King of Scars Fic: Dearly Beloved

CONTAINS SPOILERS! DON’T READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED KoS!

Dearly Beloved

Nikolai/Zoya (Rated G)

Warning: contains so much angst

Zoya leaned against the half-opened door to his bedchamber and watched as he fussed with the snowy white neck cloth in an overwrought gilt mirror.

“Genya told me you’re stalling,” she chastised. Nikolai turned, giving her a cheeky grin as he flicked the fabric with one long finger.

“I can’t get this damned thing—”

“Here, let me.” She crossed the room with all the determination of a war general on campaign.

She reached for him without hesitation, dragon scales flashing at her wrists as the sleeves of her Kefta fell back, her Squaller hands strong and steady, as she pulled on one end of the complicated knot, then the other.

She stepped back, arms akimbo, and tipped her head one way, then the other, before stepping back into him, like a dance.

When they spent so much time in committee meetings and across formal dining tables, he tended to forget that Zoya Nazyalensky, Commander of the Joint Ravkan Armies, with the presence of an ancient dragon, barely came up to his chin.

Nikolai breathed the air from the top of her head and willed himself not to reach out to palm the curve of her waist while she went back to fidgeting at his neck.

“Commander and valet. You deserve a raise.” Her eyes rose up to meet his.

“I accept overtime payment in the form of jewels and silks, dear.”

Their witty repartee was forced, but Nikolai clung to it like a bit of driftwood in a shipwreck.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in pretty silks, Nazyalensky. Only these old blue frocks.” Feeling bold, and wondering is this might be his last chance, Nikolai slid a finger along the neckline of her kefta, following its dip and heave as Zoya let out a ragged breath.

“While this kefta is already the very finest silk Ravka’s coffers could provide, I do occasionally hang it up and let my hair down.” The fingers of both his hands were combing through her dark hair before Nikolai knew what he was doing. As for Zoya, her grip had gone fierce and panicked on his cravat, surely wrinkling the delicate fabric.

“I don’t want to do this, Zoya.” Her eyes were wide and frantic when he met her gaze. He’d never seen her so unnerved.

“You have to.” Her voice was strangled. “For Ravka.”

“Hang Ravka. I want—“ He stopped himself before finishing his sentence. You. I want you.

“You put a thorn through your own heart for Ravka. This? This is a piece of cake. Literally. I have seen the cake and it is exquisite. Nina will never forgive us for eating it without her.”

“Would you do it if I told you it was your duty? Marry someone you don’t know, don’t like, just to save your neck from certain doom?” Zoya trembled and his hands tightened in her hair, drawing her a hairsbreadth closer. He suspected there was something she wasn’t telling him.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not the king.” Her hands smoothed the fabric she had already wrinkled hopelessly.

“Ah, yes, merely the most powerful Grisha alive, most esteemed Ravkan General, and the most vivacious best man the Apparat has ever had stand up at a wedding ceremony.” Zoya’s smile lit up the room.

“And you, darling, are going to be the most beautiful bride.” Nikolai chuckled.

“Is my cravat knot ok?” Her fidgeting hands stilled on the cloth.

“It was perfect before I walked into this room and you know it.” One of his golden eyebrows arched.

“Then, why?”

Zoya hesitated, and then let her hands slide up his neck to thumb at the spot that his golden hair met the warm skin under each ear.

“I just wanted to do this. Once.”

And then her soft lips met his with a tenderness that ripped out his heart and threw it across the room.

Before Nikolai could kiss her back, could clutch her to his chest and ask her to stay there forever, could even begin to form the words he had wanted to tell her for so long, Zoya spun on her heel and left the room. And like any good Squaller, the sight of her leaving stole the very air from his lungs.

****

The people of Ravka talked of that night for years to come. Stories were passed down to children and grandchildren until the details were muddied like any good folklore - the way the King spun his plain-faced Queen on the dance floor till dawn, the way fireworks were lit in towns from coast to coast, and the way townspeople from Arkesk to Poliznaya spotted a gleaming dragon pacing the skies, wailing her heartbreak to the starless night.

King of Scars (no spoilers)

When you’re on page 312 and literally say “oh shit!” out loud and your children (who are on day 5 of snow days because polar vortex) scold you. 😳

Trying not to say anything or give anything away but THIS BOOK IS EVERYTHING AND I LOVE IT ALL SO MUCH. Trying to read it slowly to savor the whole thing.

Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Summary: Christmas 1980 and angsty Moony is not in the mood for celebrating. (Title lovingly borrowed from Joni Mitchell's song "River")

Next generation of Harry Potter fans

Over the last few months, my husband and I have been reading Harry Potter aloud to our kids before bed. A couple weeks ago we finally made it to Prisoner of Azkaban - meeting Remus and Sirius for the first time. ❤️❤️ (Cough cough is 4.5 too early to explain the concept of OTP??)

Anywho, I’ve been reading a lot of R/S fics on AO3 lately and have been getting a kick out of returning to this fandom that I was such a huge fan of years and years ago. Just searched for Remus/Sirius on Tumblr tonight and found that @rs-small-gifts still exists over here and they are still using the icon I created for the group on LJ 11, 12, 13??? Years ago. There are no words for how happy that makes me!

Post-KoA Fic: Call the Midwife (part 1)

*** Spoilers for Kingdom of Ash ****

Because I love the sisterhood of the women in Kingdom of Ash, and I love Yrene, and I love the suggestion that Yrene would be present to help Aelin birth her first baby someday, and because it’s November, I decided to write a little thing which will hopefully be part 1 of a longer series. I hope you enjoy it!

She came in the early spring, as the first crocuses began to push through the mud and the Avery ran wild and full with snow melt.

Chaol struggled to unbuckle the straps around his legs on Farasha’s saddle after a long day of meetings in Rifthold. He looked up as his mother swept through the door of the home they now shared. Her face was drawn, hair against her temples damp with sweat. Sliding to the ground, he braced one hand against the side of his massive horse before steadying himself with his cane. His back spasmed once, twice as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Today had been a hard day. Worse than most.

“Is Yrene with the healers in training?” He asked as he handed his reins to a groom and met his mother as she hurried to his side.

“No,” she wrung her hands. “She’s here.” Chaol looked at his mother, her serious face that he had gone so long without seeing, the dark eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

“The baby is coming?” Chaol tried to quicken his steps, cursing the pain that wracked his body with each halting movement. His mother nodded. “Is it early? Too early?”

“Earlier than we expected,” his mother acknowledged, “but Yrene says the baby is healthy. Ready to come. She’s been expending a lot of her energy monitoring the baby’s heart rate and movement.” His mother glanced down at his struggling legs, then away.

Chaol stroked a shaking hand across his chin, gripped his cane tighter. Hafiza was supposed to be here for the birth, but wasn’t expected for another ten days.

“Take me to her.”

—————

She was trembling and panting and pale and sweating and disheveled and radiant. The most beautiful he had ever seen her, and the trip from their bedroom door to the end of the bed where she braced herself against the footboard, swaying her hips on a low moan, was the longest journey Chaol had ever taken.

“You’re here,” she murmured looking over her shoulder with bloodshot eyes.

“I’m here, love.” He passed a hand down her back, rubbing hard at the base of her spine where the contractions tightened her lower body in an unrelenting rhythm.

“Do that again?” And he was happy to comply, pushing hard against the tension in the back of her neck, her shoulders, lower.

“You should have sent a messenger. I would have come home immediately.”

“These things can take hours, Chaol, there was no reason to worry you unnecessarily.” She moaned again, knuckles going white where she grinned the wood of the footboard.

“Are you - “ Chaol stopped. It sounded ridiculous to ask if she was ok when she was obviously in terrible pain. “Is it supposed to be like this?” Yrene chuckled and straightened up so she could clench his free hand.

“What, painful? Yes, it’s supposed to be like this. Although I admit none of the birthing women I’ve attended have told me just HOW painful it would be.” Her eyes met those of the young woman in the corner, wringing out wet cloths, whom Chaol hadn’t even noticed. “Phoebe, considered yourself warned. It is much worse than anyone tells you.”

Phoebe smiled at Yrene and slid a hand down her belly to cup the small curve there.

“Thank you, my Lady.” Her eyes slid to Chaol’s “My Lord, perhaps she’d like another wet cloth across her brow.”

He took the offered cloth and dabbed at Yrene’s brow where damp curls clung to her perspiring face.

“Thank you, Phoebe. You’ve been studying under my wife?” Phoebe nodded eagerly. Many young women in the area had started meeting informally to learn from Yrene while they still worked out the details of a formal healer’s school in Adarlan. Chaol wasn’t aware of any of the women having magic, but there was much they could learn without it. And midwives were in increasing demand now that peace had come to their nation. “And how many births have you attended?” He continuing mopping Yrene’s brow as she scowled up at him.

“No interrogating my healers, Chaol,” she muttered through clenched teeth. Another contraction was upon her. Chaol waited until her face relaxed before continuing his line of questioning.

“Well, Phoebe? How many births have you witnessed?” Phoebe went pink under his probing gaze.

“Um, human births, or livestock, my Lord?” Yrene intervened before Chaol could explode.

“Could we have a bit of tea, Phoebe? And could you see about having the chair brought in for his Lordship?” Phoebe nodded profusely and scurried from the room.

Yrene started to pace the room as she faced her angry husband.

“You know there aren’t many experienced healers in this part of the world. Phoebe is my most promising pupil, with a steady demeanor and steady hands.”

“She looks barely older than a child.” Yrene bent over to breathe through another contraction and Chaol took a ragged step in her direction.

“You should be sitting down.”

“Don’t change the subject, wife,” Chaol said with a scowl.

“Phoebe is old enough to be with child herself. There’s no one I’d rather have with me, outside of the Torre’s healers.”

“We ought to have called for Hafiza months ago so she would have been here.”

“Chaol, we have discussed this ad nauseam. Hafiza has much to do beyond sitting at some noble lady’s bedside for months waiting for a baby to arrive.”

“You are not just some noble lady.” Her pacing brought her within arms reach of Chaol and he pulled her to him, as close as her belly would allow. “You are my noble lady.” He kissed her then, deeply, while she took his shirt in an iron grip, until she broke away to bury her head in his chest with a keening moan.

“What hurts?”

“Everything,” she moaned again.

“Tell me how to help.”

—————

Yrene spent the next few hours pacing around their bedchamber while Chaol chased her with his cane and then his chair, Phoebe and his mother trailing with tea and wet cloths and bites of bread and butter whenever Yrene felt up to eating.

When she started to get claustrophobic, she left their room to walk the pasture behind their house, occasionally falling to her knees in the wet grass, howling her pain to the stars and moon above. At one point, Chaol started to believe Phoebe’s experience with birthing livestock would come in more handy than he ever expected, but Yrene finally consented to come back inside.

His mother and a maid had prepared a warm bath and Yrene lowered herself into the water gratefully, feeling more comfortable than she had in hours.

Chaol watched his wife’s eyes slipped closed, eyelashes dark and fluttering against her freckled cheeks, and for the first time in hours something tight in his chest began to ease. He had fought for his life in a dark and gruesome war and he had witnessed unparalleled power pour out of both Dorian and Aelin, but he had never known so much fear and awe as in those hours watching the woman he loved work to bring their child into the world.

When the water grew cold, Yrene reached her hands out to him and said “it’s time” in a voice grown hoarse from hours of torment, and Chaol twisted and turned and braced himself while his body screamed in protest, to lift her from the copper tub and settle her on his lap in his chair, wrapped in a towel and dripping all over his clothes.

Phoebe pushed the chair into their bedroom, then offered Yrene a dry dress, but Yrene was beyond words and just shook her head, huddled in a towel and cradled in her husband’s arms.

They tried out a few positions before Yrene, naked and warm from the exertions of the last several hours, settled on the bed, with Chaol beside her.

The pushing was worse than anything Chaol could have imagined. As his wife writhed and worked and gritted her teeth against the pain, Chaol prayed with every gasping breath to the vanquished goddess who had watched over Yrene’s life to protect his wife, protect his child, protect his wife, protect his child.

Yrene’s panting silence became screams and then a relieved, hysterical cry as she finally pushed their baby free from her body into Phoebe’s waiting hands, steady as Yrene had promised. And as Chaol finally dissolved into relieved tears, Yrene settled back into her calm healer demeanor, instructing Phoebe on how to tie off the cord, how to clean and wrap the babe, how to press on Yrene’s lower half to encourage the placenta to come.

As Phoebe placed the wrapped bundle at Yrene’s breast, Chaol reached over to stroke a trembling finger down the baby’s cheek.

“It’s a girl,” Phoebe whispered, and Chaol met his wife’s gaze where tears glimmered, but not a bit of surprise.

“You knew?” Yrene gave him a beatific smile, and adjusted the rooting babe to help her suckle for the first time.

“I had a hunch,” his wife said with a shrug.

“Josefin, after your mother, then?” Chaol asked, and Yrene nodded.

“With your mother’s name as her middle?” From the doorway where she stood, Chaol’s mother gasped. He looked up at her to smile, so pleased to have her part of their lives again.

“She is going to have quite the legacy to live up to,” Chaol murmured, enchanted by the sight of his perfect daughter against her mother’s breast.

“Yes, she is,” Yrene said before turning to kiss her husband gently.