#mostly written

World on Fire

Chapter 1 (of 3)

M/16+ | Nettles x Cregan Stark

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Excerpt:

One of the Northmen closest to her breaks her concentration, hefting a broad two-headed axe with ease in his large hand. “What was that!”

She leaves the cocoon of the roots to stand before the man, her back to where Sheepstealer shall appear. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He’d take it as a threat to her, since she can’t turn him away.

The grizzled old lord scowls at Nettles speaking to him as if he were a boy reaching out to touch a hot pot. “And who are you?”

She circles closer slowly, near enough so his horse sidles away from her, away from the smell of dragon. For every step forward she takes, the horse trots back. A wicked amusement tickles her at the flash of unease upon the rider’s craggly face. Such a rush this power is, potent as mead on an empty stomach. And her stomach has been empty more oft than not. “You ain’t heard o’ me?” She locks eyes with the quiet lord she can now see wears a pale cloak trimmed with grey. Ah, of course. He is still; watchful… Almost as if — “He knows who I am.” She tips her head to him in ironic imitation of a bow. “Lord Stark.” This had not been how Nettles planned on making the Lord of Winterfell’s acquaintance but the gods did so laugh at the plans of mortals. She might as well laugh with them.

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Darth Maul & Anakin Skywalker Characters: Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Brothers, Protective Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker is a Little Shit, Young Anakin Skywalker, Training, Memories, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Qui Gon Jinn died, Maul did it, Sith Lord Maul, Maul training Anakin, Anakin Skywalker is Not a Jedi, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping Series: Part 1 of A Dichotomy of Souls Summary:

With all the resolution and precision of a man barely staying on his own two feet, Loki moves to stand over the God of Thunder’s prone form. Magic crackles visibly in his hands—little blizzards and hailstorms swirling about his fingertips and wafting from his palms. “None shall touch this man,” he snarls in his most terrible, godly voice. “He is mine.”

The Foe chuckles, low and dismissive. “He is your…what? You reject him as kin. He is hardly an ally. He is nothing.” His sneer is as audible as his words, as physical a presence as the weapon he balances in one horrible hand. He wants to see Loki squirm under the force of it. The soldiers that stand around him snicker as one being.