if it exsists, there's an au of it

Day 7 – 7:47 P.M. 

Leon grabbed the pair of bolt cutters on a wooden crate next to the pad-locked door. 

“How did I miss those?” you asked him, wiping the tears forming at the corners of your eyes, “I swear they weren’t there earlier. I would have used them to get inside.”

Leon shook his head. He then used the bolt cutters to snap off the lock as though he was breaking in half a piece of chocolate. “It’s for the best that you didn’t. There are lots of monsters downstairs, you could’ve been trapped.”

Your eyes widened– you had never believed in fate, but maybe now you had a reason to.

Once the lock was fully off the door, Leon slowly pushed it open, his flashlight close to his chest. You quickly reach into your backpack, fumbling for a flashlight of your own. Without fully seeing inside, you could tell that it was super dark. The layout was very strange. There was a small watch room to your right leading to God-knows-where, a sealed-off office ahead, and a hallway beyond that which was partially obscured by the washroom. Bizarre architectural decisions were made for sure, but this wasn’t exactly your biggest concern at the moment. 

It was the smell that shook you to your core. 

The overwhelming stench of rotting flesh consumed the air as though it were a plague unleashed on a city. Blood was splattered across the walls, floors, and bodies that littered the ground. Undead creatures were slumped against the walls or lying face flat against the floor. Pieces of shattered glass crunched beneath Leon’s feet as he stepped inside, using his flashlight to quickly survey the area for any threats. Once he deemed it was safe enough for you to come inside, he turned around and ushered you in. 

“It’s clear,” he declared, “For now.”

You hesitated before stepping inside, your heart pounding loudly. You slowly made your way towards where he was standing, making a mental note of the fact that you were mere inches away from dead bodies. 

“Let’s go in here,” Leon said, pointing to the padlocked room straight ahead, “I couldn’t get inside it earlier but now we can. Be careful– if you step on one of these monsters they will wake up.”

His words terrified you, but you did what he said. You took extra caution so as to not accidentally step on any undead fingers, standing on your tippy-toes like a small child sneaking through a sleeping house. “No pressure,” you muttered to yourself, “None at all.”

Once again, he used the bolt cutters to snap off the lock and it fell to the floor with ease. “You holding up okay, Y/N? We’re almost back to the main hall.”

You shook your head, trying to dispel any fearful thoughts you were having. “I got this, don’t worry about me. Let’s just get in and get out. The sooner we find the explosive stuff the better, right?”

Leon gave you a small, approving smile before turning back around, and slowly opening the door as he had done moments before. Once he looked inside he sighed, readying his weapon.

“Be careful in here, okay?” he warned before noticing the way your demeanor changed. He saw as the fear widened your eyes, made your smile drop, your breath hitch, and your shoulders tense. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand. Slowly pulling you into the room, he deliberately made sure you were on his left, “There are some creatures in here. Keep your distance and you’ll be fine. Do you remember how to use the handgun?”

You nodded vigorously. 

The two of you then began to walk through the room which was primarily filled with long tables that used to be desks for the officers. It was strange– as though time had frozen. Pictures of family members, half-written reports, and scattered pencils were littered across the desks. It was as though someone had snapped their fingers and all the sudden any workers in the room had disappeared. You wondered about the state of your own office. Had anyone hidden in there? Had it been robbed? Was the photo of you and your childhood dog still on your desk? You swiftly realized that you no longer wanted to think about any of that.

A groan from the right side of the room, hidden behind the long desk table, made you tense. An undead officer was making his way towards you at a painfully slow rate. That was fine. You could handle this. After all, they weren’t fast– most of the time. And besides, now you had a gun. 

You approached the desk furthest from the door you had entered. The name card sitting face up had been covered in blood to the point where it was no longer readable. On the chair beside it laid a strange white cylinder no larger than the size of your hand. 

“Leon?” you said, holding up the strange object to him, “What’s this?”

Leon poked his head out from the small office room within the larger room– probably where the supervising officer worked. In his hands was a strange red valve. By the time you had called for his attention, he was already stuffing it into one of his many pockets. 

“Oh, that’s the fuse for the door,” he responded with his typical, almost too casual tone, “Good work! Now we don’t need to crawl through the gap.”

You blinked. “Crawl through the what?”

“Come on, let’s go,” he said with an accomplished smile, ignoring your question, “I think I know where we can use this.”

The door on the opposite end of where you had come from had been blocked from the inside by a chair. It was positioned under the handles so that no one or thing could push through. Maybe the undead officer in the room was trying to play it smart and survive on his own. Maybe he had been bitten and the others condemned him to his fate by locking him into the room. That could explain the padlock. A chill ran down your spine. Leon seemed to be having no such thoughts, swiftly yanking the chair from under the handles and pushing through to the other side. 

The door led to another hallway. Leon seemed to know where to go, as he instantly walked towards the left. You went out the door second, giving one last look to the officer inside the room, still approaching you. As you locked eyes with his icy, pale face, you frowned. A deep sadness filled you. 

“Y/N?” Leon interrupted your thoughts, “You coming?”

You gave the undead man a quaint, almost apologetic smile, as though you were saying goodbye. You then walked out of the room, finding Leon who was already inserting the fuse. “Yeah, I was just making sure we didn’t miss anything.”

“Great, we gotta stay vigilant, right?” Leon smirked as the fuse box lit up. Once this occurred, the large metal, garage-looking door began rumbling, rising far higher than the crawl space it had been before. I hope he didn’t actually think I would be crawling under there, you thought as you folded your arms, giving Leon a look.

Once it was fully lifted Leon pumped his fist. “Boom.”

You chuckled– he could be so effortlessly funny sometimes. 

The two of you then ascended a small flight of stairs to your left, entering the main hall once more. Without even disclosing to you what the plan was, Leon surged forward, walking straight ahead to a room in the West Wing of the police station. As you walked through the hall you thought of Marvin, his strained breathing as he clutched his open wound. You couldn’t see him now, your line of sight obstructed by toppled furniture and bodies that no longer moved, but you held out hope that he was okay.

Leon didn’t pause, not even looking back at you before surging forward. He led you to the West Wing reception room like a man on a mission. The room itself looked more like a lounge than an enclosed space. It had no wooden door to go through, instead it was just an open space extension of the main hall. It was filled with brown leather couches all facing the right side of the room. You also noticed blood splatters painting the floors and spreading along the walls. You forced yourself to look away. Leon seemed entirely unfazed by the state of the room, walking straight past all the couches to a door that had been partially obscured by a wooden half-wall.

Once you were by his side at the door, he slowly pushed it open with caution. 

You were immediately hit by a cold breeze. The hallway in front of you was long, dark, and entirely unwelcoming. Many of the windows had been broken but patched up with yellow wooden boards that didn’t quite manage to keep out any of the cold air. Leon led the both of you forward, making sure to stand in front of you the entire time. You bit your lip, torn between appreciating his protection and hating how helpless it had made you feel. You weren’t entirely useless– you knew that, after all, you survived the entire trip from your apartment to the RPD. But the way he used himself practically as a human shield between you and every threat made you feel like dead weight– a burden he couldn’t shake off. Still, you said nothing, silently following him as you rounded the corner of the hallway.

A loud bang echoed through the corridors followed by a groan you had become all too accustomed to hearing. 

Looking to your left where the windows were, you saw a monster banging at the wooden door, clearly trying to get in. Its body was an icy pale blue with blackened fingers lodging themselves between the gaps in the wood. Its jaw was dislocated, its mouth abnormally large as it revealed bloodied flesh inside. 

“They’ll probably keep trying to get in,” Leon said as the both of you continued forward, “But don’t worry, they can’t.”

“Are you sure about that?” you asked, eyes spectacle and you passed by another creature attempting to break in.

“Mhmm,” he said, sounding awfully confident.

“Did you put these things up?”

Leon let out a small, almost sheepish laugh. “Yeah, I did. Pretty smart, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling some of your fears slipping away. “Super smart. You should be an engineer. A cop-engineer.”

“Oh yeah? Is that a real thing or are you making it up?”

You were probably making it up. “I’m not really sure, but if it isn’t you’ll be the first. Fighting bad guys and building bridges. Kinda sexy, huh?”

With that Leon faltered slightly, nearly losing his feet. You were trying to be funny, not serious. But now you also felt embarrassed, not really expecting that reaction. 

“Yeah well, I don’t think that's gonna happen here anytime soon,” he responded, though you could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. The RPD was in bad shape– the city even worse. Nobody would inhabit this place for a long time.

“Well, maybe not here but someplace else,” you said, determined to uplift the mood, “Think about how many places are going to want to hire someone like you.”

At this Leon finally slowed his place, walking beside you. Now you could see his smile– the way he pushed his hair out of his face when he blushed, trying to play it cool. “You really think so?”

You didn’t even need to think. “Obviously.”

Leon’s gaze lingered on you for an extra second before he looked ahead again. With that, the two of you approached the end of the hallway. To your right was a set of red wooden doors that swung open rather than having a handle. As Leon pushed through the doors rather quickly, you let out a breath of relief that his weapon wasn’t raised. Inside the room was a total disaster. Metal chairs and desks were in disarray, scattered around the room without rhyme or reason. In the front of the room next to a half-fallen American flag was a chalkboard packed to the brim with papers. Even up close you couldn’t quite pick out what any of them were for. 

Once again Leon completely ignored the contents of the room, instead heading to the door to the right of the chalkboard with purpose. Grabbing the bolt cutters for a third time, he snapped off the padlock for the door and walked inside. This place is a fucking maze , you thought to yourself as you entered another room with two doors. It was small with the most notable thing about it being the desk that you had practically run into when you followed Leon inside. You picked up what was on the desk while Leon tried to open the door to the right of the room.

“Holy shit,” you said as you lifted it towards the light to get a better look, “Leon, look. It’s a detonator.”

Leon quickly abandoned his attempt at becoming a lock-picking master and rushed to your side. He looked very excited when you handed it to him. He then flipped it around and frowned.

“That’s great, but it’s missing the battery,” he said, “But I think I know where to find it– let’s head upstairs.”

You sighed dramatically. “Great, let's add another floor to go explore.”

Leon grinned, giving you a playful nudge. “Aw, come on. Too tired already?”

“Shut up,” you said, nudging him back, “Just lead the way.” 

The two of you walked out the door that had a standard lock. All you had to do was unturn it and you were out into another hallway. You quickly realized that you had no clue where you were headed to which Leon overtook you.

“Do you want to take a look at the map?” he asked, leading you around the dead body of a police officer who was lying directly next to another door you had never seen.

You shook your head as you observed the many bullet wounds in the cop’s head. “I think I’ll take my chances. Just don’t leave me behind, okay?”

“For sure,” he said with a laugh, “You’re stuck with me now.”

The two of you rounded the corner of the short hallway and made your way to a flight of stairs. There were more dead bodies scattered around you, but what made your heart drop was the fact that they were civilians. A man, a woman, even a teenager wearing a varsity jacket. You quickly averted your gaze from the floor where they lay, killed for a second time, and instead focused on following Leon up the stairs. 

At the top of the landing, you passed by a female officer, her body awkwardly slumped in the corner. A pool of blood was beneath her and a conspicuous gunshot wound sat in the center of her forehead. Leon led you to the men’s locker room which, like most buildings in the station, was also in pretty bad shape. Blood streaked the walls and floors. Lockers had been opened with their contents spilling out onto the floor. A male officer lay face down directly in front of an open locker as though he had been shoved into it. The worst of all was the smell of flesh, unsurprisingly. 

Leon pulled the red valve out of his clown car pockets. You still had no idea how he could possibly fit so much in such a little belt. With a single motion, he inserted it into its slot. The moment he did so, the steam that had been pouring out abruptly stopped, revealing a gaping hole in the wall. It led to another part of the locker room. 

“Ladies first?” he joked, tilting his head toward the opening. 

“Well since you asked so nicely,” you rolled your eyes, stepping over what little wall remained.

The two of you walked through what must have been the heating system. Large cylinders that reminded you of the water heater that was in the back of your garage as a child. Once you made it out the other end you saw a police officer slumped over on the locker room bench. Leon raised his gun as the both of you approached, you lifted yours too– even though you had yet to use it.

Leon lightly tapped the corpse's head. The corpse didn’t stir, instead, its head simply bobbed up and down. No sudden moments… just death. Other than that there wasn’t much in the room except for another door. As the both of you approached it, you heard the unmistakable screeching sound. You had only heard it once before– very distinct from the usual groans of the monsters. It was the thing . The thing that nearly took you out with its tongue in the so-called “Art Room.” Your flight or fight instincts kicked in. It took every ounce of strength in you not to immediately turn around and run away screaming. 

“Leon we can’t ,” you whispered, clutching his right arm.

“It’s the only way,” he said calmly, making eye contact with you, “I don’t think they have eyes. If we're quiet enough–”

You gasped, your eyes growing as wide as saucers. “Are you serious?!”

With this he turned to fully face you, grabbing a hold of both your shoulders. “Y/N, I’m scared too– terrified. But it's try or die. If we can’t find a battery then we're never getting out of here.

Fighting back tears, you opened your mouth to respond yet no words were coming out.

“You want to live, don’t you? That’s why you came here?” his eyes pleaded, and you nodded, “We’re going to make it out of here alive, but you have to trust me. Please.”

You needed a moment. Closing your eyes, you found that many things came to your mind. You thought of your lost apartment, the stairwell crawling with the dead. Then Mitchell came to your mind, the man you had loved for years who broke your heart. The man who left you without a goodbye after a heated argument. You thought of your friends, colleagues, and fellow students. You thought of Noah. Dead, gone, and undead. 

Then you thought about your family, living states away. Did they think you were dead? Were they glued to the TV, looking for any sign of hope? You remembered Claire, the girl with the red jacket who you knew for a matter of minutes. Surely she was fighting for her life out there, she wouldn’t give up. Then there was Marvin, the officer who had shown you kindness when he could have shot you dead. He was fighting for you to get out of here as well. Finally, you opened your eyes once more. Leon was staring at you, his face full of concern. He was right, you came to the RPD when you could have killed yourself back in your apartment. You wanted to live , you told yourself.

You owed it to someone to keep going, but most of all, you owed it to yourself. 

“Okay,” your voice was small, “I trust you. Let’s go.”

Leon was smiling now, nodding his head in approval. “There should be a door to the S.T.A.R.S office on the left. We got this, okay? We make a good team.”

With that, the two of you turned to the door. Your confidence and will to live at any cost had been ignited once more. You stepped forward in front of Leon, placing your hand on the doorknob. “I’ll go first.”

“Are you sure?” Leon sounded surprised, taking a step forward so that you were side by side once more. You closed your eyes and turned the knob, slowly pushing it open, flashlight in hand.

The interior of the hallway was flooded. There was a hole in the wall where rain was spilling in, covering the wooden floors below with a thick layer of water. It was dark too; without a flashlight, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to see the end of the hall. You slowly began to walk forward, making sure that your steps were as light as possible. Leon was following close behind you, his footsteps a bit louder than your own.

When you were about halfway through the hallway, you heard the screams of the four-legged monster. Its tongue flew from its body which had been hidden in the darkness. The tongue had wrapped itself around a dead body on the ground, splitting it in half. Blood rained from above, splattering itself onto both you and Leon. It took everything within you not to scream and run. Leon seemed to know this too, as he grabbed your face from behind, covering your mouth. After a moment he released you from his grasp and you made a beeline towards the room to the left, walking as fast as you possibly could without making a sound. 

Once you were safely inside with the door shut, you collapsed to the floor. 

“Are you okay?” Leon asked. You said nothing, instead raising your arm to give him a thumbs up. You stayed on the floor for the next couple of minutes as Leon looked around. When he finally located the battery in the supervisor’s room, you got back onto your feet. 

“Leon?” you said, he turned around, still fidgeting with the detonator and the battery, “Do you think we should leave something behind for Claire? So she knows where to go to make it out?”

He blinked, a bit taken aback by your words. “Yeah, that sounds great. Like a note?”

“Yeah, I’m sure we can find a pen and paper in one of the desks.” 

And so you did just that. 

The letter was brief, less than a page long:

Claire,

I hope you get this.

This place is crawling with monsters. Be careful of the skinless ones– their tongues can rip you in half. Leon says they’re blind, so stay quiet when you hear their screeches. 

Your brother isn’t here. I’m so sorry.

Just get out of here as soon as you can. I really hope you’re safe.

Y/N

You sighed, placing the paper next to the armory in the corner of the room. It was locked, Leon had told you, and you needed some type of USB drive to open it. Once you were done with your writing business, you joined Leon by the door.

He was looking at the map. “There's a way to get to the library through the hall. We won’t have to go all the way back around, is that okay with you?”

“Whatever gets us out of here quicker,” you responded, fiddling with the handgun in your hands, “Should we head out?”

Leon nodded, turning to face the door. This time he was in the lead, slowly guiding the both of you through the hallway until you rounded the corner. On the wall directly next to you stood the creature– crawling on it like a monstrously large spider. It seemed to notice your presence, but it wasn’t aware of where you were coming from. It raised its head up, surveying the room as if it had eyes. Maybe it’s trying to hear where we are , you thought. 

Just then the creature seemed to pinpoint your location, flipping its body so it could now climb down the wall. It was moving slowly, as though its senses had not fully been triggered. You averted your eyes, instead focusing on Leon in front of you. Soon enough you approached the end of the hallway, Leon turning the lock to let you into the room. Once you were both safely inside he shut the door.

The interior of the room was small with marble floors and wooden walls. In the center of it was a large, metallic unicorn statue with a missing medallion from the middle. The two of you pushed through the room relatively quickly. The second door on the left wall led straight to the library.

The space reminded you somewhat of how you imagined Hogwarts’s library was like. The lighting was a warm yellow, lighting up the room in a way that felt cozy and pleasant. The walls themselves were painted a lovely deep green that matched with the lamps on the wooden desks that neatly decorated the room. It was two stories high with the parameter being filled to the brim with bookshelves. The first floor was partially divided into two by a bookcase at the very center of the room, the other side had no desks to study but rather it was littered with dead bodies– shot dead by Leon.

Leon went about the library as if he had been there a hundred times before. He led you past the dead bodies to a ladder that was to the left of some misplaced bookshelves. There was a hole above them, preventing someone from walking all the way around the room on the floor above. If the bookcases could be moved, maybe it would make a walkway leading to the door in the corner. Unfortunately, they were stuck. One of them being lifted by a strange device, making it unmovable. 

“Maybe the engineer-cop could find a way to push those bookcases together,” you joked as you stood at the bottom of the ladder, ready to climb up after Leon.

He laughed as he made his way up to the second floor. “Don’t worry, I’m already working on it.”

Once the two of you successfully had made it up the ladder you entered yet again another door. You were starting to get exhausted– the layout of the RPD was too complicated. The room inside was certainly… an attic.

It was covered in a thick layer of dust, similar to that of the “Art Room.” There were white tarps everywhere, thrown over what you could only assume to be old furniture. As soon as you stepped through the door, you had to hop over a dead body. Its head had been blown clean off by a bullet. The architecture of the room was peculiar at best. A large column was on the left side of the room, closest to the jail cell protecting the maiden statue. It made it so that there was a large square path to make it back to the entrance. The room was also incredibly dark– only adding to the eerie atmosphere. 

“You should probably wait by the door,” he said, “I don’t know how powerful this thing is going to be, but we should probably step out into the library when it goes off.”

You nodded, giving him the confirmation that he needed before he headed over to plant the C4. He pulled the detonator out from one of his many pockets and stuck it right into the wall. Once it activated he came back over running, nearly shoving you out the door and back into the library. 

The two of you waited in silence. It took maybe ten seconds before you heard a loud boom, rattling the floor you stood on. Leon wasted no time running back into the room. You were on his tail, eager to help him free the medallion from the statue. The two of you passed through the exploded wall now surrounded by rubble, hopping over a metal bar as you made your way to the statue.

Leon then pulled out his notebook, scanning the pages for what you could only assume to be some sort of code. Once he found it he quickly inputted it into the statue, although he had to try a few times before he got it correct. When he finally did, the frame around the medallion began to spin, once it fully disappeared it had released the interior piece of the statue. Leon placed it into his belt pocket, turning to you with a wide smile on his face.

That smile quickly dropped when you heard the familiar scream of the skinless monster. 

“Run?” Leon said although it sounded more like a question than an actual statement. You nodded, tempted to make a sarcastic remark, but there was no time. He took the lead, running from the half-exploded jail cell as you followed behind him.

The creature then descended from the ceiling, clearly aggravated. What made your heart drop is that it dropped down just in front of Leon. Rather than using its tongue to rip him in half, it raised its monstrous hand. The size of its claws was bigger than its own face and in one fell swoop, it struck Leon across the front of his chest. He let out a cry, fumbling forward as he tried to maintain his balance.

“Leon!” you screamed in terror. He was clutching his left arm, blood spilling out of it. You ran up behind him, propelling him forward. You pushed him to the door as fast as possible, feeling a gust of wind when the creature attempted to strike you too but instead flew past. 

Luckily for the both of you, once you made it into the library and slammed the door of the storage room shut the demon couldn’t follow after you. Leon was in bad shape, his face contorting in pain with each breath he took. Because he had been wearing the bulletproof vest, the monster was unable to penetrate through to his chest. Unfortunately, the rest of his uniform was most likely a thin piece of fabric– the creature had cut right through the flesh of his arm. 

“There's rubbing alcohol and bandages back in the main hall,” you said as you stepped forward to examine his wounds, “I could clean that up pretty quickly– do you think you can walk?”

With this Leon laughed before flinching in pain once more. “What, are you going to carry me?”

You blinked. “You are unbelievable.”

“It’s a valid question,” his voice was strained. You shook your head– how could he possibly be joking right now ? 

You decided to go straight, taking the stairs down rather than trying to climb the ladder. You offered your shoulder to Leon to which he gladly accepted. The two of you struggled to descend the large staircase– it was difficult to walk with a grown man’s entire weight pushed onto you. Still, you successfully made it to the lower portion of the library to which you exited it through a different door. It had a blue diamond above it, similar to the one you saw when you first entered the main hall. 

After descending yet another staircase, the both of you were now face-to-face with the maiden statue. 

“Marvin,” Leon called, “Here, take me to the couch.”

Marvin was no longer in an upright position, but lying down fully on the red couch. He was breathing, but barely. You and Leon took a seat next to him. Grabbing the bottle of rubbing alcohol, you pushed the remnants of his sleeves to the side, pouring the liquid directly onto his cuts. He flinched, groaning painfully.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, his eyes shut tight.

You cleaned the wound with a bit of gauze before beginning to wrap your arm in bandages. “I know, I’m sorry. You’re almost done, then the three of us can get out of here.” 

Leon gave you a brief nod once you finished tending to his arm. He then reached into his belt pocket and pulled out a green herb. He began to chew on it. His muscles almost immediately relaxed as a sense of relief washed over his body. You looked at him strangely. What in the world is he eating? 

Leon suddenly stood up, completely rejuvenated. He walked over to the maiden statue, placing the third and final medallion into the empty slot. The statue began to shake violently, and the pedestal which it had been standing on top of began to descend, revealing a barred door. You jumped up from your seat, eager to see what was inside.

Leon pushed on the door gently, swinging it open without any trouble. You shined your flashlight below, revealing a set of stairs leading to a dark room.

“So it goes underground, huh.” He said, peering over your shoulder. 

You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s it– that’s our way out.”

Leon turned around rapidly, walking towards the red couch. “Lieutenant Branagh! Marvin!”

You stuck by the entrance to the underground, your face filled with worry. Marvin was not looking well. Once Leon was by Marvin’s side, he reached out for him. “It’s time to go!”

Marvin did not move. Leon lightly brushed his hand against the injured cop’s arm. “Hey, Marvin.”

With that, Marvin shot up with a scream. Gasping for air like a madman. From the way his face contorted angrily and he bared his teeth, you thought for a second he had already turned. 

“We need to go to a hospital right now,” you called, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Marvin sat up looking entirely disoriented. “No… no. I-I,” he groaned in pain, clutching his abdomen, “Save yourself.”

Leon tried to grab Marvin once more. “Come on, I’ve got you–”

“Go!” he screamed.

With this you stepped forward, voice laced with concern. “Leon! We can’t leave him.”

The rookie cop glanced between you and his superior, clearly uncertain about what to do next. He decided to continue to plead with Marvin. “Look, we can still make it out of here together, if you just give me–”

Marvin drew his gun. You screamed, your hands flying over your mouth.

“It’s too late,” he said, his voice calm, “I tried, Leon. But I couldn’t stop it. We can’t let this spread– It’s on you now. The both of you.”

He paused, looking at his wound one last time. “Just go.”

His mouth moved as though he was speaking, but no words came out. He rested his hand on his bloodied wound, the look on his face was heartbreaking. 

“I understand,” Leon said firmly, turning away as he walked back to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, passing by you and descending the stairs. You took one last look at Marvin, flinching in pain as he rolled back onto his side. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything– it was too terrible.

Holding back your tears, you followed Leon into the underground room, the doors closing behind you, fully sealing off the RPD. 

“I won’t let you down, Marvin,” he said, stopping in his tracks.

You nodded, although you weren’t sure he could tell considering how dark the room had gotten. “Let’s go,” you whispered, “We’re almost there.”

As soon as the two of you had fully walked down the staircase, the lights flickered, eventually turning on completely. It was poorly lit– with only two lights attached to the bookshelves that encompassed the room's circular parameter and another desk lamp. The floor was decorated with a giant compass symbol in various shades of red, brown, and white. The central desk was filled with papers, ammo scattered about. 

Leon picked up the scattered bullets on the desk, loading them into his various weapons. You took a look at the various books, the layer of dust indicated that whoever worked from this office hadn’t paid it a visit in a long time. 

“There’s an elevator,” Leon said, pointing to the right side of the room that did, in fact, have an elevator, “Should we…?”

You shrugged. “I don’t see any other way out of here. Unless there's some other puzzle we’re missing.”

“God, I hope not,” Leon smirked, pressing the call button, “I’ve done enough detective work for today.”

“Engineer-detective-cop,”  you mused as you took your place by his side, “I wonder what we’re gonna add next?”

Leon threw up his arms, playfully taking a step back. “You tell me.”

When the elevator arrived, the two of you piled in. If the circular office above was a beautiful vintage, the basement down below was an abandoned architectural project from the 1970s. It was a concrete oasis, completely devoid of any color or furniture. It looked like a garage park minus any cars. The two of you walked down a single flight of stairs, finding an open door leading to what must have been some sort of underground facility. 

“After you,” you gestured to the open space.

Leon bowed, taking the lead. The room was yet another hallway. But instead of there being walls there were pipes and cylindrical containers. The ground was still made from concrete, though this portion of the underground was significantly better lit than from where you came. As you walked quickly behind Leon, you surveyed the area further. Once you rounded the corner you realized you were on the second floor, the metal railings barely reaching your waist. The ground had turned from concrete to metal bars– you were especially glad to not be wearing heels or else you would get stuck.

“Okay, we just need to follow this path up there– that should lead to the parking garage,” he said, pointing to the very edge of the large room.

“I think we need to deal with the bookshelf,” you said, pointing to the toppled-over bookshelf that was blocking the entrance to the next segment of the hallway.

“Here, let me do it,” Leon said, walking over to it with confidence.

You overtook him, planting your hands on the underside of the shelf. “Don’t you worry, ladies, I got this.”

He chuckled, surrendering his hands. You then pushed with all your might, eventually lifting the shelf to an upright position, allowing you to advance to the next room. You turned around, walking backward as you looked at Leon.

You stopped in your tracks. Something had jumped down from the ceiling. As your back collided with whatever it was, you realized it was much larger than you. Turning around slowly, you gasped.

It was a man– only he wasn’t a man anymore. His face was in disarray, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. He wore a shredded white lab coat, ripped open in the front. Half of his body was normal-looking. The other half was something of a nightmare. His arm was mutated, an unnaturally large mass made from pure, bulging red muscles. The flesh was grotesque. It looked like his arm was enlarged and inverted, he didn’t look human.

The half-man half-monster lunged towards you, slamming you backward onto the floor. You heard Leon scream your name, firing his weapon at the creature’s face. It did nothing. Instead, the beast raised his mutated arm, a lead pipe in his hands. His arm began convulsing, revealing a ginormous eye the size of his head. On his shoulder .

You were screaming, thrashing, exerting all your strength as you tried to get the creature off of you. Leon continued firing, standing directly above your head.

“Oh my God!” he screamed as he continued firing his weapon, “Get off of her!”

The creature then picked you up by your chest, picking you up before slamming you down on the metal bars. Once. Twice. Three times. 

Leon tried stabbing the creature, though he was quickly thrown backward. You could hardly breathe. From the pressure on your chest to the fact that this grotesque demon was directly above you. You felt faint. 

The third time he slammed you into the ground, the floor collapsed. The three of you fell down an entire story. The wind was knocked out of your chest, but the monster wouldn’t stop.

Your vision began to blur. You glanced around, desperately searching for Leon. Gripping your chest, you called out his name. The last thing you heard was the monster's scream and Leon’s incomprehensible voice.

Day 7 - 4:43 P.M.

It had been eight days since Raccoon City fell, three days since your ex-fiance left without leaving so much as a note, and eight hours, thirty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds since you ran out of water.

The first two days were the most difficult. Power had gone down almost immediately after the chaos on the streets erupted. There was no way to contact any of your friends, coworkers, or family. Your neighbors had all fled or boarded up their rooms like you did. You thought that it would be the lack of running water or electricity that would kill you but it wasn’t. It was loneliness. 

You and Mitchell had hardly spoken since you ended your engagement a little over half a year ago. For the first time since then, you were forced to communicate for a prolonged period of time. It was all fighting. You two couldn’t agree on anything when it came to the situation at hand. He wanted to drive away. You knew the roads had been blocked. He wanted to try and find other survivors in your building. You knew from the sounds beyond the walls that they were all dead. He wanted to go to the RPD. You were too scared. The fighting was sickening yet it filled the intimacy you craved. When you went to bed on the couch with him and woke up to it being empty, you knew he had left. There was no way of knowing which escape tactic he tried or whether he was going to find help. Every hour that passed with him gone only confirmed it to you: he wasn’t coming back.

Being alone with your thoughts was therapeutic at first. You could sit by yourself and cry without any embarrassment or arguments. But it slowly devolved into the all-consuming isolation. It had been days since you had anyone to talk to. Any sound was either that of the creatures next door, a gunshot on the street, or the screams of a passerby. Oh, and your own voice. On day six you took to talking to yourself in order to prove that you were still real. Without anybody else to ground you in reality, you became paranoid. Unable to look out the windows, leave the living room area, or fall asleep, you knew you were slipping away. Still, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

When you ran out of water, you nearly felt relief. It would all be over soon. You quickly realized how much worse your situation had become when the headache started. Your lips were cracked, you could hardly think straight, and your body was relentless in its thirst. Suddenly dying of dehydration for the sake of dying didn’t seem all that appealing. You then considered ending it all. A knife, a bedsheet, the rat poison Mitchell kept above the washing machine– hell, you even considered throwing yourself from the window. But you didn’t. Instead, each passing moment without water was igniting something deep within you. Staring out the window for the first time in days, contemplating jumping, finally made it click. You wanted to live. 

You checked your supplies one last time. Hardly anything. Mitchell’s backpack was still at the bottom of your hall closet. After emptying it out you threw what little food you had left inside it along with a water bottle in case you found any water. Finally, you grabbed the flashlight from your drawer along with a steak knife. Opening the doors for the first time in over a week made your stomach swirl. The little amount of food you had left in you threatened to come up. Still, you took one deep breath and broke through the barricade that had become your front door.

The hallway was dark and empty. The sounds of your neighbors-turned-monsters were faint but still noticeable. You turned your flashlight on, scanning the area for any potential threats. Luckily the stairs in your building were right next to your apartment. When you first entered them everything was fine. You manage to descend a fair amount of stairs before you heard it. 

It was a strange cross between a groan and a person trying to formulate a word. You swore your heart stopped beating for a moment. Slowly rounding the corner to approach the next flight of stairs, you readied the knife in your dominant hand. That's when you were hit with the smell of rotting flesh. It seems the creature had noticed you too, and it stood up from its crouched position over the carcass. Wasting no time you threw yourself towards it, stabbing it straight through the forehead with a scream of crippling terror. You were too scared out of your mind to even realize that your noises could possibly attract more.

As you ran down the stairs, bloodied knife in hand, you began to sob. It was all too terrifying. The delirium from the lack of sleep and no water surely did nothing to calm your nerves or your shaking body. When you finally made it to the lobby, you let out a relieved sigh seeing that nobody was there. You then dashed behind the counter, knowing that's where the receptionist kept a tank of water. When you saw it, you began to cry even more intensely. It was nearly filled to the brim. You immediately wanted to run back up the stairs, jug in hand. But you couldn’t– after all, what would happen when you ran out of this water? You dropped to your knees, filling up your cup before drinking it all in a matter of thirty seconds. Knowing you couldn’t carry the entire thing of water with you, you filled up your bottle to the brim and slowly rose to your feet.

You had to continue. The RPD has water , you reminded yourself like a prayer. Leaving your building was the hardest part. You had been living there for the past eight months, it was your first ever time renting your own place. You thought this would be your first home as a wife, the first home you would bring a baby to. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you opened the door and walked outside. 

You quickly realized that you wouldn’t be able to drive your car to the RPD. The streets were filled with abandoned cars and crawling creatures. You knew the route well, all you had to do was stick to the left and you would be there in no more than thirty minutes. Normally it would take a bit longer, but you were full-on bolting down the streets. Dodging the creatures like you were straight out of an action movie, the huge adrenaline rush made you feel invincible. When you finally took the last left turn of the pedestrian section of town, you felt a strong sense of relief. Now all you had to do was pass the orphanage and climb the stairs which would leave you to an overpass headed straight to the station.

Unluckily for you, the place was surrounded by rabid dogs. For a split second, you wanted to lie down and let them take you. No , you thought, I made it this far . And so you continued. Running diagonally instead of straight, you counted your lucky stars each time you dodged the dogs’ attacks. Sure you were screaming and crying the whole time, but you did it. When you finally made it to the gated off basketball court, you bursted through the doors and didn’t look back. The sounds of barks echoed behind you as you bolted over the final fence and made your way across the overpass.

The rest of the journey to the RPD was nearly devoid of creatures. The parking lot was blocked, so you had to make your way around to the side. You entered the gate at the corner of the building, bolting it behind you. It was a graveyard. The freshly dug patches of dirt made it known to you that it was new. After you made your way through the graveyard, you descended the stairs, passing by what must have been a storage room padlocked shut. Continuing straight, you went up another set of stairs before making it to what must have once been a beautiful garden. As you got closer and closer to the building, you realized that you were surrounded by bodies. They must have been attacked by the creatures, but they weren’t moving. You crept past them as slowly as possible before finally making it to the chainmail fence separating the garden from the building. 

Luckily for you, mama didn’t raise a bitch– sorta. You stuffed your foot into the fence and began scaling the fence. Step after step you continued toward the top. Ignoring the cuts forming on your hands, you bolted over the top, landing on your feet like a cat. Unfortunately, the door immediately to your left was padlocked shut. Looking back to where you had just climbed the fence like a madman, you realized there was a lovely pair of pliers sitting in a barrel. You let out a cry. Looking towards the stairs on the side of the RPD and then back at your bleeding hands, you opted to climb them.

The door on the second floor was not padlocked shut. It opened with ease. The hallway was long and quiet– no sign of the entire city taking refuge in the building. You could either go straight or to the right. You decided to continue straight first, and if you couldn’t find anything you would go the latter. You finally stumbled upon a door with a blue spade over it to your left. Taking out the knife from your bag, you prepared yourself for whatever could be in there. 

You threw the door open with a cry. Again. Instead of a hoard of creatures, you saw a very lovely waiting room adorned with paintings, magazines, and plants. With a sigh of relief, you shut the door and wiped the sweat off your forehead. You took a moment to sit on the plush couch directly in front of you, taking a large drink of the water from your bag. 

After a few minutes of rest, you decided to continue looking through the station. When you opened the new door, you realized you had found the main lobby. It was ginormous– at least three stories tall. The walls, floors, and columns were beautiful marble and polished wooden railings. The centerpiece of it all was a huge statue of what looked like a Greek Goddess located at the bottom of the grand staircases. It was overwhelmingly beautiful. You decided to walk closer to it, rounding the corners before letting out what must have been your 1000th scream of the day. It was a man.

He was wounded, clutching at his bloodied side. You could tell he was a police officer from his blue uniform and a gun strapped to his belt. He was resting too, but his eyes snapped open the moment he heard your loud voice. The two of you looked at each other, equally as sick– though you thought for entirely different reasons. 

“Hello there,” he said, his voice loud but pained, “Are you injured?”

This was the first living person you had seen in days. You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out.

“Are you alright, miss? Why don’t you come down here?” 

You nodded your head, hurrying down the stairs as though you were still fleeing from the dogs around the corner. “I’m sorry,” you finally said.

He tried chuckling to lighten the mood, “Sorry? What for?”

“For not answering your question,” you replied, “Oh! I’m not injured, by the way. My name is Y/N.”

“Y/N?” he smiled, “Pretty name. I’m Officer Marvin Branagh. Did you just get here?”

“Yes, literally only a few minutes ago– I had to climb the fence!” you showed Marvin your shaking, cut hands, “Please tell me we aren’t the only ones. Do you know if a man named Mitchell Frey is here? Noah Carter?”

You were looking around frantically, desperate for any signs of a familiar face. Marvin gave you a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but there aren’t very many people still alive here. It’s terrible, but the RPD got overwhelmed quickly when the infection started to spread within closed doors. As for your hands, I have some disinfectant here and some bandages.”

You felt like the weight of the world had collapsed on you. The two of you couldn’t be the last people here. You couldn’t accept that everyone you knew or loved was stuck out there, or worse. Silently taking a seat next to Marvin, you doused your hands with rubbing alcohol. You started to tear up, and it wasn’t from the stinging pain. After you successfully bandaged your hands, you fully collapsed on the couch.

“Are we the last ones here?” your voice was shaking, “Are we all that’s left?”

Before Marvin had the chance to answer the question, the door directly to your left swung open. You sat up quickly, your eyes darting to the source of the sound. There stood another living person.

He stood right outside of the doorway. He wore a police uniform with a bulletproof vest. His blonde hair was damp with sweat, clinging to the sides of his forehead. It was a kind of disheveled look that would have made him look exhausted and unkept, but instead, you thought it suited him– surely his hair was in better shape than your own. His blue eyes, still visible even in the dim lighting, looked between you and Marvin with suspicion and concern. Even though his face looked young and his jawline, while sharp, didn't look particularly severe, he was built with muscle. The opposite of the scrawny build you were used to seeing while living with Mitchell. He had the kind of frame that made you think if anybody could help you survive this disaster, it was him. 

He’s handsome , was you first thought, but he looks kind . 

“Who is this?” he asked, directing his attention to Marvin.

“I’m Y/N,” you spoke up before he could answer.

“Oh,” he said with a small smile, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” you smiled back at him, and a moment of silent staring passed between the two of you.

“Care to explain what you’re doing, Leon?” Marvin interrupted.

The younger cop cleared his throat. “Right. I’m looking for a way out of here right now. The statue right there has some missing medallions at the bottom of it. If I can find all three of them we can get out of here.”

“Get out of here?” you asked before looking back at Marvin– then you remembered: it wasn’t safe here anymore, “Sorry, I’m trying to get used to this. I mean, I just got here.”

“Really?” he said with a look of hope. You didn’t happen to run into a young woman out there, did you? Her name is Claire.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said, “But I can help you look for the missing medallions. Claire too.”

Leon gave you an uneasy look. “Are you sure? It’s pretty dangerous here. There are lots of monsters in the hallways.”

“I’m sure. I had to outrun a bunch of demon dogs like half an hour ago,” you tried to laugh but you really wanted to cry. We weren’t sure if he could tell.

“Okay, thanks Y/N,” Leon said, “Do you have a weapon? I have a handgun here if you need one.”

Leon began walking towards the foot of the statue, and you followed after him. “I don’t know how to use a gun. I brought a knife, do you think that's enough?”

“Um, no,” he responded, “Here, it’s super easy to use. Just aim and fire. When you run out of bullets you unlatch this button, take out the magazine, put in a new one, and click.”

You smiled awkwardly as he handed you the gun. It felt strangely heavy in your hands– after all, you had never even held one before. Leon then pulled a large circular medallion off of his belt. It looked to be a slab of stone with a unicorn head on it. He then placed it opposite to a similar-looking medallion with a lion on it. It then sank into the statue, revealing a blocked opening in the statue. It looked like it was still missing one more.

“Now all we have to do is find the maiden medallion,” he said, “It’s in the attic above the library but it’s blocked by some metal bars. We need to find something to explode the wall with.”

“Explode the wall?” you said, confused. He was acting strangely nonchalant about the entire situation.

Leon nodded, reloading his own handgun. “Here, follow me. We’re gonna go to the East Wing to unlock the king statue.”

“The what?” 

Leon had no time to answer any more of your questions. Instead, he motioned you up the stairs where you had just come. You passed by the dead body of a woman that you had failed to notice on your way down. When you finally made it back through the waiting room, instead of turning right he led the two of you straight inside a room called the “Art Room.” It was dusty with tarps covering various items of furniture. It didn’t seem to be a very inspirational space to inspire creativity, in fact, it was rather eerie. Leon seemed entirely unfazed, walking straight over to what must have been the king statue he had mentioned. It looked similar to the maiden statue in style. Even though it was much smaller, it was made from the same white marble material. 

To your confusion, Leon then yanked one of the arms off of the statue. 

“So… how long have you been a cop?” you said, looking at his pristine, clearly new uniform. Meanwhile, Leon was fiddling with a stone book he had pulled out of his hip pouch.

“It’s my first day, actually,” he laughed.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh wow– I’m so sorry. What a shitty first day.”

“Could be worse,” he smiled, successfully placing the stone book into the statue's hand.

He then walked over, placing the arm back onto the statue. “Could it?”

Suddenly the statue's right arm, the one that had been holding a mysterious scepter with a beautiful large ruby in the center, began to move so that the scepter was now perpendicular to the king’s body. Leon grabbed it right away, scanning it before finding a small latch on the backside. After pressing it, the ruby then popped out of the scepter.

“Ah hah!” he celebrated, extending his arm to show you the ruby up close, “We did it!”

That’s when the sound of clicking emerged from above you, followed by a demonic scream, unlike anything you had ever heard before. The creature then crashed down from the ceiling and you were certain you would pass out on the spot. It looked like a twisted mix between a skinned human and a four-legged creature. Most terrifying of all was its freakishly long, bright red tongue protruding from its face. Before you had time to process what was happening, Leon had yanked you by the wrist, propelling you forward.

“Run!” his voice cut through the air like a gunshot as the monster barreled towards the both of you.

Leon’s grip on your wrist tightened, yanking you hard to the right. The creature's tongue lashed forward, creating a disgustingly wet sound as it smacked against the exact position where you were moments earlier. The two of you raced towards the door, careful to maneuver around the jutting furniture from the walls and the tarps that were unevenly dispersed on the ground. The second both of you were out the door, Leon let go of you, spinning around in an instant to slam the door shut with all his strength. The creature scratched at the door, once, twice, then three times before it eventually settled down. 

You braced yourself against the wall, placing a hand over your chest as you tried to calm your heart rate and catch your breath. You could feel your pulse throbbing in your head. Leon stood across from you, his body still pressed against the door. His head was angled upwards as he gasped for air. 

He didn’t look nearly as frightened as you thought he ought to be. The two of you had nearly been eating alive and his face was as calm as ever. Still, you couldn’t help but notice how his jaw clenched and his fingers stiffened around the handle of his gun.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, still breathless. Leon took a step away from the door, moving closer to where you stood.

“I have no idea,” he admitted, looking back as though he half-expected the creature to come crashing through, “I saw it climbing across a window on the third floor, but I– I’ve never seen it that up close.”

You let out a strange laugh, some sort of mix between disbelief and despair. “Fantastic. That's just amazing. Let's go back to Marvin. I'm pretty positive we aren’t going to find any explosives in there.”

Leon hesitated, looking between you and the door. “Wait– there's a fire escape down the hall. There's some rooms down there I haven't checked yet.”

You stared at him, shocked. “You want to go searching for supplies… like right now?”

He shrugged, brushing off the dust that had accumulated on his outfit from the demon room, “Yeah.”

You threw both hands over your face, slowly dragging them from your hairline to your chin. “Okay. But let’s be quick.”

You and Leon took a few more moments to collect yourselves. Then he was moving, leading the way back down the hall you had first entered from. You trailed behind him, still shaken, repeating the moment in your head over and over again until–

“So uh,” Leon spun backward to look at you, slowing down his steps to match your pace, “What do you do for work? Well– did, I guess.”

“Are you seriously making small talk right now?” you said, a smile sneaking onto your face.

He shrugged again, “Well, yeah. We’re walking and I don’t hear any horrible monsters, so.”

You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. “I was an investment banker. I graduated from college this May.”

He nodded. “Raccoon City University?” 

“Yeah, I moved here for school,” you hesitated, then relaxed your tense shoulders, “I was engaged actually. My ex and I bought a little apartment downtown before graduation. He's mostly the reason I stayed, I’m not from a city. But then we broke up. Well, I broke up with him. But uh, then the housing crisis sorta forced us to keep living together– for like half a year. I was saving up for a new place, in theory.”

You weren’t quite sure why you were pouring your heart out to a complete stranger. Maybe it was from the crippling loneliness you felt over the past few days. It was nice to have someone respond to whatever you were saying out loud, to have a human connection, even if it was someone you hadn’t even known for an hour.

“Damn,” he said, his voice close to a whisper, “I grew up around here. Not in the city, though.”

Then something in his demeanor shifted. “Uh, my girlfriend broke up with me a few days ago. That’s why I was late to my first day.”

“You were late ?” you said, eyebrows rising. 

“Yeah… I may have overdone it on the drinking,” Leon huffed, scratching the back of his head, “But yeah, I got here maybe a few hours ago. Not the greatest timing, huh?”

“Jesus, no wonder you’re so unfazed by all of this,” you laughed in bewilderment, shaking your head.

He smirked. “Yeah, I’ve had a long week.”

Just then you flew forward, knocking Leon off his feet. The entire building shook as the unmistakable sound of metal and concrete crashing permeated through the air. You and Leon, now on the ground, exchanged stunned looks. Then the unmistakable smell of smoke wafted from the end of the hall.

“What… just happened?” you asked, picking yourself up off the floor.

Leon shook his head, coughing as he brushed off his knees. “It looks like something hit the building up ahead,” he then glanced towards the fire escape, “We should probably get out of here. Now.”

Neither of you needed further convincing. You took off, running through the corridor and then out the fire escape. Leon led the way, but once you were outside you couldn’t help but stare at what was once the hallway to your left– or what was left of it. It had been completely destroyed by a smoking helicopter. 

“There's not even a wall anymore,” you whispered to yourself.

Leon was standing a few steps in front of you, analyzing the helicopter himself. “Oh my God.” 

Your eyes snapped away from the helicopter back to Leon, neither of you moving. Then you heard the voice of a woman.

“Leon!?” she called with a mixture of shock and excitement. 

Although you couldn’t see her too well, you could tell she was beautiful. Standing in the rain, her brown hair that was tied back in a ponytail glistened. Placing her hands on the fence, she smiled widely. You couldn’t help but stare at her bright red leather jacket– it was mesmerizing. 

Leon ran to the edge of the railing. Your heart skipped a beat when he nearly vaulted over it. “Claire!” he called back to her, “Hold on. I’ll be right there!”

He then looked over at you, craning his head to the bottom of the stairs. You nodded, following him down the stairs. Once you were both safely down into the small courtyard, Leon went straight up to the fence, embedding his fingers in between the large gaps of metal.

“Claire,” he said loudly once more before his voice softened, “It’s so nice to see you.”

“How are you doing?” her voice was sweet, “That helicopter just came out of nowhere…”

Leon cut her off, briefly looking back at the destroyed wall before turning back around. “Yeah, we’re in one piece.”

You had been standing awkwardly behind the two of them, not quite sure what to do with yourself. Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked around, surveying the area. 

“Right, what’s your name?” she raised her voice slightly, standing on her toes as she tried to glance past Leon to get a better look at you, “I’m Claire, by the way. Claire Redfield.”

You took that as your cue to join the both of them. Once you were by Leon’s side, you couldn’t help but smile. You felt her kindness through the fence gate. “I’m Y/N, I’m really glad to meet you. I’m glad to see that there's more people still out there.”

“Amazing,” she said with a smile, “I’m so glad to meet you too.”

A brief moment of silence passed between the three of you. Claire pulled at the fence door, frowning. 

“I’m guessing you don’t have a key in one of those fancy pockets?” she asked Leon, looking down at his admittedly ridiculous belt. 

Your eyes lit up. Stepping forward, you showed Claire your hands. “I actually climbed this fence a little while ago– It’s how I got into the station. I can coach you through it, but it might shred your palms like it did mine.”

“Oh wow,” Claire said, studying the bloodied bandages on both your hands, “I’m… not too sure, I’m not really a climber. Wouldn’t want to fall.”

“Yeah, that could be pretty bad,” you smiled sympathetically, “But how are you doing?”

You weren’t sure how she would react to the sudden shift in conversation, but she seemed to be amused. “You know, just surviving.”

She was clearly joking, placing an arm on the fence and leaning onto it. She raised her eyebrows up and down repeatedly, winking at you. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s good,” Leon said as he began to laugh, looking between the two of you, “Any luck with you brother?”

She shook her head, her expression dimming slightly. “No, not yet.”

At this, he frowned. “Claire, don’t lose hope. I’m sure were going to find him–”

A massive explosion rang out from behind you, shaking the entire building once more as the helicopter was engulfed in flames. You screamed, throwing your damaged hands up to shield your face. Leon stepped in front of you on instinct, intensely staring at the explosion.

“You know what that means,” Leon said, his voice eerily calm. He turned back around to face Claire.

Your stomach dropped. “What…?”

“Yeah,” Claire turned around, facing her back to the RPD, “Dinner time.”

You realized what they meant. The once seemingly dead creatures that you had passed by earlier to get to the fence began to rise from the ground. Not only that, but the loud sound of the fire bell rang through the air, only attracting more of their attention. You were terrified for her, knowing that many were out there. 

“Claire,” you choked out, “You should go.”

She turned to face you both one last time. “Don’t worry about me, you two. Take care of yourselves.”

You could hear the sound of metal crashing as a horde of monsters pushed against the fence beyond the area you had walked through earlier. Their groans rang through the air like a church choir. 

“Claire, you need to go NOW,” Leon stressed, slamming both of his hands against the fence door.

She walked a few steps forward, raising her handgun. “Hey, let’s get through this? All three of us.”

“We will,” you whispered, clutching both your hands against your chest. Leon nodded, saying nothing.

Day 0 – 7:30 A.M.

The loud rings of your 7:30 A.M. alarm startled you awake. No matter how many times you had heard the “Radar” sound it had never ceased to frighten you out of sleep. You instinctively reached over to grab your alarm clock, quickly hitting the STOP button before rolling onto your back. Rubbing your eyes viciously, you let out a groan. Then you outstretched your arms and thrusted your chest upwards as you attempted to warm up your muscles. Finally, you closed your eyes and settled back into sleep. After all, you were not a morning person– who cares if you were late to work? Your entire bed began vibrating as your 7:35 A.M. alarm went off.

“Fucker!” you whispered angrily, immediately sitting up. You grabbed your alarm clock in frustration, slamming on the STOP button once more.

“For the love of God would you turn that shit off?” you heard the voice of your ex-fiance shout from the living room. The apartment you two had bought was small and the walls were paper thin. Still, you didn’t feel bad for him– why should you? It’s not like he had a job to get to at nine. He could go back to sleep for the rest of the day if he wanted to.

Without dignifying his yelling with a response, you rose from your bed and walked over to your closet. For such a tiny apartment you had quite a luxurious walk-in closet. You didn't even have enough clothes to fill the entire space. In some ways that made sense, after all, it was built for two people. Six months ago a thought like that would have made you cry, now it filled you with a smug satisfaction, and so you dressed yourself in a button-up shirt and dress pants. 

Exiting your bedroom you were met with the sight of both your small kitchen and living room. They were not separated by a wall, making the room appear larger than it was. Your ex-fiance was still lying down on the pull out couch, the TV still paused on F.R.I.E.N.D.S . He had been watching the show until at least two in the morning, much to your 9 to 5 dismay.

You walked into your kitchen, placing a piece of white bread into your toaster. 

“Did you buy more butter yesterday?” you asked as you searched through the empty fridge. Your ex-fiance said nothing, clearly pretending to be asleep. You sighed and rolled your eyes. Was he always this useless?

Still, you continued to get ready as quickly as possible. Once you had prepared your breakfast, using jam instead of butter, packed up your lunch in your glass containers, and put your shoes on, you were ready to go. As you want to open the door to your apartment you let out a gasp– you had almost forgotten to fill up your water bottle! Placing your food items on the floor, you scurried back into the kitchen to grab and open your cabinet. You grabbed the first metal bottle you could see and turned on the faucet. A few small drops of water sprung out of the faucet in opposite directions, yet none of them actually landed in your cup.

“It’s still not working,” your ex-fiance said, clearly awake, “I think we have one more bottle in the fridge.”

You groaned. “Didn’t I ask you to call the plumber like three days ago?”

He said nothing.

“Mitchell?”

Still nothing. Not wasting another breath you poured the last disposable bottle of water into your cup and ran out the door. Great, I’ll have to run to the store after work. After taking the elevator down to the first floor and exiting the building you made your way to the Raccoon City Subway. It was about a thirty-minute ride to the center of the city and you had no time to lose. 

Day 0 – 8:12 A.M

The seat you had managed to snag in a car full of people was warm and sticky. You were lucky that your coat ran past your thighs– at least your pants wouldn’t be ruined. Still, your mood has yet to improve. The Raccoon City Subway was notorious for being overcrowded and poorly managed. There was always at least one delay.

“Attention passengers, this is your conductor speaking. We are currently experiencing an unexpected delay and will be stopping at this station momentarily. We apologize for the inconvenience and appreciate your patience.”

Wonderful , you thought as the groaning sounds of angry passengers filled the air, I wonder how long we’ll be stuck this time.

You glanced at your watch, trying to be extra mindful of the time. After all, you were late to work yesterday because of a delay on the subway. It wouldn’t look too good to show up late twice in a row, especially considering it was investment season in Raccoon City. Sighing, you pulled out your water bottle to take a drink.

Best Fiance Ever! was plastered in pink right across the front of the bottle. You couldn’t help but place your head into your hands. This was going to be a long day.

Day 0 – 9:03 A.M.

The delay had taken longer than expected. You had heard whispers that somebody had jumped onto the tracks and the police had to be called to remove them. By the time you had finally made it to the station closest to your work, you were already running. Regretting your choice of wearing high heels, you made a mad dash to the front of your office building.

You were on the 30th floor. After pushing open the large glass doors, you ran towards the elevators, squishing yourself in with a large group of businessmen who had seemingly also been victims of the train’s delay. You saw one by one as the man closest to the buttons pushed each button that a person called out. Reaching your arm up in the air, you went to shout your floor name before being violently knocked in the ribs.

“Ouch!” you cried, but the man who had rammed into you paid no attention. Instead, he simply called out the floor name he needed. At your wit's end, you began pushing yourself towards the buttons. After fighting your way through the crowd, you went to push the button to your floor. Right as your finger hovered over the unlit 30 , someone pushed it causing your fingers to touch. You swung your head to the left, meeting the eyes of the less-than-helpful stranger.

He grinned. “Good morning, Y/N.” 

Noah Carter stood over you, dressed clad in his black trench coat he wore to work every day. He was looking particularly rough this morning, not that you were one to judge. His curled brown hair was frizzy and pushed to the right side of his head. His hazel eyes were droopy with bags forming beneath them. Still, he wore the same smile he did no matter how good his morning was. 

You couldn’t help but smile back, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “Rough morning?”

“You could say that,” he said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his hair, “I swear to God, I was having the best dream of my life! The next thing you know my alarm goes off, I’m running late, then there's the subway…” noticing your reaction, he shook his head, “You too?”

“Yeah, another delay,” you sighed, a sudden urge filled you to start playing with your own hair, “I swear it’s like I’m the most late employee ever.”

Noah laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you. I’ll tell them you were too busy helping old women cross the street or saving kittens from trees or something.”

“Thanks, Noah,” you smiled.

The elevator door dinged as it reached the 30th floor. By that time most of the crowd had fizzled out, leaving the two of you with ample space as you exited. The two of you continued to walk together, chatting as you entered the lobby of your workspace.

When you finally approached your desk and booted on your computer, Noah lingered by your side. “Hey, are you headed straight home after work?”

“Not really. I’m gonna need to swing by the store and buy some more water. Something is still wrong with the plumbing and God knows Mitchell isn’t going to fix it anytime soon,” you said as you held up your half-empty water bottle to him.

You noticed Noah’s smile faltering. “Best fiance ever, huh?”

With that you rolled your eyes, placing the water bottle behind your computer with a huff. “Just don’t.”

“Hey I’m not judging!” he said with a laugh, throwing his hands up in defense, “I was actually going to drive home today since I left my car in the lot yesterday. I could drop you off at the store… and then drive you home. If you want, of course.”

Your eyes widened. It was that Noah necessarily lived far from you, but you weren’t exactly neighbors. He lived a good 20-25 minutes away and with rush hour traffic… It was certainly a huge favor.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Of course,” he shrugged, “It’s really not a big deal. What kinda guy would I be if I knew you were lugging a bunch of water jugs around while I could’ve driven you.”

You smiled. “Okay, thanks. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Perfect!” Noah said, grinning so wide that his smile almost scarred you.

Day 0 – 5:27 P.M.

Noah opened the door for you when you reached the Vons parking lot. He drove a modest little gray Kia with windows tinted so dark that it surely wasn’t legal. It was your first time riding in it and you couldn’t help but notice how clean it was for a bachelor’s car. You also took note of the newly opened freshener he hung over the front mirror. 

The drive itself hadn’t taken too long considering you had stopped at a store about halfway from your apartment. As the two of you walked to the front of the store, you checked your pocket for the list of groceries you had written down during your lunch break. The first and foremost was water, obviously, followed by butter, rotisserie chicken, cucumbers, beans, and some miscellaneous snacks to help get you through the rest of the week at work.

Inside the store, you grabbed a cart and headed straight towards the bottled water. Noah strolled by your side, his hands in his trench coat. 

“You know, you’re taking this whole hydration thing pretty seriously,” he smirked as you placed another large jug of water into the cart.

“What? I literally have no drinking water at home,” you responded.

“Yeah but do you really need that much?” he continued, “You look like you’re stocking up some sort of doomsday bunker.”

“Fair point,” you said with a chuckle. As you exited the aisle, you couldn’t help but notice there was less bottled water than usual. 

Once you had finished all your shopping, you made your way to the cash register. You instinctively reached for a bag of chocolate coins, but felt the swat of a hand.

Noah picked up the exact chocolates you were reaching for and tossed them into the cart. “I always see you with these at your desk. You’re really predictable, do you know that, Y/N?”

The cashier, an older man with no hair on his head who wore a name tag that read Dimitri , laughed as he began to scan your items. 

“Wednesday date night?” he said with a grin as he scanned the tag attached to the bag of chocolate coins.

“No,” you said with a polite smile.

Noah took the opportunity to rest his arm near where the card scanner was. “Why? Are you jealous, Dimitri?”

The cashier’s smile widened. “Nope, just notice things. A man with a watch like yours typically means he's got some good old-fashioned values.”

Dimitri nudged his head towards Noah’s arm. That damn watch, you thought to yourself. Noah liked to claim it was vintage– a true one-of-a-kind treasure. He never shut up about it. By the looks of it, you could agree that it definitely wasn’t made twice, but it was most likely from a thrift store. Dimitri and Noah continued their banter and talk of watches as he scanned all of your snacks.

When he finally reached for the first of your many jugs of water, he focused his attention on you. “Stocking up, huh? Always good to be prepared.”

You found that familiar, not quite comfortable polite smile creeping up onto your face. “More like my apartment’s plumbing is a disaster.”

After you swiped your credit card, Dimitri tore the receipt from the register. “Well, some things are made to last.”

“Guess so,” you said as you accepted the receipt, “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you folks. Have a good night,” he said, shaking Noah’s hand, “Stay safe out there.”

Day 0 – 6:23 P.M.

You couldn’t tell earlier how old Noah’s car was until you sat in it for an hour. The engine was loud even when sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Every now and then the smell of exhaust would enter through the vents, causing you to cough.

Noah tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, clearly annoyed as he glanced at his watch. “This is actually ridiculous. We’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes and haven’t moved at all.”

You sighed as you shifted in your seat, trying to get a better look at the accident ahead of you. “Maybe someone really hurt.”

The sounds of the ambulance and police cars had been blaring the entire time. Before Noah could respond, the sound of gunshots rang through the air. At first, it was only two, but then the rounds increased. At least twenty shots had been fired. You and Noah shared panicked looks.

That's when you saw him.

A police officer stumbled between the stopped cars, clutching at his neck. The entire front side of his uniform had been stained with blood. Not only that, but the dark red liquid was spilling through his hands onto the pavement below.

Noah then grasped the wheel with two hands anxiously. “What the hell?”

The officer continued staggering forward, only making it a few more feet before he crashed onto the hood of somebody’s van. You saw people getting out of their cars, some approaching the officer asking if he needed help. You heard the sounds of sirens from behind you. There were more cop cars. An officer from further up was using his microphone, urging everyone to stay inside their cars.

Noah glanced at you one more time before glancing back at the chaos unfolding in front of you. “Screw this.”

Before you could protest, Noah slammed the gas pedal, jerking the wheel to the left as he drove over the median.

“Noah! There are a bunch of cops around!” you cried as he pulled the most obviously illegal U-Turn you had ever seen.

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

You tried to glance at the accident one last time from the back window, but all you saw was a frenzy of flashing lights.

Day 0 – 12:57 A.M.

Noah had dropped you off earlier that night, looking spooked as he said goodbye. Stay safe, Y/N.

His last words to you echoed through your mind as you recalled the accident from earlier. The gunshots, the sirens, the injured officer– it left you with a pit in your stomach. You had work in the morning. You knew you should be asleep, but every time you closed your eyes the image of the bloodied cop was inescapable. Not even the sleeping pills you had left over from your college days had done anything to help you fall asleep. You were tired, stressed, and scared. 

Deciding to no longer wallow in your fear alone in your bedroom, you decided to go to the kitchen to grab a snack. With a sigh, you threw off the covers and slipped out of bed.

You crept towards the kitchen, careful to keep your steps as light as possible. When you entered the kitchen-living room, you noticed the soft glow of the TV. You frowned– Mitchell was awake. Still, you tried to pay him no mind, reaching into one of your cabinets to grab a bag of chips.

You glanced over towards the couch once more. Mitchell was sitting on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, and his eyes glued to the screen. The volume was low, but loud enough that you could hear the frantic voice of the news anchor.

“–now confirmed in multiple parts of the city, emergency services, and law enforcement are entirely overwhelmed. Authorities are urging civilians to take refuge in the Raccoon City Police Department–”

“Y/N,” Mitchell called, his voice devoid of any of his usual apathy towards you, “You need to see this.”

It was all so strange. The accident from earlier, the fact that you couldn’t sleep, your ex-fiance’s behavior…

You walked closer to the TV. “Mitchell?”

He turned to face you, his face pale and his jaw clenched tight. You both turned to face the TV, the news network changing locations to the streets of the city. The sounds of people screaming, car alarms going off, and sirens blaring was deafening. The camera was shaking before it came to focus on a man. Only he wasn’t acting like a man. His face was gray– almost completely devoid of color. His eyes were an icy blue and his face was covered in the same thick, red liquid you had seen earlier.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, placing a hand over your mouth. When the camera zoomed out to reveal an entire crowd of those same creatures, you nearly threw up on the spot.

Your phone rang suddenly. Running towards the wall where the landline was, you didn’t even think to introduce yourself as you normally did.

“Hello?” you said frantically.

“Y/N?” the voice on the other end was fuzzy, but even then you could tell that it was Noah, “Y/N you need to listen to me.”

“Noah? What’s going on–”

“There's no time! It’s bad. Much worse than they’re saying on the news. Lock your doors. If you can’t make it to the RPD you need to stay inside! Do not –”

A ferocious boom shook your entire apartment. Your windows shattered and your floors vibrated violently beneath your feet. You dropped the phone on instinct, racing to Mitchell’s side next to the now glassless windows.

It was worse than Noah described. Worse than you could have possibly imagined. Flames consumed buildings, people were running in all directions, but worst of all, those creatures were chasing after them. You saw one of them grab hold of a man’s shoulder before sinking his teeth into his neck.

“We should go,” Mitchell said, his voice riddled with fear.

For over three hundred years, speculation has run rampant about the true history of noble House Targaryen. Conflicting accounts of events and biased men planting evidence to further their own agendas have long clouded whatever truth there may have been. 

I have studied extensively the texts of Archmaester Gyldayn as well as several other prominent historians of the faith and have come to realize much of our known histories are nothing more than hearsay and speculation. After spending much of my childhood closely examining all written accounts of the first century after Aegon’s Conquest, I came to accept the fact that some parts of the history may never be known.

It wasn’t until I received a frantic letter during the first moon of 350 AC, from my dear niece, Princess Rhae Targaryen, detailing something extraordinary. 

Princess Rhae, born during the great spring in 336 AC to the second son of Queen Daenerys I, showed little to no interest in the history of Westeros as a child. Her Septa, the former Lady Anya Massey, would share the stories of Old Valyria, Robert’s Rebellion, and the Long Night to deaf ears. It wasn’t until Septa Anya’s discovery in 349 AC of these magnificent historical records that the Princess began taking interest in her heritage. 

I arrived from the Vale to the Red Keep in the Spring of 350 AC in which I found my stay short lived. For as soon as I arrived to verify that these accounts were true and not falsely planted, the three of us swiftly traveled to the Citadel of Oldtown. Septa Anya tore through all records from the time in which her discovery occurred. From the southernmost sands of Dorne to the icy wall of the North, we three traveled to seek out as much knowledge as possible from as many different perspectives as possible.

I, Lady Sansa of House Aryn, collector of histories and seeker of the truth, put forth a crucial first hand account of Aegon Conquest, that has been crossed examined by several other notable primary sources from the time, in order to piece together the most accurate telling of Queen Visenya’s life with the information available to us.

As always, births, deaths, battles, and any other events will be dated as either BC (Before Conquest) or AC (After Conquest).

Section One: Valaena Velayron

As the saying goes, in order to truly understand the story of any woman, one must begin with a different one: the story of her mother. Lady Valaena Velayron was born in the winter of 45 BC at Driftmark, the seat of her lord father’s house, to Vaemond Velayron and Daenora Targaryen. 

It is unfortunate that many of the first hand accounts we discovered lacked a great bit of detail about the Lady Valaena. However, it was known she possessed a rebellious nature in her youth. Sharp with her tongue and quick to hold grudges, her mother’s Targaryen blood ran deep. Valaena Velayron had the look of Old Valyria: silver blonde hair and pale purple eyes. An arrest record dating to 31 AC found in an attic of an old jail cell seemingly confirms this alleged attitude of the young lady as she was held on the charges of fighting a drunkard of the local inn. 

Vaemond Velayron had little patience for his daughter after this event, as within the next several moons he had shipped her off to marry her first cousin: the eighteen year old Lord Aerion Targaryen. This arrangement was not uncommon as Velayrons and Targaryens had wed one another for centuries. Their union would serve as a consolidation of their Valyrian bloodlines.  Lord Aerion, already commanding respect as a dragonrider, seemed an ideal match in terms of power and prestige. Yet for Valaena, the announcement was nothing short of a prison sentence. Testimonies of close friends reveal that Valeana was aware that her betrothed had already fathered a bastard upon a low born woman in Dragonstone. Her refusal to accept the betrothal publicly strained the relationship between father and daughter, culminating in heated confrontations that became the stuff of household gossip.

In a rare act of desperation, Lady Valaena appealed to her own lady mother, Daenora Targaryen, for intervention. Lady Daenora was a woman of quiet strength who had endured her own share of familial drama. She offered her daughter advice, the exact nature of which is unknown, but it was said to persuade her daughter to no longer publicly denounce the engagement. Within a fortnight, House Velayron had raised their sails and began their travels to Dragonstone.

Lady Valaena’s resistance, although quelled, continued to the engagement feast itself. Even as the guests gathered in the great hall, tales spread of how she refused to don the silks her father had commissioned and instead appeared in a simple riding dress.

Despite her protests, it was Lord Aerion’s unexpected approach that was the fire that burnt down the ice wall between them. At the feast, he presented her not with jewels or fine gowns, but with a dragon egg. 

“If you will not look forward to being my wife,” he reportedly said, “perhaps you may look forward to being a dragonrider.”

According to a letter written by Lady Daenora to her sister, when he invited her to ride atop his dragon, the future Lady of House Targaryen raved about the gesture as it “spoke to her deepest desires”. For the first time, she saw not just a husband, someone to shackle her down, but a partner who could offer her freedom in a way no one else had. 

Old diaries from kitchen staff contained an intriguing conversation between Lady Valaena and Lord Aerion shortly after they had wed. Lord Aerion had invited his lady to roam the great halls of Dragonstone with him late in the evening. As they wandered, Valaena’s usual fiery demeanor had vanished. Her fingers twisted anxiously through her silver hair, her steps hesitant. When offered a goblet of wine, her trembling hands betrayed her unease, the glass slipping and shattering at her feet. A serving girl rushed forward, concern etched on her face, but Valaena waved her off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Lord Aerion then brought her before the centuries of scrolls and books located in the cellar of the castle. Before he could speak, Lady Valaena interrupted him, voicing her anxieties about a betrayal. Instead, Lord Aerion took her hand and told her about Orys Baratheon, the boy he had fathered in his youth on a girl of Esos. He had been born before their engagement was finalized. 

“I could not forsake my blood,” he admitted, his voice steady. “He is my son, and I will see him provided for, but he will never stand between us. That is a promise.”

The next morning the lady was found alongside her lord husband, laughing and sharing a drink. The sorrows Lady Valaena had once felt over her marriage had long disappeared, as it was said the only person who could tame Valaena’s fiery temperament was her lord husband himself.

When her dragon egg hatched on during the fifth moon of 33 AC, Valaena bonded with a small-grey scaled creature who she called Meraxes. 

Section Two: Visenya’s Birth and Early Years

In 29 BC, Visenya Targaryen was born, the first child of Lord Aerion Targaryen and Lady Valaena Velaryon. Not nearly as much is known about Visenya’s early life, as no verifiable accounts of the queen’s childhood exist beyond fragmented records not written within the household.

What is known, however, is that Visenya was born with the features of Old Valyria. She shared the same silver blonde hair and pale purple eyes as her mother. 

Visenya commanded respect, even as a child. Her great beauty was often described as intimidating, as sharp as a blade of Valyrian steel. 

She was soon an older sister to two siblings. Aegon Targaryen, who was born in 27 BC, and Rhaenys Targaryen, who was born in 26 AC. 

The birth of her third child had weakened the Lady Valaena, as she spent the last few years of her life confined to her chambers battling illnesses and poor health. 

Visenya’s own story begins in 22 BC shortly after the death of her mother. The discoveries made by Septa Anya were centuries old journals dating back from before the Conquest that belonged to the queen herself. The oldest journal entry dates back to the very year of her mother’s passing.

The very first entry included a glimpse of the bond between Valaena and her eldest child:

“She was my warmth, my shield, my sail amidst a storm. Without her, I am lost, uncertain whether I sink or swim. My father has no more love left. He gave it all away to her and now she is dead. My siblings wail in the night, and I comfort them. I take the babe in my arm while the other grasps at my legs, red in the face. I sing to them. I make them forget to cry. Who will wipe my tears now that she is gone?”

Lady Valaena Velaryon and Visenya were as close as a mother and daughter could be. Seeing herself in her daughter, Valaena spoiled her firstborn with gifts, attention, and love. Despite Visenya’s interests in wielding a sword or riding a dragon, the girl seemed to hold her mother above all things. “You are my fire,” Valaena would say, “Your flames should burn brightly without recklessness.”

Very early on in her account, Visenya makes note of her and her father’s strained relationship.

Visenya described him as “A stern, unforgiving old man. My father is distant and prefers my brother to me. He praises him for little things and makes him stand by his side. Now I am left alone. Mother saw me for who I truly am. She understood me better than myself.”

Septa Anya tells us that it is likely Lord Aerion’s coldness towards his daughter after the death of his wife stemmed not only from the fact that they were similar in nature, but because he desired his firstborn child to be a son rather than a daughter. Early accounts for the Starry Sept confirm that, as per old Valyrian custom, the firstborn children of the family are set to inherit the land and titles through their parent regardless of gender. Visenya writes several times herself how she was set to be the next head of House Targaryen, something she discusses with utmost pride.

“I am the blood of the dragon,” she wrote, “Dragonstone is my birthright. My father wishes it otherwise, but this land will be mine. Just as mother willed it to be.”

The nature of how Visenya came to write journals is answered several entries after the first. A nameless Septa, who Visenya affectionately refers to as ‘the hag’, was responsible for gifting the young girl with a journal as an outlet for her grief following the death of Lady Valaena:

“The hag gave me this book to write in. She says it will be best for me to practice my penmanship and write my feelings. Today when she was dressing the babe, she asked me how I was enjoying her gift. I told her it is foolish. My mother is dead. The stranger has taken her from me and I will never see her again. 

‘I wish you had been the one to die,’ I said, ‘Mother would never have given me such a stupid book.’

The hag became angry and placed a bar of sour soap used for washing the body in my mouth. ‘You made your sister cry,’ she lectured, 'You will sit here until you learn to mind your tongue.’

The hag then left with Rhaenys to find my brother. This did not anger me. I can finally be left alone.”

Despite her sharp, cruel words, Visenya was seen to be a kind, gentle young girl at times. Especially when it came to the care of her younger siblings, it is clear from the texts that Visenya played a maternal role following the illness and untimely death of her mother:

“Mother has been dead for an entire twelvemonth. My father is angrier today. During dinner he stormed out of the room. Rhaenys began to cry as she ran after him as fast as her little legs could take her. He locked himself in his bedchamber, sobbing and yelling curses at the Gods. It was me who carried the babe away, Aegon trailing at my heels. It was me who helped bathe them and dress them for sleep. It was me who told them stories and sang them songs until their little eyes grew heavy. It was me who lay with my father as he cried, his breath stinking of wine.

‘Valaena,’ he cried, grasping my face, ‘Oh my Valaena.’

I petted his hair and massaged his shoulders until he too slept. When I returned to my own room, it was already daybreak. Rhaenys was awake, screaming my name. She had woken Aegon who was sitting patiently on the floor near my bed, waiting for my return.”

Although Visenya had a slew of responsibilities thrusted upon her at a young age, she recounts childhood stories rich with adventure. Her love of swordplay and sparing was unmistakable.

“My brother, Aegon, can run fast. Still, I am stronger than him. My arm is steadier with a sword, and I can lift heavier burdens. Yet, lately I find it harder to best him. He is quick, and when we spar, it seems he knows my moves before I make them.

When we play in the fields or the woods, he darts through the tall grass like a hare, and I must chase him. At times, I am able to catch him, dragging him to the ground amidst shouts and laughter. Other times, he is too fast, weaving through the trees until I can no longer see him. It makes my blood burn to lose. 

Only yesterday, we sparred in the wheat fields. I had him cornered– or so I thought. I struck his blade from his hand, but before I could advance, he swept my legs out from under me. In an instant, I was on my back, his wooden sword pointed at my throat.

‘You are beaten, sister,’ he said with a grin.

Despite my anger, I could not help but laugh. ‘Enjoy your victory while it lasts,’ I told him, ‘for it shall not last long.’”

“Today Aegon and I went down to the old graveyard along the coast. The sky was grey with clouds and the winds from the salty sea would tug at our coats with each step we took. The grounds were damp and moist– the trail was far overgrown. Each step I took would cause my boots to sink further and further into the mud.

We played a game of pirates as we often do, the graves serving as our mighty fleets. Aegon claimed the darkest, tallest grave of all and declared it unsinkable. We picked stones and shells from the sands by the shore and used them as our cannons. 

‘You will not take me alive, sister!’ he yelled, briefly poking his head up behind the grave and hurling a fistfull of shelves at me. 

‘Surrender your ships or my men and I will send it to the bottom of the sea!’ I said in return, using my arms to dodge his attacks. 

When we finished our play, we took to reading the names upon the graves. Targaryen’s do not bury bodies– we bury ash. Some were too weathered to make out, but others remained clear. We took turns sounding out the unfamiliar letters, imagining who these people had been. As I traced the names of the dead with the tips of my fingers, I could not help but think of mother. She was a Velayron made of salt and sea. When our grandsire traveled from Driftmark for her funeral, he insisted we did not burn her. She now lies in a stone coffin at the bottom of the sea. 

Aegon was the first to be silent. I knew he was thinking of her too. He then began to weep, shielding his face from me with the sleeves of his coat.

‘Aegon, you must not cry,’ I said, taking him into my arms, ‘Mother always hated to see us cry.’

I wiped the tears from his eyes, but they kept coming. Not knowing what else I saw, I turned to play.

‘Come,’ I said as I pulled his face away from my chest, ‘Let us see who can race home the quickest. Surely you won’t lose to your elder sister, will you?’

With that Aegon smiled again, wiping the last of his tears on his sleeve before darting away. By the time we arrived home, he seemed to forget he had been crying in the first place.”

“We spent this morning sparring in the wheat fields. Orys was there too, sitting cross legged in the grass watching us play. He was only a few moons older than I, but he was much taller and slender. He had no features of Old Valyria– his eyes and hair were both black. Orys had visited our home for years. Mother was never bothered by his presence, in fact, before she passed my half-brother had come to her to say his goodbyes. She kissed him upon the brow and called him ‘son.’ It was strange since he was a bastard, but if my mother would not fault him for that then neither would I.

Orys refused to fight either of us, instead he would criticize our skills each time we made a move. Our father arrives shortly after with Rhaenys at his side. My sister sat on Orys’s lap, beckoning him to braid her silver hair while my father stood back, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was unyielding. I find that I grow nervous when he watches me spar. My movements are slower than they should be and my grip on my sword is uncertain.

Aegon and I faced each other, our swords drawn. He was the one to make the first move, his motions quick and unforgiving. I barely had the time to dodge his attack. The spar lasted for several minutes as the sound of clashing metal filled the air. Finally, Aegon had dropped his weapon, yielding his sword as I stood over him.

“Your handiwork is sloppy, Visenya” Orys said as he ran his hands through our sister’s hair, ‘But you did well. You need to go on the defensive, Aegon, or she will always prevail.’ 

I looked for my father, foolishly searching for a change in his cold expression. It did not waiver. There was no time to dwell on my disappointment as we reset for a second round.

The weight of my father’s stare wore on me like a heavy stone. I could not shake his judgment as evident in my less than stellar swordplay. I pressed forward but rather than retaliate, Aegon stood defensively, blocking my every move. We continued in this standstill for what seemed like an eternity until Aegon kicked out my legs from underneath me and my back slammed against the grass. The sun blinded me as I looked up to see Aegon standing over me. 

‘You let him have that one,’ Orys said to me, leaning down to offer me a hand.

‘I most certainly did not!’ I shot back as he laughed, hoisting me onto my feet. He then went to Aegon, placing a hand on our younger brother’s shoulder, congratulating him. Rhaenys was hardly paying any attention to the scene before her, instead she braided the wheat. 

When I looked to my father once more I found him smiling, though it was not directed towards me.”

As Visenya grew older, her bond with her younger sister Rhaenys transformed from that of a caregiver to a true sister. Where Aegon’s interests lay in swordplay and horse riding, Rhaenys preferred the arts– poetry, music, and dance. Visenya did not protest this and instead embraced them, spending much of her time crafting dances with her.

The two sisters were especially captivated by the dances of Old Valyria, with their movements being inspired by tales of dragons in flight. Their favorite pastime was to pretend that they themselves were dragons, mimicking the creatures agility and grace.

“When Rhaenys dances,” Visenya wrote, “She moves with a lightness I could not hope to replicate. It is as though the music itself flows through her veins like dragonfire. When we move together we become one: she is the flames and I am the storm.”

Section Two: The Claiming of Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar

Aegon Targaryen claimed Balerion the Black Dread sometime around early 19 BC, an event that would change the trajectory of House Targaryen for centuries to come.

“Yesterday my father took Aegon and I to the Dragonpit. The sight of the beasts was overwhelming– they were both beautiful and terrifying. Even though it was dark within the cave, their scales still shimmered as if they were radiated with light. I was most desperate to touch one, to feel the heat of its body and the weight of its stare. When I asked my father if I could approach one, he refused me.

His focus was entirely on Aegon. When my father brought him before Vhagar, the second largest of the dragons, and encouraged him to claim her, my brother refused. Instead, he focused his attention to the greatest and most fearsome of them all: Balerion. Mother would always refer to him not by name but rather as ‘The Black Dread,’ something she had learned from her own lady mother. Balerion loomed like a shadow come to life, his black scales as dark as molten lava. 

As Aegon approached the beast, his confidence was unnatural. He had no hint of fear in his eyes. I felt my breath catch in my throat as he went to touch the creature– never in my life have I been so afraid. Aegon spoke to the dragon in High Valyrian, but I was too panicked to comprehend his words. My father placed a hand on my shoulder, something he had done to soothe me when I was a babe. I looked up to him, but his focus was squarely on my brother.

When Balerion finally bent his head down and allowed my brother to mount his back, I felt a strong sense of relief. At the age of eight, my brother is a dragonrider– he is good at it too.

Earlier this evening he offered me a ride on top of the beast, but I refused.”

By 17 BC, Visenya and Aegon’s travels began to expand beyond Dragonstone. The two siblings’ journey to Old Town has been documented in great detail as it was the first ever sighting of the conquerors on Westerosi soil.

“Over the past few days, my brother and I have traveled to the land out east [WESTEROS]. Though I begged the young Rhaenys to join us, she refused, too preoccupied with perfecting a dance she and I had been working on for the past several months. 

‘We will practice it when you return, sister,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘And then you can tell me all about your travels to the Arbor.’

The Citadel of Oldtown was my least favorite part of the journey. Its walls were dark and menacing, difficult to see in. It is filled to the brim with books of old and new where scholars and septons stare strangely at Aegon and I. The home of House Hightower is grand, albeit peculiar looking and devoid of a certain charm.

The Arbor, however, was far more enjoyable in comparison. Its bustling vineyards and warm air gave me a sense of belonging. Lord Edric Redwyne was as charming as his homeland, a man of stories, song, and quick wit. His dark chestnut hair was curled and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. I find myself drawn to him in ways I do not fully understand. The two of us could speak for hours and never grow bored.

Aegon, of course, disapproved.

‘He is nothing but a minstrel playing lord,’ Aegon said, his brow furrowed, ‘What would he know of swordplay or honor?’

‘He is a man of culture and wisdom,’ I argued, paying little mind to his childish tantrums, ‘And who is to say he cannot wield both a sword and a lute? I myself enjoy dancing with blades as much as with people.’

‘Yes,’ Aegon said flatly, ‘but you are a girl.’

His words did little to dampen my spirits. Upon our return to Dragonstone, a letter arrived from Lord Edric. He extended an invitation for me to return in a fortnight for a festival of celebration at the Arbor. There would be music, dancing, and jousting– he says I will enjoy it. Rhaenys urged me to attend while Aegon stayed silent, my father agreed so long as my cousin, Lady Maegella Targaryen, would accompany me. I am beside myself with excitement.”

Septa Anya was the first to raise question about the mysterious cousin of Visenya, Maegella Targaryen. Born in 38 BC, Lady Maegella was nearly a decade older than the rest of her cousins. What is peculiar is that there are no records indicating Lord Aerion to have had any siblings, nor that his father, Lord Daemion Targaryen, had any other siblings beside his sister, Lady Daenora Targaryen [Mother of Valeana Velayron]. Princess Rhae suggests that Maegella was surely a bastard born to Lord Aerion prior to his marriage with Lady Valaena. However, this would mean he would have had to father the child at the age of twelve. While not entirely impossible, it is also convincing that Lord Daemion and Lady Daenora may have had another sibling who slipped through history’s grasp.

Regardless of Lady Maegella’s legitimacy, Visenya writes that the two shared a close bond. Alongside Rhaenys, the three viewed themselves as sisters. Visenya also noted that Lord Aerion shared a similar disdain for Maegella as he did for her:

“Maegella and I have only grown closer as we have continued to age. When I was small, she did not care much for the company of infants, but now that we have both grown, I find the two of us share much in common. Maegella enjoys playing the harp and dancing with Rhaenys and I. She also possesses a startling sense of humor that some would say is unbecoming of a lady.

Lord Aerion has been dismissive of my cousin her entire life. I feel as though Maegella understands a part of me that my siblings may never.”

In 17 BC, Visenya attended Lord Edric’s festival at the Arbor, accompanied by Lady Maegella. Yet, despite her cousin’s presence, she spent much of her time in the company of Lord Edric. Though she was but ten and two and he nearly twenty years her senior, their affection for one another was unmistakable. Over the next two years, Visenya was spotted frequently visiting the Arbor alongside her cousin, though the absence of her siblings did not go unnoticed. 

While we were reading the next segment of the Queen’s journal, Princess Rhae screamed aloud in surprise, startling both the Septa and I.

In 15 BC, Lord Edric Redwine visited Dragonstone. As evident in her writings, Visenya had fallen deeply in love with him. She described his visit in detail:

“Lord Edric arrived at my home by ship bearing gifts of silver and gold for my siblings, Maegella, and I. He placed a delicate necklace in the shape of a dragon around my neck himself, his warm breath against my back sent shivers down my spine.

‘Silver is your color,’ he whispered against my ears, his breath rugged and handsome, ‘It brings out the violet in your eyes.’

As he tucked a strand of my loose hair behind my ear, a throat cleared behind us. I turned around to see we had an audience with my family. Maegella’s face was as ripe as a tomato, Rhaenys bore a mischievous grin, and Aegon scowled darkly.

I was overjoyed, certain that Lord Edric had traveled all this way to ask my hand in marriage. We waited outside my father’s great hall– me, Maegella, and my siblings– as the two men spoke privately. 

At first we stood outside the vast doors, but as time continued to drag on we sat. I was nearly as nervous as I was the day my brother had mounted his dragon for the very first time. Noticing my apprehension, Rhaenys took my hands in her with a sweet smile to which I kissed them lightly. Maegella massaged my shoulders and braided my hair, telling me words of encouragement. Aegon, however, was more agitated than usual, refusing to meet my eyes.

When my father finally called us into the hall, I felt an overwhelming sense of both dread and excitement. Father’s expression was not one of joy. Standing beside him, Lord Edric offered me a sheepish smile before quickly lowering his gaze. 

‘Lord Edric has brought forth a most delightful proposal’ my father’s voice boomed as he announced for all to hear.

Rhaenys placed a gentle hand on my back so I would not fall to the ground.

‘A proposal that will strengthen all of House Targaryen, solidifying our alliances to the East and see that our line branches beyond that of Old Valyria,’ My father continued, approaching us. But instead of taking my hands, he reached for Maegella’s.

‘You will make an honorable wife, my dear niece,’ he said, his stern expression softening into a rare smile, ‘The Lady Maegella Redwine. The two of you shall be wed in a fortnight.’

Maegella looked to me, then to my father, then to Edric, then to me again. She bursted into tears.”

While her cousin wept bitterly, Visenya flew into a heartbroken fit of rage. She did not wait to hear another word, nor did she glance back at her father or Lord Redwine. Instead she took off flying from the great halls and towards the hills of Dragonstone, a place she and her brother had often explored as children. 

The path, once filled with the laughter of childish, carefree days, now felt cruelly unfamiliar under the weight of her grief. She stopped for nothing, her lungs burning with each breath that she took, until she reached the peak of the hill overlooking the dragon pit. There, the winds whipped around her, carrying the salty sting of the sea. She collapsed to her knees, pulling at her hair as she screamed into the void below.

Tears blurred her vision, though she tried her best to contain them. Once she could no longer fight them back, her body trembled as sobs overtook her, shaking and convulsing with each breath she took.

It was then that a sound broke through her misery—a roar, deep and guttural, cutting through the silence of Dragonstone like the cries of a newborn babe.

Visenya wrote:

“I froze, my breath caught in my throat as though time had ceased to continue. The roar came again, louder and sharper this time. I finally rose to my knees, turning to face the source. 

She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Her scales were a deep, shining green of a size almost indescribable. Her eyes glimmered like that of emeralds, reflecting the setting sun. Vhagar, the second largest dragon in all of Dragonstone, towered before me. My heart was consumed by awe and anticipation: from the second I laid eyes on her, I knew she was mine.

‘Vhagar,’ I called to her softly, almost like a prayer, ‘You have found me.’

Her great head turned to face me directly, I could sense the apprehension in her eyes. I approached her slowly, my arms stretched out as though I was beckoning her for a hug. My steps were as light as the air and I felt as though I was gliding towards her.

‘We are the same, you and I,’ I said as I choked back a sob, ‘Both the unlucky daughters of Dragonstone, casted aside in the favor of others. It is why we are destined for each other.’

Vhagar raised her head, no longer growling defensively. She lowered her head, waiting for me as I grew closer and closer. When I finally placed a hand upon her harsh face, I felt a surge of power I had never before experienced. It was as though the bond between us had always existed, only waiting to be awakened.

I was no longer Visenya, daughter of Lord Aerion, cast aside and overlooked. I was Visenya Targaryen, rider of the great she-dragon, Vhagar. 

I took mount to Vhagar for our first flight just in time for my brother, Aegon to witness it.

‘Visenya!’ he called, his voice panicked, ‘What are you doing? You cannot just–’

But his words were lost to me as I shouted to Vhagar in High Valyrian, commanding her to fly just as he had years ago. Her great wings stretched wide and we took to the sky. The wind tore through my hair and stung my cheeks, but nothing could dull the excitement of that moment. There is nothing I would not do to experience my first flight again.”

When Visenya returned to the grounds of Dragonstone after her short first flight, she did so as a dragonrider. The entire household awaited her at the dragonpit, their faces a mixture of awe, horror, and pride. She approached the group with Vhagar looming behind her like a ginormous shadow and without hesitation she struck Lord Redwine across the face. 

Her father retaliated swiftly by striking her back. Yet Visenya said nothing. She locked herself in her chambers, refusing to speak with anyone, until Lord Redwine retreated back to the Arbor to prepare for the wedding. 

The first person she spoke with after his departure was ensured was the bride herself:

“Maegella threw herself onto her knees before me, tears streaming down her face as she clutched my hands. She pressed kisses into them repeatedly, begging for my forgiveness. 

‘I knew nothing of your lord father’s plans,’ she sobbed, ‘I do not wish to be wed, least of all to a man such as Lord Redwine.’

I could feel every ounce of anger I held towards her dissipate in that moment. I knew she was not to blame. She was just as much of a victim to my father’s scheming as I had been myself. I knelt beside her and together we wept.

‘You are strong,’ I said to her, ‘Stronger and more beautiful than I could ever be.’

Maegella said nothing, overwhelmed by grief, but simply shook her head as she held onto my tightly. Her embrace reminded me of my mother’s– warm, protective, and relentless.”

Word about the engagement between Lord Redwine and Lady Maegella was scarcely mentioned again. 

In 15 BC, Lord Edric Redwine wed Lady Maegella Targaryen upon the beach of the Arbor. Visenya was notably present for both the ceremony and feast that occurred afterwards. She was even said to have taken part in the bedding ceremony. 

When Visenya departed for Dragonstone she would not see her lady cousin again for many years. Visenya focus then shifted from that of her cousin’s to her sister’s:

“It was a bright, windy day in Dragonstone, much unlike the stormy gloom typical of this time of year. Rhaenys, Aegon, and I traveled to the large wheat fields where our dragons would often bask. I stood near Vhagar’s side, feeling her warm breath as I clutched my hands together. It was Meraxes who would have our focus.

The great golden-silver beast spread her wings, the shimmering sunlight reflecting off her scales. Her roar echoed across the cliffs, powerful yet there was a hint of mourning, as though she was a lonely creature . Meraxes had always been our mother’s dragon– even after her death, the she-dragon remained a symbol of her.

‘Are you ready?’ Aegon asked, his voice steady. He stood beside Rhaenys, his hand firm on her shoulder. She nodded, her mouth contorting into a determined smile. Her long, silver hair was loose around her shoulders with rings clasping at certain pieces. 

‘I’ve been ready for years,’ she said, her pale-purple eyes shimmering with excitement. 

As Rhaenys stepped towards the dragon, her arm stretched outwards, I noticed a boldness I had never before seen in my little sister. A determination that reminded me of my mother's each time she took flight on Meraxes. The more I looked at Rhaenys standing next to the she-dragon, the more sullen the realization became: she was the spitting image of Valaena Velayron.

‘Rhaenys,’ I called out to her before I could stop myself.

She paused, turning to look where Vhagar and I stood. Her expression softened and, for a moment, she no longer looked to be the determined young woman fulfilling her destiny as a dragonrider, but as a little girl who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms. 

‘Visenya?’ 

I was unsure what to say. There was a mixture of emotions stirring within me: pride, grief, envy.

‘I…’ I began, pulling at the end of my braided hair, ‘Be careful.’

‘Always,’ she said as a wide smile stretched across her entire face.

The dragon watched her approach, the beast’s eyes narrowing in uncertainty. For a moment I worried Meraxes would growl again– or worse, try to roast Rhaenys alive. But as soon as my sister extended her arm once more, her palm lightly kissing the dragon’s face, that fear melted away.

She whispered to her in High Valyrian as the she-dragon lowered her face to be leveled with Rhaenys. The connection passing between them was unmistakable. 

Aegon let out a low whistle, clapping his hands as he praised our sister. ‘Well done!’ He cheered as Rhaenys mounted Meraxes.

I said nothing.

As she took to the sky, the thought of my mother was inescapable. I clenched my fists, the cold air unable to calm the fire that was beginning to rage within me. I was proud of my sister, yes, but I couldn’t feel as though I had lost something important to me.

‘Visenya,’ Aegon said quietly. I was startled, unaware he had been approaching me, ‘She is your sister.’

I swallowed hard, yet the lump in my throat remained. ‘I know.’”

Section Four: The Engagement

Two moons after Visenya’s fifteenth name day in 14 BC, Lord Aerion summoned her and her two siblings to the great hall:

“The great hall of Dragonstone felt heavier than usual, its tall stone walls looming as though they had ears of their own. My father’s chair, carved from hardwood to mimic the form of a dragon, dominated the room, and before him lay the painted table he had commissioned for Aegon’s thirteenth name day. Its intricate carvings of Westeros glowed in the flickering candlelight, a detail Rhaenys insisted be added to the gift. 

We stood before both the table and my father as he sat upon his throne. Rhaenys stood to the left of Aegon and I to his right. The three of us stood closely together, united in our anticipation of the news he would share with us.

My father’s gaze was cold, as it often was, his fingers tapping against his wooden armrest. ‘I have something of the utmost importance to share with you, my children,’ he began, ‘A matter that will shape the future of our house.’

A knot grew within my chest. I had long known this moment would come; I’ve heard the whispers. My father’s ambitions have long been transparent, though I felt myself falter under his gaze.

‘For many years now,’ he said as he turned towards his youngest child, Rhaenys, ‘you have been betrothed to Aegon, my sweet girl.’

Rhaenys smiled, her joy radiating like the summer sun. She turned to Aegon who returned the gesture with a soft yet intimate smile.

I felt a twinge of discomfort in my chest as though I was witnessing something I shouldn’t have. 

My father continued, his tone taking a sudden shift. ‘However, there is another matter that has been weighing upon my conscience. One that concerns you, Visenya.’

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to face his scrutiny.

‘I cannot see to marrying Aegon and Rhaenys so long as you remain unwed,’ he said, ‘It would be unbecoming of our nobel house.

The heat of their stares burned through me. Everyone's eyes were on me. At five and ten, I had known marriage would soon come for me, though I had expected that my father would allow me to choose my own suitor– seeing as he word be the future Lord Consort of Dragonstone. 

‘Father,’ I began, ‘I appreciate your concerns, however–’

‘Let me finish,’ he interrupted. His voice carried the authority of a man long decided on his stance.

I turned towards my sister, Rhaenys, a girl of only twelve. Despite this, she was of great beauty. Her long, silver hair reached a length far greater than mine. She enjoyed wearing beads in her hair which matched the colors of her fine silks. The most stunning part of her beauty was her kindness– her soft facial features emulated her personality.

Although we were close together, we stood slightly more to Aegon’s side than he did my own. Aegon was now practically my own height as we stood several centimeters taller than our younger sister. His hair was a golden blonde and naturally curled. He looked more akin to my father than either Rhaenys or I with his sharp jaw and menacing stare. He never wore robes of any color other than black or red. Today he was dressed clad in black, his gaze uncertain.

My father’s words came out slow, though not cautious. ‘In custom with our Valyrian heritage, you will wed your brother, Aegon, as well as your sister, Rhaenys.’

My breath caught, my eyes widening in disbelief. ‘Pardon me?’ The words came out quietly. My usual demeanor which emanated strength and demanded respect was nowhere to be found.

‘It is the way of our people,’ he continued, ‘Through this union, our house will grow in strength. Aegon’s succession will be secured with you as his second wife.’

‘So that is what this matter is truly about,’ I spat, my anger rising after having found my voice, ‘You will marry me off to secure his succession? I am your heir!’

‘Aegon is my heir!’ my father screamed, rising from his chair, ‘And he will be because it is I who willed it so! You will do your duty and marry him.’

‘This is outlandish! This isn’t right!’ I shouted, though my voice began to tremble, ‘Mother would have never desired this!’

It seemed as though for a moment my father hesitated. That quickly vanished the moment he came towards us. ‘Aegon. Rhaenys. Leave us.’

Rhaenys glanced at me quickly, her expression filled with worry, but Aegon placed an arm on her shoulder and guided her from the room.

As the doors closed behind them, I turned to my father in tears, my voice low and furious. ‘Do you truly think this will strengthen our house? Or is it only your pride that demands it?’

‘Enough,’ he said, his tone final. ‘This is not up for discussion, Visenya. It is your duty. It is your duty to your father and to the future lord of your house. The wedding will take place within the next few years.’”

Following a close analysis of Visenya’s previous journal entries, it is safe to assume it had been Rhaenys who enticed her father to betrothe Visenya to both her and Aegon. It is clear that she had always had a special adoration for her elder sister. Princess Rhae, however, puts forward an alternative belief that it was Aegon, who had been jealous over his sister’s romantic prospects for many years. 

In the weeks following Visenya’s betrothal, Aegon and Lord Aerion spoke little with Visenya, and so she spent her time wandering the halls of Dragonstone with her sister:

“Rhaenys had suffered most from my anger. I had been cold and cruel, blaming her for my misfortune. It was easier to resent the sister who would share my unwanted husband than to direct my anger at the father who had promised me to him.

‘Visenya,’ Rhaenys began as we walked hand in hand along Dragonstone’s hills, ‘Did you hear the rumors about Septa Maeve? My serving girl said the kitchen staff claim she’s with child and that our father intends to dismiss her.’

‘Is that so?’ I replied coldly, my voice devoid of interest.

Rhaenys stopped, pulling us to a halt. Her delicate face, framed by sunlight, was contorted in a mixture of hurt and frustration.

‘Why must you still be angry with me?’ she demanded, ‘We’re to be married soon, and I only want us to be as we once were.’

I dropped her hand, my words cutting like a blade. ‘Indeed, sister, you will marry the man you’ve been betrothed to your entire life, while I am forced to wed the one stealing my inheritance.’

‘Our father’s will cannot be undone,’ she pleaded, her voice trembling as she fell to her knees. She clutched my hands, pressing kisses upon them. ‘Aegon is our brother. We both love him. We must show each other goodwill, if not for our own sake, then for Mother’s memory–’

‘Do not speak of her to me,’ I snapped, yanking my hands away. Rhaenys stumbled, collapsing backward into the grass, her skirts tangling around her legs.

She rose swiftly, ‘Why must you be this way?’ she cried, her voice rising. ‘I have been nothing but kind, gracious, and understanding! You do not wish to wed– fine! But you are not the only one suffering.’

She stomped her feet in anger, pacing across the grassy field. ‘I have endured just as much as you, if not more. I’ve been promised to Aegon since I was a child. Yet here you are, a thorn in my side, mistreating me while seeking his attention.’ She turned sharply toward me, waving her arms in frustration, ‘Perhaps if you behaved like a proper lady instead of parading about like some lordling, none of this would have happened. Even Father says no man desires a woman who cannot act as she ought.’

‘So, I am to blame?’ I asked, my voice low and trembling.

‘Perhaps you are,’ she said, stepping closer, ‘I see how you act around Aegon, flaunting yourself shamelessly. Do you think no one notices?’ Her eyes narrowed, ‘You are a sorrowful, manly version of me– stern, cruel, and devoid of grace. Aegon knows it.’

‘What do you mean to imply?’ I demanded, our faces mere centimeters apart.

‘I believe you seduced him,’ she said, planting her hands on her hips, ‘You prude bitch.’

‘You whore,’ I interrupted, my voice calm as I struck her. Once. Twice.”

From that day forward, Rhaenys and Visenya were no longer seen together. Maids prepared separate meal times, and guards patrolled the halls, their vigilance ensuring the two sisters did not cross paths.

Section Five: The Prophecy

During the final moon of 14 BC, Aegon met his sister Visenya in the fields upon Dragonstone after months of shared silence:

“It was cold and dark out when I had finished my ride atop of Vhagar. Instead of returning home to sup with my family, I laid in the grass, allowing the dewy blades to stick to my skin. The world was sound save for the distant cries of dragons and the faint chirping of grasshoppers. 

Until Aegon called my name.

I lifted my head but remained where I was, face pressed to the damp earth. His voice came again, closer this time.

‘Visenya?’

‘I’m over here, brother,’ I called, ‘What do you need?’

He emerged from behind the rocky ledge dividing us, his blonde hair catching the faint light of the moons. ‘I wish to speak with you. May I sit?’ His tone was as detached as ever, but there was a certain weight in his words.

I nodded, jesting him to join me.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked, staring at my dirt covered clothing and face.

‘I rode Vhagar,’ I simply replied, ‘Then I laid here.’

‘Interesting,’ he muttered, his gaze drifting to my hair, ‘It’s undone.’

I reached up instinctively, feeling the snarled mess that had once been a braid. Flying and sparring often left my hair in such a state. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Let me fix it,’ he offered.

‘No need,’ I responded quickly, but Aegon moved closer to my side, taking my hair into his hands with surprising care.

His fingers worked methodically, detangling and then braiding the silver strands. When he finished, he placed it neatly over my left shoulder.

“Rhaenys told me about your fight,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’ve been cruel to her, Visenya. 

He paused, resting closely by my side. ‘But she was cruel to you as well.’

I scowled, ‘Yes, yes she was.’

‘You should speak with her,’ he reasoned, ‘Make your peace before we wed.’

I turned to face him, growing irritated. ‘Is that why you came? To lecture me on Rhaenys’ behalf? We’ve barely spoken in months, and now you choose to intervene for her?’

‘No,’ he said as he began to fidget at the frayed edges of his rope sleeves, ‘It twas only a suggestion.’ 

He paused, his eyes fixated on the ground, ‘Visenya, I had a dream.’”

It has long been speculated that King Aegon I was a dragon dreamer. Unique to House Targaryen, dragon dreamers possess the ability to experience prophetic dreams. These visions are rarely straightforward, often cloaked in metaphor, leaving their meaning open to interpretation.

Throughout history, several Targaryen have been confirmed to be dragon dreamers including Daenys the Dreamer, who foresaw the Doom of Valyria, King Viserys I, whose dreams motivated his decision to continue producing children, Queen Helaena, whose cryptic visions warned of dark times, Daemon II Blackfyre, who dreamed of his future glory and defeat, and Queen Daenerys I, whose dreams warned of the Long Knight.

In her journal entries dating back to 14 BC, Queen Visenya confirmed what had long been debated: Aegon I was undeniably a dragon dreamer. His visions foretold the Long Night, the invasion of the White Walkers, and the Frozen Days that would follow. He believed the survival of the realm hinged on a Targaryen seated upon the Iron Throne.

But the dreams Aegon shared with his sister that night were not one of doom but of destiny:

“‘I dreamt it as clear as the summer sky. I was myself, dressed in my nightgown, but I stood in a strange room. Before me was a throne. It was a monstrous chair forged from thousands of swords. I was staring at myself, though. Older, stronger, and clad in armor I have never seen before. Sitting atop the throne.’

‘The elder version of yourself sat atop a chair of swords?’ I repeated with a laugh, entertained by my brother's imagination.

‘This is of the utmost importance, Visenya!’ Aegon’s voice was loud and serious, sharper than I’d ever heard it. He caught himself and softened. ‘Forgive me, sister. I didn't mean to yell.’

I looked upon his purple eyes, studying each minor shift in his facial expressions. ‘Aegon, what troubles you?’

‘I dreamt I was the king,’ he said at last, ‘King of all Westeros, sitting upon a throne of bloodied swords. A steel crown shrouded in rubies atop my head.’

‘King?’ I asked in disbelief, ‘Of all seven kingdoms?’

‘Yes,’ Aegon said with a certainty in his voice, ‘It sounds mad, I know. But believe me, sister. There is a fire in my chest– this incredible sensation. This is my future. Just as Valyria met its doom as Daenys dreamed. I will sit upon that throne.’

His voice was certain. If Aegon were to be king, then I would be his queen.

‘I've never seen you so distraught, Aegon,’ I whispered, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear, “Are you certain what you have seen is the truth?’

Aegon fell silent, deep in thought.

‘Who else have you told?’

‘No one,’ he admitted, his voice still soft, ‘Should I tell Father?’

‘You will do no such thing,’ I said firmly as I rose from where I sat.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To speak with Rhaenys.’”

The conversation with Rhaneys began with an air of uncertainty as each sister still possessed ill will towards one another. But as Visenya relayed Aegon’s vision, the tension slowly began to disappear. Rhaenys listened, at first with displeasure, then with curiosity, and finally with a mischievous excitement:

“‘This is incredible!’ my sweet sister said, excitement evident in her voice, ‘We will be queens of all Westeros!’

‘Yes,’ I said with caution, ‘but we must first convince our brother to seize this opportunity.’

‘Does he not want it?’

‘He seems uncertain.’

Rhaenys gripped my arms, her face full of confusion, ‘What shall we do?’

‘I have an idea,’ I said slowly, whispering into my sister’s ear. 

Her eyes lit up, a brightness I had not seen in months. In her excitement, she threw her arms around me and pressed her lips square unto my own– a gesture so sudden it left me dizzy.

I stumbled back in shock, a bright blush spreading across my face. Rhaenys, ever unbothered, was already fleeing from her chambers, still dressed in her nightgown.

“Rhaenys!” I called after her, but either she had not heard me or she did not care to listen.

Unable to process all that had transpired, I gathered my skirts and ran after my sister:

Section Six: The Wedding of 6 BC

“The castle’s halls were dark and moist, as they always were. Rhaenys was not bothered, as she needed no light to guide her forward. She continued running, her silver hair loose and undone, whipping through the halls.

When we reached the outer courtyard, Meraxes was there waiting, her golden eyes gleaming in the dark. The great she-dragon lowered her head as Rhaenys approached.

Rhaenys turned her head to me as she mounted her dragon. ‘Let’s fly, sister. Just for a while.’

‘And leave Aegon to wonder where we’ve gone?’ I said, pretending to protest her words.

‘Let him wonder,’ Rhaenys replied with a smile, pointing towards the direction of Vhagar.

Without much consideration– I followed her lead. Afterall, what harm could come of a simple night ride? Together, she climbed onto Meraxes’s back while I Vhagar. Our dragon’s rose smoothly, side by side as they took to the night sky. 

‘Aegon dreams of a far away land. But up here, I feel it’s already ours,’ Rhanyes shouted as she soared through the air. Although I had been a dragonrider for longer, she had a special liking for it, spending hours a day in the sky.

I hesitated, the weight of her words sinking in my chest. ‘Do you truly believe his vision to be true?’

‘I believe in him,’ Rhaenys said, her voice soft, ‘And I believe in us. I believe in you, my dear lady-wife.’”

During the spring of 6 BC, as the warm winds blew across the hills of Dragonstone, the wedding of Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys took place. 

The wedding was intimate, attended only by a small number of lords and ladies who were close allies to the Targaryens. Although customs of polygamy, polyamory, and incest were common in Old Valyria, yet these practices were outlawed in Westeros. 

Visenya stood alongside her sister in their father’s hall, their gowns shimmering in the dim candlelight. Both wore the traditional attire of Old Valyria, though Visenya’s tan and red dress was looser, with a silver dragon pendant resting against her collarbone– a gift from her mother. Rhaenys, in contrast, wore thick rings of silver jewelry upon her wrists, fingers, and neck. Her hair fell loose, resting around her waist.

“‘How much longer will father keep us here?’ Rhaenys asked, riddling with the rings of silver around her wrists.

I glanced towards the door, but there was no sign of anyone let alone our father. ‘I do not know,’ I said.

Rhaenys’s gaze softened. She knew the weight of the day bore heavily on Visenya’s shoulders. The marriage—this union—meant the passing of Dragonstone’s title. The inheritance would no longer belong to her sister, but to Aegon’s children, even if they were not of her blood. There was a bitterness that lingered in Visenya’s chest at that thought, though she masked it with stoicism.

Rhaenys’s gaze softened. She recognized the weight of the day bore heavily upon my shoulders. The moment we were married in fire and blood would mean the passing of Dragonstone’s title. The inheritance would no longer be mine, but rather pass to my lord husband. His children would then inherit them, even if not by my blood. 

My sweet sister, ever optimistic, refused to let such a stale sentiment spoil the festivities of the day. Instead, she tossed her head back, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. ‘Visenya, let us go to your bedchambers,’ she said playfully, ‘We can place beads and rings into our hair.’

Although I was beside myself, I looked at my sister in amusement. ‘There will be a septa waiting outside. She won’t allow us to leave.’

‘Then we simply won’t let her.’

With a quick shove, Rhaenys flung open the doors. The old hag, in her confusion, began to yell at us, beckoning us to return immediately.

When we arrived at my bedchambers, Rhaenys was quick to find my box of jewelry upon my vanity. The two of us took turns helping each other place jewels, rings, and beads into our hair. 

‘There,’ Rhaenys said as she placed the Valyrian head piece back onto my head, stepping back to admire their work. ‘We look like true queens.’

I met Rhaenys’s gaze, my heart pounding with something deeper than a mere sisterly affection. ‘We are preparing for our future,’ I whispered, taking her hands into my own as I pressed a kiss onto them.

Our moment of peace was interrupted by the old hag’s voice calling from beyond the door. ‘Girls! It’s time to head to the hills!’

‘Wench,’ I whispered.

‘Deplorable whore,’ Rhaenys rolled her eyes, a giggle managing to slip out, ‘Let us go, sister.’”

The marriage ceremony took place under the gaze of a few loyal guests, and its proceedings were as traditional as any Valyrian union. Blood was drawn– lips and hands cut by shards of blackened ember– sealing the marital bond of the three siblings. Though this was a wedding, it was unlike any Westerosi ceremony. There was no public recognition towards the gods, no declaration of faith. Only fire and blood.

Septa Anya was exasperated. She had witnessed many marriages throughout her years of service to House Targaryen, but nothing quite as  peculiar as this. Polyamory was not unheard of in Old Valyria, though its practice had faded over the centuries since the Doom. Still, she had assumed, as most have throughout history, that the siblings’ marriage was that of polygamy. 

Following the ceremony, the crowd spilled into the grand hall, where food and drink were laid out in abundance across the great, long wooden tables. It was a feast fit for a king, yet none of the guests seemed to eat with true hunger. Their glances drifted toward the siblings, who sat at the table at the end of the hall alongside their father, bastard half-brother, and maternal grandparents, as if awaiting something more. 

As the night continued, music filled the hall. Yet the songs that played were not that of Old Valyria, but rather the unfamiliar tunes of the Westerosi court. Visenya couldn’t help but feel the weight of it. Rhaenys, ever the optimist, smiled and leaned toward Aegon;

“‘I am enjoying this music quite well,’ she said to Aegon, smiling. Then she turned to me, ‘What say you, sister? Or should I now address you as wife?’ Rhaenys teased, her voice light.

Visenya's gaze wandered over the guests, her fingers absently tapping the table. ‘Do what you wish,’ she replied, her voice soft and distant. ‘In all honesty, I would prefer music of our culture. But, it seems I was not consulted on the matter.’

As Rhaenys continued to speak, Aegon rose from his chair, offering his hand to Rhaenys for a dance. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, and with a smile, Rhaenys joined him on the dance floor. Visenya, left alone, felt a strange emptiness gnaw at her chest. Her father, who had barely spoken during the feast, leaned toward her:

“‘You have done your duty, Visenya,’ he said softly. ‘Now is the time to celebrate. Do not let this day pass without embracing what comes next.’

Visenya did not answer. Instead, she stood, her gaze following the movements of Rhaenys and Aegon, as the dance around her continued.

My gaze was upon our guests, my fingers absentmindedly tapping the table. ‘Do what you wish,’ I murmured, my voice low and distant. ‘I would have preferred music from our culture. But it seems no one thought to consult me on the matter.’

As Rhaenys continued speaking, Aegon rose from his chair, offering his hand. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, and with a small smile. My wife took it graciously, a pleasant look upon her face. Left alone, I felt a strange emptiness. It was only my father and I, who leaned towards me. 

‘You’ve done your duty, Visenya,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘Now is the time to celebrate. Do not disturb the joy of my children on such an important day in their lives.’

I didn’t reply. I had no desire to bicker with my father, not at this moment. Instead, I stood, my gaze following Rhaenys and Aegon as they moved together. 

‘Daughter,’ my father said, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to find him standing by my side, our eyes nearly level. ‘Dance?’ he asked with a rare softness in his voice.

We shared a brief dance, one I was not familiar with. It twas a quiet, intimate moment between the two of us until Aegon appeared. He extended a hand towards me and, although I was hesitant, I could not refuse. Rhaenys, having danced with our husband for quite some time, had returned to our table to rest. This left Aegon without a partner and so he sought me. 

At first, dancing with my brother was rather awkward and enjoyable. The two of us struggled to find a rhythm, his weight crushing my feet more than once. But then the music shifted from that of a traditional northern tune to that of something distinctly Dornish. While I had never fancied the music of the Dornish, its lively tune made it easier to move as we jumped, swayed, and spinned. Aegon and I danced in circles, occasionally spinning the other around.

Our guests formed a circle around us, their singular claps ringing through the air each moment we joined hands. 

‘This dance does you well, wife,’ Aegon said, spinning me with his left arm, ‘I remember the last time you and Rhaenys danced before me. Twas long ago.’

‘You used to mock us, husband,’ I replied as I spun him in the opposite direction, ‘I’ve outgrown such pastimes. I have found little joy in dancing since Maegella left Dragonstone.’

His subtle smile faltered, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but quickly closed it again. He seemed at a loss for words. Moments later Rhaenys found the two of us, eager to join. 

‘Always the center of attention,’ I joked as we continued our dance. Rhaenys smiled as she grabbed my hand, swinging it violently over both of our heads. It was difficult and awkward due to our height difference, though my sister seemed not to notice.

Suddenly, a loud shout erupted from one of the few guest tables. The noise was so startling that the dancing ceased and music slowed to a halt. 

‘Gentleman! Beloved relatives!’ Lord Velayron drunkenly shouted, staggering to his feet, ‘I would like to extend my heartfelt congratulations to my grandchildren on their marriage!’

A wave of cheers swept through the small crowd as our grandsire pressed on. ‘What a day of celebration! But a wedding without a bedding ceremony would be nothing short of a tragedy!’

The crowd erupted into cheers, louder than before. My brother and I were torn from each other’s grasp. Rhaenys and I were dragged away by a group of lords who wasted no time as they began to grab us and strip us of our clothing, propelling us towards the bedchambers.

I had long dreaded the bedding ceremony. To me, it was a cruel Westerosi tradition, meant to humiliate both bride and groom under the guise of celebration. 

As the group of men carried me, my discomfort saw its peak. I tried to catch a glimpse of Aegon, but he had been swept away by a group of women. Rhaenys too had been swept away and I couldn’t help but notice that the size of the group of lords who had been carrying her was larger than my own. My anxiety swelled as the situation became all the more intrusive.

Still, I took the moment to focus on the content of the drunken men’s chatter and I found that my perspective began to shift. Despite their dialogue being lewd, most of their words were lighthearted quips anoint what was to come. Their jests seemed to be more directed to each other than to myself. Surprisingly, their antics brought a smile to my face and I couldn’t help but laugh.

When we finally approached Aegon’s bedchamber, one of the lords gave my backside one last squeeze, offering a mischievous grin as he bid me to ‘enjoy my stay.’

Inside, I found Rhaenys already seated on the bed, her cheeks a bright pink as she smiled. Her clothes were completely removed, her small breasts on full display. Her body was slender and delicate, bathed in the warm glow of the candle lights. 

I approached slowly, removing the last of my clothing from my shoulders. The air was cool against my skin, yet the room felt warm. I sat beside her on the bed, our thighs touching lightly. Rhaenys was first to reach over, grabbing my arm before kissing my hands lightly. I could feel her arms tremble.

‘You’re nervous,’ I whispered, placing a hand upon her naked chest. Rhaenys giggled, turning her head away from mine. ‘Don’t be.’

I grabbed the side of her face, turning it back towards my own. Her pale-purple eyes glowed, shining like the great stars. I could feel her gentle breaths against my face as I pulled her closer into a kiss.

Beginning soft and shallow, I deepened the kiss, pulling Rhaenys’s naked body against my own. Our lips moved together furiously, as I pulled at her loose hair, gripping it into a ponytail. Her lips fell away from mine with a soft moan.

‘Visenya,’ she said softly. 

‘Shhh,’ I whispered into her ear, shifting slowly so that I was on top of her entirely. Rhaenys pulled me into another kiss, hungry with desire. I pulled away, decorating her neck with kisses as I slowly made my way down to her chest. 

Grabbing one of her breasts with my hands, I pinched at her small, pink nipples, earning a whimper from my wife. As I took her breast into her mouth, she began to moan, her breath growing rapidly. Placing both her hands into my hair, I grabbed her other breast, lightly squeezing it as my tongue lapped the other. The chorus of moans and grunts was cut short as the door opened once more.

I raised my head, glancing towards our guests. Dressed in nothing at all, Aegon stood at the door with his eyes wide.

Rhaenys began to laugh, brushing a piece of loose hair from my face. ‘Would you like to come join us, husband?’

‘You are interrupting,’ I said, my voice low and dangerous as I turned back to Rhaenys, ‘Perhaps our husband would like to watch?’

Aegon nodded as a crimson blush spread across his face. He sat on the opposite end of the bed, silently observing. 

I returned to Rhaenys chest as the sound of moans once more filled the room.

‘Don’t stop,’ she said breathlessly, thrusting her hips upwards. I moved my head back, giving her breast one last lick. Rhaenys sat up on her elbows, her eyebrows lifting in both suspicion and amusement. 

I dropped down off the bed, planting myself firmly on my knees. Grabbing Rhaenys’s ankles, I pulled her body close towards mine until I was eye level with her sex.

I let my hands trail up her thighs, feeling the soft tremble in her muscles as I drew closer to her core. Rhaenys watched me with eager eyes, her breath coming in short bursts. I placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her thigh, never taking my eyes off her own.

Her hands found their way to my hair again, tangling in the strands as I pressed my lips against her most sensitive spot. Rhaenys gasped, her body arching towards me as I explored her with my mouth, my tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Her hips bucked slightly, urging me on.

Behind us, Aegon remained quiet, though his presence was a palpable heat in the room. His gaze was heavy, but it was Rhaenys’s reactions that commanded all my attention. I was intent on drawing every ounce of pleasure from her.

Rhaenys’s hands tightened in my hair as her moans grew louder, her body trembling beneath my touch as I inserted a finger inside her. I could feel the tension building within her, each movement bringing her closer to the edge. With a final, desperate cry, she tensed, her thighs quivering around my head as she succumbed to the waves of pleasure washing over her.

I pulled back, placing one last kiss on her inner thigh before rising to meet her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with satisfaction. 

Aegon shifted slightly, drawing our attention. His expression was a mix of admiration and desire, his body tense with anticipation. Rhaenys glanced at me, her classic mischievous smile on her lips.

‘Shall we invite him fully, sister?’ she whispered, her voice still breathless.

I nodded, my gaze locking with Aegon's. 

He stood from his seat, his arousal evident, and approached us with deliberate steps. I climbed back atop Rhaenys, pressing my lips to hers in a lingering kiss, savoring the moment before Aegon would claim her. Suddenly, I felt his strong hands grip my hips, spreading me apart. A shiver ran down my spine as he positioned himself and entered me.

I gasped, my body tensing for a moment as Aegon pushed into me, his movements slow and deliberate. The sensation was overwhelming. The pain was evident, but as Rhaenys cupped my face, her eyes filled with concern and desire as she kissed me softly, it began to dissipate.

‘Relax, Visenya,’ she whispered against my lips, her voice soothing. ‘Let him take you.’

I nodded, exhaling slowly as Aegon began to move, his rhythm steady and deep. His hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me as he found a steady pace. The room was filled with the sound of our shared pleasure, the sound of soft moans and slaps blending together.

Rhaenys reached between us, her fingers finding the sensitive spot on my breasts. I clung to her, our bodies pressed together as Aegon continued to move behind me, his pace quickening.

Seconds turned to minutes as the three of us continued. Aegon groaned behind me, his grip tightening as he found his release. A strange, warm sensation filled me as his body stiffened before he collapsed against my back.

We lay there, entangled and breathless, the weight of our shared passion settling over us like a warm blanket. Rhaenys stroked my hair gently, her touch soothing as we caught our breath.

‘That was… beautiful,’ Rhaenys whispered, as she encompassed the two of us in our arms.

‘And yet it is not over,’ I said, pushing Aegon off my back and breaking away from Rhaenys’s grasps. ‘Well, go on then.’

Aegon stared at me wide eyed before moving his gaze to Rhaenys. She laughed as he let out a tired grown, rubbing his hands across his face as he took in a deep breath. He then rose again, looking towards our wife with purpose.”

Following the wedding of Visenya to both Aegon and Rhaenys, there are not many events of great historical interest prior to the Conquest.

… Besides a final visit to the Arbor in 4 BC. 

Section Seven: The Death of Lord Aerion Targaryen

“Visiting the Arbor once more was an awkward and unwanted decision on my part. Throughout my childhood, my travels were left up to my father’s jurisdiction, but following my marriage, those decisions now fell to my husband. Despite my pleas to remain home, Aegon could not be swayed.

Rhaenys had long desired to visit our cousin, Lady Maegella, a wish her lord husband had consistently denied. When Lord Redwyne finally opened his home to us once more, Aegon decided it best for all of us to go. His distaste for Lord Redwyne was an open secret, perhaps the reason he insisted on my presence– either to endure the visit together or to remind me of our past relationship.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the entire Redwyne family. Maegella, heavily pregnant with her second child, caught Rhaenys in a heartfelt embrace. Tears streamed down my lady wife’s face, overwhelmed with joy. I too offered a greeting but without such theatrics, aware of Lord Redwyne's piercing glare.

Much of our stay was spent in Lady Maegella’s chambers, where her condition confined us. We gossiped, played games, and watched Rhaenys dance. Occasionally, Aegon and I joined Lord Redwyne and my father for rides along the Arbor's expansive beaches. Despite the overwhelming beauty, Edric and I spoke little to one another, our mutual discontent difficult to deny.

One morning, after a ride, we rested on the beach, allowing our horses a break from riding. While Aegon and my father engaged in serious discussion, I sat in the sand, only for Lord Redwyne to join me.

‘Visenya,’ he said, sitting beside me.

‘Lord Redwyne,’ I replied, disinterested, ‘Is there something you need?’

‘No, but we must have a discussion,’ he said, turning to face me, ‘I must speak to you about that day on Dragonstone.’

‘I do not wish to hear it,’ I said curtly, ‘Let us not dwell on the past.’

‘Visenya, please,’ his voice grew desperate, ‘I asked for your hand, believe me, I did–’

‘Do you wish to irritate me?’ I said, meeting his eyes, ‘My father refused you and offered my cousin’s hand instead. I have long known this, it’s no secret.’

‘Then why do you treat me with such disdain?’ his eyes were wide with shock.

‘Because I do not care to be polite or share the company of ambitious, foolish men,’ I replied, ‘You were not forced to marry her and yet you still did.’

‘I thought you would hate me more if I refused her hand!’ he cried, rising from where he sat.

I laughed, rising too. ‘It seems you never truly did understand me. ‘Tis a shame, I was under the impression that the older you get the more wisdom you acquire.’

‘Visenya– I,’ his voice faltered, eyes full of bewilderment, ‘I love you.’

Before I could react, Edric reached for me with his old, wrinkled hands, pulling me in for a kiss. Thankfully, my hands found my blade before his lips could. With a single slash I had given him a large cut on his left cheek with a scream.

Aegon and my father, alerted by my cry, came running. Aegon's fury evidence on his face. Lord Redwyne, realizing his folly, muttered apologies– not to me, but to them.

That evening, I left on the back of Vhagar, returning to Dragonstone alone.”

The last time Visenya wrote about seeing her lady cousin in person was in 3 BC at Lord Aerion’s Targaryen’s funeral at Dragonstone.

“My father’s health had been deteriorating for years. Ever since our visit to the Arbor, he had been bedridden from his sickness. The maesters had long predicted his emanate demise.

It was during the final moon of 3 BC that I was awoken by not by my brother, whose chamber 

I had fallen asleep, but rather my sister. Rhaenys was sobbing violently, tugging at her hair in distress. Her usual grace and eloquence was replaced by a grief I had never before seen in her. The doors of the bedchamber were wide open, but the usual guards were nowhere to be found, abandoned in the chaos. 

Rhaenys had been shaking my shoulders long after I had awoken. ‘Visenya! Visenya! Wake up– y-you must wake up!’

I sat up, attempting to make sense of her dismay. ‘Rhaenys? What has happened?’

‘It’s father!’ She choked in between sobs, ‘Septa Manary… the hag found him. He’s– he’s gone!’

Any ounce of sleep that had remained within me had vanished. ‘Gone? What do you mean gone?’

Rhaenys threw her head against my chest, her sobs growing louder. ‘He’s dead, sister! They found him blue and lifeless hours ago. Aegon rushed to find him… but he hasn’t returned! Nobody has!’

‘Aegon? Why was I not awoken?’ I questioned, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

‘I don’t know!’ Rhaenys screamed.

In my attempt to calm her, I splashed cold water across her face. This did little to calm her hysteria. 

‘We must find him,’ I said firmly, ‘We need answers.’

I dressed hastily, taking a candle and my sister’s hand as we ventured through the damp, darkened halls of Dragonstone in search of Aegon. As we ascended towards the great hall where Aegon often studied maps, the soft murmur of voices began to grow louder. The hall was a sea of worried faces– maids, guards, septas, maesters, and dragonkeepers alike, each of them wearing the same looks of confusion and fear. As we entered the room, all eyes went to us. 

‘Lady Visenya, Lady Rhaenys,’ one of the maesters approached us, his face pale and weary, ‘Please, come with me. We must speak in private.’

He placed an arm on my shoulder, carefully looking over each shoulder.

‘Why is everyone gathered here?’ I demanded, my wife still quivering at my side.

‘I regret to inform you, my ladies,’ he began in a hushed voice, ‘that your father’s death was not natural. There are signs of… foul play.’

Rhaenys let out a cry of anguish, falling to her knees and her tears began to flow once more. ‘Murdered!’ she cried, her voice echoing through the small room the maester had ushered us into.

The maester nodded gravely. ‘He was found with blood pooling from his eyes and nose, his veins bulging, and bile in his throat. It appears he had been poisoned.’ 

‘I need to see him,’ I commanded, ‘Bring me to him at once.’

Rhaenys stayed behind to help with the questioning, unable to bring herself to face our father’s body. Her tearful eyes followed me as I was led away. The path to my father’s chambers felt longer than ever. Inside, Aegon stood with a grim look on his face. Around him, maesters, guards, the hag, and head guard Ser Myle stood, whispering in hushed tones. 

My father lay still on the bed, his once string frame that commanded respect was now frail and lifeless. I reached out, placing a hand on his forehead. There was no doubt he had been poisoned.”

Maester Kermit had been swiftly arrested, charged, and executed for the murder of Lord Aerion Targaryen. The details relating to his condemnation of the crime remain murky and difficult to pursue, further complicated by the lack of details in Visenya’s account. She does, however, mention a critical piece of evidence: canyon snake venom found beneath the pillow of Maester Kermit. 

Septa Anya, a woman well versed in the effects of various poisons, casts doubt on the validity of this evidence. She explains that the venom of canyon snakes induces rarely fatal hallucinations rather than the bile and blood mentioned in the official account of Lord Aerion’s death. This heavily undermines the validity of the evidence, implying that the poison was planted by someone attempting to deflect blame.

Princess Rhae puts forth the theory that it was Visenya herself who had perpetrated the murder herself, citing her lack of grief following the death of her father. As the future Lady of Dragonstone, she had access to every room in the palace, making her a plausible suspect. Furthermore, Visenya’s own account raises suspicion as she states she was not woken when Aegon was first alerted of the crime scene despite allegedly being within his bedchambers.

Despite these suspicions, there seems to be little cause for Visenya to quicken her father’s death as he was already sickly and unlikely to survive much longer. If she wanted him dead she would have only had to wait a few more moons for him to pass naturally. 

Nevertheless, the funeral for Lord Aerion was held several days after his death. The entirety of House Targaryen, still small in size despite its new lord having two wives, gathered to pay their respects. Among the mourners was Lady Maegella, accompanied by her two small children, though her husband was noticeably absent. 

Balerion the Black Dread set fire to the funeral pyre:

“My brother, clad in somber, black robes, took it upon himself to commence the burning. With a commanding voice, he called upon Balerion to burn our father’s bandaged body. We stood in silence as we watched the flames rapidly consume his body. As I watched his physical body disappear from the lands, I felt a small sense of justice for the pain inflicted by him during my childhood. Still, I could feel the grief coursing through my veins as the smoke rose from the flames. After the funeral burning had finished, Rhaenys and I retired to her bedchambers. I found I could rest easier with her in my arms.”

Several moons passed following the death of Lord Aerion Targaryen before Aegon, the new lord of Dragonstone, summoned his two sisters into the great hall.

“It was late in the morning when he summoned us, though it looked as though he had found no sleep during the night. I couldn’t help but feel irritated as he summoned us without explanation while I was in the midst of my sword training while Rhaenys was riding atop Meraxes.

We found Aegon standing before the great table, his hands gripping its edges as though to anchor himself. His eyes were sunken and his hair disheveled.

‘Are you troubled, dear husband?’ Rhaenys asked softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him.

I folded my arms, my patience wavering. ‘What is it, Aegon?’

He raised his head slightly, his gaze distant. ‘I have been visited by another dream from the gods,’he admitted, his voice heavy.

‘Another one?’ I stepped closer, my annoyance softening. I lifted his chin to meet his gaze. ‘What was it about? Your steel chair made of swords?’

‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘It was far more important than that.’

He broke away from the two of us, pacing the hall restlessly. ‘Daenys the Dreamer foresaw the Doom of Valyria. And now I have seen the Doom of Westeros.’

His words sent a chill through my spine. Rhaenys, ever the compassionate one, rushed to his side, urging him to continue. ‘Tell us, Aegon, so that we may help you.’

He stopped, taking my sister in his arms before turning to face me, a mixture of fear and certainty. ‘The long night will fall upon us once more. I saw strange, frozen beasts riding atop ginormous spiders that breached the Wall in the North, bringing death and destruction. Thousands perished in the ice and darkness.’

I exchanged a wary glance with Rhaenys, beside myself by the news. ‘And what do you propose we do about this dream, brother?’

‘The realm must unite,’ Aegon declared. ‘Only under the rule of a Targaryen can Westeros stand against such a threat. Seven kingdoms must become one, with a single ruler on the throne. The throne of a thousand swords.’

Rhaenys, her eyes lighting up with determination, seized his words. ‘This is a sign, like the dream you had of becoming king. It is your destiny, brother!’

‘But how could it be?’ Aegon cried, his voice anguished. ‘We are the blood of Old Valyria, bound to Dragonstone. Westeros is a foreign land to us.’

I stepped forward, my voice as sharp as a blade. ‘You fool. How can you be so shortsighted?’

His mouth fell open in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

I struck his face firmly. ‘You are the blood of the dragon, chosen by the gods to rule over a realm not yet forged! Rhaenys is right, this is your destiny.”

Rhaenys placed a gentle hand upon the cheek that I had struck. ‘We have dragons, my dear husband. Foreign or not, we are a force to be reckoned with.’

Aegon extended a hand to me, drawing Rhaenys close to his side. ‘Come, Visenya.’

I stepped into his arms, allowing myself to melt into his embrace. He held us tightly, his voice softening. 

When you were younger, your father had sat you down on his lap and told you that wealth is an unimaginably powerful thing. When you’re offered chances in life, you best believe you should take them . What to a child was the concept of “wealth”? You used to imagine it was a giant room in the back of some new-money mansion filled with enormous piles of gold stacking higher than the eye could see. You came from humble origins. Your father, a midwestern farmer, had taken pride in what he referred to as “honest work”. Some of your fondest memories of your youth had been sitting on the wooden porch swing in your backyard watching your father drive his tractor through the fields. Your mother, the daughter of a banker from Georgia, would come through the creaky screen door and remind you to come inside before you overheated. Her southern draw on the word “burn” would stick in your mind many years after you left that old farm of yours.

Telling your parents you wanted to move to Racoon City to pursue your degree came as a shock. You had spent your entire life in your small, rural town. Your mother opposed the idea of moving to such a large city, stating that there was no way you would survive such a large change. Your father simply shook his head before placing his hand on your mother’s thighs. With that she conceded. 

The drive into Rockefeller College, one of the most prestigious universities in the midwest, felt like driving into an alternate universe. Sitting in the back of your father’s pick up truck, your mother verbally recounted her disgust with seeing the number of Teslas or Range Rovers that were lined up by the curb. You were immediately reminded of your status: a country bumpkin with a full ride scholarship. The move into your dorm was no better. Your roommate, a girl named Mikayla, was the daughter of a wealthy family from the northeast. Her half of the room had already been set up by the time you set your foot in the door. Her minimalist, sad-beige aesthetic would certainly look dull compared to what your mother referred to as the ‘90s bedroom’ look you were going for. Mikayla was a sweet girl, but the moment she suggested you should all grab lunch at Machiavelli’s Steak and Winery you were immediately made aware of a key difference between the two of you.

Saying goodbye to your parents was the hardest part of all. Your mother sobbed, holding you tightly as though she would never see you again. Your father simply patted you on the head before grabbing hold of your mother’s hand, leading the two of them out of your new home. After coming to a consensus on a more affordable place to eat lunch, you and Mikayla stepped into the hallway of your dorm, waving hello to your new neighbors. As you entered the elevator, you noticed you had the company of two young men, most likely new students from the floor above. 

“Hey,” said the taller of the two men, “My name is Chris.”

“Hi!” Mikayla said happily, “I’m Mikayla and this is Y/N, we're roommates.”

Chris nodded his head politely. “I’m Piers, we’re roommates too,” he said with a smile as he pointed at Chris.

“You both headed to lunch?” you asked. 

“Yeah, we were thinking about checking out the dining hall, but there's a good deli down the street that looks pretty good,” said Chris.

“No way!” Mikayla shouted, “McEvan’s? We’re headed there too.”

Chris laughed, “Awesome.”

———————————————————————————————————————

The conversation amongst the four of you at McEvan’s had been polite small talk. Lots of What’s your major? Where are you from? and What classes are you taking this semester?

By the time your meal was served, a patty melt with no tomato, you had moved onto slightly less general topics such as extracurriculars and hobbies. It was then that you and Chris discovered a shared love of horror games, psychological ones in particular. 

“Did you bring a console here?” Chris asked, taking a bite of his chicken wing. 

You laughed. “Fuck no, Mikayla and I have such a small room. We’re next to the RA. We can barely fit two beds and a desk in there.”

“That sucks,” he said, “You should totally swing by our place at some point. I brought my PS5.”

“I brought my Wii,” Piers chimed in, “We could play Mario Kart together or something.”

You noticed how Mikayla’s eyes lit up as soon as Piers seemed to be on board. “We’ll definitely be there,” she said, “If there's nothing else going on tonight we could definitely stop by.”

“What else would be going on?” Piers asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“Functions, bro,” Chris nudged his roommate, “And you’re right, there's not going to be any going on during orientation. Once the upperclassmen get here though, that's another story.”

“Are the parties here good then?” you asked.

“You have no idea,” Chris responded with a smile, “A family friend of mine goes here– she says that's the reason she loves it so much.”

Later that night you and Mikayla did exactly as you– well she said. The four of you crowded around Chris’s surprisingly large TV, dressed in pajamas and eating greasy popcorn, watching intently as he played the Silent Hill Two remake. Each time there would be a scary scene, Mikayla would cling to your arm with a scream. You had spent a total of four hours in the boys’ room that night. 

Your group of friends established a routine during orientation week. You would wake up, go to the dining hall for breakfast, go to whatever orientation lecture was required for the morning, eat lunch under the giant fruit tree, attend the afternoon lectures, eat dinner as a group, and then go to Chris and Piers’s room to play video or watch shows until midnight. You were lucky, you thought, to have found such a good group of friends so early on into school. 

When you told your mom on the phone about your friends, she was very proud of you, saying how lucky you were to have a great friendship with your roommate. The summer leading up to school, she would often tell you about her nightmare roommate freshman year, and how she nearly transferred from the University of Alabama. However, as a traditional southern lady, she was slightly alarmed by the fact that two of your closest friends were men. You assured her you had zero interest in either of them, but Mikayla? You weren’t so sure. 

“Well I’m not worried,” your mother said, sounding worried, “Just make sure you pick a good one, okay?”

“Yes ma,” you rolled your eyes.

“I love you, hunny,” she said.

“I love you too.”

———————————————————————————————————————

Just as Chris said, by the time orientation week ended and the upperclassmen arrived, campus life went from dull and boring to bustling and bright. However, instead of going to a function, you found yourself in the backseat of an uber driving thirty minutes off campus across the river and into the suburbs of Raccoon City. 

Chris had talked all week about taking your friend group to meet his family friend, Ada Wong. She was a junior meaning she was allowed to live off campus with her fiance, Albert Wesker. You spent a majority of the car ride trying to recall where you had heard the name “Wesker” before. By the time you arrived at the lavish, Greco-Roman style mansion, you remembered. Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the largest pharmaceutical company in America, was owned by the prosperous, old-money Wesker family. You were shocked Chris had such a strong connection, but when you remembered how his last name was Redfield, as in Redfield Properties, you understood. 

“This place is huge!” Mikayla said as you pulled into the circular driveway with a large water fountain in the middle, “I can’t believe you can live in this area as a college student.”

She then turned to the three of you, “Hey, if there's any housing available, we should rent one as a group for our junior and senior years!”

Chris and Piers laughed, nodding their heads. You laughed too, but for different reasons.

When you arrived at the front door, there was no one to greet you. Instead, Chris simply opened the door, motioning you all to follow. The interior was grand and luxurious, straight out of a bourgeoisie home owners magazine your mom used to have lying around the house when you were little. You tried to hide your astonishment but your mouth was agape. Mikayla laughed, closing your jaw with her hand. 

“Come on!” she whispered to you, “We’re having roast goose, apparently. I want to sit next to Piers!”

The two of you ran through the house while holding hands before finally catching up to Chris and Piers. If you thought the inside of the house was luxurious, you were sorely unprepared to see the backyard. Flower, trees, and marble statues created one of the most beautiful gardens you had ever seen. Chris led you all to the pool, larger than your bedroom, that had floating lilies and flowers. Next to the pool was a dining area underneath a series of marble columns. Behind it all was what looked to be a greenhouse with someone standing inside.

“Chris?” you heard a distinctly feminine voice call out, “Is that you?”

“Yup, it's us,” he responded, “Here, follow me guys.”

The greenhouse was filled with beautiful, tall plants. The floors were a light birch tile with a floral design scattered throughout. Each of the walls was made entirely from a slightly tinted green glass. When you finally got to the center of the room, you saw her.

Ada Wong was absolutely gorgeous. Although she was sat, you could tell she was a tall, slender beauty. Her black hair was cut and styled into a perfect face-framing bob. Her porcelain skin was flawless and her makeup was light and airy. The justs of wind from the open windows caused her red dress to swirl and flutter through the air. It reminded you of that one Marilyn Monroe photo. When you made eye contact, she smiled.

“Chris,” she stood up, the sound of her red-bottom heels hitting the tile floor echoed in the room, “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he said, pulling her into a hug, “Mrs. Wesker.”

She laughed, you couldn’t miss how her voice was slightly strained. “And you must be Chris’s little friend group. Let me guess… Piers, Mikayla, and Y/N.”

Ada pointed to each of you as she spoke, correctly guessing the order of your names. 

“Yup, that's me,” Piers joked, “It's nice to finally meet you.”

Ada hugged Piers before turning to you and Mikayla.

“Aren’t the two of you beautiful,” she said, “It always warms my heart to see such smart young women.”

Mikayla didn’t miss a beat and went in for a hug. Eventually Ada turned to you, pulling you into a soft embrace. She smelled like expensive perfume. She smelled expensive.  

“Now, you four, come with me,” Ada said, “The duck should be served soon. It would be a crime to eat it cold.”

When the sun set and the meal was served, the backyard was lit with beautiful, warm lighting. Albert Wesker had finally made his appearance. Your first impression of him was that he was… odd. Smart, rich, and successful, no doubt, but something about him rubbed you the wrong way. Firstly, he wore sunglasses at night. Secondly, he was dressed as if he was about to go on a spy mission. And finally, he was harsh with his words.

“So,” said Albert, “What do you kids plan on majoring in? I know you mentioned pre-med, Chris, how about the rest of you?”

“Public Health,” said Piers, giving a polite smile to Albert. He then turned to Mikayla, who got her wish and was sitting right next to Piers.

“I’m thinking Art History,” she said, “Maybe Literature, I’m not too sure.”

All eyes then turned to you. “Economics,” you said.

Albert smirked, “How ambitious.”

The conversation continued but you couldn’t help but feel Albert Wesker’s condescension in his reply. It felt the same as when you told your counselor you would be applying for Rockefeller University. Amused but insulting. Other than that, you thought that dinner had been going relatively well. 

That is, until Albert’s phone suddenly began to ring. Miranda Psych Class was the name of the contact that appeared on the phone. Chris’s smile dropped and Ada’s face went from jovial to disappointed.

“Excuse me while I take this,” Albert said.

“You should really stay,” Ada pleaded, standing up to grasp her fiance’s arm, “It would be rude to leave our company. If it's about class you can tell her to text you about it later.”

Albert yanked his shoulder, effectively escaping Ada’s grasp. “I said excuse me while I take this fucking call, Ada.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his words. Mikayla dropped her spoon in shock. Piers choked on his bite of food. Chris then stood up from his seat, stepping a mere couple of inches away from Albert.

Just like that Albert declined the call and sat down. Not without intentionally scoffing at Ada and Chris. 

“I don’t have time for your antics, Redfield,” he said, “Now sit down and enjoy your dessert.”

Chris rolled his eyes, his face a mix of anger and disgust, but he nevertheless obliged. Ada said nothing. She sat down, taking a large sip of her red wine.

The six of you attempted to enjoy the rest of your meal in peace. Still, it was hard to ignore the invisible seventh attendee, as Albert’s phone would not stop ringing for the rest of dinner.

———————————————————————————————————————

“Should I wear the white top or the pink one?” Mikayla asked you, holding both options out for you to see.

“I like the pink one,” you said, “The crop is cuter.”

“Piers?” Mikayla turned around to where the boys were sitting on her bed, “What do you think?”

Piers looked up from his phone, slightly flustered as he looked at Mikayla who was in nothing but her underwear and bra. “Umm, I agree with Y/N, the pink is good.”

“Awesome!” Mikayla cheered, “I’m assuming you think the same, Chris?”

Chris threw her a thumbs up without ever looking up from his phone. The four of you were getting ready for your first college party. The dinner party the night before had been awkward. The four of you hadn’t spoken much about it. You, Chris, and Piers had already been dressed for the past twenty minutes, and had spent the rest of the time attempting to help Mikayla choose her outfit. Piers had used his fake to buy you all some liquor and pomegranate juice. You were sipping on it now.

“I still can’t believe you bought Smirnoff,” said Chris, “I mean really man? Do you want us to be hung over tomorrow?”

“How was I supposed to know it was shitty vodka!” Piers threw his arms up in defense.

Mikayla laughed. “Just buy Tito's next time or something.”

“So where exactly are we going again?” you asked, taking another sip from your drink.

“We’re going to Rutherford Hall,” he replied, “Kennedy’s hosting.”

“This better be as good as you’re saying it's gonna be,” Piers said, making a disgusted face after he drank another sip of his drink, “Or I’m gonna be disappointed.”

“Trust me,” Chris said, “Kennedy hosts the best parties. Like actual parties too, there's gonna be dancers and a whole bar and shit. He’s got a pool table too!”

“Bro, we better play tonight,” Piers said.

“Obviously,” said Chris, “Once we get there, we’re going shot for shot.”

“Count me in!” Mikayla said.

“So is this Kennedy guy famous or something?” you asked.

“Pretty much,” Chris replied, “He owns basically all of Rutherford Hall. Dude’s loaded. He’s one of Ada’s friends from high school I think.”

“Guys!” Mikayla cried, “The Uber’s almost here, we should start heading down stairs.”

With that the guys got off the bed, Piers helped you to your feet.

“Cool,” you said, “I wanna meet him. Think you can point him out to me?”

Chris laughed as he opened your dorm door. “Hell no. I’ve never even met the dude. He’s like a mystery.”

“I like mysteries,” you said softly.

———————————————————————————————————————

Rutherford Hall was one of the off campus housing options still in the city. From your understanding, it was owned by a small group of frat boys who had enough money to afford such expensive housing. The dorm looked more like a classic New England style home. White painted wood, large shutters, and large white columns, it was beautiful and ginormous. The lawn was filled with college kids dressed in short skirts, crop tops, shorts, and polo shirts. 

Stepping inside to the home transported you into a stereotypical movie about the 1920s. Dancers dressed in tiny little outfits were scattered across the main foyer. In the kitchen was a makeshift bar being manned by an actual bar tender. Judging by the amount of good quality alcohol that was being offered for free, this Kennedy guy had money to throw away. The four of you each grabbed a shot of quality vodka, downing it on three. 

“Yo, Redfield!” cried a voice from behind your group, “The rest of the teams out back.”

Chris was on the rugby team, no surprise there, but you haven't seen him spend much time with them outside of practice. Chris gave you all an apologetic look.

“I’ll be back, guys,” he said, “I’m just gonna go say hi.”

“No worries, man,” said Piers, “Do you guys wanna go explore?”

“Um, obviously!” Mikayla said, clearly starting to get drunk, “First let's take another shot.”

“Say less,” you laughed.

As the shots continued to pour, the three of you grew more and more wasted. You swayed to the beat, feeling warm and drowsy. In your intoxicated state, you had hardly noticed Chris hadn’t come back in over forty five minutes. Mikayla and Piers became more touchy as time went on. They were your friends and you loved them, but God did they have to do that in front of you?

“I’m-uh gonna go pee…” you said, “Don’t miss me too much!”

“I love you!” Mikayla shouted.

“Love you too,” you smiled, “You too Piers. You’re m-my homeboy for real.”

Piers laughed, his hands still tangled in Mikayla’s hair. You stumbled across the first floor, searching intensely for a bathroom. When you finally found a single stall one, it had a line longer than a Disney ride. You rolled your eyes, dramatically pivoting the other direction. 

“Um– excuse me,” you shouted over the music, tugging at the end of a frat boy’s Alpha Sigma Tau tank top, “Where is the bathroom? With no long line?”

The frat boy pointed up the stairs. “Third floor on the left!”

“Thank you!” you said, swaying back and forth as you climbed your way up the stairs.

By the time you made it back down to where you had left Piers and Mikayla, they were gone.

“Well fucking damn it,” you cursed aloud.

In your dismay of being abandoned at your first frat party, you overhear some people talking about how the fireworks were about to start.

“Fireworks?” you drunkenly whispered to yourself, “What kind of frat party is this?”

You walked outside onto the quartz terrace. It was filled with people shouting, socializing, and staring up at the sky. You tried your best to push to the front of the terrace that overlooked the rest of the giant backyard. Leaning the front of your body against the pole, you sighed.

“You doing alright there, old sport?” you heard a low, smooth voice say.

“Huh?” you turned, finding yourself face-to-face with a young man, “Oh, sorry. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Well that wasn’t too convincing,” he laughed, “Your face looks familiar, you don’t happen to have any connection to the Midwestern Farming Association, do you?”

Your eyes widened as a mix of surprise and recognition hit. “Yes, I do. My father’s been a member for years.”

“I thought so,” he replied with a gentle smile, “My father was too, before he passed. I used to go to the yearly showcases as a kid. We must have run into each other, huh?”

“I guess so,” you said, smiling back “That’s so crazy– you must have an amazing memory.”

As you took him in, you realized just how striking he was: his sandy blond hair, the way his blue eyes held yours with an intensity that felt deliberate. He was watching you with a kind of careful attentiveness, his smile perfectly polite yet warm enough to make your cheeks feel a little too warm.

“I’m Leon, by the way. Leon Kennedy,” he said suddenly, catching you off guard.

“What!” you exclaimed, “I’m sorry– wow. You’re the ‘Kennedy’ everyones been talking about all night.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I thought you had known. Guess I’m not a very good host after all.”

“Well, Leon ,” you said, placing special emphasis onto his name, “This is some place you’ve got. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, umm?” he responded, unsure of how to address you, “How did you find out about it? Assuming you didn’t just overhear someone else talk about it.”

“Y/N,” you said with a laugh, “And no, I actually heard about it from one of my friends. His name is Chris Redfield, apparently he has some upperclassman friend who goes here. She might be here tonight, who knows.”

“Chris Redfield?” Leon asked, shock evident in his voice, “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Ada Wong, would you?”

“Yes, oh my gosh!” you said, “Wow, this is so crazy! I can’t believe you know her too.”

“Did you see her tonight?” he continued.

“No, not tonight,” you said, “But we had dinner with her and Albert Wesker yesterday.”

Any ounce of excitement in his face fell. “I see.”

“Y/N! Y/N!” you heard Mikayla’s unmistakable voice holler at you, “We’ve been looking for you everywhere! We’re headed home– Chris was playing beer pong and broke the table! We gotta go!”

“I’m sorry,” you turned to Leon, who began to laugh again, “I should get going.”

“Wait a second,” he said, grabbing your arm as you turned to leave, “Y/N, can I have your phone number?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

And so you scribbled your phone number in your sloppy, drunken state onto his arm with a sharpie from his back pocket.

———————————————————————————————————————

The next weekend, you were back at Rutherford Hall. Another party hosted by the infamous Kennedy.

The atmosphere of the party was buzzing: people laughing, music blasting, cheers from the crowds gathered around the various pool tables and countertops. You were already a few drinks deep, feeling an increased amount of courage and confidence. Leon was sitting at the bar. You had no doubt that half of the people sitting around him had no clue they were that close to the host of such a lavish college party.

“Wow, Mr. Kennedy sitting by himself at the bar,” you said, tapping him on the shoulder, “I didn’t take you for the quiet type.” 

Leon chuckled, motioning you to sit beside him. His eyes had a gleam of mischief. “I can do loud,” he said, “I just don’t want to make too much of a scene.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re afraid to embarrass yourself,” you said with amusement, “I’ll have a vodka cran please.”

Leon raised his hand, signaling the bartender to hold off on making the drink. “I’ve never been embarrassed a day in my life.”

“Oh really?” you leaned in, lowering your voice, “Then why are you standing here all by yourself trying to look mysterious?”

“I’m not mysterious,” he said, “I’m just trying to enjoy the view at my own house, so watch it, freshman.”

“I was talking about the party, not me,” you placed your hands on your hips and gave them an obviously exaggerated shake. Leon laughed, though it was hard to tell if it was out of genuine amusement or pity in your heavily drunken state.

“Fair enough,” he said. 

“I don’t get it,” you said with a sudden shift in tone, “For a person who's always throwing large parties, you seem like you don’t like large parties. Like at all.”

“Would you want to go somewhere more private to continue this conversation?” he asked, “It’s getting a little loud in here.”

“Okay, but no more bullshit, Leon,” you said, “I want to know your truth.”

“Deal.”

The two of you walked through the crowd, a fair amount of distance between you. As you weasled your way through the tight spaces you prayed that you wouldn’t run into your group of friends. This conversation was about to get a whole lot more interesting and you wanted to hear every last bit of it. Leon ended up bringing you through the entire backyard to the dock. It overlooked the river that surrounded Racoon City. 

“So, what’s your deal?” you said.

“My what?” he responded.

“Your deal,” you affirmed.

“I know, I’m just kidding,” he laughed at his own joke, “I think it's because of people like you.”

You raised your brows in confusion. “What?”

“Why I host these things,” he said, “You’re the type of person that makes things more interesting without even trying.”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re quite the charmer, Kennedy?” you said, “Can I ask you something a bit more personal?”

He nodded his head. “Why do you always ask so much about Ada Wong?”

“I figured you’d ask that sooner or later,” he said, “Ada– well, she’s complicated.”

“Hey!” you playfully punched his arm, “I said no bullshit. That answer is total bullshit.”

He chuckled, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of resignation. “Okay, maybe you’re right. Ada and I go way back—she’s... she was important to me.” He looked away, his expression unreadable. “Do you see that light? The green one across the bay?”

You squinted your eyes. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

“That’s her house right there,” he said, “She’s over there. So close but… always out of reach.”

“So that’s what all of this is for, huh?” you asked softly. “These parties, the constant crowd, the noise. It’s all just... a way to reach her?”

He gave a slight nod, then looked back at you, his gaze steady. “I thought maybe she’d show up one day, or maybe that someone in her orbit would walk in and give me some kind of sign.” His tone softened, and he chuckled, though it sounded almost bitter. “But maybe all of this– maybe I'm just trying to find someone who actually sees me, who’s here because they want to be.”

“Damn that’s… sadder than I thought it would be,” you said, staring at the green light, “But it makes sense, I think. It’s caring and Ada deserves someone like that.”

The two of you remained silent, gazing at the mansion across the bay. Ada was Leon’s green light. So where did that leave you?

———————————————————————————————————————

The library was quiet. You, Chris, Piers, and Mikayla were sitting at a table for four, each working on your own independent work. You were attempting to finish writing a paper for your Introduction to Early European History, but the constant sound of your phone buzzing was distracting you.

*Buzz

“Is he still texting you?” Mikayla asked, clearly annoyed.

“Yeah,” you said, trying not to smile as you picked up your phone again .

“Block him,” she said.

“Why?” you asked.

“Because all he does is ask about Ada,” she said, before moving closer to you and lowering her voice, “And you clearly like him. It’s not healthy.”

“I do not,” you said, “Besides, I’m trying to play matchmaker. Wesker is a dick and Ada deserves better.”

“You heard what Chris said,” she responded, “It’s not your choice to make. Besides, Ada is your friend too. Don’t be sneaky.”

“I’m not!” you whisper-shouted.

“Can you two shut up,” Chris said sarcastically, “We’re trying to study here.”

The four of you feel silent again, returning to your work.

* Buzz

“Oh my God!” Mikayla threw her hands up in defeat.

Chris sighed, slamming his books shut. “I’m seriously going to beat him up the next time he throws.”

Piers laughed awkwardly, rapidly looking between Chris and Mikayla. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, “Start studying before I beat you up.”

You picked up your phone, sending a final text to Leon.

———————————————————————————————————————

Leon S. Kennedy

…so I guess what I’m trying to say is, I want to see her again. Properly, this time.

Wow. Just like that?

I don’t think “just like that” sums it up. It’s been years, after all. A whole lot of time to wonder if she even remembers me.

Trust me, she does. A meeting would be… well, poetic, you know?

Exactly. Something simple but meaningful. Think she’d go for it?

Hard to say, but you’re a host, aren’t you? You do things in style. Maybe just start with a familiar setting, like a quiet café or even somewhere… scenic?

Like the gazebo out back? Or maybe somewhere with just the right flowers… that sounds almost too much like a book, doesn’t it?

It’s perfect, though. A little mystery, a little drama—it’s exactly how you’d want to see her again.

I knew you’d get it. So… would you help me set it up? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d owe you big time.

You don’t owe me anything. But yeah, I’ll help. If this is what you want, I’m in.

You’re a real friend, you know that? 

Glad to be of service. When are we doing this?

Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at 7. Just… be ready.

Consider it done. And Leon?

Yeah?

I'm excited to see you again. For what it’s worth, I think she’ll be thrilled to see you again.

Thanks. Here’s to hoping.

———————————————————————————————————————

“You done?” Chris asked.

“Yes, Chris,” you sighed.

He cracked his knuckles. “Good, let's go to dinner soon.”

After the typical chicken dinner at the dining hall, the four of you split up to go back to your rooms to shower and finish some last minute homework. You and Mikayla were wearing your matching Christmas pajamas, even though it was September, that she had bought for the two of you last weekend. The elevator ride up to Chris and Piers' room was familiar. It took less than three minutes for the four of you to be reunited again. When you entered the room, Chris was on the phone with Ada. 

The four of you, minus Mikayla who has swim practice on Sundays, were supposed to meet for dinner this weekend. You prayed it wouldn’t be awkward after what you and Leon planned for tomorrow. Once Chris got off the phone, he flashed you a thumbs up. No words had to be exchanged, you and Mikayla had already taken your place on the carpet near the TV. Piers sat next to Mikayla. He seemed to get closer and closer to her with each passing day. When Chris finally joined the group on the floor, he turned on the console.

“Until Dawn?” he asked.

“Noooo that's too scary,” Mikayla said, cuddling up between you and Piers. 

You smiled, pushing her off of you playfully. “Yes, Mikayla, we need to finish the game sooner or later.”

* Buzz

“Or, we can play more Mario Kart,” she continued.

* Buzz

“Sorry, the controllers are still dead,” Piers frowned.

* Buzz

“You two still haven’t charged them?” I asked.

* Buzz

“Why don’t you go charge them, Y/N?” Chris suggested sarcastically.

* Buzz

“Turn that off!” Chris and Mikayla shouted over each other.

You winced. “Sorry.”

You put your phone on Do Not Disturbed, but not before noticing the twenty-seven missed texts from Leon. What the fuck?

Opening the text conversation, you were greeted with a wall full of pictures of flowers and Leon desperately asking which ones you liked most. This was going to be a long night …

———————————————————————————————————————

“Why do you look so nervous?” Chris asked, throwing a pillow at your face. You and Mikayla had created a small pillow fort in the one available corner of your tiny room. Piers and your roommate were out doing God knows what, so that left you and Chris together one on one. This wasn’t entirely unusual– you had gotten used to Chris’s presence outside of a group setting.

“Leon’s almost here,” you said, “It’s freaking me out.”

“What are the two of you doing?” he questioned, eyebrows raised.

You sat up in your bed, unable to hide your emotions. “Chris, can I tell you something? You can’t tell anyone.”

Chris put his phone down, suddenly looking equally as serious. “Yes. Is everything okay?”

“I’msettingupLeonandAdaonadatebutI’mtotallyfreakingoutbecauseI’mscaredofWeskerandAda’sreactions,” you spilled, unable to catch your breathe. 

“Woah woah, slow down, Y/N,” Chris got up from his pillow fort, sitting beside you on your bed, “Wait, why are you setting up Leon and Ada.”

“Well, in all honesty, I don’t like Albert. The way he was acting… rubbed me the wrong way. Ada is a friend and I want what's best for her, and– um.”

“And?” 

“I’ve been talking with Leon a lot,” you admitted, “He’s dorky and funny and he's a great friend. He cares about Ada a lot and I want him to be happy.”

Chris sighed, placing his face into the palms of his hands. “When I was in high school, my sister asked me to drop off one of her CDs to the Wong’s house. I was too young to drive, I was fourteen. I was always scared of Mr. and Mrs. Wong, the Wong Credit Enterprise is a huge cooperation, you know? Turns out, I didn’t even need to go inside. Ada was in the driveway, sitting in her white mustang. There was a blonde guy in the front seat who I had never seen before. The two of them were clearly talking about something important. I left pretty quickly, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

After a moment he continued. “I found out later from Claire that the guy in the front seat, Leon, was her boyfriend. They met at the country club: Ada was the member and Leon was the busboy. After his dad died he apparently moved back east. I don’t think the two of them wanted to break up, but they never got back together. When Ada got engaged to Albert the Wesker and Wong families threw a huge party. Long story short, Ada got a letter from Leon, got super drunk and flipped out– she said she didn’t want to marry Albert afterall. Her dad pulled her aside and the last thing I heard was that Ada kept the engagement but tore up the letter.”

You took several moments to process the absolute information dump Chris had placed on you. Leon had told you he and Ada had a past, but you never knew how serious it was.

“Why are you telling me this?” you said softly.

“Because I don’t think it's a good idea,” he said, “Ada is marrying Albert. Leon needs to move on.”

* Beep

You didn’t even need to read the text message to know: Leon was here. You and Chris stared at each other silently, words did not need to be exchanged. As you stood up to leave, Chris gave you a sad smile before sitting back down in the pillow fort. Walking to Leon’s car felt like walking to your own doom. Leon drove a Range Rover– the newest model. Rolling down his window, you were immediately met with an expensive, mahogany smell.

“Hi,” he smiled warmly.

“Hi,” you returned the gesture.

Stepping into the car, you put your seatbelt on. Leon was silent, his grip on the steering while tightening with each passing moment. His knuckles were turning white. The moon was barely visible due to the dark, thick clouds in the sky.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Leon’s voice cracked slightly. You turned towards him, seeing the stress in his furrowed brow. His eyes were focused on the road ahead, but you're not so sure he was paying attention.

You smiled softly, reaching out to place your hand over his own. “You’re going to be fine, Leon. Just be yourself.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve waited years for this. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… exposed.”

This time it was your turn to laugh. “Exposed? You’re the Leon Kennedy– you’re somebody worth being with. She doesn’t get to change that.”

“You’re not nervous?” he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“A little. Maybe more than a little. But I’m here for you above all else. If you need me, I’m here.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she—” He stopped himself, the name stuck in his throat. Ada. You could feel the jealousy stirring in your stomach, trying your best to mask it.

You put a smile on your face, gripping his hand even tighter. “We’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it.”

“We’re in this together, right?” he asked.

“Hell yeah,” you responded, “I’m like the best wingman ever.”

His laugh was genuine, hearty. “What would I do without you?”

———————————————————————————————————————

When you arrive at Leon’s gazebo, it was already filled to the brim with flowers. Each of the flowers in the photos he had sent you that you had hearted were in the room. When you recommended them, you didn’t expect him to buy the entire stock. You were amused, though a little scared. Who on earth has this much money to blow on flowers for just one afternoon?

“So, Ada’s coming here at 8:30 for tea, right?” Leon asked, anxiously rubbing his hands together.

“Yup,” you responded, preoccupied by the flowers, “Jesus, Leon, you look like you robbed a flower garden.”

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” he said, “Because if it’s going to rain we– we should just call this whole thing off.”

You snapped out of your flower drive daze. Stepping towards Leon, you placed your hands firmly on his shoulders. “Leon, a little bit of rain won’t be a problem. You should really sit down, you look like you’re going to pass out. I’ll… umm work on finishing up the food for the tea.”

Leon let out a breath of relief, his blue eyes looking entirely exhausted. “Thank you, Y/N. I really mean it.”

———————————————————————————————————————

When the clock struck 8:45 Leon looked as though he was about to throw himself into the river and never return.

“She’s not coming,” he said, pacing around the room, “Of course she’s not! Why would she be–”

You heard the unmistakable beep of Ada Wong’s black Porsche Panamera. She was here– late probably because of the rain and traffic. Leon’s face went blank. In a moment, he had left out the back entrance of the gazebo.

“Leon? Leon! Where are you–” you sighed, “God damn it.”

You met Ada outside the gazebo, ushering her inside under your cheap umbrella you had bought from the dollar store.

“Just give me one second,” you smiled, concealing your panic at Leon’s sudden disappearing act. And– nope! He was nowhere to be found. You were internally kicking yourself. You rested your head onto the front of the refrigerator, groaning internally.

Ada, who you imagined was as confused as ever, had likely taken a seat amidst all the flowers suffocating the room. “Oh goodness,” you overhead, “Maybe she really is in love with me.”

You laughed, feeling an ounce of relief knowing that at the very least you would have a nice evening tea with a dear friend. So you grabbed the tray of finger sandwiches, scones, and small desserts and set it on the table next to the kettle.

“Here, allow me,” Ada offered, pouring you both a warm cup of tea, “Now tell me, Y/N. Why did you ask me for tea all by yourself?”

You mentally prepared a bullshit response to give her, but just then the back entrance of the gazebo slammed upon. Leon walked through, completely drenched. When Ada and Leon made eye contact, you could practically see the fireworks. It was like a scene out of a movie. You felt sick to your stomach.

“I’m… gonna give the two of you some space,” you said before taking your cheap umbrella and leaving out the front door.

———————————————————————————————————————

When you returned to the gazebo after the rain had stopped– maybe an hour after you left– Ada and Leon were holding hands. Ada had clearly been crying, evident by her red, puffy face and crumpled tissue in her other hand. Leon was absolutely beaming.

When Ada’s chauffeur came to pick her up, you saw the two of them share a brief, yet passionate kiss. As you watched from inside the gazebo, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made some sort of mistake. No– Leon and Ada were both happy. That’s all that mattered to you.

Over the next couple of months, Leon and Ada’s secret meetings became a full blown affair. You watched Leon drift further away, his attention drawn to the woman who always seemed to remain just out of reach, wrapped in mystery and promises. Each party and late-night conversation left you feeling more hollow, though you tried to hide it beneath smiles and reassurances to your friends. Chris, Piers, and Mikayla could see through you. No matter how many times they would try to convince you to take a step back, you just couldn’t do it. Besides, Leon had already done that part for you.

One Tuesday afternoon while walking back from your Intro to Philosophy class, you finally ran into him. As the two of you moved to speak, his excitement was palpable. “Ada’s leaving Wesker. She told me she’s finally ready to move on.”

Your heart ached. This time not out of pure jealousy, but also concern. “Leon… are you sure?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well… I talked with Chris a while ago and he told me it's a bit more complicated than that,” you tried to explain gently, “Leon, I don’t think Ada’s going to leave Wesker. It’s not just about her.”

His smile faltered. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?” he asked, a flicker of irritation in his tone. “Ada isn’t like everyone else. She means this.”

You didn’t have it in your heart to argue with him. “Okay, okay, I trust you.”

“You’re a good friend, Y/N,” he said softly, “Thank you for always looking out for me. Um, this weekend I’m having lunch at the Wesker house. You and Chris should join, make it less awkward.”

You nodded your head, giving him a hug goodbye without saying another word.

———————————————————————————————————————

The uber ride with Chris was certainly awkward to say the least. He wasn’t happy when you told him who the guests at this lunch would be, but Chris was a good friend, so he went with you anyways. It was supposed to be a formal event. Chris was wearing a Tom Ford suit that was likely worth more than your entire wardrobe and furniture combined. You, on the other hand, were wearing a simple sundress that your mom had sowed you. It was light and airy and always managed to make you feel like a princess. You wore it almost every time your mother dragged you to church senior year. Still, you couldn’t help but notice how underdressed you looked sitting next to your best friend. You looked like a poor country girl.

Lunch was served in the backyard in the garden. Ada was already sitting out there when you arrived. She wore a red, silk Versace dress with a slit down the side. She looked as expensive as ever. When Leon arrived, he too was wearing an expensive suit. His hair was slicked back. He looked so handsome, so rich . He and Ada looked perfect together.

“Welcome to my garden,” Ada greeted you all, “Care for some wine?”

“Sure,” said Chris, his arms folded. He had a hard time hiding when he was upset.

“I’ll take a glass,” you said, fiddling with the silver ring your father had forged for you for your eighteenth birthday.

Ada got up from her seat, pouring both you and Chris a glass of expensive red wine. When she walked closer to hand it to you, you caught a whiff of her floral perfume. When Ada turned back to the table, she poured a third drink: whiskey. Without Leon having to speak a word she handed it to him.

“Some whiskey for you,” she smiled, “Just how you like it.”

You downed your cup of wine quickly, pouring yourself another. This was going to be a long lunch. By the time Wesker had arrived for the meal, you were already three glasses deep. Chris was concerned, to say the least. Leon told you to slow down, but it was clear where he was focussing the majority of his attention. When you all took a seat, you were in between Leon and Chris. Ada sat next to her fiance on the opposite side of the table.

You could practically feel the nervousness radiating off of Leon. He was gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. This was a telltale sign he was freaking out even if he otherwise appeared calm and composed. You silently placed a hand on top of his, giving it a light squeeze. Leon turned to you with a soft smile. Tea sandwiches were served. Leon and Ada were not breaking eye contact. Way to be subtle guys , you thought, rolling your eyes.

Wesker finally broke the silence, looking directly at Leon. “You look tense, Kennedy,” he said smoothly, his voice like ice. “Something on your mind?”

Leon cleared his throat, letting go of your hand. “I wanted to talk to you about Ada, Wesker.”

Chris tensed in his chair, seemingly knowing what was to come. You turned to Chris, unable to stand the sudden tension that filled the garden.

Wesker laughed, leaning back in his chair with a mocking smile. “Oh really? Tell me, Leon, what is it about my fiance that concerns you?”

Leon’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away. “Ada and I have a connection—something that goes beyond whatever arrangement you two have.”

“Oh Leon,” Wesker said, “You are so young, naive. Do you really think a little connection is enough to change her mind? Ada and I understand each other in a way you never will. In a way someone from your background never will.”

Leon let out a frustrated sigh, his face growing angrier by the minute. “She's leaving you, Wesker.”

Ada’s expression faltered, her eyes darting between Leon and Wesker’s. When she opened her mouth to speak, Wesker shot her a glare.

“Is that so,” Wesker said, “Well then, Ada. Care to share your plans?”

Ada remained silent, her gaze shifting to the table. He leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Ada… tell him. Tell him you want out.”

Leon got no answer. Instead, Wesker smirked. “Well then, I suppose Ada will be staying here with me afterall. Why don’t you take your leave, country boy?”

Without another word, he stormed off toward the driveway, his expression a mixture of hurt and anger. Ada jumped up, hesitating before following him out. You shared a look with Chris, heart pounding. Wesker watched them go, his smile returning as he took a sip from his wine, unaffected.

“We should probably go after them,” Chris whispered to you, “Think you can walk?”

“Oh please, I’m not a blackout drunk,” you said, attempting to crack a joke. Rather than sounding humorous, you sounded terrified.

You and Chris raced off from the gardens, running through the massive Wesker residence like there was no tomorrow. When you made it to the front door, you could see Leon and Ada having an argument. Leon got in his car, clearly ready to drive away. Ada opened the driver's door and effectively pulled Leon out of the car. A few moments later, it was a sobbing Ada who got into the driver's seat while a devastated, tipsy Leon sat in the passengers. When the car drove away, you could tell something was wrong. 

“She shouldn’t be driving that car,” you said, “Did you see how fast she was going?”

“We should go after them,” said Chris, “I’m going to call her, tell her to pull over.”

You started to panic. “I’ll call Leon. Wait, we don’t have a car! How are we gonna go after them?”

“Allow me,” a familiar, cold voice came from behind the two of you. Turning around you saw Wesker with the keys of a BMW in his hand. Without any other choice, you and Chris followed him to where his car was parked. Leon and Ada weren’t picking up their phones.

The drive was eerily silent. The only noise was the sound of phones ringing, desperately trying to reach Ada or Leon. It wasn’t too difficult to follow their path. Leon had made you give him your location at a party once, worried you would be too drunk to get home safe. In turn, he gave you his location and so the three of you used that to track them down.

As Wesker’s BMW sped through the winding roads, you stared out the window, hands clenched together so tightly they hurt. Chris sat beside you, his phone still ringing as he tried Ada again and again, his expression darkening with each unanswered call. Wesker remained silent, seemingly unbothered despite the wild chase for his possibly endangered fiance.

Finally, your phone buzzed. It wasn’t a text message or call from Leon, but rather an update on his location. The pin hadn’t moved for several minutes. Your heart skipped a beat.

“They stopped,” you said, your voice hardly above a whisper. Chris glanced at your screen, his eyes widening. Wesker gave you a nod before speeding up the car.

Another few sharp turns later and you arrived on a long, windy road next to a gas station. There was a sleek, dark car that had crashed up against the guardrail. You screamed. Before Wesker had even had the time to fully park the car, you had gotten out, Chris following closely behind you. 

“Oh my god,” you cried. Chris cursed under his breath. He had already pulled out his phone, dialing 911. 

Through the shattered windshield, you could see Leon. He was slumped over, unconscious with blood dripping down his face. Ada lay in the driver’s seat, her face pressed up against the airbag. Her eyes were barely opened, you could tell she was in a lot of pain.

“Leon!” you screamed, desperately grabbing the passenger door handle. You tried to pull it open but it wouldn’t budge. You pounded on the window. “Leon, please, wake up!”

“Stay back,” Wesker ordered, his voice as calm as ever. He pulled you away from the car to where Chris was standing, still on the phone with the 911 operator. Wesker took out his phone and called Ada’s father, colding relaying the details of his only daughter’s crash.

“Leon…” you said, your head starting to spin. You grabbed onto Chris’s shoulder for support, feeling a sudden weight in your legs. When your vision began to blur, you fell to the floor, completely unaware of what was happening.

“Hey–hey!” Chris shouted, his voice sounding distant, “Stay with me, Y/N!” It was already too late. His words faded, replaced by a rushing sound in your ears, and the last thing you saw was the flash of blue and red lights approaching before everything went dark.

———————————————————————————————————————

You sat in the lobby of the hospital, your hands clutched around a small, hot vanilla latte. Chris had stayed beside you the entire time, buying you some food and something sugary to drink after your fainting spell. Hours passed before you were allowed into Leon’s room. Chris went to Ada’s alongside Wesker, her family, and some other school friends. 

When you entered the infamous, popular Mr. Kennedy’s hospital room, you were the only one in there. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was a middle aged man sitting in the corner of the room. He had dark skin and wore overalls. He reminded you a lot of how your father dressed when working on the farm. His expression was stern and his arms were folded tightly across his chest. Leon laid in his bed, bruised, pale, and asleep.

You made contact with the mysterious man in the room. He stood up from his seat, walking towards you. “Hello, miss,” he said, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, um,” you stammered, “Leon is a really good friend of mine. I’m just coming here to check up on him…”

“You wouldn’t happen to be Y/N, would you?” he asked with a small smile. You nodded your head in confirmation, “My son has told me a lot about you. My name is Marvin Branagh.”

“Your…son?” you asked, confused. Leon had told you on multiple occasions that both of his parents were dead. Especially his father.

“Adopted son, yes,” Marvin smiled, “Raised him ever since he was a little boy.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, eyes darting back and forth between Leon and Marvin, “Leon told me you were, well, um–”

“Dead?” Marvin asked, still smiling, “He just loves to tell that to his new little rich friends. I haven’t a clue why. I’m very much alive and well.”

“Oh, that’s um…confusing?” you said, your eyebrows raised. Why on earth would Leon lie about that?

“I’m going to head to the cafeteria,” said Marvin, “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, a snack?”

You sighed, taking a seat next to Leon. “Maybe a fruit cup, if they have any. Thank you, Mr. Branagh.”

“Marvin is fine, and don’t mention it,” he responded, “I’m just glad my boy has at least one good friend around.”

As Marvin left the room, you fixed your gaze on Leon. You watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. He looked peaceful.

A few moments later, Leon stirred, his eyes fluttering as he woke from his nap. He squinted, disoriented, before his gaze settled on you. His expression softened, and he managed a small, weary smile.

“Hey…” he said.

“Hey yourself,” you leaned in, giving him the softest hug you could manage, “I thought you were dead. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Ok,” he said with a small laugh, placing an arm onto your back, “Um, is she…”

“Ada is fine,” you said, pulling away from him yet still staying close, “Chris, Wesker, and her parents are with her now. Marvin stepped out of the room to go get a snack.”

“Marvin?” Leon asked, turning his face to the side with shame.

“Yeah,” you said gently, brushing a piece of his hair back behind his ears, “Leon, why did you lie to me about him?”

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Because he’s a reminder of where I come from. The small-town boy with nothing special about him, raised by a guy in overalls on a farm. I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought that part of me was something I needed to leave behind.”

“For her?” you asked, “I don’t get it. Why would you pretend to be someone you’re not?”

He looked at you, an intensity in his blue eyes that caught you off guard. “I thought if I became someone different, maybe someone like Ada would see me as enough. But the harder I chased after that the further away it seemed to get.”

You bit your lip, tears beginning to prick the corner of your eyes. “Maybe that's why we shouldn’t be friends anymore.”

Shocked, Leon attempted to sit up. He winced in pain, slowly lowering himself back down after his outburst. “I don't…why would you say that?”

You summoned every ounce of courage in your body to tell him the truth. “It’s because I like you Leon. Not as a friend. And watching you blindly chase after this girl who doesn’t see you for who you are– who won’t appreciate who you really are, it just hurts. I can’t do it anymore.”

Leon was silent. He studied your face, a mix of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place on his face. Then, he slowly reached over, placing his hand over your own.

“Thank you,” he said, “Thank you for being here for me. For helping me realize that I don’t need to be ashamed of who I am. You’re a good person, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, a bittersweet feeling falling over you. “The past is who you are, Leon. You don’t have to let it define you, but running away from it is just as dangerous.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on your joined hands. “Maybe it’s time I finally learn to live with that.”

———————————————————————————————————————

“It’s beautiful,” Leon said, holding one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, “I forgot how much I missed drives like this.”

For winter break your sophomore year, your parents invited you and Leon to spend a few nights at their farm. It took a lot of begging, particularly towards your mother, for your parents to allow you to bring your boyfriend. You were nervous for them to finally meet, sure, but you knew Leon was the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents and have them love. You weren’t worried.

“Yeah, it reminds me of when I was little and my dad used to take me on night drives in his truck,” you said, “It seems like farm, but I kinda love it, you know?”

“For sure,” Leon responded, yawning after the long day of driving, “Marvin used to take me out on his tractor to my neighbors farm. Me and some other kids used to catch fireflies together.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “That’s so sweet. Oh, here you can pull up into that grass patch over there.”

Leon opened your car door, offering you a hand as you stepped onto the snowy, grassy land. “Fuck, it’s cold,” you said with a shiver, “Don’t talk that way in front of my parents, okay?”

“Noted,” he laughed, taking in his surroundings, “Damn, I’ve missed places like these.”

“Well, yeah,” you responded, “I still don’t understand how you got rich enough as a teenager that you could just move to whatever city you wanted.”

Leon winced, gripping your hand tighter as the two of you approached the front door. “Don’t mention. Seriously, do not mention it.”

You laughed, pounding on your parents door. “Ma! Pop! We're here!”

The door swung open almost immediately. Your mother was wearing one of her hand sewed dresses with a cooking apron in front. She was absolutely beaming. “Hi my loves!”

She pulled you into a warm hug immediately, rocking the two of you back and forth. She then turned her attention to Leon, pulling him into an even tighter embrace before they exchanged hellos. “You must be Leon! Oh my goodness, aren’t you a handsome one! Come in, come in, you must be freezing! Y/N, go fetch your boyfriend one of pop’s sweaters. He’s going to catch his death.”

“Okay ma,” you laughed, giving Leon a sympathetic smile as your mother dragged him into the small dining room to meet your father. “Good Lord.”

After fetching Leon a coat, you walked into the dining room to see both of your parents sitting next to him, completely enthralled with him. Your mother was smiling wider than you’ve seen her smile in a while. Even for you! Your father, on the other hand, contained his excitement a bit better, but you could still tell he was over the moon.

“You kids must be starving,” your mother said, standing up from her chair, placing her hands on Leon’s shoulders, “Let me go get the food. I made brisket and potatoes!”

“Lemme go grab some drinks,” your father said, “You like Bud Light, Leon?”

“Yessir,” your boyfriend responded, “I’m good with just about anything.”

“Attaboy. You like the sound of that, Y/N?”

“Yes, pop,” you greeted your father with a kiss on the cheek. You took a seat at the table, the one farthest from Leon, funny enough. The smell of your mother’s brisket made your mouth water. When both your parents returned, you immediately dug in. Everything was as delicious as you remembered. 

“This is fantastic,” Leon said, “I haven’t had this good of a brisket in such a long time.”

Your mother dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin. “I’m flattered. I always try to make my best brisket whenever Y/N brings someone over.”

“That little friend of yours, Piers?” your father said, “That kid nearly ate the entire damn animal.”

“That was Chris, pop,” you responded, “Piers is a vegetarian, remember?”

“I thought that was Lydia?” he said.

“Mikayla?” you corrected.

“Oh hush,” your mother interrupted, “You’re always causing drama, Todd.”

“Me?!” your father answered. And thus started a playful bicker between your parents at the dinner table. Leon was smiling the entire time, especially when one of your parents would call upon him for input.

After dinner, your parents set up a small fireplace outside to watch the stars. It didn’t take long for your mother to go inside and sleep, complaining about the cold. Your father followed shortly after, mumbling about having to get up and work tomorrow. When it was just the two of you, Leon moved to your seat, holding you in his arms. 

“The sky is so clear tonight,” he said, his blue eyes illuminated in the fire. He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips cold, “I’m so glad we’re here.”

When you were a child, you imagined wealth to be a safe full of gold higher than the peak of Mount Everest. You desperately chased after it, believing it would give you all the happiness in the world. However, now wealth meant something completely different.

Being wealthy meant having game nights with Chris. Being wealthy meant going on morning walks with Piers. Being wealthy meant going to the mall with Mikayla, even if that meant watching her shop while you snacked on a cheap pretzel. Being wealthy meant having Sunday brunch with Ada and Wekser. Being wealthy meant spending time with your aging parents.

Being wealthy meant having Leon by your side no matter what.

“Me too,” you said, “I’m so happy right now– I feel like I’m richer than you.”

With that, Leon held onto you a bit tighter. You smiled, staring up at the glittering sky. "I love you," you said.

Last night after the attack, Dimitri was rushed to the Cathedral of Mondstadt to receive treatment. You fully intended to stay by your comrades' side the entire time, but several of the Knights of Favonious quickly arrived, whisking you away for questioning. Diluc followed you to their headquarters, though his behavior was strange. Despite him being your now husband, you hadn’t known him for more than a few hours, nevertheless, you noticed how withdrawn he had become. He didn’t say a word. As you sat down in the headquarters to begin your questioning, Diluc got a strange look on his face before explaining to you he had to leave. He was in such a rush that you didn’t have enough time to ask him where he was headed. 

“I’ll be back by tomorrow night,” he said, hastily putting on his coat, “I’ll have one of the servants send for you and collect your things tomorrow morning. Goodnight.”

The beautiful, spacious halls were lit by extravagant chandeliers with dangling diamonds. Their dewdrop shape made them look as though they were raindrops falling from the sky. This was a great contrast to the hot summer air just outside the ballroom walls. The room was packed full of esteemed guests and scholars from each corner of Teyvat. Polite conversation and casual banter bounced across walls. Maids and butlers paraded around the room with drink trays in hand, offering a variety of sophisticated wine to the attendees. Elegant, joyous, opulent. Nothing less was to be expected of the reputable Ragnvindr household. 

As the waltz music began, the chatter of the room transformed into hushed whispers. Ladies were quick to pair up with gentlemen and took to the dancefloor. Meanwhile you stood towards the very back of the hall, anxiously fiddling with the glace marker on the bottom of your wine glass. The room was incredibly warm as you could feel the sweat gathered on your brow. Back in Snezhnaya, you surely would have taken to the dance floor. Twirling your beautiful puffed blue dress, you would have spun gracefully, laughing with whichever gentleman had the honor of being your dance partner. But you were not in Snezhnaya. Thousands of miles away from your home, you arrived in the city of Mondstadt just hours ago.

To say your thousand mile journey had been a disaster would be an understatement. Having recently been promoted to a high-ranking officer of the Fatui Foreign Affairs, the FFA for short, your first mission would need to be completed by yourself, well… almost by yourself. Being in the Fatui, you were no stranger to navigating difficult situations, however, working with your newfound travel companion, Dimitri Kroski, was no simple task. Agent Kroski, a pyro-agent, was sent to you as a trainee for undercover missions. You were his mentor. Unfortunately for you, it quickly became apparent Dimitri was born with five left feet, considering the fact that he was unable to be even remotely stealthy.

The past four weeks have been full of mishaps. When starting on your journey, Dimitri managed to reveal sensitive Fatui information to a group of Snezhnayan children while trying to impress them with his “heroic” deeds. You thought a brief verbal beating would correct such behavior before it truly began. It did not. Days later at a formal dinner in Fontaine, Dimitri asked an ambassador if they ever considered allying with the Fatui. The tense silence that ensued was only broken when you chimed in, pretending he had made a bad joke. Just last week in Sumeru, you were forced to drag him from a tavern because of the fact he loudly proclaimed his allegiance to the Tsartista, standing on a table, just as the Sumerian police force walked in for their evening meal. A few days ago, you had left Dimitri alone with a retired Knight of Favonious who was living in the countryside as you needed to find extra food for the cavalry. The old man was kind enough to offer you his guest for the night. That was until you left when Dimitri immediately revealed his position as a Fatui agent. You were thankful to have arrived in time to, once again, drag Dimitri from the scene, barely evading the assortment of vegetables being thrown at the two of you. When you finally arrived in Mond, you thought his antics would finally be put to an end. Of course until the two of you were nearly arrested when Dimitri tried to “borrow” a local merchant’s vision, believing it to be a useful tool for your mission.

Thinking about it all now, you let out a tired sigh. 

As if the Gods have a sole wish to mock you, Dimitri appeared by your side. Clearly intoxicated, the drunken man swayed back and forth. The red liquid in his cup threatened to spill over the delicate edge with each step he took. Dimitri was a relatively handsome, albeit plain looking man. With matching dark brown hair and eyes, he was easy to blend in with a crowd in just about every nation you had visited. If only he acted as unsuspicious as his looks. He was taller than you, but barely. His head hung down as though he was too drunk to hold it up properly, making it so that he was eye level with you.

“Y/N!” he called out much louder than he needed to, “Why are you standing back here?”

You choked back a laugh at the sound of his slurred speech; “Because, Mr. Kroski, I am simply scouting out the groups of people before I approach them.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically.

“What? Do you not think that’s a good idea?” you grew slightly annoyed.

Shouting once more he said, “Noooo– we should dance!” 

To add emphasis to his point, he threw his arms dramatically above his head, waving them up and down. Of course, he failed to place the full glass of wine in his hand on the small standing table next to the both of you, causing a sea of red to fall onto your blue dress. 

“Dimitri!” You reprimanded him, “How could you be so–”

You had to cut yourself off. People had begun to stare, something you were quite used to in Dimitri’s company. However, an opportunity to mingle with Mond’s most powerful at an event hosted by a noble house was far too valuable to be ruined by a stained dress.

“Excuse me for a second please, Dimitri,” you said. 

“I’m so so so sooo sorry, Y/N” he began, although you didn’t stay around to listen.

You headed towards the front door to the ballroom. Down the hall was the ladies room and you hoped to find something to at least help dry your dress. As you made your way through the crowded room, you heard the loud ring of a metal utensil hitting glass. The guests immediately ceased their chatter, and you too stopped right in your tracks.

At the front of the hall on an elevated platform stood none other than the host himself: Diluc Ragnvindr. His hair was a fiery red– the color of Dimitri’s pyro vision. He stood with a glass of wine in one hand and a butter knife in the other. Once he had gathered the crowd's attention and the music had stopped, he placed the two items on a nearby table before adjusting the sleeve of his lavish black coat. His gloves were as red as his hair. As red as the pyro vision he wore around his next. Well this will be interesting.

When you were back from the bathroom you had to talk to him. Just as you continued your walk to the front door, he began to speak.

“Distinguished guests and friends from near and far, I would like to take a moment to warmly welcome you all to my home. It is my great pleasure to celebrate the anniversary of my father opening this very ballroom twelve years ago,” He took a moment to survey the guests in the room, catching your eyes for a brief moment, “I hope we are all able to enjoy this wonderful occasion together.” 

He once again picked up the glass of wine he had set to the side; “To my father, Gods rest his soul, and to the dedicated workers who made the construction of this very room possible.” 

The crowd followed suit, raising their glasses and repeating his words. As the conversations amongst guests began to rekindle, you took the opportunity to finally sneak away from the hall with as little disturbance as possible. The hall itself was dark. The floor was covered in a dark red velvet fabric with gold accents decorating the wooden walls. If it weren’t for the light of your own vision, you were certain you would trip and fall. The ladies room itself was no better. Just as luxurious and dimly lit as the rest of the household.

You grabbed a red rag from the basket on the rim of the sink. You damped it under the stream of water before aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your skirt. After several minutes you settled for a large damp spot rather than a red spot. As you walked out the door of the bathroom, you immediately collided with a stranger.

“Pardon me!” you said, bowing your head.

“My apologies,” a deep voice replied, “I was not watching where I was going.”

“No apologies necessary,” you looked up to meet the stranger’s eyes, “Oh!”

You couldn’t help yourself from verbalizing your surprise. You had run face first into none other than Diluc Ragnivindr. So much for first impressions. Diluc let out an awkward chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My name is Y/N Volkova, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ragnivindr,” you held out your hand for him to shake.

Returning the gesture, Diluc smiled at you briefly; “The pleasure is all mine,” he placed a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat, “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? I’m certain I haven’t seen your face around here before.”

“I’m from Snezhnaya, if my last name didn’t make it too obvious,” you laughed.

“I see, I suppose that does make sense,” he said with a smile, “It’s not everyday I meet someone from Snezhnaya within the walls of my own house. What brings you to Mond?”

Be reasonable, but vague. “My comrade and I were sent on a mission by the Adventurers Guild. It brought us first through Fontaine and now we’re here.”

Diluc’s face suddenly morphed from polite curiosity to utter disgust. What could have possibly offended him. Before you could return his disrespectful attitude, you noticed he was making a face at the window behind you. You turned around and almost immediately wished you had never come. Pressed again the large glass window was none other than Dimitri’s face. His stupid face. More worryingly, however, was what exactly was pressing him against the glass. An electro abyss herald. 

“Y/N!” Your comrade’s screams were muffled by the glass. Though you could still hear the sickening laughter of the abyss herald loud and clear. Without another moment's notice, you sprung into action, dagger in hand.

Pressing the sharp end of your blade into the expensive, shiny window, the glass broke in seconds. You heard Diluc yell your name, but you had no time to turn around. You leaped through the now broken window and landed on the plush grass outside. Electro spark flew through the air as you chased the abyss herald through the field of grapes. Ever so often you would land a blow with the help of your cryo vision which you had kept hidden under the skirt of your dress. The same skirt that was now torn by the stems of the grape bushes. 

Finally, the abyss herald stopped its relentless escape when it neared the small lake at the edge of the winery. Your heart sank as you noticed the swarm of cryo slimes resting in the lake’s center. They seemed to notice you as well, as they began hopping towards you and your captive comrade. Once they were close enough for you to attack, you lunged at the cryo creatures, striking the largest with your dagger. The abyss herald took the opportunity to land an attack on you, though the misfire caused an elemental reaction. Cryo, electro, and pyro. The overload killed all five slimes at once, leaving you and the abyss herald staring at each other, confused. Where in Teyvat did the pyro come from?

The abyss herald cranked its next towards Dimitri, suspiciously looking him up and down. There was no way it had been your comrade who had landed the blow, judging by the fact he was knocked unconscious. You took the moment to land another attack on the abyss herald. Suddenly, the unmistakable feeling of fire brushed against your back. A ball of flames in the shape of a phoenix whisked past you, colliding head on with the monster. Dimitri was dropped to the floor. In retaliation, the creature activated its infamous, impenetrable shield. Great.

You had little time to concern yourself with the abyss herald, as you frantically began searching around for the mysterious pyro user. Just then a newly familiar head of red hair appeared before you. 

“Y/N,” he called your attention to the additional sword in his hand, “Use this!”

Diluc threw the weapon towards your feet, wasting no more time as he ran at the monster with his claymore sword. Picking up the weapon, you immediately noticed how expensive it was judging by the gold and diamonds inlaid on the grip. You quickly followed after your unexpected ally, attacking the shield from the left as Diluc did so with the right. The abyss herald, realizing he was now severely outnumbered, released a particularly gruesome attack that sent the both of you flying backwards. Diluc landed on his face. If he were Dimitri, you would have laughed at his less-than-graceful landing, but instead you felt panicked, concerned for his safety.

“Diluc? Are you alright?” you said, rushing to his side to offer him a hand up.

The young master accepted your hand, quickly regaining his step. The two of you sprung at the monster once more, the crack in his shield grew deeper.

“I must ask you a question!” Diluc yelled, “Do you like children?”

The abyss herald, whose face had been wrinkled with anger, stumbled back in surprise. Does the abyss herald like children? What a strange question.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his attempt to distract the creature, taking the opportunity to land yet another blow on its shield. Diluc readied himself for another attack.

“Y/N, please answer my question,” he said, lunging towards the monster, “Do you like children?”

“Excuse me?” you replied, preoccupied with trying to shatter the enemies defense, “Is that question truly necessary?”

Diluc ran away from the monster and right to your side; “On three!”

You understood him right away, reading your cryo burst. The two of you unleashed your most powerful attacks. Your swarm of sharp icicles, accompanied by Diluc’s phoenix, seemed to be the final push needed to finish off the abyss herald. The creature crumbled before you, dropping to its knees. Just as you went to land the final blow, Diluc grabbed your arm.

“Wait a second,” he says before readjusting his posture, “Y/N, please excuse my brashness, but would you please do me a favor and answer my question? Children, do you like children? Would you wish someday to have a child of your own?”

Wanting only to finish the battle and save your comrade, you gave him a reply; “You know what? I would like a child of my own someday, if it pleases you.”

The last part of your sentence was clearly sarcastic. Diluc seemed not to notice. Instead of grasping at your arm, he placed his hand over your own, using his other to remove the sword he had given you.

“Alright, well there's no way for me to put this gently…” you turned your head to the side, suddenly expecting him to attack.

“Diluc–” you said.

“Marry me?” he interrupted.

“Excuse me?!” you reply, completely shocked by his words. Marriage had been something you hadn’t considered for a long time. Not since you joined the Fatui. Much to the disappointment of my mother and father.

“Judging by the lack of a ring on your finger, I assume you are unmarried. An unmarried woman part of the Adventurers Guild from Snezhnaya with a high enough social status to attend one of my gatherings and a particularly powerful combat ability. I have a child who is without a mother…and…marry me. You should marry me.”

Although he seemed sure of himself, his delivery was awkward. You almost laughed at his proposition, but the look in his eyes told you he was dead serious.

“Are you serious?” You had to be sure.

“Yes, yes I am.”

You took a moment to consider his outlandish proposal. Diluc Ragnivindr was one of Mond’s most elite. A former Knight of Favonius and an infamously powerful man with many secrets. Having him as a husband may be just what you need to help with your mission. You could use this to your advantage.

“Alright,” you said, “I’ll marry you!”

“Truly?” Diluc said, his voice a mix of shock and relief, “Excellent.”

He then pulled the two of you into a crouched position, taking the sword from your arms. He then lights the expensive metal on fire, throwing it straight into the neck of the monster. 

“Until death do us part,” he says with a smile, pressing a shiny ruby pendant he had torn off from his neck, placing it into your hand. A large explosion directly behind the two of you goes off not a moment later. The abyss herald was finally dead.

No. You smile back at him. He helped lift you back onto your feet. Until my work do us part.

“I’ll help carry your friend back to the winery,” he said, “I’ll send for a medic at once.”

“Sorry about your sword,” you said as he lifted your comrade over his back, “It was so beautiful.”

“No worries,” he laughed, “I have plenty more just like it back at home.”

The two of you began your walk, side by side, back to the winery. Your new home.

Unfortunately for Diluc, your home would always be Snezhnaya. Land of the Tsaritsa. Your loyalty was first and foremost hers. Always. And with Diluc on your side, you were certain you would complete your mission…

“The prince battled Odysseus for the armor of Achilles,” the doctor said, “When he had lost the battle, the young prince became mad with obsession– completely insane. It wasn’t until he finally found clarity did he realize the way he had disgraced himself, you, and his family. It was said yesterday night they found the prince after he had thrown himself on his own spear; right on the beach with the blood still fresh.”

The world around you ceased to spin. You felt as though your feet were glued in place. At that moment, nothing had felt real. You had known Ajax for almost twenty years and had been his lover for over half the time. You knew him. You knew he could never do such a thing. He would never lose his mind and disgrace himself severely over some silly armor. 

“No,” you said, “I’m sorry, but this can’t be true.”

“Oh Y/n,” the queen said, eyes filled with tears as she approached you, “I’m so sorry, dearest,”

Queen Hesione then wrapped you in a hug, tears dampening your robe. You stood stiff, your expression completely blank. 

The gods had completely turned their back on you that night. After discovering the curse of your father, your true parentage, and the death of your husband you were certain the night could not get any worse. It wasn’t until a young doctor came running down the hall to the door of your chambers where most of the royal family and staff were gathered did you realize something was severely wrong.

At the bedside of King Telamon you watched in complete shock as you saw his wife, your mother in law, cradling his limp body in her arms while screaming bloody murder. Princess Tonia had passed out at this point, so the handmaidens brought her to a nearby couch and began fanning her face. 

“Don’t just stand there!” cried the doctor to his staff, “Fetch the medication, prepare to attempt revival!”

The night was chaotic. Doctors, handmaidens, and guards were sent running around the palace. This commotion had woken your children who then overhead of their fathers deaths through panicked and confused servants’ screams. Queen Hesione continued her screams even when the guards were forced to detain her off to the side of the room. Each time Tonia regained consciousness she only passed out once more. And so you stood, stiff as a board at the side of the late king’s bed, having not moved an inch. 

“Mother!” Alex cried as he ran into the room.

“Mother, what's happening?” Simon said, running alongside his brother. The two boys stopped at either one of your sides. You placed an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them in closer as you watched the frantic doctors' futile attempt to revive the dead king. 

“Is it true?” Alex asked again, crying in grief, “Are they both dead?” 

You said nothing to the boys, instead pulling them in closer to your bodies. Your boys, your poor, sweet boys, would now be forever without a father and grandfather. They would never know Ajax’s eyes, his mischievous smile, or his soft hair. 

“Take the women out of the room!” a doctor yelled, “Prepare to make the incision into the chest!”

Queen Hesione began to scream louder; “No!” she cried, “What are you doing to him! Why is he bleeding from the mouth! What have you done!” 

The guards then escorted the hysterical queen out of the room. Followed by several servants lifting the passed out Tonia after her. Followed by a guard placing his hand on your back and guiding the three of you out the door. 

They brought you all to the queen’s chambers but separated you from your sons, promising to guide them back to their bedrooms. The shock of the evening had yet to wear off, but you once more watched in surprise as the guards locked the door from the outside.

The queen pounded on the door, still in hysterics, demanding the three of you be let out. She stood there for hours banging and pleading. Only then did you come up from behind her, dragging her away slightly. You expected her to fight back, but the poor woman was overwhelmed with grief, so she instead braced your touch. You had yet to cry, scream, or yell. You felt numb– completely incapable of expressing any other emotion beside neutrality. At this point you were on your knees, cradling the queen in your arms.

You began thinking. What had once been impartial feelings of denial began to change, transform, into much uglier, nastier feelings. You became consumed with a strong sense of anger. Anger at Ajax for his reckless actions.

How could he have possibly been so careless as to fight in a battle of a dead man’s armor. He had strong, durable armor of his own. Was that not enough for him? You wondered how losing in such a battle could have made him so erratic to the point he had been driven insane. Was he that desperate for a piece or medal? Or was it something more? Perhaps it was his final straw. He had been gone for a decade, not having seen his loved ones in many years. He was desperate to meet his children. When the boys had turned five years old he told you he had almost sent a letter to his father, beginning to go home, it was only when he realized that was the way of the coward to back down. Prideful he was, dead he is. You had to wonder if this superficial quality of honor and duty was worth the mental hardship he had truly endured over the decade. 

It was only then when you imagined him, full of pain and deep sadness, wanting nothing more than to return home to your arms and back to his family, did the tears finally begin to flow. 

–––––––––

The guards had locked the three of you in the queen’s chamber for thirteen days. 

The only visitor allowed was that of your eldest son, Alexandros, the king of Salamis. You could tell he was scared, confused, and experiencing heavy grief at the loss of his father and grandfather. He remained strong and assured you that confining you to the chamber was by the order of the doctors, not him. The dowager queen yelled at him for this, calling him foolish and distrustful. The boy began to cry, assuring her that the doctor had your best interest in mind. He was only ten, you reminded the queen, ten and king of an entire kingdom– he is truly doing his best to rule during this time of great sadness, it was not his fault he had placed his trust in a man with sinister interest.

It took only a few more visits for the boy to command your release. The dowager queen was beside herself with pain, mumbling about how cruel the gods were to take not only one son but two as well as her husband all in a year. Tonia weeped constantly but, by the command of her husband, was forced to return to Sparta until the funeral would begin. Then there was you. Mother of the king, late wife of the crowned prince, and so you did the only possible thing you could imagine. You went to the temple of the gods and began to pray. You prayed to your father, the late priest, for guidance. You also prayed for your husband to have a smooth passage into the afterlife. He was a warrior, you thought, surely his great sacrifices would be honored. You developed bruises on your legs from the amount of time you sat praying. 

The rest of your spare time was spent by your sons’ side. You counseled Alex on his leadership and decision making; you read academic passages and scrolls with Simon, making sure his reading ability stayed fulfilled.

Despite your tears and deep sadness, you held yourself together to the best of your abilities. That was until the funeral. 

Something about watching Ajax’s bloody body, covered in a white sheet, being lowered into the ground caused you to snap. You began weeping, wailing even, and you needed to be held up by two members of the royal counsel to even stand up straight.

You went mad with grief. Locking yourself in your chambers, you refused visits from anyone but Dowager Queen Hesione and your two sons. Yet even when they visited with gifts and kind words to lift your spirits, all you could do was cry. Each day you would pace around your room, rereading the hundreds of letters from your late husband spanning back to your days as a teenager. This continued for weeks until one day when you had enough, tore up every single letter he wrote you during his time away at war, and threw them from your window. 

When you told Hesione what you had done she cradled you in a hug, begging you not to destroy any more of his belongings or yourself. She thought it best to get you out of your chambers, going on walks with her. But each time you would pass by a statue of Hebe or emblem of a god you would begin to weep all over again. 

During your time locked up in your quarters, you had shredded many of your royal dresses, opting to wear the same outfits as the servants, and developed a deep aversion for the ocean. Each time a person would walk in smelling of salt you would have a fit of sadness. 

The queen, Alex, and Simon continued their best to not only process their own grief, but also help you with yours. In a final attempt, Simon wrote to his aunt, Rosaria, begging for help. It was then where you found yourself in a small carriage, being ushered off to the Temple of Athena.

–––––––––

“Y/n?” Rosaria said, helping you out of the carriage, “Do you need to sit down?” 

You understood why she asked such a question despite the fact you were standing just fine. You had lost several pounds, due to the fact you hardly ever ate, and your eyes appeared sunken and dazed, because of all the tears you shed. The grief you thought you could once control had completely spiraled, driving you mad. You did not eat, sleep, or bathe. In fact, the very first thing Rosaria did upon your arrival was throw you in a cold tub of water.

She stayed by your side as you cried to her, complained, and cried some more. Rosaria spoke little to you, instead dedicating her entire presence as a sort of counselor. You appreciated her few words of wisdom, tales from the gods of tragedy and losses of love. It reminded you of your father. Oh how you wished he could be at your side. 

Each morning at the temple you would take walks with one of the priestesses. They were short, low commitment exercises that the doctor had prescribed to you to ‘better your condition.’ You had no desire to go towards the beach, so you instead walked amongst the gardens and trees. The priestesses would tell you stories about the heroes and gods who had walked this very same path to the temple while you in turn would tell tales of the kings and warriors of Salamis. 

A particular priestess who you took a great liking to, besides Rosaria, was an elderly woman by the name of Xanthia. Because her name reminded you of the headmistress who had grown up despising you or at the very least mistreated you, you did not trust Xanthia. However, these cruel assumptions were quickly shattered when you took your very first walk with her. She shared a story about her little sister, how her late husband was a great warrior built in battle, and how the girl was visited by the goddess Persephone one late night in the spring. She said this following was forever lasting, just like the memories she shared with her dead husband. 

Xanthia had a maternal quality about her, a certain warmth not many of the priestesses possessed. This intrigued you, as Xanthia had never married nor mothered any children. Walking with linked arms reminded you of the Dowager Queen Hesione, who you missed dearly. 

“Y/n?” Xanthia said with a frail voice, “Why don’t you tell me a story.”

“Oh course,” you replied, “About what?”

“I would like to hear,” she paused for a moment, “A story about your mother.”

“Ah,” you said, “I never really knew my mother… I was born a bastard and was raised entirely by my father.”

“If your mother showed up in front of you now, not at all dead” she said, “would you show her any ill will? Or would you place value on xenia and tradition over personal grievances?”

You thought for a moment.

“Well, I must confess,” you began, “If she showed up in front of me many years ago, I would have slammed the door in her face.”

Xanthia looked disappointed in your answer, but allowed you to continue with your words; “But…well, now I am a mother too. I understand there are certain sacrifices we must make. Sacrifices our children may never truly understand, but if they are to protect them, then who are we to judge and show ill will? It doesn’t excuse the way she made me feel, but it does bring me peace.”

“The gods will reward you for your graciousness,” Xanthia said, “Just you wait.”

The two of you continued on a path down to where a stream raced over a path of sharp rocks. Typically this is where the priestess would turn the two of you around, but Xanthia continued marching you forward. Her grip was strong despite her old age.

“Princess?” she asked, “Do you know how to skip rocks?”

You laughed, immediately being transported to a memory of when you and Ajax were 14. It was a bright summer day, and he had managed to sneak out of class, literally, through a window. His teacher was so exhausted he hadn’t even noticed the boy had left. It was there where he attempted to teach you how to skip rocks. You were terrible. For every distance Ajax’s rock would travel, you traveled a quarter of the way. The two of you spent hours pelting rocks into the sea, and by the end of it you were no better from where you had started.

“Oh– no,” you said, still giggling, “My husband tried to teach me once when we were very young, but I was no good.”

“You said you were a cupbearer, were you not?” Xanthia replied with another question, “I’m sure you have good hand-eye coordination. Come. Let us practice skipping rocks.”

You agreed, not wanting to turn down such an offer. It had been many years since you had last tried, maybe you would yield some better results. As you watched the elderly woman fetch you a rock, you began to ponder a peculiarity from earlier in your conversation: how was it she knew your mother was ‘dead’?

–––––––––

“I remember now!” you laughed, “He hit you right on the center of your face. There was so much blood, I thought father was going to pass out then and there!”

“It was ridiculous,” Rosaria clarified, patting Simon’s head, “He had no right to laugh at me– you don’t either, Y/n. Or should I remind you of the chum incident?”

“Oh please, that was with a prince! You got your ass kicked by a serving boy. What was his name again? Theon?”

“Theon,” she confirmed, “How could I forget.”

Today was one of the many days in which Simon was able to visit you and the fellow priestesses. Alex, your elder son, was often not able to accompany you due to his many duties as king. He was heartbroken over this, Simon assured you, and would write to you often demanding to know when your treatments were over and you could finally return home.

It had only been several weeks since you had left, but your children, mother-in-law, and handmaidens were said to have been itching for your return. You tried not to focus on such matters whenever Simon would visit. You instead tried to keep things light hearted by sharing stories, just as the priestesses had done for you. You were getting better. Some days you woke up incapable of getting off your bed, but others, most days, you found the motivation to pull yourself up and live through the day to the fullest of your abilities. 

All was going well. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. That someone or something was around the corner, reading again to tear down the walls you had built up for yourself. 

“Well,” Rosaria said, “It’s time for me to relight the candles and bless the halls. Simon, stay with your mother and read her some more stories. I’ll be back as soon as I can to fetch you for dinner.”

“Yes Aunt Rosaria,” Simon replied, shifting in his seat to locate his textbook.

“Have fun!” you said, exaggerating your wave as Rosaria was walking towards the exit door of your chambers.

“Y/n, before I forget,” she said, turning around to face you once more, “Sister Xanthia would like to meet with you after the sun goes down.”

“Interesting, do you know why?” you question as Simon snuggled up next to you, ready to start reading.

“No,” Rosaria said, “But she does want to meet you at the beach. I think it's part of your prescribed treatment. Let me know if you want me to be there.”

The beach? You froze. You took a deep breath, regained your composure, and nodded. You and Rosaria would meet Xanthia at the beach. 

“Try not to have too much fun while I’m gone,” Rosaria said, shutting the door.

You placed your head on your son’s shoulder, and so the two of you spent the rest of your afternoon reading tales of great heroes and their triumphs. 

–––––––––

“It’s getting late,” Rosaria said, annoyed, “I don’t understand what could possibly be taking her so long.”

“Maybe she fell?” you replied, worried, “What if she lost her balance on the walk and is stuck waiting for our help?”

The two of you remained in the same spot for several minutes before deciding it was best to head back to the trail. Afterall, if Xanthia had truly fallen or gotten lost, it was best to find her as soon as possible and bring her back to the temple.

You and Rosaria walked in silence while holding hands. You were not nearly as mad with sadness as you thought you would be, returning to the beach for the first time in many weeks, especially at night. It was calm. Oddly calm, as if the beach had been blessed by the lord of the sea himself. The two of you had only made it for several steps when you both stopped in your tracks. 

A feeling, unlike any you had before, began to consume your chest. You looked at Rosaria and realized very quickly from the way her eyes widened that she too was feeling it. It was a mixture of anxiety, the feeling of being watched by something far greater than yourself, and happiness. It was then when you noticed a faint glow from behind you. The two of you whipped your heads around in unison, breaking your hands apart in the process.

Behind you stood a sight out of an epic. Xanthia, or whoever it truly was, stood behind you. Though she was not the woman you had grown to love. She was younger, far younger, and significantly taller. She had long, brown hair that curled like a princess. Her beauty was breathtaking, but the sight of her strong arms disrupted the image. Despite this, her aura in which she stepped confidently was unbreakable. She was no mortal.

“Xanthia…?” Rosaria was first to ask after a few moments of silence.

The unknown woman’s face changed from a neutral expression to one with joy; “Yes, you could call me that.”

She began to walk towards the two of you. The closer she got, the more you and Rosaria understood that it was you who she was approaching. You who she had looked eyes with. 

“Or,” she said, grabbing both of your hands into hers; they were soft and had a welcoming warmth, “You could call me my true name: Hebe.”

“Mother?!” you blurted out, stumbling backwards in your place.

“What.” Rosaria said, exasperated.

“Hello my child,” she said, removing one of your hands to stroke your hair as mothers often did, “How you have grown since I’ve last seen you in my true form.”

“I–I,” you stumbled, “What are you doing here?”

“To wish my dear daughter a happy birthday, of course,” she said, smiling with a warmth and beauty you had never seen before, “I also wish to speak of something important.”

You held your breath; “I have learned from a recent… discovery of yours that you have finally learned the truth of your father’s conditions. Or perhaps, your family's condition. I’m sure your knowledge is not vast, but it is true that my own father is responsible for a certain… curse that haunted my late lover.”

“Yes..yes because of his,” you paused, “His hubris, yes?”

“Well, sure,” the goddess responded, “But again, that is not the truth entirely. I’m sure he had not gone into great detail, but his own father lost his wife at a young age. His father’s father did as well, and so for many generations this was true. It was a great curse from the goddess Aphrodite, who was angered by an ancient ancestry of your family for being more beautiful as she and so she cursed her. She made it so a husband who she truly loved would die young and in pain. The goddess made it so any of her descendants would suffer the same fate. It was I who tried to lift this curse from my husband, but it only ended up making it worse as he sacrifices his virtues for love.”

“Mother,” you said, tears forming in your eyes, “Why do you tell me this?”

“Because,” her face grew stern, sad almost, “I wish to offer you a proposal.”

Your eyebrows bent in suspicion and anticipation.

“I recently had one of my other, godly children, wed a child of Aphrodite’s,” she began, “And so I sat down with that insufferable woman and negotiated a deal. A deal for your children, my grandsons. An agreement that would end the curse that has loomed over your family for generations. Your children would not have to live a life of misery as their lovers, children, or themselves are stolen away too soon; they would live long, happy, fulfilling lives. But the cost…is one very grim.”

“Tell me mother,” you said, squeezing your hands around hers in desperation, “How can I protect them?”

“A soul for a soul,” she told you, sadness consuming her being, “Well, a soul for two souls is more accurate.”

“I don’t understand?” you whispered, “Are you saying I need to…”

“Yes,” she responded without needing to hear the rest of your sentence, “The greatest sacrifice. You said to me, Y/n, that you believed mothers were capable of making sacrifices beyond their child’s ability to comprehend. You have always had great respect and love for your father, you threw away everything he ever knew and loved so that he could raise you.”

You pinched your eyes shut, debating what was the best choice for you to make. But then, you imagined a moment from several months ago when the boys chased their little cousin around. The looks of pure childhood innocent and fun in their eyes made your choice as clear as day. 

“My children will not be alone,” you said, defying the very nature of grief, “They will grow stronger, and I will be united with my love once more.”

“So you will do it?” the goddess asked, “Oh Y/n, I knew it would be you. It always was going to be.”

“Um,” Rosaria said, “What on earth is happening.”

Instead of responding to her shock, you let go of your mothers hands and instead wrapped Rosaria in a hug. 

“Rosaria,” you said, tears freely streaming down your face “My first friend, my ally, my sister. Please, promise me you’ll take care of them.”

Several moments later, without saying a word, Rosaria returned your hug. A silent sign of support.

And so your mother took your hand and the two of you walked deep into the water, never to return again. As the waves reached higher on your body, you looked towards where you mother stood. But there in her place was another figure, Ajax, grasping your hand and leading you through the ocean. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

–––––––––

The king stood on the great rocks, peering over the hill of Salamis into the great big ocean. His ginger hair, which fell down to his chin, moved as freely as it could under the weight of his golden crown. Every morning after breakfast at the very same time on the very same rocks he would look out into the very great sea. Sometimes he was joined by his brother, on occasions his grandmother, on holiday’s his priestess aunt, and oftentimes his wife. 

The king was known throughout the land as being good. He was fair and ruled with jurisdiction. He was pious and had great respect for the gods. Each day he dressed in clothes of mourning, honoring his late parents who died when he was just a boy. Alexandros had been king of Salamis for eighteen years, a husband for twelve, and a father for ten.

The king loved his subjects, his family, and his role as their protectors. He had a rough childhood. No father, a tense situation at court, and growing up in the midst of one of the greatest wars Greece had ever seen. Still, he was deeply loved by those around him and was never seen as corrupt or unjust. However, one thing from his childhood that never ceased to shake him up was the death of his mother, the Princess Y/n.

The king’s brother, Prince Simonides, became the scribe of history. He too was loved by the people, but for very different reasons than the kind. He was seen as just, a historian who took into account several perspectives, and far less consumed by the grief of losing his mother. He worked alongside his aunt, Princess Tonia of Sparta, and his ward, the Princess Eudora. Despite their great distance in location, the two brothers remained extremely close and would visit often. 

The king not only honored his deceased mother in his daily actions, he also remembered the father he never knew. Ajax the Great was sure to be remembered by all as a strong warrior whose skill was only less to Achilles. Statues, caves, and even a festival was created, by command of the king, to honor his name.

The king would spend the rest of his life mourning his parents. Still, he shared great moments of joy and fulfillment. He also found comfort in the fact that his parents were reunited in the afterlife, their love now eternal. From the love of his wife, brother, Aunt Rosaria, the Dowager Queen Hesione, and his children he understood why his mother did what she did. She chose love, and so he would too.

“Father?” the voice of his oldest child, a girl, called out to him, “Won’t you come inside? Mother is requesting your presence. Uncle and your Spartan Aunt have arrived.”

The sun was harsh as it shone over the sea, reflecting its intense rays off the clear ocean blue back into the sky. Despite the beautiful, sunny weather that often brought good fortune, the day was nothing but solem and the air was tense. A fleet of a dozen ships would be setting sail for Troy, and on one of those was your newlywed husband, Ajax.

It had only been several weeks since the two of you married, yet it felt like lifetimes ago. The very next morning following your wedding, you woke up in a room full of people you dreaded to see. The headmistress, the master guard, the King of Salamis, and the horse-stable man. Angrily, three of them demanded to know if it was true. If you had truly wedded the future king in the later hours of the evening without proper supervision or consent of the father. You practically had a heart attack after being bombarded by their questions, especially when they began to bring up matters of consummation and which chamber you slept in that night. It wasn’t until his siblings, the rest of the royal counsel, and Ajax himself arrived that you no longer felt you were the target of the attack.

After hours of debate, screaming, and scheming, the royal counsel came to the conclusion that, although they did not wish for it, the marriage was legal and therefore binding. This meant that the two of you were married officially, your betrothals ceased, and you were now a princess. But you were certainly not treated as such, especially after you guaranteed you would never have the favor of the king who was beyond mad his matchmaking skills with the Princess Arete had gone to waste. 

But it didn't matter, as today was not about you. It was about your Ajax. He was to get on a boat for an indeterminate amount of time with the slight chance he would never return. The night before his departure you spent weeping into the pillows of your shared room. You no longer had shame expressing your tears, and you instead sought the comfort of those around you, including your husband, as a means of coping with your grief. 

Despite all prayers and wishes, you stood in front of your husband, looking directly into his bright blue eyes. You couldn't help but wonder how things could have turned out to be this way. The twelve year old boy you once knew, who you used to play toys with, and watch his sports, had grown right in front of your eyes. His face had matured and his hair color had deepend. You tried to imagine the two versions of himself standing next to each other, how similar their smirks would be, how different their height. What that twelve year old boy would be feeling about all this, you do not know. Now matter how much reflection you could do did not change current circumstances. Ajax was leaving you, just after you finally, truly had him, and he would not be back for many more moons.

“Ajax,” you said, taking an additional step forward. He met you halfway in a bone crushing hug. Summers on Salamis could be sticky and unbearably hot at times, but you didn't mind how your skin stuck together slightly due to the line layer of sweat.

“Y/n,” he similarly addressed, “be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

You laughed into his shoulder before pulling yourself away to meet his lips; “Only if you promise you’ll be good as well.”

You were only half joking.

You heard a much deeper voice clear his throat from behind; “Son,” the voice said.

King Telamon was standing directly behind you, towering over both you and your husband. You decided it was best to move out of their way, opting to stand a comfortable distance at the side of Ajax. You watched as the two men embraced, and although Ajax was eighteen you couldn’t help but identify parts of his twelve year old self as he attempted to squirm and squeeze his way out of his fathers hug. You felt a pang of sadness in your heart as you watched the scene knowing you no longer had the opportunity to embrace your own father.

The Queen Hesione was nowhere in sight. Ever since the marriage of her eldest son to the bastard daughter of a beggar, tensions were ever high in the royal court. Hesione took a particular dislike to you out of all the women present. It was unsettling to you that you preferred the company of Headmistress Xanthe over the queen. She was cold, judgemental, and outright rude towards you despite the fact you had only formally spoken a few times. She did not like you, and you were fine with that. Afterall, she owed you nothing and you did not behave in a way to indicate that she did. But what you did find rather obnoxious was her refusal to send off her own son to war due to her grievances with you. 

Despite this bit of drama, the rest of Ajax’s family and court were present. The Princess Tonia, Prince Anton, and Prince Teucer all had to blink back the tears in their eyes as they hugged their brother goodbye. You did not know his siblings well, but you were still formal enough as to have no public grievances. Watching the siblings interact in a way so caring, so loving filled your heart with joy. It reminded you of your childhood with Rosaria. You loved having a pseudo sibling, you loved the fact Ajax had a sibling, and you knew you wanted any future children of yours to have siblings as well. 

It wasn’t much longer before Ajax had to say his goodbyes. With one last kiss, he turned toward you to say, “Good luck, girlie!” before heading off. No ‘I love you’ or ‘I'll miss you’ just a childish, silly phrase he would say. That was your Ajax. 

With that, he was gone. You watched as the ships slowly disappeared over the horizon. Standing alongside the rest of his family and court, you became increasingly aware of a looming threat above you. Ajax served as the protector, the buffer between you and his enraged council. Without him, you were vulnerable, your only truly allies being Dimitri and the headmistress, if she was having a good day. You attempted to push away these thoughts in your head, and instead focused on watching attentively as you watched your husband disappear right before your eyes over the great ocean.

–––––––––

My dearest, Y/n

It's hard to believe over two years have passed since the day I left you on that dock. The war moves slowly, much like many of the old warriors who serve Menelaus. The days are long, and the nights seem to only grow faster. I urge Menelaus to push forward against their defenses. Afterall, we have many strong, capable men (like me) who are up for the task. Still, he assures me that his plan of working slowly against each of Hector and Paris’s wave of armies remains the best strategy available. I spend my nights drinking with Agamemnon, mornings reviewing strategies with Odysseus, and afternoons discussing more simple ideas with Achilles and his dear friend Patroclus.

Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my buddies! But two years of talking with only men has grown rather… repetitive. I long to hear your voice again. Some nights I find myself saying up whispering your name, to see if it still sounds the same to me, you know?

I hope things are going smoothly in court. It hurts me to know you're still dealing with these… problems with my family. Just know, you have someone on your side all the way across the sea. I’m sure you will rise above this seemingly never ending challenge, you always do! Keep me updated with this whole Dimitri–Linos affair. It’s the only good gossip I can get around here. 

I know I always write the same thing, but I think about you everyday. I think about your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way your scent always reminds me of the beach. Reminds me of home. Getting to fight in a war is great in all, but I do find myself missing you and the family more and more as the days pass.  

Take care of yourself, and tell the boys I say hi.

All my love,

Ajax

You sigh as you look up from reading your letter. The chambers of your room have a great window that looks out onto the sea. Ever since you had moved in almost three years ago you had been infatuated with watching the curtains blow towards you with each gust of wind. As the wife of the crowned prince, you find that you no longer have as many freedoms as you once did as a young serving girl. 

You were no longer able to take a stroll all by yourself onto the beach, no, you were always under constant supervision by either the guards or ladies in waiting. Not like it mattered who it was, as no matter the type of person once their duties were done they would always whisper in the hallways calling you names such as ‘The Bitch Servant’ or ‘The Bastard Queen.’ Your skin was thick, and their words could not penetrate it. However, you always found it interesting how no matter your station in the palace, you would never truly have their respect. Not even by marrying the future king of all of Salamis. 

Years had gone by since you had last seen your husband. Not even his letters could appease the growing hole in your heart that his presence once filled. Instead, that whole was filled by a person, two people.

As if they had read your thoughts, you heard the frantic knock of a young servant girl, and you therefore already knew who was here. Standing up from your chair, you fixed your light purple robe and adjusted the string that tied up your hair. The young serving girl had already swung open the door and there ran in two little bodies. Your boys. 

Alexandros and Simonides, who you referred to as Alex and Simon, had recently turned two years old, and had the energy to prove it. The two toddlers would constantly be running up and down the palace corridors with their arms extended to their sides like little birds. The boys shared the ginger hair of their father, but inherited both their complexion and their eye color from yourself. 

Alexandros was the older of the two boys. This natural born leader aspect of his character had already begun to show from the way he paraded his little brother around, commanding him which halls to go down, which foods to eat. He had a knack for mischief and liked to show it. 

Simonides, the younger twin, was more sensitive than his brother. He cried more often than his brother, and was less ambitious to take on new challenges. Despite this, the boy had an extensive vocabulary for his age, and his delicate, intelligent nature served as the perfect foil to his more intense brother.

“Oh my boys!” you said, throwing the letter down onto a nearby chair. You crouched before the two of them, stretching your arms out wide to which the two boys gladly ran into. 

“Thank you, Agatha,” you said as you dismissed the service girl. She did not respond, but rather bowed her head before swiftly leaving this door.

“Mama!” Alex giggled, throwing his little hands up in the air.

“For you,” Simon said, sudden;y releasing whatever had been clutched in his little hands. It was a small flower, most likely from a rogue seedling that had grown in the grass.

“Why is it beautiful!” you replied, pulling it up to your nose to take a sniff,  “It smells very fresh. Did you boys find it on your walk with Agatha?”

“No!” Simon shouted, “Grandmama walk with us.”

“Ah,” you cringed, “Well, I hope you had fun, my sweet boys.”

Alex then sprung in an escape from your arms and began running around your bedroom. It had been difficult raising your children without your husband the past few years, but with the help of the staff and Ajax’s family you did not have to struggle as much as your father did. It did pain you that Ajax had never met his own sons, but you found strength in the idea that he may someday return. Although you knew many in his family had no love for you, they did love the boys, and for that you were grateful. Your children were your rock, they were what kept you strong. They were the reason you could hear vile whispers and allegations in the halls and walk past them with your head up, eyes forward. You only hoped that your sons would never have to face the same speculations that you had. 

“Your majesty?” a handmaiden said, standing at the now open door of your chamber.

“Yes?” you asked, standing up from where you were crouched on the floor, watching your boys run all around the room.

“Her grace the queen wants to speak to you,” she paused for a moment and anxiously picked at her hand, “She says it urgent.”

“Oh,” you said, “Well, could you help me take the boys?”

“Um, she actually wants it to be just the two of you,” she replied, you raised your eyebrows in exasperation, “The boys will be sent down to the Princesses quarters until you can return.”

“Why,” you said, anger straining your voice, “I haven't seen my sons all day. What does she want?”

“I don’t know, your majesty…” the handmaiden said, looking as though she was about to cry.

You sighed angrily as you walked out the door, leaving her behind to escort your children. You then made the walk across the entire palace. Holding up your dress so as to not trip up the many stairs, you were fuming. It was not as though the queen intentionally kept your children away from you often, but she knew that today was when the letters from the army would arrive at Salamis. She knew Ajax had sent you a letter, and you knew that ignited the wounds of betrayal from years ago. 

You had learned from Ajax in a letter he had sent about a year ago that it was the queen's idea to marry him to Princess Arete, and that the king had been the one to put the scheme to life. The queen’s cousin was mother of Arete, and Queen Hesione wished to have a family member nearby for comfort. It pained you to learn that she had been shipped off to Salamis at the age of only fourteen to marry the already eighteen year old King Telamon. 

Not pausing to knock, a guard swung open the queen’s door at the sight of your arrival. The queen turned around from where she had stood, gazing out her window, much like you had been. Hesione was a beautiful woman, that was for certain. She had long, curled auburn hair with a section of it braided and wrapped around the back of her head going ear to ear. Her eyes were a beautiful light brown. The way in which she carried herself with confidence reminded you of her first born son, Ajax.

“Ah, Y/n,” she said, “Please, take a seat at the table.”

“Your grace,” you bowed before taking a seat at the small table by her window. It was an ancient wooden table that belonged to one of the first queens of Salamis and only two of its original chairs remained. Taking a seat, you glanced once more at the queen who was now approaching you. She did not look happy, but rather solem. 

“I wish not to bore you with idle chit-chat,” she began, “I’m sure you received a letter from my son this morning, have you not?”

“I have, your grace,” you lifted the cup of wine that had been placed before your seat, taking a sip; it was bitter.

“Tell me what it said,” she said, startling you with her change in demeanor, “Tell me in total the truth of it.”

“Excuse me?” is all you could think of as a reply.

“Y/n,” the queen pleaded, “Please, this is very important. The queen commands it.”

“If I had known this was all that concerned you, I would have brought it to you myself,” you said before explaining to her the contents of the letter. 

“I see,” was all she said in response, “I understand then.”

“Is that all, your grace?” you said, annoyance still present in your voice despite you trying to be as calm as possible.

“If I tell you this, will you promise not to spread this gossip?” she said; you were confused.

“Of course,” you replied upon instinct, “What is it?”

As if her demeanor had not shocked you enough, the queen began weeping. Despite your sour relationship over the past several years, you felt plain watching her cry in front of you, helpless to stop it.

“My son writes to me,” she said in between her tears, “That the Trojans are making their advances and are winning the war. Menelaus is stubborn and wishes to carry out his strategy with no change. They–”

The queen became overwhelmed by grief and sobbed into her hands. Awkwardly, you walked towards her offering an embrace. Much to your surprise, she had not rejected you, and instead allowed you to wrap her in your arms. It was strange, you had never been this close to the queen physically in your entire life. After a moment, the queen gained her senses and lifted her head back up. You took your seat at the table once more.

“They wish to take to battle more skilled warriors,” she finally explained, “Menelaus demands for my son’s brothers to fight by his side. Ajax has wholeheartedly agreed.”

“What?” you gasped, “But Anton has just begun his studies of philosophy. Teucer is hardly fifteen. Surely there is no way the king will allow this.”

The queen shook her head, crying some more; “I spoke with my husband this morning, Ajax had already written to him with this news months ago. What a fool! Does he not care for the lives and innocence of his younger brothers! He is meant to protect them, not drag them into battle. Oh, and my husband! I just cannot believe he would allow such a thing!”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, reaching your hands onto the table, “Is there anything I can do?”

In another shocking act, the queen grabbed your hands into hers; “I have been at this court for many years at the mercy of the men around me,” She continued tearing up as she spoke, “Not once have I had an ally completely partial to me, not even my own husband.”

It started to make sense. Queen Hesione, the same woman who had spent years mocking you to your face and whispering about you behind your back, had now realized that in all the time she spent tearing you down she had neglected the fact she had very few allies in court. She now needed your support, your perspective, someone who would agree with her: a fellow mother. The thought first disgusted you, how dare she treat you like that and then expect you to blindly support her in court! But the more you thought about it, the more you realized the great importance an ally of her status would mean for you. No longer would the servants be able to freely whisper about you in the halls, insult your late father, or question the legitimacy of your own children. You knew you had to dismiss your anger in search of greener pastures. You had to make an ally out of Queen Hesione.

“Y/n,” the queen continued, “Your support in this court would be a great help to me, to my own daughter. We are both mothers who care deeply for our children. Together we could protect them.”

“I completely agree, your grace,” you said, putting on your best comforting smile, “I believe that if you had the support of Princess Tonia and I, surely the head priest Dimitri would follow– as well as the high priestesses of the Temple of Athena.”

“I’m glad you see it as I do,” the queen said as she removed one of her hands from yours as to wipe her tears away, “Well, I must now go speak to my daughter, tell her all of her brothers will be sent away to war. You will come with me, and we will go visit my grandchildren as well.”

Walking with linked arms, you and Hesione left for the princesses quarters. As you walked through the halls, the servants stared, bowing down to the two of you in awe. An allyship, a statement to the king, a protest of sorts. Showing how two women at odds could unite under a common ground: the protection of their children. You and the queen, walking arm and arm. 

–––––––––

The princess’s head was buried in her hands, sobbing. Her mother, the queen, was at her side attempting to comfort her with reassuring words of strength. Tonia had just turned sixteen years old, but carried herself with grace beyond her years. She was educated, had great posture, and had a beauty that would rival her own mothers. Much like all of his siblings, she shared practically identical features to Ajax. 

Upon your arrival to her chambers, the young girl was playing blocks with your sons. Laughing as the two would take turns knocking over the towers she had built up. She was initially very confused why you and her queen mother had arrived at the same time, arms liked as though you were longtime friends. But the confusion very quickly turned to joy as she grew excited over the possibility of your friendship. That happiness quickly turned into horror as her mother sat her down and explained that her two remaining brothers would be shipped off to war, just as the oldest had been. 

As the mother comforted her daughter, you stood off to the side, looking on in sadness as your little boys laughed and tugged at your dress. A few moments later, the queen stood up from where she had been crouching. 

“My daughter,” she said, stroking the princesses' ginger hair, “I bring you more alarming news, but you should not worry. Your father has plans to marry you off to the cousin of King Menelaus of Sparta, an older man with no children. But we, you, Y/n, and I, will not allow this to happen. I will not have my only daughter, my only child remaining, shipped off to some far away kingdom to a man three times her age. You are to come to court, and the three of us will present our case. Y/n will write to Ajax demanding him to negotiate against his father.” 

So then turned to you, “We only have so much time, you must write quickly.” Tonia looked between the two of you, tears still in her eyes, but the every deviant princess nodded her head in solidarity, and so the three of you devised a plan. By the end of the month, there would be a meeting at the royal court to decide upon the dowry of Tonia. It is where the three of you would present your case to King Telamon, and if all went according to plan the three of you would remain at court. Remain in power.

–––––––––

My dearest, Y/n

I am glad to hear that the boys are doing well. I remember when my little brother, Teucer, was their age. He also had a habit of running around, causing mischief, and keeping both the handmaidens and my own mother on her toes. The war has been going steady, though not too great for us, my fellow warriors and I have slew hundreds of Trojans and we won’t stop until Helen is returned to her rightful home.

As for the more pressing matter to which you write, I cannot believe how disgusting the situation is. If it was up to me, Tonia would not marry the cousin of Menelaus. He is a lazy bum, and more than twice her age! I already was on edge about accepting my brothers into my army, but this has truly gone too far. I certainly condemn this relationship, and I’ve already written to my father demanding he does not proceed. Trust me, I’ll take care of it.

I am also very pleased to hear you and my mother are getting along now! In her letter she wrote praises of you and your bravery. I can’t wait to hear more about all your adventures together. I miss you and the family more than anything. 

Yours,

Ajax

The King Telamon crumpled your letter into his face, angrily looking upon his wife; “Hesione,” he demanded, “What is the meaning of this!”

“My dear husband,” the queen said, she was the only person at the small table of the royal counsel who stood up, “I believe that it would be in our best interest to not marry the Princess Tonia to the cousin of the King of Sparta. Instead, I propose we marry her to one of his sons when she is to turn eighteen.”

“Oh you stupid woman,” the king laughed, “You know nothing of politics! I have a fair trade with the cousin. Twentyseven oxen in exchange for our daughter! These oxen would bring great fortune and good to our local farmers. Strengthen the economy of all of Salamis!”

“Is that all our daughter is to you!” the queen yelled back, “Is she worth twentyseven ox? Is that all she means to you!”

The king grew even more angered, and opened his mouth in protest, but you instead cut in to speak your mind, “If I may, you grace?” all eyes turned to you as you stood from your chair, “The deal for your daughter is an excellent one, a clever political move.”

The queen raised her eyebrows in confusion as Tonia’s eyes widened in fear of what you would say next, “But it is clear to me you are being schemed by the cousin of Menelaus. He knows too well that Menelaus’s sons are a far better match for your daughter, and is attempting to woo you with animals that you could surely obtain through other means. In fact, if you were to marry your daughter to his eldest son, Nicostratus, I’m certain he could provide you with gifts of an even greater scale. Your daughter would be the future Queen of Sparta, she would be fair and good and loved by all her people. She would have status and power, you would have connection to the throne of Sparta.”

The queen smiled; “I agree with Y/n, my husband,” she said, “I will write to Menelaus, informing him of the proposal. Ajax will be quite pleased, and I am certain he will convince his fellow warrior to approve of the union.” 

The king sat in silence for quite some time, thinking long and diligently about the proposal; “Headpriest Dimitri,” he said suddenly, “What are your opinions on the matter? Do you believe the union to be promoting and truthful? Is it the will of the gods?”

Dimitri practically yelped at being put on the spot. He stood up from where he sat, brushing his robes off with his hands in a fit of anxiety. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat before beginning to speak; “Your grace,” he began, “I believe that the queen and princesses proposal is a fair one. A proposal that will surely have the gods smiling down upon the union. Nicostratus will succeed his father and take Tonia as his queen. Connections with Sparta will certainly assure a bountiful harvest in trade and crop.”

“Is that so?” the king said, looking at his wife, “Well… Y/n, you should write to Ajax immediately informing him of this offer. Dimitri, I want to send word for Sparta tonight informing him of my intentions to marry my daughter to Nicostratus. And to my wife, you best not involve yourself in such political matters again. Women are unfit for such a station.”

Following the conclusion of the meeting, you, Queen Hesione, and Tonia spent the evening in the queen's chambers, eating rich food and drinking fine wine. You shared stories about your youth as a servant, including the one where you met Ajax for the first time. Tonia gasped in horror while the drunk Hesione laughed like a schoolgirl in reaction to you telling them about when Ajax practically drowned you in the water to wash off your clothes. You found yourself enjoying their comfort more and more as each day passed with your husband around. You no longer felt as isolated, as afraid of the people around you.

Despite King Telamon’s threats about the women no longer being able to attend his court, the three of you continued to do so until Tonia was married off to Prince Nicostratus. You and Queen Hesione, however, continued to hold powerful influences in court for many years. When King Telamon became too ill with consumption to attend the hearings, it was Hesione who sat in his place with you at her side. 

It is not a king who rules over Salamis, they would say, it was a woman and a bastard, a queen and a princess.

–––––––––

My love,

I find I have little time to write to you. The war is near its end. Achilles is dead, I have killed Hector with my own hands. All that is left is for us to kill Paris and rescue Helen. I will finally be able to reunite with you.

I have recently been thinking about what I’ve been doing with my life for the past decade. Was participating in this war truly worth it? Was watching my dear brother Anton die before my eyes worth the gold and honor I would bring back with me to Salamis? Not being able to visit my father even though he's getting sicker? It's been ten years since my sons were born, and I still haven't even met them once.

Every night I think back to the night we ran away and got married. Nothing stopped us from continuing to run. We could have left everything behind and had each other. I would still be with you. When I can’t sleep, I leave my tent to go standby on the shore of the ocean. Watching the waves crash on the shore in the dead of night reminds me of you.

I hope the next time I write to you I’m on the ship, heading home. Tomorrow my fellow soldier, Odysseus and I will fight for Achilles’s armor. Once I have all my affairs settled, I will return home.

It won't be long now!

Yours,

Ajax

“Is that all he said?” you asked, continuing to weave the stitches on the loom.

“Yes, mother,” Simon said, “It’s shorter than usual, doesn’t even take up a full page.”

“Well, hopefully the next one he writes is longer,” you stop weaving to stand up and smile at your son, “Now, where is Alex? I have another meeting with the council this afternoon, and I want you both to be there.”

“Um, I think he's out training in the yard,” he said, “I can go grab him if you want.”

“I would appreciate that,” you kissed him on the cheek, “Take your time, you don’t have to rush.”

You smiled as you watched your younger son leave the room. He had grown a great amount in the past ten years, and he was tall for his age. He was several inches taller than his brother, but his build was more slender due to the fact he never trained outside. Alex kept his ginger hair to his shoulders while Simon kept it shorter and in a ponytail. It pleased you to see how good your boys had gotten along. 

“Princess?” a handmaiden said, standing at your door, “The queen requests your presence in the garden.” 

You nodded at the girl’s words, following her out the door to approach the garden. Walking through the large marble halls has always filled you with a sense of nostalgia, remember your walks as a young servant girl, fetching water for the horses or chum for the fish. You often thought about Rosaria as you walked through the courtyard to the garden, walking past the various statues of goddesses and gods. Although the two of you wrote to each other often, it had been several years since she last visited you and your sons at the palace. You appreciated the fact that she would also write to your sons often, establishing a healthy relationship as a caring aunt. 

I love this chapter with all my heart. Expanding on Mc’s relationship with other characters was a real treat. Yay princess girlboss!

As you entered the garden and turned the corner, you were greeted by the face of the queen and several of her handmaidens. 

“Y/n,” she said with a smile, “Come here dearest.”

You walked towards the queen, her hands taking yours as she reached out towards you; “I have a surprise!”

You stiffened in surprise as you felt someone's hands cover your eyes from behind. They were soft and delicate, they surely belonged to a woman.

“Guess who!” the cheery voice called out. You recognized you it belonged to immediately. Wiping your head around you made eye contact with her.

“Tonia!” you said, opening your arms wide for a hug to which she readily accepted, “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too!” she cried, “Exchanging letters was nice but it doesn’t compare to truly hearing your voice!”

The queen laughed as the two of you continued to hug each other. After several minutes of catching up in the garden, the princess turned to her mother and then to you again.

“Oh!” she said, “Mother, Y/n, there is someone I want to introduce you to.”

The princess then took both of your arms in hers, and the three of you made your way back through the courtyard. You had a good idea of what the princess was going to show you, but you could hardly contain your excitement when you entered the quarters and saw her. Tonia’s daughter, Princess Eudora, had just recently turned three years old. 

Tonia grabbed her little girl and handed her off to her mother, the queen. Who had tears in her eyes as she held her granddaughter for the first time. The girl had dark brown hair like her father, but blue eyes the same shade as Tonia’s. 

“I wonder where my boys are right now,” you said out loud, “I’m sure they would love to meet their little cousin.”

“Guards,” the queen said as rocked her granddaughter, “Go to the training quarters and receive Alexandros and Simonides. Tell them the queen demands their presence.”

“Mother! You’re going to scare them!” Tonia laughed. The queen had never truly gotten over using her summoning powers in a way that could send chills down someone's spine. You remembered it quite well, the first two years you had known her, you remember the intense anxiety of being summoned by the queen even when you had done nothing wrong.

Not even twenty minutes had gone by when your two boys appeared before you, excited as could be.

“Mother!” Alex said, racing to be at your side, “Can we please hold, Eudora? We promise to be gentle!”

“Alex!” Simon angrily whispered, nudging his brother’s arm.

“Simon’s right,” you said, “Remember your manners and greet the queen and princess first. Alex’s eyes opened wide, shocked at the fact he failed to remember a proper greeting.

“Grandmother,” Alex said as he and Simon bowed, “Aunt Tonia.”

Just as quickly, the boys shedded their formalities and raced over to the queen, who laughed as she handed her granddaughter over to Simon. Alex protested before eventually coming to terms with the fact he would have to be patient and wait his turn. Once he had finally had the chance to hold his cousin, he turned to you.

“Would you like to hold her, Mother?” he asked, grabbing the baby’s hand and waving it around.

“I would love to,” you said.

And so for the rest of the morning, the six of you spent your time in both the guest chambers and the garden, entertaining the young Eudora. You laughed as you watched your sons chase her around the garden as well as when she ‘tackled’ Alex to the floor. You drank your wine and listened to the bard’s music in bliss as you awaited the meeting at court that afternoon.

–––––––––

“I, Hesione, daughter of Laomedon, sister of Priam, and wife of Telamon, sit before you today acting in the interest of the king who is too ill to join us. My decision on each matter is representative and acting in the best interest of the crown and the kingdom.”

The queen delivered the same speech at the start of each meeting for the past several years following the illness of Telamon. In a room full of powerful men, it was important she established herself as a woman of great power and prestige, but also someone who valued morals. You sat in the chair directly next to the head of the table; you were at the queen’s side, readily available for whenever she needed you.

“Today, we are joined by a few special guests,” she said, using her arm to guide everyone’s eyes to the further end of the table, “Nicostratus, Crowned Prince of Sparta, and his wife, my daughter, the Princess Tonia.”

Next, she guided her arm to where you sat or, more accurately, next to where you sat; “My grandsons, the Prince Alexandros, future king of Salamis, and Simonides, his younger brother.”

“Today we hear petitions from various peasants,” she continued, “They will be in regards to land disputes, taxes, and family rivalries. I expect you all to give me counsel, when you are asked to do so, that acts not in the interest of personal ambitions, but instead what would be best for the kingdom.”

And so for the next several hours you and your children sat in court, hearing petitions from various families all with different concerns. Some of it was interesting, some of it was not. Whenever the queen was in need of counsel, she would either turn to you or to her master of economics. The afternoon passed without much quarrel, and after eating dinner with your larger-than-usual family you sent the three children off to sleep.

“Y/n, wait a moment!” Tonia said as you were exiting the dining hall, “Don’t go to bed yet– come with me.”

“What are we going to do?” you asked, playfully raising your eyebrow in suspicion, “Rob the master of economics?”

Tonia threw her head back in laughter, “No silly! We're going to sneak into my grandfather's office!”

“What? No!” you whispered, but it was too late, Tonia had already began to drag you across the palace halls.

“Trust me, Y/n,” she said, “the stuff we’ll find in here is gonna be worth the trouble it takes to get it.” 

Tonia led you to a small room with nothing but a trap door. You began to protest once you realized the implications of what that meant: you were going to have to go in it. But with the princess’s pestering you eventually complied. You were crawling on your hands and knees for what felt like an eternity until Tonia suddenly shot her head up, effectively opening the other end of the trap door.

The ‘office’ of King Telamon’s father was less of a workspace and much more of a library. There were shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, and hieroglyphics on papyrus. Tonia immediately began looking around the books despite the fact the shelves were at least thirty feet high. You instead decided to peek around what looked like a desk of pure gold at the center of the vast room. 

Despite the fact the previous king had been dead for several decades, there was a scroll open that was far more recent. The date at the top of it read that it was from thirty years ago, just days after when you were born. You laughed at the coincidence before taking a seat on the old, wooden chair, but you stop laughing immediately when you read the name of the author. It was your father. Although under most circumstances you knew better not to read letters that were not addressed to you without permission, you concluded that this letter was a particular exception. Though looking back, you wished you had never read it at all. It began with:

My dear friend,

I write to you with a heavy heart and a great sense of urgency. As you know, following my studies in Athens, I trained to be a priest of the goddess Hebe. 

It seems my ambition has led me down a path of great regret. It was a late night several moons ago when I was taking a walk down the beach. I had gotten into a great fight with a fellow priest over a sacrifice that had gone wrong. I was ever certain I was in the right, but when my superior scolded me I lashed out and fled the scene. It was there when I saw her the first time. The great goddess, my light, my savior, Hebe. She came towards me offering help, to overthrow the ‘corrupt’ head priest and instate myself in his place.

Together we collaborated for months, and it wasn’t until I was in the trenches of our passion that I realized I was completely and irrevocably in love. She was married, that was true, but I knew that gods did not value fidelity as strongly as humans do, even the women. And so we began our secret affair of which I wholeheartedly participated knowing I was sacrificing my dignity, honor, and manhood. But still I could not stop, my heart and head at war. 

I suppose it was only a matter of time until the other priests found out. Jealous, angered, or genuinely betrayed I did not know, but it became clear to me that I was no longer welcomed as a religious leader. Matters were only made worse when the subject of this letter, my daughter, was brought before me by the goddess.

She explained that this child was the result of love, but that she could not keep her. Despite her trying to keep a secret, some of the other gods, including Zeus, her father, had found out about her affair with her own priest. My hubris, my believing I was worthy of loving a goddess as a god would, was my downfall. A curse was put upon not only me, but also my daughter. We would both be casted down for our love. Rapid aging has already set in for me as I feel my life slipping away every passing second.

But for my daughter, it does not have to be like this. Take her in as a serving girl. Help me protect her from the god’s wrath and my own deadly pride. If not you, then who will?

I hope to hear from you soon,

Your old friend

You shrieked. You cried out. You felt faint.

Tonia rushed to your side, confused by your fit of emotion. When she realized she could not calm you down, she was sent running down the hall in search of someone for help.

The room felt as though it spun. How could this be possible? You spent your entire life thinking your mother, the woman who gave you life, was nothing more than a common whore who ruined your fathers career through seduction. If your mother was a goddess, Hebe, goddess of youth and cupbearer of the gods, that meant you were half god. But that made no sense as you felt less than special in each aspect of life.

Yet it was true, it all made sense. Your father’s fear of the gods and how they would harm you, his dedication to warning people of fatal sins through the stories he would share, and his untimely death early in life.

By the time several handmaidens arrived with help, you had already pulled yourself up the ground and began racing to your chambers. Not even Tonia could stop you as you locked yourself in your room and ran to where you kept your quill and paper: you had to write Ajax immediately. 

Not even an hour had passed when you had finished your letter, sealed it up, and began to walk towards the door in search of a servant to hand it to. That's when you realized you were hearing sobs from the other side of the door.

Swinging it open stood, your eyes widened in fear. There stood several handmaidens, Queen Hesione who was cradling a sobbing Tonia, Headpriest Dimitri, and several guards.

“What is the meaning of this?” you asked, suddenly feeling very guilty for your emotional outburst, “I didn’t mean to frighten any of you–”

“Your majesty,” one of the serving girls cut you off, eyes wide with terror, “We came here with urgent news, well, to tell you of–um.”

The young actress screamed out in horror, crimson color fluid leaking from her shirt. She laid on top of the two young boys playing the role of her sons. The small children too were covered in the same deep red. The actor at the center of it all stood tall with large, bulging muscles, a noticeable beard, and red painted hands. Heracles. He had been driven mad by the gods, Hera to be specific, as stated by the Chorus at the beginning of the scene. You along with the rest of the audience gasped in horror at the sight in front of you. Clutching the jug of wine, you found it hard to tear your eyes from the scene. As soon as Heracles had gained clarity for what sins he had committed, your heart felt heavy as you heard the screams of terror rip from his throat. It all felt so real, too real for your liking. 

The King had hired some of the best actors in the land to perform the play of Heracles, and they truly did not disappoint. As you made your way through the crowd offering various guests wine, you were often greeted with harsh shushes by insulting rich men who were annoyed simply by your presence. Over the past couple of years you had learned not to mind such cruel gestures as it was simply in the nature of your job as a wine pourer. You once frail and hesitant demeanor when serving guests had been washed away as you grew from adolescence to young adulthood. You stood with a strong, certain arm ready to impress the guests of your king. You took your job with pride, afterall, you were sure it would be the highest role you were ever to amount to in the palace. 

There was still about an hour left until the moon reached its highest point in the sky in which your shift would be over.

You made your way out of the small amphitheater to rejoin a group of guests waiting outside. The guests consisted of mostly older women who did not wish to waste their precious time engaging in the arts but rather delectable gossip about those within their communities. As you offered the wine to each woman, you tried to overhear exactly what they were saying: births, deaths, hook ups, and flings all taking place at each one of their residences. You were used to hearing such gossip, as although you didn't wish to admit, you sometimes found yourself being nosy on the personal lives of your fellow staff. You sighed heavily as you continued to make your rounds across the floor. A particular group of girls caught your attention as you had seen them many times before. They were of the opinion that servant girls were nothing but dirt and were to be treated as such. You had attempted to obstruct your view from those girls as you passed them by, but like many times in the past one of them hollered out to you to come fill their glasses. 

“Well isn’t it so nice to see you again, huh?” the taller one of the bunch remarked as her friends giggled beside her. 

You wore a faint smile in hopes that she would not find a reason to be offended by your sort-of response. You knew she wasn’t really asking a genuine question; women like this enjoyed the thrill of thinking they were superior to at least someone in a society that did not truly value their contributions. Nevertheless you poured the wine as a good practitioner of xenia would. 

“You know,” one of the women began, “those rags you parade yourself in are truly dreadful.”

“I know right!” another replied, “I cannot believe the good king would allow us to view his servants in such a state.”

You were used to this sort of abuse, but at this point their unprovoked remarks were beginning to anger you. Why could they never just leave you alone? As you went to step away, you found yourself suddenly losing your footing. By either coincidence or accident, your leg had caught along one of the gossiping women, and suddenly you found yourself making contact with the floor; you jug of wine barely being spared a shattering death as you managed to land in a position in which your body softened the blow of the fall. With a red, flustered face you turned your head back over to the group. Laughing. They were laughing at you. 

As one of the women bent down to mock you one more, you heard a familiar voice interrupt her actions. 

“What seems to be the problem here ladies?” the man asked. You practically laughed as you noticed the look on all of the women’s faces in the group morph into that of horror. Although they had been accused of nothing, they wore the countenance of a cowardly criminal caught during their crime. One woman audibly gasped as another threw her hands over her face as a shield. The tallest woman took it upon herself to respond to their unsuspected audience member.

“I’m so sorry, my prince!” she exclaimed, “There is no problem at all. We were simply… discussing the fashion choices of the serving girl.”

“Well,” he began, speaking in a tone not angry, yet serious, “I do hope you’ll redirect this attention of yours to the play, not the ‘fashion choices’ of my staff.”

You let out a small sigh of relief as you made eye contact with this ‘savior’ of yours. His hair that was once a bright orange had darkened slightly with the passing years. What was once a build of an athletic teenage boy had developed into a strong, muscular body of a man. His eyes which were a soft blue appeared black as the night sky in the lighting of the amphitheater. But what never changed despite age nor circumstance was the mischievous smirk he wore across his face whenever he smiled at you. 

“Your majesty.” you said with a slight bow, smiling back to him with the same amount of enthusiasm. After standing and smiling for a few moments, the two of you seemed to realize how ridiculous you must look to the group of women Ajax had just scolded. So with an awkward laugh, the man scratched the back of his head before turning away and hastily making his way up the stairs. You bit back a smile at his antics. 

And so the night continued. The two of you stealing glances and smiles as you paraded around serving wine while he entertained and drank. At midnight you would be relieved from your work and he would be sufficiently intoxicated. Most nights like these would end with the two of you meeting by the beach, you holding him in your arms and him lamenting to you about the circumstances in which you exist. 

Ever since your seventeenth birthday almost two years ago, you noticed a change in Ajax. The once heartbroken teenager who broke sticks and played dirty began to take his role as both a prince and warrior far more seriously. Each day he would spend hours training, attending his study lectures, and drinking with his fellow politicians and leaders. But most importantly, his attitude towards you began to shift. What was once a genuine friendship of the closest kind began to grow more deep, passionate, and daresay lustful.

At first you denied any of Ajax’s advances. Afterall, the wounds of his months-long affair with Domitia were still too fresh for you to discredit. You did not want to be the girl Ajax went to just because he could not have her. You also felt guilty. Guilty that you had behaved in a way that could disgrace yourself, your father, and your head mistress. You were careless and had let your jealousy consume parts of you.

You also understood Ajax was partially to blame. Harboring jealousy between Domitia and you. Calling you names and petty insults. It took some time, but you eventually began to cave into his desires. Your desires.

He began to send you small tokens of appreciation: food, flowers, rings. But what really made your heart melt was the poetry he would send to you. Written and signed Your Ajax. In them were words of passion, desire, and appreciation. The way he would speak about the light in your eyes, or the gentle yet stern power of your words softened your heart. Each letter that would appear discreetly at your door would leave you prancing around like a young schoolgirl around your father’s home. You had been in love with him for many years, but it finally started to feel like he was capable of loving you back.

As you walked home that night following both your shift as a wine server and your meeting with Ajax, you took in the familiar scent of sea salt. Clutching in your hands was no longer a jug of red liquid, but rather a fresh new poem wrapped around a flower that Ajax had just handed you himself. He was more intoxicated than usual tonight, which also meant he was more careless, more physical in public, more open with his feelings for you.

Being around him in that state was exhilarating. You took in a deep breath of the flower he had given you as you quietly opened the door of your father’s home. The once small shack had only felt smaller as the years had gone by.

“Y/n?” you perked up at the voice of a frail, old sounding man, “My sweet child, have you finally come home to me?”

Stepping into the house further your eyes landed on a small bed in the corner of the room. There lay your father. Eyes shut tight and a sturdy chair with wheels by his side. Over the past several years, your wise father’s health had steadily deteriorated. Despite him barely being 37 his health conditions made him appear even decades older than age 70. He no longer was able to walk about the great halls of the palace, but instead had to be wheeled around in his chair by an apprentice scribe named Dimitri. His skin was as fragile as a leaf and he often found himself plagued by headaches. Many nights you found yourself weeping by his bed; you were heartbroken you could do nothing to relieve his pain.

Despite all of this hardship, your father never gave up his wisdom. What was once a weekly affair of gathering by the bonfire with many of the servants turned into a monthly one. He would still prepare an insightful story of the gods filled with important lessons on humility and decent morals. Your father was determined to keep the morale of the servants, and palace by extension, as high as possible. Afterall, he would explain, that is what I was put on the earth by the gods to do.

“Yes, father,” you responded, “it's me, your daughter.”

“Ah,” he said, “and Rosaria, is she with you as well?”

“No, father,” you said, “Rosaria no longer stays with us, remember? She lives amongst her fellow maidens at the temple of Athena.”

“Oh,” he replied, “Oh yes, I remember. She left us quite a few months ago. Y/n, my child, has she written?”

“I read her most recent one aloud only a few nights ago,” you softly said as you felt small tears begin to form in your eyes, “Remember…father.”

You couldn’t help but feel emotional at the sight of your father’s worsening memory. He would go through phases where he was incapable of remembering what he ate for breakfast, followed by shorter, more intense phases where he seemed to remember everything of his life spanning back to his infancy. The doctor who visited your father, per the request of his old friend the king, said he had never seen anything like it with patients who struggled with memory loss.

You lay down at the side of your father’s bed as you used to do for you as a child. You no longer found yourself comfortable in the bed you and Rosaria used to share, so instead you spent most of your nights alongside your father on the dark, cold floor. 

You wished to protect him as he always did for you. 

–––––––––

It had been several nights since King Telamon had hosted the performance of Heracles. The winds that were typically docile and calm at this time of year were unusually fierce. You sat with your back against the castle and your head facing the ocean. You closed your eyes to savor how your hair felt being blown by the cool, fresh air. Your blissful silence was interrupted by the sound of someone sitting down next to you; you hardly had to turn your face to know who it was.

“The stars look beautiful tonight,” he said, “They remind me of the broken glass I found earlier while training, scattered across the sand. Broken yet unbound. Separate yet still together.”

“They do,” you responded with a small laugh, “I didn’t think you were one for sounding so philosophical in casual conversations.”

“You know me well,” he said before shifting his arm so it now fell around you, “You always have.”

You had expected him to laugh along with you, or at least smile at your observations. Yet instead his eyes were darkened and he stared at the sea with a serious, unwavering expression.

“A flower for your thoughts?” you said, trying to sound as cheerful as you could manage, “You seem troubled, Ajax, is something the matter?”

“My father received word from Princess Arete’s father,” your chest tightened, “It seems our marriage is to go through. My father wants her to be my bride.”

Ajax was no fool, and neither were you. As the future king of Salamis, it was his duty to one day marry a princess with great wealth and connections to strengthen the empire and give him heirs. During your earlier years when he was with Domitia this very notion would make you feel physically ill and keep you up at night. It’s not right! You would think, How could he do this to me! It wasn’t until years had passed and your maturity raised that you realized this was an inevitable step in his life. He could not stay your Ajax forever and you were in no position to require him to do so. As painful as the thought was and still may be, you become at peace with it. Especially after you yourself had become betrothed. 

Linos was a bastard serving boy who worked in the same palace that belonged to Princess Arete. When your headmistress had told you of her work you screamed out loud. You hadn’t thought it to be possible that a serving girl such as yourself would ever be married, not even to your own kind. But once you learned of the deal she had struck up with Linos’s serving maid to trade places with her you began to understand before becoming flabbergasted all over again when she told you she actually had your father’s blessing.

When you first told Ajax he refused eye contact with you for days. When he finally spoke to you again he said as though he felt the same heartbreak of Domitia all over again, though hundreds of times stronger. You watched painstakingly as you saw that heartbreak turn into anger to only turn into heartbreak once more as he learned of his father’s plan to betrothe him to the Princess Arete. 

This news was weeks old, and although you had long made your peace with it you were not sure if Ajax could say the same. So instead of responding to his words you instead placed your head on his shoulder, thinking that your actions could provide more comfort than words.

“I’ve been preparing to take the Salamis throne all my life,” he began, “But the older I get the less prepared I feel. Hell, I’m sure a 15 year old me could do a better job than I could now.”

He chuckled at his statement; “But gods, I really thought it was what I wanted. The training, the education, the responsibilities, the politics.” He then rested his own head on yours, “I know there are so many young men and boys out there who would trade places with me in a heartbeat. But, gods I don’t know, the burden is getting a little heavier than I can handle.”

You then raised your head off his shoulder and turned to face his eyes, waiting for him to continue; “I mean being the king. King Ajax. I can hardly believe it!” he said, “But you know what I realized? Every day that passes gets us closer to a world to where that's a reality. A world where my father… and everyone else I love is gone.”

“The gods can be cruel,” you said, reaching one of your hands up to stroke his face, “But fathers, well– they can't live forever. We just have to learn how to make peace with the consequences of that.”

He leaned in and pressed his forehead against your own; “You’ll make a good king,” you told him, “It’s what you were born to do. Besides, you’ll have your brothers, sisters, Princess Arete, your children, and your millions of servants at your side.”

“Yes, I’ll have a random rich princess who I currently know nothing about at my side,” he joked.

“You say that like you have a choice,” you smiled back despite how painful the notion truly was, “Besides, what are you going to do? Run away and marry me instead?”

Your tone of voice and smile clearly indicated you were joking, but Ajax’s already solemn face only grew more stern; “You would be surprised…” he said.

“Oh now stop it you!” you laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder, “Now– stop talking. Let's go for a swim.”

Perhaps the water would keep his mind off things. Ajax let out an exasperated sigh as he reluctantly chased you into the water. You tried your best to smile in the most authentic way possible as you splashed water at him and swam in the cold, refreshing waters until the later hours of the morning. 

–––––––––

“You! Girl, over here!” you spun your head around to see the source of the sound. Such brash words to call your attention no longer bothered you. After all, years of dealing with drunken old men taught you that basic respect and decency faded as a person sunk deeper into their cups.

With a jug of wine in one hand and a smile on your face, you made your way to where the man had been yelling from. Today was a great day of celebration as it was the Prince Teucer’s 12th birthday. It was strange to think that Ajax’s youngest brother was now the age the two of you were when you first met. You had only ever seen the young prince in passing, as Ajax had never formally introduced the two of you. Or to any of his siblings for that matter. 

In the young prince’s honor, King Telamon hosted a great festival with games, food, shows, and drinks. In the center of the great courtyard was a pitched tent where the royal family sat. It was rare to see the queen and the princess in such a public display, but due to the nature of the day you thought you understood. The queen and king sat beside each other, faces bare with no conversation. Princess Tonia, on the other hand, sat beside her mother looking generally uninterested in the festivities. The three princes were nowhere to be seen, you noted, as they were likely running around all the various tents and activity centers. 

You finally approached the man who had been calling for you. He was not nearly as old as you thought him to be. He looked around your age, maybe slightly older, he had big blue eyes and shining blonde hair. If it wasn’t for the harshness of his voice, perhaps you would have found him beautiful. The group of men he stood with were similar aged athletes, perhaps companions of Ajax, who were gathered around a game of toss. 

“Well don’t just stand there and look stupid,” he said, “Come pour me some wine, won’t you?”

It was clear to you that the young man was very intoxicated as evidenced by his slurred speech and pink tinted cheeks. You held your tongue and poured his wine.

“Oh don’t be so harsh,” another, slightly taller blonde man said, “The girl probably doesn’t know better.”

Towards the right side of your peripheral vision you noticed another group approaching. Another five athletic young men walked straight towards where you stood. At the center of it all was the crowned Prince Ajax, dressed in slightly more formal attire than usual. The men who you stood by all bowed their heads to the prince as he approached, but after this usual sign of respect they returned to their business like it was nothing. So these were his friends. 

“Anyways, like I said, I finally told her the two of us were done…” one of Ajax’s friends resumed the story you assumed he had been telling before you were called over. You then went one-by-one filling the cups of any man who held it out to you, tuning out much of the gossip during the process.

As you naturally completed the circle, you found yourself standing next to the very drunk blonde man who seemed rather angered by your presence. 

“What is she still doing here?” he asked his friends, though this time he seemed more confused than annoyed. “She’s kinda pretty, maybe we should keep her around,” another one of his friends responded.

“Is she married?” the taller blonde asked his friends of course, rather than you yourself.

“I don’t see any jewelry from her betrothed.” another speculated.  

“Wait, I didn’t know servants could be married…” a brown haired boy spectated. 

You made brief eye contact with Ajax: a silent plea for him to dismiss you from the conversation. A wise sailor flees the water before the storm. But instead of seeing his classic smirk or any sort of faux joy on his face, you met his cold, dark eyes. He was clearly annoyed. 

“Well, are you?” one of them finally asked.

“Betrothed yes,” you said, “Married no, and I don’t believe I will be for some time.”

“Hah!” the drunk blonde laughed, “Well if you ever want to experience a good time. Just stop by the gymnasium and find out.”

You cringed at his lackluster attempts to flaunt his sexuality, so you instead flashed him a strained smile. You hoped ducking your head down and walking away would deescalate the situation that you seemed to not realize was escalating in the first place. 

Slowly stepping away, you began to turn your feet until you were stopped by a force. The taller blonde man, who you thought seemed the most polite of them all, quickly crushed those expectations as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close. 

“Why don’t we just show her now?” he turned himself and, by proxy, you to face the rest of his friends, “Come one boys, it's not like she married or anyth–”

You practically fell down to your knees upon impact. One moment you were held hostage by a man twice your size and the next that very man lay on the floor. It wasn’t until one of the other men had the mercy of helping you to your feet did you realize the horror of the scene. The tall, blonde man whose name you never knew lay flat on his back with the crown prince on top of him, beating him. You couldn’t help but cover your mouth in horror as you watched Ajax, the boy who you used to watch play ball, break cheap spheres, write poetry and songs was now defending your honor with his fists. The look of anger upon his face was unlike what you had seen before, even years prior at your fight with Domitia. This anger was not soiled by childlike naivete or personal insecurities; it was pure, genuine rage. 

Several servants and guards had gathered around, and the friend of Ajax who once held you up was replaced by two young servant girls. The twins clutched at your arms as though the smallest gust of wind would have blown you off your feet. I’m not entirely sure they are wrong, you thought. 

It took three fully grown guards to lift the prince off of the man who had harassed you. Time seemed to slow as the crowd of entertained and horrified spectators continued to grow. You practically passed out again when you saw King Telamon, strong and angry, shoving his way through the crowd to assess the situation. His younger son, Prince Anton, beat him to it as he was the first non-guard to physically hold Ajax back. Anton’s face was full of concern. You thought it would be in regards to the potential political consequences to his reputation, but it wasn’t until Anton’s worried glances began to center to you did you realize what was really going on.

Prince Ajax, first born son of Telamon the First, heir to the Salamis throne had just beaten a son of a powerful family from a nearby kingdom for a serving girl. Some may say Ajax was simply defending the honor and protecting his staff, but most knew that his reaction was very unusual. For the past six years you thought to have hidden your relationship with Ajax well, hell, your own father was unaware that your affair was still continuing, but judging by Anton’s attitude the two of you may not have hidden it as well as you thought. You never felt the need to ask if Ajax had ever spoken about you to his family, as you assumed the answer would be no, but now you thought you should have.

By the time Telamon had made it to his son, arms aggressively holding onto his son’s shoulders, did a majority of the spectators shift their gaze to you. The men raised their eyebrows in suspicion, disgust, or both, as the woman began to whisper to each other as they attempted to piece together all that had transpired. Although you could not hear what the king was saying, after a brief moment of yelling at his son, the two ginger men slowly turned their heads to you. Telamon, angered but not enraged, and Ajax, eyes darkened by sadness. 

The two twin girls who had been supporting you suddenly let go of your arms. It wasn’t until you were being harshly dragged away by the headmistress did you begin to cry. Harassed, heckled, and humiliated. You wished to run to Ajax’s side knowing that he would comfort you without questions, and then the realization that that was not possible only made you cry more. 

“Oh i’ll give you something to cry about, Y/n” the headmistress said, “It seems your disobedience is ever unwavering.”

Once the two of you had stopped at the front of the steps leading to the ocean, quite a ways walk from the festival, did she finally sit the two of you down on the nearby rocks. She immediately smacked you in the face.

“You’re a foolish girl,” she said, comforting the part of the place she had just slapped with her hand, “You grew up with even your fellow servants whispering ‘bastard’ behind your back as you walked through the halls. Do you now want to be called ‘whore’ as well?”

“No,” you said, defiantly wiping away your dried tears with the corner of your sleeve, “No, Headmistress Xanthe, I do not.”

“I only wish to protect you,” she said, “You already have a dark cloud of rumor that hangs over your shoulders, and you should try your hardest not to strengthen it. I’m certain Linos would not wish to wed you if he found your honor more damaged than it already is.”

“Headmistress Xanthe! Y/n! Come quick!” you heard a frantic voice emerging from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Dimitri?” the headmistress replied, “What troubles you, boy?”

“It’s the old priest!” he screamed, “Something is very wrong!”

You, the headmistress, and Dimitri raced down the hill. You prayed to every god, both big and small, good or bad that your father would be spared. 

–––––––––

Your father’s beachside cabin smelt of sea water and death. The windows were covered by draped rags that blew open with each passing gust of wind. Your father laid flat on the ground, rather than his bed. He wore an old robe of his, one that belonged to him during his days as a priest. A robe that he never removed from his closet under any occasion. Your heart began to race.

Running to his side, you noticed Dimitri had set a towel over his face, likely to shield him from the small waves of sunlight that shone through each time the wind blew. You grasped his hand; it was cold. The only sign of life was his chest that rose far slower than it should.

“Send for a doctor!” the headmistress cried, “And alert the king!”

Dimitri wasted no time and ran out of the cabin once more. 

“Father?” you whispered, “It’s Y/n. Can you hear me?”

As gently as possible, you lifted the rag from where it lay over his face. Slowly and tensely, the man opened his eyes with a slight turn of his head. 

“My daughter?” he spoke slowly with a wheeze, “Child, should you–should you not be doing… your chores?”

“Oh, father” you said, “What has happened? Will you be alright?”

“Y/n,” he said, “Listen to me…and listen n-now. I will not walk much longer amongst the physical world. The gods…your mother, they call me.”

You felt physically ill; “No, father. Father you cannot know that for sure. A doctor is coming– he will help you father. Father?” 

Your voice was frantic. You placed your hand on top of his forehead, but he seemed to pay no mind.

“Y/n, I wish to tell you a story,” he said as he smiled to the best of his abilities, “There was once a young boy, from a small village outside of Athens. He was the son of a shepherd and a weaver, older brother to two young boys. But the gods did not smile down upon him, as by the time he had grown into a teenager all but his father had died. But the boy never lost his faith, no- no he did not, he left his father in search of becoming a scholar. A priest. He met many allies among the way, a blacksmith, a king, and even a goddess herself. No matter how sorrowful his life had been, he never stopped learning, writing, and telling stories. No matter who whispered what behind his back. It did not matter. Oh my sweet Y/n, you must not let the opinions of mere mortals and their mortal constraints stop you from being who you are.”

He suddenly began to squeeze your hand back, “Your entire childhood I spent being afraid. Afraid of what the gods may do to you what they did to me. What they do to mortals when they love too passionately, when they love outside what is conventional. But my child, I did so with your mother, and my life was most fulfilled–” he began to tear up, “Most fulfilled as my love for her led to my greatest gift of all.”

The clarity of which he spoke to tell the story amazed you, but you shook these feelings of awe away instantaneously. You leaned in closer to your father, determined not to weep but instead to stand as a beacon of comfort and strength. His breath began to fade even faster than before; his hand grew limp in yours.

“You…” he wheezed, “She gave me you.”

“Father,” you said, “Father I’m right here. Please don’t…”

“She calls out for me,” he interrupted, eyes staring straight at the ceiling with his arm as extended upwards as his frail body would allow, “My love, I’m here.”

Just like that, he was gone.

–––––––––

You spent the immediate several days following the death of your father locked away in the servants quarters, weeping. By the time the doctor had arrived, he, the headmistress, Dimitri, and several panicked servants saw you weeping into his chest. His limp, cold chest. The headmistress saw it best to stay in the servant quarters over the next several days, as she thought even bad company was better than no company.

On the fourth day Dimitri had the mercy to write Rosaria and inform her of you and your fathers condition. The very next sunrise she was there at your side, giving her own shoulder for you to cry. On the seventh day was when the headmistress dragged you out of the quarters. It was the day of your father’s burial. You and Rosaria held onto each other as the morticians lowered him into the ground. Because of his status as priest for the servants and friends of the king, many were in attendance at his funeral. Ajax stood at the very back of the crowd alongside his family. You caught several glimpses of him, dressed in black with a countenance more melancholy than before. 

On the ninth day you were finally allowed back into your father’s cabin where you wept over the remainders of his scrolls and books. That is, until you were hit by a fit of anger; how could he have abandoned you? How could he have chosen the afterlife, your mother, over you? In this fit you ripped all the make-shift curtains off the windows and rearranged all of the furniture. Only hours later when you finally realized how foolish you were acting did you sit down by all of his belongings and begin to weep once more.

On the eleventh day was when you finally met up with Ajax. At the beach. During the dead of night.

You sat sluggishly on the sand, eyes swollen from tears, and heart heavy from sorrow. 

“Y/n?” he said as he approached you, deciding not to sit next to you without warning. As soon as he sat down and saw your face he immediately pulled you into an embrace. Even with the moon as the only source of light, the grief in your facial expression was difficult to miss. 

“I feel as though I’ve been cursed by the stars,” you said, “My father is dead. I won’t ever hear another story from him again.”

Ajax said nothing, but instead pulled you tighter against his body to say I know, and I’m here for you, and so you continued to speak; “I always knew this day would come, but I truly thought that him being only 37 would give us more time. Why do the gods kill those who have already suffered so young?” 

“I’m so sorry,” Ajax finally said, “If I could trade his place, bring him to you, and see you smile I would in a heartbeat.” 

He took a deep breathe before grabbing a hold of your shoulders, and pushing you back so you now made eye contact; “And I’m sorry for what I am about to tell you.”

“What do you mean?” you said, mind racing. No, you thought, surely he is not here to tell you he is to be married this instant. Or maybe that you would be married off instead.

“Y/n” he said, “There's going to be war. Helen of Troy has been kidnapped by a young man named Paris. Menelaus has reminded us of our oaths we swore. Oaths to protect her from any other suitors.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” he replied, “I will go fight this war.” 

You couldn’t help but begin to weep. After eleven days of doing so non-stop, it felt like second nature to you.

“Y/n,” he said as he tried to wipe the tears from your eyes to which you dodged his hands, “I'll go with Menelaus and we're gonna bring Helen home. I’ll bring the kingdom honor and gold when I return. Return to you.”

“Ajax please–” you closed your eyes and raised a hand to massage your temple.

“–Y/n, I need to ask you something important,” he said, using a hand to move your head to face him, “Do you love me?”

That's what was so important?

“Ajax you're being ridiculous,” you said, “Of course I love you.”

He looked you dead in the eyes; “Then we should get married.”

“What?” you whispered, “No.”

“What?!” he said, “But you just said? Y/n I love you– we love each other. What else are we to do?”

“Are you serious?” you said, “My father died not even two weeks ago. I am betrothed– and so are you! You are a prince, I am a serving girl!”

“Yes and I am leaving for war!” he said in a fit of frustration, “Neither of us are to be married to our betrothed for quite some time, especially now that I’m leaving. Besides, you don’t have to marry Linos. Your father is dead, the headmistress doesn't have the authority to force you. Y/n, what if we never see eachother again?”

As he continued speaking his frantic, angry words began to die down to desperate whispers.

“Ajax I don’t think you understand what you're saying. To marry me is to go against the wishes of your father, your people, your country.” You stand up from where you comfortably sat in the sand and began walking towards your cabin, “You should go to sleep, take some more time to think about your suggestion.”

Ajax did not relent. He ran after you and grabbed your arm. You spun towards where his face was, angry at him for his brashness, but instead he softly grabbed the lower part of your jaw towards him and kissed you.

“Y/n, sleeping is not going to change the way I feel about you,” he said, “Tonight, we ride to a temple and say our vows. No one can stop us because no one will know.”

Your heart began to soften, and the weight from grief you felt on your chest began to lift; “We don’t even have a priest,” is all you could say.

“Y/n,” he laughed, “Do you seriously think we didn’t think this through?”

“We?” you said, questioning his odd choice of pronoun.

Instead of responding, he flashed you his signature devilish smirk and held out his hand. Kicking up sand and fighting against the wind, the two of you made your way around the back of the island to where the horse stable was kept. 

–––––––––

The sacrifice, proteleia, was done as a formality rather than an actual practice between you and Ajax. Rosaria’s fellow maidens brought before him a lamb which he slew as they recited prayers to the lady Artemis. This sacrifice was done in order to assure the favor of the gods, who surely would not be smiling down on this wedding seeing as it went against many Greek customs. Typically weddings lasted multiple days and were all about the bride. The majority of events taking place before the ceremony would be hosted by the bride’s father and after by the husband. But alas, you were a runaway bride with no father. So relying on the proteleia it was.

You were surprised Rosaria had gone along with this stunt. Ajax and you fled from the palace around two hours after midnight with no other company besides two horses, Dimitri, and a guard. As spontaneous as the event felt you couldn’t help but realize how meticulously planned it truly was. How you snuck past the main entrance right when the guards switched their shifts. How you rode down a trail that had only been mapped out days prior. How Rosaria was waiting for you at the front of her temple, identity covered by a long coat across her body, alongside half a dozen priestesses.

You and the prince wore similar coverings for protection, and it wasn’t until you were safely inside the main room with the statue of Athena that you could finally take them off. But you had to work quickly. In order to not raise suspicion, the two of you had to take a ceremony that would typically last hours and cram it into only two. After Ajax had finished sacrificing the lamb, two of Rosaria’s priestesses ushered you away to go get dressed. 

Because you had no formal time to prepare, you did not wear a traditional wedding dress. Instead, you wore a priestesses robe with a hand-me-down veil gifted to you by a priestesses's married sister. The white veil felt odd over your face. You understood its purpose of being removed in the wedding ceremony, a symbolic shift between ownership from father to husband, but now you just felt silly and slightly grossed out by the notion. The maidens continued their dressing as they adorned your arms with gold bracelets and semi-precious gemstones. The one that truly caught your eye, however, was a small golden necklace with an even smaller piece of aquamarine at the center.

“It’s from the Lord Prince’s late grandmother,” one of the younger priestesses said, “He spoke of her great love for the sea.”

The temple was a beautiful marble with doric columns. There was a great statue of the lady Athena at the center towards the back with a vast fire pit at the center of the entire building. In front of that very fire was where Ajax stood, dressed in his finest robes, alongside the now royal priest Dimitri who was granted permission to perform wedding ceremonies. As you walked through the temple towards the fire, Rosaria holding your arm, you passed by each of the other priestesses. Each of whom whispered a prayer of love and fertility. When you finally stood directly in front of Ajax, you could only imagine your appearance with the veil.

“Please lift the bride’s now, my prince,” Dimitri requested, though his voice was rather timid than stern or ‘priestly’. He spoke nothing like your father.

With that, Ajax lifted the veil from your face, leaving you with a sigh of relief now that your vision was fully restored. You did not smile at him, instead you stood tall and with honor, just as your father would have wanted. For the next several minutes, Dimitri stumbled through various prayers and offerings to different gods and goddesses in his attempt to remain in tradition. Half way through this, he decided instead to speak some kind words of your fathers and their friendship. Perhaps to comfort his own feelings on the matter and leave him to believe that this is what they truly would want for the two of you. You knew this was not true, people married for status, not for love.

“The late priest of Hebe, Y/n’s father, and beloved serving man of King Telamon was a just sole with piety and morals,” he began, “He had great love for his child, his fellow servants, and his dear King Telamon. The two became friends in Athens during their teen years despite their difference of status, and bonded over their mutual respect for the gods, maintaining honor, and their country. We miss the late priest each day that passes.”

With the finishing of that speech you felt a tear begin to form in one of your eyes. It was Ajax who wiped it from your face with the sleeve of his robe, and so the ceremony continued. Dimitri ceased the official ceremony with a kiss, untraditional, yet in his eyes metaphorical. He saw it as a continuation of the veil ceremony. A solidifying action between two parties to bless a marriage. This kiss traditionally occurred for the first time between the couple later in the night, and in this case it was neither. 

The ceremony ended as quickly as it began. Ajax and you linking arms as you excited the temple wrapped in disguises. You rode off into the mysterious darkness of the night leaving behind you childhood and a six year relationship of secrets.

December 14th, 1991

The Snezhnayan air outside was the coldest this time of year. Your neighborhood was generously decorated with thick, fluffy snow which was the perfect backdrop for the LED lights strung up on each house. People’s yards showcased snowmans, inflatable decorations, and Santa statues. So there you stood, hot chocolate in hand, breathing in a sigh of relief as you savored the moment. This year had truly been a wild one; so crazy that it felt like nothing more than a blur. After graduating from college in June, you had just started your new job at a high end company only a few months ago. Your life had changed so drastically at multiple occasions in the year that you had felt as though you were getting dragged through life by your hair. Your parents hadn’t been much help either from their constant calls and letters asking about your life as if you hadn’t spoken to them almost everyday. On top of all that, your friend group had seen a dramatic shift at the breakup and reunion of two of your closest friends meaning the dramatic rants were practically never ending. You loved and appreciated all those in life who cared for you, and you loved the fact that you had such a stellar paying job for your age, but you couldn’t help but yearn to get away from all of the stress and drama that had hung over you like a cloud this year. So the solution was simple: Christmas by yourself. 

Laughing to yourself over how silly the concept sounded, your eyes wandered back over to the highly decorated street that you lived on. Despite the fact that it was only six at night, the sky was pitch black meaning the only way you could see anything was due to the Christmas lights. Against your better judgment, you walked over to the far left end of the ginormous window in your living room, the one that overlooked the large golf field and country club. Your heart practically jumped out of your chest when you noticed him. Ajax. He was your neighbor, and he lived only a few doors down, but you, unfortunately, rarely saw him. There he stood, surrounded by all five of his siblings as he played in the snow and entertained the younger ones by building snowmen and making snow angels. His soft ginger hair had little snowflakes sitting on the top as he laughed along with his family. You had been infatuated with the man ever since you had moved in, as he had been a student at your university. The two of you first met at a Halloween party last year where you had gathered all the courage in your body to ask for his number, and to your luck he had said yes. But due to the unfortunately chaotic state of your life you are currently in, you haven't been able to see him practically all year.

As if having an extra sense, Ajax looked up to where your house sat slightly above the golf course to notice you staring down at him and his family. Rather than being weirded out, he flashed one of his signature, full smiles that you could still see even in the dark. You returned his gesture with a small wave before turning your heel and speed walking away, flustered that he had caught you staring. As you went to lie down in your bed, read a book, and drink some tea, you soon calmed your nerves as you thought of how incredibly relaxing this holiday season was going to be for you. 

————

March 22nd, 1991

You tried to be as quick as possible when unloading your groceries. Your paper for your Macroeconomics class was due at the end of the day meaning not only did you have to finish writing and proofreading it, but you also had to drive all the way to your University to turn it into your professor. Professor Pantalone was known to have a zero tolerance policy for late work and you had heard horror stories of students receiving no credit for their work after only being a couple minutes late to turn it in. You normally despised procrastination, but you had been up all last night writing a different paper for a different economics course and you had almost forgotten all about the paper that was due today. Grabbing the brown paper bags from your red hand-me-down car, you swung the door shut with your leg in one swoop. Unfortunately, you had underestimated the heaviness of the bag on your left and could only look in horror as your vegetables, milk, and cans of soup hit the floor and began rolling down your driveway. Ready to end it all, you left out a cry in frustration as you put the rest of your stuff down to start to gather all of your rebellious food items.

“Uh oh!” you heard a small voice calling out. You look up to see three figures with identical sets of orange hair watching you picking up your food. The voice that had called out to you belonged to a little boy, someone no older than seven you would guess. Next to him stood a girl slightly taller looking on with pitiful eyes at your predicament. Finally, the tallest of them all stood with a smirk on his face. Oh you knew him alright; he was the guy from Hu Tao’s Halloween party!

“You need some help with that girlie?” he asked, pushing his hair out of his face. You nodded absentmindedly, mesmerized by his face.

“Alright, Tonia, Teucer, how about we lend our neighbor a hand?” he said as he bent down to pick up one of the cans that had fallen all the way down your driveway.

The three siblings made their way to where you were, helping you put away the groceries back into your bags. As Ajax went to take the parsley from your hands to put away, you almost dropped the damn thing when his fingers touched your own. Seeming to notice your flustered body language, Ajax let out an amused chuckle before helping you stand back up to your feet. 

“Say,” he began, “my brother, sister, and I are on our way back home from the park. My other brother is at home right now making some medovik. I’m sure he would be more than happy to have you try some if you want to go back with us.”

You practically passed out at his words. You loved medovik! And an excuse to go to Ajax’s house for some dessert and to hang out with him sounded like a dream. Your heart sank though as you recalled the paper still sitting at home for you to complete. Imagining Professor Pantalone’s angry eyes made you physically cringe. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, “but I have a paper due today that I need to finish writing. For Professor Pantalone, you know?”

“Yikes,” Ajax’s face grew sour, “That guy is super intense. Had him as a freshman for Intro to Econ and that guy was no joke.”

You laughed at his words; “Yeah, you're totally right. Are you maybe free sometime this weekend?”

“Oh, sorry.” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I have hockey practice on Saturdays and Sundays.”

Your smile faltered; those were the only two days you were practically ever free. “No problem, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

He nodded; “Well, good luck to you, Y/n I’ll see you around?”

“You will. And thanks for your help with the groceries.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He said before giving you a polite wave goodbye, ushering his siblings to begin their walk back home. As you watched with a slightly disappointed face, you picked up your grocery bags once more before attempting to reach into your pocket to grab the keys to unlock your house.

After panicking for a moment, you looked to see them still sitting on the passenger’s chair in your car. Fuck. This was going to be a very long spring.

————

July 6th, 1991

The salty sea aroma was something you thoroughly enjoyed during the summertime. Because Snezhnaya practically never saw an end to snowfall, you had to travel a couple cities over to get to Mondstadt, a small town with a beautiful seashore. After getting lunch with your good friends Jean and Ayaka, you had gotten to hear all of the drama about Jean’s lovelife with your other close friend Lisa. Lisa and Jean had an off and on relationship all throughout University, but this time it seemed like the two of them were truly calling it quits, or at least that was what Jean had claimed. Knowing them it would only take a few months of being apart for the two of them to realize how much they still needed each other, but the constant ranting and bad mouthing surely would cause some rifts in your friend group until then. You and Ayaka had spent most of the afternoon sharing awkward glances with one another as you listened to Jean’s stories. Nevertheless the three of you walked together, arms linked, across the boardwalk as you sipped your smoothies. 

Ever since graduating Uni last month, you greatly appreciated all the time you could spend with your girls, even if it meant spending most of your morning driving to the beach. As you continued to walk along the boardwalk, the three of you took turns pointing out all of the ships sitting in the ocean.

“I have an idea!” Ayaka said, “Why don’t we go sit on the pier and name all of the ships!”

You and Jean shared a laugh at the idea, nodding your heads at Ayaka’s antics. “Well if it will take Ms. Gunhildr’s mind off of you-know-who then I’m in!” 

Jean gave a dramatic scoff at your words before playing shoving you in the direction of the pier. The three of you stood for a couple hours, not only naming the different ships that passed by, but also checking out the different food and shopping stalls set up along the walkway. Much to your dismay, you seemed to have forgotten to wear some sunscreen this morning seeing as how Ayaka playfully teased your slightly red tinted face after the three of you passed by a particularly cute guy. You thought you should not be blamed, however, considering the fact that you rarely needed sunscreen in a place as cold and stormy as Snezhnaya. 

As the three of you reached the end of the pier for the third time that afternoon, your eyes quickly laid upon a familiar head of orange hair, this time accompanied by two people who you did not recognize. 

“Y/n?” Jean asked, “What are you staring at?”

Ayaka turned her head curiously as well, you quickly put your finger to your mouth and shushed them; “That's him! The Halloween guy!” you tried to whisper.

Ayaka let out a small gasp; “Neighbor boy?!” she exclaimed.

“Really?” Jean asked, “That red head over there standing between the short guy and the blonde girl?”

You nodded your head, covering your slightly embarrassed, sunburnt face with your hands. 

“Huh,” Jean said, “Well I guess I can see it.”

“We should go say hi!” Ayaka added and Jean clapped along to her suggestion.

Before you could protest fully you found yourself being pulled along by the two women. As much as you would like to pull away and run, you felt a familiar pair of deep blue eyes staring at you. All you could do was smile awkwardly, hoping he and his friends wouldn’t think you were weird for being dragged along by two mysterious women they had never seen. As you approached their trio, you began to recognize the people who he was with. The tall blonde girl was none other than Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter, a girl who you had seen around campus quite a few times who you knew to have been on the volleyball team. The other was Kunikuzushi Raiden, the son of two of the professors at your school. You ended up having both women as your teachers for different classes, so you sometimes saw him standing around after class, though you knew for a fact that he didn’t go to the same University you did. 

“Well well,” Ajax began, “we meet again Ms. Y/n.”

You let out an awkward chuckle as you looked at the quizzical glares you were receiving from his friends; “Ajax! Hi, it's really been a while, huh?”

“It has, hasn’t it!” he replied, flashing you a slightly apologetic smile, “Life has just been really crazy lately. Oh! I don’t think I’ve introduced you yet, but here are my good friends, Rosalyne and Kunizushi.” 

The fair lady standing next to him simply gave you a nod while the short guy looked you up and down with a scoff.

“Yeah, you’re totally right!” you replied, “These are my friends Jean and Ayaka, they went to the same University as we did.”

“Right on.” the ginger replied, “Have you ladies been having a good afternoon? The waves today are totally awesome, Rosalyne and I caught some really good ones!”

“Oh wow!” Ayaka chimed in, “My brother really loves to surf, he would be so jealous right now.” 

Ajax nodded, “Bummer, he really missed out then huh.”

“Hardly.” Kunikuzushi said, “The wind is ridiculous–” 

“–Only if you're sitting on the shore.” Ajax said, “Well anyways. The three of us were about to take out my old man’s old boat for a spin if you and your friends wanted to join?”

“Sounds relaxing.” Jean replied, looking to you and Ayaka for any signs of apprehension.

Before you could reply, Rosalyne decided it was finally time for her to chime in; “Y/n, was it?” she began, “I’m not sure boating would be a great activity considering Ajax’s father’s boat doesn’t have a sunroof.”

Confused on what she meant, you raised your eyebrows curiously. Rosalyne simply gestured to your arms completely exposed by the tank top you were wearing. All at once the remaining four people’s faces morphed from shared confusion to horror at the sight. You quickly looked down only to be met with the sight of certainly toasted skin. 

“Oh gods!” you said, now finding yourself embarrassed at the situation, “I had no idea it was that bad.”

“Oh dear.” Ayaka said, “We should probably head back home. Maybe we can stop by my parents' place for some skin ointment.”

“Ayaka is right.” Jean continued, “That burn looks painful.”

Reluctantly, your eyes met Ajax’s concerned ones; “Yeah, you guys are probably right. Um, maybe we can do it some other time?”

Ajax nodded his head enthusiastically, smiling, returning, “Yes! Definitely. For sure. I’ll call you soon and we can make plans.”

As your friends ushered you back towards the direction of your car you looked back one more time only to meet Ajax’s disappointed gaze as he watched you disappear into the crowd. 

————

October 29th, 1991

“Perfect! So I’ll drive to your place to pick you up around 8, sounds good?”

You could hardly contain your excitement as you jumped up and down in the hallway of your house. 

“Yup!” you said, “See you then, Ajax.”

“See ya!” he said one last time before you placed the land line back into where the holder sat on the wall. 

You had gotten a surprise call from Ajax just thirty minutes ago where he had invited you to one of the parties his friend was hosting. Initially confused on why he felt the need to make a big fuss, he quickly explained to you the fact that he actually didn’t live fulltime in your neighborhood but also shared an apartment with his friend more towards the center of the city. It filled your heart with such joy when he told you he was willing to drive to your place and back just to take you to some stupid Halloween party. Though in some ways you found the gesture quite fitting considering it was almost a year to date from when the two of you had first met at Hu Tao’s party she had hosted on campus

You had intended on going to Ayaka’s house on Halloween with Jean and Lisa on Halloween day, so you already had a costume handy for the occasion. You were going to dress up as your favorite comic book character, Starfire; maybe not your top choice, but with Ayaka’s insistence on a group costume you had to oblige. Nevertheless, you happily got dressed up while listening to your favorite Halloween songs on your CD player.

It didn’t take you too long to get ready. In fact, glancing at your clock you were happy to be left with about ten minutes to spare before Ajax was going to pick you up. Deciding to take one last look in the mirror, you headed outside to wait for him, sitting on the bench on your porch. 

By the time eight o’clock rolled by, Ajax’s white Sedan was nowhere in sight. You were understanding, he mentioned that the drive to your place was from the center of the city, and there was always traffic trying to go from the center to the suburbs and vice versa. You let out a shaky breath before laughing to yourself at your antics. It could not be denied you were nervous, so it was best to relax before Ajax ended up arriving. 

Eight thirty at night and there was no Ajax. At this point you were growing slightly annoyed. Sure, there was still a possibility there was mass amounts of horrendous traffic, but could he really not try to leave his house a little earlier to show up on time? It was getting colder than it already was outside, so you thought it best to wait inside for him. Mind racing with possibilities, you decided to take your mind off of the situation by watching some TV. 

Nine seventeen and you were seriously getting annoyed. Has this guy stood you up? But he had been the one who invited you to the Halloween party in the first place! Like clockwork, your thoughts were soon interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Standing up from where you had been splayed across the couch, you wondered who would possibly be calling you this late.

“Hello?” you said.

“Y/n!” The voice of Ajax rang in your ear, though he sounded more nervous than excited, “So-uh, I have some pretty bad news.”

“Is it the fact that you are over an hour late?” you asked.

“About that…” he said, “I’m sorta calling you from the payphone at the car shop. Turns out the old Sedan was at its wits end. The car broke down halfway to your house– I had to hitchhike to get to a place where I could even call someone!”

Shit, guess you didn’t think about that; “Oh wow, sorry Ajax, I had no idea.”

“Well I don’t know how you could.” he laughed, “I’m really sorry Y/n, but it looks like I’m gonna need to spend the night in the shop.”

“Darn,” you laughed awkwardly, “I was really looking forward to going out with you.”

“Yeah…” he said, “Maybe some other time?”

You sighed; “Yup, I’ll call you later Ajax.”

“Oh– alright, see you then.”

You hung up the phone before you could even reply. You knew it was petty, it wasn’t his fault his car broke down. But you were in a bad mood nonetheless. Just then another call came through. Was he calling you again?

“Ajax?” you asked, picking up the phone.

“I don’t think so.” a smug voice replied, one you knew too well, “But nice try.”

“Kaeya, how are you?” you said. Kaeya and you had met in your junior year of University, and you had hung around with some of his friends ever since. 

“Doing good,” he said, “but I would be better if you agreed to go to Angel’s Share with the lady Lisa and I.”

You knew that Kaeya often went to the Angel’s Share, his father’s bar, though he normally went with his brother and other male friends from University. The idea of a charmer like him and the intelligent, calculated Lisa going drinking together seemed silly. 

“You and Lisa are going drinking?” you laughed.

“Yes, and you’re invited.” he replied, “Unless this ‘Ajax’ of yours has plans with you tonight.”

“Well not anymore.” you said, “Arcons do I have so much to tell you about him.”

“Looking forward to it, Lisa and I will swing by in ten.”

Saying your goodbyes, you hung up the phone. Seems like no matter what you tried to do with Ajax, life always seemed to have other plans. 

————

December 25th, 1991

The fireplace was lit, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air, you were dressed in the coziest candy cane print pajama pants with a tank top; all was good in the world. 

Earlier in the week you felt as if you were glued to the land line. Firstly, you had to explain to your poor mother how you actually could not be attending the Christmas family celebration with all 23 of your extended family members this year. As heartbroken as she was, you were sure she understood you reluctantly after your lengthy explanation of how hard this year had been on you and how unwilling you were to deal with any creepy uncles or bothersome cousins. Next came calling your dear best friends, Ayaka, Jean, and Lisa to tell them that you had to skip out on the Christmas Eve cabin retreat. Ayaka had tried to win you over once more with the promise of champagne, a jacuzzi, and much needed girl time. When she realized she wasn’t getting through to you, she swore her revenge for you forcing her to essentially be a third wheel for an entire vacation. A few more calls declining the invitations of Christmas themed parties from your friends like Kaeya had to be made as well, but once you finally finished turning down the invites you felt a wave of peace reach you. 

You had decided to make yourself a small Thanksgiving style dinner for Christmas with some turkey, mashed potatoes, garlic green beans, and some cranberry sauce. You may not be a huge fan of Thanksgiving all by itself, but you surely could appreciate the good food that came with it. The turkey that you had received from the grocery store that had been tucked away in your freezer for the past three days was…underwhelming to say the least. Sure you were only cooking for one person, but you were fairly certain you wouldn’t even get two days of leftovers from the poor bird considering how small it was. Nevertheless you persisted forward as to not let the size of the turkey ruin your celebration. 

Taking a bite out of one of the freshly baked cookies your elderly neighbor had dropped off earlier this morning, you decided to check back up on the state of the meal. With a random christmas romance film blaring in the background, you decided to check the temperature of the turkey, the state of the currently-baking mashed potatoes, the garlic green beans, and finally take the cranberry sauce from the pantry–

–where the fuck was the cranberry sauce?

You panicked to yourself momentarily. Was this some sort of sick joke? How on Earth did you manage to forget one of the four things on the menu tonight? Sighing angrily to yourself, you stormed into your bedroom to change into some pants, grab your jacket, some gloves, and your snow boots. 

Thankfully your car was parked in the garage meaning there was no need to wipe any snow off of the windshield. Once you found your way onto the main road outside the neighborhood, you tried to remember exactly where the only grocery store opened this late on Christmas was located. The snow fall made it difficult to see the streetlights and signs, though you eventually found the location of the small store near the entrance of the downtown area. Slamming the car door shut you took a moment to laugh at the fact that it was so cold you could see your breath in the air. 

The grocery store was more crowded than you had anticipated it to be, though technically that wasn’t saying much considering you had expected nobody besides yourself to be there. Locating the aisle for the cranberry sauce was no difficult task, and thank the archons there were still some left so last minute. You grabbed a single can of the sauce then made your way to the line. There were only about ten people standing in front of you, which was pretty good considering how crowded this grocery store tended to get being right outside the city afterall. 

“Y/n?” 

You looked up from where you had been staring at the magazine only to make eye contact with a familiar pair of icy blue eyes. 

“Ajax?” you replied, “What are you doing here?”

The man let out a small laugh before scratching the back of his neck as he so often did; “Decided to spend Christmas alone this year– guess this is what I get.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously before looking in his basket to see what he meant. Cranberry sauce. He forgot the cranberry sauce.

“So am I.” you said, “Don’t tell me you also forgot the cranberry sauce.”

His eyes lit up suddenly; “No way! How crazy is that?”

“Great minds think alike.” you laughed, “This year has really been crazy.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, “I can hardly catch a break. I guess I just didn’t have it in me to spend Christmas with my five siblings and millions of cousins.”

“Totally get that, my mom nearly murdered me when I told her.”

“My mom did too!” he responded as the two of you began laughing once again.

As the two of you continued your banter, you suddenly began to realize that maybe this was no mistake after all. The timing was too perfect, especially considering the fact the two of you had been forced apart by poor timing this entire year.

“Say, Y/n.” Ajax said, looking more serious than before. Maybe he had caught onto what was happening too, “You wouldn’t really care if you–”

“–spent Christmas with someone this year?” you cut him off, “No, no I would not.”

The man smiled; “Well perfect, because I haven’t even begun to cook the turkey yet.”

“What?!” you said in disbelief, “Ajax those take hours to cook!”

“It’s not my fault!” he laughed defensively, “I have like, the smallest turkey ever! Surely it wouldn’t take that long to cook.”

“You are unbelievable!” you responded, faking offense, “That's it, we are definitely going to my house. My food is almost done practically.”

“You're the boss!” he winked at you. 

Your plans to have a solo Christmas were completely foiled that night, though you couldn’t say you were upset considering the fact that you got to spend it with the guy you had been after for over a year. As the two of you ate, drank, and celebrated together, you wouldn’t have traded anything in the world to be able to stare into those eyes all night long. 

“Merry Christmas, Ajax.” you said, rested your head onto his shoulder as the two of you sat on the couch.

“Merry Christmas.” he replied with a laugh before resting his head on the top of your own. 

————

December 25th, 1992

“Y/n?! Did the cranberry sauce fucking vanish?!”

“Probably!” 

“Dammit we had one job this year! My moms gonna kill us!”

You laughed as you fumbled to put on your second earring. Wearing your cutest Christmas dinner outfit you could find, you sorted through your closet full of shoes and hockey supplies to try and find you and your boyfriend's snow boots. 

“Do we have time to get more?” you called out to him from your bedroom, still trying to find the other pair of shoes. 

“Uhhh, probably not.” he yelled back, “Well it is what it is! Besides, do people really like cranberry sauce that much?”

After securing the other shoe, you made your way down the staircase to find him standing, waiting for you at the front door. 

“Eh, only my little sisters really enjoy it.” he said, “My brothers and dad probably won’t care. Who knows about my cousins…”

“Arcons,” you said, “how many people are going to be there tonight?”

“Well you have my family, so that's seven not counting us, I have three uncles, two aunts, grandparents, eleven cousins–”

“–alright, that's enough.” you playfully punched his arm before handing him his boots, receiving a playful laugh from him. 

“Well next year we can do your parents' place, and I won’t complain about your big family.” he said.

“Uh-huh ok.” you rolled your eyes in fake disgust, “Do you know how hard I had to fight my mom after telling her I wouldn’t be home for Christmas for ANOTHER year.”

“Yeah I was right next to you when you called her–”

“–whatever ginger. Let’s get going, or at this rate we are gonna be late to Christmas dinner at our own neighbors house.”

“Sure thing, boss.” he said, slapping your lower back as you left the front door.

“Ajax!” a little boy yelled as soon as you left the door, causing you to yelp and stumble back. Luckily Ajax stood behind you, grasping your shoulders with his hands so that you didn’t fall backwards. 

Looking to where the boy had called, your eyes widened at the sight of five young redheads in matching holiday coats, smiling wide at the two of you.

“We came to surprise you!” the youngest girl, Tonia said, grasping the arms of her little brother Teucer as to mirror what her older brother was doing to you.

“Mom and dad wanted us to come and walk you.” the older girl, Sasha, said, clutching her hands together with a polite smile.

“Yeah because for some reason the two of you couldn’t walk a few blocks down by yourselves.” the older boy, Anton, said, annoyed he even had to be there. Ajax had explained to you that his brother was in his ‘I hate my family but actually don’t really hate my family age’; you were sympathetic, being fifteen was hard.

“Well thank you all for the nice gesture.” you said, stepping forward with Ajax’s arms still on your shoulder. 

“We could have really gotten lost!” Ajax joked, “Say Anton, Tonia, do you guys think you could beat me in a race to mom and dad’s place?”

“Hah! You know I could!” Anton replied, while Tonia shook her head violently.

“Hey wait I don’t think that's very safe–”

Before Sasha could even finish her warning, three of her siblings had already set off racing down the road. You shook your head at Ajax’s antics, but you found some peace knowing the three of them were hockey players and therefore knew how to deal with ice. 

“I’ll walk you over Y/n!” Teucer suddenly said, walking forward to take one of your arms before gesturing to Sasha to take the other.

So there you stood, walking in a line with Teucer and Sasha, watching Ajax and his siblings attempt to shake down the road to get to their parent’s house. 

The large marble room was filled with bustling life. Men and women dressed in the finest of silk lounging, dancing, chatting, and drinking wine. The king was at the center of it all, gracious speaking along with his dignitaries as they discussed philosophy and politics. Those surrounding him threw their heads back in exaggerated laughter. Servants flooded the room with trays of drinks and snacks in hand. The rich guests were less than kind when receiving their food and drink, though the servants were not phased. Ever since you had turned sixteen just a few months ago, you had learned what a charmer the king truly was.

The head mistress of your servant ward still had a fiery dislike of you, something that you remembered of her since you were a small child. Constantly mocking you for not being betrothed to anyone, she assigned you with the task of pouring the king’s wine during each of his luxurious parties, a task that was historically assigned only to men. It was always humiliating, standing in front of a wealthy crowd as an unbetroved young girl. It sometimes felt to be even dangerous; you were never quite able to shake the alarming glances some of the older men at the party would give you as you walked by. Most nights you would go crying to your father, expressing how much you dreaded going to your job each night, how the people you mock and oggle. Your father’s opinion remained firm, in life the gods would constantly challenge people like you, and that you simply needed to rise above the occasion and prove the foolish mortals wrong. When you were younger you would always appreciate your fathers infinite philosophical and spiritual understanding of situations, though now that you are older you longed for him to say something more comforting.

Objectively the worst part of your job however, the thing that made you sob into your pillow each night, was that everyday you had to be with Ajax. Whenever you spoke of this with Rosaria, she would simply call you crazy. I am crazy, you thought. Ajax had been one of your closest friends for years. Although it was forbidden, ever since the two of you had met Ajax had taken the time to sneak around the palace to visit you when he was certainly not supposed to. From seeing you tending to the garden, weaving, scrubbing the floors, to serving wine, he saw it all. If any of his friends asked, you were his closest companion. He felt as if the two of you were opposites, yet understood each other better than anyone else. You would have believed him, agreed even if asked, until he met Domitia. 

Domitia was a princess from a nearby kingdom, only a year younger than the two of you. She was a very pretty girl, with long dark locks and beautiful brown eyes. She was a natural charmer, and a smart one at that. She knew multiple languages, how to weave, play the lyre, and prayed to the gods often. She came from money, but was not spoiled nor egotistical. Despite the fact that she was younger, she spoke wisely as if she were years older than she was. You had never spoken to the girl, and yet you knew all of this information regardless.

The first time Ajax had mentioned Domitia was when you were fifteen. At first, you didn’t think too much of it, convinced he simply had a small infatuation for her. You were swiftly humbled when he began mentioning her in almost every conversation you had. It was then it became clear to you: he was in love with her. From the way he described it, it seemed she shared those feelings. He would often tell you how the two of them snuck away together almost every time their two families met. You tried not to let it bother you. Of course he would be in love with a woman like her. She was smart, funny, and rich. The latter being of utmost importance when it comes to marriage. You started growing frustrated hearing of their outings and gifts exchanged. But what really broke your heart was when he told you of how he brought her to the ocean and kissed her for the first time. He then said that's where the two of them go each time they sneak off. 

The ocean was where the two of you met. Where the two of you used to sneak off to see each other. Where he used to tell you stories, sneak you food, small gifts, anything you could think of. You had to resist the urge to punch him in the face from the way he so casually mentioned this to you. Yet, the way he smiled brightly and his cheeks blushed made you instead turn your heels and walk away, saying you had work to do. He simply said his goodbyes, saying you could talk about this later. That was over a week ago, and you had been doing everything in your power to avoid him since then. It was an impossible task, considering he attended each of his fathers parties, so you instead stopped sneaking off to your meeting places during work.

You began to put much more effort into your work, the headmistress even noticing your change in work ethic. All of your pain, heartache, and jealousy became channeled into your daily tasks, meaning that you found yourself with far more extra free time because of finishing your work extra earlier. A few weeks ago, your first instinct would have been to run and find Ajax, but instead you spent the remainder of the time with your father. 

Shaking your head, you quickly refocused on the task at hand: serving wine. One of the king’s men had called out to you, beckoning you to come over and refill their glass. You did so with grace, bowing your head to the men before pouring the wine into their cup. You kept your head down as a sign of respect for the king, he didn’t seem to notice you were even there. You were a poor servant, you were nothing more than a body that could do work in the eyes of the king. 

As you made your way back to the center of the room, you felt a pair of eyes on your back. You initially froze, praying to the gods that it wasn’t another creep trying to make a move on you. Much to your dismay, the person who tapped your back was much worse. Beautiful blue eyes and soft ginger hair entered your peripheral vision. Ajax, you lamented. The young man was smiling, seemingly proud that he had found you in the sea of people. He would often joke that he knew it was you due to your incredible posture and strong pouring arm that made you so easy to identify. You would laugh along with him, saying it was his golden headpiece that made him an easy target.

Instead, you reluctantly turn to him, a small scowl on your face; “Prince Ajax, can I help you?”

“What on Earth?” Ajax laughed at your formal words, “I've been looking for you all week! You’ve been standing me up at all our meeting spots you know.”

“Oh, sorry.” you said, looking towards the floor to avoid eye contact, ‘I’ve been busy.”

“Hah, no worries, I get it!” he smiled at you, your heart fluttered, “Rumors tell me you’ve been working extra hard. I mean, that’s great!”

“Thank you, your highness.” you replied.

“Keep it up and we will totally have more time to hang out with each other!” he whispered excitedly. 

You felt the urge to both smile and break out into tears at the same time. What he said is the exact opposite of what you wanted; “Sorry, I…”

His smile faltered, he was growing confused; “I don’t think that's…well, I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Oh.” he replied, “Well, that’s no problem girlie. I get it, you’re super busy.”

The atmosphere grew awkward, no one quite knowing what to say; “Um, we’ll still see each other though, right?”

“I work here.” you said, he bursted out laughing.

“Yeah, you’re right!” he nudged you with his elbow, you still weren't laughing. “I’ll see you around then, Y/n.”

You wanted to throw yourself down the palace staircase because of how embarrassed you were. Talking to Ajax was normally easy for you, but this time you were resisting your own tears the whole conversation. Nevertheless, the night went on. You continued to fill the wine glass of all the powerful people in the room. You overheard a plethora of conversations on advanced topics you could hardly understand, yet it kept you entertained as you continued your work.

Towards the very end of the celebration, the servants working the food and drink shift began to pack up, ready for the servants who cleaned to replace them. As you put on your overcoat of thin wool to make the journey across the castle and down the staircase to get home, your eyes wandered to the corridor. The sight before you nearly made you vomit.

It was Ajax and Domitia, laughing with one another, probably at another one of his stupid jokes. The way each of them looked at each other was different than how he ever looked at you. It was full of admiration, infatuation, love. He eventually took her hand, before glancing around to see if any adults would notice. As the princess stared out the door, his eyes landed upon you. You weren't sure what your face looked like, but from the way his eyes widened strangely, you were certain it didn't look normal. After a moment, he relaxed, giving you a smug smile before lifting up a finger in front of his mouth. Hush. Angry and tired, you weren't in the mood to be nice. It was your own fault in a way, pushing him away earlier in the evening. Maybe losing your friendship with him would be for the better, afterall, if the two were to be married you were certain he would stop talking to you completely. 

So instead of smiling back at him as you usually do, you intentionally took a moment to gaze at the two of their hands joined together before making direct eye contact with him once more. You angrily narrowed your eyes at him, attempting to make the most disgusted look you could, and turning your heel with no explanation. He probably wouldn't care, you thought to yourself, afterall he was with his Domitia now. Only once you were sure you were out of his sight did you begin to softly cry into the long sleeve of your overcoat. 

–––––––––

“I just hate it so much!” you sobbed into Rosaria’s arm, “I can’t believe the mistress is still making me work there.”

Rosaria racked her hand through your hair comfortingly before clearing her throat; “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m sure it will be alright, the headmistress can’t make you do this forever.”

Of the people who had changed the most over these past couple of years, it would most certainly had been Rosaria. Although she had always been standoffish and cold, as a now eighteen year old she had matured into a wise young woman. Instead of taking a traditional path, she instead boldly declared that she would follow in the path of your father. Becoming a priestess was something you would have never expected of her, though once you saw her train and preach about the wise Lady Athena, you knew that this was always what she was meant to do. 

“Rosaria?” your father called out, he had been uncharacteristically quiet, “It's getting quite late. I’m sure you have to work early in the morning. Would you mind leaving us be?”

The young woman nodded, getting up from your single bed to bid her farewells and take her leave. You looked over at your father, confused on why he had asked her to leave so soon. He turned to you, his tired eyes having no hint of anger or sadness in them. Instead, he used his cane to walk towards you, sitting down on the bed with a humph.

“Y/n, my child.” he began, looking you in the eyes, “Would you tell me the real reason this job is troubling you?”

Your eyebrows shot up; “Well, you see father. The old men! They, they make me so very uncomfortable–”

“–and I completely understand that.” he cuts you off, his hand caressing the side of your cheek, “But you have always been dealing with such horrid men. This job of yours is no different. I sympathize, but surely it must be something else.”

You grow quiet, weighing your options; “Promise…promise me you won’t be mad, father.”

You say, voice small. Your father does not agree, but rather shakes his head sympathetically, beckoning you to tell your story. And so you do. You had only ever told Rosaria of your encounters with the prince, so you could not have predicted the way your father could have reacted to the news of your secret years-long friendship. You had never truly seen your father angry, sure he yelled while the two of you were in disagreeance, but you had never seen such pure rage on the man's face. 

Your father looked like he had just received the worst news of his life, actually, he may have just had. The way he clenched his weak fists and shook his lead from left to right, you knew you had messed up. Maybe this is good, you thought, father will forbid me from ever speaking to him again so I’ll have an excuse to never face him.

“I cannot believe this!” he began, “For years. Years! You have disobeyed my advice for you!”

“Father, you don’t understand!” you raised your arms defensively, not quite sure how to defend yourself.

“No!” he spat, “You don’t understand! Don’t you see? I’m trying to protect you! I always have been! Everything I ever do is to protect you! To keep my only child safe.”

His voice faltered towards the end of his ranting, he sounded as if he was about to cry; “From who? Ajax and the king?” 

You questioned only upset him more; “No! From the gods!”

“Why?” you asked, confused what he meant.

“It seems you are still too naive to understand.” he brought a hand up to rub his temple, “That's it. You need to leave. Go stay with Rosaria for the night, tell her the truth. The full truth, Y/n.”

You nodded your head, worried about the implications of what he was saying about the gods; “And you are never to speak about your love for the prince to me again. Do you hear me?”

As you take your leave to walk to Rosaria’s house, your heart hurts as you see your father with his hands shielding his face. Although you still didn’t quite understand, from the way he sobbed into his hands you couldn’t help but shed a few tears along with him. 

–––––––––

Your eyes were still red and swollen from the tears you had been crying all week. After your father’s strange emotional outburst, there was noticeable distance between the two of you each time you spoke. Rosaria was sympathetic, but after having a long chat with your father one night while you were away working, she too began to look at you with sad eyes. So there you stood, once again in a room full of rich people partying while you were simply the drink pourer. Not a single person the entire evening had tried to make conversation with you, much less ask why your puffy face looked like you slammed face first into one of the marble poles. Being invisible was something you became used to over the past couple of months you have had this job.

You decided that father wallowing away in self pity while standing awkwardly in the middle of a crowd, that you would prefer to actually make your way around to each group of people gathered. Just as you had suspected, most were busy chatting about meaningless gossip or surface level philosophy; standard rich people conversation. As you continued walking, you approached a group of younger women. Offering your services, you got a few jarring remarks from each of the girls claiming that they wouldn't be caught dead wearing the outfit you were. You simply kept your head down and continued pouring their drinks.

As you went to fill the glass of the final girl, you found that she pulled it away at the last minute. Her friends all laughed at your terrible aim. You looked up to see a face that filled your very soul with dread. It was Domitia, Ajax’s Domitia, and she did not look happy. You quickly set down the jug of wine on the floor to begin wiping up the small spill you had made. Domitia sighed as the other girls continued to laugh at you. This was no new occurrence, people making fun of you that is, but you rarely ever spilled the drinks you poured. On top of your already emotional feelings, this new level of embarrassment surely did not help.

“Dear gods,” one of the girls began to mock, “who even are you anyway? We surely need to report a slob like you to your head mistress.”

“I’m Y/n. I’m terribly sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.” 

A gasp escaped Domitia at your words. The other girls stopped laughing and turned to her, concerned, it was likely Domitia wasn’t often caught by surprise. 

“You’re Y/n?” she asked, eyes wide with shock, “Ladies, do excuse my brashness, but could you excuse the two of us for a moment.”

Domitia’s voice was stern though not angered. The other girls seemed to catch on that what she was asking wasn’t truly a request, but more so a demand. Normally you would tremble if someone of her status called for you to be alone, yet you had to try hard to quell your anger towards this girl.

“Your highness?” you asked, arms clutching the jug of wine once more, “What seems to be the issue?

Picking up on your sarcasm, Domitia crossed her arms defensively; “I just believe I find this entire situation innppropriate. Do tell me why you find it so necessary to sneak off with my boyfriend all the time then mock me by spilling the king’s wine on the floor right in front of me?”

You stared at her, confused. She couldn’t have been referencing any events from the past week, because you hadn't talked to Ajax since the night you and your father fought. The only reason she would be able to know about any of your meetings would be if Ajax was telling her about them. Oh. Uh oh.

“I’m terribly sorry, your highness.” you replied in a neutral manner, trying hard to maintain the balance of sarcasm yet respect for her authority, “I haven’t spoken with your boyfriend in quite some time. Don’t tell me you’ve been jealous.”

The princess’s eyebrows shot up, her expression growing angrier. Before she could throw your comment back in your own face, you continued to speak; “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Afterall, I’m just some lowly servant. It's not like some prince would choose a pauper over a princess.”

Domitia took the time to glare at you; “That’s very true, afterall, lowly servant. Ajax has mentioned you before, but you aren’t half as beautiful as he described. You're still not engaged, huh? I can see why.”

Ouch. You could tell Domitia was truly flustered by your words, afterall, a scholar of her status surely would result in such insults unless truly provoked. You could see why a guy like Ajax was in love with her, she could have a tongue twice as sharp as yours; “Maybe I don’t need to be engaged. After all, your little Ajax isn’t either. Have you ever found it strange why the two of us meet in secret so much?”

You were certainly bluffing; Ajax made it clear through his talk about this princess that he harbored no romantic feelings towards yourself. Nevertheless, Domitia opened her mouth to fire back another retort. However, much to your dismay, a familiar face shows up behind Domitia’s, discreetly rubbing the back of her arm to signal that he was there. Domitia, however, took little comfort in his gester, opting to shake him off rather than indulge in the attention of the prince as she so often would. 

When he made eye contact with you, he almost smiled. It wasn’t until he saw your angry scowl that he must have recalled the last time the two of you interacted. His expression morphed from joyous, to confusion, to anger. Without any more words said, he moved in front of the princess, his arms stretched out in front of her defensively. 

“What do you think you're doing, Y/n?” he accused. 

“The two of us were having a chat, Ajax.” you replied, Domitia scoffing at your response.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking your childish anger out on Domitia because you can’t spend as much time as her with me.” he began saying, “Surely you're just jealous of her beauty.” 

Domitia stepped back in front of him to face you, rolling her eyes at his words; “Go away Ajax, this argument of ours does not need your unnecessary insults.”

“It’s only the truth!” he said, exasperated, “She’s been jealous of the time you spend with me and not her. She must be! That's the only reason a poor, lousy servant girl such as herself would speak with a rich girl like you.”

Domitia once again told him off, that he was missing context to your conversation. You however felt betrayed by the slip up of his words. A poor, lousy servant girl, you thought to yourself. If that's all he thought of you, then it was most certainly the best to end your years long friendship.

“Maybe you should save those comments for the next time you and the ‘rich girl’ go to sneak off and make out!” you fling your arms, speaking at a much higher volume than the other two had been. Even the groups of people surrounding you had begun to take notice in your conversation, whispering about the implications of what you just said. You could be spontaneous, it was a trait your father and Rosaria had always teased you about. However, this little comment would surely get you the punishment of a lifetime, so you may as well go all out.

Domitia and Ajax stood staring, horrified you had said it aloud at a volume so many people could have potentially heard. Ajax began walking closer towards you; blinded by rage, his hands curled up into a fist as if he was going to punch you. So you did the unthinkable. Hurdling the entire jug of wine at his face, one of the last things you remember of the night was seeing his clothes soaked in wine. Domitia stood covering her embarrassed face as the groups of people began to close in around them, some whispering while some laughing.

The absolute last thing you could recall, however, was how bad the back of your legs hurt while you made the walk of shame back to your small cabin after the head mistress punished you black and blue. 

–––––––––

The large gusts of wind that blew through the large worship area of the palace served as a peaceful background noise to the prayers that were held. Over the past month, you had undergone the worst set of jobs you could have possibly imagined. Not only did you still have to pour the wine at the parties, but you had to do so with a humiliating bird mask placed over your noise. The guests would mock and call your ‘little birdie’ before asking if they could pluck your feathers or take you home to roast for dinner. Because you worked the night shift, you were normally given breaks during the day. Unfortunately, this was a privilege you had lost after the humiliating stunt you pulled weeks ago. During the day, you were forced to clean the stables, meaning you were quite dirty. The constant workload also meant that you found yourself getting less than five hours of sleep per night. 

Currently, you are sat alongside your fragile father, praying to the goddess Athena for strength and wisdom to survive your current predicament. Your father was enraged after hearing what you had done, of course, though he used your mistake as a learning moment. Instead of taking your short lunch break, your father insisted you meet him at the palace church. For thirty minutes a day you would sit and pray. What first annoyed you began to bring you a great sense of peace; a sense that you were not alone, and that someone was looking out for you. 

You had never been on worse terms with the entire cleaning staff until after your incident. They claimed it must have been a miracle by the gods that the king did hang you in his front lawn; who knows, maybe you were finally gaining some of their favor, though you believed it was long overdue. As you prayed to Athena, you thought of your dear friend Rosaria. It was likely she was still present at the temple considering the time of day, and though you doubted your father would willingly let you miss prayer, you may as well give it a shot. 

“Pardon me, father.” you said, standing up to brush off your overly dusty clothes to no avail, “I’ll be headed to the washroom.”

Your father didn’t lift his head from where he had been praying, instead he gave you a stumble nod to acknowledge your comment. Although the two of you had your disagreements, your father’s everlasting wisdom and the way he carried himself never failed to impress you.

Walking down the long corridors of the temple, you tried your best to look as discreet as possible. If you were to simply call out Rosaria’s name, you would no doubt draw unwanted attention from the fellow prestiest, most certainly resulting in a punishment. The sight of her short maroon hair caught your eye as you stopped by one of the open arches. Inside the room she stood was a large statue of Athena with a large owl resting on her forearm. She held her head up high, ready to face any challenge coming her way. 

As you walked towards Rosaria, your footsteps caused her head to spin around brashly. Her narrow eyes softened at the sight of your face; you were sure she was grateful not to have to deal with a fellow priestess at the moment. 

“Y/n?” she said, “How nice of you to join me here.”

There was an air of sarcasm to her voice, though you could tell her intentions were lighthearted; “I came to visit you sister Rosaria. My knees were hurting from all the praying.”

“Your father is still making you do that?” she asked, “Talk about commitment.”

You nodded your head at her jests; “What are you thinking about? Why this statue?” You took a step forward, lifting your arm so that your pointer finger lay in front of the Goddess’s great owl.

“I was simply thinking.” she replied honestly, “Thinking about how foolish we humans are in the pursuit of personal affairs.”

You lifted your eyebrows up, unsure if she was attempting to make a pass at you; “Afterall, our owl-eyed lady never went in pursuit of a man. She always pursued victory, passion, and cunning.”

The two of you took a moment to silently admire the statue. 

“Truly admirable, no?”

“Truly, Rosaria.”

–––––––––

After a long night of serving wine in the most humiliating way possible, you attempted to quell the stormy winds that raced in your mind with a walk along the water. Over the past few years, the ocean brought a sense of true serenity to you; a safe haven to go when the world and everyone in it shut you out. You remembered an incident not too long ago where you were walking along this very trail with the prince himself. You remember him babbling about a play that he and his brothers had just seen. A play about the word ‘zelus’. 

At first you were convinced he said Zeus, though through his excessive explanation you learned of its entirely different meaning. The personification of jealousy in romance. Aphrodite’s greatest weapon to drive men mad. People always want what they could never have. You supposed this very memory of him being shoved back in your face meant the gods were somewhere laughing about your fragile human nature. The concept of jealousy and love was not a foreign concept for the gods, but you were sure the amount of superficial heart break they faced in comparison to humans was lackluster. As you continued with your train of thoughts, your mind was suddenly interrupted by a faint noise. This alarmed you, of course, who knew what kinds of people would be hiding out this late at night. A servant girl of your stature was surely an easy target. 

Lifting up the largest shell you could find with only the moonlight to guide you, you began walking in the direction of the noise. Behind the fishermans abandoned cabin lay what you were sure had created the noise. As you made your way around the corner, you froze on the spot.

There sat Ajax. His soft ginger hair and bright blue eyes shining dully under the moonlight. Although it was hard to tell considering the darkness, his eyes were certainly red and puffier than usual; he had been crying.

“Who’s there?” he snapped defensively as you took another step forward. Perhaps you failed to register that a trained warrior such as himself would be able to tell you were coming from a mile away.

You should have walked away, dropped your shell in the dirt, and returned home without another word. Every logical bone in your body was begging you to turn the other way, knowing that whatever interaction the two of you would have would only hurt you in the long run. Regrettably, you too were simply human. Your emotions no doubt override the logic within you no matter what situation. And so, you took another few steps forward so that your silhouette would be at least slightly visible to where he sat, arms hugging his knees to his chest. 

“It’s me…” you replied in a small tone, unsure if it was your nerves or simply the fatigue of working for ten hours a day.

Like a starved lion, he eyes widened while his head quickly turned towards where you stood. A mixture of confusion and suffering riddled his features. He was far too beautiful to look so sad, you noted while fidgeting with the shell in your hand. In a way, his suffering was surely to have been partially caused by you when you humiliated him and his secret love in front of the party guests all those weeks ago. 

Instead of lashing out in anger as you assumed he would, his face instead somehow contorted to express more melancholy than before. Without thinking, you took another small step forward in his direction; “Ajax? What's the matter?”

The following silence between the two of you was broken by a muffled sob. Ajax turned his head away from you as if to hide his own shame. It took him a few more moments to recollect himself; “It’s about Domitia…”

You felt a pang in your chest at the mention of the name you so wished to wipe from your memory.

“Ajax,” you said, taking another step in his direction, this time it being much larger, “I-I want to apologize. If what you're about to say is my own fault–”

“Her father is marrying her off to another man.”

…What?

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah.” he hiccuped in between sobs, “Apparently he was planning to for a long time. Ever since he suspected a thing going on between us. He wants her to marry someone older. An older, richer prince.”

He clenched his fists in anger as he ranted to you; “I just can’t believe it! I’m destined to be a powerful warrior– one of the best this word has ever seen! I could give her anything, anything. And yet her father would rather her marry a stranger!”

His arms flew dramatically into the air to add an angry emphasis, that is, until it all came crashing down; “From the start…I was never good enough for her…”

He looked as though he was about to burst into tears once more. Taking pity on the man who you had called your friend for the majority of your teen years, you walked to where he sat before planting yourself in the sand right next to him. He refused to meet your eyes as you sat right beside him; was he too angry, sad, or both?

“And now!” he shouted angrily, “I’ve lost the respect of my guests, my father’s confidence in me, my love, and my…”

He paused to finally look at you; “And my best friend.”

Your eyes widened, but before you were even given a change to reply his soft exterior hardened once more; “I fucked up, I know alright! It was so stupid of me! I don’t even know why I accused you of being jealous of Domitia’s beauty, it's just…when you're a guy like me and you see a girl you love getting into a fight– I shouldn't have gotten involved. I tried to make it better, I really did! I tried talking to my father; persuading him to keep his hands off you, to Domitia’s father to give me a second chance I-I.”

He tucked himself further into his knees. You place a sympathetic hand on his back.

“I’m sorry Y/n.” he said, his small voice unfit for his usual lion-like appearance and confidence, “You’ve been my bestfriend for so long I– it was stupid for me to ever forget that.”

“No.” you replied, “It was stupid and immature of me to pick a fight with your girlfriend. Oh, and spill all that fancy wine on you. I’m such a stupid servant.”

You joked, hoping to lighten the mood. Ajax left out a familiar laugh, before cringing after realizing the implications of you using the words ‘stupid servant’. Instead of apologizing once more, he chose to wrap his arms around you. He smelt of sea water and wine, you noted, wondering if he had been drunk this entire time.

“Did your headmistress chew you out?”

“Oh please, I still haven't heard the end of it. Oh! You should have seen my father.”

“Gods, I don’t even want to imagine how that must have gone down! Not that I can complain, afterall, my father practically threatened to drown you and I at sea. Romantic, huh?”

The two of you laughed together at his playful flirtation. Although he had never said something to you like that before, it all felt so familiar. Talking to him was as easy as talking to Rosaria, or your father. Oh how you missed these times. Times where you didn’t have to worry about anybody else making a surprise appearance in your conversation. 

“Would you meet me at our spot tomorrow?” you asked, “I’m gonna need a few hours to process all of this stuff.”

The two of you laughed at your jest, Ajax finally letting go of the tight squeeze he had captured you in.

“Of course!” he wiped the remainder of his tears away, “What time?”

“Probably midnight?” you smile awkwardly.

He rolled his eyes in exaggeration before putting an arm around your shoulder. As the two of you watched the celestial stars twinkle in the night sky, you wondered if this too was perhaps a sign from the gods. Maybe your good fortune in their eyes only came when you sat next to one of the most blessed of them all, a fated warrior, a prince, and, for better or for worse, your best friend.

–––––––––

The sound of the wooden spear breaking to pieces once it made contact with the tree came in the form of a loud thus. The small fragments of the wood flew across the soft sand of the beach. Although it was hard to tell because of the dark, you tried your best to dodge the splinters by raising your hands above your head defensively. 

“Another one?” you laughed in awe. Ajax let out a shaky breath, using his left forearm to wip the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. 

“It’s not me, I swear.” he replied, holding up the now-anihilated stick dimly lit under the moonlight, “See, it’s the dumb sticks.”

“Those are spears, Ajax.” you corrected him as you hand your hands through the cold sand. He laughed at your half-joke before throwing the spear into the sand once and for all. 

“You know,” you began, “I remember the time where you couldn't even break a spear in half. Let alone destroy four in a ten minute period.”

“I know!” he replied joyously, “Just wait until you see me playing again during one of the ball games, you won’t even recognize me!”

You shuddered simply imagining it. Your mind flashed back to the time you first met when your legs had fallen victim to one of his signature kicks. You were certain that had that happened recently versus when you were twelve that your legs surely would have blown off. Ajax eventually decided to retire down next to you, most likely because of the copious amounts of training and lessons you assumed he had gone through today. You had to hold back a laugh as you imagined Ajax trying to sit still in a lyre class instead of running around like a crazy person as he so normally did.

“So,” he began, “do you think you'll be able to make it to my game this weekend?”

Each time he asked the question your answer almost always remained the same. There was no way in hell you could try to sneak around in an area with so many people, and with the additional rules placed on you recently the chances became even more slim. You turned to him, giving a knowing glance to signify your answer. Although he had heard it at least hundreds of times, his face never failed to deflate. He shook his head with a sign, moving all of his fluffy ginger hair to the front of his face, sticking to his slightly damp forehead.

Laughing at his childish antics, you moved your hand out to move the hair from in front of his face. You half expected him to swat your hand away, half expected his to completely dodge you all together. Instead, he gave you an incredulous look, one you had never been on the receiving end of. His blue eyes enlarged and his mouth slightly agape, he looked onto you in awe as you corrected the strange positioning of his hair. Offering a small smile, you began to retract your arm but were interrupted by the sound of a slap.

He had grabbed your hand harshly, holding it in place against the side of his head. Looking you straight in the eyes, you tried to signal for him to relax. Nevertheless, he kept that same expression as he stared into your eyes, slowly narrowing his eyes and closing his mouth. He was thinking. About what exactly, you had no clue.

“Uh–” you cleared your throat, “Earth to Ajax?”

Just like that the young man released your arm and backed up a noticeable distance. Shaking his head, and messing up his hair again, he quickly discarded whatever he had been imagining. He then paused all together, his movements growing rigid; he had just realized how strange he had been behaving. In the dim moonlight, you thought your eyes may have been playing tricks on you, you noticed his face grow a tinted shade of pink as he caressed the side of his face you had just been holding onto. Moments later, he snapped out of it.

Standing up suddenly, face perfectly content, and dusting the sand off of his cloak. You flashed you another one of his signature smug smiles before lifting his hand up to wave goodbye.

“I should probably head up now, Y/n.” he said, “Wouldn’t want our dear ol’ headmaster to find out I’ve gone missing.”

“Alright,” you replied, “I'll see you soon. I’m thinking about three days at the beach?”

He winked at you before turning his back; “You know it!”