TW: Mentions of dismembered body parts

Roche's mind was a flurry of unsavoury thoughts. She'd awoken in the morning with the images of last night's attack seared into her mind. She couldn't shake the thought of Tigris among the victims. Verita was still searching for what creature was involved and Roche had no idea how to protect the princess from this new inkblood threat. It didn't help that the king expected Tigris to be on patrol tonight when the creature might be prowling.

When Roche tried to move her mind to less depressing and gruesome matters, she found her thoughts drifting to Medea. Her stomach squirmed like a nest of vipers at the thought of the other inkblood in the castle. She felt like she'd ruined everything with the attempted kiss. Medea was the only other person with inkblood who wasn't actively trying to kill the princess. She was smart, witty, and had a unique kind of outlook on life that Roche craved. Roche had fumbled a chance at a great friendship.

She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter as she crept into the tunnel in the morning, pastries in hand. She told herself that she needed to set her feelings aside and protect this marvelous woman because she deserved safety and happiness and love that didn't come from Roche after everything she'd been through. Roche told herself all that and more as she stood in the mouth of the tunnel, freezing as her eyes snagged on Medea's sleeping form.

Her throat tightened up at the sight of the woman. Roche suddenly found that she wasn't hungry anymore. She doled out a hefty portion to Medea with a note saying that she would be back. Roche knew she couldn't hide forever from the muddled feelings between them, but she needed a few more hours to gather her thoughts and feelings. She took the remaining pastries that she no longer had an appetite for and headed for the stables to feed her favourite horse as she gathered her thoughts.

She had just mustered up the nerve to face Medea again when the princess came and distracted her, banishing her off to work. All the castle servants were called to clean up the mess of corpses in the courtyard.

So Roche found herself mulling over Medea as she scooped up petrified chunks of flesh and bone fragments into a rubber lined burlap sack, trying not to cringe. Even if the bodies had been turned to stone, their mangled expressions of terror made her swallow bile. Roche recalled Sir Osborne begging not to die from inkblood with a sour twist of her stomach. This use of inkblood was absolutely the opposite of what it should be used for.

"Need another sack?" one of the kitchen maids, Bruta, asked. She was often found butchering meat for Cook, cleaving through bones of deer and other hardy game with ease. Many were scared of the gruff, broad shouldered woman, but she was kind enough to Roche.

"Yes, please," Roche replied gratefully, tying off her bag of stone limbs. She tripped over something squishy as she reached for the bag Bruta held out, doing a double take when she noticed the unpetrified head of Sir Osborne.

"Oh, don't touch that. The princess wants it burned to ashes for his family." Bruta told her, turning away with a sad shake of her head, "Pity. He was such a young lad. His wife's heartbroken."

Roche swallowed back tears. "Poor thing." she mumbled. This use of inkblood was egregious.

Bruta hummed in agreement and turned away, joining another servant boy who was staring at a petrified finger with just a bit too much interest. Roche turned back to the severed head, dark thoughts filling her mind, like what she'd do if that head had been Tigris'. An even colder, more terrified part of her mind wondered what she'd do if that head had been Medea's.

Roche's eyes burned. She turned away, scooping Sir Osborne's petrified body into the sack as her thoughts began to settle for the first time in hours.

If it had been Medea who had died in the attack, Roche wouldn't be able to forgive herself for everything she'd left unsaid. So, Roche finished up her work quickly and darted back into the castle to steal Medea's lunch from Tigris.

-------

Medea was waiting in the tunnel when Roche came in the morning. The woman stood, her face drawn, breakfast uneaten. When she spotted Roche, her silvery blue eyes widened with surprise.

"You came back," she breathed out, something akin to shock and disbelief in her voice. Roche cursed herself for her earlier cowardice. She flashed Medea a small smile, her heart twisting itself into painful knots.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" she teased. Her mirth faded as her eyes drifted to Medea's uneaten breakfast, "Have you not eaten?"

Medea fidgeted, cheeks reddening. "It didn't feel right to eat without you," she admitted quietly. Roche swallowed a swell of warm emotion. She held out the platter she'd brought.

"Well... I'm here now."

Medea smiled ever so slightly. "Yes you are." she replied, sliding to the ground to sit. She patted the ground next to her, and Roche hesitantly approached. The air was stifling with awkward tension, but Roche forced herself to dole out portions to Medea.

They chewed in silence. The stars above them were dimmer than ever.

Roche leaned to the side when she was done her lunch, tugging open her satchel. "I brought you something."

Medea's cheeks flushed again. "Oh! You didn't have to."

Roche held out a sheet of paper. "Oh but I did. After yesterday," she paused, the awkwardness pressing against her for a moment before she could continue, "I was thinking about that poem you mentioned. I figured you might want to hear the rest of it."

Medea's eyes widened. She grasped the sheet with shaking hands, like the words were written with diamonds rather than ink. "You found the rest?" she gasped. Roche nodded.

"It's a rather old poem, dating back before the last dark age. I don't know how you found it, but I'm glad you did. It's beautiful." Roche explained quietly, watching Medea absorb the words with the intensity of someone with ink in her veins. As she read, Medea's eyes began to fill with tears. After a moment, the inkblood was crying, shoulders shaking as tears trailed down her freckled cheeks.

Roche felt horrible instantly.

"Oh no," Roche flapped her hands in embarrassment, fumbling to grab a handkerchief from her bag, "This was supposed to make you happy!"

"I am," Medea sniffled, placing the poem on her lap delicately as she scrubbed her cheeks. She met Roche's eyes with her watery ones, "It's perfect, Roche. I never thought I'd see this. Thank you."

"Then why are you crying?" Roche asked, leaning forward to dab tears off the woman's cheeks with the handkerchief.

Medea laughed thickly, and the stars above her pulsed a cool, blue light. "Because you've been so kind to me and I... I've been terrible."

"No you haven't." Roche replied instantly, scooting closer so that Medea could see the truth in the words, "You're incredible. You must know that. Look at what you can do. Look at how amazing you are." Roche pointed to the stars above them.

Medea shook her head with a broken laugh. "This is what I mean. You've been sitting here trying to convince me that I'm..."

"Awesome? Smart? Stunning?" Roche replied, her cheeks flushing when she realised the implications of the last word.

Medea didn't seem to realise. She stared at the poem in her lap, and a few more tears trickled down her cheeks.

"You've been the amazing one, Roche. You've been so kind and in return I lied to you." she whispered.

The world ground to a halt.

"What?" Roche asked, confused.

Medea choked with tears. "Yesterday, you asked to kiss me and I denied you."

"You were allowed to not want that," Roche replied, feeling a flush of shame, "I'm sorry I didn't make that clearer."

"You misunderstand me. I wanted that more than anything." Medea sobbed.

Roche's heart raced in her chest, the words making her skin tingle with electric shock. "I don't understand."

"I wanted to kiss you," Medea cried out fiercely, dragging her gaze up to Roche, "You're a wonderful person, and I can't stand to see you sitting here, blaming yourself for seeing something that I saw as well. I lied about that. I want you, Roche."

The world blurred around Roche. The stars faded above them, so did the cavernous walls. Her breath came out in a shaky rasp.

"Then have me," Roche breathed, "Have all of me."

Medea cried out, like the words pained her. "I can't. I won't condemn you like that."

"Maybe I want to be condemned," Roche found herself being pulled closer by the magnetic tug of Medea's teary eyes.

"Not by someone like me," Medea murmured, biting her soft lip, "I want you to have everything you want after all the kindness you have shown me. You deserve my honesty, Roche, and you deserve better than me."

"I think," Roche said slowly, her breath coming out fast, "That I want you too. I think you are enough for me. I think that deserving you is the best thing I can ever hope for."

Medea leaned closer. Roche could count every freckle on her tawny skin, see the outline of her name on those beautiful, full lips.

Medea's entrancing grey-blue eyes fluttered. "Roche..."

"Medea," Roche parroted back, her voice barely more than a rasp, "Please. Please, please, please, trust me?"

There was so little space between them. Roche could feel the heat of Medea's breath clouding on her skin. She smelled the sea in the woman's hair, felt her inkblood pulsing like her own.

Medea nodded, ever so slightly, dark locks falling around her ethereal face. Desire thrummed low in Roche's stomach at the sight.

"Medea," her name was a prayer on Roche's lips, "May I kiss you?"

Medea's breath came out in a soft gasp. Her lips trembled as they parted.

"Please do."

The words were like a lock springing open. Roche leaned forward, her hand cupping the soft curve of Medea's waist as she pressed their lips together.

Roche would come back to this moment many times in her life. She'd try, and fail, to describe the feeling of their love encompassed in a simple connection of lips. She'd think of how Medea tasted like the sweetest honey, how she smelled of the sea but held Roche with arms as steady as the earth.

Roche would think how her touch felt like fire, how she pressed harder against those soft, pink lips with desperate need for the searing pleasure that arose with the friction of their bodies. Roche all but shoved Medea against the wall as they grasped at each other in a needy tangle of lips and limbs.

A soft moan left Medea, high pitched and breathy. Roche shivered at the sound. The stars above them pulsed with beautiful, fiery light. Roche cupped Medea's face, lips pressed together so hard that it hurt. The pain mingled with pleasure and Roche melted, their bodies melding together into a nameless song of completion.

After what felt like eternity and the blink of an eye, they broke apart, lungs burning as they gasped for air.

Roche stared at the lovely woman's face, lips red from the force of their kiss. She brushed her own lips, feeling that they were swollen and red, a remnant from heaven.

Medea gazed back at her, those long, dark lashes hanging low on her cheeks. Her face was damp from drying tears.

"Was that okay?" Roche whispered, feeling shy as the implication of the moment dawned on her.

Medea smiled, more confident and free than Roche had ever seen her. As if in answer, she leaned forward, cupping Roche's face tenderly.

"May I kiss you, Roche, my love?"

She barely had time to breathe out a yes before Medea launched herself forward, undoing Roche again and again and again.

They both knew this moment would shake the stars eternally.

-------

It was an hour after midnight when Roche could sneak back to Medea again. Tigris had been on edge all day, snapping at Roche and keeping her busy with tasks. Verita also had run her ragged, not giving her time for dinner with Medea. Roche only had the time to slip away after midnight, when Tigris is out on patrol with her brothers and Verita has fallen asleep.

The tunnel opened soundlessly, but Medea sprang up as if a bell had rung.

"Roche! What are you doing out this late?" she asked, almost frantically. She raced up to meet her, her beautiful silver-blue eyes searching Roche's face with alarm, "It's dangerous to be out this late, I've heard guards near the tunnels!"

"I came to see you," Roche answered, leaning forward to give Medea a peck on the cheek. At the kiss, the woman relaxed a little, leading Roche into the tunnel where the stars were brightest. She kissed Roche once she was seated with desperation. Roche laughed against her lips. "Missed me?" she asked.

Medea deepened the kiss before mumbling, "You have no idea how much, love."

The pet name made Roche shiver with longing. She leaned back with an impish grin that drove most people mad but made Medea smile.

"I brought you a present!" she exclaimed cheerfully, watching Medea's eyes light up as she reached into her satchel, "I think you're going to love this."

Medea watched Roche pull out another rolled up page and smoothed it on the ground. She inspected the sheet with interest, narrowing her eyes.

"Is that a map?"

"It is. This is the forest around the castle," Roche explained, and then pointed to the red circles, "These are some secluded places we can visit once the search for you dies down."

Medea smiled wistfully, tracing the map with delicate fingers. "I would love to see the trees again."

"You will. Soon," Roche promised. They lapsed into companionable silence, staring at the map.

Medea chewed her lip. After a moment, she asked, "Are you truly alright with this? With us?"

Roche knew what she meant. Her mind flashed to Mallory. The woman had thought Roche to be desirable, once. Then that shallow desire turned to shame, shame of loving an Irulian woman.

This wasn't like that. Medea's love ran deep. There was not a trace of doubt in her embraces and love. She returned Roche's affections, embracing Roche in her entirety. Roche trusted her.

Oddly, the image of Mallory faded, melting into the image of Tigris. Roche didn't deny the ache of longing she'd felt once towards the princess. It was natural to be so fond of a woman that her destiny was tied to so deeply. But Roche saw the budding affection between Tigris and Kai. Above all, she was Tigris and Kai's friend. She wouldn't get between them.

Any doubt she had faded in that moment as the image in her mind shifted to the woman in front of her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Medea staring at her with a curious expression. Roche leaned forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss against Medea's lips. The sensation was intoxicating.

"I am. I have no regrets." Roche answered firmly and truthfully, "Do you?"

"None," Medea breathed, "You're amazing, Roche. I can't believe someone like you wants to be with someone like me."

"Of course I do," Roche murmured back, nestling into the woman's side, "Who wouldn't want to be with you?"

Medea shifted, glancing at the corner of the tunnel. Roche squinted, smiling when she saw their sapling there.

"The librarians weren't the biggest fans of me," Medea admitted as Roche stood to carefully gather their sapling into her cupped hands. Medea watched her with a fond but bittersweet smile, "They found me... unappealing."

"Are you sure their eyes are alright?" Roche asked skeptically, her gaze hot as it traced Medea's face.

Medea didn't laugh. She drew her knees to her chest with a slight wince. "They thought I was a monster."

"Why?" Roche asked, feeling a flare of fiery protectiveness.

Medea tilted out her wrists, blotchy with inkblood as if in answer. Roche sighed.

"The librarians should know better. They worship inkblood." she held out the sapling. Medea accepted it gratefully, gently toying with the leaves.

"I'm different. My inkblood's not the same as theirs." Medea explained, not meeting Roche's eyes.

"It's nothing but beautiful," Roche insisted, waiting for Medea to lift her gaze, "I'm going to tell you that every day until you believe me. Or at least until the words stop making you cry." She leaned forward, brushing tears off the woman's face.

Medea's lips parted to reply when a loud clanging filled the air. Roche leapt to her feet in a panic, nearly tripping over Medea. The woman was covering her ears, eyes dilated with panic at the sound of the warning bells.

"Stay here," Roche instructed her immediately, "You should be safe in the tunnels. I'll see what's going on."

Medea nodded, her throat bobbing. "Thank you, Roche."

Roche's heart warmed as she glanced over her shoulder and spotted Medea gazing at their little sapling, a combination of their inkblood, with a soft smile.

A/N: WOO LET THE ROMANCE BEGIN! Finally, after over 100 chapters, Roche has been kissed, everyone!

What do you all think about Medea and this new romance between them? Does it feel forced? Honestly, I fell in love with Medea while writing her, so it was a bit hard for me to stay objective, so definitely let me know if this romance seems to quick or anything :)

Also, this book has been picking up more reads lately! This means the world to me. If you've made it this far and slogged through all one hundred and ten chapters of this somewhat unoriginal plot, thank you so much! I know it's not the best, but it's been the product of my summer and love for Merlin. So thank you to everyone who's been reading, it means everything to me that there are other people who are reading along and enjoying :D Thank you!

As always, happy reading everyone!