a fluffy towel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m only smiling from a real bath.”

He met her eyes as he settled on his front on the bed with a heavy exhale, his robe hanging off his shoulders loosely and his hair wildly sticking out yet again. “And yet I don’t believe you.”

She shook her head again, feeling her wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders as she walked over to her pack, kneeling down to dig out her clean spare clothes. “Well doesn’t that sound like a you problem? If you don’t leave me any space, I won’t have room to follow your orders.”

He chuckled softly, resting his head on his pillow as he crossed his arms under his pillow. “Don’t think I’ve already forgotten.”

She smiled overly sweetly at him, turning sharply to ensure droplets of water flew onto him. At the quickly cooling droplets on his skin, he waved his hand towards her and sent a sharp breeze up her towel. She huffed and hopped on her heels, walking quickly awa from him as she tightened her grip on his shoulders.

“Fuck you!”

He lightly laughed, his eyes tracking her through the wooden room divider. The towel was thrown onto the top of the divider, but he could still see the slight curves of her body, the hint of her breasts peeking out as she lifted her arms up. Her long hair fell to the middle of her back, clinging to her skin.

As she moved, lifting her shirt above her head to slide it on, he saw a pale scar against the back of her hip, ending less than an inch above her ass. Her shirt slid down, hiding the other scar across her right shoulder blade. That one, he had already seen before.

She bent over low to pull up the snug shorts over her ass and he cleared his throat, turning his head away. “Be sure to grab the brush.”

He could hear her eyes roll - again - and settled down, rolling his shoulders. She walked over to him and sighed as she sat beside him, her thigh pressing against his side. “Oh, my poor, sweet prince, always needs his luxurious hair brushed for him.”

He chuckled softly, shifting to allow her to gently pull his hair free. “Oh, it’s luxurious now?”

She started working through his hair. “Yes, and if you pull that wind trick again, I’m going to cut it.”

He hummed softly. “Cut my hair and I’ll be impressed. I might even reward you.”

She slid the comb through the soft hair, which was still thankfully untangled despite its visible wildness. “Oh? And however will you reward me? Jewels and gold, or a title?”

He shrugged a shoulder, yawning widely. “Hmm, haven’t decided yet. Perhaps gold, a promotion is surely sought after, but I don’t imagine that’s all you’d want.”

She shrugged as well, looking up when a thin breeze brushed through her hair, the candle chandelier extinguishing itself. Only the candle beside the bed flickered softly and the thunder outside rumbled the walls. “I wouldn’t turn down gold, but I earn a decent enough working at the castle.”

The tension slowly left his shoulders as she combed his hair and his voice softened, his eyes closing. “I’ll think of something more suitable for your status.”

She slid the comb through his hair and tugged out the white strands, reaching up to comb through her own hair swiftly. “Of course you will. Go ahead and sleep, I’ll try not to disturb you.”

He made a soft noise of agreement and she smiled a bit, carefully keeping her wet hair from dripping onto the bare skin of his shoulder. He looked a touch more handsome, long white lashes folding together. His lips parted slightly and she smiled a bit, tilting her head as he truly seemed to fall asleep.

Setting the comb down, she carefully lifted the blanket to wriggle under it and blew out the last candle. The rain pattered on the roof and the thunder rolled outside, dark clouds blocking out the moon. She rested her head on the soft bedding, enjoying the warmth that radiated from his larger body.

Sleep overtook her, even as lightning briefly illuminated the room through the slight opening of the curtains. Wind openly blew outside, pattering rain against the roof and walls, the wooden walls doing little to muffle the noise. Neither of them were disturbed or bothered, compelled deeply by the call of sleep.

Chapter Text

A slam against wood awoke Tarah, her heart pounding and her ears ringing. Lost in the darkness, her hand reached out for a weapon, knocking over a wax candle and sending things clattering to the ground noisily. Fabric wrapped around her legs, restraining her in place.

A heavy arm came down on her and one big hand wrapped around her wrists. She gasped sharply as she was lifted, then pinned down again, her skin clammy as her hair clung to her neck and collar. White surrounded her, a flash of light revealing dark grey eyes.

“Calm, Tarah, calm. You’re safe.”

The voice was gruff, rough with disturbed sleep, but her eyes locked onto his as her chest rose quickly. The warm body pinning her down held her firmly in place, so much larger than hers that sent fear through her very soul. She’d been caught, she’d been found out, her lies had unraveled and her truths had been revealed.

She had failed.

And now, her punishment held her firmly in place.

A gentle yet calloused hand touched her cheek, cupping the side of her face and fingers dipping into her hair. “Calm. Breathe.”

She was breathing, wasn’t she? Her chest was rising and falling, she could feel her heart still pounding in her chest. Death may be on her doorstep, but she hadn’t died yet, right?

His hand let go of her wrists to take one of her limp hands in his, guiding it to press her palm to his warm chest, under the soft fabric of his clothing. His heart pounded slowly, firmly, not once skipping or hesitating. Not a thing in the world struck fear into him.

Hesitantly, she pressed her palm harder to his skin. His chest rose and fell, slowly and steadily, and she did not risk pulling away. His hand did not release hers, cupping the back of her own and her wrist in one grip. His eyes held her in place, preventing her from reaching out or attempting to free herself.

Slowly, she found her breathing beginning to ease and match his own. Her racing heart slowed and her eyelids began to drop once again. No, she wasn’t in danger, she wasn’t being punished. She was safe, with her princely target, resting in a safe inn while a storm raged outside.

He let go of her hand and eased himself to lay beside her, reaching down to untangle the blanket from her legs. Her legs kicked weakly in protest and he shushed her gently, laying it back over her. She still panted softly, each breath short and quick, even as her eyes fought to stay open.

He settled down beside her, laying his arm over her and pulling her to his chest, making it a point to breathe in deeply. He gently combed her hair back, peeling it off of her damp skin and folding it back. “Sleep, Tarah, you’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

She mumbled softly and incoherently, making him chuckle softly. His head rested on the pillow and he closed his eyes, feeling her breathing slow and settle down. A few more hours of sleep, then he would decide what to do for the day.

When Tarah awoke, it was to the smell of food and the crackle of lightning. She rolled over, blinking slowly and following the soft glow of light to the small table in the corner. She stared at the flickering candle and yawned widely, pushing herself to sit up.

She rubbed her eye and sighed heavily, rubbing her eye. Fuck her, she slept like shit. She slid her hands down to rub her neck and shoulders slowly, breathing in deeply. Her entire body felt sore, even if she had spent most of the day on her ass or being carried in Gwynsen’s arm.

Speaking of the devil, the man himself ducked into the room with a tray of food in his arm. His eyes found hers and he smiled easily, shutting the door and flicking the lock. “Sleep well?”

She shook her head and swung her feet over, rubbing her face. “No, I feel like hell. Is it early?”

He shook his head and set the food on the table, tossing a berry into his mouth. “My guess is closer to lunch.” Her mouth fell open in protest and he held up his hand. “Relax, the rain hasn’t lightened up yet and neither of us want to be outside today. We can rest for another day while the lord’s servants wash our clothes.”

She nodded slightly, resting her jaw in her hands as she stared at him. “Thank you…”

He hummed, nonchalant as he settled down on the floor, procuring a whet stone from his pocket. Grabbing the hilt of his swordspear, he laid it across his lap. “Come eat your fill. We will have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

Sighing, she stood up and pushed her hair from her eyes. Glancing down, her fingers curled at the candle wax dried across the table, the candle itself clearly listing to the side from its untimely fall. The comb had been picked up, as had anything else she might’ve knocked over.

He didn’t say anything, though, as she walked over and sat down near him, her feet tucking under the chair. He didn’t draw attention to her disheveled look, nor the dried candlewax upon the table. He didn’t comment as she fixed her shirt and shorts, constantly tugging at her hair and pushing it back as she ate and nibbled at the food.

Gathering a couple of berries in her hand, she offered it to him. “Here.”

He chuckled softly and leaned over. “Promise not to hit me.”

She stared, registering what he meant as he opened his mouth. Rolling her eyes, she smiled a bit as she gently tossed the berry into his mouth. He easily caught it and smiled back at her, biting through it. She settled back and tossed it back at him, still smiling as she tossed more berries into his mouth.

It quickly became a small game, seeing how high she could toss them without missing and how far he could lean with the wall against his back. Sharpening his weapon was forgotten in favor of catching berries, his lips staining with the red juice. His tongue darted out to lick up the juice, his throat flexing as he swallowed.

She giggled softly, reaching for the vine and frowning when it came up empty. Looking at it, she sighed and shook her head, holding it up on her fingertip. “All out, sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. That was fun. You’re not so bad with the rod out of your ass.”

Her brow twitched and she stood up, turning away to grab the comb off the side table. “Oh, you’re funny today.”

His hand appeared beside her own and her heart crawled into her throat as he plucked it from her fingers. “I’m in a good enough mood. Allow me to return the favor.”

She rolled her eyes and held up her hands. “Alright, fine. Couldn’t stop you if I wanted to.”

Instead of allowing her to sit back in her chair, his arm came around her waist and he lifted her up, sitting back down on the floor and settling her in his lap. She blinked quickly, her fingers grasping onto his sleeve. Her legs sprawled over his own as he settled her between his thighs, his larger hand guiding her hair back.

“Let’s see, you think you could talk me through a braid?”

She nodded slightly, careful to not pull her hair in his hand. “Yeah, probably. Uh, just be gentle. Start at the bottom, work the knots out gently.”

His chuckle rumbled against her back and he started, carefully working out the knots. “So,” he started, after only a moment of silence, “what woke you last night?”

She sighed heavily, resting her hands on her lap. “A nightmare. My apologies if I woke you.”

He made a dismissive noise. “Trust that my own sleep was restless, regardless of your state.”

She shifted in his lap, letting her legs rest over his. “Aw, was the bed not to my prince’s standard?”

“I find it’s more the location and less the bed itself. Even less, you were far from the worst bedpartner I’ve ever had.”

She glanced down, mulling over her thoughts for a moment. The comb began to slide through a portion of her hair slowly, gently working out the knots. “I felt pure fear. I couldn’t move, nor could I find a weapon to defend myself.”

The comb didn’t falter and he spoke evenly, voice not betraying a single emotion. “Ah, you like to sleepp with a knife under your pillow as well. I hope I was right to put myself between you and the door.”

She nodded slightly, her eyes unfocusing as she stared at the fur rug. “I should be the one between you and the door.”

“I won’t disagree, but you did sleep quite well after that, did you not?”

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. “I did.”

His smile was in his very tone as he said, “Then all is well. Now, guide me lest I pull your hair or make worse knots than how this began.”

Chapter Text

Tarah sat high upon Gwynsen’s shoulders, her feet carefully hooked under his arms and her fingers combing through his hair and carefully braiding pieces as she saw fit. Her eyes flicked up at every noise not made by his easy pace, staring at rustling bushes until the occasional rabbit or squirrel made itself known. The closer they got to Oolacile, ironically the quieter the roads got.

The roads grew rough, thick with grass and vines and oversized lizards clung to trees, absorbing what sun reached through the heavy tree limbs. It’d forced her to slow her pace and Gwynsen offered to simply carry her. Instead of taking away one of his arms, she’d climbed upon his shoulders and took up her perch. His tall crown dangled from his fingers, preventing her from taking out her own eye on the thin whenever he had to make unsteady steps.

Her thighs squeezed his neck lightly as she straightened her back, her hands falling into his view as she held onto her knees. She was quite confident upon her princely perch, her eyes drifting up to the skies. The very tips of Oolacile’s buildings grew more visible and defined as they walked, but they still had a day or so before they would pass through the gate proper.

Honestly, probably a day and half with his pace.

“We should stop and rest.”

He nodded slightly, tilting his head to look up at her. “Worried about my poor legs?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. I’m hungry. Unless you’ve suddenly decided you don’t feel hunger or need rest and can go well into the night.”

He chuckled, lightly smirking. “I certainly can go well into the night, if you can.”

Her brow twitched and she tugged on a short braid she’d made. “Don’t even think I’d lay with you like that.”

He smiled pleasantly, carefully stepping off the road. “How ever could I make such an error? I’ll be sure to never do such a thing again.”

Her lips twitched and she slid her fingers through the small braid, gently undoing it. “Then, to make up for it, you can do the hunting tonight. It shouldn’t take you long to find us some dinner.”

He sighed heavily and knelt down, pulling his swordspear from his back. She grabbed his shoulders and carefully jumped down, twisting her torso as he straightened up. “Hm, you’re awfully flexible. But, fine, I’ll be good for you and be sure you’re properly fed. I’ll return shortly, little sweeting.”

Her cheeks warmed and she shook her head, looking around the area. Curse that man and his soft, sweet tones. The past several days of walking had been quiet, and colder with every step towards Oolacile. The surrounding lake and rivers chilled the air, dampening it all at once. Sleeping closer to him had been the only saving grace.

He’d insisted on carrying her to make up for their lost time and she hadn’t disagreed, conceding with the fact she would also be able to see further. He didn’t call out her reasoning as a mere excuse and for that she was grateful. He was admittedly easier to get along with when she wasn’t lying about every little thing.

She still hated that nickname he’d decided to bestow upon her. And adding ‘little’ to it, as if she were a child. Just because she fit in his arms did not mean she truly was a child.

Cutting back the brush with her curved sword, she pushed it away and huffed. Just because they were getting along better, it did not make her objectively like him more. He was still her job and the closer they got to Oolacile, the more she was reminded of it.

She started the fire and Gwynsen skinned the small animals he’d killed upon his return. She helped remove his armor while their food cooked. He rebraided her collapsing braid for her while she ate in peace.

They ate side by side, listening to the sounds of the night awakening and their fire crackling, making shadows dance around them. Their arms brushed and bumped as they ate, but neither moved away. Neither had any more words for the evening, content within their silence.

Eventually, after she’d added some more broken wood to burn, he moved. Away from her, then he was lying down and his head landed comfortably on her crossed legs. Her hand froze in the air and she frowned down at him.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes closed as he adjusted his shoulders, settling more into place. His hands folded over his chest and she frowned down at him. “What are you doing?”

He made an inquisitive noise. “Whatever is the matter? Your thighs make for a lovely pillow. I am simply indulging in the various uses you have for me.”

Her brow twitched and she dived her hand into his wild hair, combing through it and gently tugging the knots loose. “And yet I don’t recall giving you permission to place your head into my lap.”

He turned his head, pressing his face into her stomach and smiling against her shirt. “And yet I don’t feel you pushing me away.”

She flushed and softly huffed, looking away from him. Curse this man and his sheer audacity.
Still, her fingers slid through his hair slowly and her nails scratched against his scalp gently.

Chapter Text

Tarah walked beside Gwynsen across the bridge, her eyes flicking to the watchtowers. The river flowed quickly under the stone bridge, washing over the wild roots that grew into the riverbed. Her boots clicked softly against the stones and Gwynsen stopped at the crest of the bridge to look out, his eyes narrowing.

She stepped closer to him, glancing at the open gate. “What’s the matter?”

He didn’t respond immediately, a gentle wind tangling his wild hair. His crown stood high upon his head and his mouth was hidden from view, but she could see the narrowing of his eyes. Storms raged just under his skin, weighing down the very air around them.

She tracked his gaze, following it towards the chasm. The high cliff walls went on quite a way, the river thinning into a stream and falling off a sheer drop. Something lived there - something that uneased him. His fingers twitched and he exhaled slowly, turning and looking down at her.

“Let’s move along. Princess Dusk is awaiting us.”

She nodded, looking up at him. “Tell me what’s on your mind later?”

His eyes softened as he met hers and he chuckled lightly. “Only if you continue your proper duties, sweeting.”

Her brow twitched and she turned, continuing over the bridge. “Well, let’s go.”

His chuckle carried along the wind and he followed her. She fell behind him as the ground morphed into smooth stones, the tall gate open. The guards let them pass, bowing their heads low to his Lord Firstborn. She glanced at them both, keeping her pace quick to not fall behind.

Gwynsen walked ahead of her, ignoring the low bows towards him as he led her through Oolacile’s streets. She looked around as well as she could, trying to take in the tall buildings built over the deep chasm, the trees sprouting from the cliff sides with vines dangling. People moved about, to and fro, fearless of the chasm that stretched far beneath them.

She followed him across the bridge and stiffened when the doors to the extravagant manor swung open, bowing when she recognized Princess Dusk. Gwynsen smiled down at the petite princess. “Greetings, Princess Dusk. I do apologize for my delayed arrival. We walked directly into quite the storm.”

Princess Dusk bowed down to him, her hands clasped in front of her skirts. “It is quite alright, my Lord Firstborn. Thou’st room hast not been disturbed since thou last visited. ‘Twas only entered to be cleaned, I assure thee.”

Gwynsen chuckled softly. “I trust you, Princess. Where is your father? I’d like to speak with him.”

Princess Dusk stepped back, lifting the front of her skirts to walk back inside. She glanced over them both, meeting Tarah’s eyes swiftly. She gave the ‘squire’ a smile, turning to lead them inside. “Of course, my lord. I shall see if he is not too busy for thee. I apologize, but there ist a lack of room for thine squire. We were unaware thou wouldst carry a guest.”

Gwynsen hummed softly, glancing down at Tarah and meeting her eyes. “She was a last minute addition.”

Dusk nodded, leading them into the bustling manor. People moved around freely, carrying plush and extravagant clothing, maids cleaning every possible speck of dust, nobles lingering in groups together, speaking in hushed voices, other servants decorating where the maids cleaned with finely embroidered drapes.

Tarah watched them all, eyes darting around and letting her hand brush against the hilt of one of her swords. Gwynsen must have noticed, asking, “Quite a few nobles seem to have made themselves comfortable. Preparing for the ball?”

Dusk bowed her head politely to the nobles they passed. “Yes, my lord. If thine squire requires dressing, something can be procured.”

Tarah’s eyes darted up to Gwynsen, but he wasn’t looking at her. His partially hidden smile told her everything though - he was planning something against her. “I would quite like to see her dressed appropriately, in fact.”

Tarah’s brow twitched and she frowned deeply up at him, biting her tongue to keep from protesting. She may have dressed elegantly in past quests, but not out of pleasure. Her squire outfit was suitable enough to keep on the edges of the dancers, avoiding their full skirts.

Dusk smiled brightly. “Of course! I shall see proper dresses are set out. Shall I also procure thee the same, my lord?”

Gwynsen nodded, his eyes equally bright as they walked past crystalline windows. “I would greatly appreciate it, Princess. In fact, I’d quite like our meals delivered to us as well tonight, if your servants are not too busy.”

She shook her head, stopping by a pair of wide double doors and bowing her head to him. “Wouldst thou prefer to meet with mine father in the morrow?”

Gwynsen pushed open one door, motioning Tarah inside. “Yes, that sounds quite pleasing. I’ll meet with him in the morning, but tonight I want to rest.”

Princess Dusk bowed again, giving Tarah a polite smile. “I understand, my lord. Rest well.”

Gwynsen nodded, bowing his head politely before shutting the door behind himself. He locked it shut and turned, his smile widening at Tarah’s crossed arms and deep frown. He tilted his head, his voice light. “Oh? Is something the matter?”

Tarah’s brow twitched and her lips thinned. “Yes. What in the hell did you just thrust me into?!”

Chapter Text

Tarah smiled gratefully at the servant, damp pieces of her hair falling forward as she took the bundles of cloth. Shutting the door with her foot, her smile dropped and she tossed the soft dresses onto the foot of the bed. A hefty tray of food awaited the holy prince himself on a table.

Her knuckles rasped on the bathroom door and she nudged it open, her lips pulling into a tight purse. “Your dinner’s here.”

Gwynsen stretched his arms out over the back of the tub, his head resting back against a folded towel. “I’ll be sure to give the princess our thanks later.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to feed you while you’re in the bath, y’know.”

He gave her a smile that made her warm yet again, his eyes brightening. “And whatever did I do to deserve your ire?”

Her hip landed against the wall, but her frown never left her lips. “You seem to have failed to mention the princess throwing her little party. And, that I would also be required to dress in something appropriate. Which I failed to pack for and now am being offered dresses for.”

He hummed softly and stretched out his arms above his head, straightening up. “Oh? Let me see them.”

Her frown softened a bit, her brow raising. “You want to see them? You have an interest in dresses?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her tone, even if she’d tried.

He crossed his arms against the edge of the tub, pillowing his head as he looked at her. “An interest in dresses? Not particularly. But I do have a certain interest in beauty.”

She turned away, her loose braid whipping through the air. “Fine!” She had to hide her quickly growing blush - she couldn’t let him see how much he was getting under her skin. Never had one man made her feel this way.

Gathering the dresses, she wondered briefly why she was still obeying him so willingly. Was it really just for her quest? What did she have to gain by trying on dresses for him? To show him those ‘comforts of home’ that he’d once proclaimed so boldly? Why would she ever care for things of that nature?

Why would she ever care what he thought she should wear?

Still, she walked back into the room, letting the steam swirl around her ankles. “Here. They gave me a few.”

He waved his hand. “Just hold them up. I wouldn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable.”

She rolled her eyes, setting the dresses aside and picking up the first - a simple red dress with absurdly long sleeves that threatened to brush the floor. “I’m not wearing this.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I’d be surprised if you did like the draped sleeves.”

She shook her head and grabbed the second - a yellow dress with lace and colorful beading. Holding it up to herself, her nose scrunched and his laugh grew as she tossed it aside. “No. Yellow is not my color.”

He smiled widely and stood up, water falling from his body. Her eyes glanced up, then down, then quickly to the last two dresses. His hand reached out, grabbing the top - blue, with wrist-length sleeves and a low collar.

He stepped behind her, turning her to face the full-length mirror. He didn’t quite fit within the frame, but she did. His fingers hooked in the short sleeves and he held it up, his voice lowering. “This certainly matches those eyes of yours, but perhaps it overshadows them too much. How do you agree?”

She stared at herself, imagining herself wearing it in a crowd of other beautiful men and women. She’d surely be overshadowed. “Perhaps this one isn’t quite for me.”

He nodded, setting it aside to grab the next. He made a soft noise of - delight, perhaps? - as he picked it up, the grey fabric unravelling. Silver thread and beads decorated the long skirt, jingling softly each other as he moved it. The sleeves were thin and loose, reaching just beyond her fingertips and the collar scooped down low.

He held it up to her, his voice softening, “This one brings out your eyes, as endless as the skies above.”

She swallowed thickly, staring at herself. No, grey wasn’t her color, but he certainly made it sound like hers. “And you believe this to be true?”

His breath fanned over the curve of her ear, his gaze hidden from the mirror but no less piercing. “I would never tell you such a lie, my little sweeting.”

She turned, her hands finding his shoulders and her lips finding his. This was her decision, her bold choice. This would not lead her to punishment, not from him. Even if she had to remind herself of such a thing.

He had made it clear enough that he had become quite fond of her.

Fabric rustled as it fell to the floor and his hands wrapped around her thighs, lifting her up. Her legs hooked around his broad waist and her hands dove into his long, silken hair. The loose dress she’d been provided to sleep in bunched at her hips and thighs, letting her feel the pure warmth of his skin against her own.

He nibbled on her lip, his own lips curling as she pulled on a handful of his hair and coaxing him to let go of the soft flesh. “Oh, my deepest apologies. Did I hurt my little sweeting?”

She bit back at his lip, her teeth hitting their mark. “Stop calling me that.”

He moved, walking into the room and laying her back on the soft bed. “And whatever shall happen to me if I disobey?”

Her legs tightened and her weight shifted and he allowed her to flip them over, his hands sliding up to her hips. Her teeth found his neck, the hot pulse just under her lips. “I’ll make you bleed if you keep it up.”

He chuckled, letting his head fall back as his eyes softened. “I would expect nothing less. Now, I’d quite like this off of you.” His hands decided her nightgown’s fate before she could - ripping it clean in half.

She pushed the fabric aside, letting it fall to the floor as she leaned up, nipping the underside of his jaw. “The princess will be disappointed. I believe that belonged to her.”

Two of his fingers found the crux of her thighs, the wetness building there. Her firm thigh found his cock and he exhaled heavily. “I’ll be sure to give her my utmost apologies.”

She suckled a harsh mark onto his jaw. “Not before you give me what I want.”

He tilted his head and pulled her into a kiss, rocking up into her. His cock stiffened, hardening against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His size was proportionate, but she did not back down. His little sweeting was not one to back down from a challenge he’d posed yet and it would surprise him if she did such a thing.

Her lips pressed to his with practiced ease, her tongue finding his with a sense of enthusiasm he only felt from common whores. She was no common whore, though, she nipped at his lips and pulled at his hair. The softness of her thighs was deceptive - hiding years of training as well as her lips.

Her hips moved down and their lips parted, but he chased after them. His own cock be damned, her lips were intoxicating. Her hands fisted his hair and pulled, forcing him to break their kiss.

Her lips were wet and bright from his abuse to them and he only wanted to abuse them further with his own. “You had better not think of putting this,” her thighs squeezed his cock, pulling a deep groan from his throat, “into me without some form of preparation.”

He smiled and sat up, his hands sliding to squeeze her hips. “You don’t truly think me so cruel, do you?”

Her darkened eyes narrowed, then widened when he lifted her up. He settled back down, guiding her thighs around his head. His nose pressed into her soft curls and she gasped as his tongue brushed over her wet pussy.

His hands held her hips as he licked her pussy eagerly, pulling soft gasps and whimpers from her. Despite all the talk she’d shown before, he had to strain his muffled ears to hear her soft noises. It seemed that his little sweeting with her secrets and lies and hidden blades was silent once she was laid bare.

Her hips rocked and twitched and he watched her breasts tremble when his tongue pulled an orgasm from her. Her stomach tightened as her sweet ambrosia filled his mouth and her fingers pulled at his hair, her thighs squeezing his head. If his sweeting had been of higher birth, perhaps he’d be in some semblance of real danger, but even his head in such a dangerous place did nothing to sway him.

She pulled on his hair and pushed at his hand on her hip and he let her go, pulling her into his lap as he sat up. Her head landed on his chest as his cock slid between their bodies, fluid beading against her stomach. She made a soft, pleased sound, her breath fanning across his skin.

He tilted his head, kissing the crown of her head. “Never been treated that well, little sweeting?”

She tilted her head up, pressing a kiss to his chin. “Fuck me, my prince.”

He bowed his head lower, lifting her up to press his lips to hers. “No more titles. Not for you, Tarah.”

She kissed him back, gripping his shoulders with trembling hands. He lifted her up, guiding her to the tip of his cock. Their lips were slow, gentle, something akin to loving as he lowered her wet pussy around his cock. Their moans sounded as one, disappearing into each others’ throats as if they belonged there.

He was in no rush, his pace languid as he lifted her up and lowered her again. Her own weight allowed her to sink down, but only his strong hands lifted her up again. She was tight as expected, but neither made a noise of complaint so he never stopped or slowed.

Her arms slid around his shoulders, holding him close. She broke the kiss, breathing heavily and panting softly. Her eyes met his and saw the raging storm just under the surface of dark grey.

She never thought a storm could be so dark and yet so beautiful at once.

His lips found hers again and she felt herself become swallowed by him. In his lap, his arms around her, his hands encircling her thighs, his lips overtaking hers. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing just under her skin, mere inches from his own.

His groan echoed in his chest and she felt his seed fill her, spilling out of her body. Even attached as they were, she could feel it spilling out of her. Of course she shouldn’t have expected anything less, but still the stretch she felt in her lower belly.

He exhaled heavily, kissing her lips. “It appears I’ve made a mess of us both.”

She nipped his lip, resting her head against his chest. His hand slid up, stroking her back, his fingers tracing along her spine and making her shudder. Her palm slapped against his chest, but there was no bite to be found. “Back to the back with both of us, then.”

He chuckled softly, continuing his slow petting. “I’ll take care of you tonight, little sweeting.”

Chapter Text

Tarah sat as still as she could as the kind handmaiden braided her hair into tight knots, pulling them all back. Where they met, they intertwined, becoming one larger braid down her back. Jewels had been pinned into the braid, light in color and reflecting the soft lights surrounding her.

She smiled softly when the girl stepped away with a bow, thanking her before she slipped out the room. Her smile fell and she rolled her neck slowly, stretching the taut muscle. She hadn’t had to act this primly in so long, but at least her training held firm.

Only a few days since their arrival and the ball was finally being enacted. She would be surrounded by nobles and their escorts. Guards would be at every entrance, at every exit. Nobody would enter or exit without notice.

So far, Gwynsen had yet to leave their room alone. Wherever he went, she attended to him. When he sat around with other nobles, she poured his cup and pretended to not listen to words from those so high above her.

She lifted her fingertips to her lips, the powder on her cheeks giving her a preemptive blush to the building warmth in her cheeks.

Despite being only his squire in public, he still bestowed her with more of those passionate kisses. At every private chance, his hands were lifting her up and he was stealing more for himself. The sex they’d had clearly gave him the permission he needed to take more from her.

And, she did not push him away. She knew she should. She should reestablish that boundary, but couldn’t find the strength within herself to ask him to. No, she wanted this. For all that he’d annoyed her, now he’d circled into being quite the adoring lover.

Adjusting the skirt of her dress, she stood and looked in the full mirror. The grey and silver did compliment her best. Despite the colorful dresses offered, she looked best in the shadow of them. The necklace that hung around her neck dipped down into the front of her dress, disappearing into her cleavage.

For once, she had even abandoned her blades. She did not wear her emblem of the Lord’s Blades. She did not wear hidden blades. She did not have to be on guard tonight. Even as his squire, she was simply meant to attend the ball as a guest.

She smiled softly at her own reflection. No, tonight, she was simply herself. It had been too long since she had simply been herself. She would have no duties tonight, except to stay close to her prince.

When did she start thinking of him as her prince? Not just as his title, but as something possessive? As desirable? Was it when he’d held her close, in a bed that barely fit them and rain pattering against a window? Or was it when they ate together on the cold ground, their arms pressed against each other, and listened to the howl of distant wolves hunting?

Her fingers tightened around her skirts, bunching the fabric. She did not want him to betray his own people - to betray her. She did not want to be the one to attempt to end his life. She did not want his blood on her hands.

A knock on the door broke her from her thoughts and she looked up as Gwynsen pushed the door open. He ducked under the door and his crown reflected the soft light glowing. He gave her a slow smile, tilting his head as he admired her.

She bowed her head, chasing away her own traitorous thoughts. “My Lord.”

He waved his hand, catching her chin under his finger to tilt her head up. “None of that tonight. As I said, you are my guest tonight. I will not see you serving me.”

She nodded slightly. “Yes, my prince.”

He bowed down, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. “You look beautiful, little sweeting.”

She pressed her lips to his before turning away, slipping past him with ease. “Thank you, but send your thanks to Lady Dusk’s handmaidens.”

He chuckled softly and turned to follow after her. He fell into easy step with her, offering his forearm to her. Despite her biting words, she still took his arm. “You are quite beautiful, Tarah.”

She gave him another soft, small smile. “Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself tonight.”

He hummed softly, combing his fingers through his wild hair. Small braids hung here and there, clear attempts to tie it back. “Your hands were far more skilled and gentle than theirs. I did not want to pull you away from your preparations.”

She nodded slowly, her lips curling into a wider smile. “I see. I truly must thank you for your generosity later.”

He chuckled, the sound of music playing and people talking growing louder with every step. “I would be remiss to not accept any gratitude by you, little sweeting.”

She did not pull away when his name and title was announced, her brow twitching at the curious or openly judgemental stares that fell upon her. She was not worthy of being named in a setting as this. No matter how he led her into the den of lions, no matter how gently he held her hand, no matter how he held her close.

She would always be under him.

Except when he led her to dance with him and used his wind to lift her higher, his hand at her lower back and his eyes stared into her very soul with a deceptively soft smile. Except when he whispered cruel words of gossip to her ear about the nobles around them to draw her smile wider. Except when he teased her with offerings to feed her from his own plate, to give her what was his.

He did what he pleased, as he pleased. What little fight she put up against him was merely a ploy, a tease. She did not deny his generosity for tonight.

For only tonight, she let him lift her high and allowed her head to rest on his chest, The wind under her feet swirled her skirts around, tangling the fabric around her legs. His thick scarf had found its way around her own shoulders and neck, hanging down low.

For one night, she was not a Blade and he was not her Lord.

They simply were, together.

Chapter Text

Tarah pulled her boots on, swiftly pulling her deep blue cloak around her shoulders and tying it on. Her Lord’s Blade pendant hit her collar, tucked securely under her shirt as she prepared herself. Her squire weapons were left atop the unused desk and she pulled out part of her thin blade, staring down at her own sharp reflection.

She stared at herself, breathing in deeply. Her hand trembled as she slid her finger against the edge, swiftly pulling her hand away at the sharp sting. Red blood dripped down her thumb, falling to the floor.

It was time.

Her Prince - no, her target, had finally made his move.

After he’d fucked her yet again, to the point where she saw the stars hidden behind the storms in his eyes, he’d left. Not so cruel as to not immediately abandon her, only once she’d fallen into a light sleep. His lips had lingered on her temple before he’d silently redressed himself and left.

Unfortunate for him, she’d been expecting that and had woken up as soon as the door clicked shut again. She’d heard his footsteps grow silent, the whisper of wind buffeting his every step. He hadn’t been able to hide how his eyes kept glancing out the window and dark clouds gathered in the skies.

A tear landed on the blade and she sheathed it swiftly, breathing in deeply. Unfortunate for her, she was not immune to his charm. She’d have to find any other job to do if she survived this, she’d have to get this fantasy out of her mind. He was the Prince, the Lord’s Firstborn, she was a shadow, a Lord’s Blade.

They could never be.

She swallowed down her emotions, sliding her mask on as she pulled open the window. Wind whipped around, nearly howling as it pushed her hood from her head. She pulled it back down, climbing onto the ledge and looking around.

Oolacile was a vertical city if she’d ever seen one, high walkways and bridges connecting buildings. The main manor stood upon its own flattened plateau, a dark void underneath. An uneasy feeling drifted upwards, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end the longer she stared.

She breathed in deeply, closing the window as she stood on the ledge. Tearing her eyes away, she could just barely see the wispy grey hair through the heavy air. Dark clouds filled the heavens, threatening to open upon the city at any minute.

Narrowing her eyes, she steeled herself and pulled herself to climb to the next dark ledge. Her braid slapped against her shoulder as she climbed, fingers finding slight notches. Her boots pressed against the damp stones, crawling vines reaching out from the dark void providing slightly better friction.

She threw herself from the final ledge, confident in every muscle within her body. She landed silently on the balls of her feet, rolling onto the cobblestone in front of the manor. Pushing herself up, she began running, the cotton padding the insides of her boots silencing every step.

She chased after him, silencing every thought that reared its head. Gwynsen moved easily, confident as he walked down the streets. His crown shone in the few lanterns that glowed, swaying dangerously on their hooks.

He led her out of the city, the wind throwing his hair wildly as lightning split the sky in two. She lingered in the shadows, crouching low behind buildings and trees. Her own breath fanned against her face as she breathed within her mask, her eyes tracking him as he walked down the slope.

She waited a breath before following him, keeping her steps within his own. The grass crumpled under her feet and she could feel the slight magic in the outlines of his footprints left behind. Her gloved fingers ran over thin blades as she knelt down, peering over the edge.

He followed the thin ravine, his swordspear mounted across his back. Another sharp crack of lightning illuminated the weapon and her breathing stopped short.

She had one chance. If she failed, she wouldn’t survive a direct fight against him. All knew how powerful he was, how many dragons he’d felled on his own.

She breathed in deeply, dropping down and crouching low in the overgrowth. She moved again, pushing herself forward as she followed the bubbling brook. The sound cloaked the soft sounds of her boots as she stepped swiftly.

He walked to the edge and she tensed when he stopped. Without warning, he stepped out, wind swirling around him. She gasped and surged forward, stopping herself short.

No, she couldn’t reveal herself like that. He wouldn’t throw himself from a cliff to die. He controlled the howling winds itself, he was unafraid of falling to his death.

So, she moved to the edge, peering down cautiously. Lightning cracked above her and she saw where he landed, his hand reaching up to grab his swordspear. He walked out slowly, as cautious as she’d seen him yet.

Looking down, she slowly dropped to the closest ledge, landing on all fours. She peered down again, hiding in the brush as droplets of water landed on her hood. She tugged her short cloak around herself tighter, hoping this would end quickly.

Thunder growled and her eyes shot up as wind beat against the area. A long, black dragon flew over the ravine, fire bubbling in its throat. Gwynsen lifted his swordspear high as the flames bathed him, wind whipping his hair around quickly.

The heat of the flames reached even her, drying her of the water that’d landed on her. She couldn’t pull her eyes away as the flames swirled around where Gwynsen stood, whipping into a tornado. He couldn’t be…?

The flames dissipated into the sky and he adjusted his grip on his weapon, aiming it at the dragon as it circled back around. Wind swirled around the end of his swordspear and he thrusted it forward as the flames grew in the dragon's throat yet again. The wind surged forward, slamming into the dragon and knocking it off-course.

It landed hard on its massive, clawed feet, gouging into the dirt and knocking debris free. It growled down at Gwynsen, long neck whipping around to face him properly. Its wings flared out wide and red flames glowed behind its teeth.

Tarah dropped herself to the next ledge, her heart rattling her ribs as she stared at the scene before her. Gwynsen didn’t lift his weapon again, nor did he holster it again, simply holding it at his side. The dragon growled down at him and she tensed when its growling morphed into words.

“I warned you to stay away, Prince.”

Gwynsen’s voice carried on the winds as she eased herself to the next ledge, only looking away to ensure her footing. “I told you I would return, Kalameet. I’m only here to check on the egg.”

The dragon - Kalameet’s voice was a growl and he loomed closer, eyes glowing red. “The egg remains unhatched, now go, begone.”

Gwynsen didn’t respond for a moment, giving her a chance to look down at the next ledge. Shit, she’d have to jump far and risk bringing attention to herself. “I’m going to see it myself, Kalameet. And, I’m going to check on what’s under Oolacile.”

Kalameet snarled, his head pulling back as his claws curled in the dirt, his tail whipping back and forth. “A monster is waking, Prince. It lives in the shadows and it haunts every breath. This human settlement is a doomed one.”

Gwynsen nodded once. “I will see for myself. As an offering for your compliance, I will give you these jewels.” Lightning snapped above them and another cloud opened up, rain falling down on the long dragon’s body.

She didn’t wait a breath before thunder rolled and dropped down, biting back a grunt when she landed. She fell down onto her knees, breathing heavily to muffle the slight pain. She shook her head quickly, looking up and freezing.

Two pairs of eyes stared at her, storm and flame alike. Her breathing stopped as the dragon gave a slow grin, full of sharp teeth. Gwynsen’s brow furrowed tightly, his hand clutching the jewels he’d collected along their travels.

“This offering,” Kalameet began, “I will accept.”

Chapter Text

Tarah narrowly dodged the swipe of a heavy claw, her heart rattling her ribs as she saw a second come down. She splashed in the pooling water, soaking her clothes as she rolled out of the way. Keeping her head down, she ran under the dragon, dropping down to slide across the rough ground.

Gwynsen caught her, his arm wrapping around his waist. Wind whipped around sharply and he launched them upwards as Kalameet spun, tail threatening to hit them both. He glanced down at her, keeping her close to his side. “Kalameet! She isn’t part of our agreement!”

Kalameet snarled down at them, following even as they rode the back several yards. “I have grown tired of this paltry contract. You will give me her.”

Tarah stumbled onto her feet, drawing her sword and pointing the sharp tip to Kalameet. Despite the pattering rain, she could still feel Gwynsen’s heat against her side. “You’re a fool if you think I’ll go with you!”

Kalameet’s mouth twisted into a sharp grin and fire illuminated in the back of his throat. “Then I’ll take you from him.”

She tensed in preparation to run, but Gwynsen shoved her behind himself. He planted his swordspear in the ground and wind howled around them. Fire roared, the wind carrying it around them. The heat turned her cheeks pink even under her mask, the water clinging to her clothes steaming.

She readied herself, right against Gwynsen’s side as she adjusted her grip. She breathed in deeply and dashed forward when the flames calmed down. Confident in her blade’s aim, she buried it in Kalameet’s right eye.

Kalameet’s wings flared in pain, knocking her back, her sword still buried in his eye. Gwynsen caught her as Kalameet stumbled, reaching up and swiping at the thin blade. It was thrown to the ground and she watched as it was stepped on, the blade surely crumpling.

Gwynsen shot her a cold look, holding his swordspear as he stepped in front of her. He held up his hand placatingly to Kalameet as the dragon shook his head, blackened blood dripping. “Kalameet! Listen to me! I’ll bring you more treasures if you leave her be!”

Behind him, she slowly knelt down and tugged the slim dagger from her boot. She glanced between the two, breathing in deeply. The falling rain soaked her braid, her tight clothes clinging to her skin.

She couldn’t take down an entire dragon - that was never a Blade’s duty. Could Gwynsen? Likely, very likely, actually.

But she had a duty, even if she were to die.

Kalameet growled down at Gwynsen, head tilted to keep him within view. “I have decided and you are a fool to change a dragon’s mind.”

Gwynsen shook his head, his hand tightening around the hilt. “Kalameet, I - “ The air in his lungs was chased out as Tarah drove her blade under his armor, between his ribs. Her mask was cold, her eyes hidden from him when he looked over his shoulder.

Tarah didn’t look up at him, pressing her blade in deeper. She’d heard it loud and clear, he was working along Kalameet, he’d become the same enemy he’d once swore to kill. Regardless of her own life, she had a duty to fulfill.

Gwynsen’s arm caught her shoulder and she was sent flying through the air. Her back hit the chasm wall, knocking the air from her body. She gasped out, stumbling onto her knees, trying and failing to get to her feet. Her mask splashed in the water, staring up blindly at the sky.

Kalameet’s laugh was cold, tail snapping in the air as Gwynsen pulled the dagger out with a grunt, dropping it on the ground. “I can taste the betrayal, Prince.”

Gwynsen steeled his face, a shadow casted over his eyes. Lightning crackled and snapped as he drew his arm back, throwing a lightning spear right at Kalemeet’s face. He stalked forward, wind lifting him higher before he surged forward, swinging his weapon at him.

Kalameet shook off the lightning, roaring when Gwynsen’s swordspear sparked and bit into his shoulder. His wings beat and he lifted himself up, breathing in deeply. Fire sparked in his throat again and Gwynsen commanded the winds, throwing the incoming stream of flames away from himself.

Tarah screamed when the hot flames washed over her, flailing as she tried to get away. Her sleeve clung to her arm, the flesh underneath exposed, the skin burning back. Each drop of the rain stung, tears streaking down her cheeks.

A shadow passed over and she pulled at her thin armor, trying to pull it off. She sobbed openly, crying out as the burnt fabric clung to the exposed flesh. The blue fabric stained red with blood, pooling around her.

Without warning, a hand wrapped around her throat and she was lifted up. Her back slammed into a wall again and she grabbed onto Gwynsen’s wrist, her legs kicking at him. Each drop of rain on her burnt arm sent a new shock of pain into her body.

His eyes were cold, his shoulders visibly lifting as he breathed in deeply. “You were sent by my father, weren’t you?”

She blinked quickly, her breaths coming in quickly. She tried to focus on him, but gods help her, she couldn’t focus with that cold look in his eyes. He’d never looked at her like that, not once across their journey.

Her head bobbed in a nod, her fingers pulling at his fingers. “Y-Yes! Yes!”

His lips moved, but his words didn’t reach her ears. Her head fell forward, tears still falling even as she fell unconscious. She couldn’t stand that look in his eye, selfishly, not towards herself.

Chapter Text

Tarah’s fingers twitched, her body pleasantly warm. She licked her dry lips, her throat scratchy and hoarse when she made a noise. She breathed in deeply, tasting the cooking food in the air. Dampness clung to her skin, but not unpleasantly so.

Beside her, something audibly shifted and made a curious chittering noise. A beak-like nose pressed against the side of her face and she looked towards the noise, blinking slowly. Her lashes clung to each other and she had to blink them apart, lifting her right hand to wipe at her eyes.

Wide, curious, inhuman eyes stared down at her and she blinked slowly. The creature shuffled, four wings fluffing as it stepped back. It made that chittering noise again, its beak clicking softly.

She gasped sharply and shoved herself away, her fingers falling around the hilt of a dagger. She lifted it, pointing it at the dragon-like creature. Just what was this thing?

The creature stepped back, head held even as the long neck moved. It chirped softly, voice echoing in the small, dimly illuminated cave. Just behind it, she could see the familiar crystal-stone of a dragon egg. A dragon, then.

She breathed in deeply, keeping her eyes on it. Her bare legs rubbed against the soft blanket and she tucked it closer, the wide-necked tunic hanging loosely on her shoulders. She couldn’t feel the familiar metal of her necklace, nor could she see any of her armor nearby.

Her eyes darted away to the wooden door and the little dragon chirped as it stepped closer. Her focus snapped back to it and she stabbed the air towards it, just in warning. It seemed to understand a bit, stepping back before moving closer again.

She inched towards the edge of the cot, keeping her back to the wall as she stood up. The bandages around her left arm felt sticky and smelled faintly of burnt flesh and balmy healing salve. The fingers still responded when she moved them, feeling along the cold stone wall.

The little, feathery dragon kept some distance, even as it followed her. Its long tail dragged across the ground, feathers clearly still growing. Its eyes were still bright, despite the sharp claws tapping on the stone.

Her hand slid over the wooden door and grabbed onto the knob, giving it a quick twist. She darted out as soon as it opened wide enough and slammed it shut, pressing her shoulder to it. Her heart hammered as she listened close, the dagger trembling in her grip.

“So, you did wake up.”

The blade swung wide, her arm shaking when it vibrated sharply, hitting a breastplate. She bit back a wince, tightening her grip. “I’d say good morning, but I’ve no idea what time it is.”

Gwynsen tilted his head, glancing back over his shoulder. “Midday. I had time to heal you and inform Princess Dusk we were already leaving. She was disappointed to not see you off, she seemed to really like you.”

Tarah licked her lips, spotting her belongings sitting neatly on a table against a wall. “I’ll have to write her an apology letter.”

He shrugged a shoulder, stepping away from her to sit on a low bench. His swordspear leaned back against the wall nearby, easily within reach. “I suppose so. Come sit, I made food. There’s some fresh water, too.”

She nodded, trying to calm her heart as she moved closer. She sat down across from him, flinching when the door slammed open. The little dragon hopped out, walking to Gwynsen and circling him, head bumping against his hand.

She watched closely as he complied, petting its head, big hand gentle despite the lightning it could summon. “I -.” Did she apologize? For failing? For doing her duty? For falling in love with him?

He focused on her, petting the little dragons head. “My father sent you to kill me, did he not?” She nodded, swallowing down her building anxieties. “I figured some time ago. You must give Ciaran some real trouble if she decided to send you.”

She shrugged a bit, looking down at the blade in her hands. The bandages were wrapped a bit too tightly, reaching down to her knuckles. “I’d be lying if I said otherwise.” The blade was more blunt than she’d realized.

He made a soft noise. “You missed my lung just by a rib.”

She exhaled heavily, dropping the blade and lifting her hand to cover her face. Of course she’d miscounted. “I’m so sorry.”

He glanced at her, letting the little dragon rest its head on his lap, petting down its neck. “Sorry you got caught or you failed?”

She shook her head slightly. “Both, neither. It doesn’t matter how I failed, I should’ve died out there.”

He raised a brow, tilting his head. “You’d rather die by my hand?”

She stiffened, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. She breathed out, “No.”

“Then you’ll have to live. I won’t apologize, I did enjoy the time we had together. And, I’m sure I’ll enjoy the time together when we return to Anor Londo.”

Her head snapped up. “You’d lie to the King?”

He smirked easily at her, reaching up to tap on his crown. “You mean, my father? I’m already lying about befriending a dragon or two. As long as you can keep up another lie, then we’ll carry on as if nothing happened.”

As if nothing happened. The words rang in her head. He’d known for so long and was willing to throw all of it away.

“Can we still be friends?” The words spilled from her lips without her permission and heat flushed to her face, in spite of the tears budding in her eyes.

He hummed, glancing away from her. “Friends don’t regularly stab each other in the back.”

She curled her fingers, shaking her head. “No, I know. I’m not - I didn’t want to, not after we got closer. Not after…”

His eyes were soft when she looked up at him and he leaned forward, dislodging the little dragon. His finger brushed over her cheek, soft and warm and gentle as he wiped away the tear. “I know. Why don’t we go rest and go home together? We can work out a proper story on the way.”

She nodded, stiffening when the little dragon nosed against her. She pulled away from it, frowning as Gwynsen laughed at her. She couldn’t even stay mad, even as he smiled broadly, his arms loosely crossing over his chest.

“His name is Storm King. I’m still looking for somewhere to properly raise him, but he’s friendly enough.”

She stiffly lowered her hand to touch its head, the feathers deceptively soft. “Right…”

The Storm King nuzzled into her hand, making a seemingly pleased throaty noise. She gave its head a gentle pet, softening as it rested its head on her lap. Its feathers settled down, wings resting on its scaled body.

Perhaps they’d never truly reconnect, but they had another long walk together. All the way from Oolacile to Anor Londo, together, alone, waking up early, sleeping in the dirt, hunting, bathing in the river. There was always time to right her wrongs.

And his eyes looked less like a raging storm and more like fluffy, grey clouds in the distance. Not a warning, not to consume her, not to bring a flood of water. That was a good start if she’d ever seen one.