Varian x Reader Oneshots

There Are Daggers in Men's Smiles

No-one wants to be faced with a problem that smiles a mile wide in the darkness and flees before the sun rises. A problem whose passion stampedes in bouts of chaos and runs in tributaries of blood. A problem so elusive that once it's left, you're not even sure that it was there at all.

That's your problem.

The ashen remains of Old Corona blew around in the dusk air, the amber remnant of the flames staining the sky and the smoke - now invisible - choking out any inch of life it could find. Villagers gathered scared and scorched in the streets, in a group notably fewer than it was before. The black rocks pierced through the charred dust mockingly, pointed and armed at the intruding good that set foot before them. Menacingly, they grinned.

And images of machines and magic flashed through everyone's head.

"Is everyone alright?" You call, fanning your face of the smoke. The distant yet suffocating burn of the embers reflect off your shining uniform, and starkly contrasts the scarce rags of the townsfolk.

"You were supposed to help us," a man coughed, leaning on a blackened piece of wood that wavered underneath his mighty weight, "you were supposed to catch him."

Your breath caught in your throat, the words snuffed out so suddenly that you thought they would block the air to your heaving lungs.

"We're doing our best, sir."

Your lie hung heavy upon the tainted air, and as the villagers inhaled your dishonesty, one by one their faces turned gaunt. Not angry, not depressed. Tired.

A scream.

You turned, reminded suddenly of every single town before this. You knew what was going to come next, but still the sight of his body sent a wave of sick nostalgia through your body. You retched in the back of your throat, but your face betrayed nothing.

A woman - still young, her face etched with the ghost of innocence - ran forth, anchored by the body she cradled in her arms. The fresh scent of death wafted over the crowd, and many looked away. Recognition burned in their eyes, and tears extinguished the flames.

"My son, my dear son," she wailed, falling to her knees and cradling the bloodied and blackened head of a young boy to her chest; her heaving breaths rattling the ruined bones of the child, "look what you did to my son!"

Your lips wavered and your eyes went wide, although your face was scarily neutral. No-one should ever become accustomed to something this... this horrid, you reminded yourself. Don't become numb.

"Miss, I'm so sorry for your loss," you tried, but her hair - matted and tangled - stuck to her ears and blocked out all sound.

And as you looked on, to the beaten and broken crowd - whose lives were forever stained with the stench of death - you turned, back to them, and left for the castle.

You could feel their glare on your back. It matched the sting of your eyes.

"Oh Varian! It's beautiful!" You swooned, leaning your shoulder against the solidness of your newly betrothed, his smile wide and joyous and spread to the stars as he looked at the ring on your finger.

"You like it?" He chuckled - half cocky, half unsure - and you reached up and kissed the sharp curve of his jaw.

"I'll never take it off," you promised, the declaration of love dying in your mouth as he swung you off the ground and held you tightly in his arms.

"I would hope not," he whispered into your ear, and caught your lips with his, your bodies becoming entangled and hot and one as the day ticked over anew.