I'm going through what can really be only called a writing depression right now. It's kind of like an extreme version of writing block that's lasted for an incredibly long time. I can barely write anything, and when I do, I feel like it's horrible. Anyways. Please leave a review? It'll really mean a lot to me, and it might help me get these out faster! :]

Timewise: The next chapter is chapter 17, Summoned (Endgame)

Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie owns Homestuck.

Word count: 2,834

As soon as she met him, she knew her days were numbered. Before, she had been able to live knowing that she would not die until she had loved, and been loved in return.

Now that she had him, now that she knew the feel of him, she could not imagine dying by his hands. She had imagined him a warrior, ruthless and bloodthirsty. Instead, she'd found a troll with a kind heart and a beautiful soul.

The Marquise and the Summoner lay together in his bed of leaves, her half-asleep and him staring at her. She opened her eyes, one cerulean, one red. He smiled at her and she smiled back. His hand gently stroked her cheek, and he pressed a kiss to her jaw. She propped herself up on her elbows, and his lips traveled upwards.

Mindfang tilted her head, meeting his lips with hers. She frowned. Normally their kisses were precious, each a stolen treasure. Something was wrong with this kiss. It tasted bitter in her mouth. She tried to pull away, to ask what was wrong, but she couldn't. Something prevented her from doing anything, from saying anything. She began to panic.

His teeth bit into her lip and she tasted blood. Frantically, she wondered if he'd always had teeth as sharp as these.

His arms wrapped around her, trapping her. Mindfang finally broke whatever spell was on her and tried to push away, tried to break the kiss, tried to escape. He didn't release her, but he stopped kissing her. She froze, terrified, at the cruel sneer on his face. There was a coldness to his face, a sharpness that had never been there before. He snarled at her and rolled them both over, trapping her on her back beneath him. She fought, ashamed of the tears she could feel gathering in the corners of her eyes. He kissed her collarbone, his sharp teeth sending rivers of cerulean blood trickling down her grey skin.

He pulled away again, that strange cruel expression still settled over his features. He grinned at her and breathed, "Having fun, Aranea?"

Pain like she'd never imagined before exploded from her chest, and she screamed. Somehow, his lance had ripped through her body, and cerulean blood bloomed around it like some kind of perverse flower.

Mindfang screamed. She could hear him taunting her. "Did you ever think I could love you?! You're a gamblignant! You're cruel and vicious and a murderer. You're hopeless."

Someone was shaking her shoulders and she awoke, panicked. She didn't realize she was still screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, only aware that she'd woken right where she'd fallen asleep; in a familiar leaf nest beside a familiar troll.

He was sitting up, looking at her. His face was twisted with concern and fear. "Aranea? Are you alright?" He tried to reach for her, to comfort her, but she scrambled away, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

She felt sick to her stomach, not sure if she was truly awake or if this was just another nightmare. He stood and attempted to reach for her again. "Aranea, I—" She screamed again. She could still feel he phantom pain of his lance in her chest, could still feel his cold lips on hers, and she cried for the pain that pierced her blood-pumper like a knife.

The Summoner was utterly bewildered. He was crouching besides his matesprit, watching her shake and sob and he couldn't do anything. Every time he spoke or touched her, she jerked away and screamed. Worse than that, she was pleading with him. "Please don't hurt me I promise I'll love you please don't hurt me I swear I'll be good please don't hurt me I don't want to die pleasepleasepleaseplease oh god it hurts make it stop!"

The Summoner began to shake as well, struggling to calm her. "Aranea, stop it. I promise I won't ever hurt you. I promise." She was was incorrigible. He hated it. He could count the number of times he'd seen her cry on one hand, and he'd never imagined in his entire lifetime he would hear her beg.

At a loss, he merely sat there, as close as she would let him. She was less panicked now and she had stopped screaming, although she was still shaking so badly he was amazed that she was able to support herself. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, and she was rocking back and forth, shaking her head and struggling to breath. "Shh, shhh, shhh," the Summoner soothed, "It's alright. You're safe here, I promise." He continued making promises, struggling not to let her see how deeply this was hurting him. Abruptly, he realized that the fingernails of her prosthetic arm were digging into the flesh of her other arm. Cerulean blood dripped down, and he hissed, grabbing her hand and pulling it away. Her body jerked, but he kept a firm hold on her hand. She was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Trying, and failing, to repress his own tears, he held her to his body. She tried to push him away but he murmured, "You're safe. I won't hurt you. You're safe," over and over. She slowly relaxed in his arms, although she still jumped whenever he moved. It took a very long time for her to stop crying, but he held her, terrified of what would happen if he let go. It was nearly dawn when she stopped shaking, but neither of them fell asleep again. When she was finally completely quiet and still, he gently picked her up. She stiffened, clearly about to struggle, but he took up his chant again, promising her that she was safe and that he wouldn't hurt her. He laid her down gently onto his bed of leaves and whispered, "I'll be right back." She looked up at him with glazed eyes, and he stroked her hair one last time. And then he stood and walked out of his treehive and down the bridge that connected his front door to the guard station the had been built in the next tree. Winnia was on guard, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Are you two okay?" she asked. She'd obviously heard Mindfang's screams.

He nodded. "We're fine." He hoped. "Just don't let anybody in." Winnia nodded, and he added, "Not even Kaiare." She nodded again.

"Will you need food?"

The Summoner shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What about the meeting to discuss the next perigree's rally? You told them you'd be there before midday."

"Tell them an emergency came up," he replied. She nodded and he smiled, relieved. "Thank, Winnia." She nodded again, and he flew back across the bridge and into his hive.

Mindfang was where he had left her, although she had found some paper and a quill. She was writing feverishly, head bent over her work, her long hair obscuring her face. He knocked on the doorframe as he came in to let her know she was there. She jumped, and he hated that. What had happened? It had obviously been a nightmare, but would could scare his matesprit so badly?

She looked up at him, and he noticed that there were dark circles under her eyes. She crumpled up the paper and threw it in the corner, where several others already were. He kneeled down beside her, afraid of touching her again. "Hey."

She didn't smile. She looked exhausted. "Hey."

Because he couldn't take it anymore, he took her hand. He noticed how she flinched when his hand moved towards her, and he pursed his lips. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked away. "No."

The Summoner tried to hide his disappointment. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" When she didn't reply, he prompted, "Aranea?"

Wordlessly, she nodded. There was a tense silence in which he made himself more comfortable. Finally, she reached up. Her thumb touched the corner of his lips, and he didn't move. He frowned when she moved his upper lip up, but he still didn't move, even when she took her other hand and traced his teeth.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and withdrew her hands.

"Will you be alright?" He knew it would be stupid to ask if she was fine now.

Mindfang nodded. She said softly, "I'm sorry." He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued, "Just . . . forget everything I said, alright?"

He caught her hands, frowning. "I can't just do that, Aranea!"

"Just do it," she snapped, a spark entering her eyes, "Forget I said anything!"

They sat there, glaring at each other. The Summoner finally deflated, looking pleadingly at her. He couldn't just forget what she had said, what she had repeated over and over. "You know I would never hurt you." She laughed, a low and bitter sound. Realizing that she hadn't agreed, he repeated, slightly more panicked, "I would never hurt you, Aranea! I swear it."

She sighed and pressed an unfeeling kiss to his cheek. "I can't imagine that you ever would," she admitted. He drew her over and leaned his head against the wall. She sat comfortably in his arms, and he had no intention of letting her go any time soon.

Conversations like these never came easily to them. She was too guarded to bare her soul before anyone this way, and he was too afraid of letting her down to press her. She was his first love, and he was determined that she would also be his only.

And so it was a long time before he asked, "Was that what you were dreaming about?" She knew immediately what he was talking about and shifted uneasily. He noticed how one hand moved up to her chest, as if she was looking for something that wasn't there. "Did you dream that I'd hurt you?"

Mindfang sighed heavily. "R—" She stopped and he knew she'd been about to say his name. "Summoner, I don't want to talk about it."

He let out a frustrated sound, running his hands through his hair as he was wont to do when upset. "Does it have to do with why you refuse to use my name?"

When she was quiet, he knew he'd asked the right question. "You still haven't told me how you knew my name, Aranea!"

"I already told you! I don't want to talk about it!" She pulled away from him and began pacing back and forth, her bare feet making muffled thumps with each step. She was distressed; she kept trying to run her fingers along her sword's hilt, forgetting that she wasn't wearing it.

The Summoner didn't stand. Any other time, and he would concede and let the matter slide. But he needed to know. He needed to know why his matesprit had pushed him away last night. He needed to know why she refused to use his name. He needed to know what had made the great Marquise Spinneret Mindfang whimper like a wiggler. "You need to tell me," he said, "Talking to somebody helps."

She shot him a dagger-like glare. She was putting back on her mental armor, the one that guarded the intangible parts of her, like her heart and her mind. "Can't you just leave it be?!"

The Summoner's wings flared open. "No. Aranea, you can trust me."

She made a violent gesture with her hands, and she looked around wildly, clearly searching for something. When she didn't find it, she turned on him. "Where's my sword?"

"What?"

"Where's my sword?!" she demanded.

The Summoner stood up. "Are you going to stab something?"

Mindfang turned around, still looking for it. "No! I— yes! I don't know!"

She grabbed the nearest thing — a wooden bowl — and threw it. It landed against the wall and cracked. She turned and glared at him, defiantly daring him to scold her. He didn't. He knew that she was more violent than any of his lowblooded friends, but this wasn't her. Whatever had made her break down last night was clearly still preying on her mind.

He enveloped her in his arms again, and they sank back down to the floor. "You need to talk about it," he informed her.

Mindfang sighed. "I'm not sorry about the bowl."

"I know," the Summoner replied, rolling his eyes. He was by now used to the nuances of their relationship, the strange not-arguments and the silent truces.

She glared at him, waiting for him to tell her that she didn't have to tell him. When he merely stared at her, bronze eyes steady and unmoving, she bowed her head.

Speaking in a low, defeated voice, she began. "Before my fleet was destroyed, I had an Oracle." She refused to meet his eyes, and he refused to move his arms away from her. Almost unconsciously, his wings closed in around them both, enveloping her in an embrace softer than he could manage with merely his arms. She propped her forehead on his shoulder, but kept her eyes focused on the floor.

Her voice slowly became surer, and her cerulean eye began to glitter. "That Oracle was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It gave me honest answers about the future, always letting me get the upper hand over my enemies. But, in the end, it ruined me." She shook her head bitterly, and carefully extracted herself from his grasp. His wings folded behind him, the tips brushing the floor. He stood with her, fingers following her shoulders.

She spoke carefully, no doubt choosing her words deliberately. Although she could claim she'd never lied to him, Mindfang was a master when it came to lies of omission. "I was desperate, once. I asked who would be my matesprit." She swallowed hard. "It told me, in words plainer than the skies on a day without clouds." She looked at him and smiled humorlessly. "You were destined to be my matesprit, Summoner."

The Summoner was silent, trying to process this information. That was how she'd known his name. She'd — or still did — possessed an Oracle, one that could tell her the future. The idea was fantastical. They could use it, to help the rebellion— The Summoner squashed the thought. She was hurting and he was helping. This wasn't going to turn into a debate over the rebellion. "What does this have to do with your nightmare?"

Mindfang grimaced, and he noticed her roll her tongue over her fangs. "It told me," she said slowly, "that I would die during the course of the rebellion." His nostrils flared and his expression darkened. She continued, voice growing wry, "Maybe, because I associated you with the rebellion and the rebellion with my death, my mind associated you and my death. Theoretically speaking." Mindfang looked at him, cerulean eye hopeful.

The Summoner sighed and held out his arms. She collapsed into them gratefully, breathing a soft little sigh. He took her excuse now, but they both knew that she was leaving something out.

Something vital.

"Try and sleep, Aranea," he breathed, "I'll be here for you."

She nodded against his shoulder, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I'm flushed for you, little spider."

"Flushed for you," she replied, although it was muffled and faint. "Summoner."

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