Hey guys! I'm super psyched to bring you this new fic that I've been working on. It was a little harder for me to write from Dorian's and Manon's perspectives, but hopefully I was close. The ending of this fic came from some last minute inspiration and I wanted to see how it played out... honestly I'm pretty proud of this bad boy—mostly because it helped me prolong my time with these characters because the series is over :( Anyway, hope you all enjoy and read on!
xHatter
"Manon, live."
Those words, seemingly out of nowhere, plucked at something within her. Not enough to recall where, exactly she'd heard them, though. Awareness slowly dawned on Manon, she could not open her eyes; could not move her arms or legs—she was merely an unwitting prisoner, ensconced in darkness.
Until a flash of a witch's hair—blonde and billowing, was revealed. Farther and farther away the witch soared, and she never looked back. Manon tried to comprehend the scene that was unfolding, had begun to realize who had spoken to her, and what all of it meant.
She was helpless to fight the next vision, this time of the Thirteen, riding on the winds that called to their blood, to their very bones. Their wyverns were beneath them, roaring in defiance as they flew to their final destination. Blink by blink, they neared the witch tower, their deaths engraved on her very soul: Imogen going down first; Lin following. Blink. Ghislaine, oh Ghislaine; Thea and Kaya, together even in death. Blink. The demon twins, laughing as they went, mad to the very end. Blink. Edda and Briar, legendary Shadows, arrows still hitting their marks even as they went down. Blink. Vesta, her Third, followed by Sorrel, who's final act was to leave the way open for Asterin. Manon ached with yearning to gaze upon their faces once more, to say good-bye to each of them.
There was nothing that Manon could do as she watched her cousin fly to her death. There was no scream loud enough; no move clever enough to change what happened next.
As her Thirteen were devoured by their Yieldings, her body clenched in agony as she tried to do—something, anything to stop, just stop. She was nothing, nothing without them. She would live with their souls etched on her miserable heart until the darkness claimed her.
A familiar feeling began to build in her chest then, began building outward. There was a thrum in her veins, the pounding increasing in tempo. As her blood began to sing, Manon felt lighter, felt free—
"Rise and shine, witchling." The sunlight was near-blinding as the curtains were yanked back.
Manon snarled. "Get out."
Her eyes cracked open to reveal the King of Adarlan grinning wolfishly down at her. "And why ever would I do that?"
She ground her teeth together, "I said, get the hell out." His response was to wrench the sheets off of her. In no mood for the King's antics, she sprang out of bed, ready to attack. Before she could make her move, she was pinned to the bed by his invisible hands of magic. She was utterly naked, but couldn't find it in herself to care.
His voice was a dark caress. "So touchy this morning. Are we forgetting about your responsibilities? The young wyverns who have yet to be fully trained?"
"I. Don't. Care." She writhed against the hands, aware that her movements were causing a reaction in the King that would normally please her. Not today.
He just stared at her, as if he could see what she had been about to do, in the dream. She stared him down for as long as she could, but eventually closed her eyes in an attempt to fight the emotions that were slowly beginning to suffocate her. She couldn't entirely prevent tears from falling down her face.
The hold on her arms and legs slackened, and the bed shifted as Dorian put his weight on it. A moment later, his arms came around Manon, and she turned to bury her face in his neck as he held her.
Eventually, she was able to breathe. Eventually she felt strong enough to admit, "I miss them."
He was quiet for a time. She didn't expect him to say, "As they miss you." She felt more than saw the sincerity of his words, and was glad that he couldn't see her. She wouldn't have been able to bear the weight of his gaze.
It was quiet between them for so long that Manon felt her stomach rumble, demanding sustenance. Neither of them moved, still.
"I will never forget."
Dorian took a deep breath. "Nor, I imagine, will any who were saved due to their sacrifice."
Manon couldn't help but feel grateful for the King, something that had made her uncomfortable in the beginning, but that she had now come to depend on. Her stomach came to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly that was all she cared about. She sat up quickly, finally ready for the day to begin, finally unburdened—for the moment.
"Finally willing to admit we're hungry, then?"
Manon smirked, but didn't give him the satisfaction of looking his way. "Perhaps." She felt him rise and made to put on her slippers. She had no idea what she was in the mood for that morning, but she was craving something delicious. The High Queen was so focused on her upcoming meal that she hadn't even noticed that the King had gone utterly silent.
Across the halls of the castle they walked, one in pursuit of the royal kitchens, and the other in deep thought. It was a lightly breezy, nice summer day—what more could one ask for, really? The castle was calm, if not still in a state of rebuilding. The King had come to appreciate his new residence, not only because it was completely new, but mostly because it represented a fresh era and a bright future. Gone were the days of constant stress and constant fear for the lives of his loved ones, for the future of the world.
As the two were coming upon the kitchens, Dorian pulled Manon into an alcove nearby. "Manon."
"Dorian."
Looking at her intensely, he said, "Marry me."
"I'm sorry?" Did he just say what she thought he said?
Unfalteringly, he repeated himself. "I said, marry me."
The High Queen and the King of Adarlan stared each other down for several minutes. Manon was used to winning, but so was Dorian, and he wasn't going to back down. Not one bit. Eventually she realized that they were at a stalemate. But, like a good sport, she conceded.
"Fine."
The grin that spread across Dorian's face was enough to make her heart race, but she would never admit that to him. Forcing her face to curl up in disgust, she made to walk away. Having none of that, Dorian grabbed her by the waist and spun her around until they were nose to nose. She tried to snarl at him—in vain of course—but he just leaned in and kissed her. Manon wasn't able to help herself as her arms came around him, one tangling in his hair and the other wrapped around his shoulder.
When they eventually broke apart, he murmured, "That wasn't so bad now, was it Witchling?" And he had the audacity to smirk at her!
Glaring at him, she muttered, "It was decent, if that."
"Whatever you say."
