Tyril's hands

"Louis lured me in"

In the early stages of their courtship, Armand is already de-fanging himself, framing himself as a 'failed predator'; unable to lure Louis in, he instead was the one being lured by the more powerful presence.

"Louis made me love him, it was so scary 🥺" Shattered, a deliberately forceful phrase. And the way Armand's eyes glow when he says how 'frightened' he was of Louis...

Armand locked "I love you" away after Lestat's abandonment of him, but Louis didn't inspire him to 'open up' - Louis shattered the lock, forced his way past Armand's boundaries. By Armand's description, Louis is the forceful one, the one who makes Armand change, and Armand is just the person Louis does these things to, and is 'frightened' of Louis's power to bring about those changes in him.

(Compare to Lestat basically expressing the same sentiment but more active in his language. After a century, Lestat "tried again" to find love - he was active in pursuing it/Louis, describes himself as having made a conscious choice to do so, rather than Louis making him)

Once you start looking for it, every other thing out of Armand's mouth is some variation of "I could not prevent it"; he doesn't do things, things happen to him, or around him, never because of him. He's always framing himself as a passive agent or helpless victim, with no, or very little, agency of his own.

Armand understands himself to be someone 'with power' (literally with the power of life/death over Louis in this moment) but cannot frame himself as 'powerful' - instead he's 'the weakest', unable to carry out the execution the coven wanted him to, but also unable to fully own the choice he is making. If Armand were to tell the coven "I'm the coven leader and what I say goes, I'm going to spare Louis and everyone has to deal with it" that would be an active wielding of power, not weakness. But since Armand refuses to frame himself as powerful, him not killing Louis is a failure of duty, a shortcoming, a display of weakness. He was supposed to do something and he couldn't rather than making an active choice not to do something.

He won't even take responsibility for walking Louis home (bc this would mean taking responsibility for defying the coven and sparing Louis's life); even though he obviously knew where he was bringing Louis, he barged into his apartment unannounced earlier that same episode.

When Louis asks if Armand wants to come upstairs, Armand doesn't answer outright, but counters with his own question, centering Louis as the active one in the situation. Armand won't come upstairs just because he "wants" to, because that would mean he is in control of what happens - he wanted something and took it. His instinct is to frame his own desire as something Louis is stoking and in control of. Armand didn't 'go in'; Louis 'invited him in' and Armand simply 'complied'.

The "asking or making" refrain is this in a nutshell. Asking vs making doesn't really matter, because either way, it puts the agency in someone else's hands, rather than Armand himself owning whatever he chooses to do (whether it's attending Madeleine's turning or sparing Daniel). Either he's just doing what someone else asked him to do, carrying out someone else's wishes (passive) or being forced to do something someone else wanted him to do (victim).

It's also giving Louis the illusion of choice (the false power Armand consistently imbues Louis with in their relationship) bc both options serve Armand's desire, which is making Louis responsible for Armand's actions.

I think it is telling that Louis opts out completely the first time Armand pulls out this phrase, and only plays into it when the stakes are dire (Daniel's life). And even then Louis never 'makes' Armand, only says he's 'not asking'.

Obviously the literal difference between asking/making is that with asking there is an implied freedom to say no - but I can't really imagine Armand whipping out "asking or making" if he was going to refuse Louis, because he tells Louis no all the time and doesn't need that framing to do so lol.

I think Armand uses asking/making to escape personal culpability when faced with something he doesn't want to do, but doesn't feel it's beneficial to outright refuse in the moment, both for himself (his own psychological/emotional needs) and in anticipation of reframing his behavior to others ('well *I* didn't choose to do this, Louis asked me to/made me') - it's not something Armand did, it's something Louis wanted, and Armand carried out on his behalf.

There's a lot you could say about this behavior as a trauma response/learned helplessness/victim mentality (which are not uncommon following childhood abuse), but tbh I'm not a psychology expert (and I assume ppl have already talked this to death?)

I also don't want to fall into the trap of downplaying Armand's agency as much as he does. The fact is, he isn't powerless in any of these situations, nor does he truly believe himself to be, because he wields his power (specifically over Louis) whenever he sees fit to do so (most obviously in 205 and the end of 107, where his 'servitude' to Louis is shown to literally be a costume he can discard whenever he pleases, and he does so, revealing himself to/threatening Daniel and bringing the interview to a screeching halt as Louis begs him not to).

And as soon as the mask drops and Armand is floating in the air above them, he assumes his rightful place as paternal authority over Louis, stops defending him and starts telling Daniel how Louis 'acts out' and needs Armand to control/mitigate his behavior (like a parent talking to another adult about an unruly child right in front of them)

I think Armand is more complex than just "acts helpless because he feels helpless" (bc clearly whenever helplessness no longer suits him, he throws it to the ground like his brown contacts and gloves), he understands how powerful a manipulation tactic it is to make everyone buy into the fiction that he is helpless/believes himself to be (so can never be truly culpable of wrongdoing/harm - "I will not harm you/I never have") AND I also think it is personally comforting/instinctive for him on some level to (falsely) claim a 'powerless' role because of his trauma. Yes, he is a deeply traumatized character, but also he does things deliberately and with intent; both can be true.

One way we can see this is how Armand's framing shifts after the choice has been made. When Armand wants to kill Daniel and Louis wants to stop him, its "are you asking me, Maitre?", putting responsibility in Louis's hands. But afterwards, Armand reframes his not killing Daniel as an act of benevolence on his part, not something Louis 'made' him do. In San Francisco, it awards Armand credibility as 'compromising partner' to spare Daniel only at Louis's urging; in Dubai, it awards credibility to Armand as Louis's 'caretaker' to take responsibility for sparing Daniel in order to 'preserve Louis's happiness'.

Armand's choice to present himself as passive agent or benevolent caretaker shifts based on what best serves him in the moment; it's a deliberate manipulation either way.

Tyril stirred as he heard the faint sounds of birds chirping, signalling the early morning. His eyes adjusted to Willow’s bedroom in Whitetower, which quickly became their shared room, with the frequent times they had spent together here. As sunlight peered through the windows, he remembered the new mission Willow mentioned last night. He knew that he must steel himself for tough battles ahead. Then, his eyes lit up as he remembered something else. Something less urgent, but still important, to him at least.

Moments later, he looked down at Willow, the woman in his arms. He still couldn’t believe that she had returned, and thanked the gods and the stars for hearing his prayers. She was still sleeping soundly. Her breathing was steady, and she wore a slight smile on her face. He smiled fondly at how peaceful she looked. She deserved moments of peace, and he wished to preserve it while facing the inevitable new threats.

Tyril lifted his hand, brushing away her hair for a better view of her face. He simply enjoyed staring at her, and could do so for hours if time was generous. As if sensing his gesture, Willow slowly opened her eyes, taking a moment before looking at Tyril.

Covering her mouth with her hand, Willow yawned. She mirrored his smile. “Good morning, Tyril.”

“Good morning, my starlight.”

He witnessed her surprise at his words, and her cheeks turning pink at the same time. She chuckled. “Feeling poetic this fine morning, are we?”

He cupped her cheek with his hand. “With someone as bright as you, how could I not?” Tyril felt his heart soar. “You’re always the one I look forward to every morning.”

She laid her hand over his. “I could say the same to you.”

The two then drew each other to a sweet, chaste kiss, before preparing for the day ahead.

After enjoying breakfast, Tyril remained seated by the table that they ate together. He was thinking intently, holding a quill in one hand, while the other had his fingers over his temple. He could hear the clinking of alchemy bottles behind him, a sign of Willow making some new potions for battle.

Tyril sighed as he looked over his book. His quill hadn’t moved in the last couple of minutes. Even with Kade’s pointers, figuring out what he wanted while making them fit the theme proved more difficult than it seemed. He began to worry. When would he be able to complete it? And would it be perfect for its intended recipient? He believed the quality had to be nothing but perfect.

Tyril halted as he heard Willow’s footsteps approaching him. He swiftly set down his quill and closed his book before she arrived next to him.

“What are you doing?” Willow curiously asked, with the usual positive tone that Tyril loved hearing.

“Um…” Tyril hesitated. “I’m experimenting with something.”

Perplexed, Willow looked at the table, noticing the book with his hand still over it and the quill resting on the inkwell. “And this ‘something’ has to do with writing?”

“Yes. But I can’t say anything else. It… It’s a secret.”

Willow turned surprised. “It must be pretty important if you’re keeping this a secret.”

“It is,” he replied earnestly. “Oh, but I assure you, it’s nothing awful!” letting go of his book, he took one of her hands. “I would never betray your trust, Willow.”

She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “I trust you, Tyril. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”

Tyril smiled back. He was glad that their relationship remained very stable and trusting, even after a year without each other. He embraced the relationship wholeheartedly, a welcome contrast to the constant air of doubt between the elves in Undermount. Tyril was very thankful to her, and committed himself to display his gratitude in multiple ways for an eternity.

“I can’t show it to you yet, but I will someday. I promise,” Tyril reassured.

Willow brushed her thumb over his knuckles in response. “Don’t worry about it, take all the time you need. You can keep your secrets until you’re ready. I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll be great.”

Letting go of his hand, she leaned closer, now placing her hand behind his head. “I’ll go get Kade now. I’ll see you soon,” she said, kissing his forehead before leaving their room. He remained quiet, watching her exit, the doors closing behind her.

Tyril continued blankly staring at the doors Willow left from. He then hunched over the table, placing a hand on his forehead. He sighed. The elves and gods would judge him, but he couldn’t deny his feelings. The faster pace of his heartbeat, and his cheeks and ears flushed purple.

Kilma… is this how you felt?

Straightening himself back, he opened his book, looking over the empty section of the current page. He thought of his inspiration. Her determination, courage, and positivity. The inexplicable beauty and shining smile. Her affection.

Tyril felt warmth in his entire being. Picking up his quill, he wrote the final lines he found.

And so I live, forevermore To wait and worship her at Elhalas’ door To beg and pray that she may come to me The stars’ grace, alive.

"You wrote this when I…"

"Yes. When you came back to me."

In Whitetower’s castle, Willow stood by the window of her room, watching the night sky. The time was past midnight, but sleep had evaded her. While looking at the stars, she processed the fact that a year had passed after her kidnapping to the Shadow Realm. She still found it odd. She didn’t feel different, but after Kade, Threep and Loola’s reactions and discussing with them, she had to accept it was the truth.

When she had asked about the rest of their friends, Kade informed her that they had worked together to find a way to rescue her, eventually splitting up once the Royal Archives had no answer. He hasn’t heard of them since. Her mind began to worry, wondering how they fared during that one year without her.

Her heart sank as her eyes landed on the brightest star in the sky, thinking of him. Knowing the year he spent as an exile to avenge Kaya, she couldn’t bear to imagine the turmoil he felt without her by his side. She only felt worse when she remembered their promises to each other after defeating the Dreadlord.

After spending time with her brother and the nespers, she sent a letter to House Starfury announcing her return, hoping to see him again soon. Setting a hand to her temple, she tried to list the activities the two had planned together, only to find a gap in her memory. Her head ached. She decided to stop thinking about it, hoping she would remember later.

Willow sighed, and looked down at the book she was holding. It was a journal consisting of woodslore research notes, belonging to her late mother. It was the only item that was saved during the arson attack where her parents died. While she didn’t know them very well, reading these notes was the only way she could feel close to them. If she could, she would have asked them for guidance for her new trials ahead.

She then heard knocking to her room. Who could it be at this hour? Willow thought. Perhaps it was Kade, with his brotherly instincts sensing she was still awake. “Come in,” she said, as she looked back at the sky.

The doors creaked behind her. She was expecting some witty remarks, but she only heard heavy breathing. She hesitated. An enemy perhaps? Mentally preparing herself, she turned to the unknown person.

She almost dropped her mother’s journal at the sight before her.

“Tyril,” she whispered, looking at him with her mouth agape.

There he was, staring at her, sharing her disbelief. His perfect blue skin shining under the moonlight. The long hair she always loved to touch. She noticed he donned a new look, but she was entirely focused on his face. She stared at his striking eyes, currently filled with multiple emotions at once.

Setting the book on a nearby table, she gave a sad smile at him, hands over her heart.

“Tyril, it’s me. I’m really here.”

When she walked towards him, he broke from his daze and did the same, meeting her halfway. With a trembling hand, he cupped her cheek gently, as if he was afraid that she would disappear the moment he touched her.

When she didn’t, tears spilled, and he let out a sob. Before Willow could react, he threw himself forward, his arms tightly around her. She could feel a hand behind her head and another on her back. She was lifted upwards as she felt his face buried in her neck. Hot tears poured on her skin and clothing. Willow found herself on her toes, but she paid it no mind. Her arms encircled around Tyril, reassuring him that she was real. That she was alive.

“You’re here…” Tyril sobbed, voice muffled by her neck. “How is it…”

“Shh,” she calmed him, rubbing his back gently. “I can explain later. I missed you too.”

His shaky breath tickled her skin. “You don’t know how I worried, how I ached for the barest whisper of you.”

“I know, I know…” she reassured him, feeling tears from the corner of her eyes. “I understand.”

They continued holding each other in silence, not wanting to let go. After what felt like an eternity, Tyril pulled away, still holding Willow close as he looked at her with the same affection she always remembered. 

Tyril then leaned forward, kissing Willow passionately. Willow reciprocated, clutching him tightly while getting used to its intensity, aware that it was to make up for the year without each other. While she was familiar with his passion, it felt new at the same time. She felt that she was retrieving something she had lost. Moments later, they parted, pressing their foreheads together, breathing heavily in sync.

Willow reached out, wiping the tears streamed on Tyril’s face with her delicate hands. The guiding hands that have helped him multiple times during his quest for revenge. He expressed his gratitude by cupping her cheek again. She always loved that gesture from him. How her cheek fits perfectly in his palm, spreading a warmth she always cherished.

He looked at her with such fascination, like she was the brightest star in the night sky. Willow couldn’t help but flush at his silent admiration.

“Willow, I…” he paused. His expression fell for a brief moment, before finding his words again. “I’m so happy you’re back.”

His hesitance didn’t go unnoticed. While she wanted to ask him about it, she didn’t want to push him. She thought it’d be best to wait until he was ready.

“I’m happy as well,” she replied, now setting her hands on his shoulders. “We’ve already got a large task ahead, but that can be discussed later.”

Tyril moved his hands to her hips. A common gesture while holding her. “I only received your letter recently, after I came home from a battle. Upon seeing it, I went to Whitetower as fast as I could.”

“A battle? Against what?”

“A fluria.”

Willow recalled having read of the species. Purple, skinny dragon-like creatures with feathers known for its healing properties. “Oh, were you trying to get one of its healing feathers?”

“Yes. I was…” he looked down in shame. “I was desperate, Willow. Many of my days without you were spent researching trying to find something, anything that could bring you back. I thought it’d be easy working alone, given my past, but…it felt like I lost a part of myself without you by my side.”

She felt her heart break from hearing those words. “Oh, Tyril. Well, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m here.”

“You are,” he said with a shaky voice. “And that’s all that matters right now.”

“There’s something else I want to talk about…” she moved her hands to his chest, feeling his breastplate, then looking at him up and down. “You have a new look!” she grinned.

“Oh, er, yes,” Tyril answered sheepishly. “I thought it’d be best to wear something more agile for combat. What do you think?”

“It’ll take some getting used to, but I like it. And your hair!” Willow said enthusiastically. “It’s so gorgeous! You have a part of it in a bun, like I do!”

“I…did that so I could feel close to you, during that one year without you.”

Her heart broke again. “Tyril…” she leaned forward, hugging him once more. Tyril naturally returned the embrace, holding her close. He kissed her temple. That gesture seemed like a promise to remain by Willow’s side from now on.

Tyril pulled away again. “Now, as much as I’d like to keep holding you like this…” he smirked. “We should probably get some sleep.”

She nodded. “I agree. We’ve got a long adventure ahead of us.”

The two prepared accordingly for sleep. As Willow closed the window she was looking at and placed her mother’s journal back in her bag, she heard Tyril removing his weapons and armour. They then laid in bed together. As always, they were in each other's arms, like the many times they sat by the campfire.

Staring at her fondly, Tyril brushed some hair away from her face. “Stars bless your slumber, my Willow.”

She chuckled. “May the stars bless yours too, Lord Starfury.”

“And…” he hugged her closer. “Welcome home.”

Willow felt more relaxed at those words, nestling deeper in the comfort of his arms. “Thank you. I’m happy to be home. This is where I belong.”