Title: (Last) American Christmas

Fandom: Arrow

‘Ship: Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance

Rating: PG-13 (some violence, some swearing)

Summary: The Lance-al Ghuls head to Starling City for Christmas. (Long delayed Exile!fic. Furthest in the future we've been yet)

Read on: AO3 or FF.NET

Oh I looooooove this question.

Yes! Let's talk succession!

First, I think there is a very clear and obvious al Ghul child who would make an amazing Ra's al Ghul and it isn't Damian or Soraya. More on that later.

Soraya is Ra's's favorite, yes, but she is saved from ever formally jumping her brother to be primary Heir by the fact that she's also the youngest, and she's barely out of her teens when Ra's dies.

There is an important piece, too, that Ra's can name the line of succession, but Nyssa will succeed him, and she will ultimately name her own Heir.

The kids all sort of hate the idea of having one of them raised above the other two and when the girls are teenagers, Azra convinces Ra's al Ghul that having one of them as Heir is not as good as having three of them equally trained in all aspects, commanding equal respect, in case anything happens to one of them. It will prevent in-fighting. There are all of three legged stools analogies and Blood/Brain/Brawn commentary.

So they are officially Heirs to the Demon.

Nyssa actually hates this - she thinks it will create competition and even violence between her kids. But when her father finally dies, she honors his wish and makes them all Heirs. For now.

There is another wrinkle here. Unlike Ra's al Ghul, Nyssa and Sara refuse to drink from the Pit. The children follow their lead, especially since they are young and still developing. (Yes, canonically, Sarookh is the only Lance-al Ghul to partake of the Pit.)

So by the time Nyssa accedes to the throne, she knows she has a relatively short reign ahead of her with only one goal in the mind: Secure the future for her children and see one of them as Demon's Head.

The question of course, is which one?

Damian has the bloodline, and the expectation of being Heir much longer than either of his sisters. He's smart and a good fighter and a good leader, all around.

Soraya is a True Believer and exceptionally, exceptionally good at killing. She's a good soldier, a good leader, and she certainly has the clear-eyed vision of a Ra's al Ghul.

Azra is fucking brilliant. I mean, fucking brilliant. Strategic, political, seven steps ahead of everyone on everything. And lethal in a fight. But she's less charming and involved with the day to day assassins than her siblings

Each could bend the knee to the others (despite Nyssa's fears), but Nyssa is firm that there eventually be only one.

Title: Sanctuary

Fandom: Arrow

‘Ship: Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance, very, very, very early Thea/Sin

Rating: PG(ish? They ARE assassins. And Sara and Thea have potty mouths)

Summary: Thea needs to be somewhere else, and Nyssa said she was always welcome.(New Exile!fic. Post Whirlwind)

Read on: AO3 or FF.NET (coming soon, I guess)

Title: Merry Little (Nanda Parbat) Christmas

Fandom: Arrow

‘Ship: Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance

Rating: PG(ish? They ARE assassins.)

Summary: Stuck in Nanda Parbat for Christmas, Nyssa and the kids try to make the best of it for Sara. 

Read on: AO3 or FF.NET

In Chronological Order

(First) American Christmas

Christmas Wedding

Merry Little (Nanda Parbat) Christmas

Christmas in Paradise

Good Food and Gratitude  (technically Thanksgiving)

Exile!verse. 1000 words to shake the cobwebs off the muse!

***

Nyssa is the first to arrive, and she enjoys the quiet and solitude of the steppe all on her own for a full day before the sound of helicopter blades cuts through the calm. She exits the small cabin built into a sparsely populated part of the Russian wilds on the border with Mongolia, leaving her hot tea behind on the rough-hewn kitchen table, lest Soraya attempt a too-close landing and disrupt the peace of their front porch. 

The cabin is the only place they can be truly alone. The place is so remote, and so unknown unless you were a friend of Nyssa’s mother, that they can leave even their most intimately close Red and Gold guards behind. To get the five of them in one place for any length of time, regardless of location, is incredibly difficult to begin with these days.

Fourteen-year-old Azra began shadowing (no pun intended) on missions last year, and Soraya begs almost daily to move up the date of her first mission, although her thirteenth birthday remains over ten months away. Damian, practically a man grown, leads his own missions these days, often with his middle sister in tow. And although her father promises he will live forever, he has kept her closer than usual this last year, the powers of the Pit waning, and she knows he is coming to the end of his already unnaturally long life, greying hair and age lines creeping up on him. It will not be tomorrow, or perhaps even the next few years, but the reality of Nyssa taking on her father’s mantle becomes more real every day. Which leaves Sara (and Sarookh, who the Pit waters have continued to keep in the prime of her life) to manage daily life on Paradise Island, alongside their unruly youngest, with the rest of them coming in and out, rarely at the same time.

Months of planning went into this rendezvous at their favorite vacation spot, a place they could escape to much more often when the children were younger. Any time her father showed an indication of switching up plans so that it could not come together, Nyssa would put Soraya in touch with him. Ra’s al Ghul can still deny his Al Ameerah little, and the only reason her first mission has not been accelerated in Nyssa’s intervention. Soraya is growing up fast enough – she may wait a bit longer to begin her official League duties.

Already working in this part of the world, Nyssa traveled here alone, while Soraya and Sara met up with Damian and Azra in Batshireet to complete the final leg of the journey, now at an end as Soraya lands the helicopter with blessedly little fanfare. Sarookh is first off the craft, leaping off as the blades still slow above her and sprinting through the high grass, making it up onto the deck in record time. The last two decades have changed the pup little, her radar-catching ears buffeting in the breeze and paws insistent at Nyssa’s knee.

Nyssa scoops her up as the other four hop out of the small helicopter, Soraya throwing their bags out to them while the blades finally come to a stop. Big grin in place, Damian turns and waves, tossing his duffle across one shoulder and his youngest sister over the other. Nyssa can hear Soraya’s protest all the way over here, but if she truly disapproved, Soraya is completely capable of removing herself from the situation. Azra, as tall as Sara and not far behind Nyssa now, picks her way through the steppe grass with a soft, serene smile to the front porch, while the other three lag behind, roughhousing and teasing.

“I trust the trip was uneventful?” Nyssa asks as she embraces her daughter.

“Even with ‘Raya at the helm,” Azra teases. “I have reports from-“

“Plenty of time for work later,” Nyssa shushes her. More than enough, but she gets at least these few days of vacation. “It will keep.”

If Azra has any protest or assent, it is interrupted when Damian unceremoniously deposits Soraya on the wooden planks of the front porch, a pile of luggage and twelve-year-old. Soraya laughs in a girlish way that belies the lethal skill and speed she is always barely a few seconds from displaying. Like her Beloved, their youngest contains multitudes within herself, although she has had the gift of having it nurtured and supported and will, Nyssa hopes, be saved the pain of reconciling her many sides that Sara endured.

“Hey, Ma,” Damian grins, stepping over Soraya to hug her. Soraya grabs onto his leg and is dragged along.

“I’ve already prepared some lunch,” Nyssa tells them all, pulling Soraya to her feet to hug her as well. “Go get some.”

“Great!” Soraya pushes up to kiss Nyssa’s cheek. “I’m st-“

“Starving, yes, I know. Take Sarookh.” She hands off the dog. “And all of this luggage.”

Their three children quickly gather up the bags, taking Sara’s from her, and disappear into the cabin, all talking over each other.

“Hey stranger,” Sara is grinning at her now that they’re left alone.

“I suppose you, too, are starving.”

“You could say that,” Sara’s grin widens.

Nyssa rolls her eyes and pulls her close. It has been twenty-three days and fifteen hours since she last held her Beloved in her arms. It is not the longest time, and they have spoken plenty in the intervening weeks, but it is simply not the same. They kiss, warmth and heat and familiar peace. They are eventually interrupted by a crash inside.

“We’re fine!” comes Azra’s put-upon reassurance from within.

“And with that, we truly are home,” Nyssa smiles. Home has always been a feeling, not a place, for their unique family.

Sara laughs and kisses her again.

“No, but I really am hungry,” Sara then says, pulling away but keeping their hands intertwined, leading her into their little cabin sanctuary. “What’d you make?”

9. Distracting Kiss - Exile!verse - Impulse/Whirlwind era 

Some days sparring is routine. Some days it is fun. Some days it is hard. Some days it is mindnumbingly boring. 

And some days, like today, when they’ve been bickering for days and barely slept due to a colicky baby Damian, it feels like life and death. 

Sara lucked into bo sparring today, and she channels every annoyance and frustration into each blow. Violence and catharsis are not, Nyssa will always remind her, an actual outlet for anger. Sara can basically hear her pedantic lecture on the modern psychology research in her mind as she lands a particularly tricky blow right into Nyssa’s hip. Nyssa hisses, and Sara grins.

Modern psychology can kiss her ass. That definitely felt good.  

There are actual high stakes in today’s spar: the loser has three am feeding duty tonight. And blah, blah, blah, the League has no need for sleep, but infant-induced sleep deprivation is a whole other level of exhaustion and Sara would kill to not have that shift tonight.

She looks across the mat to Nyssa. Probably not literally.

Probably.

Nyssa gets her own impressive attacks in, and Sara curses. The lack of sleep is catching up with her. That was sluggish and stupid, and now Sara is backed into a corner. She’s seconds away from that three am shift and that means only one thing:

Time to play dirty. 

She places the gentlest of feather kisses on the closest place she can reach, the juncture of Nyssa’s shoulder and neck, and smiles when she feels Nyssa shudder and then hesitate for the barest of milliseconds. Sara presses her advantage, and Nyssa ends up on her back. 

Sara stands over her triumphantly. Nyssa looks up at her with a mixture of anger and lust.

“You cheated.”

Sara shrugs and grins. 

“What are you gonna do about it?”

Nyssa jumps up in one fluid motion and has Sara pinned instantly, but not in any kind of sparring hold. 

Okay, that is a better way to dissipate tension.