rin

He forces himself not to think about Saber. If he can’t eliminate Caster with everything he had left, then what hope is there when Saber comes for him? The answer claws at the back of his throat, bitter and obvious— there isn’t any.

His grip tightens on his bow until his knuckles blanch. He doesn’t even know why he’s still carrying the damn thing. It’s not like he has the mana to back it anymore. He can’t even pretend it gives him security. All it does is weigh him down.

And it all comes back to you.

You— his Master.

If it weren’t so bitterly ironic, he might have laughed. A novice thrown into a war meant for those raised to bleed for it. You have no lineage to speak of, no years of combat training, no arsenal of spells and strategies at your disposal. Just a name pulled from whatever cruel hand of fate thought it would be amusing to bind you to him. You’re inexperienced, frightened, reckless in ways that make his teeth grit. And yet you’re still alive. Still breathing, sleeping soundly in the safety of the camp he built for you.

A miracle, he thinks grimly. But miracles don’t win wars.

The summer night presses down like a wet cloth, sweat clinging to the back of his neck and soaking into the collar of his jacket. The cicadas have gone silent; even the forest seems to be holding its breath. Each step feels longer than the last, as if the path back to camp stretches on the more he thinks, the angrier he gets.

Because he shouldn’t feel this way toward you. He knows that. You didn’t ask to be dragged into the Holy Grail War any more than he asked to be summoned for it. You’re a pawn thrown onto the chessboard by chance, forced into a game you don’t understand. If anything, you’re as much a victim as he is.

But you’re so damn naïve.

Too trusting, too kind. You still believe in things like fairness, in the possibility of alliances, in the hope that someone out there might be persuaded to show mercy. He sees it in your eyes every time you hesitate, every time you ask questions instead of giving commands. It irritates him because it reminds him of who he used to be— before cynicism, before disappointment, before the world scraped every shred of idealism from his skin and left him with nothing but the scar tissue of reality.

You don’t know what it costs to fight a war. You don’t know what kind of sacrifices it demands. And if you keep that softness, that blind, foolish kindness, you’re going to die. Worse, you’re going to drag him down with you.

The thought makes his jaw clench so hard it pops.

Branches crack under his boots as he pushes forward, the dark canopy of leaves above broken only by the occasional sliver of moonlight. He forces himself to focus on the path, on the muscle memory of walking, because if he doesn’t, he’ll drown in the storm of his own frustration. The fight replaying in his mind. The hollow feeling in his chest where mana should be. 

The sharp reminder that he is failing.

By the time the faint outline of camp appears through the trees, he’s wound tight as a bowstring. The tent sits quietly in the moonlight, a small pocket of peace in a world that’s anything but. He pauses at the edge of the clearing, staring at it.

You’ll be inside, asleep. Oblivious.

Oblivious to how close he came to death tonight. To how thin the line is between survival and annihilation. To the fact that he doesn’t have the strength to keep doing this much longer.

His stomach twists with something he doesn’t want to name— resentment, maybe, or envy. You can sleep. You can lie down, close your eyes, and drift into dreams without the weight of failure pressing against your skull. You can forget for a few hours that the world outside is tearing itself apart.

The anger simmers low in his chest as he finally moves forward, dragging the zipper of the tent open with a quiet rasp. The air inside is warmer, carrying the faint scent of you. His eyes adjust quickly in the dimness, and there you are— curled against your pillow, long lashes resting against your cheeks, lips parted slightly as your chest rises and falls with even breaths.

Part of him wants to shake you, to wake you and force you to face the impossibility of the moment: he can’t protect you like this. If you’re going to make it out alive, he needs more mana. 

The solution is so simple. So simple it makes his stomach knot.

His eyes drag over you despite himself. The blanket has slipped higher, baring the curve of your thigh, practically glowing in the silver wash of moonlight. Your skin gleams, soft and unmarked by battle, free of scars or blemishes, untouched by the weight of the world he carries on his back.

If he touched you— if he took what he needed— his mana reserves would surge. It’d be enough to cut Caster down, and maybe, if he plays his cards right, secure him a victory against Saber. It would be efficient. Necessary. You wouldn’t even have to wake for it. He could keep you asleep and unaware, innocent while he dirtied his own hands.

It’s better than letting you die, isn’t it? Better than watching you bleed out because he was too weak to do what had to be done? If he carries the guilt, it spares you the grave. He’s no stranger to blood on his conscience; what’s one more sin if it means you survive another day?

It’s what a hero does— sacrifice himself, his soul, his humanity.

That’s what he tells himself as he steps out of his boots and slips beneath the blanket. He settles behind you, the warmth of his chest pressing faintly against your back. You don’t stir, not even when his fingers dip beneath your shirt, brushing over the smooth plane of your stomach. Your skin warms beneath his touch, and instantly, he feels it: a pull, subtle and unmistakable.

Mana swirls like heat gathering in his veins. It seeps into him the way warmth seeps into cold hands, spreading first in faint threads before rushing to fill every corner of him. The exhaustion in his bones loosens the slightest bit, and his body slackens with relief.

His hand lingers, fingers splaying wider across your stomach before drifting lower, tracing the curve of your hip. This time, you shiver beneath his touch, and his hand drops lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

The heat of you rushes to meet him, and he swallows hard when the mana coursing into him sharpens— no longer a slow trickle but a steady, molten stream. He spreads you gently, coaxing your thighs apart with a nudge of his knee, and the motion draws you closer into him, your body fitting tighter against his.

To his surprise, you’re wet when his fingers stroke between your folds, as though your body already knows him, already welcomes what he takes. The sound of it is quiet, slick against the pads of his fingers, and his cock twitches, hardening against the constraint of his pants. 

With a low curse, he drags his hand from your shorts and undoes his belt. The metallic click of the buckle sounds loud in the small space, but you still don’t move. His cock springs heavy and hard into his hand, and he tugs the seat of your shorts to the side before guiding it between your legs.

The contrast nearly undoes him— soft, hot, wet. He pushes forward just enough for the head to slip between your folds, spreading you open, and the mana answers instantly, rushing into him with such intensity that he groans low against your shoulder. It’s raw and consuming, every nerve alight as power surges through him in tandem with the pulse of his cock.

Carefully, he presses deeper. Each inch he sinks inside you magnifies the flow until his body trembles with the force of it, as though he is drawing strength straight from your soul. You take him without resistance, your walls clinging tight, and he has to bite down hard to keep from rutting into you all at once.

It takes a moment, but once he’s fully sheathed, he stills. The torrent of mana pouring into him is almost unbearable, and he wraps an arm around your waist, anchoring you against him as he breathes raggedly into your neck.

Then he begins to move. Slow at first, steady, each drag of his cock pulling another wave of energy into him. The sensation is overwhelming— pleasure adorned with sustenance, hunger answered with every thrust. His hips fall into rhythm, grinding deep, filling you again and again, while his free hand cups your breast under your shirt.

Your sleeping body responds despite your unconsciousness. Your nipple stiffens as a soft sigh spills past your lips, and the sound nearly shatters his resolve. His hips snap harder, and the mana blazes in his veins until it feels less like he’s feeding and more like he’s being burnt alive.

His climax builds swiftly, inevitable with the way your body grips him, the way your warmth welcomes every inch of him. When it comes, it’s violent, his cock twitching deep inside you as he spills with a muffled groan. The release tears through him like lightning, wracking his body as the final flood of mana surges in, flooding every nerve with raw vitality.

He clutches you tighter as he rides it out, hips pressed flush against your ass, filling you until he has nothing left to give. Only then does the trembling in his muscles subside, the ache of exhaustion replaced with heady relief.

But even spent, he doesn’t pull away. He stays buried inside you, softening slowly, the aftershocks of mana still flickering through him like embers. His face stays pressed into your hair, his voice a low rasp, almost reverent as he whispers:

“Thank you, Master.”

The two ladies gasped in unison at her crude words, which made them all giggle.

"Whatever makes you say that, my dear?" Aelinor asked curiously. She exchanged a look with Alys, as they were both well aware of Aerion's insolence, but they were very curious to hear her own reasoning.

She cleared her throat to answer them, when a quiet knock sounded on the door. They looked at each other with questioning looks. When none of them seemed to be expecting an interruption, Alys shouted for them to come in.

To her dismay, the Kingsguard had followed her even to the princess' chambers, and now he saw it fit to interrupt her.

"What is it?" She said, slightly irritated.

"I have been informed your sworn sword has arrived. You are requested to meet him in the courtyard."

She looked up in surprise. She was not made aware she would be assigned a sworn sword, though she supposed that must be expected for those that marry into the royal family. Aelinor and Alys, for their part, didn't look surprised at the knight's words. The man continued to look at her expectantly, waiting for her to follow him. She just let out a sigh before getting up.

"Thank you for a wonderful time, ladies. I hope to see you again soon?" she asked hopefully.

The women gave her sweet smiles, nodding at her words.

"Of course, my dear. We shall see you tomorrow," Aelinor replied.

She smiled back at them, bowing her head slightly in thanks before turning her back on them and heading out the door, with her guard following closely behind.

When they entered the courtyard of Maegor's Holdfast, she instantly knew who her new sworn sword was to be. A giddy smile spread on her face as she squealed, rushing up to him.

Before her stood Ser Edric Yronwood, who had been fostered at her home since she was two years old. He was the one who taught her how to wield a knife and how to climb a tree. He had earned his knighthood at some tourney at Storm's End years ago, which meant his fosterage was officially over. She had been just twelve years old then, and had been devastated to see him leave.

"Eddie!" She almost shouted. The blond had a wide smile on his face, thrilled to see his dear friend again after so many years. He held out his arms for her, anticipating her hug. She almost jumped into his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"Alright, angel, that's quite enough," he said teasingly, "You are a princess now."

She felt heat rise to her cheeks at his reprimand. He was right, this was no longer appropriate behavior given her position, even if it pained her to admit it.

"Are you really going to be my sworn sword?" She asked excitedly.

"That is correct," he replied, amusement clear in his tone. "But don't think that means I'll let you sneak out like you used to. I have strict orders from your husband to keep you safe at all times."

The mention of Valarr instantly soured her mood. Edric had known her long enough to notice the displeasure on her face immediately, and he tilted his head in question. She just shook her head slightly, silently communicating that now was not the time. He pursed his lip in response, curiosity burning in his dark blue eyes.

When she said nothing further, Edric decided to get on one knee in front of her.

"I pledge to be your loyal sworn sword. I shall keep your secrets and give you counsel, should you require it. I will shield your back and defend your name and honor. I shall give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

She knew she had to say her part of the vows now, but it had been a long time since she witnessed a ceremony like this. She racked her brain for a few moments, before suddenly remembering a time when she was fifteen. Her father's old sworn sword had passed away from some disease and he had initiated a new one, taking her along with him to watch.

"I- I vow to… to always give you a place by my hearth and table. I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor."

She hesitated, and when he nodded in approval, she relaxed and wrapped it up. "I swear it by the old gods and the new."

He smiled at her when she finished, slowly getting up.

"Well, that was lovely," he said with a teasing tone, "What would you like to do now?"

He had insisted that he was meant to stand outside the door, guarding her from any intruders, but she did not care, pulling him by the arm into the library nonetheless.

"Come on, I want to catch up! What have you been up to? You haven't written to me in moons," she almost whined, pushing him to sit in the armchair opposite her own. He let out a mocking sigh before giving in, relaxing into the chair. He looked a bit silly, squeezing into the chair with his shining silver armor. The sight made her giggle slightly, which made him glare at her in turn.

"Oh, nothing exciting, really," he shrugged. "Guarding old Lord Baratheon was a bore, truthfully. The last time we had any excitement was when we drove out the Vulture King in the Red Mountains. Now that I think of it, your new grandfather and uncle-in-law were there as well!"

He laughed at that, but she only smiled thinly in response at the reminder of her husband's existence.

"Anyway, his son is the new Lord now, and he had no more need for me. Said he had his own guards and that my service was no longer required. So now here I am."

"Well, it might be rude to say, but I am glad the gods decided that you were needed elsewhere."

They both laughed at that. She felt a warmth spread through her body, a warmth she had not felt since her sisters had left their home and she was left all alone. She was very glad to have somebody by her side who she could trust and confide in. The gods only knew how scarce those friendships were at court.

They spend the rest of the afternoon catching up, only realizing how much time had passed when the sun started to set.

She was a bit nervous about what she was meant to do for dinner. Was she expected to join her husband in his chambers, or would that be left up to him? Though she had promised herself she would not avoid him, she still silently hoped he would leave her be, at least for the time being.

When Edric saw her expression turn melancholy, his brows furrowed.

"You did not look happy when I mentioned your husband earlier," he said carefully. "Might I ask if you have had any… issues with him?"

She averted her gaze, wringing her hands together out of nervousness.

"I-" The words got caught in her throat. Discussing such matters with a man that was not her husband was beyond inappropriate. She could not get herself to say it, and Edric could see the discomfort and reluctance on her face.

"You don't have to say anything," he said in a soothing tone. He leaned forward in his chair slightly, allowing him close enough to grab her hands gently in comfort.

"If you were treated as your sisters have been, you would tell me, right?"

His gaze was almost pleading. She could see the pain on his face at the thought of what her sisters were put through. He had not been there to protect them, and he likely felt guilty for that. He had always been especially close with her eldest sister Alerie. They were of the same age, and had been attached at the hip since his arrival in their home.

Nobody ever dared to speak of it, but she knew they were more than fond of one another. Her sister had whispered once of her wish to be wed to Edric, but everyone knew it would never be. He was a fourth son, send away to be fostered far from home for a reason. He had nothing to offer her – no inheritance, no keep to house her in, no incomes. Alerie was the eldest daughter, and her fate was to marry a wealthy, powerful lord, as to set a good example for her younger sisters.

And so she had, ending their entanglement as soon as it had begun. Bitter tears had been shed on the day Alerie left by all members of the household, though Edric's were for a different reason. Edric had left for the tourney at Storm's End not long after, leaving their home feeling empty and cold.

They both just stared at each other with damp eyes for a while before she simply nodded in response. She knew Edric would not let any harm come to her, even if that meant he had to keep her safe from a prince. If only he could keep her safe from heartbreak, she would have done the same for him.

"I promise, Eddie," she whispered shakily.

He continued to stare at her, intend on determining her sincerity. She gave him a wet smile, and he seemingly decided she was telling the truth, as he gave her a weak smile back.

"Alright then," He patted her hands before letting go, slowly getting up. "Let's get you some supper."

She took his arm as they slowly left the library. They had decided to leave at just the right time, it seemed, because one of the Kingsguards approached them before they had even finished walking down the hall.

"The prince would like you to join him for supper in his chambers, my lady."

She tensed up at his words, looking at him in disbelief. She had hoped it was a joke, but he kept a blank look on his face as she stared at him.

She briefly glanced at Edric standing beside her, who had trouble hiding his confusion at the tension in the air.

She considered refusing before remembering she had promised herself she would no longer avoid him. She gave the guard a look that might have killed a lesser man before replying.

"Very well," she said dismissively, making her way towards the Holdfast without waiting for a response.

She stood still in front of the door for a long time, her breathing shallow. Edric shot her a concerned look before knocking on the door in her stead.

"If you need anything," he gave her a pointed look, "I will be here."

She nodded at him, refusing to meet his eye, just before a servant opened the door for them from inside. She had not seen his chambers yet, but they were decorated in the manner she had expected. Dark hues dominated the room, Targaryen-style tapestries covering the walls with matching carpet on the floors. His chambers appeared marginally larger than her own, with room for a dining table large enough for six behind the chairs surrounding the fire.

Two male servants stood ready to attend them, one still holding the door open. She hoped they would be dismissed soon, because she did not wish anybody to witness her inevitable humiliation.

Valarr sat at the head of the table, his gaze moving up to meet hers as soon as she entered the room. She could not decipher the look he gave her. A mix of emotions seemed to swirl in his eyes, though none of them seemed to be anger or hatred. She was glad for that, at least.

She tried her best to keep her expression neutral as she curtsied at him, though it wasn't easy. They had not been apart this long since their meeting, and her heart still longer for him. Seeing his beautifully intricate face again was almost a relief, if it had not been for the bitterness that dominated everything else.

His expression had seemed sincere when he looked at her, but she could see his walls go back up when his gaze passed from her to Edric, who still stood by her side.

"Gevie," he breathed out, "please, sit down."

She could feel his gaze burn into her as she approached the table, refusing to meet his eyes. Edric followed closely behind, pulling her chair out for her to sit down. She send him a small grateful smile before smoothing out her skirts under the table.

"You may leave, Ser Edric," Valarr said dismissively, sending him a look she did not understand. Edric straightened up at his words and nodded stiffly. He send her a quick comforting look before walking out the door again.

"Erryk, Garth, you may leave as well," he spoke to the servants, who quickly made their way out of the chambers as well. To hear him address his servants by name was quite unusual, though it did not truly surprise her. She knew he held much kindness in his heart, though he did not see it fit to extend that kindness to her the previous night, it seemed.

She still did not have the strength to meet his gaze, so instead she focused on the many plates of food in front of her. Dozens of plates with different cheeses, meats, vegetables, cakes, and breads covered the length of the tables. It was way too much for two people, and all she could think about was how much of a waste it was. She would likely not be able to keep down as much as a bite, while many small folk probably starved outside these walls.

Valarr continued to silently stare at her all the while, and it unnerved her a great deal. First he rejects her, and now he wants to spend time with her just to stare and say nothing?

Over the last week, and particularly at the feast, she had heard many lords and ladies refer to Valarr as a 'brave' and 'bold' young man. It seemed to her he lacked both of those attributes when he was with his own wife.

"I– I wish to apologize. I never meant to to yell at you. It was unbecoming of me, and frankly completely unacceptable," he said quietly, an almost pleading look on his face.

She remained silent, instead choosing to take a sip of her wine. She finally found the courage to look at him, a blank expression on her face.

"Yes, it was," she said simply. "What are you going to do about it?"

He looks at her with a blank expression before furrowing his brows. "What do you mean?"

She just shrugged, thinking her words were pretty clear. "You have not done your marital duty. Soon enough, the whole court will wonder why I am not yet with child. I may not understand what the bedding entails, but I do know I will be considered a disgrace to the crown. Your actions, or rather the lack thereof, will reflect on me, not you. All because you are a coward."

She had not meant to be so harsh, but she had gotten more angry with every word she spoke. What is an apology worth without a chance in behavior?

"A coward?" He repeated, hurt clear in his voice. The sound of that alone made he want to take back her words, but he did not allow her to get a word in.

"You have no clue what I am even protecting you from. I am doing what's best for you, and you can't even appreciate it!" He said angrily.

"Appreciate it? What am I meant to 'appreciate', exactly? The fact you have put me in a position where the entirety of the court and history will judge me for being unable to provide the crown with an heir? Or the fact that you have actively rejected me, thereby allowing you to set me aside and marry another whenever you or the king wishes it?"

He furrowed his brows at her words, not knowing what to say in response. He had never seen her so angry.

"I have a right to know why you are forsaking our marriage before it has even begun, Valarr. You don't even have the decency to explain yourself! I will not just let you make decisions for me without protest. I am not that sort of woman, and if that is what you wish for in a wife, you are more than welcome to set me aside and find another."

She stood up from her seat before he could speak, quickly making her way to the door. He called out her name, the one he so rarely used, but she did not look back as she exited his chambers. She could hear his chair scrape across the floor as he rushed after her, but she had already crossed the hall and opened her door before he could follow. Edric had followed her quickly, confusion evident on his face.

"I will explain later, just please, do not let him into my chambers," she begged him, and he nodded solemnly before closing the door behind her.

She quickly locked her door before putting her back to it as tears started to stream down her face. She slid down the door slowly as she heard muffled voices coming from the other side. She could not make out what they were saying, though she wasn't sure if she even wanted to know.

"Let me through, Ser," Valarr said harshly to his wife's new sworn sword.

He had appointed the blond man to the position himself, knowing of their old acquaintance. He knew she would likely miss her home, and wanted her to have someone she could trust. He had also hoped a man who had grown up alongside her would have more incentive to protect his beloved. He had never thought that would mean protecting her from him, however.

"No," he replied simply, giving him a cold glare. The knight towered over the prince by nearly a full head, an advantage he was using to the fullest at the moment. "She commanded me to not let you in, my prince, so I will not."

She did? Gods, he felt sick. Why was it that every time he tried to explain himself to her, he just managed to make everything worse?

"Might I give you some advice, your Grace?" Edric said cautiously,a blank expression on his face.

Valarr looked at him bitterly until he saw the sincerity on the man's face. Edric had known her since they were both children, and as much as he hated to admit it, the person who knew her the best in this castle was without a doubt the man in front of him. He let out a sigh before slowly nodding.

"Give her some time. She is quick to anger, always has been," a small smile crossed his face briefly at the memory.

"Try to be careful with your words, but most importantly, be honest with her. Whatever the issue may be between you two, she appreciates honesty above else, even if it may hurt her."

Valarr was silent for a long time. He observed the man across from him carefully. All he saw was the face of an honest man. One that was quite protective of his childhood friend.

Valarr turned away from him slowly, heading to his own door before speaking again.

"Thank you, Edric," he said quietly, his voice cracking slightly as he felt the tears burning behind his eyes.

The knight did not respond. As Valarr entered his own chambers, it all felt like déjà vu. He could hardly believe he had managed to hurt her again, when that is all he had set out to prevent. He cursed himself at the thought.

She was right to call me a coward, he thought. What kind of man would continue to hurt his own wife instead of just owning up to his mistakes? Only a coward would feel like he he had to hide his insecurities and fears in front of her like this.

He kept tossing and turning before falling into a restless sleep, his mind set on fixing his mistakes.

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