#LYNN I love Lynn but girl you know about the orphanage burning right???? Right??????? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

otonymous · 4 years

Text

It’s The End Of The World (MLQC Headcanon)

Dear Nonny...

I say that now, Nonny, but the truth is that the ONLY thing I love more than smut is angst! Mwahahaha! 🤣🤣 That being said, let’s take a one-way trip to Angst Town! Everybody got their seatbelts on?! LET’S GO!!! (Please note warnings below before reading 💕💕💕)

Warnings: angst, explicit language, trigger warnings (mentions of speeding, near-death experiences and flashbacks, nausea & vomiting, insomnia, slight mention of possessive behaviour, workaholism, loss of appetite and weight loss, anger and violent behaviour (not towards other people though!)) and SPOILERS (basically up to chapter 24 in the EN server; includes dates and Rumours & Secrets for the boys)

Gavin:

DEVASTATED. This man is absolutely devastated.

Gavin has known you since high school and loved you since then

You were his dream girl — the one he thought had got away until his duties brought you back into his life. He had vowed to protect you till the very end, had absolutely no qualms about giving his life for yours. He made a solemn promise to himself that he would never lose you a second time

Until that fateful day when you invited him out for lunch at Lynn’s Kitchen on the grounds of your old high school

You order his favourites, spicy noodles and lemon tea; wait until his stomach is full before you open your mouth to gently broach the topic

“Gavin…I…”

A single glance at your face tells Gavin that something is terribly off. He’s immediately setting his chopsticks down, asking, “What’s wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything. Whatever it is, I’ll help you—”

“Shaw. We…we’ve decided to be together. I know you’re not on good terms, and he did insist on coming today, but I thought it would be best if I told you myself…”

He cannot hear

He cannot move

And it isn’t until the burning sensation in his lungs catches up with him that he realizes he hadn’t even been breathing

Amber eyes, listless and dull, float from your lips to the wall decorated with Post-It notes just behind you, moving from one colourful slip of paper to another

“I hate it when people leave without saying goodbye.”

Gavin still remembers the loops and dashes of your handwriting on the Post-It note you had written so long ago, the way you dotted your i’s with hearts

And all of a sudden, he is back in his high school uniform, bloodied and bruised and free falling from the roof of the four-storey building

Except this time, he cannot hear the strains of a piano, no matter how hard he tries. The gingko leaves around him flutter to the ground just before…

“Gavin?” The touch of your hand on his snaps him out of his reverie. He tries to force a smile and fails.

“I…I’m sorry. There’s somewhere…I just remembered…I have to go….” He hurriedly puts a few bills on the table — more than enough to cover the entire meal — and dashes out of the restaurant

Gavin hops on Sparky and just goes…riding for hours on end with no destination in mind. He’s taken with an intense urge to go fast, as if his body were trying to outrun the feelings he doesn’t have the means of dealing with. At one point, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits him and he stops at the side of the road, retching and retching until his stomach is as empty as his hollowed-out heart

He’s still thinking of you the entire time he’s MIA. The last text from his phone is one sent to you, telling you not to worry about him and apologizing for the way he behaved back at the restaurant. He’s asking if you’d still be okay with talking to him when he gets back, and of course, to contact him immediately if you need anything at all

He still feels you in the wind

Believe it or not, for a short period of time, Gavin actually develops a fear of flying: it reminds him too much of you, brings up too many memories of him holding you in his arms as you traverse the skies together. He’s not confident he can do it anymore, partly because he thinks his Evol might suddenly give out when he’s high up in the air

The turning point comes when Gavin visits his mother’s resting place. There, for the first time since you broke the news to him, he actually cries, and it gives him the strength to carry on

Let’s be clear: Gavin will never, ever be over you. The two of you will remain friends though because Gavin intends to watch over you for the rest of his life (that is one promise he would never break)

With time, he gets used to seeing you with Shaw, even starts to relax a bit when he realizes that his younger brother is capable of protecting you

Someday, Gavin will marry — likely someone who was set up with him either by Minor or his colleagues (Birdcop would never take the initiative to actually meet somebody). This person is absolutely smitten with the handsome officer and his gruff ways and cannot wait to start a family with him. They would also have to be thick-skinned and stubborn enough to turn Gavin’s “no” into an eventual “yes”

And while Gavin would prove to be a loyal husband and doting father who would do anything for his family, a part of him would always, always, continue to burn for you.

Lucien:

How do you expect this man to behave when he’s lost the only colour in his life?

Lucien would never, ever recover from this. He doesn’t want to. The man for whom love was never meant to happen has no need for such an emotion. He wants nothing to do with it unless it has to do with you

The professor’s world literally returns to being a drab shadow of blacks and greys — the rainbow disappeared when his little butterfly flew into the palm of another’s hand

“Do you love him?” He’ll ask you, dark eyes almost hypnotic in their intensity when he pierces you with that gaze

You’re ashamed to find that you have to think twice before replying that you do indeed love Victor

Ba-bump, ba-bump, BA-BUMP — Lucien breaks out into a cold sweat as his heart begins to race, face becoming pale as a sheet

His shaking hands are pulled into tight fists within the pockets of his lab coat. He’s running his finger over the cap of his pill bottle inside one of them, not wanting to take them in front of you because in spite of it all, the last thing he wants is for you to worry about him 😭😭😭

Lucien nods, placid smile a mask on his face when he says, “I wish the two of you nothing but the best.”

“Lucien!” You start after him when he turns to walk away. “We…we’re still friends, right?”

For what is possibly the first time in his entire life, Lucien can’t think straight. His mind is a mess, logical thoughts tangled up with sorrow, hurt, anger, and the sense that the world could end at that very moment and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He takes a deep breath, composing himself before he turns to face you again: “Of course. You can always come to me if you ever need anything.” It takes everything in him not to fall apart when he lays a hand on the crown of your head, savouring the heat of your body for the very last time

In the days immediately afterwards, the people around Lucien better watch out as his ability to keep cool, calm and collected is challenged: he’s giving the side-eye to his colleagues at the research institute more often then usual, and Black Swan members literally want to run the other way when they see him coming. If they thought Ares was ruthless before then they’d better watch out now…

As if it were even humanly possible, the professor sleeps even less now: if he’s not in the lab, he’s literally wiling away the hours watching old Hollywood films

Sometimes, he’ll place his hand on the handle to the door of your apartment, closing his eyes and doing his best to pretend that he can still feel your palm in his (he knows you’re not home. You so rarely are these days…)

Unbeknownst to you, Lucien spends his weekends revisiting the places you used to go together: sitting on the same bench at the aquarium where you kissed him without a second thought, wandering to the theme park you ran away to as a child just to watch the carousel spin round and round, trying his best to keep a smile on his face when the kids at the orphanage ask him where his “pretty lady friend” is

Lucien actually has a kite that he bought ages ago, intent on fulfilling his promise to one day fly it with you. It sits in his apartment still. He can’t bring himself to dispose of it.

Gives you his pen, Iridescent, as part of his wedding gift to you. “May it always bring you luck, wherever you are and…whomever you’re with.”

Regardless of where he is, Lucien will always be keeping tabs on you. If Victor ever trips up, you can bet that Lucien will be there to swoop in and take his place

The professor will never love another person for as long as he lives. That’s all there is to it.

Victor:

Throws himself into his work when you break the news to him that you’ve accepted Lucien’s proposal

“If that dummy can’t see that I’m the most suitable choice for her, then let her suffer the consequences of her foolishness.” — Victor will tell himself that, but don’t believe it for even a second

Victor has always been obsessed with working, but this is on an entirely new level, even for him: the man’s been missing meals (or taking them at his desk, at most) and doesn’t leave his office until close to midnight, most days of the week

Like a watch whose gears are irreparably damaged, the LFG CEO is broken on the inside. He has to focus on work because he knows that if he stops long enough to fully consider the consequences of having lost you, he would never climb out of the depths of his despair

Even his dad and aunt become concerned, especially when they notice that he’s lost weight: “Victor, you have employees for a reason. Delegation is not a weakness.”

His mind often drifts to you, especially when he’s driving. There are many times when he finds himself absentmindedly heading in the direction of your office after work before he catches himself (the man is so used to picking you up that it’s become like muscle memory, in a sense)

Weekends will find him holed up in his attic space, fingers tracing over the uneven surface of the cup you had accidentally dropped and shattered, the pieces of which he had spent an entire night glueing back together

He shuts down Souvenir for a while: Victor cannot bring himself to step foot in the kitchen because he can’t help but see your face, smiling in rapturous joy to indulge in the caramel pudding he made especially for you

He spends his nights lying wide awake in a bed that suddenly seems much too big, wondering if you would’ve chosen differently if he took the time to tell you all the things he always thought were obvious: that he respected your fighting spirit, admired the brazen way you never gave up on the things you believed in, loved every single thing about you, even the things he seemed to disapprove of

His biggest regret: that he never had the chance to tell you that you were the love of his life

He often fantasizes about what it would’ve been like to stop time before you informed him you were choosing Lucien, to exist forever with you in a single moment when you made him the happiest man alive just by sharing your time with him

He still checks your Moments account religiously, murmuring “Dummy” with the faintest hint of a smile on his face to see your ridiculous posts, but he can never bring himself to reply. Victor’s pride won’t let him. He would rather die than let you know that each moment spent without you makes him feel like he is suffocating

Eventually, his worried family — especially his aunt — decides that enough is enough. They force Victor to take a vacation while trying to discreetly set him up with daughters of other wealthy and prominent families

Victor is beyond annoyed at having his personal affairs meddled with like this, but is essentially strong-armed by his aunt, who turns on the waterworks and starts sobbing about wanting to see the progeny of her dearest nephew before she passes on or withers away from want of new blood in the Li family

Victor will eventually have to marry and have kids — he needs to have someone to pass LFG on to. It will be a long while before he does settle down though; at one point, it’ll seem like he’s content to be a bachelor for life, married to his work

He will show up for your wedding though, and you can bet the most generous gift will be from the LFG CEO

“Try not to be such a dummy from now on. I won’t be there to set you straight and your husband may not be as patient of a man as I am.” Those jet black eyes are wavering with emotion when he reaches out to lay a hand on your head. But he halts midway, awkwardly pulling back because he’s realized that he doesn’t have the right to touch another man’s wife so casually 😭😭😭

Kiro:

“Ahahaha! All right, all right…you’ve got me. You can stop playing around now, Miss Chips,” Kiro will say, hands held up in defeat when you tell him that you’ve accepted Gavin’s proposal

When he realizes you’re being serious, it’s like all the warmth and light has suddenly been sucked from the room

Those blue eyes go wide, the smile dropping from the superstar’s face. For what seems like an interminable amount of time, Kiro just sits there staring at you, almost catatonic

When he speaks again, you’re so surprised you almost jump out of your skin: “Gavin…he’s that cop, right? The friend you’ve known since high school?”

You nod and all of a sudden, it’s like the floodgates have been opened: Kiro’s grasping your hands in his, expression panic-stricken as his questions come a mile a minute:

“Was it something I did, Miss Chips? I swear I’ll change! I…I won’t eat junk food anymore! Won’t even look at that stuff! If you don’t like your nickname, I’ll call you by your real name, anything you want! Or maybe it’s because my schedule is always so crazy? I’ll cut back on my jobs, I don’t care about the money! If you’re tired of running from the paparazzi, I’ll quit. Just quit, stop everything — I don’t care, ok? The only thing I care about is you! Miss Chips? Please don’t cry…I’m your hero, remember? So please…please…”

A single tear rolls down his cheek — you have to look away or else your resolve would crumble

“I’m so sorry, Kiro. I…I wanted you to be the first to know. I wanted you to hear it from me…”

It’s like all the life has been drained from him; it actually frightens you to see him like that

“Kiro?" You hesitantly lay a hand on his. It’s almost cool to the touch. Kiro gives his head a little shake, seeming to come back to himself

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Miss Chips. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to get hysterical. God, what an awful way to react….” He forces a laugh, but it is wooden and so goddamn heartbreaking to hear. You almost wish he would scream obscenities at you instead

“He, Gavin…he’s a good man. He’ll be good for you. I’m happy that you’re happy, Miss Chips.”

The next day, Kiro drops off the face of the Earth: he’s MIA, no one can reach him

Everyone is panicking: his agent, Savin, and management, his legions of adoring fans all over the world, and most of all, you

That is, until he sends two text messages, one to Savin and the other to you, telling you all that he’s safe and not to worry; he’s just taking some time to work some things out for himself

In actuality, the only thing that’s happening is that Kiro is reverting back to who he originally was before you came into his life

His sun has been eclipsed by crushing sorrow and loss, the brilliance of your light and warmth forever taken from him and he is left in the cold shadow of solitary darkness

Kiro wants to be happy for you, and he hates that he can’t — this dissonance so disconcerts him that he’d rather not feel anything at all

When the superstar does eventually return to the world at large, there’s something about him that’s changed — Savin and the rest will be largely fooled by that ever-cheerful mask he puts on, but you won’t

Those blue eyes seem just a bit darker, the radiance of his being almost imperceptibly dimmed

Poor Kiro, loved the world over, would never love another person for the rest of his life. It would always be you or nothing.

Shaw:

Hurt. Angry. Confused.

Shaw is angry with himself for ever believing that you and him had a future together; he hates that he saw the signs that you would always, always, always choose Gavin in the end and still continued to lie to himself in spite of it

He hates that he let himself become vulnerable by falling in love with you (Shaw sees vulnerability as the biggest weakness one could have, that’s why he’s always kept himself emotionally guarded in his dealings with people)

But for whatever reason, when it came to you, he just couldn’t help but fall (“Guess brothers are hard-wired in the same way after all, no matter how different we think we are,” he’ll say with a bitter laugh)

A lengthy and most unusual storm will hit Loveland City; expect an extended light show with lots of thunder and lightning

The boy is trashing his place, throwing whatever he can get his hands on: cans of Coke and Pepsi, dishes, clothing and books

He breaks the deck of his skateboard when he smashes it against the wall, bringing down a good chunk of plaster along with it

You won’t be there to witness the destruction. Shaw will continue to front like nothing could ever faze him when you tell him that you’ve chosen to be with Gavin. He’ll chuckle, brows raised as he bites on the tip of his straw, saying, “Whatever. It’s your life. Do what you want with it.”

Then suddenly, he’s standing up to leave, hand half-raised in goodbye as he makes for the exit without so much as a glance back at you.

“Take my umbrella. And don’t worry about returning it.”

Those are his last words to you. Not long after, you spy the handle of the black umbrella sitting in the stand near the front of the café (the only one there, since it had been bright and sunny out). And suddenly, the clouds are rolling in to blanket Loveland City in grey, sheets of rain pouring from a sky cracked in half by a fearsome bolt of lightning

Shaw walks, letting cold rain soak him to the bones to take his mind off the ice that’s already started to freeze the blood in his heart

“Don’t cry…don’t let them f*cking see you cry…" he's saying to himself, over and over again like a mantra

Starts hanging out at the Live House more than ever, losing himself in the music and packed crowds there; he can’t stand to be alone right now.

When he’s not playing bass guitar as a last minute backup for the bands, he’s literally working on his thesis at the bar, sipping on his Coke and Pepsi blend (the staff know him so well that they’re pretty much cool with him doing anything at this point LOL)

STILL blows off every person who comes to proposition him for a good time

I’m sorry, but you know it’s pretty much gonna rain on your wedding day, right? (The poor boy can’t help it, okay? He is SAD, SAD, SAD!)

Much like his brother, Shaw will never really get over you. You were, after all, the first person he ever truly loved

Would likely remain an eternal bachelor, only engaging in meaningless sex but never opening his heart to anyone ever again. One lesson was enough for him. 😭😭😭

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc headcanons #mlqc angst #mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc kiro #mlqc zhou qiluo #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #source: giphy

784 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Chivalry Fell on its Sword, Chapter One (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: Brooke is a young knight hoping to earn a position on Princess Vanessa’s royal guard, only to find something even more special as she and the princess grow closer.

A/N: So I’ve had this idea for months now and just couldn’t get the words to come, but I’m happy to finally start posting. I really hope you all like this!

Thank you so so much to Writ for supporting this from the beginning and brainstorming with me several times, and for betaing! Also thank you Barbie for supporting me and cheering me on with your comments! I love you both.

I really appreciate all your support and feedback on my writing, both on here and on tumblr. It encourages me to keep writing, and I’d love if you could give some feedback on this fic!

Title from From Eden by Hozier.

—

Despite the early autumn sun beating down and her heavy armor baking beneath its glow, Brooke runs cool with confidence.

Her ears ring with the noises of the day: the crowd shouting and laughing, the clinking of gold as people place their bets, the clash of wood against armor, the whinnying of horses, the clang of expensive, intricate steels as swords meet under the sun. It’s a rough symphony that makes Brooke feel more alive than any lute or lyre.

Her lance drags her body down, muscles sore and screaming from six rounds of jousts, but she welcomes the ache. It’s always there, whether she’s shaping steel in the forge or winning in practice fights, and it means she’s doing well. And right now, she’s doing very well.

Only one more opponent between her and winning Princess Vanessa’s birthday jousting tournament, between achieving the dream she’s had since she was a child curled up beneath thick wool blankets in the farmhouse, not knowing that warmth would be ripped away.

Only one more opponent between her becoming a knight on the princess’s royal guard, to finally have recognition of her talent. One more opponent and it would all be worth it–running away from the orphanage and begging the forge owner Patrick to take her on at only 13, four years of her skin baking in the heat of molten metal as she shaped swords and armor in order to pay for her own equipment, four years of stealing food and straining her back sleeping on a straw mattress in an extra stall in Patrick’s horse stable.

Brooke steadies her shoulders, grips her lance tighter, and hops on Snowball, her soft white mare. “We got this, girl,” Brooke whispers confidently. Snowball neighs in response, more than used to Brooke’s inner thoughts being shared with her furry ears, and Brooke takes the reins. With the leather between her gauntlets, everything within Brooke falls into place, calm and completely sure of herself, humming with the anticipation of the victory that’s surely coming.

She’s been sizing up the knights–some who’ve been knights as long as she’s been alive–all day, noting weaknesses and strengths and patterns. Even the strongest fighters have a weakness, Patrick told her. She just had to find it. Her final opponent uses a small shield, allowing him more room to maneuver his lance but leaving his side open, and his foolishness will be Brooke’s advantage.

This win, and the knighthood, are hers.

The queen, Princess Vanessa’s mother, signals the start of the joust, and Brooke takes a breath and nudges her horse down the track. Dirt and mud explode beneath Snowball’s hooves, the crowd’s screams fading to a dead silence as her opponent nears. She positions her lance, the tip connecting just above his shield–

Brooke grins as the crash tears through the air, laughing to herself as the knight hits the ground, mud splattering up his armor and pristine white cloak, the golden rose of the Mateo crest awash in brown. Only a fool would wear a white cloak in a jousting match, and Brooke knows it serves him right.

Brooke almost lurches out of her saddle. She won. Her years of cuts and bruises and pain from battle training with Patrick paid off, and she won’t have to hide every last crumb of food so people don’t steal it from her, won’t have to shiver in the stable anymore. She’ll have a real bed, maybe even a real home, in the castle that she’ll fight to defend. She’s proved every customer who came to the forge and said a girl had no business with swords wrong, and it feels almost as good as the gold.

A lull in the stands gives way to mutterings and curses, punctuated with hesitant claps over the biggest tournament upset in decades. Brooke smiles beneath her helmet. No one would put money on an unnamed knight with a blank breastplate, and she’s guessing she cost people a lot of gold. That’ll teach them to bet against her.

The princess stands, and silence reigns once more. “As you know, this year’s winner will be appointed an official member of the royal guard. Would the winning knight please come forward?”

Brooke’s stomach twists more than it did during the joust, suddenly aware of every eye in the arena on her. Let them look, a whispering brave voice, her voice, comes through. You won. You deserve it. She trots over to the dais, the steps stretching in front of her until she finally reaches the top and sinks to her knees before the princess.

Brooke can’t see well through the slit in her helmet, but the princess’s small frame–Brooke doubts Vanessa would even reach her shoulder–drips with confidence and charm and something Brooke can’t place. Kindness, she realizes. It’s not something Brooke has seen often, not something she knows how to recognize, but it fits the hopeful, awed tone villagers use when talking about the princess, confident she’d rule as well as her father, who died last spring and had one of the grandest funerals in centuries.

“Would you please remove your helmet?” Princess Vanessa asks gently, and the fact that she asks rather than commands makes Brooke think the villagers are right.

Brooke’s shaking hands slide up the metal, releasing a spray of sweat from her soaked hair and launching gasps from the nobles around her. They clearly didn’t expect the tall, bulky armor to be filled out by a girl, especially not with hair as short as hers.

Brooke blinks wildly as she adjusts to full sight again, the word exploding with color and noise around her, and one good look at the princess explains why people fight tooth and nail for a glimpse of her in her carriage when she passes through the towns.

The princess’s rosy cheeks bloom against smooth skin, sun-baked and as golden as the Mateo crest. Tiny strands of soft brown hair spring forward in the heat, glowing under the sun. But more than her looks–the very air around seems touched by magic, like being close to her and earning her trust would bathe you in that same magic.

Brooke has never seen any princess or noble up close, but Vanessa fits the part perfectly, even as her mouth drops open and she gasps when she sees Brooke, as shocked as everyone else. No one has said a word yet, everyone just staring at her like some animal, and Brooke lowers her head, her brave voice too distant to be her own voice anymore.

“I think you need to come back to the castle,” the princess says.

—

The walk through the castle is a blur, up twisting staircases and down winding halls, past smooth gray stone and colorful tapestries, before ending in a council room with Brooke kneeling before the queen and princess. Brooke can’t help but feel like she’s on trial, that her entire fate is in the princess’s slim hands. She’s losing her confidence, losing her sureness now that she’s here on her knees and not perched on horseback. Brooke always knows every move she needs to make in the arena, knows each fighting strategy and attack pattern. But she has no idea what her next move is in this pristine council room.

“Please state your name.” The queen is direct and firm, but not mean, and Brooke holds on to hope that she’s not in trouble. There weren’t any rules against girls being knighted, but Brooke reminds herself that this woman makes the rules. If the queen doesn’t like Brooke, she can make her life miserable any way she wants, and no one will question it.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, Your Majesty.”

“Your age?”

“Seventeen, Your Majesty.”

“And the castle you fight for? The lord sponsoring you? Your crest?”

“I don’t have any of those, Your Majesty.” Brooke says quietly.

“What brings you to the tournament this year?”

There’s a glimmer of suspicion in the queen’s eyes, and a chill runs through Brooke as she realizes why. People entered tournaments on behalf of lords that paid their way, or if they were from other royal families. She’s an unknown knight with no family or lord sponsoring her, clearly straight from the streets, who entered a prestigious tournament and beat members of the royal guard. Brooke couldn’t have come up with a more suspicious story if she tried.

But how can Brooke explain to a woman whose shoes alone cost more than people in the villages make in a lifetime that she couldn’t enter the tournament until now because she had to work in a forge just to pay off her armor, sword, and horse? How would a woman who has everything brought to her understand the four years Brooke spent sweating over molten metal, singeing her fingers and straining her muscles, all in the hopes of a title and gold that amounts to mere change for a queen?

Still, the condescension is nothing new. She’s faced in it the smirks of men who came to the forge as they realized that even with her height and muscles, Brooke was still nothing more than a girl, and in the whispers that a peasant such as her had no business among the noble ranks of knights.

The queen can look down on her all she wants. Brooke used to burn with shame over people’s words, but she’s learned to let it push her instead of ruin her. She’s wrapped armor around her heart like she did around her body, and both will protect her from the queen’s disapproval. She straightens her back and puffs out her chest. She earned her win, and she won’t let anyone take it away.

“I had other commitments, Your Majesty. But I think you’ll agree I won fairly,” Brooke says. The proper words she tries to use are twisted on her tongue, unfamiliar as a new food in her mouth, but if she has to fight for herself, she will.

“Mother, we had open entry for the tournament, and she did win fairly. There’s no laws prohibiting women from being knights. I would be honored to have such a strong knight in my guard.” The princess’s voice is firm, filled with an awe that no one has ever used when speaking about Brooke. It’s the kind of awe commoners speak about the princess with, and Brooke’s cheeks blaze at the princess holding her in the same regard.

“Very well, Vanessa.” The queen is unreadable, and as Vanessa rises, Brooke realizes they’re dismissed. They’re dismissed, and she isn’t in trouble.

“Come with me, please,” Vanessa says to Brooke.

Brooke leaps to her feet and exits as gracefully as she can with her left knee throbbing in pain. It’s nowhere near Vanessa’s easy grace, the way she glides across the floor and moves through the air like she’s weightless.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, is it?” Vanessa asks pleasantly.

“J-just Brooke is fine. Your Majesty,” Brooke adds quickly.

Vanessa waves her hand. “Don’t worry about that. Call me Vanessa.”

Another hallway opens in front of them, and another after that, with twists and turns along polished marble statues and gold-framed portraits and tapestries with silks so expensive the fabric shop in Brooke’s village stopped stocking it because no one could afford such finery. How could there be so many rooms in one place? What could you even do with them all?

Vanessa smiles hesitantly. “It’s a lot, huh? Believe me, sometimes I still get lost in here. One time I walked in on the financial advisor in the washroom. That was quite a meeting.” The princess bounces with joy as she talks, letting out infectious giggles that put a smile on Brooke’s face without her lips’ awareness.

They finally stop in front of a door. “I had a bath prepared for you,” the princess explains.

Brooke stiffens. She should have never thought Vanessa was kind. She obviously thinks Brooke is just a dirty street rat, but Brooke can’t be mad because Vanessa isn’t wrong.

“I thought you might like one after all that jousting. It was so hot out, I almost melted. Look at this hair.” Vanessa laughs, gesturing at the frizzy curls framing her face, and Brooke realizes that Vanessa has done this out of kindness, so Brooke can be clean and comfortable.

Brooke cracks a small smile. Maybe the princess really is nice. She stood up for Brooke in the council room, and there’s not even a hint of cruelty in her warm brown eyes. “Thank you.” She pauses as she realizes that the clothes beneath her armor are soaked through with sweat, and her spare set is still in the jousting tent. “Um, Your Majesty, I had a bag–”

“I had it brought up for you. I’ll be here when you’re done, and then we can have dinner.”

Brooke nods, stepping inside the room and gasping at the elephant-sized bathtub. Steam curls above the lemon-scented water and fogs the gold mirror on the wall.

Brooke’s grateful for the fog as she sheds layers of steel and leather. Even with her height that towers over men and the muscles she got early from farm chores, the person underneath the armor is just too vulnerable, too unprotected. With her armor on, she’s in control, invincible, and she knows just what she has to do, knows she’ll win against whoever she’s fighting. She heard people calling her the Secret Knight as she left the arena, and she’d much rather be the Secret Knight than Brooke.

Brooke is just a nobody, an orphan who cried every night her first week at the orphanage, fingers wanting her mother but meeting empty air. But the Secret Knight doesn’t cry, doesn’t let anything bother her or make her feel small. The Secret Knight fights bravely and wants to protect the princess, wants to be a hero like in the stories her mother used to tell her.

She touches the smooth gold ring hanging from her neck, her last piece of home. A way to hold on to what she had: hot, sticky summers on the farm, eating fresh bread dripping with warm honey as she fed the chickens and brushed the horses.

That’s gone now, she reminds herself. Patrick told her to remember where she came from, and she will, even though she’s grateful she dug herself out of that place and never has to go back.

She hisses with pain as her knee hits the air, swollen and bruised a brilliant purple. Nothing’s out of place, so she’ll manage. She’s learned to take pride in injuries, just like Patrick taught her, because they meant she was learning and fighting well.

The hot water soothes her battered muscles, takes away some of the ache deep in her bones. The tub is big enough for her to stretch out her long limbs and still not even touch the sides. She sinks below the water and lets the warm darkness rush over her like a blanket, enjoying every bit of heat. She wishes she could stay curled up under the water forever, in a warmth she would never lose, weightless and without worry, safe from the world. She stays under until her burning lungs force her to surface.

Brooke scrubs her skin raw with a bar of soap, trying to erase every bit of muck and sweat. Her heart sinks when she looks at her hands, calluses rough on her fingers and palms, old white burn marks from forge metal dotting her wrists, the gray tinge to her fingertips and the dirt caked under her nails, the dust and grime of the streets laying claim to her no matter how hard she scrubs. Burnt fingers and dirty hands are a badge of honor at the forge, signs of a good job, but that pride in her work has no place here among the royals’ polished hands and manicured nails.

She can layer on the lavender soap like icing on the chocolate cakes she could never afford, but what’s underneath will never be as sweet.

She pulls on her spare set of clothes, black pants with only one patch and a flowy white shirt. Her best things, but nowhere near fit for dining with a princess.

Vanessa smiles when she opens the door, and Brooke nervously returns the gesture.

“Dinner’s set. You must be hungry. I know I am.”

Brooke is, her stomach hollow and rumbling now that the excitement of the tournament has passed. She didn’t even eat breakfast, giving her last apple to a young boy she saw on the way to the castle, and her mind is lost in food as they walk down the hall.

Brooke gasps.

The table overflows with food: crispy golden chicken beside steaming roast pork, bowls of colorful vegetables, crusty bread, and pitchers of gravy. Brooke’s stomach gives a renewed growl, but she almost loses her appetite at the golden plates and mound of silverware. She’s dining with a princess, after all. Surely there’s rules to follow, and she knows none of them.

There were different rules for eating in the streets. If there were people around, you had to eat as fast as possible so nobody stole your food. But if you were in private, your food kept secret, you had to make things last as long as possible. Brooke has lasted for days on a single piece of bread. There’s enough food here to get her through a month.

Vanessa uses the smaller fork for vegetables, kindly meeting Brooke’s eye as she does.

“So,” Vanessa begins, “Do you live in one of the villages?”

Brooke’s not sure if Vanessa’s asking out of curiosity, or if the queen’s suspicion has rubbed off on her, but Brooke has no idea how to speak with a princess and this seems the easiest route.

“Yes, Your Majesty. In Greenville.”

Vanessa nods. “I’ve passed through a few times. I’ve never visited, though.”

Brooke shrugs around a mouthful of the best chicken she’s ever tasted. “Not much to visit.” She used to think the lush green fields and rusty red barn of her farm were the whole world, the only world she needed, with tomato vines reaching toward the sky and the bleating of sheep in her ears, all contained within an old wooden fence. It wasn’t until she was in the village properly, in a cold orphanage cot instead of her thick farmhouse blankets, dreaming of sparkling armor and a gleaming sword, that she realized how small her world really was.

“Do you work there as well?”

“I work in a forge there, making weapons and armor. The owner used to be a swordsman. He trained me.”

“Well, he certainly did a good job,” Vanessa says with a grin. “I’ve never seen someone fight as well as you. You were incredible out there.”

Brooke’s face is on fire. She knows she’s an excellent knight–knows from Patrick taking her on at 13, from the reluctant praise she earned from him in her training, from finally beating him when they sparred. Without the advantages others have, she can’t afford to doubt her abilities, to doubt whether she’d win the tournament, and she doesn’t. She knows how good she is, but to hear it from Vanessa, who’s grown up around knights and battles, means something else entirely. Of all the knights Vanessa has seen, she’s noticed Brooke, picked her out as the best one, and pride stirs happily in her stomach, bringing a smile to her face.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Brooke manages.

The meal continues in a happy silence until Brooke is ready to burst, but then a servant brings in lemon cakes and she finds room for the tart sweetness.

Vanessa takes a breath after the dishes are cleared. “Tomorrow you’ll meet with the guard. We have a feast for my birthday coming up, and they’ll prepare you for that. I’m planning to appoint you my personal guard, if that’s all right with you.” Her face is so hopeful that Brooke can’t deny her. It’s her duty to protect Vanessa, after all.

“We should go to bed now,” Vanessa suggests.

Brooke rises with her, only to stagger as her bruised knee gives out. She just hopes Vanessa didn’t see. None of the knights in the stories ever let an injury stop them, and she doesn’t want there to be any reason why she can’t serve on the guard.

“Are you hurt? You’re limping.” Vanessa’s voice radiates concern, her hand hovering near Brooke’s arm. The gesture makes Brooke smile a little, Vanessa being so concerned that she’d try to hold up someone nearly twice her size.

“I’m fine.”

“Let me have the medic check you,” Vanessa offers.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to do that. Please,” Brooke begs in a small voice. She’s never been to a medic before, and the idea of some stranger poking at her knee terrifies her, though she can’t admit that to the princess. Knights aren’t afraid of anything, and they saved people and won battles even when they were hurt. Brooke won’t let a little bruise stop her from serving the kingdom.

“How about if I look at it?” Vanessa asks quietly. “You shouldn’t be in pain.”

She’s sincere. Brooke can tell because of how rare sincerity is. Vanessa really doesn’t want her to be hurt, and Brooke thinks of what an odd princess she is.

Brooke agrees, and Vanessa tells her to sit before leaving the room and returning with an ominous black bag that makes Brooke gulp in fear of what might be inside. She’s heard that medics have a lot of sharp instruments. But she’s stronger than fear. She’s a knight, after all.

Vanessa takes the chair next to Brooke. “Put your leg in my lap,” she says.

Brooke hesitates. She’s not sure how clean her pants are, and she doesn’t want to ruin Vanessa’s dress.

“Don’t worry about the dress. I hate this one anyway,” Vanessa says, like she’s reading her mind, and Brooke obeys, stomach fluttering as Vanessa rolls her pants up, exposing muscled skin dotted with bruises.

Vanessa’s expression is unreadable as she takes in the mess of blue and purple around Brooke’s knee, and Brooke keeps as still and stiff as a statue. It’s bad enough she’s letting the person she’s supposed to protect give her medical care. She won’t show any signs of pain on top of it.

“I’ll just put on some cream and bandage it.” Vanessa’s hands are soft and delicate as they rub cool white cream over Brooke’s knee, some of the pain easing at the touch. Brooke doesn’t know if the relief comes in the form of cream or Vanessa’s gentle touches, but she’s grateful for it either way.

“All done. Does it feel any better?”

“A lot better,” Brooke says truthfully. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Vanessa stands, gesturing for Brooke to follow. They walk down more halls, and Vanessa walks next to Brooke rather than in front, glancing over every few seconds like she’s expecting Brooke to fall. It’s strange to have the princess beside her like an equal, and even stranger to be on the receiving end of a worried gaze. It makes something twist in Brooke’s stomach, a fluttering sensation she’s unfamiliar with.

“Here’s your room,” Vanessa says. “I had your stuff brought up.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Your M–Vanessa.” It’s the first time she’s said the princess’s name, and she likes the way it hangs in the air, the softness of it in her mouth, the way it brings a smile to Vanessa’s face. Somehow, it carries more power than Vanessa’s official title, making her not just a crown and a throne, but a real person with a real name that she probably got while squirming and crying in her mother’s arms.

“Good night, Brooke.”

Yet again, Brooke finds her jaw dropping open when she steps inside. A sliver of moonlight shines through gold-framed windows, illuminating an enormous bed with roses carved into the polished wood bedposts. Thick white blankets are heaped on the bed, a cloud among the gleaming mirrors and oak wardrobe taller than her. Some part of her registers that this is just a spare bedroom, nowhere near as nice as the princess’s.

She wrestles her boots off and tugs off her clothes and collapses into bed, wriggling under the covers with a sigh. She melts into the pillow and tugs the blankets up to her chin. It’s so quiet in here, a silence Brooke hasn’t had since the farm. There’s no horses whining in the night, or villagers shouting, or rickety carriages rumbling over dirt, carrying fancy goods most people couldn’t afford to fancy places most people would never see.

But she made it. She got out of the dust and dirt that clouded her eyes and filled her lungs. She’s here now, full to bursting with pride and knowing she’ll prove herself tomorrow, the silence as pure and clean as the air around her.

Brooke never thought she could sleep in such silence again, but she’s warm, with a full stomach and Vanessa’s smile to fill her mind, and she drifts off in seconds.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #knight au #chivalry fell on its sword #athena2 #concrit welcome #tw mild violence #submission

18 notes · View notes