Palestinians Are No Longer Asking Us To Help Stop The Bombing.

Palestinians are no longer asking us to help stop the bombing.

They are asking ( I would normally say begging, but proud as they are, Allah save them. After 106 days, they never begged for anything) for food.

They fear dying out of hunger more than being shredded to pieces by bombs

The messages they send.... How can I tell it's worse.. I can't put it into words, but it's worse

Sana: I prefer you as you are too

Dale:

They're so cute together 😭 Another great chapter 🩷

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Four

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong With Dale Chapter 24

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] Part Twenty-Four

Grandfather is quick to spring into motion. Apparently, since the maid who’d come to get him had only known you were in distress and that you’d been with Grandmother for longer than expected, he’d brought a doctor with him. They thought she might have fallen, not that you’d been attacked, for all they had taken guards just in case. 

You two were immediately ushered to Grandmother’s rooms where you were pushed aside for the far more learned medical professional to take over. Instead, the captain of the guard began interrogating you over what had happened. You told him all you could, hopefully without giving away anything regarding Dale’s inhumanity. They’d seemed satisfied enough about your short, blunt answers and soon left to spread that information around. The last you heard from the captain was him ordering a thorough search of the entire property for any more conspirators and to see if anyone had been able to catch up with Dale and Two.

Resigned and exhausted, you’ve collapsed in the wingback chair in Grandmother’s sitting room.  You watch a maid bring something into Grandmother’s bedroom, the sound of voices—the doctor’s and Grandfather’s are the only ones you can identify, not that their words are intelligible—from the other room is somewhat soothing as at least no one is shouting. You thought she was going to be fine, but what did you truly know? They’d been in there for what felt like hours, though you have no real notion of the passing of time. 

Your eyes search out a clock and when you finally spot one, despite having no idea what the time could be, you’re still surprised to learn its two hours past midnight. Like trying to reach back a far distance, you try to remember what time it had been when you left the ballroom. Before midnight, surely.

Oh. Had this attack been ‘secrets' referred to in the astrologer’s calendar? You let out a small sound that might be a laugh because, brightness, you hope so. You’re not sure you can handle anything else happening today, especially anything with secrets of any kind.

You fidget in the chair a moment longer before you find yourself walking to the side table on instinct. You hang the teakettle over the fire with surprisingly steady hands. You’re boiling water for tea primarily out of a desire to do something other than sit around waiting for news on Grandmother or Dale. 

You ignore the pouches of headache and insomnia tea in your pockets to fuss with the options the Governor put in Grandmother and Grandfather’s rooms for them. You watch the fire more diligently than you need to, trying not to think about anything at all. Right now your thoughts are too full of worries for listening to them to be at all helpful. 

The water boils quicker than you expect, so you set the kettle on the thick pad to keep while you set the green tea leaves into the steeper. The motions of fixing your cup help settle your nerves, as does holding the warm cup in your hands once you’re done. 

You blow on it carefully as your thoughts start to flow once more. How much longer until someone sees fit to inform you on Grandmother’s condition? When will Dale return? Did you skirt the truth correctly while talking to the captain? You can’t even truly remember what you said. You know that you leaned heavily on the idea that you were hiding and confused.

“My lady,” you turn at the sound of your maid’s voice. She’s standing with Grandfather, having just entered the sitting room from the bedroom. They both look tired and worried. Worn out.

Your heart stutters in your chest and your grip tightens around the handle of your teacup so you don’t drop it. “How is Grandmother? Has her conditioned worsened?”

“What?” Grandfather reflexively glances back at the door as he frowns. “No, no,” he’s quick to reassure you, crossing the room towards you. “She’s gone to sleep, but she was alert and able enough to argue with the physician before that.” His mouth curves a small, but genuine smile with the telling. “Dr. Mull complimented your bandaging. She has no doubt Deidre will make a full recovery.”

You nearly sit down in relief. “Oh, thank the light. When I saw you, you looked...” You trail off not sure you want to tell him that he looked older, more tired, than you’ve seen him previously. Instead, you focus on the good news, on the worry you can put down. “I’m so glad to hear she shall be alright.”

Grandfather continues to look odd though, almost cautious in some manner. Did he want to interrogate you about the fight or where Dale went as well? He takes another step closer and reaches out towards you before he evidently thinks better of it. “Speaking of healing, do you not think perhaps now it is time to allow the doctor to do an examination of yourself, my dear?”

You’d already been trying to muster the right words to say to him about the events that his question’s topic throws you off-balance. You blink at him. “Me? I am fine.”

This time it’s your maid, Miss Adir, who speaks up. “My lady,” her voice has far more of the artificial calm pragmatism than it usually does when speaking to you. The maid you grew up with, who you had grown quiet close to, pointed it out to you once when your brother’s valet used the tone. Douglas had been insisting on joining a hunt despite having rode straight home from the capital for days straight and was dead on his feet. She said all servants had them for when nobles were being particularly hard-headed. Miss Adir hasn’t even said anything specific and you are already beginning to feel foolish. “You’ve multiple injuries, which surely with your experience, you know should be either attended to by a professional or at the very least properly bandaged.”

Reflexively, you adjust how you’re holding your arm, the cut stinging anew. With your attention drawn to it, the material of your makeshift bandage itches. You can see the sense in what she’s proposing, however, it feels as though you’re still waiting, as if the fight and the danger must still be present because Dale has not returned yet. It feels wrong to leave this room, to do something that feels as final as tending to your injuries when the events of tonight have not yet concluded. 

Grandfather must read some of your hesitance on your face and he adds, “Deidre gave explicit instructions to have your own injuries sorted before I went to sleep for the night, my lady.” 

It’s heavy-handed to use Grandmother against you like this, but now you can also see that his current worry is at least partially regarding you. Does that mean his suspicion over you is truly gone now? Is this all that had to happen? For you to be attacked by assassins? You should have led with that evidently. You find the thought funny enough you have to resist the urge to let out a laugh. You’re fairly certain it would not have come out right. “Very well.”

“Thank you,” Grandfather says, looking relieved that you're not arguing further. “Do you wish to wait for the doctor?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes. “That is not necessary. All of my injuries are only to the flesh. My head was unharmed and no bones have been broken. If my estimation of any of my injuries were incorrect, I shall inform Dr. Mull myself.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says, though not without a glance towards Grandmother’s room. You know you’re holding yourself stiffly due to tension and worry and yes, your lingering injuries, but you hope it only comes off as the former two. It must because he nods. “Yes, and I shall remain alert for Dale’s return.”

You nod and gesture with the hand still holding your teacup to the tea table. “Please, help yourself to some green tea. I freshly boiled the water only a few minutes ago.” When Grandfather stares at the pot with mild distrust, you add, “No special blends, just the green tea provided by the Governor. I was merely thirsty.”

Grandfather blinks back at you before smiling sheepishly. “Lovely. Thank you.”

You nod. “You are welcome,” you murmur as you let Miss Adir usher you into Grandmother’s dressing room.

“I’ve had some fresh clothes brought for you and I've got your medical bag,” Miss Adir says as she guides you into a chair. “Why don’t you finish your tea while I set it all out, hm?”

You nod, feeling like it’s all you’ve done for the past few minutes but helpless to think of what to do or say instead. Quietly, you sip your tea as the candles in the room are lit. It looks similar enough to your own dressing room here in the governor’s house, but larger. None of the details seem to stick in your mind and you find it easier to look down at the cup in your hands. 

In what feels like only a few seconds, you realize the cup is empty and Miss Adir’s hands are carefully taking it from you. “Let’s stand you up, my lady, so we can get you out of this tarnished ensemble. Oh, how do you want to do this, my lady? Should you change first or bandage yourself first? Or should I?”

The confusion and concern in her voice finally snaps you more fully to the present. You push up out of the chair and finally take a good look in the mirror, needing to better assess the situation in order to answer her questions. 

“Oh,” you say as you stare at yourself. You’re not sure if you expected to look worse or better, but it’s still a surprise to see the evidence of the night’s events on your person. 

Your hair looks mussed, almost as if you’ve slept on it, and your cheeks still have the faint evidence of tear tracks on them. Your eyes too are red at the edges, pupils still wider than even the dim lighting should require. The rest of you, well your dress as a whole looks like you’ve taken a tumble down a hill except instead of streaks of greenery, there are streaks of gray rock dust. Your makeshift bandage stands out as obviously as the large tear from where it had come from on your dress, exposing the cream of your stays. 

Your injured hand automatically goes to cover the hole and you feel a pang of pain at the movement. The aches and bruising you know must be under everything don’t show beyond the general disarray your clothing is in. Then there are the splatters of red, dried to a darker, rustier color, which are not from your own injuries which stand out starkly on the light green fabric. “Oh my.”

Miss Adir comes closer, hovering with her hands clasped tightly. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather the doctor see to you?”

You shake your head, but feel more present having truly seen what state you’re in. “No, she would not tell me anything I cannot tell myself. We should take all of this off, clean and bandage what can be, and then re-dress.”

“Yes, my lady,” Miss Adir seems dubious but grateful you’ve decided on a course of action. 

She carefully helps you out of the dress, though you fight the urge to remind her that it's likely destined for scrap. Even if the dress could be salvaged, you doubt you’d want to wear it again. After she loosens your stays, you fiddle with the busk to pull out the sheath and dagger. You set that aside separately so it can be strung along a leather thong. You’ve no desire to be without it anytime soon. You might sleep with it nearby.

Soon enough from your stockings to your shift, all has been carefully peeled away, leaving only the bandage left. Your front mostly looks normal, although there’s a bruise forming on your hip and another on one of your thighs you don’t remember getting. It’s your arms that have the most obvious damage, your wrists from the spear and then the cut on your arm. None of the other scratches and nicks you’ve picked up warrant bandaging.

Miss Adir hisses in sympathy as she comes over with some cloths and a basin of water. “Oh, your back.”

You turn to examine it in the mirror and wince. There’s a large knot where Vi had used the butt of her spear that’s already quite dark and angry looking. You feel an unexpected thrum of satisfaction at the sight of it, as though how much it hurts is now justified by the sight of the damage. “Yes, well, nothing much to do about bruising.” You reach back with your uninjured hand to run your fingers over the damage, checking as gingerly as you can for anything more that the sight might be disguising. “Nothing’s broken. I shall simply have to be careful of how I sit.”

“We can add a pad under the stays to keep from pressing on it too harshly,” Miss Adir says. “My mother did so after she was knocked into a fence post.”

“Yes, no stays tonight though.” The Governor had ordered your wing into a lockdown: no one in or out except guards and the servants already there. With no guests and the late hour, you were not getting any more dressed than you had to.

“No, no,” Miss Adir agreed. “Your bandages are here—I believe they are the correct ones, but your bag is over there if you require something else.”

“Thank you,” you say, reaching to check she had the right of it before taking a cloth and dipping it in the warm water. As you begin to unwind the makeshift bandage, she begins to help clean off the rest of you. It’s nicer than you expect to have the feeling of sweat cooling washed away until she does so.

The bandage sticks to your skin and you have to be careful not to leave any loose threads in the cut. You narrow your focus to cleaning the cut and making sure you don’t need stitches because that task seems like something you can manage.

The slash is longer than you initially thought, but not as deep as you’d worried, no matter how it hurts. Miss Adir helps hold the end of the bandage in place while you wrap it up. 

Accomplishing even something as simple as that, in this quiet room that feels separate and safe from the rest of the world has helped to resettle you, though you can feel exhaustion begin to nip at your heels. You try to shake it off, resolving to get another cup of tea soon. 

Some renewed urgency floods your veins with the only true injury you can treat handled. Feeling cleaner helps too as you put on the fresh shift and drawers. You sit back down to put on your stockings and when you do, you notice Miss Adir biting her lip. “What is it? Is something else wrong?”

“No, no,” she’s quick to reassure you, before biting her lip again. “Only, are you really okay? I can’t believe something like this happened here. What if myself or Miss Nila had been with you and Lady Deidre? Suppose Lord Dale—”

“Miss Adir,” you say, placing a hand over hers which you’ve only just realized are trembling. “I am fine. You heard Dr. Mull say Lady Deidre will recover, yes?”

She nods, looking up at you with wide eyes. You’re reminded that, while you always feel young, she is a couple years younger than even yourself. Before this wedding and your arrival, she’d primarily been a general maid, not assigned directly to any of the Northridges. She must feel even more in over her head than you do. “Lord Dale did arrive in time and the guards were summoned timely as well.” Something occurs to you. “Were you the one who discovered Grandmother and I were not where we were supposed to be?”

Miss Adir nods, some tears in her eyes. “When I got back up here with your pastries and Miss Nila said you still hadn’t gotten back, she went to tell Lord Archibald and Lord Dale while I alerted the captain. He did not seem to think much was amiss, but I convinced him to at least check with his other guards in the wing. I’ve heard such tales from the other servants since we’ve come to Connton. He’d just discovered some were not at their posts when Miss Nila came to tell him of your shouting and Lord Dale rushing into a fight!”

You smile at her, relieved that notice had been spreading as you’d hoped. “Then you did exactly what you should have.”

“Shouldn’t I have done something more? When I think back on how slow we were to fetch anyone or how long it took to discuss matters, I can only think at how frightened you or Lady Deidre must have been while we took our time.”

You shake your head. “We were frightened because of the actions of the attackers, not your own. And you had no reason to think anything grave was amiss. Neither Grandmother nor I would place any blame at your feet.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Now,” you stand back up. “Help me into my petticoats and dressing gown so we can rejoin the others.”

“Yes, my lady,” she replies with a lightness in her step that you feel yourself. Strange how reassuring her had helped you center yourself. What is done is done and everyone did the best they could, including yourself. It did not however, help alleviate your worry over Dale, who was still in the fight, perhaps even literally.

When you and Miss Adir emerge from the dressing room, you see Grandfather look over to you and some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “You look much better, my lady,” he says as he gestures you into your former seat. Miss Adir leaves to take your previous garments away and you see a guard peel off from the wall to accompany her.

You thank Grandfather for the tea he pours you, but you can see an eager, but reluctant look in his eyes that tells you that, since he has been reassured of your state, he too wishes to ask you for details on what happened.

What follows is a near identical set of questions as you’d fielded from the captain and you’re relieved to find that your previous answers do come back to you. It is only when he starts to repeat himself, obviously frustrated that you cannot provide more information, that you begin to grow weary once again. You know he is not truly angry with you, at least you do not think so, but it is a tiring exercise to walk the line between what information to reveal and what not to.

“I’ve told you,” you finally say, cutting off another question about what had happened to the leader, Clen. “I spent near as much as I could hidden after being assaulted by Lasky and then the other. I don’t know when in the fight he even died. I could see nothing.”

“The room is a mess of destruction,” Grandfather says, having gotten up to begin pacing. “Far more than would come of an ordinary fight, even with ones so brutal.”

“They had enhancements from the Depths,” you remind him. “Not the woman, but the others.”

“Yes, so the Captain said too.” Talking through everything seems to be how Grandfather is processing everything, you simply wish it did not feel quite so much like he was trying to catch you out in a lie. Unlike the days before, you can tell he isn’t actually suspicious of you. “There was only one that left alive at the end, yes?”

“Yes,” you reply. You debate telling him anything more about two, but likely the captain will anyway. Still you don’t want to upset him further so you cautiously add, “However… I do not think the one had enhancements.”

“Oh,” Grandfather stops pacing to stare at you. “Not what I would have suspected.” He relaxes,  “That is a good thing, they should be easier to apprehend.”

“You misunderstand,” you say, shaking your head. There is no point in delaying the information. “I believe that one to be possessed.”

Grandfather pales at your words. “Caverns below, true possession? Did you alert the captain to your suspicion?”

You nod. “Of course.” Now you wonder if the captain had kept that to himself until Dale’s return so as not to worry Grandmother or Grandfather. Had he reported while Grandmother was present? Regardless, it’s too late now and you want Grandfather braced for the information. “I could hear very little—they kept to the edges of the fight initially and I was hidden as best I could, but at the end… They spoke in voices. Multiple voices. Not to mention the strength they displayed and their interaction with the physical world beyond that of a human.”

Grandfather looks truly shaken and you begin to regret letting him know. “I cannot think on the damage one such as them might wreak.” You resist the urge to point out he’s already seen it. “To think someone hired such a horrible monster in order to attack our family. Dale mentioned being able to combat such lower tactics and evidently he held his own, but I now more greatly understand your concern on his going after them.”

“He had a blade that seemed able to damage even those from the Depths,” you say, wanting to give Grandfather some reassurance, but obviously unable to say that Dale is in fact on even footing with Two.

“That is good to know. Perhaps I should acquire something similar. Too many tools that can be used against those from the Depths are from the Depths and therefore, too great a risk to have in one’s possession. That is why we banned them,” Grandfather says, half to himself as he slowly begins pacing once more. “What manner of influence did the possessed one have access to?”

“Stonework,” you reply, knowing you are likely encouraging Grandfather’s fear, but unable to keep your fears in any longer. “They seemed to partially turn to stone, but that might have been a trick of the light. I did not get a good look. They treated the entire fight, those they had been working with, Dale and myself, as if… we didn’t matter to them, not as people. At least, that is how it seemed to me.” 

That is what, looking back on everything, unsettles you the most. How they didn’t care that their companions had been killed. They did not enter the fight until it was just them and Dale. Even that they seemed to see as an entertaining challenge, more than a fight with lives at stake. The demon in Two had seemed far less, for lack of a better word, human than this Dale was. It had been extremely disconcerting and frightening, bringing back old fears that maybe this demon Dale was only a good actor. But to what end? 

You force yourself to focus on Two and the problem at hand, as always feeling as if Grandfather might somehow be able to read your worries and thoughts on Dale on your face. “The others were more obviously there because they were paid well. Two seemed to have an entirely different agenda and was far more dangerous because of it, not to mention his abilities, which were far greater than those with mere enhancements.” You shudder at the memory of the cruel menace in his voice, which only seems to grow worse to your mind now that there are fewer things to focus on. It had physically discomforted you to hear, but now it seemed to suggest they had personally inflicted harm to others the likes of which you could not imagine.  “I never want him near me again.”

“Yes, the machinations of those demons from below are incomprehensible except to spread chaos and destruction,” Grandfather replies, scowling fiercely. “If I ever run into one of those demons, I—”

Whatever threat he was hoping to make is cut off by the door opening. You both turn, Grandfather’s hand to his sword hilt and yours to the dagger lying on the table beside you. 

Dale is in the doorway, looking worn but whole as he walks in.

“Dale!” you and Grandfather say at the same time. Grandfather has put his hands on his grandson’s shoulders, looking him over, before you can even get to your feet.

“Are you alright?” he demands. “What happened? How could you go off on your own like that after someone so dangerous?

Dale carefully places a hand on Grandfather’s arm, pulling it off his shoulder. “I am alright. I’m sure you’ve been informed of those who attacked us. The other had to be stopped. I ensured they will no longer harm our family,” Dale replies, his voice blunt and tired.

You try your best to assess Dale for injuries or other signs that might give him away in his exhausted state. Similar to you, you expect the majority of his injuries are bruisings, but nothing appears obviously broken, nor is he bleeding profusely from anywhere in particular. Relief finally floods you at this confirmation that he is going to be alright. You can’t help but let out a breath of relief which brings his gaze to you. You try to offer him a smile, but he still seems on his guard, which must mean it was a poor attempt on your part. 

He looks back at Grandfather. “How is Grandmother?”

“She is recovering well,” Grandfather says, beginning to herd Dale towards her room. “Come, you must let Dr. Mull assess your injuries.”

“There is no need,” Dale attempts to protest.

“Of course there is,” Grandfather retorts, not slowing down his pace in the slightest. Dale turns pleading eyes to you.

“Let him look you over,” you say, “And so long as he approves with it, I can provide the rest of the supplies or aid with any bandaging.”

Dale glances from you to Grandfather before he slumps, realizing he’s outnumbered. “Yes, sana.”

With that, the pair disappears into Grandmother’s bedroom. 

You set about readying the dressing room to tend to Dale, or for the doctor to do so herself. You only hope if it comes to that, Dale has himself under control. Not to mention that if Dale is injured severely enough for the doctor to wish to do so would be very worrying indeed. 

Miss Adir is sent for more water and cloths while Dale’s valet goes to fetch him fresh clothes, though you hope Dale can just go to bed rather than be kept up even later being interrogated. 

You’re checking on your supplies, making sure you have enough bandages when you hear the door push open further behind you. 

“Sana?” You turn to see Dale in the doorway.

“Dale, how are you? How is Grandmother? They said they didn’t want too many people in her rooms,” you ask, following him into the room and taking a closer look at the slashes that pepper his clothing.

“As I’ve said,'' Dale still sounds tired, but also less stiff. As if he too is finally feeling the release of some tension generated by the fight. He takes off his jacket, clearly knowing you need a closer look to help care for his wounds. “I am alright. So is Grandmother. She was sleeping easily and the Doctor said there will be no lasting damage. She said similarly for me, if not for a few scars. One of my ribs is broken, but nothing else is. She agreed that your training would be plenty to help with the other cuts, though with a similar warning to let her know if anything requires stitches.”

“Oh good, yes,” you say, your hand clasps around his wrist as you turn his arm to better see the longest cut on it. The red staining his shirt looks dark, but human and you hate how much of it there is. Perhaps you should have left the bandaging to the doctor. What if you do not have the right training after all?

He leans closer to you, causing you to look up. There is caution in his face as he says, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” The more people asked you the worse you were starting to feel. With Dale finally back here and whole, if not uninjured, everything finally seems to have fully caught up with you. “I just…” you can’t find the words for what you're feeling and trail off. Your frown deepens, frustrated with yourself, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I... I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“It would be understandable, if you were not,” Dale murmurs. Your fingers hesitantly brush the edge of his torn sleeve. “Sana—”

He gently pulls you by your forearm closer to him. Without giving it any further thought, you collapse into him. Wrapping your arms around him and fisting your hands in the back of his shirt in an effort to stop from shaking. 

You bury your face against his chest. He’s solid and firm beneath you. The scent of dark spice with the hint of woodsmoke envelops you. He’s not warm, but that’s alright, your face feels warm enough with the effort of holding in nonsensical tears and with embarrassment at how you’re reacting. You can’t bring yourself to let go of him though, not when you finally feel rooted to the ground again.

One of his large hands spans your back while the other rests on your head, with enough weight that you feel him, but no hold, no pressure. You’re sure if you tried to push away, he’d let you. 

You press closer instead, mumbling another ‘I’m sorry’ through closed eyes.

“Hush,” he says, and there’s no judgment in his tone, only something you think might be fondness as he adjusts his hold on you. “You did so well, handling everything, I was beginning to worry about what else you might have faced in your past to prepare you to handle such an event. For a second, I nearly wondered if you were entirely human.”

That pulls a startled laugh from you. “That does seem to be a popular theory.” First Grandfather and now even Dale, if only in jest. You could hear the mild irony in his tone and enjoy the inside joke, for all it doesn’t help dissipate the surreal feeling of this night. You loosen your hold on the back of his shirt, but the thought that perhaps Dale would prefer if you were more than you are makes your hands spasm. He had said you’d done well, but what if that was only with the caveat that you are human? What if he wants someone more like him? “So sorry to disappoint, but I’m definitely only human.” 

If he notices how desperately you are clutching at him once again, he doesn’t show it. “Nonsense,” he intones and, as always, his words are so self-assured that you are already half-way to believing whatever he is going to say next. “I would only be disappointed if you were anyone other than who you already are.”

A wry smile crosses your face because you think that’s a compliment. In fact, you think it might be the highest compliment you’ve ever received. Pulling back a little, you tentatively look up and meet his dark, endless gaze. The corners of his eyes crinkle and there’s a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you.” You give him a squeeze and start to pull away. “I prefer you as you are too.”

His eyes widen slightly and a surprisingly vulnerable expression crosses his face. “Is that so?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you reply, hoping he can hear how certain you are. “It is.”

He grins down at you, a strangely boyish pride on his face, and you flush, finally letting go of him. His own hands fall from you and to distract yourself from their loss, you fuss with your hair and clothes. When your eyes dart back to his own, he’s watching you with an indulgent smile. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” you admit because you truly do. 

“Good.”

“How are you?” you ask, looking into his eyes to better assess his answer, to try to communicate you don’t just mean physically. Perhaps he faced all sorts of events like today in the Depths, but you don’t think so. He hadn’t panicked, but he had not been unfazed either.

He frowns, as if he hadn’t thought to take stock of how he felt until you asked. “Concerned and angry, but no longer as unsettled as I felt even moments ago.”

You nod because that honestly sounds like your feelings exactly. “Will you be able to find who did this?”

“Oh, yes,” his entire being seems to darken, the shadows around him that much deeper than they were seconds ago, the air that much colder. “The responsible parties will be found and punished accordingly, as I told Grandfather. Make no mistake about that.”

“Good.” 

I'm trying not to cackle, my niece is asleep😂😂🤣🤣

This made my day🤣🤣🤣

@aswrittenbybri

Chance Perdomo, an actor who starred in the television series “Gen V” and “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina,” has died as a result of a motorcycle accident. He was 27. R.I.P.

Destroy the myth that libraries are no longer relevant. If you use your library, please reblog.

We finally get to meet our family!

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter Twenty-Five

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] Part Twenty-Five

You’d thought the galas had been uncomfortable, but apparently they are nothing compared to the three Northridges in an argument.

You’re all in the study Grandmother’s been lent for your stay, Dale and yourself at a table with Dale’s paperwork spread out around him while Grandfather paces having long vacated his own chair. You wish you could occupy yourself by reading his notes, but they’re in a shorthand code you don’t know. Probably for the best for secrecy purposes, but unhelpful as a distraction. You wonder if Dale will teach it to you once you have the time.

“Unacceptable,” Grandmother says, frowning at Dale. You think it’s the sternest she’s ever looked at him given her usual soft spot for her grandson. “Pride is no excuse not to use every advantage at your disposal to locate these enemies.”

“Unnecessary,” Dale corrects. He presses his lips together before he forces himself to take a deep breath. You appreciate how he keeps his frustration contained, his eyes trained on his notes and waiting to respond when the original Dale would not have. You want to comfort or show your support for him, but you’ve no idea how. So you keep your hands clasped in your lap and hope that when the moment comes for you to assist, you notice it. “All the combatants were defeated; we need to focus on who paid them. I doubt any of the true architects behind the attack would be found out by exorcists. Such people would only be useful at locating the mercenaries.”

“You cannot be certain that the skinwere is truly vanquished,” Grandfather insists, not pausing in his pacing.

It’s challenging to know when you should speak up and when you should keep silent in this argument, particularly when it is not yet your family. Your inclination during verbal fights is nearly always to remain silent. Your eyes dart to Dale, whose expression does not give away that he is by far the most knowledgeable regarding whether or not he has killed a demon or merely removed a possession. Unfortunately, that would not be a helpful interjection.

Grandfather continues, “It might have simply returned to the Depths. What will you do if it returns? In a new body, it will already know your strength and will be more prepared. It will have all the knowledge it gained prior to the attack. It could take you by surprise. An exorcist—”

“Is unnecessary,” Dale repeats. He finally looks up from his papers to meet first Grandfather’s and then Grandmother’s eyes in turn. “I know that it is vanquished. An exorcist will only waste money to confirm the same thing. Many of them are charlatans regardless, no more able to identify and banish a demon than anyone else and only able to part the gullible from their coin.”

“I know plenty of competent and qualified exorcists, Dale,” Grandmother’s tone is arch, clearly not thrown off by Dale’s rebuttal. “The persistence of the demonic is not to be underestimated.”

“We have been dealing with these threats longer than you have, my boy,” Grandfather says, a paternal and condescending tone to his voice. “We have the experience. We have the contacts. We should be leading this investigation and yet you are willfully keeping vital information to yourself.” 

“Yes, and I shall continue to do so,” Dale replies, eyes back on his papers while you resist the urge to fidget under Grandfather’s intent and frustrated gaze. He had shared some of the information he learned about the employers of the mercenaries from his separate, second fight with Two with you, but nothing with his grandparents beyond his confirmation of Two’s defeat. You’re not sure that his grandparents realize he’s told you even a word or two more than them and are not sure if you even want them to find out. “I was the target of this threat and I shall be the one to see it ended.”

“Now is not the time to act too big for your britches,” Grandfather snaps.

“If this is a bid for maturity, for lordship, it is misplaced,” Grandmother’s voice is clearer and sharper. “Only the childish attempt to do things in isolation, mired in a false sense of independence, in pride, in hubris. There is no need to prove yourself, Dale,” her voice gentles here, at the end. It is interesting to hear them make points that would be valid, if only they were aimed at their grandson and not the present Dale. They don’t know they are arguing against a stranger, that their words are aimed at a ghost. “There is nothing to prove. There are only enemies of Northridge to deal with, with everything we have at our disposal.”

You wonder how the original Dale would have handled this argument, if he even decided to have it. The point might have been moot given how much this Dale needed to draw on his nature to win it. Maybe instead you and his grandparents would have been here, reading a ransom note. Maybe you or grandmother would not have survived the night.

“You expect us to trust your judgment,” Grandfather says, strain in his voice as he attempts to rein himself in, “but there are actions that speak against such rational thought. I still cannot believe the utter foolishness that you demonstrated, chasing after one into the night. Do you know how many of those demons have powers over darkness?”

You look down at the papers on the table, just in case your eyes or expression otherwise give away how ironic you find that statement. Picturing Dale’s control over shadows and darkness  brings back memories of the fight. It also brings up memories of the dream you had last night. The dream’s images conjured to your mind by the sight of this new Dale, with his humanity an obvious after thought, to be contemplated while asleep. Darkness poured over the estimate of the human form, his bright eyes, the strength and speed he possessed in those moments.

You feel your cheeks heat at how the dream had diverted from the memory it began by rehashing. Of how it was routed in the manner of his hand on your chin after the fight had ended. In your dreams, his grip had once more been delicate silk over wrought iron strength. He had done more than look as he checked you were whole. His voice had that same reverberation of feeling and affection you heard near the end of the fight, when your name on his lips had evoked such emotion. 

“I was not acting out of immature pride or foolishness then and neither am I now,” Dale replies, snapping you back to the present. His jaw is set as he puts his pen down to give them his full attention. “I am acting as I see fit, based on the circumstances at hand. I had received the training required and the knowledge to hold my own in such a fight. I had observed my opponent and knew the limits of his capabilities as well as my own.” 

Dale’s confidence in the fight, even more so than in the tournament, had been obvious. Even now it was a comfort to you, to know how strong he truly was. This Dale’s strength is an asset, not the concern it had been originally. You still might have advised him to include his grandparents, if you didn’t know what you knew and how dangerous such a thing could be to him now. He must be walking the line between those who know who hired the mercenaries and those who can tell what he is very carefully indeed.

“My estimation was correct as I returned and they did not. It was not luck or coincidence and I’ll not discuss in maybes,” Dale adds at the end when it was clear Grandfather was going to add something more. “We are already here, now, and we are not discussing the actions already taken, but those yet to occur.” 

Dale clears his throat and shifts in his chair before continuing when neither of his grandparents spoke, allowing him the time to do so, despite their misgivings. It was interesting to watch, and unlike many such discussions in your family, but perhaps the circumstances that were different here resulted in the older relatives not simply talking over the younger ones. “Those circumstances are clear: the attack was directed at me personally, the attack was a coordinated effort of fellow nobility, and they did not see Northridge as capable of defending herself from such threats. I have corrected them on the final point. They will be unprepared for such an eventuality and will need time to re-group and plan, as well as raise funds due to the amount paid in advance to the assassins. They will see the wedding as too distracting to us to move quickly now, which I am also subverting.”

“Most likely, they don’t even know that the assassins have failed,” you chime in with a glance at Dale, glad to have thought of something to add. Some of this you’d discussed with Dale the other night while you and the doctor bandaged him up. Unfortunately, since you’d been joined in the dressing room by the doctor and Dale’s valet, you’d not been able to continue your more private conversation. Since then, the only time you’ve been alone, have been short walks between meetings which has been the time to discuss much at all. “From what we overheard, it is unlikely that they had other team members. It will take time for their lack of communication and lack of success to reach their patrons—who might even think they simply took the money paid upfront and then left, if we’ve managed to keep word of the attack properly stifled. That confusion and uncertainty is something we can take advantage of as long as we are subtle.”

Dale is clearly trying for patience, but he’s also frustrated when his grandparents don’t seem particularly persuaded by these arguments. “We all agreed that keeping the news of this attack as quiet as possible and painting it as a minor event was for the best. Have either of you changed your minds regarding that decision?”

“No, of course not,” Grandmother replies, frowning. 

She tries to continue speaking, but Dale continues instead, “Your primary resources are the full might of the law and those at your disposal in Northridge, your contacts in the realm of the law throughout the country and beyond, and your prior experience dealing with similar attacks during the height of your senate career.” Dale is exclusively addressing Grandmother at this point. “The majority of those resources would require bringing in a great deal more people and would undermine our decision to keep this attack quiet.”

“And my experience?” Grandmother asks, arching a brow.

“Which I have listened to extensively over the years,” Dale says, a mild tone of long-suffering grandchild in his voice, likely a mix of the original Dale’s familial condescension and his own exasperation given his personal greater experience. “As well as in the past few days as you recounted more details that had been omitted from the stories you told in my youth. If there is anything further you wish to share, please do so. However, throughout your tales, you worked exclusively with a small network of those loyal to you and involved only Grandfather in our family.” The implication that this is what Dale was doing by excluding them and including you was obvious.

“That is no reason not to share your strategy with us, Dale,” Grandmother says, disapprovingly. “My parents were unable to provide helpful advice in this arena, not in the manner your Grandfather and I can. I cannot recount every detail of every experience I have had. Sometimes the smallest details are most relevant and yet do not come to mind until the moment of connection is made. I cannot provide such insight if I am blinded.”

“I appreciate that,” Dale replies. “But the danger posed by making you a target, is greater in my mind than the value of that minute insight might afford. If I were struggling on my path of discovery and response, I would agree share further, but I am not.”

“And what of my resources?” Grandfather is agitated by Grandmother’s considering silence and at being ignored.

“My understanding of those you have at your disposal are primarily contacts for exorcists, demon hunters, mercenaries. Additionally, given the speed at which such lives are lost and won, I expect many are outdated. I mean no offense, but, you last actively utilized them over a decade ago. I think you certainly have solid relationships you could pull on that would steer you in the right direction to active members far quicker than the average person. But that it would still take time. And they are not who we need at this time. The assassins are all dealt with, I do not believe new individuals will be contracted with soon, and so the patrons are my focus.”

“I have contacts among the peers,” Grandfather says defensively. “Many who might have heard of who would use such an underhanded move such as this or who could discover such tactics. I am not so far removed from the game.”

“And this is the crux of the matter, is it not?” Dale’s frowning and for the first time in a long time, he reminds you of the old Dale. Your heart races with anxiety over his disapproval, even if it’s aimed at his grandparents and not you. You’d forgotten how much he’d made you nervous in the beginning, perhaps because this Dale makes you nervous too, but the difference in why has never been more stark. 

This Dale worries you because of how much you still don’t know about him, about what he wants and what he plans. The conversation you were hoping to have that night never occurred, your time together interrupted by servants and doctors and Grandfather. You haven’t been alone since, except for short spans in the halls, where anyone might overhear and so you are both careful to remain vague. The lack of clear communication has become a larger and larger source of frustration for you. Sometimes he makes you feel as if there is more at stake because you believe there is more to gain from his partnership.

That Dale had worried you because of what you did know of him, rather than how each new hint you discern for this Dale reassures you. The original Dale, his arrogance, his moods, his overconfidence, his heavy handed assumptions, and his temper—his clear ability to hold grudges—all caused worry and nervousness to creep through your veins. 

And in the split second Dale reminds you all that, he also helps wash it away. Because it is so clear, that while he’s frustrated and displeased with this conversation, obviously tense from the subject and the line he has to walk regarding what he knows and needs to do with his grandparents, you are not afraid. Not of him.

 He takes a deep breath, his stare intense, but his jaw unclenched, his hand open on the table. “I also have such contacts,” Dale points out. “Fresh contacts from my travels and time in court. I am the one who moved directly in these circles that the ones targeted me have come from. I am the one most able to deal with this threat. You must know that, even if it worries you.”

Grandmother frowns, but doesn’t look away. “I cannot approve of you keeping us out of this investigation, especially given my involvement already, but I do understand why you wish to, however much I wish I did not. None of my fears lie with your capabilities, my Dale.”

“I know,” Dale replies, leaning back in his chair. His arm moves to the armrest and the back of his hand brushes against your own, just a touch too strongly to not be deliberate. You startle a little at the pressure, enough that Dale retreats, his fingers curving around the end of the arm rest. You hasten to correct yourself, not able to explain that you were surprised, nothing more. Carefully, you place your hand on his forearm, fingers loosely wrapping around his wrist and giving a, hopefully, comforting squeeze. A reminder he’s not alone.

He continues to look at Grandmother, but he turns his arm over and you slide your hand into his. It's grounding in the same way your embrace had been and you’re all too pleased to be able to do so now. “However, I believe it to be the right move, the one with that will grant the greatest chance of success with the least complications. And I will stand by it.”

You look over to Grandmother and find her staring at your joined hands. Your instinct is to let go, like a child caught doing something naughty, but while your hand spasms, you’re able to calm your racing heart and keep your hold on Dale.

Grandfather opens his mouth with a frown, but Grandmother cuts him off, “Very well. We will let you handle this, for now. If another attack occurs, we will not be kept to the sidelines.”

“Understood,” Dale replies, but you can feel his relief in how his hand relaxes in your own.

“And the moment you believe that you can use our help, you must promise to ask for it,” Grandmother continues, not looking away to Grandfather who’s come to stand beside her.

Dale nods, but she continues to wait and you give him a look. He blinks in surprise before realizing what she wants. “I promise that if I believe further aid from you would be warranted, I will ask for it.”

“See that you do,” Grandmother says before her demeanor lightens, her smile nostalgic as she says, “You have grown so much, my boy.”

Dale looks startled. This time his hand twitches in yours. It's clear he has no idea what to say and so he merely nods, looking back down at his papers. He tries for casual as he replies, “Yes, well, that is what tends to happen.”

Grandmother’s smile only widens and Dale reaches with his free hand to straighten the papers. Something written catches his attention, though you’ve no idea what given his shorthand code. “Actually, I was hoping to get your opinions on one part of my investigation.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says gruffly, still obviously displeased with the turn the conversation took, but not enough to disagree with Grandmother.

“I would appreciate your impressions of the two primary candidates I have for one of the patrons,” Dale says after a glance at you. When you walked over with him to the study and discussed this part of the conversation. You shared your impression of three primary patrons, which he confirmed having received the same information from Two: the Duke, the knight, and the heiress. You have no thoughts on two of them but you did express your suspicion of the knight from Eastmont, due to both his animosity and his knowledge of demonics, which Dale agreed with.

Dale seemed to have his own suspicions about the heiress, but the Duke, he’d only been able to narrow down to a short list. Hopefully, not only would Grandmother and Grandfather be able to advise on who to look at first, but also should mollify them regarding Dale more or less shutting them out of the rest of the investigation and action he planned to take against these conspirators.

“He was referred to as ‘the Duke’, which I believe to be literal,” Dale says. “Between that and the reference to gambling, I suspect either Duke Gaelole or Duke Karihas. Both I played at cards and won substantial amounts from, though of course no cheating was needed on my part.”

Grandmother cackled. “I taught you too well, sweetheart. I am also surprised that those two are still playing as they did.”

You’ve only heard these names and not had any personal interaction with either of them. It begins to get harder to follow certain family connections, when not bragged about, and so it's possible you went to school with a grandchild of one of them. That’s likely the only connection you could have had, sheltered as you had grown up.

“Duke Karihas,” Grandfather rubs his chin as he speaks. “He is arrogant, too fond of the drink and I can only guess, more susceptible to it than before. However, it is not his style to hold grudges. His memories tend to fade quickly with time, no matter the size of his losses. His children fund such vices these days as he still breaks even more often than not. Duke Gaelole on the other hand…”

“He plays the gallant and generous lord, but in truth, he would gut his own grandson in an alley over disrespect or a lost bet,” Grandmother pronounced. “He plays the amiable host, the graceful loser on those rare occasions he loses, but he is cold as a fish and as ruthless as a demon.”

“I had thought, even though the loss was smaller, that he might be the true enemy,” Dale admits, the frown deepening on his face. “There were repeated losses and he grew both more charming and more insistent as time wore on for rematches. There was a look in his eyes when I finally refused to play anymore hands and collected my winnings. A dangerous one.” 

You wonder how the original Dale’s memories appear to him now. You wonder how he grew to learn how to read human expressions. You hope this Dale isn’t inclined to gamble, no matter what skills Dale used to possess. You feel now is not the time to bring such a matter up, but you feel buoyed that you likely will try to discuss it with him, because you feel you can.

“He’s got deep pockets, Dale,” Grandfather warned. “And he does not hesitate to dip into them as he pleases. He’s notorious for holding grudges and acting on them. Notable careers ended or reputations ruined, if he so desired. Tread very carefully with him.”

“I understand,” Dale replies gravely. He looks back and forth between them. “All I ask is that you allow me to take the lead on this matter and to trust that if I can use your assistance, I will ask for it. I know you would wish to do the same. Trust I would not put my faith in empty pride if I truly did not feel I had the resources required to bring these enemies of our family to rest.”

“I do not like this,” Grandfather says. “I do not think it is necessary.” His shoulders slump, ever so slightly, “But I would do the same, and have done so in the past.”

“You have a year or until another attack,” Grandmother warns, “before we act, with or without your leave. It is only in consideration of your determination and persuasion that I allow you this freedom to deal with the threat as you will.” Unexpectedly, her eyes find yours, “And I also trust that you are not conducting your investigation alone. That you are involving your soon to be spouse as well. 

“Yes, Grandmother,” Dale replies dutifully, you echoing him only a beat behind. He smiles at you in response, resting his hand over your own and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Pardon my intrusion, my lords, my ladies.” You turn to see Grandfather’s valet opening the door to come in. “In addition to alerting you that it is time to begin preparing for this afternoon’s gala, I also have a letter.”

“Our thanks for the reminder,” Grandfather says. “Who is the letter for?”

His valet walks over to you, rather than any Northridges. “It is addressed to the family, but to my lady’s attention.”

You accept the letter, frowning at the handwriting of the address. It doesn’t look familiar and you’re not expecting any mail. Are you? After these past couple days, anything unexpected makes you nervous. You quickly break the plain seal, wanting to get past this new tension as soon as possible. The message inside is short and in a hand you do recognize. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Dale asks, leaning closer and clearly as on edge as you had been. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh, nothing like that. My family has arrived.” You don’t know why the thought is so foreign, so disconcerting. And yet everything that has happened in these whirlwind days seems so far removed from your life before Northridge, that your family seems like an unexpected intrusion. You knew that they had to be arriving before the wedding ceremony, but Mother had said travel was more unpredictable than she’d expected and hadn’t been able to provide an estimate for their arrival. “They will be joining us at the gala tonight.”