Fandom imagines and one shots

Mark/Kieran - The Dark Artifices

Mark woke with a start to the sound of Gwyn's horn, sharp and loud. His blonde hair, tangled and damp from sleep stuck to the nape of his neck. He'd been dreaming about his family. Helen and Julian, Tiberius and Livia, Drusilla and Octavian. He dreamt of his father. The way his father had been turned by Sebastian Morgenstern in the Dark War. The way Andrew Blackthorn changed from a man Mark trusted and admired to someone no longer recognised as Mark's father. He thought of his family often, but it had been a while since he's had that dream. Not since Kieran.

Kieran had been summoned to Gwyn 5 days ago. Gwyn had wanted to speak with the faerie princeling and Kieran hadn't returned since. Mark wondered what Gwyn had wanted, surely if it was that serious he would know about it, they all would. The Wild Hunt were a team, regardless of how they treated Mark because of his Shadowhunter heritage they still respected him. He was good at what he did, a valuable member of The Hunt. Mark took a deep breath, forcing Kieran from is mind and pushing a hand through his messy hair.

He rose slowly to his feet, making his way over to his steed. He stood patiently waiting for Mark to feed him in the hazy light of the early hours. Aside from Kieran, Mark's steed was the only thing Mark could be himself around. He didn't have to pretend to be strong or that he didn't care about the taunting or that he didn't miss his family. He didn't have to be Mark the Faerie, son of the Lady Nerissa. He could be Mark Blackthorn, a seventeen year old Shadowhunter who missed his family more than he could put into words.

Gwyn's horn sounded for the second time telling The Hunt it was time to go and pulling Mark away from thoughts of his family. He mounted his steed and before he knew it the sound of hooves filled his ears and the wind was rushing past him, through his hair and numbed his skin. He breathed in the cold air, the feeling of freedom washing over him. It didn't last long. Soon The Hunt reached the fields where death was overwhelming, to do their job, to gather the dead. As a Shadowhunter Mark was accustomed to death but this was different, it felt wrong. He didn't like it. I am a Shadowhunter , Mark reminded himself. I am a Shadowhunter.

It was a painfully long time before Gwyn decided The Hunt could rest for the night on the top of a  deserted cliff, facing out across the Atlantic Ocean. A small fire had been started and the faeries had gathered around it talking and laughing. Mark sat a fair distance away from them, looking at the stars. Naming them.

Helen. Julian. Tiberius. Livia. Drusilla. Octavian.

For the last few days The Hunt had gone without food, this wasn't unusual but it made the faeries more tormenting, crueler.

"Angel boy! Thinking about your family? I wouldn't bother, they're probably already dead" followed by loud laughter.

Mark didn't even glance in their direction, he just recited the names again. And again. And again. He did it to calm himself, when he was nervous or stressed or hurt. To remind himself he was a Shadowhunter not a faerie. When the faeries realised Mark wasn't reacting they struck lower. Mark visibly flinched causing them to laugh even more.

"First the fire and then the blood, in the end it's Blackthorn blood".

"Enough".

Mark turned to the person who had spoken. The sea breeze blowing his dark hair into his face and eyes. Black and silver, beautiful against the contrast of his pale face. Every bit faerie royalty. Kieran.

The faeries stopped their harsh words, to Mark's relief. The sight of Kieran bought a smile to his face and he had a tight feeling in his chest. Kieran looked bewitching, the moonlight highlighting his delicate features, his high cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his mouth. Mark inhaled sharply, trying to change his trail of thought. Kieran walked over to where Mark was sitting away from the others and sat down beside him. Mark placed his hands under his legs, the only thing stopping him from jumping up and embracing Kieran, causing a scene.

After a moment Mark asked, "What did Gwyn need you for?".

"I was requested to speak with my father, the Unseelie King. He wanted to know how The Hunt was treating me. He insisted I stay for the feast. Hardly noticed I was present" Kieran said as he glared down at his feet as he kicked the dirt. He had only ever showed his vulnerable side to Mark, no one else had seen it. He didn't trust anyone like he did Mark.

Mark placed a hand on Kieran's knee, "I missed you".

Kieran's mouth turned up in the corner and his feet stilled, "I missed you too".

There was some shuffling about as the faeries put the fire out and separated apart, further away from Mark and Kieran to settle for the night. Finally, Mark thought. He now had the chance to be alone with Kieran, where they didn't have to hide as much, where they could be themselves. Together they walked a little further away from the group, finding shelter under a group of trees. As always Kieran had his blanket, as they lay down together Kieran pulled it over them both. Here by the sea Mark really appreciated the warmth the magical enchantments of the blanket provided.

Kieran lay with his arm around Mark, the shadowhunter laying with his head on Kieran's shoulder. Mark felt the tension that had been building over the last few days gradually leave his body, since he'd been taken to Faerie he only felt calm, comfortable around Kieran. Kieran's heartbeat was strong and steady against Mark's cheek, Kieran felt the same. His dark hair was pale blue at the tips as it always was when he was alone with Mark, when he was happy. Kieran placed a light kiss on Mark's fair hair. He'd missed Mark more than he had expected to. But that didn't matter anymore, he was back, with Mark in his arms, under the stars, he was back where he belonged.

Mark raised his head to look at Kieran and a small smile formed on his face which Kieran retuned, Kieran leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Mark's lips. His lips were warm and soft against Mark's. Mark leaned up to Kieran, deepening the kiss, he'd missed this, the feel of Kieran's lips on his, the feeling of being wrapped in Kieran's arms, he missed feeling happy. None of that mattered now, he had Kieran, he felt free, he was okay. He wasn't hurting, wasn't thinking about how much he missed his family, and so that night as he lay with Kieran, Mark Blackthorn didn't name the stars.