#and the betrothal does end up getting announced as if it were some kind of political alliance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

b-rainlet · 1 year

Note

Aegon would initially encourage Helaemond affair but then silently seethe in jealousy because he cannot believe Aemond does a better job at being a better lover (ffs, not in this too). Unironically, Helaemond would improve Helaegon relationship simply because Aegon would start a competition (solely existing in his head) of who can make Helaena cum more and harden which would indirectly bring Aegon and Helaena closer. And although I love an OT3 ending, Aegon would never want to share Helaena - he would be okay with extramarital sex, but Helaena loving Aemond more or even on the same level as him would never not trigger “omg mommy pls love ME” reflex in him. So he will taunt Aemond with their sister’s pussy but always remind him that she can never be truly Aemond’s. Ofc Helaena’s pussy is too addictive so he accepts and suffers in silence :) and Helaena is just a happy little bug in the middle getting extra dick every night :) :) :) Everyone suffers but her (as it should be)

This is so spot on, it may as well be what we would get if they made Helaegon vs. Helaemond canon lmao.

(This is gonna be looong so my rambles under the cut:)

Aegon absolutely cannot stand not being the center of attention and if he won't get any relief from his sexual obsession with his mother, then his sister has to be the next best thing.

At first it's like 'Why should I spent any time with Helaena, courting her or whatever, we're gonna marry anyway.' because Helaena was supposed to be his from the start so why even bother? Aegon is so used to Helaena being his mother's gift to him, he definitely takes her for granted. And there's no jealousy anywhere because nobody wants to associate with Helaena!

She's weird and she's a bit creepy with her bugs and her prophecies and any noble who ever was bewitched by her gentle nature and entertained the thought of courting her would've had second thoughts the moment Helaena would use a walk in the garden to start climbing into the bushes or digging in the dirt.

(I think Helaena would be very aware of how she's supposed to act in company of others but since Otto only ever really came back into the picture when the kids were already 10-14 and Viserys didn't really care, the greens most likely had some freedom in regards to behaving like total weirdos.

I don't know how much sense that makes since Alicent is all about duty and sacrifice but the first time we saw Aegon getting scolded it's by Otto, so I am personally believing that Alicent let her kids get away with a lot. And that aside from Aemond, both Aegon and Helaena used that to just. Be the weirdos they are.

Until Otto came along of course and started grooming Helaena to behave like a proper lady of the court).

And that's 100% the only reason Aegon (and Aemond) haven't been in any fights over Helaena's 'virtue'. If Helaena would've been more like Alicent or Sansa or Margaery, there would've been a bigger line up of people looking for the princesses favour - potentially even after Alicent announced her children's betrothal because betrothed isn't married yet and a Targaryen princess bonded to a Dragon? Always a big plus.

(There probably have been suitors - I can't believe the Lannisters wouldn't have tried - but as opposed to GoT, HotD feels...smaller? Like, I don't see any other kids at court aside from Aemond, Aegon and Helaena and that absolutely cannot be, but I guess they wanted the show to be more of a family drama. But maybe the books mention that there was no other potential suitor for Helaena and idk that because I haven't read the books, who knows).

I mean, the moment Jace dances with Helaena (which he btw only does to spite Aegon, I don't know why people seem to think he did it to make Helaena happy? He doesn't really care about her, they didn't even seem to have any kind of relationship - positive or negative - as kids, so why would his motivation lie with her and not with the Uncle he used to obviously be fond of and who now keeps belittling him in front of his betrothed) Aegon looks stunned. Like he never thought of the possibility of another man even looking at Helaena twice.

I mean, why should he? Helaena is his by all means and her being unfaithful? Will never happen. She was raised by Alicent after all and all of them now that the things Aegon does and the freedom he has hinge solely on the fact that he's a man.

Aegon and Aemond even share a look like 'Are you seeing this? Are we collectively hallucinating? What is going on??'

And to just think about this scene a little more and view it through a shippy lense: Aemond is probably also stunned and even more angry because there he is, the second son, the younger brother, the one who is so used to wanting yet never receiving unless he takes things by force - and pays for it in blood - there he is, resigning himself to a life without Helaena at his side because she was born not for him, but for his brother, swearing to himself to protect them both as best as he can (and their children) because that's the only way he can show love to either of them without it being inappropriate and what does Jace do?

The bastard who's waiting for his turn to sit the throne once again takes something he isn't privy to, yet feels entitled to possess, dancing with a married woman in front of her husband and his own betrothed (and even if he just wanted to annoy Aegon, I think not dancing with Baela first is seen as a slight within Westerosi society) without any thought of repercussions or honour.

So yeah, it's actually surprising that neither Aemond nor Aegon started a fight sooner lmao.

But I am completely going off the rails here, my point was that Aegon isn't used to sharing Helaena and that he would absolutely hate it.

And the only way I can see Aemond being a part of the Helaegon relationship is definitely if it's clear that Aegon is the favoured one. He's the one Helaena calls Husband, he's the one who is allowed to be tender with her in public (which he would be more and more the moment Aemond would be involved with Helaena because Aegon is nothing if not mean and he likes to see the way Aemond tries so very hard not to look at them, failing spectacularly each time).

Helaena can 'indulge herself' but only if Aegon is present/informed, I would even go as far as saying that Aemond has to ask Aegon for permission before making Helaena come, because a wife's pleasure is her Husband's business.

It's also clear that all the children Helaena will carry will be Aegon's and in turn, Aegon makes sure that Aemond doesn't get married off (if it's a situation where Aegon is King anyway).

That way, Aemond can forever remain by his siblings' side, just like he wants to, and his loyalties will forever lie with his family, but it also means that he will have no children of his own and that he will view his niece and nephews as his, even if he can't be as affectionate as he may want to, so not to stir up any rumours.

(It would also be fun if Aegon kept dangling the possibility of Helaena carrying Aemond's child over Aemond's head, promising him that if he is good and if he pleases Aegon, he may be allowed to sire a bastard - and Aegon would definitely make it a point to call said potential child a bastard, only to make Aemond hate himself a little more, because he doesn't want to 'defile' Helaena like that, but he already lost any honour he may have had when he followed Aegon's invitation to join them in their chambers all those years ago and the thought of getting Helaena pregnant gets him off harder than he wants to admit to himself.

And if said possibility ends up being true - if Aegon decides he has enough male heirs which would sit the throne way before Aemond's kid would have the chance - then there's the added pain of finally having a daughter (because Aemond would definitely have a daughter and spoil her to death, I don't take criticism on that), yet having to watch her call Aegon 'Daddy' and giggle as Aegon bounces her in his lap.

Aemond would definitely be the most distant with the kid he sired because he would feel constantly watched whenever he interacts with his daughter, whereas he feels a little safer being affectionate with his niece and nephews and his child would definitely grow up thinking her uncle can't stand her while Aemond is absolutely dying to be tender with her).

Anyway all this to say that you are spot on anon, I love any and all interpretations of the greens and their incest obsession (for example Aegon offering Helaena up to Aemond as a way of apologizing for not protecting him from Luke all those years ago), but based on their canon characterization, if there was the potential of Helaegond (which I don't think would ever actually happen, Aemond is too much of a good catholic boy to even think about his sister while masturbating) then it would be similar to what you described.

Maybe Aegon would approach Aemond after the dinner - after he worked through his own feelings of jealousy and realized, hey, there's very much the possibility of somebody realizing how neglected Helaena is and just. courting her behind Aegon's back - especially if Otto somehow has his hands in it.

I don't know why I am so obsessed with this premise, but Otto actively looking for and intrducing noblemen to Helaena as a way of enticing them to pledge alliance to Aegon? Stunning. At first it's the possibility of claiming a Tagaryen princess for themselves, later on it's being in the Queen's favour - and there's definitely some underlying hope there to be the one to ease the Queen's loneliness👀👀

And Aegon would have none of that. So, maybe it's actually thanks to Jace and opening Aegon's eyes that he would approach Aemond and ask him to 'entertain our dear sister so her thoughts won't stray'.

And Aemond is definitely affronted on Helaena's behalf because their sister would never. But at the same time, he's only just a man and the flesh is weak and I mean, at first it's just things like, spending time with her and the kids and keeping Helaena busy enough, she doesn't have any time for noblemen and their sharp tongues and wandering eyes.

Which quickly morphes into him staying the night in Helaena's chambers - just to make sure she's safe and sound of course, watching over her like a good brother, making sure she's actually in her and Aegon's bed while is who knows where, doing things Aemond would never dare think about.

But of course the closer the proximity, the bigger the temptation and the more Aemond sees how dismissive Aegon is of Helaena, the more he feels like their Mother made the wrong choice not marrying Helaena to him instead. He would've been a good husband, he would've made time for his children, he wouldn't be out there siring bastards and fucking whores while slurring out their Mother's name!

So the inevitable happens.

Little does Aemond know that Aegon was counting on Aemond to succumb to his desires one way or another. Aegon isn't stupid. He knows that Aemond has wanted their sister ever since they were children and he has allowed Aemond's quiet longing because he knows that Aemond is too much like their Mother to ever act on it.

Not without a little push at least.

So now Aegon has seemingly solved his little problem, because he has somebody to keep Helaena satisfied so she won't do anything unbecoming of a lady with somebody else (because if anybody would get to touch his wife in Aegon's opinion it would be their brother. He is the only one Aegon wouldn't kill for it and that's only because Aemond came from their Mother too and Aemond came after him and Helaena and if Helaena was made for Aegon, than Aemond can only be made for Aegon and Helaena.

Just like Daeron was made for Aemond).

Plus, Aemond is so torn up about it, Aegon has complete control of him. Aemond would kiss Helaena for the first time and immediately report it to Aegon, on his knees like he's confessing the gravest sin. And Aegon would get to play the benevolent god, forgiving and Aemond and even encouraging him to keep sinning, but only the way Aegon allows him too.

And it's a perfect arrangement.

Until Aegon starts feeling left out.

#can you tell I was tempted to write a fic with the premise??#I am so sorry that this turned out so long and is such a jumbled mess but I couldn't help myself #Helaegond #Helaegon #ask tag #Helaemond #although idk if Helaemonds will be happy with my interpretation

47 notes · View notes

anghraine · 3 years

Text

I do sometimes wonder about Éomer’s first response to hearing of Éowyn’s betrothal to Faramir. I’ve seen takes where he’s opposed to it and I’m definitely a hard no on that, but it must seem pretty odd from his perspective?

Like, he has his epiphany (led by Aragorn and Gandalf) that Éowyn’s despair wasn’t really about Aragorn, but about her desire for greatness and escape from her life in Rohan. And she’s ambivalent at best when he leaves her for the Black Gate.

And then they have their great victory, Sauron is gone etc, and Éomer’s like ... Éowyn should come join the party! It’d be good for her! But she keeps sticking around in Minas Tirith for no apparent reason. And then it turns out that she’s agreed to marry the Steward of Gondor (!!!).

And when he meets Faramir ... well, I don’t get the impression that they’ve much interacted, so it’s got to be pretty odd to meet Éowyn’s betrothed and find himself facing someone who’s going to seem like Aragorn Lite—physically very much the same type, though young, and with a similar demeanour and air.

Also, Tolkien says that Éowyn can tell immediately that none of the Rohirrim could defeat Faramir because she was raised among men of war, which would be at least equally the case with Éomer. So, on the one hand, it looks like Éowyn went and found herself this milder, younger, scaled-down version of Aragorn (um?), and on the other, he would quickly realize that Faramir—gentle mannerisms aside—is a hardcore warrior whom Éomer himself probably could not defeat.

And it’s like ... we know Éomer is gracious and supportive about the match by the time he announces it, and I don’t imagine he’d be opposed or anything like that. But his initial feelings are probably complicated!

#anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #éomer #faramir #éowyn #also faramir is cirion's heir and i think that would be ... not the uppermost concern #but /a/ concern—he and éowyn are going to be among the most powerful people in middle-earth #which is one of the things that éowyn wanted all along!#and the betrothal does end up getting announced as if it were some kind of political alliance #i think at absolute best it would be somewhat bittersweet—éomer would be happy for éowyn once everything was clear #as indeed he ends up being in the text #but also he couldn't possibly have predicted that éowyn was choosing a life away from rohan even as the celebrations were going on #otp: and the sun shone #oh and i didn't get into it bc so much is unclear in canon #but whatever éomer's feelings about éowyn marrying a powerful dúnadan kinsman of his bff the prince of dol amroth #they become 100x more hilarious when he ends up marrying lothíriel #esp in my headcanon but even in canon i assume he has no clue that he'll be marrying faramir's first cousin at that point

45 notes · View notes

cruciology · 3 years

Text

Under the Table

Requested by anon: Ok i don’t know if this is too smutty but could I request a sandor x reader where they’re at a tavern or something and reader starts touching him under the table. No one notices but he has to stay serious and tries his best to hide it and as soon as they’re both alone she’s getting her reward.

a sequel to my fic, The Princess and the Dog

The chilly air of Winterfell gave you constant goosebumps. You supposed it was better than being on the King’s Road as you had been for a month, but you were still cold, even with the new fur cloak you had been gifted by your father. You had a feeling it meant he had bad news for you, he just hadn’t told you yet.

You wrapped the cloak tighter around your nightdress as you stepped out of your room and into the hall. Your little sister slept like the dead in the room next to yours. It was only your first night in Winterfell, but you had taken notice of where the guards were placed. It was easy enough to avoid them as you sneaked to the end of the hall, passed where Joffrey and Tommen slept, and rapped on the Hound’s door. After a moment, it cracked open just the slightest bit. When he saw it was you, the Hound quickly pulled you in before anyone could see.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled, shutting the door as quietly as he could. He had been in bed and wore only his pants, his hairy chest bare.

“I didn’t get caught, it’s alright,” you insisted. You were hoping he would be happier to see you. On the road, you were constantly surrounded by guards or your family. Besides a few squeezes of your hand in passing, you hadn’t felt his touch since you left the capitol. Your mother had kept her promise and hadn’t said anything after she had caught you with him in the library, but she kept a closer eye on you now. “I missed you,” you said softly.

His mouth was a hard line as he looked at you. Finally, he placed his hands on your hips, drawing you close to him. You pressed your face into his chest, almost crying at having him close again after all this time.

“It was stupid,” he said as he held you. You laughed.

“Don’t worry, I know you missed me too,” you said. He sat down on the wooden chair that stood by his window, pulling you by the hand until you sat on his lap. The cloak fell to the floor but you were warm enough when he wrapped his arms around you, his rough hands sliding over the silk of your nightdress.

Finally, you were able to press your lips to his. You kissed him gently first, as a lady should, but then you needed to show him just how much you missed him. Heat pooled between your thighs as you threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him hungrily. He growled low in his throat as he kissed you back. His hand went under the hem of your nightdress, up your thigh, and you gasped softly as his finger entered you. You hadn’t even had enough space in the last month to touch yourself and his touch felt like magic as he stroked you from the inside.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “How does that feel, Princess?” He asked against the shell of your ear.

“So good,” You muttered back, eyes closed.

You felt him start to remove his hand and squeezed your thighs tight in an attempt to keep him going. He laughed slightly as he brought his hand to his face. He licked you off of his fingers, groaning softly and sending another surge of heat through your body.

He kissed you roughly, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You taste so fucking good,” He said against your mouth. He gathered you up in his arms with ease, moving to take you to the bed.

Someone pounded on the door with a heavy hand. In an instant, you were on the bed, the Hound quickly covering you with the thick blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to the Hound open the door once again. It nearly froze when you heard your father’s voice in the hall.

“Didn’t wake you, did I, Clegane?” He laughed. He was drunk, it was clear from his slurred words. The welcome feast ended hours ago. He must have stayed up drinking with his old friends.

“Wasn’t sleeping, Your Grace,” The Hound spoke to your father with your taste still on his lips. “What can I do for you?”

“Put some clothes on, Hound, we’re going on a hunt,” The King said. You could hear him clap the Hound on the shoulder roughly.

“It’s well past midnight, Your Grace,” The Hound informed him.

“What are you, my wife?” Your father said. “I am your king!”

“Why don’t you retire to your chambers, I’ll get you more wine,” The Hound suggested. He knew your father well. He wouldn’t say no to more alcohol.

“Wine and a girl,” The King laughed. Your lip curled in disgust, but if it got him away from the Hound’s room without him seeing you in the bed, you didn’t care what your father did.

“Wine and a girl,” the Hound confirmed.

“Get one for yourself while you’re at it.” You heard your father stumble away. For a brief moment you wondered if you should worry about him, but there were dozens of other guards along the way who would help him back up to his room. He would most likely be asleep before the Hound could find him again.

You felt the blanket fly off of you as soon as the door was closed. “Go back to your room,” The Hound instructed. “Now.”

You stood up, not even coming to his shoulder. You reached up, touching the burnt side of his face, letting your fingers memorize the scar. His eyes closed just briefly. He put his hand over yours. You stood on your toes, kissing him gently before sneaking out again.

---

You never really drank. But after the news you had gotten, you decided now was as good a time as any. Your body wasn’t quite used to it, only having previously had a few sips here and there. As the residents of Winterfell were once again crammed into the dining hall, you nursed your third glass, feeling the warmth spread in your chest. Everyone was pleasantly drunk around you, save for the severe Ned Stark and his lady wife, so you didn’t feel left out despite sitting off on your own at a table near the exit.

You stared at the table where your newly announced betrothed sat. Robb Stark was handsome, strong, and kind. He had lands and a title. You would be the Lady of Winterfell. You had known this was coming, but it didn’t mean you had to like it. Your mother didn’t even try to hide the smug look on her face when your father broke the news to you earlier. You suspected it was directed at your guard who had been in the room as well, something you were sure she had planned. Your mother would get what she wanted after all.

“Princess,” You heard from behind you. Your heart lifted instantly.

“Sit,” You insisted, patting the seat next to you. The Hound’s eyes scanned the room and you rolled yours. “It’s not unheard of. You’re supposed to be guarding me, you can guard me from down here.”

“You’re drunk,” He noted as he sat next to you. You felt the bench creek under his large body. You wished that you were alone so he could pull you into his lap. You were so tired of not even being able to hold his hand.

“I might be,” you said.

“You are.” He grabbed a pint for himself, taking it halfway down with one solid gulp. “Celebrating your engagement, Princess?”

“Stop it,” you said with a tight jaw. “You know I’d rather-,”

“Be quiet about that,” The Hound said, his eyes darting around the room once again. A few eyes were on you, but they were passing glances, folks wondering why the Princess was off alone, but you knew they were not going to question your choice of company.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But you can’t be upset with me, I can’t take that along with everything else. It’s not my fault.”

The Hound made a noise half way between a grunt and a sigh, but still didn’t look at you. “I know,” he said.

Your hand found his knee comfortingly under the table. It was probably the wine in your stomach that made you unafraid of any consequences. You were surprised he didn’t pull away, but he let you leave your hand there. You were feeling sad and stupid. You moved your hand up further, touching the inside of his thigh. The growl from his throat didn’t stop you. So long without touching him for fear of being caught and here you were now with your hand in his lap when the dining hall was full of eyes.

“Princess,” he said through clenched teeth. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was trying not to draw attention. Just drunk enough not to care, you moved your hand even further. His breath came out as a hiss as you palmed the growing bulge in his pants. His massive hand clamped around your wrist.

“No one is even looking,” you said, not really caring if they were.

“Are you trying to lose me my head?” He asked. You noticed that he hadn’t moved your hand away from him. You squeezed him, making him groan. “Fucking hells,” he muttered, placing both hands on the table. He wasn’t going to stop you.

You made sure you weren’t looking directly at him as you stroked your hand up and down his length through his pants. You watched his hand on the table clench into a fist as he tried to keep a straight face. “It’s a lovely feast, isn’t it?” You asked, a wicked smirk playing at your lips. He merely grunted. The wine and the thrill of touching him once again made you forget for a moment the pressure you had felt since the news of your engagement.

“But I do think I have had a bit too much to drink,” You said, loudly enough for anyone at the tables near you to hear. Luckily, they were drunker than you. “Walk me back to my room, please.”

The Hound rose first, helping you balance yourself. You really did have a bit too much to drink. He let you go as soon as he thought you would be able to stand. You looked over your shoulder for just a moment, catching a glance at your mother. She sipped her wine next to your father, who was probably the drunkest one in the room. No one would say anything to the King about his drinking. Your mother caught your look but said nothing. She knew who your father would believe if you went to him with what you knew.

The Hound walked a few steps behind you as you walked out of the hall. The voices from the dining hall carried out into the corridor. As soon as you turned the corner, far enough away from the crowd, his hands were on you. You giggled drunkenly as he scooped you up.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, Princess,” he said into your neck, placing a sloppy kiss on the column of your throat. He shouldered the nearest door open. You should have been more worried about getting caught but the only thoughts swimming through the alcohol in your brain were about the Hound’s mouth.

The room was empty and almost pitch black, the only light coming from the full moon outside. The Hound sat you down on the plush loveseat pushed against the wall. You grabbed his belt, attempting to pull him towards you and finish what you had started in the dining hall but it appeared he had other plans. He pushed your hand away.

“Your turn, Princess.”

He lowered himself to his knees in front of you, giving you a breathless kiss, his massive hand cupping your cheek. Leaving your head spinning, he pulled away. He shoved your skirt up, gathering it at your thighs. He pulled you down to the edge of the seat, spreading your legs before him. He placed your legs over his broad shoulders, the metal of his armor cool on your flushed skin. From the wine or from him, you couldn’t be entirely sure.

He bit the inside of your thigh, placing a kiss over it just as quickly. You were just about to tell him not to tease you when you felt his tongue at your apex. Your hands went to his hair, your head going back against the love seat. It had been so long since he could have you like this, he lapped at your pussy hungrily, his fingers digging into your thighs in a way you knew would leave a bruise. That made it even sweeter.

“Sandor, please,” You begged, tugging at his hair, trying to pull him up to kiss you again. You weren’t sure how much time you had with him and you wanted to feel all of him before you had to part. Normally, he would tell you he was going to take his bloody time, but he was probably thinking the same as you.

The Hound wrapped his arm around your waist, moving you to lay with your head on the armrest of the loveseat, his body looming over you. He was always afraid to put his whole weight on you, but you liked feeling his presence. You helped him pull himself out of his pants and with one quick thrust, he was fully seated inside of you. He paused for a moment, his face in the crook of your neck. You guided his face back to yours, kissing him. You wrapped your legs around him, making sure he was as close as he could be to you. He rutted into you, each thrust punctuated with a grunt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your collarbone, your mouth, any bit of you he could. His thumb found its way to your clit, finishing what his tongue had started. Your legs squeezed him tighter. You tried to stay quiet, but his free hand still went over your mouth, muffling the cry as you came, your legs tight around him.

He took his hand from your mouth, placing it on the loveseat next to you to brace himself. His other hand moved to the small of your back, pushing you closer to him as he fucked you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in to whisper in his ear, “Cum in me.”

The hand on your back moved to your outer thigh, squeezing tight as he shuddered, finishing into you with a final grunt. He hid his face in your neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Stupid, that was stupid,” The Hound muttered into your skin.

You pulled his face towards you, making sure his eyes met yours. “I love you,” you said firmly. His eyes darted away again. You had said it only once before to him. He never said it back, it wasn’t his way.

Instead, he kissed you and responded, “Aye.”

#I am so sorry I haven't posted in 5ever #I had a lot going on but here y'all go #the hound #the hound fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #smut #fanfiction #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #the hound x reader #sandor clegane fanfiction

681 notes · View notes

crystaljins · 4 years

Text

Equinox

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 7.2K

Synopsis: When it first was announced that the King of Spring was to marry the Queen of Winter, shock and outrage poured across the nation. Now, six months later, Jimin can’t help but feel maybe the Queen of Winter isn’t as evil as she seems.

King of spring!Jimin x Queen of Winter!reader

Notes: This is NOT the huge fic I’m working on LOL. It’s a drabble that turned into a BIG drabble, in dedication to my good friend, who wanted to see a fic where both main characters are royalty.

Well, here we are.

Warnings: Not really any? Pining, maybe, mentions of death and tragedy, and maybe one big kiss?

Jimin has spent an entire three months of the year in the Central Palace every year since his coronation as the King of Spring. Yet, despite his familiarity with the luxurious building, this year it feels particularly unbearable.

It isn’t the palace itself that is unbearable. After all, the Central Palace fulfils any need he could have for luxury and then some, with expansive grounds and an imposing throne room and a ball room that many have only dreamed of seeing. It almost reaches the point where he’s sick of it sometimes- the gold rimmed pillars and the intricate carvings of the stairwell railings and the other numerous unnecessary and excessively decadent detailing.

It’s just... He much prefers his small cottage and the lovely little orchard he looks after. Sometimes children from the local village will sneak in and steal fruit but he merely smiles privately to himself when he hears the peals of laughter filter through the open windows of his home. And ever since he received a letter a week ago informing him that you had made his cottage your current abode, he has been inexplicably eager to return home.

The end of his current stay (which has actually been a six month stay this time around instead of the usual three) draws near, with Spring just on the precipice of Summer. As the reigning King of Spring, it is his duty to oversee the entire kingdom during the season where his powers are strongest, to manage the season and ensure his people prosper, and then prepare the way for the Queen of Summer to take his place for the next three months.

Today is one of the days where his duty feels particularly tedious- he has never particularly minded Haeun and her chatty nature, but today she just seems absolutely asinine. Perhaps it is the fact that she seems uninterested in discussing anything aside from the current status of the Queen of Winter when there are so many more important things to discuss, like the crop maturation this year and how much sunlight would best benefit their ripening, or even the Equinox Ball tonight which marks the official changeover between his season and her’s. Instead, the only words that have been coming out of her mouth are with regards to you, and him, and your fairly recent wedding.

When he had been wedded to you on the Winter Solstice, many had been shocked, but none more so than the Queen of Summer. After all, for the last few hundred years, the one who bears the crown of Summer had always been betrothed to the ruler of Spring. It was only natural, as Spring prepares the way for Summer, and such a pairing enhances the powers of both parties. The kingdom had faced many centuries of prosperity thanks to what was essentially a match forged in the heavens. No doubt in Haeun’s mind, her rightful place was as his bride. And Jimin can’t blame her- for many years, he had thought the same thing. He had assumed his life would follow a similar path to those of his predecessors and that he would inevitably end up marrying Summer. And yet, here he is, married to the evasive, mysterious, and apparently cruel Queen of Winter.

It had been the Elders to make the call to arrange such a shocking match up. To have the Queen of Winter marry the King of Spring was unheard of- ridiculous, even. But you were unlike the rulers that had gone before you- your powers were endless, unstoppable, and the Winters brought by you were unforgiving and cold, and many lost their lives. Something had to be done- your powers had to be balanced since you couldn’t seem to reign them in. And since it has always been Spring to conquer the cold aftereffects of Winter, to warm the earth and coax life back into places where frost had chased it away, it fell to Jimin to take the place as your husband and to prevent disaster striking the Kingdom. A duty which he had taken up with a resigned sense of obligation.

At least at first.

“So are the rumours all true about her?” Haeun enquires. Her question seems innocent enough. For whatever reason, you had always remained frustrating allusive to the others. Locked away in your wintry fortress (or at least, everyone assumes that’s where you must be despite the fact that no one has ever confirmed the presence of a fortress within your domain), everyone reports that you must be ruthless and cold-hearted. Perhaps even evil- after all, when you are seated upon the throne, the harshest and most brutal Winters ever seen in history terrorise the lands.

But the question has Jimin on edge, for he has found that you do not fit nicely into the box of icy and cruel that he had thought you would.

“I would say those rumours do not hold an ounce of truth to them.” Jimin offers mildly, pausing from where he strolls along Haeun to observe a rose bloom that has begun to wilt. Normally, the palace gardens are impeccable, and the gardens thrive during Jimin’s reign, but things always seem to get a bit messy at the transition between seasons. This particular bloom must be the victim of his and Haeun’s powers clashing as she prepared to take the throne for her season. He gently runs his fingers over the drooping petals and instantly the rose brightens, petals curling upwards as it finds new life in response to his presence. It reminds him of the first time you had borne witness to the effect of his powers and the quiet awe on your face. Not for the first time since Spring began, he feels a strange ache in his chest at the thought of you. You’re at his cottage right now, surely. What kind of expression are you wearing as you gaze upon his carefully kept orchard?

“Really? She’s always so haughty at the Equinox ball that I was sure she thought she was better than us. Just because her powers are stronger- does she not know that people die because of her?” Haeun sniffs, clearly displeased by the way Jimin has not joined in her obvious attempts to complain about you.

“I think she is aware of it.” Is all Jimin offers to Haeun, but internally he recalls the way you lock yourself in your quarters for the night whenever word reaches you that another innocent has died at the cold hands of Winter, and the way you spend most of your free time pouring over books and texts trying to learn how you might control your powers and soften your Winters. Haeun makes an annoyed scoff and folds her arms across her chest.

“Being aware of it isn’t enough, Jimin.” She says, and Jimin does not miss the way she uses his name when it is customary to call him by his season. “She needs to control it. We all do! It is the whole reason we take the throne. What use is she, if she cannot manage her own season? If I had were Winter, I would-“

“Haeun.” Jimin says firmly, and her eyes widen because even though she often takes liberties and calls him by his name, he has always been respectful and referred to her as Summer when it comes to the transition meetings between seasons. “It is not my place to discuss the personal life of Winter. And as her husband, I respectfully ask that you do not speak so liberally about my wife again. Unless you have anything further to discuss about the Equinox Ball tonight or about the occurrences during my season, I’ll be taking my leave now.”

He bows deeply, demonstrating the respect her position demands, before turning on his heel.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She calls out. Jimin pauses, glancing over his shoulder. The sun peeking through the pillars of the pathway catches Haeun’s hair and highlights the softness of her features. Across the land, she is known as the sunlit beauty- warm and gentle and pretty, like the Summer season she reigns over. When he was young and still a prince and everyone had thought she was his future wife, he had even harboured a crush on her. “That you’re stuck with her? All she brings is coldness and death. You were forced into it- I know you were! Doesn’t it hurt to be wedded to her?”

The unspoken sentiment that Haeun does not voice is “when you could have been with me”. Looking at her now, perhaps her sudden interest in you has more to do with Jimin than any real sentiment towards your actions.

And perhaps, Haeun’s words are closer to the truth then he wants them to be. Initially, it had bothered him. Why had the Elders had forced him to marry you? Was there not an easier way to subdue your immense powers? Why could you not just... control them? Even Autumn, free-spirited and lazy as he was, kept his season well-managed. And why did it fall to Jimin to fix something that was your own fault? Haeun was a much better match for him in terms of strengthening his powers, and he absolutely loathed the season of Winter- marrying the ruler of his least favourite season is certainly not something he had ever imagined doing.

He had spent the first three months of his marriage staying with you in the Central Palace fuelled by that sentiment and at first you had made yourself very scarce. It had suited Jimin just fine- after all, he did not bear any particular affection towards you- perhaps he even detested you a little, and if the rumours were to be believed, he’d be better off interacting with you as little as possible.

And then things had changed, for whatever reason. He can’t be sure what prompted you to do it, but one morning you had been sitting across from him in the dining quarters, enjoying your breakfast in silence as had become customary for the two of you, when you had decided to speak.

“Winter isn’t as bad as you think.” You had said softly, taking a long sip of your drink, before fixing Jimin with a level gaze. He had glanced up in surprise- at that stage he could probably count on one hand the number of times you had spoken in his presence.

“I never-“ Jimin had begun, ready to defend himself but you had cut him off.

“You didn’t have to.” You had said, though your tone had not been unkind. You actually have a very sweet voice, one that contrasts with your icy reputation. “But, today I have nothing scheduled, and I wouldn’t mind showing you a few things. It must be better than wondering aimlessly around the palace.”

Against his better judgement, perhaps, Jimin had accepted. Whatever his feelings were towards you, he was sick of wondering aimlessly. He missed his little cottage and he was beginning to grow sick of the giant, draft-y Central Palace. Any change to the lethargic rhythm of his days, even if it meant spending the day with you, was a welcome one.

And you were right. Wintertime is more than coldness and death. As the ruler of Spring, he had always thought of it as such- after all, it has always been his duty to remedy the devastation left behind by Winter. But Winter is also a time of festivities- of huddling in the warmth of a fire along side your family. Its catching snowflakes on your tongue and children laughing as they skate over frozen lakes and form little ice sculptures from snow. He hadn’t known it until he spent those three months with you. And after that first day where you had taken him out to a frozen lake close to the palace and shown him how to ice skate, spending time with you had become more of a regular occurrence.

Which brings him to today.

“I’m not stuck with her.” Is what Jimin finally says to Haeun, who deflates, just slightly. He does not explain any further- he’s not sure he can. He certainly doesn’t feel the burden of obligation that had weighted his every step when he first married you. He perhaps even misses you, after three months of separation. It’s all a little scary and confusing but all he knows for sure is that being married to you is no longer the offensive chore he initially viewed it as.

This time when Jimin turns away, she does not stop him. He is relieved- he is sick of hearing Haeun speak so disrespectfully about you. He’s sick of the way servants whisper in the halls when you walk past. He’s sick of the way travellers tell stories of evil Winter, who takes lives for fun and revels in the cruelty of her blizzards. He doesn’t know why, given that it has only been six months since he married you, and three whole months since he even last saw you in person, but he feels a strange protectiveness towards you. Just the thought of those whispers when he knows of you, curled up beneath the security of a warm blanket on the hearth, with the fire’s glow highlighting your features, still studying away even after a full days’ worth of royal duties so that you can learn to control your powers makes his heart ache. He wishes, just once, that he had been brave enough to curl up beside you and to listen to the steady sound of your breathing, the rhythmic turn of a page, the crackle of the fire’s warmth. Or brave enough to hush the terrible whispers. Anything to wipe that expression you get on your face when you know people are thinking unpleasant things about you. That guarded, reserved expression that he knows is concealing a broken heart.

“My Lord!” Jimin hears a voice call, and he almost curses. He wants nothing more than to return to his quarters and begin packing up. It has now been six months since he has been in his actual home, and when he received that letter from you a week ago informing him that you had taken up residence in his home, he had only been more eager to return. He wants to know what his home looks like with you in it. He wants to know what you look like in the brightness of Summer, away from the grief and cold of Winter. He wants to see you again to the point it is almost alarming. “My Lord!” The voice calls again, and one of the servants skids to a stop before Jimin. It is Namjoon. Jimin recalls his name because Namjoon is one of the few servants you are rather fond of.

“Hello, Namjoon.” Jimin greets warmly, and Namjoon looks surprised and delighted at the sound of his name. “How can I be of service?”

Namjoon is slightly out of breath, and he reaches for the pocket of his trousers, fishing around until he produce a single crumpled piece of paper.

“It is a letter from Winter.” Namjoon says. “She asked me to relay to you that she will not be attending the Equinox Ball and that she shall see you tomorrow at the your domain.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and he quickly snatches the paper from Namjoon’s hand. He does not mean to be quite so aggressive with his movements, but he is shaken at the way you have abruptly cancelled. Without even realising it, he had hyped himself up at the thought of seeing you again after a long three months.

It’s a lengthy apology, neatly written and well-articulated. It basically gives an entire, eloquent list of flimsy excuses as to why you should not attend.

But Jimin sees straight through it. Perhaps in the past, he would have let it be. Let you sit at home and then awkwardly greet you in his cottage the next morning. But now that he knows the way your expression shutters when people mutter rude things under their breath about you, now that he knows the way you lie awake at night, haunted by grief and guilt, he knows that you are running away. After all, the whispers had only gotten worse after your marriage- the Evil Queen of Winter shackling the charming and kind King of Spring is certainly quite the tale to set tongues wagging.

And while Jimin hates the thought of you spending an evening in discomfort when there are about a thousand better ways for you to spend your time, he hates the thought of people thinking of his marriage to you as a tragic event even more. He wants to stroll into the ballroom with your hand in his, to proudly show off that he is not some tragic heroine trapped in a loveless marriage to an evil overlord. He wants people to see you, your kindness and your sweetness. He wants people to realise that Winter can be even warmer than Summer sometimes, in the right circumstances.

“Is she currently in my domain?” Jimin asks softly, but he knows from the floral, woodsy scent of the paper that it was written in his home. Namjoon hesitates before offering an awkward nod.

“I believe so.” He admits. “The messenger who brought the letter was one of the keepers of your orchard.”

Jimin nods, tonguing thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek. A well-cared for horse would allow him to reach his home within a couple of hours. He keeps his own horses at the cottage who would be able to take the two of you back in time for nightfall. He is to give a speech at the Ball and that will be his last official duty until next year. And for whatever reason, he does not want to give the speech if you are not there, amongst the crowd. It’s still possible if he leaves now.

“Ready a horse for me, Namjoon,” Jimin finally says, shoving the letter into the pocket of his trousers. He’ll have to change into gear more appropriate for a long ride.

“But, my liege, the ball-“ Namjoon protests.

“I’ll be there.” Jimin reassures him, though his expression is grim. “And so will my wife.”

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice.

Jimin has really, truly missed his home. Nothing quite compares to it. When they had first identified him as heir to the throne of Spring, the Elders had initially planned for him to stay in the castle inhabited by his predecessors. After all, since he did in theory bear their spirit, the castle should technically be to his tastes.

But he guess he differs to his previous incarnations, since he only lasted a few weeks before he moved into the cottage his parents owned close to the castle. It’s not unusual for tastes to change like that with different incarnations of Spring- though he feels that he can recall their previous lifetimes if he thinks very hard about it, they are different people and incarnations. The only traits he shares with those who had gone before is his power over the season of Spring.

Perhaps that is why, despite the fact that previous Springs have deeply loved Summer, he cannot stop thinking about Winter. Especially as the edge of the orchard draws into view.

Oddly, you aren’t in the cottage when he enters. There’s evidence that you’ve been staying there- some of your books are scattered over his work desk and the gardening implements around the back of the cottage are shifted around as if someone has been sorting through them. But it does not take long to locate you deep in the orchard, crouched beneath the orange tree. You don’t seem to have registered his presence yet given that you continue to mutter to yourself as you stab aggressively at the soil with a tiny hand shovel he recognises from the implements he keeps around the back of his cottage.

He’s about to confront you, but the sight of you, crouched down and wearing oversized trousers and an ugly, soil covered shirt he recognises from the very back of his wardrobe, has him completely frozen. It’s hard to explain the emotion- a powerful, roaring wave crashing down on the peaceful shorelines of his heart.

“(Y/N),” your name comes in a exhale of his breath, one that’s not entirely voluntary. It’s his mistake though, because you were absolutely not anticipating his presence, and you leap about a metre in the air in your shock.

Stumbling back a few steps in a sort of awkward crab walk, revealing your handy work. A small hole you had been digging and a handful of withered, lifeless daffodils.

“J-Jimin,” you stutter, and your accidental use of his name when you had previously only referred to him as Spring has his heart racing in his chest for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. “T-this isn’t what it looks like!” You cry. “I was just...”

It takes a moment, but Jimin manages to shake himself out of the trance long enough to realise that the withered and lifeless daffodils just so happen to be his favourite flowers from

his front garden. Immediately, whatever mysterious emotion that had overcome him prior is replaced by abject horror.

“My daffodils!” He cries, stricken with grief. And they had been so young, as well! Such lovely, bright blooms, withered and dried up! Abruptly, you scramble to your feet and dust the soil from your hands and knees, scrambling towards him.

“I was just trying to water them!” You cry, hands outstretched in an attempt to calm him in his distress. “I don’t have any flowers in my domain since the ground is not very fertile and I was just trying to tend to them!”

“They’re dead!” Jimin points out. “How much did you water them?”

You pause, shrinking under his gaze, before holding up ten fingers.

“Ten?” Jimin asks, and you nod. “Ten what?”

You mumble something he doesn’t quite catch. He steps closer in an attempt to decipher your sheepish mumblings.

“What?” Jimin asks, and you sigh before fixing him with a steady glare.

“Ten buckets!” You cry. “I asked your gardener and she told me that these are fickle plants that require constant moisture!”

“So you watered them with ten buckets of water? You drowned my daffodils!” He cries. You deflate, just slightly, glancing forlornly at the fallen remains of his beloved babies. He’d so carefully tended to them as well! They were just reaching the point where he could lift the buds and replant them. There’s a nice sunny spot at the back of the orchard that they would have thrived in, and now... and now...

“I’m sorry for your loss.” You finally offer, stepping forward to comfortingly pat at his shoulder. “They lived a good life, under your care,” you continue. “And once you finish off your duties at the Equinox Ball tonight I’m sure you can...” You trail away slowly, and the hand stroking his shoulder slows its pats. And then you gasp in horror when you register that Jimin is here, in his orchard, grieving over some dead daffodils instead of finalising preparations for the Equinox Ball. “Jimin!” You cry. “The Ball! How can you be here? You’re supposed to be preparing for the Ball.”

“Well,” Jimin snaps, perhaps a bit more grumpy than the situation really warranted, but you also killed his lovely daffodils. “I am supposed to be there, but my lovely wife decided she’d much rather kill my daffodils and hide the evidence instead of attend the Ball as is her duty!”

You flush, a shade that he can’t help notice is a rather endearing shade despite everything. Dimly, he recalls that overwhelming feeling he’d experienced when he first saw you earlier, but he pushes it down. There are more pressing matters to attend to- his daffodils can be given a proper burial later.

“Yes, well, as you read in my letter, I thought it would be far better for me to-“ you begin, clearing your throat awkwardly as you often do before giving a formal address. It only irks him further that you’re placating him as if he’s a random parliament member who needs coddling or a foreign emissary you have to charm. He’s your husband and he’s sick of people- you included- pretending otherwise.

“You’re running away.” He offers quietly, and your eyes widen. Perhaps you had been expecting him to dance around the bushes. After all, three months ago during Winter, though you had grown undeniably closer, there had always been the feeling of treading on eggshells around each other. Like neither of you really knew how to react together. But a lot has changed, in three months. Jimin has had three months to overthink and to pretend he doesn’t know the name for the feelings of longing he can’t shake off and to deny that he misses you and now that you’re finally here in front of him, he does not want to waste another second.

That crashing, roaring wave in his heart will not quieten, and finally he gives it a platform to pour out.

“You’re scared. I get that. You don’t know what you’re feeling and everyone and their mother seems to have an opinion on our marriage and maybe you think it will be easier if you stay out of the public eye,” Jimin tells you urgently. He steps forward as if he is approaching a startled deer. “But it won’t be. They won’t ever stop. So why let them dictate what makes you happy?”

You just stare at him, speechless, and he takes your silence as permission to step a little closer. Every movement he makes is slow and steady- you have to option to pull away at any moment. He stretches out a hand, wraps his fingers around yours and then raises your hand slowly towards his heart, letting you rest your palm flat against the thrumming rhythm.

“I missed you.” They aren’t the words he intended to say. He’s not even entirely sure what words he had planned to convince you to come with him. But those words are the ones that burst forth. He can’t hold back anymore. He feels like he’s spent three whole months trying to prevent a volcano from erupting, and he’s exhausted. He can’t hold back anymore, he can’t keep up the facade that he’s ok, when you took his heart with you when you agreed to move out of the Central Palace at the request of the Elders three months ago. “I want you to be at the Ball with me. If we leave now, we can make it. Please- do this with me.” He begs.

He’s met with silence. The longer it stretches out, the more dread slowly filters into his heart. It takes him a long few moments, but when he finally gains the courage to gaze upon your expression, his heart drops into his feet.

Tears pour over your cheeks. You’re normally so put-together, but with your guard down in his absence, dirt smidges your cheeks and the sun gilds your skin. You’re so heart achingly beautiful. It’s like the sensation of stone giving way, the way he feels a crevice form in his heart at the sight.

“Jimin,” you finally say, and your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t...”

You trail away, but it’s enough. He feels a bit like you’ve slapped him. He’d thought... he’d thought it had been the both of you struggling in your separation, but it seems it was only him. He’s a fool- how could be have ever thought he was strong enough to thaw the frozen heart of Winter?

“Right.” He says, humiliated by the way his voice cracks. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Duty calls.”

He turns on his heel so that you can’t see the way tears sting at the back of his eyes.

You don’t stop him as he leaves.

The Queen of Winter is a dignified woman. Tucked far away in her fortress, the common folk speculate that she does not have a heart.

For a long time, you’d thought maybe it was true, but this constant ache in your chest is proving otherwise.

“Are you just going to watch him go?” Yoongi, your personal guard, asks lazily. He is reclined in one of the cosy arm chairs in the centre of Jimin’s cottage, munching away at one of the apples he stole from the tree at the front of the cottage. You spare him a glance over your shoulder, before returning your gaze to the cantering horse that moves further and further away with each passing moment.

“What else can I do?” You finally ask, tearing your gaze from the window and settling into the chair opposite Yoongi. Unlike him, you sit neatly, with your knees pressed together and your ankles tucked delicately to the side. Yoongi shrugs, crunching through another mouthful of apple.

“Well you could have said no one was home when Summer knocked on your door last week like I suggested. But no. You had to invite her in and make her tea and let her get under your skin and now here we are, missing the feast of the year so that you can sulk.” He grumbles, crunching a bit more aggressively. Normally, Yoongi is a placid, lethargic sort of guy, but he’s been grumpy ever since Haeun showed up unannounced last week. Well, actually, he’s been like this ever since you received the order from the Elders to vacate the Central Palace in case you disturbed the prosperity of the oncoming Spring. After all, their plan had worked- having Jimin stay with you in the Central Palace had been enough to curb your Winter, but they didn’t want to offset his powers of Spring.

“Yoongi,” you begin tiredly, ready to feed him the same ridiculous lines about your duty and your out of control powers that you’re sick of saying, but he cute you off.

“No.” He snaps, the most forceful he’s ever been with you in perhaps his entire life. “You listen to me.”

You’re too surprised by his aggression to retort, which gives him the opportunity to launch off in a furious tirade.

“You finally had a good thing going for you. Finally someone who didn’t blame you for your Winters, someone who was kind and made you smile for the first time in literal years, and now you want me to sit here and accept that a cantankerous, overheated she-witch has the power to take that way with a couple of weak and not very witty jibes?” He demands. “What happened to the Queen of Winter? The woman who ate hearts for breakfast and drank the blood of her victims as wine?”

“She never existed.” You frown. “I faint when i accidentally kill a mosquito-“

“But you let those rumours circulate. You never tried to correct them because you never gave a damn about the small fry, so why are you letting some over-baked half-wit get to you?” He demands, pointing an accusing, half-eaten apple in your direction.

You are silent as you recall the encounter the previous week. You had just finished penning a letter to Jimin to inform him you were looking forward to meeting with him when he returned to his cottage, when there had been an unexpected banging on the door.

Haeun and you have never had a good relationship. Instinctively, Summer and Winter are on opposite ends of the spectrum, but she’d also always loathed the way your powers ran wild. After your cold, unforgiving Winters, she always had to burn hotter, and more intensely during the Summer to compensate, and it probably took its toll on her. And to add insult to injury, you had married the love of her life at the request of the Elders. The knowledge that you had taken something so important from her had been why you couldn’t just slam the door in her face even though Yoongi had gestured for you to do so just out of her view.

He’s usually right though, since he’s quite gifted at reading people, and he was right that you should have kicked her out then and there. Haeun had nothing but poison to spill forth from her lips.

Logically, you know the things she was saying were said with the intent to hurt you. Jimin had proved his kindness and warmth again and again during the three months you had lived together and it had even started to reach the point where it felt like he was your real husband. Not just an assigned keeper with the legal right to receive your belongings if you one day died. It felt like he actually cared- the way he sat with you on long, cold nights, the secret smiles he offered over breakfast, the way he left tea outside your bedroom door when he knew you had been up late studying.

Jimin had done the impossible, warming the cold, frozen tundra your heart had lived in, and what you long for in return is to be the person who brings warmth to his Winters. Who holds him in the cold. Who rejoices with him in the bright months of Summer. You’d spent the whole of Spring in a joyful, happy cloud, remembering the way your Winter had been gentle and soft for the first time in your whole life.

And then you’d heard what Haeun had to say.

“I’m just concerned.” She had told you, dress in a dainty Summer dress that allowed the warm Spring sun to warm her shoulders. She always wears loud, cheerful colours and on that day she had worn a bright yellow to match the daffodils you had desperately been trying to keep alive. “I’m only saying this because I know you care about him too, and I would want to know this if I were in your shoes.”

Yoongi had been watching the whole exchange with an expression on his face like he’d swallowed a sour lemon and he had rolled his eyes when she’d said that. And yet, you hadn’t been able to approach her words with the same disdain.

“You know how beloved Spring is. For him to be wedded to you is causing a lot of distress within the kingdom! And the things people are saying about him- that he’s bewitched by your enchantments, that he’s weak-willed and unworthy to lead.” She gazes at you with a glare and the hardest part of all this is that she’s telling the truth. She really came here out of a sense of duty to Jimin because she wants you to stop interfering with his life. “Why couldn’t you have just learned to use your powers instead of turning his life upside down like this?”

And hadn’t that been the final nail in the coffin. Even now, a week later, you are still reeling from her words. It had been with a heavy heart you had decided not to make an appearance at the Ball.

But you hadn’t expected this to happen- for it to hurt just as much to refuse Jimin’s request to go with him. Why does it hurt both way? Why is it that if you have him, you ruin his life, but if you reject him, he looks at you like that? Like you’ve betrayed him? Like you’ve set fire to his orchard before his very eyes?

“Because I love him.” You admit to Yoongi. He chokes for a moment, surprised by your admission, before staring at you with wide eyes.

“You what?” He demands, and you offer him a weak smile.

“I love him, Yoongi.” You say again, and Yoongi’s gaze softens because he’s known you since you were a child in the Central Palace for the first time and he’s never seen such warmth in your eyes. You aren’t the Queen of Winter for nothing. “I love him so much I don’t know what to do and I just feel like no matter what choice I make it hurts.”

You hate the way your voice chokes, and Yoongi lifts from his chair, walking over to you to rest a warm hand over your own.

“So if your choices are being hurt and miserable and being hurt and happy, why not choose the path that has at least a little bit of good in it?” Yoongi asks you gently. You stare at him, surprised, and he offers you a grin. “There’s a dress in your wardrobe with your name on it and if we leave now we should make it in time for Spring’s Official Address.” He tells you, straightening and stretching out with a yawn. “Better go get my riding boots.” He sighs.

For a moment, you are frozen at Yoongi’s words, but then slowly a grin splits your face.

He’s right. Both choices hurt- so why not choose the one where you get to be with Jimin?

You gaze out the window at where the Sun is just beginning to sink into late afternoon.

You have a Ball to get to.

Jimin isn’t sure how he’s made it this far into the night. He feels like he’s just hollowly going through the motions and it’s a wonder that no one has picked up that he feels like he’s walking around with a stomach full of glass shards. If he’d known a broken heart hurt this much, he’d have long ago cast aside his heart to save himself the pain.

“Are you excited?” Haeun questions cheerfully. She wears a long, golden dress that shimmers and catches the lights of the chandelier overhead as she moves. Her hair is carefully braided over her left shoulder, leaving her collar bones and delicate throat exposed. Yet the sight of the daffodil flower crown woven into her hair atop her head just seems to mock him.

“I suppose.” He answers, with an empty smile. Haeun beams in response. She’s in an awfully good mood today and it only seems to worsen his own mood. “I’m ready for a nine month break from my duty.”

She offers him a bright laugh, and the two of them are interrupted by a firm clap against Jimin’s shoulder. He winces and turns to find Taehyung beaming at him.

“Hello, brother!” He says cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you since the start of Spring! How is your lovely wife? I was just thinking I should pop over to visit her and then I learned that she wasn’t in her domain. Imagine my surprise when I head that she’s been staying in the Spring domain for the past three months. I trust the marriage is going well?” He questions, with a suggestive waggle of his strong brows.

Jimin is unable to stop his expression from falling. All night, he’s managed to at least keep up a facade that he’s ok, but those words hit just a little bit too hard. He just and quickly slips the false smile back onto his face, but the King of Autumn has always been quick-witted, and he does not miss the devastation on Jimin’s face.

“Jimin?” He asks slowly. Haeun looks a little confused at the slow, careful tone of Taehyung’s voice and at the use of Jimin’s name. “Is everything alright?”

Jimin offers him another hollow smile but he is saved the effort of lying when his advisor comes rushing over.

“My Lord!” Seokjin cries. “It is time for your address! Please hurry to the stage.” He clicks his tongue a few times, corralling Jimin towards the stage.

He supposes it is now or never.

The tradition for the handover of Spring to Summer is fairly straight forward- at the Ball, Jimin is to deliver an address, celebrating the prosperity of Spring and wishing Summer well for her season. It’s usually one of his favourite duties- to gaze upon the faces of his subjects, to know that his words kickstart a weeklong festival where people will dance in the streets and sing with joy at the arrival of their long awaited Summer. But today, he feels as if he is made of wood as he takes the stage.

“I thank you all for coming,” he begins. A simple spell cast upon the stage allows his voice to be amplified so that everyone can hear him. “As you all know, this particular Spring has been a big one for me. I have spent not three, but six whole months in the Central Palace, overseeing the seasons.” He offers a fake cheeky smile. “Safe to say I’m a little homesick.” That earns him a little chuckle for he is infamous for his simple and modest home. “But it has been my most triumphant Spring yet, because I...”

No one is more surprised than him at the way his words seem to fail him.

“Because I...” he tries again, but the words are choked off and the audience starts to murmur in confusion.

He can’t do it- he can’t fake happiness and merriment. Not when you aren’t even here. Not when you had been the source of his happiness for the last six months.

“Because...”

And then the doors to the ballroom swing open and he gazes upon the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

You wear a floor length gown. As is custom, your dress matches your season, shimmering blue with diamonds cast upon it that catch the light and dance like floating snowflakes. You hair falls around your face, flushed with exertion and your eyes are bright, even from across the room.

An eerie hush falls upon the room. No one has ever seen Winter so dishevelled; and yet she is by no means ugly or unappealing. No, in fact, for years after people will sing songs about your beauty this night- how your eyes shine brighter than the stars in the sky and how your smile holds a joy no one had ever thought you capable of.

Slowly, you step towards him. The crowd parts around you, and yet it is like you are the only person in the room. Even if he had wanted to speak, he would have been incoherent. The roaring feeling in his heart is now a tsunami- he’s swept away. He’s in love beyond what he ever thought was capable. He loves you- he loves you!!

“Jimin,” you say, smiling sweetly when you finally stop in front of him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

And then you kiss him, bold and happy, in front of the entire ballroom and Jimin feels his heart may explode.

There is, of course, much to discuss after your arrival to the Ball. Haeun’s words- your fears and insecurities- Jimin’s own feelings. There is so much to discuss and yet that night, Jimin is only capable of one thing. After his address finishes, he holds you in his arms as the two of you sway in a gentle waltz. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and he feels you smile into the crook of his neck.

There is so much to say, and so much to do, but the two of you have your whole lives together to discuss it.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fluff #jimin fluff #park jimin scenarios #writing

981 notes · View notes

saphirered · 3 years

Text

Betrothal

This is part two of a request because part one already was already too long. I cut this one down too but didn’t want to turn it into a three-parter for one request 😅 but that does mean this is also a long one. Anyway. Enjoy!

Time for another social event. There’s been way too many already in your opinion and you don’t think you’d be able to smile through another one. Lucky for you Essek shares this sentiment. Nevertheless you were expected so you’ have to attend, so attend you will.

Ready to depart you walk down the stairs, fingers drifting over the handrail as you go. The hem of your fine garments of pristine white and silver trail a step or two behind you as you go. Appropriate jewellery of diamond encrusted platinum adorns your neck, fingers and ears like pure starlight. Already waiting at the door you see Essek, a similar style of attire shifts in the purple and night blue colour schemes, something you’ve grown more accustomed to the more time you’ve spent with him. It suits him.

“You are quite the visage, dear.” You put a sarcastic emphasis on the pet name, something both of you have taken to when out of earshot. Ever since the arrangement between just the two of you gleeful sarcasm has replaced the belittling resentment. As you stated before, you’re much better off actually coexisting than you are making each other’s lives miserable.

“And even the brightest stars pale in comparison to you, beloved.” The compliment is genuine but with a highly exaggerated lovesick undertone in reply to your comment. You lift your hand to your forehead and bat your eyes in a ‘I might swoon’ gesture before the both of you break and chuckle.

“If we were actually lovers I might have to worry I’ll have to fend off the many suitors attempting to take my place.” You swat at Essek’s arm with a grin.

“I doubt I have any suitors left wishing to take your place. They are entirely afraid you’ll turn them into frogs or perhaps float them into the skies never to be seen again if they even dare to vie for my attention.” You laugh as Essek offers you his arm. You take it lacing it through his, another thing having become second nature in the past few months.

“Only if you’d ask me to would I resort to such measures. Ready to travel in style?” The comment and seriousness behind it is enough to raise your eyebrow in a ‘really?’ response but he doesn’t dignify you with an answer instead waiting for you to answer his question.

If you’ve learned anything from the negotiations you’ve had, Essek doesn’t just give anything for free, especially not his precious time, so to say he’d go out of his way and use his precious resources without a second thought simply because you’d ask him is… new… Even more so without expecting anything in return. No favour for a favour? Odd…

“Always.” You put on your smile and in an instance the two of you are warped through space, appearing in the foyer of your hosts for the evening. Gotta love magic.

Immediately you’re approached by the hosts, excusing themselves from whatever guests below your stations they were previously engaging with. Essek lets you take the lead and do most of the talking. He seems a bit more reversed than usual but you simply brush it off as boredom. Something is up with him and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’d simply have to! What if he falls through and does something that could reflect badly on the both of you? That’s a proper reason to do so, right?

The night continues but you’re not given any opportunities to excuse yourself and Essek just yet. Every time you’re interrupted by someone wanting a word with either or both of you. Topics mostly revolve around your respective work, political topics but some particularly daring people carefully try to navigate your conversation to more private matters looking for the latest gossip.

After the public announcement of your courtship, when can they expect a formal engagement or have you gotten engaged informally already? Any wedding plans on the table? If you decide to raise children which one of you will stay at the Bright Queen’s side or will you both keep your places at the Bastion? Is the Shadowhand much of a romantic despite his cold exterior? If it comes to the engagement, will you ask him or he you and have you got anything planned yet? How was your first kiss? Was it romantic fireworks and all or have you learned to love each other?

Each and every time when you didn’t want to fabricate an answer, you made it up as you went with such conviction that some of your answers made even Essek think twice if some of these events had really transpired or not. Whenever you’d ask him for his input or suggest him saying something he did but his replies had to be pulled out of him or he’d stay in his own world unless directly asked. What in the world is going on with him?

Yet again not being able to get a single step closer to a word in private with Essek you’d given up and decided to leave the matter until you returned home. Home. No matter how many times you say it it still feels weird. You’d never truly considered any place home, just a place you resided and could leave behind in an instance.

You’d come to realise the towers had begun to feel like home and you’d have a much bigger struggle leaving behind the books, the studies, the meals not spent eating alone, the room with the fireplace you’d spent going over your shared paperwork with to cut down your workload and have the evenings free, those evenings spent in absolutely roasting some of your fellow court members, or discussing what rumours might have some truth and you could use to your advantages in the future… You’d miss that place if you’d go back to living elsewhere. There’s something else but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Nevermind. You’ll figure it out if it’s important.

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?” A daring drow you recognise to be from one of the other dens approaches you and Essek. You’re about to brush him off and let the man down gently but before you can Essek interjects.

“Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company. I can entertain myself for a moment, darling.” Essek’s not much of a dancer and never had been. You enjoy it every so often but don’t necessarily jump at every opportunity you get. You take the offered hand of the drow.

“You may.” You tell him. While you’re guided to the dance floor you give Essek a confused look. You don’t get any kind of response from him as he continues the conversation you’d been having prior to the interruption. Other pairs join in and a new song begins to play. Nothing too fancy to particularly intimate. A simple nice waltz you’d be able to execute perfectly eyes closed. Blessed be the life of a noble-born schooled in any and all social graces from a young age.

Your dance partner is a good dancer but by the light is he a dull conversationalist. You’re dying on the inside. One moment he’s boasting about his accomplishments within his den, the next he’s asking your professional opinions on political matters and how you’d navigate them, the next your opinion is insignificant because he knows exactly what he’d do and why it would work. Before you know it he’s asking if there’ll be any spots on the Bright Queen’s side opening up in the future because he thinks he might make a good candidate…

But you let him talk and smile through it until you feel gracious enough to rip him to shreds instead of letting him be laughed off by the inner circle. Gently you correct every statement he’s made, with examples of the past and what happened to the poor fools that tried. You’re not brutal about it, and bring it in the nicest way possible no matter how much you might want to tear him down and face this idiot with the facts. Then you suggest perhaps he’d want to try smaller scale things first, maybe more locally to see if he has a taste for it.

Of course your charm works. Of course it did. Much to your dismay this ‘act of kindness’ made the poor drow more interested in you than he’d already been. You were schooling him like you would a child for the Light’s sake! You brush off any and all attempts of charming you and getting into your good graces but apparently this thickheaded idiot doesn’t catch on. Maybe he should stay away from politics entirely if he can’t even get a hint. Luckily the dance it about to end.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk later this week? Or maybe a lunch if you’d prefer?” The fool smiles suggestion clear. You want to roll your eyes so hard but refrain.

“My apologies. I’m occupied this week.”

“Another time then?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ll get back to you on that.” The waltz ends, you curtsy. Some couples leave the dance floor, others join to replace them. You’ll have to be quick. You look around the room. Essek where are you? You don’t see him.

“Excuse me. I believe the Shadowhand is waiting for me.” You give the fool an apologetic smile and rush off before he can do or say anything else to keep you on the dance floor. Much to your dismay you’re whisked away by another drow from a lesser den as you’re unable to reach the outskirts before the next song starts. It’s inappropriate to leave a partner standing on the floor in the middle of a dance so you’ll have to go through yet another routine.

You thought the former one was a dull conversationalist. This one’s worse. So. Much. Worse. You can’t wait for this to end. Essek would probably find it entirely hilarious once you tell him how much you’d prefer a quiet dance partner, or at the very least one that can feign an intellectual conversation without breaking the illusion in under a minute. Even then, could they please stop trying to stroke their own egos in the hopes of getting your attention?

Before your betrothal you only had to deal with advancements, people trying to win over your heart, or your hand in marriage, but now, they’re entirely after not only your favour but Essek’s as well, wishing to get into your good graces and climb the social ladder; be that through (attempted) smooth words, gifts or your beds. It’s a disgusting reality. Maybe if this engagement goes through between you and Essek you’ll have to ask him how he feels about displaying a monogamous relationship for the public just to keep these people away from you and by default him? He wouldn’t be opposed to keep romantic and sexual advancements far away from him now would he?

Eventually you struggle your away from the dance floor making excuses as you go and find a calm and quiet place. You had to approach the host coming up with excuse you weren’t feeling well and needed a moment away from people. The host understanding and wishing to please you, offered you access to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs where the guests aren’t allowed to go. It’d be calm and quiet and you’d be able to have some fresh air on the balcony too.

This moment of peace and quiet gave you a chance to think over some things, mainly Essek’s behaviour of the night because don’t think you’d forgotten about that one nor were you going to just let that slide. Any and all theories you came up with in the next several minutes made no sense and held no reasonable credibility. You’re at a loss.

To play people’s emotions you’d need to have an understanding of them but what do you do when you can’t place those emotions or explain the reasoning behind them? It’s easy when someone disagrees with you. How passionate are they about the subject and how willing to defend it? It’s easy to draw out anger from that, or frustration, more passion, and even pity. That’s child’s play. It makes sense. Essek does not currently.

“Okay. You got this. Set things straight. You can figure this out. Take a step back and analyse.” You say to yourself sitting down on the plush couch, elbows on your knees and head leaning on your clasped hands. After going over every explanation you came to the most reasonable conclusion.

Essek’s internalising his problems. There’s no one he feels he can confide in. For some reason he’s realised only tonight he’s distancing himself from you. If it’s selfishness it’s because he thinks you might be able to use it against him. This goes against his need for self-preservation. If it’s because it’s something he’s committed to whatever it is, he’s limiting the people involved because of the need of secrecy be that witnesses or possibly collateral damage.

“But that’s not it is it?” You groan frustrated. There’s a knock on the door so you quickly recompose yourself; hands clasped on your lap, back straightened and welcoming smile back on. The door opens and you see the familiar floating drow enter.

“I was informed you were feeling unwell?” Essek asks more than says giving you a once over and coming to the conclusion nothing ails you physically. Dropping your facade you take a deep sigh reflecting your current mood but not reasoning. He steps inside and closes the door behind him giving the two of you the chance to speak freely.

“I take it your dance was not to your liking?” There’s a hint of humour in his voice as you throw yourself against the couch looking at the ceiling with an audible groan. From your slanted position forgoing any and all social graces you were taught. If anyone else could see you now you might be in trouble but it was only Essek and you’ve seen him in similar states.

“I might take you up on your offer to tap into the sacred arts of Dunamis to get rid of some of these fools. I don’t think I’ve ever met people more dull and lacking of refine and intelligence. One could find more brains in a gelatinous cube. ” You adjust your seating arrangement and pat the spot beside you inviting Essek to sit down but he stays where he is.

“I’ll make sure to order some new expeditions to the Barbed Fields. While they may make for poor company the rocs might just find them a decent if not bland meal.” While the offer is made with jest you can’t help but hear a tinge of sincerity in it. What’s going on? Were the people you danced with someone Essek’s been at odds with? If so why did he suggest you go dance with them in the first place? That doesn’t add up… But you’re not going to find out more without him talking. Keep him talking until he slips up or until your run out of words and face him with your questions directly.

“Or maybe being surrounded by someone praised for intelligence and refine just dulls everything in comparison. You’ve truly ruined me Shadowhand.” You laugh and again pat the empty spot on the couch. This time seeing your insistence and lack of intent to leave this room any time soon, Essek sits down, a bit more distance that usual between the two of you.

You give Essek a once over getting some insight in his behaviour. He’d be aware you’re doing so so you don’t even attempt to hide it, if anything you make it obvious to push for a response. You tilt your head to the side as you lean it on your curled fingers in tough. He’s more rigid than usual. That’s uncomfortable or anxious. It’s looking closer to both now. Essek is staring back at you but his gaze is not focused on you, but whatever reaches his vision as a whole. Avoidance. He mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Will you be coming back down or would you prefer we go back to the towers?” ‘The towers’? He’s never referred to them as this in this context. It’s always just been ‘home’. It is his home so why cease to refer to it as such because you’re in that context.

“What time is it?” Essek gives you the time and you let yourself sink back into the couch once more. Why must the universe be so cruel?

“Still another half an hour before it would be acceptable to leave.” You look around the room. It’s a higher end sitting room definitely decorated to receive more important guests. The candles are lit with an arcane flame so it was set up to possibly receive guests. The view from the balcony or close to the windows allows the people outside to see silhouettes when the fine iridescent drapes when drawn, or reveal when opened as they are now. While muffled if the room is quiet you can still hear the music and chattering from the ground floor.

You push Essek to talk about what he’d been up to when you were dancing but his answers are right to the point, just barely detailed enough if not a bit absentminded. His behaviour shifts throughout from neutral to cold to the way he’s been around you since you both had come to terms with your arrangement, almost as if he’s preoccupied and trying to multitask equally difficult tasks. He doesn’t allow the conversation to flow naturally. Every time he’s answered he wouldn’t elaborate or carry the conversation. If you didn’t ask any other questions or give your input you doubt there would be any back and forth between the two of you.

Deciding you’ve had enough and this wouldn’t give you much more answers you were looking for, you give up. You turn your body to face him, look at him directly suspicious and watching his every move. You press your lips together and squint.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” While there’s some worry in your voice, because you do worry, it is still a threat. You won’t let go unless he explains himself or has a damn good reason not to.

“I assure you, it’s inconsequential. You have nothing to worry about.” Essek forces a smile. Inconsequential? To you? Because definitely not to him!

“With your attitude? I think I do. There’s two reasons why I you refuse to tell me. One, it’s secretive and possibly dangerous therefor limiting the amount of people you want involved in fear of hurting them or you getting hurt because of their opinions. Two, I’m directly involved or to blame for whatever is going on and you’re pushing me away to avoid conflict.” A sense of dread washes over Essek, you notice. Biting his tongue he holds back whatever comment he had.

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. I can deal with this on my own.” Okay so confirmation first suggestion is out of the running. This had to do with you.

“Essek, Light be with me, if this involves me please just tell me. I swear if this is how you’re going to be I need to teach you some proper communication skills or I fear for our future.” You watch him closely and there’s a hint of shame peaking through as well as guilt.

“Would it hurt you so much to trust me?” Before Essek’s given the chance to answer there’s a knock on the door and the handle begins to turn signalling someone is entering. Thinking quickly you clench your teeth at the interruption, scoot to Essek’s side of the couch and lean your head against his shoulder, a pained frown on your face and eyes closed entwining your fingers. Essek, freezes for a second at the sudden contact but recovers quickly and joins in the act wrapping an arm around you to massage at your shoulder and neck.

“Apologies for the intrusion. The master of the house asked me to check up to see if you needed any assistance.” The head servant peaks in and peaking from under your lashes you can see she almost melts at the sight she sees; a loving drow comforting his unwell partner.

“Thank the master of the house for his concern and kindness but we’re alright. Will you be fine to rejoin the festivities, beloved?” Essek asks you sounding every bit the part he’s expected to play while still pushing to avoid continuing your conversation before the interruption.

“I think I may need a few more minutes I’m afraid.” You’re not done yet and won’t let Essek get away with it so easily as you feign a heavy migraine. The head servant excuses herself and leaves closing the door once more. Essek stops massaging your shoulder expecting or rather hoping you’d remove yourself from him. You don’t and sit up just enough to be face to face with him. You have a stare down with him until he relents.

“Fine. It is not a matter of trust.” Blunt and short. You squeeze his hand tightly narrowing your eyes not satisfied with the answer. Essek will have to do better and he knows it.

“I’ve simply come to some conclusion I do not wish to share with you.” Okay, that’s not that bad. If that’s it, you might let it go. If he has things to sort out on his own, you’re not going to stand in the way of that.

“And these conclusions you’ve come to have to do with me?” It’s more a statement than a question but Essek still nods not meeting your eye and instead focusing on your entwined fingers. You place a hand on his cheek lifting his face until he’s forced to look you in the eye.

“You’ve come to me with your concerns before just like I have to you. Even when they have to do with me, know you still can. I won’t think any less of you nor will I be offended as long as you’re honest.” You’re about to pull away from your position to allow Essek some space but when you do it hits… You remove yourself from Essek’s side and hide your face in your hands. You could punch yourself right now.

“Remind me to never claim I’m the cleverer one out of the two of us.” You groan muffled by your hands as you look back up with a frustrated exhaustion. How could you not have noticed? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You should have caught on but no, you were so occupied on keeping an act going you lost sight of it. And then in your little thinking process, you analysed Essek the Shadowhand, not Essek, your friend and partner.

“So you figured it out.” Essek breaths a weight lifted from his shoulders hides the slight deflation and is that disappointment?

“Not to be rude but after spending this much time with you, you’re not exactly a good actor.”

“But you are and have been an exceptional actor. You could even have fooled me should you have chosen to.” A compliment with a hidden dig at himself. Is he… blaming himself for growing attached to you? That’s just terrible.

“I could have and that would certainly explain my every action in public portraying the perfect loving couple. However, that doesn’t explain literally every interaction outside of social environments.” You can’t believe you weren’t aware of your own shift in behaviour. Before your betrothal you might have had an interest in Essek. If it weren’t for your own career you might have taken a shot prior to everything given the chance but attraction is not love.

Your betrothal, forced on you by your families closed both of you off because you’re both people that want to be in control of a situation and make your own choices. That’s why you’d been less than friendly with each other. You try to pinpoint when exactly it might have started.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise I had feelings for you. This is stupid.” You’re exasperated with yourself but Essek covering up shock catches you off-guard.

“Don’t tell me you think this is all one sided. We’re both to blame for turning our lives into some cliche love story when we said we wouldn’t.” Essek looks on in shame hoping to neither confirm nor deny anything but you know him better than that. His silence gives him away.

“You are a very convincing actor.” He defends blandly. “Are you sure you’re not still playing?” Essek adds as a joke upon seeing you roll your eyes. Your embarrassment and frustration with this whole revelation gives you a mote of courage and since this day couldn’t get any worse, you’ll take your chances.

You move over right next to Essek sitting as close to him as you possibly can without climbing on top of him and grab his chin. Slightly confused thinking you’re about to retort his remark, Essek awaits his verdict. You bit the inside of your cheek in a last attempt to tell yourself this is a terrible idea but your mind is just blank.

“I don’t know, my dear. Would a true love’s kiss reveal the truth?” You speak in a singsong manner that would make the bard’s colleges cringe making sure you sounded like the worst actor possible. Essek takes a hot second to figure out your words before it dawns on him what you’re asking. Do you really have to spell it out for him?

“Is it reasonable to say one may only be able to make up their mind through trial?” With that you pull Essek towards you allowing your hand to slide to his cheek. Making eye contact one final moment to make sure he’s alright with it, no hesitation is visible so you press your lips to his in a simple kiss. Essek’s hands find your hips and waist.

You pull away awaiting his response if any. The kiss is entirely too short, in Essek’s opinion but you’re just being mindful of his boundaries not sure where this will lead and if the public displays of affection are something you’d both be comfortable with in this new context. Essek looks at you thoughtfully so you raise an eyebrow; a nonverbal tell to elaborate.

“I think, I may need more examples to make sure you’re not just playing me.” You gasp feigning offence at his joke. Next you lean in close, hair’s breath away from kissing Essek.

“Luckily I have many more kisses to give you should you want them.” Essek leans in but you pull away just before your lips actually touch getting up from the couch and heading for the door; smile on your face. He takes a second and heads after you stepping between you and your direct path of the door but you could still easily walk around him should you wish to do so.

“Am I to understand you’ll remain a tease regardless of our involvement, beloved?” He empathises ‘beloved’ with the same sarcasm as ever. That might just have to be a habit you’ll never lose. You can certainly get used to it.

“Did I give you any reason to expect differently. If you desire a kiss you may take it.” You blow Essek a kiss but are surprised he steps closer to you and makes eye contact giving you a chance to deny him.

“So he does find his courage.” You grin Essek’s lips meet yours in a deep if not slightly hesitant kiss. The hesitation fades quickly but the kiss doesn’t end as quickly as yours. Not that you mind. A habit you could get used to. Very used to but never tire of.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek theyless #essek

50 notes · View notes

josefavomjaaga · 3 years

Photo

Eugène de Beauharnais proudly showing the first signs of what might eventually become a moustache to the artist.

***

Antoine Darnay, an acquaintance of the Beauharnais family since before Josephine married Napoleon Bonaparte, had accompanied Eugène to Italy as his confidential secretary, the only person in his entourage Eugène had chosen himself (everybody else had been handpicked by Napoleon). After Eugène's death, he wrote a small booklet about the former viceroy's life, entitled "Notices historiques sur S.A.R. le Prince Eugène" and dedicated to his widow and children, because Auguste wanted to keep their father's memory alive in his children. This is how he tells the story of how Eugène got summoned to Munich:

The dispatch of Emperor Napoleon threw the Viceroy into an emotional turmoil he could not conceal. The brilliant destiny prepared for him, the fear that he might not please a princess whose graces and beauty were justly praised, and who was then sought after by several sovereigns; the unexpected happiness of soon seeing the Emperor again, of embracing his beloved mother, of being reunited with his friends from war, Generals Bessières, Duroc, etc.; this combination of various, though flattering, sentiments agitated his spirits and alarmed his modesty, which did not dare to imagine so much happiness at once. After a few arrangements necessitated by his absence, the viceroy set out with his first aide-de-camp (General d'Anthouard), crossed the mountains of the Tyrol on the 8th of January, cluttered with ice and snow, and arrived at Munich with the rapidity of lightning... Amor dat alas. [lat.: Love gives wings.]

I had the honour of following immediately, with a chamberlain and an equerry (the counts Bentivoglio and Mereniagno). We arrived in Munich twelve hours after His Royal Highness.

So, apparently those wings love had given had sped up the journey by 12 hours on a three-days-trip. Of course it's not quite clear if it was the love to a bride Eugène had never seen (except on a coffee mug), or the love to hopefully party with Duroc and Bessières on his arrival. In any case, it seems he at some point picked up Rapp on the road, as Rapp in his memoirs claims to have accompanied Eugène to Munich.

It's not quite clear what happened next. The only thing everyone agrees upon: Eugène immediately reported to Napoleon, Napoleon wanted to present his stepson to the Bavarian family - and it cost Eugène the adornment of his manhood.

As already related here, Eugène in Egypt had suffered much from being the youngest of General Bonaparte's aides. Especially as he also looked the part. So the first thing he did in order to look a little more soldier-like was to grow himself a moustache. And this moustache now proved (in somebody's mind) an unsurmountable obstacle to a happy marriage.

Let's first hear Darnay again:

The emperor Napoleon had snatched the viceroy on his arrival, and had not left him since. This monarch was proud to present his dear student himself to the royal family of Bavaria and to the Princess Auguste. His Majesty was constantly preparing him for this ceremony, and went so far as to have the Viceroy's moustaches cut off in his own cabinet, so as not to frighten the timidity of the Princess Auguste by a too martial air.

But, as Darnay has told us himself, he was not even around when Eugène first entered the Residence, as Darnay only arrived twelve hours later, during the night. There is however another report by Mademoiselle Avrillion, lady-in-waiting to empress Josephine, who was already in the Residence. Personally, I find her version even funnier.

The empress was pleased to see her son contract a marriage which would associate him with the blood of the sovereigns of Europe, and at the same time all that she had seen of the princess Auguste, all that she had been told about her, made her foresee for the prince that inner happiness which is rarer among the princes of the world than among those whom fate has placed in a more humble condition.

The happiness enjoyed by the empress was, however, disturbed by a cloud; the prince had arrived very early in the morning, […]

Err – 10.30 AM, actually. That’s a little past dawn, even in January.

[…] and on arriving had gone immediately to the emperor. As the latter was not accustomed to lose time under any circumstances, after embracing his adopted son he took him by the hand and led him at once to the King and Queen of Bavaria, where the interview with his bride-to-be took place without any kind of ceremony, and so to speak in a bourgeois manner.

The prince, whom the emperor had sent for in all haste, had travelled day and night; on his arrival the empress had not yet risen; when, on entering her room, I announced to her that he was in Munich, she wept a great deal at the thought that the first visit of her son had not been for her, that after all she had not been the first to embrace him. A few moments later, and as she was still quite agitated, the emperor entered her room on his way back from the queen's apartment. I was a witness to this interview; the Emperor held Prince Eugene by the hand, and said, pushing him slightly forward: "Here, madam, here comes your great fool of a son whom I am bringing to you." The emperor often used, in his moments of gaiety, such expressions when speaking of the prince to the empress. Her majesty burst into tears as she embraced him. Who, moreover, would not recognise the susceptibilities of a maternal heart in one of the reproaches she made to the emperor for having presented her son to his betrothed without her having seen him first? It is well known that the prince habitually wore moustaches, and his mother thought he looked much better without them. "Why," she said, "did you present Eugene before he had cut off his moustache, without giving him time to make his toilet?" This observation, made with that emotion which always follows the moment when one has just shed tears, made the emperor smile, and he cheerfully excused himself for not having thought of objects of such high importance. The empress feared that the first impression might not have been favourable to her son; at last she did everything possible to persuade him to sacrifice his moustaches, and the day did not pass without the moustaches being cut off.

I guess we all can picture that scene: Eugène, unshaven, smelly and dishevelled after three days in a coach, bows in front of Napoleon and immediately gets dragged away across the residence to meet his bride. »So, that’s her. That’s him. Now do that falling-in-love thing so we can get on with the marriage. I got a banking crisis to solve!«

It seems all the more likely that the order to immediately shave was given by the empress and not the emperor, as there was already a precedent for this in Josephine's recent past:

At the end of 1801, Josephine had tried to arrange a marriage between one Michel Ney and Aglaé Auguié, a friend of her daughter Hortense. Unfortunately, the suitor had outright failed his bride-to-be's first examination - due to unacceptable hair and beard. (The painting above probably does not do the problem justice as it was only made in 1834.) Only after a complete makeover did the young lady show herself inclined to grant the gentleman a second interview, which then led to the desired result.

Josephine probably still had this traumatic experience in mind when she insisted that Eugène immediately get rid of that shoe brush under his nose! To what extent this was necessary is difficult to say; Eugène was allowed to grow his moustache again a few years later, presumably with his wife's blessings.

The incident however had not gone unnoticed by whatever went for a »paparazzo« those days and was duefully made known to the interested audience even as far as the Kingdom of Prussia. As the »Königlich privilegirte Berlinische Zeitung« wrote on February 6:

On his arrival in Munich, the Viceroy of Italy wore a small moustache, which he immediately had removed.

Well, either he, Imperial Maman or Imperial stepfather in any case. Amor does not only give wings, it also costs the most cruel sacrifices.

#napoleon #eugene de beauharnais #josephine de beauharnais #moustachesareasolutionforeverything #eugene's marriage #michel ney #aglaé auguié #napoleon's marshals #munich 1806

24 notes · View notes

dialux · 3 years

Text

bring on the fire, bring on the storm

Written for @aspecardaweek! I meant to put this up for either Day 1 or 2, but time flew past me. This fits into my Findis fic series, and is a very... roundabout exploration of how being aroace can affect your life if your dad’s the only person to have two marriages, I suppose?

...

“They are searching for you, little one.”

“Let them search,” says Findis coldly.

For all that Findis is young, and that Tirion is at peace, she knows her politics well. Rumil had spoken strenuously against Finwe’s remarriage, and he remains one of Feanaro’s strongest allies. Findis- eldest daughter of Indis, first child to bring two divided people together- is not one of his charges, and never will be if Indis has her way. They both know this.

“Your father,” says Rumil slowly, before heaving a great sigh. “Your father is a great man, but he sees the world through his own eyes.”

“A king cannot choose to be half-blind.”

“And yet he is the king we chose. Envinyasse-” Findis does turn at that, levelling such a look at Rumil that he steps back, “-Findis, then. Findis: he is a good king, and a good father besides.”

“He does not understand me.”

“Have you allowed him to?”

“I am not Feanaro.”

“Feanaro was very young when he met Nerdanel,” Rumil acknowledges. “But then, so was Finwe when he met Miriel. He only wishes for you to feel that joy as well.”

He sounds like he thinks she needs consolation. But Findis has not wept for her father in many, many centuries.

“My heart is my own,” says Findis. “Go to my father and tell him that I’ve given it to the sea, and shall not return until he learns that I’ve my own thoughts, my own loves, and my own mind.”

“You’re leaving?” asks Rumil, startled.

“I will not stay in a home where I am not heard,” replies Findis, and draws the hood of her cloak over her head, and starts walking.

...

Findis is the eldest child of Indis and Finwe. She is the eldest daughter, and she represents, more than any other, the whole of that truth: it’s an open secret through Tirion that she is meant to bind herself to another high lord of the Noldor, to fall in love with him, to bear him children with shining eyes and starful beauty. To heal the rift caused by Miriel’s death, in the only way that she can.

It’s the greater pity that Findis refuses.

...

How did you know? she asks, once, desperate for advice.

Feanaro, hot in the throes of his love for Nerdanel, smiles at her. ‘Tis not some difficult tapestry to weave, Nesace. You will find one for yourself, sooner or later.

And if I do not, she thinks, but does not say. If I never find anyone- if I never wish to find anyone- what then?

But she is named Envinyasse for the healing she is meant to bring. She is named Envinyasse for the bridge her father wished her to become, and that bridge is made up of Findis finding someone to love, and she was never asked, not once, whether this is a task she wishes to complete. Whether this is a task she can complete.

...

The sea is cold and silver, and Findis lets her rage run out into its rippling waters. She spends many years there: composing songs, sharpening knives, studying her own fea. Though she is not hiding from her family, she also refuses all her parents’ summons back to Tirion: if she returns, Findis will have to explain why she left, and that will be impossible if she does not have the words for it.

She explains as much to Lalwen when she comes to fetch her.

“And so you’ve spent a decade trying to find those words?” asks Lalwen, spearing a mollusk on a knife. Sand wraps around her braids, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered. “That is... pedantic, even for you.”

“I also wanted to yell at Atar,” says Findis. “I didn’t think he’d appreciate that either.”

“Well. He was- beyond- his authority, last time.” Lalwen waggles her eyebrows. “Amme told him so, after Rumil came back and announced that you’d left to the sea.”

“Did she?” asks Findis, startled.

Indis prefers to let them fight their own battles. She always has. For her to rebuke Finwe- to publicly rebuke Finwe-

“And then Aro and I spent years scouring the beaches for you. You couldn’t have chosen somewhere further south?”

“I was furious,” says Findis plainly. “Do you think I would have calmed in the warm waters of Alqualonde?”

“I don’t think you’re calm now.”

Findis checks herself, and then relaxes the painfully stiff arch of her spine. “I apologize for the trouble I gave you and Arafinwe.”

Lalwen waves it away. “It gave us an excuse to leave Tirion. Though last I heard, Feanaro’s back in the city, and Nolo never left, so...”

“Let’s hope Tirion remains standing, then.”

“Precisely.”

After a long moment, Lalwen casts the mollusk in the flames and turns back to Findis. “You must return,” she says. “Findis. You cannot while your time away here. We need you. Someone needs to talk sense into Feanaro, and keep all those children from burning the palace down, and stop Amme from fretting to death. I tried, you know, for a year? And then I decided I’d rather spend the rest of my life searching for you. They’re all insane, and exasperating, and- and- and Aro’s in love, did you know that? Aro’s in love, and my fourth betrothal fell through, and I cannot bear staying in Tirion without someone tempering them, I cannot!”

Findis stares at her, and then laughs. "It’s been a busy decade, then.”

“Findis-”

“Fine, yes, I’ll come back to our wretched family.” Findis reaches out a hand and tangles it in Lalwen’s own, ignoring the stickiness of the mollusk on Lalwen’s palm. “For you, darling. For you and no other.”

...

She returns, and she never speaks on it to her father again, but it is quite clear that he has been ordered by her mother not to discuss it. It’s a tenuous kind of peace, but Findis’ life has been built on such peaces all her life, and she’ll take what she can get.

...

This is the truth at the end of all things: Finwe does not understand her, and never will. Findis does not hold that wholly against him.

Not wholly.

...

Not until he chooses Feanaro over all of them. Not until he proves himself incapable of even the dregs of understanding that Findis had offered him.

...

Later, Findis does not remember all that she screams. Finwë shouts back to her, though, and they are matched in their fury; they are matched in their ugliness, and their cruelty, and their knowledge of the others’ intimate, tender spots. Findis does not remember all that she screams or all that is screamed at her. But she remembers, well, that Finwë still leaves.

...

The stairs up to Finwe’s study are long and steep. He’d once told Lalwen that he’d constructed it so to cool the tempers of any petitioners who wished to speak to him in haste- and, if nothing else, it would leave them breathless enough for Finwe to offer tea and a kind smile, bleeding off the worst of their rage. Findis remembers that now.

But no stairs shall serve to temper the worst of her fury. Not after all that has happened.

The door is closed. Findis opens it, steps inside.

“Atar,” she says.

Finwe, busy writing a letter- to Nolofinwe; that stamp atop the page is the blue of Nolofinwe’s house- looks up. “Findis,” he says. “Oh, good. I needed someone to send this letter to your brother.”

Findis clenches her jaw, and deliberately misunderstands. “I am not currently in contact with Feanaro.”

“It’s to Nolofinwe, not Feanaro.”

“Why would you need to send a letter to Nolofinwe?” asks Findis coolly. “You shall see him soon enough. It is Feanaro who is banished.”

“I shall be accompanying Feanaro,” says Finwe slowly.

Something cracks- the windows, giving way under the howling pressure of the wind outside. Findis does not snarl, but it is a close thing indeed. Finwe shifts uneasily, and Findis tosses her- loose- hair out of her face, baring her throat: the throat that Feanaro cut.

“To the edge of Tirion?”

“To Formenos,” says Finwe. “Where he shall live, with his sons and his-”

“-and no other,” says Findis harshly. “Because you shall not be going. Let his sons go with him- I will not stop them- but you will not be accompanying him, not when he held a sword to your son’s throat-” when he held a sword to my throat, she thinks furiously, “-and threatened to cut it!”

“He was angry.”

“And now I am angry.”

“Findis.”

“But my anger has ever been the dross to his gold, hasn’t it?” Findis smiles like a snake: toothless, venomful. “None of us shall accompany you. Do you understand that?”

“I understand your rage,” says Finwe calmly. “I shall not ask you to send your followers into banishment. Of course not.”

The smile widens. “My followers? I wasn’t speaking of them- of course I wouldn’t ask them to go. I was speaking of your family. Of Nolofinwe, yes, but also Lalwen, and Arafinwe. I was speaking of your wife.”

“My wife,” echoes Finwe, as if he doesn’t comprehend what she’s saying. Then he does, and his eyes go cold: the first time, in a long time, that he’s truly seen Findis. That he’s paid as much attention to her as he has to his fair, fair, fair eldest son. “Indis has said she will not accompany me?”

“Does it hurt?” asks Findis. “Does it hurt you, to be so misunderstood?”

“I will explain-”

“No. The time for explanations has passed.” Findis smiles, mirthless, at his open mouth. “Is that not what you said to me that day? That day that you told me that you’d rather I were chained to another elf than alone, that day that you told me that a spouseless life akin to another death-”

“-you cannot hold grudges from centuries past-”

“-I’ve never been enough for you,” she says, quietly, coldly, furiously. “But I thought Nolofinwe might have mattered more to you.”

Finwe rocks back, looking like she’s slapped him. “I did not mean- I do not mean-”

But Findis has no desire to hear his justifications. She narrows her eyes and speaks over him.

“You claim to be the beloved of the Valar,” says Findis harshly. “But it was they who mandated that our marriage bonds must remain exclusive. Tell me, Atar, shall you ask for a third wife now? Shall you go to the Valar and ask for an obedient one, who shall follow you into strife as quiet as a shadow, who shall love you as if the Mingling sets upon your shoulders and the stars wheel in their orbits as per your pleasure, who shall bear you more children, faithful children, quiet and dainty and unassuming and stupid as the ones you wish your living children to become!”

She is shouting by the end, unpleasantly loud. Her face is flushed and her hands are trembling. Her eyes are burning.

“I am your father,” says Finwe, but he is angry now: Findis has made him angry now. Feanaro holding a sword to Nolofinwe’s throat had not made him angry. All of Feanaro’s insults and slights to Finwe’s wife and queen had not made him angry. But this- this- has lit a flame in Finwe’s gaze. “You do not speak to me that way.”

The wind is howling outside. Findis reaches for it with her fea, hands whitening on each other until the bones creak.

“I have waited all my life for your love,” Findis forces out. “But all I have received is your disregard. Over, and over, and over again.”

“I have always lo-”

Findis’ hands clench into fists. The windows crack, glass shattering inwards, and the wind howls as it spills into the room. Finwe flinches. But his will is strong too; the wind ruffles through the papers of the room, but it does not throw him end over end.

“These answers cannot be sought by petitioning the Valar,” says Findis. “You cannot resolve this by asking them for aid. This is an elven problem and an elven decision. But then, when have you ever accepted your mistakes, Atar? When have you- ever- once- claimed- responsibility?”

And now the wind is a flood, snatching at Finwe’s clothes, tearing at his hair.

He stumbles, once, and then he moves, too, a song of silence and stillness and calm from his throat, and Findis is so taken aback by the sheer power of it- she’d forgotten how powerful Finwe could be when he puts his mind to it- that she is thrown into the door from which she entered.

She lands on her knees.

The wind goes silent.

Finwe says, into the yawing silence, “I forgive you for your lapse in judgment. I understand- tempers are running high- but your brother needs me. Just because I go to Formenos does not mean that I do not love you, Findis. Understand that.”

Findis looks up at him, and Finwe pales at her expression.

“There can be no love without understanding,” she says. “There can be no love without effort. Understand that.”

She lifts her hands, rolls her wrists, and her song surges like a river swollen with snowmelt, like the sword had leapt to Feanaro’s hands in a silver blur as he cut her throat.

The shattered shards of window-glass fling themselves at Finwe. He shouts, once, and then strains his song against her own, as if puzzled as to why he cannot overpower her once more. But Findis is more powerful than him- she is trained in the art of using her voice. She is a Songstress, and she is his heir, and she is as full of rage now- full of a lifetime of rage- as ever Feanaro has been towards Nolofinwe, and she will not stop, because she is as the wind, and who has ever heard of stopping the wind?

But then Finwe turns, and they have exchanged places: he is at the door, and Findis is behind his table, and his eyes are large, and there is blood spotting his once-fine robes, and the glass caught in his hair shines like the crown that he has abandoned-

He yanks open the door and flees.

Findis screams. She screams, loud and louder, and anything capable of shattering within the study shatters at it: inkwells, pots of incense, glass cabinets, the last vestiges of the window panes. She slips to her knees.

Findis does not weep.

(Fifty years later, when the world goes dark, she still does not weep. For six thousand years, for six thousand bitter, bitter years, Findis does not weep.)

...

A lifetime later, Finwe comes to her in her forest dwelling. He sits at her feet, and does not speak, not until she has finished whittling a little star-crowned bird for Elwing’s newest child and set it aside.

Then he turns to her, and he touches her wrists, and Findis lets him, heart twisting in her chest.

“Envinyasse,” he says quietly.

“That is not my name.”

“I named you that,” says Finwe. “But I never dreamed you to do- to do this.”

“Atar-”

“There can be no love without effort,” he says, and Findis goes as still as a windless tree. “There can be no love without understanding. I spent too long not understanding you: seeing what I wanted, hearing what I wanted.” He swallows. “Doing what I wanted.”

“And you’re here to fix that?”

He breathes deep, and then releases her hands, and sits back: as a pupil would, before a master. Findis barely allows herself to breathe.

“I,” says Finwe, with the resolution that had led his people to safety once, eyes bright as the stars hanging around them, “am here to listen.”

#findis #finwe #lalwen #my writing #silmarillion #aspecardaweek #the actual fight in the beginning of this fic is actually written but i feel like it works better as a more abstract discussion #literally everything that findis flings at him in their tower battle is a direct line from that though lmao

44 notes · View notes

oh-look-isa-weeb · 4 years

Text

Fly Me to the Moon

Yuri Plisetsky

Celestial beings + royalty AU. You're the Night. He's the Moon. You're stuck together, whether you like it or not.

Notes: A longer post this time! I could have gone with a normal royalty AU but nooo, of course I didn't. I hope this turned out okay! Title is from a Frank Sinatra song of the same name.

---------------

The Day is the bringer of the Sun; It surrounds it, and it holds the Sun up, just as the Sun brings the Day with it wherever it goes. They move and work together.

The Night is the guardian of the Moon; it is the contrast which allows the Moon to shine brighter, stretching endlessly behind the Moon, the herald to its beauty and grace.

You are the Heir of the Night, training tirelessly to prepare to take on the mantle of the Moon's Guardian, and you are tired.

No, seriously. If you have to hear about the union of the Sun and the Moon one more time, you're going to scream. You mutter exactly that to yourself, under your breath, as you walk through the training facility to your studio. To your surprise, someone replies.

"I know, right? It's gross. If I ever fall in love, hit me."

Who in the world…?

You spin around, coming face-to-face with sea green eyes and golden hair. The same eyes hair you would one day be sworn to protect. Before you stood Yuri Plisetsky, the Heir of the Moon. He didn't know who you were, but you certainly recognised him. After all, you'd been watching his progress since you were selected to become the Heir of the Night. Your life's work would be dedicated to his being.

Only after a split-second did he seem to realise that he had talked to another being, and that he was decidedly not alone. He spun around, glaring.

"Who are you? The hell are you doing here?"

I'm the only one allowed around here, you thought amusedly. You're the trespasser. You wondered if you could tell him that. Heck, what was stopping you? It would be nice to see the look on his face.

"As a matter of fact, I'm the Heir of the Night. Also known as the person who'll be working with you closely for the entirety of your reign." You pause and shoot him a pointed look. "And the only person allowed in here, Mr. Trespassing Heir of the Moon."

Ah, the sweet satisfaction of watching someone's brain shut down. He sputters for a bit and turns ever-so-slightly pink, scrambling to come up with an excuse.

"If we're gonna work together, w- what's wrong with me being here anyway? I- It's not like I'm not some random civilian!"

He pauses, and an oddly aged look crosses his features.

"I just- I needed somewhere to get away for a minute, okay? I would very much like to be able to breathe without those two advertising their relationship. And I don't want to go for class," He sighs. "I'll just go now."

Something about the way he says it resonates with you. Maybe it's the resigned tone in his voice, or the weary look on his face. And you understand, you really do. After all, you've been preparing to take up an equally important -- and equally heavy role. Sometimes you wanted an escape, too.

"Do you… Want to stay? And watch for a bit?"

He pauses and turns to look at you. He's trying to act nonchalant, shrugging casually with a "Sure,", but you see the way his shoulders sag a little, as if the tension was released, and his features smoothen out just a fraction. You tell him to make himself comfortable along the sides somewhere and begin running through your combat drills.

As it turns out, Yuri is a pretty courteous audience. He doesn't ask too many questions, and only does when you stop for breaks. At the end of your training session, you sit together, backs to the wall, and bask in companionable silence, taking a breather from the stress that your roles bring you. Finally, you prepare to leave the studio, locking up and exchanging farewells.

"Hey, uh, thanks for letting me stay. I think I needed that. I'll, uh, see you around. I hope."

"Well, we'll meet again eventually. Moon and Night and all that. Feel free to come back anytime, though."

He heads off in the other direction, waving as he walks away.

You don't see him for a good month.

You don't know why. Did he get in trouble? Did he not want to return? Was he doing alright?

You'd just about given up seeing him until coronation day ever again, until one day you open the door to the studio to find it already unlocked. You open the door anyway, paying it no mind, and promptly walk face first into something. Someone.

Yuri.

He grumbles about getting crashed into, mumbling a "Watch where you're going, moron" under his breath quietly, but he steps aside to let you in anyway. How did he get in? No, nevermind that, Lilia was coming in today. He shouldn't be here.

"My advisor's coming today. You should get out before you get caught."

He stares at you like you've grown a second head.

"Moron, did no one tell you? I bargained with Yakov. You're gonna teach me to fight, and I'll, well, they'll find something for me to teach you. Anyway, I'm meant to be here, stupid."

You gape at him as Lilia strides past you two and into the studio, thoroughly unimpressed at your expression. She tells you to "close your mouth, you are an Heir, not a fish", and she "certainly did not teach you to dawdle in doorways". You put your stuff down, but you have no clue where to begin. Teach someone?

Lilia sighs. "The basics, girl, unless you want him to spend more time on his butt than his feet."

Right, you feel like an idiot now. Please let there be a hole to swallow you up. You gesture for Yuri to join you in the centre of the room, and slowly run him through warm-ups.

Over time, you fall into a routine. Some weeks, you teach Yuri to fight, and other weeks, he teaches you dance. Not just waltz, you know how to do that, but other forms of dance. Ballet. Tango. Flamenco. The macarena, because why not, although that was mostly a joke. You meet Yakov, his advisor, as well and the current Sun and Moon, Yuuri and Victor. Most importantly, you meet his cat, and his grandfather. Victor says it's wonderful that Yuri's friends with you. Yuri says he's too nosy.

As the time passes, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You realise that he's actually a kind person, even if he doesn't outwardly show it. And one day, you catch yourself thinking, he's really pretty.

When did you fall for him? You don't know. But as soon as you realise, you never stop realising. You're hyper-aware of everything he does. It frustrates you to no end. You're in the middle of a foxtrot with Yuri, and you can feel yourself flushing wildly. He frowns at you and stops.

"What's up with you? Why've you been so jumpy these days?" He presses a hand to your forehead. "Tch. You're not sick, are you?" You shake your head, but you can't quite meet his eyes.

Because the heat from your cheeks seems to have somehow fried your brain cells, you decide to throw all caution to the wind. You might also be too sleep-deprived to regret this.

"I- I LIKE YOU!" You blurt, before your common sense finally catches up to you and you clap a hand to your mouth. "Ah, sorry, you uh, heard nothing… Ahah…"

He gapes at you, and then he averts his eyes. Great, he totally thinks you're a weirdo. You've just messed up your relationship with the guy you're stuck working with for your entire career.

"I like you too, moron." It's so quiet you could swear you imagined it, but Yuri stands across from you, eyes on the ground, face as flushed as yours. It's your turn to gape at him, as he bites out a "What? Quit staring at me!", although you can tell there's no real heat to his words.

"I'm glad," you hum, smiling gently as you extend a hand to him, a silent invitation to resume dancing. You let the music wash over you, losing yourself in the steps, and every time your eyes meet, there's a soft smile on his face.

Epilogue

You take your place on the dais next to Yuri, preparing to face the court for your coronation. You'd been there for him before this, through demanding days and insecurities. You'd seen him at his worst, in the days just after Victor announced he was stepping down as the Moon, helping him to fight off his self-doubt. You'd been there for Yuri, and as the new Night and Moon, you'll continue being by his side. As his guardian, but also as his betrothed.

Over the next week, there are ceremonies and festivities, including your wedding, which takes place on the last day. It's a whirlwind of crowds, carnivals, and dancing. You and Yuri have your first dance, the same foxtrot you had been dancing when you got together all those years ago, the same soft smile ever-present on his face, as if it's just you two in the ballroom, like it was back then.

Then the music changes to something more bold, and you charge at each other in a mock-battle, your movements dynamic and explosive, yet graceful, a testament to your proficiency in both combat and dance.

As the night progresses, your friends and family join you on the dance floor, laughing and mingling. There's not much actual dancing happening, but that's perfectly fine, because you're surrounded by loved ones. Someone starts a line dance at some point, and you get everyone who joins to do the macarena, just for laughs. You see Lilia rolling her eyes, but you laugh and pull her into the crowd to join you.

And at the end of the night, you're in the comfort of your room, Yuri by your side. He pulls you in for a sweet, languid kiss. This is the love of your life, the man you'll wake up next to every day for the rest of your life.

After all, the Night is the guardian of the Moon; it is by its side, always. It is the Moon's refuge, its home. It loves the Moon dearly, and the Moon loves it back.

#yuri on ice imagine #yuri on ice #yuri plisetsky #yuri plisetsky x reader #yuri!!! on ice

136 notes · View notes

ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

First and Last-Robb Stark x Reader

(GIF credit to @hvitstark)

Tags: @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

Requested by anonymous: 'hi! first of all, your stories are amazing and i love them so so much! now, i hope im not bothering you, idk if you're still taking requests or not, but if you are can you pls write something where the reader is the youngest daughter of a powerful lord and he has come to winterfell to discuss marrying her to robb? this can either be pre-canon (so robert hasn't come north yet) or in some sort of au where nothing happens and all the starks are alive and well :) thank you so much!'

Characters: Robb Stark x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Mention of smut, self doubt, arranged marriage, fluff

(A/N: I MISS WRITING FOR GAME OF THRONES, MY BABIES)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was a buzz around Winterfell castle as the final touches to preparations were made. The (Y/L/N) family were as noble as the Starks, and as it was their first visit to Winterfell, there had to be a good lasting impression. Catelyn and Ned were overseeing the servant's, trusting that their children's nannies or advisors were making sure that they were ready for such guests, they were not to make a fool of the family.

"I've heard that the women are all trained to be warriors since birth." Theon told Robb as he was being dressed in his finest clothes.

"From who?" Robb asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

"Wouldn't that be something? No wimpy, defenceless woman that constantly seeks your help, or spoils fun things such as hunting."

Robb knew his friend had only heard such rumours, though was still intrigued."She is a lady, I doubt she would have been near any fighting."

"Their women are strong Robb, proper Northern lasses. They are interesting, not like some of the ones who have visited before."

"They were boring to you because you couldn't even lay a finger on them."

He chuckled."In them more like."

Robb ignored Theon, he had always been so vile when talking of women."I wonder what they're here for. Father hasn't mentioned anything, I don't think he knows either."

"You can't be serious?" Theon scoffed. He gestured for the servant dressing Robb to leave now that he was finished."Come on, think about it."

"Just tell me."

"They've got a daughter, a year younger than you. Now, what do you think that means?"

Robb's eyes widened."No, no, father would have told me about it first-"

"Technically, nothing has been said about any marriage. Maybe that's what Lord (Y/L/N) is here for, not just for a friendly visit. And your father might not know about it yet."

Panic set into Robb's mind. His father had warned him that marriage propositions would be made, especially since he wasn't betrothed to anyone from a younger age. However, it was a small thought to him, most of his teachings had been about how to be a good lord. But having to face it was a completely different feeling. Perhaps Theon was wrong, his father hadn't even hinted at the idea. Now nervous, he took his cloak, wrapping it around himself before leaving his room, and maybe even meeting his future bride.

The pair made their way to the courtyard, hearing that the (Y/L/N) family were to be arriving very shortly. Robb's palms were beginning to sweat in his gloves, the mere thought of marriage making him dizzy. As he stood with his siblings, he ignored the fussing his mother made over them, making sure they were presentable.

(Y/N) made sure her hair was still neat and her braids were still tight in her hand mirror, damning the bumpy road beneath their carriage. It didn't help that her hands were shaking too, though she only noticed this when her mother took the mirror away, replacing it with her own hand.

"Relax (Y/N)," her mother calmed her, giving her a gentle smile,"we will be right beside you."

"He's not going to like me."

"And why's that?"

"He's probably heard all the rumours about how our women are these amazing fighters that aren't afraid of anything, and I'm the absolute opposite."

"For starters, we do not have all these women that go into fighting for the sake of it, you know that. And he doesn't know that your father is proposing this agreement."

"Have you met him?"

"No darling."

"So you don't even know what he looks like, let alone if he is kind?"

"The Starks are a wise, merciful and kind family. I am sure that his parents have raised him well. Their people seem to love them."

(Y/N) went to ask her mother another question, but was interrupted by the shouting of guards. They had arrived. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as the carriage slowed down, willing it to keep moving just a fraction longer. When it stopped, she hid her panic well from her mother, though a mother's instinct could always sense when her child was scared.

Lord (Y/L/N) had been riding up front for the last few miles, and was announced first as he dismounted his horse. He smiled as he approached Nedd, firmly shaking his hand.

"Lord Stark, it has been many years since I last saw you." he started.

"Yes," Nedd began,"in fact, Robb has only just been born."

(Y/N) heard his name, her heart beat thumping in her ears.

"Well, there are a lot of greetings to be made. My wife," (Y/N)'s mother was assisted out of the carriage, and (Y/N) heard her meeting the family,"and my daughter, (Y/N)."

As she emerged from the carriage, she hadn't expected how silent it would be. Everyone was watching her. (Y/N) carefully stepped out of the carriage, gripping onto the foot man's hand. She joined her parents, curtsying to the Starks.

"Thank you for opening your homes to us, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"And you Lady (Y/N). I am sure you have inherited your mother's beauty, and your father's wisdom." Nedd could see the young girl's hands were clasped together, stopping them from shaking.

"Not sure how much of that is left." her father joked, relieving the tension.

"Let me introduce you to my family," Nedd walked down the line, each curtsying or bowing,"my wife, Catelyn, who you already know, my eldest Robb, Sansa, Ayra, Bran and Rickon."

It was all too surreal for (Y/N). Here she was, facing the man that could become her husband and he had no idea. She tried to look at him, take in his details without staring, meaning she couldn't do it for long. Robb was also looking at her, dreading when her father would make the suggestion. Something deep in his gut told him that Theon was telling the truth, that perhaps a proposal was on the cards.

"He doesn't need to show me around Winterfell!" (Y/N) protested as she got settled into her room.

Her father sighed."(Y/N), I don't have to do this, but I am giving you a chance to get to know the boy. I could easily just throw the suggestion in their face."

"I know but...father I have a bad feeling about this."

He stopped her pacing, holding onto her hands."You will be fine. You're smart, so you know how to strike up a conversation. You're just nervous."

"Yes, I am. Father, you wouldn't make me marry someone who...someone who would hurt me, would you?"

"Of course not! If I believed the Starks were bad people, then we wouldn't be here. But this family is one of the strongest there are, and believe me, I've never seen a more honest family. You are safe here, and you will be loved."

(Y/N) walked out of her room feeling no less scared. She knew Robb would be going through the same struggle, though it didn't help her. Her footsteps were slow, too slow, her body knowing that she didn't want to go. Robb was exactly the same on the other side of his home, arguing with his mother before she forced him to leave his room and meet the girl, even if they weren't going to be married; in future, she may be a close ally. They were now stood at either end of the same corridor, freezing at the thought of having to be by each others sides for the rest of their lives.

Readjusting their postures, they composed themselves before approaching each other. This was it, the first time they would be alone together, perhaps the conversation that would define their relationship.

"Lady (Y/L/N), have you settled in well?" Robb asked.

"Yes, thank you Lord Stark. Your home is very beautiful."

"Please, my father is Lord Stark. You may call me Robb."

"And you may call me (Y/N)."

A good start, though many people dropped formalities when they weren't the people in charge. Robb offered to take her around Winterfell, which she politely accepted, racking her brain to think of topics to speak about. The small talk continued, until Robb started getting bolder with his questions.

"I've heard that your armies are full of women, that they are trained to fight since birth."

'Of course this question came up' (Y/N) thought.

"We do have a number of women. It is an extremely old tradition. Our lands did not have as many people as they do now, so when enemies would strike, everyone had to fight. And as the ears have gone on, we've kept that tradition alive, though there aren't as many women as there used to be."

"Are you trained in any weaponry?"

(Y/N)'s voice dropped."No. Ladies aren't allowed to."

"Oh." she hated the look on Robb's face, his expectations being dissapointed."That's understandable. Though my youngest sister, Arya, she does not abide by those rules."

"She doesn't?"

"No." he chuckled."A needle is far too small a sword for her liking."

They stopped walking, looking over the wall of Winterfell. (Y/N) was used to similar views back home, it wasn't too different. The noise of the people distracted her, and she turned around, watching them go about their lives. These were the faces she would be seeing almost everyday, if Robb and Nedd agreed to their marriage. And with dinner approaching faster than she liked, the answer was looming closer and closer.

After their walk, Robb had escorted (Y/N) back to her room to change for the meal that night. In his own room, Theon was there once again, prodding at Robb, wanting to know everything and more.

"So, what do you think?" Theon asked.

"I still don't know her very well. I can't make a judgement on her yet."

"OK, then what about how she looks?"

"She is a beautiful woman, but that doesn't mean I'll immediately like her."

Theon raised an eyebrow."But it helps."

Robb nodded."I guess so."

(Y/N) praised her handmaid as she finished her hair, calming slightly once she was satisfied with how she looked. Her mother entered the room, sighing as she saw her daughter fretting. The handmaid was dismissed, making (Y/N) realise that her mother was there, impulsively running to her; they shared a tight embrace, (Y/N)'s hands shaking as she clutched on.

"I don't think I can do it." (Y/N) breathed out.

"Yes you can. This is part of being a woman. You can do this, and we have chosen a family that will love you, they'll keep you safe."

"Mother, he doesn't like me, I just know it."

"He will. Everyone likes you."

Her mother knew that there were no amount of words that would ease her panic. All she could do was wipe away her tears, take her hand and lead her to the hall where dinner was being set. (Y/N) was stronger than she thought, and very likeable; she would fit into Winterfell just fine. It was Robb that was unpredictable.

"Father," Robb made a beeline to Nedd in the hall, desperate to speak to him alone,"may I quickly speak with you?"

"I know what you're thinking about." Nedd suddenly turned around.

"Well?"

"Well, we don't actually know if Lord (Y/L/N) wants an arranged marriage-"

"And if he does?"

"If he does, I shall speak to you in private, as will he with (Y/N). I presume that she doesn't know anything of it. Robb, I'll want to accept, but I need to be sure that you will too."

Everyone could feel the tension as they sat for dinner, Robb and (Y/N) having to sit beside each other. Their parents were in full conversations, the Stark siblings bickering already, whereas Robb and (Y/N) found themselves unable to start one themselves.

"Now," (Y/N)'s father stood, raising his cup,"I want to make a toast."

Everyone raised their own cups, knowing what his speech would include. They had been waiting all day to know what he wanted.

"Thank you once again for letting us into your home, it has been many years since my wife and I last visited, and actually, we were expecting (Y/N) at that time. But Winterfell has not lost its charm. We have been each others banner men throughout this time, and have fought beside each other in victory. I trust that our alliance is strong, but I am willing to make it stronger."

(Y/N)'s head started to spin, her chest tightening. She couldn't even look at her father. The words started to muffle, she couldn't be here to witness it. Without thinking of her manners, she mumbled under her breath, excusing herself as she abruptly stood and ran out of the room. She had no idea of the layout of the castle, running aimlessly, as if she could get away from this problem.

"(Y/N), are you alright?" She heard Robb call her.

She stopped, hiding her face in her hands, pure embarrassment stricken across it."I'm sorry, it's just..."

"I understand, it's a scary proposition."

"Yes, but I've known for so long."

"What?"

Her hands flopped down to her sides, using what bravery she had to face him."My father has been wanting this for so long. He loves your family, and not just for your power."

"There's something more to this."

"There's been another lord trying to marry me, but my father doesn't want me to marry. He told him we were already engaged. He showed up only last week. Robb, I would have told you if I thought I could."

"I understand."

"It's not fair that we've known for so long. My father can be a little dramatic at times."

"It's fine my lady, really."

"I know you need to discuss the answer with your father."

"You speak as if you know what that is."

"After today I think I do."

"And why is that?"

"I'm not what you think I am. I'm probably the most boring women in my land, and I'm supposed to be the one leading them."

"Is this about the army of women?"

"You would be surprised how many men don't like me after hearing that."

"I'm not one of those men."

"You're not?"

"I mean, we know this decision is ultimately up to our fathers."

"I suppose so."

"(Y/N), I can't judge your personality or even your own judgement, since we've only known each other for one day. But seeing as we know what our future entails, I feel that we should be open to get to know each other."

"Thank you Robb, I would very much like that."

#robb stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark imagines #robb stark one shot #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones one shot

511 notes · View notes

petersasteria · 4 years

Text

Younger (I) - Holland!Reader

Back at it again with a theme

Inspired by: Younger by Ruel

The prequel of this will be coming out soon x

Holland!Reader Masterlist || TH Masterlist || HH Masterlist

Rich kid AU

* * * *

"Deep in my heart I know that it's over Deleted your number, so I can't call you Call you my brother, the way that we used to When we were younger, younger"

Grief does a lot of things to a person. It also hits different for everyone depending on who died and depending on how close these people were to the one who met their untimely demise. In this case, the Holland family were the most affected with grief. The Holland children's grandfather died and they were terribly heartbroken. But the most heartbroken one of all was Nikki and Dominic Holland's only daughter, Y/N.

Y/N was close to her grandfather only because she was the only daughter and because of that, she was the favorite. Her brothers didn't mind, though. However, it did bother Sam and Harry only because they were triplets.

Y/N had been living in Paris for quite some time now, four years to be precise, and she hasn't been in contact with her siblings since she left London to follow the man she loved; truly loved. She hated the way she left her situation with her siblings, most especially Tom.

"Timmy, are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Y/N asked the love of her life. Timmy was a tall and lanky lad who had beautiful curls and beautiful green eyes.

Timmy gave her a soft smile and lightly nodded his head, "I'm sure. Y/N, your brothers hate me with a passion. You haven't spoken to them for four years. I think you should go there to grieve and make things right with your brothers. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for your grandfather. I'm sure he would want that."

"Fine, I will." Y/N sighed. "I'll come back soon, okay?"

Timmy only nodded and went back to his painting. They lived in a small apartment in Paris. It was the only one they could afford. Y/N could've bought a larger apartment for both of them, but she came to Paris with only little money in her pocket.

Timmy was a painter and he sold his paintings to anyone who commissioned him. He has been saving up for Paris ever since he was little. Y/N supported him all the time, especially when Timmy hasn't been getting commissioned. Whenever that happened, Timmy took up painting jobs. If he were lucky, sometimes a rich client would hire him to paint a nursery or the master's bedroom and then he'd be paid a generous amount.

Y/N got a job at a bakery and it helped pay the bills. It wasn't the life Y/N pictured for herself, but this was better and more real and more down to earth. She preferred waking up next to the man she loved rather than waking up to a rich man who was betrothed to her all for business purposes.

A few days later, Y/N left Paris to go to London just in time for the funeral. Y/N may not be in touch with her siblings, but she was in touch with her mother. After all, a mother could not bare to not speak to their child. Nikki was the one who told Y/N about her grandfather's passing. It was a heartbreaking call for both of them; Y/N was heartbroken when she was told the bad news and Nikki was heartbroken when she told Y/N and when she heard her daughter's cries. Nikki wished nothing but to hold her and tell her that everything will be okay, but she couldn't.

All eyes were on Y/N when she arrived in the funeral. Her parents were the first to hug her tightly with Paddy following. He missed his older sister dearly. Y/N cried when she saw her youngest brother and their parents left them alone to have a moment.

"You've grown so much!" Y/N cried as she pulled away to get a good look at the youngest Holland. Paddy smiled, "Yeah, it's been four years. I'm twenty now."

Y/N wiped her tears away, "I can't believe I missed so much, but I'm here now."

"Does that mean you'll stay for good?" Paddy asked. He was hopeful. His sister was his anchor and she knew him better than anyone else.

Y/N frowned and shook her head, "I'm sorry."

"Of course, she won't stay. Don't be so surprised, Paddy. It's not like she actually stayed last time." A voice interrupted. The pair turned their head to see Tom who was bitterly looking at Y/N, up and down.

"Hello, Thomas." Y/N said politely. "I've missed you."

"Well, I haven't." Tom said bitterly. His words were venomous. "You left, remember? You had no intention on coming back and I've accepted that already and it's time for Paddy to accept that too."

"But Tom-" Paddy said. Tom quickly turned to him and shook his head, "Paddy, you shouldn't have this wishful thinking of Y/N coming back. She's only here for the funeral and then she'll leave again to go back to her poor lover."

Paddy shut his mouth and walked away. Tom's words hurt his feelings and he didn't want to say anything he'd regret, so he decided to be the bigger person and left.

"We could've had everything, Y/N. You're so selfish!" Tom spat and crossed his arms. Y/N didn't say anything as she stood there in front of her older brother.

"Sam, would you look at that. It's our triplet." Harry said when he approached Y/N with Sam. "Hello, Y/N. I hope Paris has been treating you good."

"Hello, Harry. Yes, it's been treating me good. I work at a bakery." Y/N said proudly.

"Bakery?" Sam chortled. "Linda worked at a bakery before she became our maid. Besides, you don't even know how to bake. Last time I checked, you nearly burnt the kitchen down."

"I learned, Sam. I learned." Y/N said. "I know working at a bakery isn't what I'm supposed to be doing, but it's honest work and it kind of pays well."

"Pays well? What, your boyfriend can't pay for you?" Harry joked.

"Harry, what do you expect? Timmy's poor. He could never give Y/N a wonderful life like our parents pictured her to have." Tom rolled his eyes.

"It's not the life I pictured either." Y/N told them. Tom opened his mouth to talk but he got cut off by Y/N, "But it's a humble and simple life and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. All of you would understand that if you're in love. Other things don't matter anymore because at the end of the day, it'll just be me and him in Paris as we start a life together. That's the dream, isn't it?"

Harry looked down and Sam dismissed it, "Maybe you're right, but maybe you're wrong. Maybe that's your dream. Don't generalize it. Let's go, Harry. It's clear that Tom and Y/N need to speak with each other." Just like that, Sam left.

Harry stayed put and walked towards Y/N as he put a hand on her shoulder with a small smile on his face, "It's good to see you, though. Even if it's just for a while." Harry quickly left after that.

Tom looked at Y/N and said, "We'll talk after the ceremony." He left and Y/N sighed. The ceremony quickly started after that. The Holland patriarch said a few words followed by Y/N as said on one of the death wishes of grandpa Holland.

Y/N cleared her throat, "I, uh, I didn't know that I was going to speak up here so, I'll just talk from the heart." She made eye contact with her mother and Nikki just smiled and nodded for her to continue.

"Being the only daughter of my family, I was immediately the closest to my grandfather. Though, he would say that he loved us equally, everyone knew that he loved me most. I asked him about it one day and he told me, 'Your grandmother loves Tom, Sam, Harry, and Paddy. She loves you too, but she loves the boys more and we both know that's no secret. When one of the boys are in trouble with your parents, she'd be there for them. Y/N, I want to be the one who's there for you. Someone has to look out for the only girl and it would be an honor for me to be able to do that' ."

"And he did. He looked out for me when no one else would and our bond was pretty strong. He loved me when I thought no one else did. He was my shoulder to cry on and he was my hero. From taking out a spider from my room to helping me through my first heartbreak, he was there to save me. It's just sad because my number one hero is gone now and no one else will be there for me anymore. My brothers still have grandma and I'm left with no one." Y/N's breath hitched and she quickly covered it up.

"Grandpa was a loving man. He loved people and he saw the good in people even when they were mean. He taught me that life was too short to hate and I guess that's why he spent his whole life giving love and spreading love. I remember a lot of things that showed him being so loving."

"He loved my brother, Harry. He was his second favorite." Y/N chuckled lightly. "But when Harry used grandpa's credit card to buy something online, I thought he'd love Harry less." She and Harry made eye contact. Harry didn't know about that side of the story. Heck, he didn't even remember the story until Y/N mentioned it.

"But I was wrong. If anything, he loved Harry even more if that was possible. I asked him why and grandpa told me these wise words that I'll never forget. He said, 'Y/N, when you love someone, you love them with everything in your heart. Loving someone is sticking through the good times and loving them even more during the bad times because during the bad times, people need someone who love them unconditionally. When people feel bad about themselves, usually all they need is love'. I guess that's why he had it in his heart to just shrug off what Harry did because Harry felt bad about what he did."

"And as I stand here in front of all you, I want to tell you that from now on, I'll live the rest of my life like my grandfather; I want to give and spread love. I also want to say that I would like to have a man in my life like how grandpa was when he was still here and I'm confident to announce that I already found that man." Y/N smiled at the end. She looked at her grandfather's closed coffin and sighed, "I'll miss you, grandpa."

A few moments later, he was buried. Far from everyone, there stood Tom and Y/N. Y/N stared at her brother as he puffed out smoke from his mouth before taking another hit from the cancer on a stick.

"Since when did you start smoking?" She asked quietly. Tom glanced at her and shrugged. He threw the cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it to put it out. "Since when did you care?" He asked.

"I've always cared. You're my brother and we'll always be related whether you like it or not." Y/N said as Tom nodded, "Let's talk. Where did we stop?"

"You told me I was selfish before Sam and Harry interrupted us." She reminded.

"Ahh, yes." Tom said and turned to face her. "You're selfish."

"How was I selfish?" Y/N asked.

"You should've just married him and then we would've made the deal." Tom sighed disappointingly.

"But I didn't love him and I still don't and I never will because I love Timmy. If you can't accept that, then fine. Timmy and I don't need validation from anyone especially from you." Y/N argued.

"I'm still the eldest, Y/N and anything I say, goes." Tom said sternly.

"Yeah and you're my brother." Y/N said as tears streamed down her face. "You were supposed to have my back just like I have yours. You're the selfish one, not me! Did I ever really matter to you, Tom?"

"Are you crazy? Of course you mattered to me! You're my baby sister and you always will be." Tom shrieked.

"If I mattered to you like you said you did, why are you so mad at me? Why are you so mad at Timmy, huh? He's done nothing wrong! He's a good guy and yes, he's struggling financially but I don't care. I don't care one bit and if I don't care, why do you?" Y/N sniffed and wiped her tears.

"Because I want what's best for you! For all we know, it's all just an act and he's only with you for money or sex. Haven't you ever thought of that?!" Tom raised his voice.

"No-"

"Well, tough luck because I have!" Tom shouted. "Since you met him, all I've been thinking about is your safety and if he's not using you!"

"Is that how low you think of Timmy?!" Y/N challenged. "Scratch that, is that how low you think of people who don't have the same lifestyle as you?! Because if it is, change it, Thomas. It's not good because believe it or not, not everyone in this world is after your fucking money!"

"Hey, that's enough!" Harry shouted as Sam and Paddy jogged towards them. "Mum told me to come get both of you because lunch will be served at home. But now that I'm here, I can see that both of you aren't ready to get your shit together so that we can have one decent family meal!" Harry yelled angrily. He was sick and tired of Tom being so bitter and shady all the time when Y/N was away.

"See what you've done, Y/N?! Our family's messed up because of you!" Tom spat.

"Don't go blaming this on her, twat!" Sam declared. "You're the one who can't let go of things!"

"Sam, may I remind you that I've arranged for her to marry so that we could have that partnership?! It would've made us more successful and wealthier! But she chose to follow that poor excuse of a man to Paris and she fucking stayed there! He probably doesn't even love her! He's probably in it for the money!" Tom's words were full of poison and venom. All the anger he had was now flowing non-stop. He had to take deep breaths as everyone stayed silent. The tension was thick.

"What if they're in love with each other?" Paddy interrupted. Tom scoffed, "Pads, that's preposterous!"

Paddy looked at the eldest Holland boy and nodded, "Ahh, you haven't thought about it, I see. If they're genuinely in love with each other and if they're not hurting anyone, there's nothing wrong with that."

"What do you fucking mean?" Tom questioned.

"I'm saying, Y/N's a grown woman. Just let her be. If she's happy with Timmy, then let her be happy." Paddy explained.

"She said that about Peter and where did that get her?" Tom fumed. "Absolutely nowhere! She said that she loved him and that she was so sure that she and Peter were destined to be together. And what happened next?"

"He left her for someone else." Sam interjected.

Tom pointed at Sam and said, "Exactly! He left her for someone else."

"Yeah, Peter did that." Paddy nodded. "But this is Timmy we're talking about. Peter and Timmy are different guys."

"Are you saying that we should just allow Y/N to do something she hasn't thoroughly thought of? She went and fucking followed him to Paris with no plan at all!" Tom argued.

"Not everything should be planned and thought of." Harry interrupted. He looked at Y/N and smiled a bit, "What she did was spontaneous and grandpa would love that because she did it for love."

"So, she should just forget our family, is that what you're saying?" Tom berated as he stared at his younger siblings.

Sam stared at Tom and shrugged, "You said that, not us. All we're saying is that we should just let her be. She's not a kid anymore. She can think for herself and if she thinks that being with Timmy in Paris is right for her, then she should follow it especially if it makes her happy."

Y/N's heart swelled at Sam's words. She didn't expect him to say that.

"We'll leave you two alone now." Sam said before walking away with Harry. Paddy looked between Tom and Y/N and sighed, "Fix this." Paddy left too.

Tom and Y/N stood in silence for a while until Tom started to talk, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him in shock. Tom has never really apologized before because of his pride, so this was a new experience for him. Tom squeezed his eyes shut as he inhaled the fresh air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, "I don't usually say sorry, but here I am apologizing. Like I said earlier, I'm the eldest and by default, it's my job to look after all four of you and it'll be my job for the rest of my life until my last breath. So, excuse me for being really overprotective. You're our only sister. Mum and dad would kill me if anything happened to you because out of all four of you, I should pay attention to you most. That's why I'm always in your business. I want to make you're not making a stupid and big mistake because if you do make a stupid and big mistake without my knowledge, mum and dad wouldn't get mad at you. They'd be mad at me for not doing my job."

"I'm sorry I said that Timmy was a poor excuse of a man. That was below the belt. I just don't like Timmy for you." Tom confessed. "I know that's not a valid reason, but I'll try my best to get to know him, so that I can see why you like him so much. I just hope it's not too late and I know that I have so many to make up for, I just don't know where to begin."

Y/N stared at him before pulling him into a hug, "I meant what I said back there. I want to live the rest of my life like grandpa. So, I forgive you and for the record, you already began by saying sorry."

She pulled away and smiled at him, "Tom, I love you."

"You do?" Tom cried. "After all the harsh things I said?"

"You're my brother and my love for you will always be constant. I loved you before and I love you now. I also loved you during the those four years, I especially loved you then." She told him.

"I love you too, more than I love myself, actually." Tom smiled and wiped his tears.

"Good." Y/N chuckled. "So, lunch?"

Tom nodded, "Lunch. I'm starving."

The pair walked back to their family and they felt at ease knowing that everything will be alright now. Y/N forgave him a long time ago and now it was time for Tom to forgive himself just like how Y/N forgave him.

Grief does a lot of things to a person. Sometimes, grief can be a bridge to connect two people and replace the old bridge that was burned. Y/N may have lost her closest family member, but she gained back her relationship with Tom. After all, when one person leaves us, another one will arrive.

* * * *

I can't wait to write the prequel of this

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @abrielleholland @poguesholland @superheroesaremytea @marshxx @buckys-little-hoe @harryismysunflower @itstaskeen @hollandsrecs @ilarbu @slytherin-chaser @quaksonhehe @lil-mellow-bunbun @turtoix @badreputationlove @swiftmind

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @sufwubi @abrielleholland @osterfieldnholland @purplepizza-summerrain @euphorichxlland @marshxx @lizzyosterfield @itstaskeen @ilarbu

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @petersholland @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @perspectiveparker @hollands-weasley @itstaskeen @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @chloecreatesfictions @holland-styles @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual (thanks for helping me sis uwu)

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shots #tom holland one shot #tom holland x holland!reader #harry holland #harry holland imagines #harry holland imagine #harry holland one shots #harry holland one shot #harry holland x holland!reader #in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

111 notes · View notes

endless-vall · 3 years

Text

It meant everything - Drake x Olivia fanfic

Summary: It doesn’t mean anything. Until it does.

Author’s note: Another Drake x Olivia fanfic. From Olivia’s POV. A lot of time jumps. Pretty much sums up how I see them ending up together.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Olivia pulled herself out of Drake’s embrace, just long enough to spit out these words.

“I know.” He pulled her back in, his lips rough and voice hoarse and so demanding, but Olivia was just as eager so she let him take this one,

and they continued right where they left of. Striping each other of their clothes in a secret passage of the palace, where no one could ever interrupt them.

He pulled her back in with a passionate kiss, almost brutal, but it was just what Olivia needed right now.

The hole in her heart bled, but at least she was able to put these thoughts aside while she was entangled in Drake’s arms and limbs and -- OH

Who knew that Walker could make her feel that good in the pit of her stomach and make those sounds get out of her mouth?

Amber and Liam had just announced their engagement.

Sure, they both knew it was coming. They were both living in some sort of a fantasy that one day they’ll wake up and realize that their heart laid someplace else. She wanted Liam to love her, and Drake wanted Amber.

But life wasn’t always as easy and fun, and sometimes your heart broke into millions of pieces.

And suddenly you find yourself finding comfort in the arms of the last person you could’ve imagined. And this is how their story began.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” This time, she barged into Drake’s room. He was laying on his bed and reading something on his phone, not expecting anything or anyone.

Drake understood immdiately, and put his phone away.

Olivia was half naked by the time she reached his bed, and Drake was already basically in underwear.

He caught her in his arms as soon as she was close enough, and threw her onto the bed with some mix of hunger and need in his eyes.

It made Olivia’s stomach twist with excitment, and she bit down on her lip.

He quickly found himself between her legs, and Olivia’s arms gripped at his sheets.

“Dammit Walker, faster!” She ordered. “AHhh-”

They were standing in opposite sides of the ballroom. In the middle of the Unity tour.

But their eyes crossed and suddenly they knew. Without saying a single word.

They met at the exit of the ballroom, behind closed doors.

“This doesn’t--” She started saying, but got cut off by Drake. “Mean anything. I know, let’s go.” He took her arm in his and lead the way.

Olivia’s breathe caught in her throat at the way he lead her by her arm away, but other than a soundless gasp, she didn’t let him know.

That night, she drifted off to sleep before she could sneak out of his room.

She woke up, the sunlight shining throught the window. “Is it morning... Already...?” She mumbled, forgetting where she was.

Her words stirred him awake, and he slowly opened his eyes and faced her.

They were both lost for words.

“I should- I should go.” Olivia threw her dress back on, not minding how she looked, she just wanted to get the hell out of there, as fast as possible.

Someone might’ve saw her, in her way back to her own room. But even if they did, they wouldn’t know where she was coming from.

Besides, Olivia had the tendancy to look great at all times.

Olivia was going throught a lot. Even after the hole in her heart started melding and it didn’t hurt as bad when she looked at Liam and Amber together, she was still facing the consequinces of her parents betrayel of the crown, and what it meant to her people nowdays.

Her aunt was back, it almost felt as if she came back from the dead. And Olivia, well... She didn’t trust her.

It was a shame, she couldn’t even trust her own blood.

She had no one to talk to about these... Kind of stuff.

So the next time...

She didn’t run that early in the morning.

Instead, she laid in bed until she was completely awake. The birds were chirping outside the window, and she had her back to Drake.

She could feel him behind her, just barely touching her.

She finally turned around, to meet his eyes just as awake as hers were.

“Were you watching me for a long time?” She asked, raising an eyebrow but you could make the hint of a smile on her lips.

“I was wondering when will you sprint out like last time.” He snarked at her.

“Do you want me to?” She asked, voice unwavering.

“It’s not what I said.” He protested.

But other than that, his face was mostly unreadable.

Some nights, especially before they find themselves hot and naked in each other’s arms, she’d see the real Drake. Vulnerable.

But in the morning, he’d be the same old Drake she knew. Closed off and untalkative.

Did she really want to confide in him, of all people?

Or maybe it was that it was him, of all people, that made her trust no matter what she told him, it wouldn’t change his opinion of her.

Until that other night, she’d always leave before morning came. And that other night, was a slip-up. She felt so secure and warm in his embrace, she fell asleep before her judgment caught up to her. But today? It was a concious choice.

And the thing is... Olivia didn’t start to regret it.

Olivia rested her head on her arm, positioning herself over the pillow. She studied Drake for a long time. He didn’t say a word, either. It’s like he was studying her too.

“What is it?” He asked, eventually.

“You’re not that bad, Walker.” Olivia simply said. It was easier than what was going through her mind.

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Livie.” Drake amused himself with the nickname, a smile spreading over his feature.

“You did not just call me that.” And before he could see it coming, her pillow was already meeting with his face, and the sound of giggles rolled around the room.

They met for a late night drink. It was the day before Lykithos’ turn in the Unity tour.

“Whiskey?” She offered, although she didn’t know why she bothered. It was all he drank anyway.

“A woman after my own heart.” He let out before he could catch himself. They both froze for a second, before Drake bumped into her shoulder and made a joke out of it.

Olivia shook her head in disbelief, as if she was done with him, but a smile played on her lips.

She poured two glasses, before joining him on the couch in her guest room.

Tomorrow everyone will arrive. But today they had all the palace to themselves.

She even sent all the staff home.

“Did you send everyone away so no one will see us?” He asked after a couple of drinks.

“Yes... And no.” Olivia admitted.

Drake raised an eyebrow at her, distracting himself with his glass, but his gaze rested on Olivia questioningly.

“I did ask them to go so no one will spy on us... But no for the reason you’re thinking of.”

“For what reason, then?” He put his drink down, watching Olivia carefully.

It was clear to Olivia, by that point, she’d moved on from Liam. It didn’t hurt anymore when she thought about him. When she saw him with Amber. When she helped pick out stuff for the wedding.

But maybe, just maybe... Someone else started occuping the place in her heart.

It was too early to admit that, and it wasn’t the reason she asked him privately today.

“If I tell you something... Will you promise to keep it a secret. Even from Liam?”

Drake considered for a long second, but eventually he nodded. “You can tell me everything.”

“I... Think my parents had more involvment than just the coup. But I’m too afraid of what I might find out, if I go down that route.”

She was right. His opinion of her didn’t change. And he didn’t judge her, either.

“When you’ll be ready, you’ll know. And we’ll all be there. But until then, I’ll be here.”

This night felt different.

They took their time.

taking off each garment of fabric of each other. Caressing and worshiping every new exposed skin. Kissing passionately but also tenderly.

Biting and cursing but also hugging, and kissing everything away.

Sex with Drake was always great. But this was a whole new level.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

A heaviness in Olivia’s chest lifting, ever so slightly.

She woke up facing him. It was almost time to get up and get everything ready at the Duchy.

Soon the servents will arrive and not so long after the other guests.

Drake smiled at her, still half asleep. He moved his hand up to caress her cheek.

“You’re so beautiful...” He mumbled, eyes fighting to stay open.

Olivia hesitated, but she smiled and covered his hand with her own.

That night, she learned more about her parent. But more importantly, she learned it wasn’t over. Her aunt and Anton (”Justin”) had a bigger ploy at play.

She was betrothed? What? And to... That poor excuse to a human being?

Not that it meant anything to her. Not that it’d stop her.

But right now, she had bigger problems.

Annuling the marriage, and standing up with Cordonia.

She will not be going down her parent’s footsteps.

“Olivia, wait” Drake was running after her.

“I don’t have the time right now, Drake.”

He took her hand in his, and put it over his chest. “Let me help.”

It was both the motion of stopping her, but also sharing something deeper.

She sighed, eventually.

“Fine.”

It was the day of Liam and Amber’s wedding, and Anton has been defeated.

Assassins slayed, enemies defeated, and a happy celebration in front of them.

They both watched as Amber went down the aisle.

As Liam and Amber promised to love each other forever.

As they sealed it with a kiss.

“Great party, huh?” Drake stepped in Olivia’s way, two flutes of champange in his hands.

He offered her one.

“I’m impressed.” She took one in her hand.

“Exquisite. Slaying assassin is my second favorite activity. And throwing my aunt along with Anton behind bars has defenitely made my night.”

They clincked their glasses and drank from them.

“So...” Drake lowered his glass.

“Did it mean anything...?” He finally dared to ask.

“With Anton?! Of course not--” “No.”

“Oh.”

Olivia stopped in her train of thought.

She considered for a moment, a smile spreading on her lips without even trying.

“It meant... Everything.”

#playchoices #the royal romance #trr #drake walker #olivia nevrakis #drake x olivia #olivia x drake #dralivia #my writing #fanfic

30 notes · View notes

discnchant · 3 years

Text

He pulled the brim of his hat down, casting a dark shadow down over his face. The walk between the Andersens’ townhome and the Dallbens’ was short and yet it felt so long. Ariel and Lark had done all they could to divert attention from them as they hurried to the other home, mother and son huddled close together on the narrow paveways. It was still early, not many were out. Of course not, he thought bitterly, not when Lady Chattermore had so many damning things to say. The pamphlet which always mysteriously showed up after society events in the past couple years had been lengthier than recent publications, full of gossip and rumors about everyone who attended the prior evening’s May Day celebrations — specifically the party held by the faerie prince. It seemed everyone had acted a little out of character, and somehow fallen prey to inappropriate behavior. While Lark kept his composure, he was not spared the poison quill. It was that reason alone he scurried to the other home with the Countess of Tirulia nearly pulling him along.

“They’ll be expecting us, we do not want to keep Lady Dallben or her daughter waiting,” Ariel hummed in a low voice as they approached the door. She was already dropping his arm to reach out and delicately knock. Lark had taken the moment to gaze down the empty lane, searching for curious eyes peering out of curtains to watch the pair sneaking in disgrace. He met no one’s eyes, just an empty street and closed windows. Of course they weren’t the only ones dealing with the aftermath of a gossip rag — he figured behind other closed doors there were things being talked about, similar clean up schemes being hatched.

I hope not any quite like this.

“Lark,” Ariel’s voice pulled him from self deprecating thoughts. She quietly nodded towards the now opening door of the Dallben residence, a footman waiting patiently to lead the visitors inside. It looked dark, quiet beyond the threshold — as though no one were home. The perfect environment for scheming. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably but he nodded and crossed the space between them in a couple long strides, meeting his mother and stepping into the home. It was less quiet than he’d expected within. The home was in a flurry, the help moving to and fro, buzzing quietly to one another as they did so. When Ariel and Lark sauntered by, their whispering ceased, and the servants stared pointedly at the pair. Lark could feel a heat rising beneath his collar, blush blossoming on his cheeks and ears turned scarlet. He was never a fan of attention, and it was clear that the servants were aware of what was going on.

Were some of them assessing him as future lord of their household? Wondering who would be hired onto the Viscount’s staff once their young miss was gone to his home? Cooks and maids and butlers that knew the young lady so well that they would have to tend to her even in married life, secretly despising him for putting their darling Miss Dallben in a compromising position and forced union…. He hated the thought. He hated the thought of where this misunderstanding with Chattermore was leading him. Back on the street he was a free and single man, able to make his own decisions. Now? ……he wasn’t quite sure what he was since entering that home. “You mustn’t dally, darling,” his mother whispered behind her shoulder as Lark stayed still and stared back at a couple gossiping maids. He hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped walking. Cursing under his breath, he caught up to her just in time to be lead into a drawing room.

Just a handful of hours before, Lark had intended to come to this very drawing room himself — under slightly different circumstances. Alone, of his own free will, with nothing more than a curiosity. Following that moment in the fountain — Gwendolyn’s carefree laughter, her slender frame in his strong arms, the near kiss that happened between them — he’d been left with many questions. Questions about her. Questions about himself. Questions about them. He wasn’t sure where he’d stood when it came to her anymore. For a moment he’d thought that maybe he was in the throws of passion, falling rapidly in love with the girl he’d sworn to spurn off his whole life. Now with the faerie glamour worn away and the night’s events coming to bite him in the ass… Lark was beginning to lose that spark of intrigue he’d felt the night before. Was it all a trap? Some kind of way to tempt the Viscount into the marriage match his family so desperately wanted for him? He walked into that room today not with the buzz of potential first love… But with a rash of embarrassment and slight animosity.

He had to keep his expression stoic the second his eyes landed upon Eilonwy and Gwendolyn Dallben, ready to receive the pair. Ariel didn’t stay close to the door and unpleasantly distant as her son. As soon as they were in the drawing room and the presence of the ladies of the house, she pulled off her bonnet and crossed the space to warmly greet them. Sometime after the war she’d grown a rapport with the Viscountess of Prydain, a friendship that lead to the scheme to pair their eldest children. Gwendolyn as their only heir was a prime bachelorette in the ton, maybe even well liked and desired by other bachelors for all he knew, but Lark avoided the idea. He didn’t want a wife, he wanted to go back to the navy.

As the women greeted each other, he avoided eye contact with the young lady across the room, embarrassed by the circumstance of the meeting. Instead he was running through any last effort idea he could think of, alternate measures to the one Ariel was about to suggest. Maybe they could convince everyone that it was a heroic deed and not a salacious one — that Gwendolyn had fallen into the fountain by faerie trick and would have drown had he not gotten in and helped her, that the “near kiss” was actually resuscitation. Maybe they could turn this around and not force anyone’s hand. It’s worth a shot. The Lord cleared his throat and opened his mouth, ready to speak his idea.

“Well I believe we all know the reason we are here,” Ariel started, “Best not to dilly dally, there’s little time before Lady Chattermore’s words make their intended effect. As all parties know, something occurred last night between Lark and Gwendolyn which was witnessed and publicized by the society papers. What went on is neither here nor there, our job now is to make sure this does not lead to scandal. I believe there is a very clear solution to this, one that would save the reputation of both houses and come with a truly happy ending.” Ariel turned, smiling brightly to her son and urging him closer. Lark obeyed wordlessly, pulling off his hat and approaching the women, though his shoulders shook from panic.

She had seized the opportunity, left him with no choice but to comply with her swiftly concocted plan. She had chastised him that morning for his actions, told him that while he could get away with it there was little hope for Gwendolyn if he didn’t do right by her. She was doomed and he was safe, a tragic commentary on the way society judged women and men so differently. He could walk away an unscathed bachelor, still beloved by his peers, but she could be doomed to spinsterhood, abandoned and mocked by society. You can save her from ruin. That was her trump card, the words ringing in his head as he turned and bowed humbly to the women. His mother continued her train of thought. “Has it not been our hope that our families be joined? I believe the best option that we have on our hands… Is to commence with a betrothal, one we can convince the public has been intended all along. The love match borne from childhood, as we had tried to design it, kept a sentimental guarded secret as one party made career at sea and the other awaited their return.”

Dread consumed him as his mother spoke, driving home the plan she’d stumbled into the second she read about her son’s activities at the party. Marriage. Should this go as Ariel planned then Lark Andersen, Second Viscount of Atlantica and future Second Earl of Tirulia, would soon be announcing an engagement to the Honourable Gwendolyn Dallben of Prydain…. Just as their mothers had always intended. He swallowed thickly at the thought, blue eyes trained on the floor beneath them. “I think it suits all of us to begin discussing how to proceed in a way that will portray the innocence of the pair, should this be the best course of action in all our eyes,” Ariel concluded, a warm smile on her face despite the decidedly serious topic at hand. “What say you, Lady Dallben?” She addressed the mother, leaving the children to quietly stew in this bargain. @gwendolyndallben

#* wandering free wish i could be part of that world ( thread. )#lark ft. gwendolyn #* there’s a girl like the glimmer of the sunlight on the sea ( gwen. )

4 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Chapter 4: Chasing Shadows

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry keeps visiting the same place in his dreams.

Word count: 8.8k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

ANNOUNCEMENT:

For the next two weeks, I’ll be extremely busy with two exams and my job and all that adult stuff (ugh). I’ll still post blurbs and take a two-week break from the series.

***Chapter 5 will be posted on Wednesday, August 26, 2020.

“Do I really have to be tied to a chair?”

“Yes.”

Y/N took a little knife from the tray the guard was holding, holding back a grin as Harry flicked his eyes between the blades, her and the two men in armours.

“My anxiety is peaking right now,” he said.

She snorted and waved the knife in front of his face, finding it entertaining how his breath caught as he recoiled. “Don’t worry. I used to do this for my father and brother.”

“I don’t remember what those people looked like so I cannot be sure you’re good at it.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a smile. “You’ve never met my father. And you probably shouldn’t remember my brother.” Especially when Egon had been haunting most of her nightmares.

“Sorry…” Harry mumbled. “Let’s not talk about your family then.”

“Let’s not talk at all.” She just wanted to get this done and leave. If he said something that hurt her again, she might just cry in front of him and that would be embarrassing.

Slowly and cautiously, her trembling fingers reached for his face. She was indecisive about how she should touch him, as for him, hers would be the touch of a stranger; she wouldn’t want a stranger to just grab her face and angle it however they liked. But then Harry’s mouth curled to one side and he nudged her hand with his cheek like a horse.

“You can touch me. I'm clean. They gave me a bath this morning.” His cheek felt warm against her skin and she moved her thumb gently over his stubble beard. He grinned at her tentative touch. “It was very...new,” he said, “to have five men watching you bathe.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, gaining more confident to slide her hand down to his jaw, lifting his face. “I wouldn’t even go near you if you smelled bad.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You didn’t say ‘no offence’, so I’m offended.”

He was doing it again – cracking jokes when he didn’t have to – because silence pained him. He was just as nervous as she was. And somehow knowing that made her feel more comfortable.

She lifted the knife and felt him grow tenser as she approached. “Stay still and I’ll try not to cut you.”

“Try?” His eyes grew big. Her mouth twitched as she shushed him and started on the left side of his face.

She’d lied. She’d not cut her father’s and brother’s hair nor shaved their beards; she just wanted Harry to trust her. Before this, he would have trusted her even if she’d held the knife whose blade was buried in his chest. Now they had to start over. It wasn’t easy to win his trust; neither was it to win hers.

She finished shaving the right side of his face without having cut him. His breathing steady as he relaxed into his seat. Their eyes met by accident, and the knot in her stomach also relaxed. They didn’t converse until she was done.

She put the knife back on the tray and picked up a sharp pair of scissors when the sound of the large door to the dungeon made her jump. Footsteps descended the stairs. And Lance emerged at the cell door.

Harry scoffed. “Has everyone in the castle been invited to see me get a haircut?”

Y/N ignored him and asked Lance, “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, squaring his shoulders as he leaned back against the wall. “I’m just here to make sure he won’t lay a finger on my betrothed.”

Y/N shot him a warning look, and Harry asked, “What’s a betrothed?”

The question nagged at her yet she did not let it show. She’d explained the word to him before; she’d been six and he’d been eight. Back then he hadn’t known who she was and yet the memory had also been erased.

“Do you always talk this much?” she heard Lance ask Harry, probably to distract him from her unusual pause. But Harry didn’t look at Lance. He tilted his head to the side and asked her, “Are you feeling unwell? We can do this another time.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a grin so he wouldn’t suspect it. Her Harry would be able to see right through that. This Harry was completely oblivious to her hurt feelings.

Y/N brushed off the uneasiness and pressed her hand into Harry’s curls, being as careful as she could to test the water. She could feel both Lance’s and Harry’s gaze on her as she started cutting with experimental motions at first, and grew more confident with every snip of the scissors.

An evil idea crossed her mind. She considered giving him the stupidest haircut to make him pay for having put her through all this misery. Then, she saw that soft look in his eyes and the thought vanished as soon as it’d appeared.

Why was she mad at him? It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t remember anything. It was her fault that he was like this. Harry wouldn’t be mad at her if she were the one who forgot; he’d be patient with her because he loved her.

He loved me, she told herself. Not anymore.

She set aside all the longing to focus on trimming the back and sides of his head and ended up in front of him again. With a last snip of the scissors, brown hair floated to the floor. She took a step back to assess her work, widening her focus to take in more than just his hair. The transformation left her speechless. She hadn’t thought he would look this good with short hair. All the ladies in court were going to throw themselves at him as if they hadn’t tried before.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Harry asked, his face taut with distress. “How long do I have to hide in the dark until it looks normal again?”

Y/N let a smile sneak onto her lip as she lifted his face with the handle of the scissors under his chin. “It’s good. I’m good. Lance, what do you think?”

“Average,” Lance said without a second thought, his expression neutral. “I mean him. Not your work.”

Y/N glared at him, and he shrugged as Harry let out a scoff. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Your Majesty.”

“Stop it. Both of you,” Y/N snapped as she put the scissors back on the tray.

Lance didn’t say another word and ordered the two guards to come with him. She knew he did it on purpose to let her be alone with Harry. If only she could tell Lance how grateful she was. They hadn’t been talking since Harry had returned.

The door above the stairs fell shut, the sound echoing across the dungeon. Y/N had her dagger at her waist and Harry was tied to a chair and unarmed, so if he tried something, she’d be able to take him. She went behind him to untie his wrists, and as slowly as she could, closed her fingers around the hilt of her dagger.

But Harry didn’t make a move. He sat there as she returned to stand in front of him. His eyes dropped to her chest, and her face burned red as she thought he was staring at her cleavage. It took her a second to realize it was the bruised marks around her neck that were holding his attention.

Without saying a word, he reached out his hand, and she gripped her dagger as he touched her there, grazing his thumb gently over the skin. “It looks worse,” he said, his forehead creased. “Does it hurt?”

She slowly shook her head. Her brain was telling her to step back because he was dangerous and his kindness might be fake, but every other piece of her wanted to hold him and never let go until the old Harry crawled back to the surface and loved her again.

“How about your wounds?” she asked, pointing to his torso. “You got a pretty bad one there.”

He wiggled his brows teasingly. “How do you know?”

She rolled her eyes. “I saw the attacker aim for that spot before I was shot.”

“Oh…” He shifted a bit in his chair, rubbing his hands against his thighs. Meanwhile, she took in his new appearance, trying to get used to it. He looked like a prince. With a crown, he could be Lance’s equal. Something stirred inside her. He could be a completely different man now. What if she’d lost him forever?

“How long do I have to stay here?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“How long do I have to stay here?” he repeated the question, looking rather anxious. “I don’t–I don’t think my memory’s coming back.”

A thin edge of hurt worked its way under her skin as she tried not to let it show by keeping a straight face.

Harry combed his fingers through his hair, faltering as the unfamiliarity caught him by surprise. He swallowed dryly and went on, “So if you’re hoping to get some information out of me, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you. I cannot stay here forever.”

Y/N knew that. Right from the start, she should have known that he didn’t belong here. If she hadn’t been so selfish and begged him to stay in the North, he might have travelled the world and been married by now, with children and a wife who was gentle and kind and wouldn’t keep him in the dark or put him in danger.

“I cannot send you back to the South if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “No one from the North is allowed to cross the South’s border.”

“I know,” he sighed and dropped his gaze to his feet. “Can I at least see Kenny? She’s the only family I’ve got here…” Y/N swallowed as she averted her eyes and clenched her fists. He didn’t notice how agitated she’d become. “Or does she not want to see me? I don’t remember what went wrong with us. I still have so many questions for her.”

Y/N could offer to answer all those questions; Kenny didn’t know him as well as she did, not anymore. But she could not do it without revealing their past. Would he think she was lying if she told him that he used to be in love with her, that he’d chosen to be with her instead of with Kenny and sworn to never let anything bad happen to her as long as he lived?

It didn’t work that way. You couldn’t make someone love you again just by telling them that they should. And she could not see him falling in love with her again, not when she was betrothed to Lance and her kingdom was at war. Her Harry would take her secrets to the grave. This Harry had tried to kill her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “You may meet Kenny. I’ll call for her and Stefan.”

“One more thing,” he blurted before she could leave. “Could you...call for only Kenny?” As she narrowed her eyes, he explained, “It’d be uncomfortable for all three of us if—”

“I see,” she cut him off, keeping a straight face. “Anything else?”

Y/N didn’t realize how vexed she’d sounded until she saw him blush. “No. Nothing else. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She stared at him while he stared at his feet. A thousand things she wanted to say – but could not – piled up on her tongue. And when she left, Harry didn’t stop her.

Kenny seemed disconcerted to see him.

At first, Harry had thought she didn’t like how he looked with his hair so short (he’d requested for a mirror but the guard had ignored him, even after he’d said he was best friends with the Queen. Where was Y/N when he needed her?). But having known Kenny for that many years, he could easily guess that it wasn’t his haircut that she found unpleasant; it was the fact that he’d asked to see her alone.

Kenny looked quite different now. She’d always been beautiful, but now she looked more mature, which made sense because she was a wife and a mother of a baby girl. His last memory of her had been the day he’d left Theros and they’d made a vow that they’d get married when he returned. Now he was living in the past while the whole world had moved on and left him behind.

“You look good,” Kenny said with a nervous chuckle. “The Queen did a good job.”

Harry instinctively tugged at his short curls. “I thought she was lying when she said she’d done it before.” Kenny’s face contorted a bit. He whipped his head to both directions of the aisle outside his cell. “What? Is she here?”

“What do you think of the Queen?” Kenny asked, taking him by surprise.

He took a moment to think. It was always safe to be careful with what you said about kings and queens. “She’s all right,” he said. “Cold. But I think most Northerners are. It’s the ice in their blood.”

Kenny smiled a little and wrapped her shawl around herself as if being near him made her uncomfortable. “She’s getting married next month.”

“So I heard,” Harry snorted. “She and the King make a great match, although he could be quite a dick and she’s more on the softer side.” Then he waved his comment away. “Let’s not talk about them. It’s not like we’re invited to their wedding. Wait, are we invited to their wedding?”

Kenny didn’t answer his question. “What do you want to talk about then?”

She wanted him to get straight to the point and get this over with. It’d be a lie to say it didn’t hurt his feelings.

“Us, Kenny.” Harry frowned. “I want to talk about us.”

There was a pained expression on Kenny’s face as she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times and yet could not find the right words to begin. Harry decided not to wait. “I know that you’ve told me everything you knew, but I still have so many questions about us. Some things just don’t make sense...at least to me…”

Kenny fidgeted with her fingers. “Like what?”

“Like…” He pursed his lips, hugging the bars as he leaned forward against it. “If you only married Gideon because you thought I was dead, then why didn’t we get together after you—” He cut himself off just in time, not wanting to bring up the fact that she’d had to kill the bastard herself. He didn’t want to hurt Kenny more than that memory already had. “After we’d run away,” he corrected himself, “why did I end up here in the North and left you with Stefan?”

“I already told you, Crow. You wanted to serve the Queen because you two had bonded throughout the journey.”

“Why would I choose her over you? I would never choose anyone over you.”

She pressed her lips into a soft grin, probably to calm him yet it only made him more uneasy. “You fell out of love with me on the journey. We decided to stay friends.”

The light from the torch beside his cell flickered across her cheekbones. He tore his eyes from hers. His heart sank in as he smiled sadly to himself. “I cannot imagine a world where it’s so easy to fall out of love with you.”

Kenny stayed quiet for a moment. He expected her to just turn and leave him here for the memories to consume, but then she took a few steps until she was close enough for him to touch. He didn’t. He kept his fingers wrapped around the bars, reminding himself that she was Stefan’s wife and the mother of a child. Harry wasn’t going to mess up her perfect new life.

“I love Stefan,” she told him as if she could see right through him. “I don’t want to ruin your friendship with him. Stefan cares about you.”

“I know,” he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, only to remember his long curls were gone. As he spoke, his voice was more brittle than he thought it’d be. “Does he make you happy?”

Kenny nodded and smiled. “Very.”

“Then...I’m happy for you,” he said despite how he felt. Then after another moment, “Did I fall in love with someone else?”

Kenny seemed taken aback by the question. She shook her head slowly. “I-I don’t know. We never talked about it. Why did you think so?” There was a short pause. “Did you...remember something?”

“No. That was the only way I could see myself falling out of love with you.”

He regretted saying it the second the words slipped out. He thought he’d upset her, but Kenny only beamed and reached for his hand around the bar. Her touch was gentle and warm, and in his head he imagined himself dropping down onto his knees and begging her to come back to him.

At first, he’d cried and blamed the Queen for everything he’d lost that he could not get back. It was because of her that he’d left Kenny with Stefan. It was because of her that he’d gone to battle and lost his memory and had to live in the past while everyone he loved had moved on.

But then he’d seen the Queen in his dream one night, and after he’d woken up, she’d shown up at his cell. He could not hate her or blame her for the things she could not control. She’d suffered, too, perhaps more than he had, internally. She’d tried to mask it, but her expressive eyes had given it away. Maybe this was nobody’s fault and he and Kenny just weren’t meant to be. He should be glad that she was free from Gideon and had ended up with Stefan.

“I have to return to my daughter,” Kenny said as she tucked a strand behind her ear; he’d been staring at it the whole time, wishing he could do it for her.

“What’s her name?”

“What?”

“Your daughter. What’s her name?”

“Eva.”

“Can I see her?” He chuckled. “When they release me, of course.”

“Sure. She’ll like you,” Kenny said.

“How long are you staying here?” he blurted before she could turn away, not ready for this conversation to end.

“For as long as the King and Queen need me,” Kenny replied.

Harry didn’t know what the King and Queen needed Kenny for. He assumed that it might be because Kenny was the only person who could make sure he wouldn’t try to hurt anyone again. After all, Y/N had told him two nights ago that she didn’t trust him anymore. He couldn’t blame her. If anything, he admired her for how she’d been dealing with this whole mess.

“Maybe you should ask the Queen to let you stay,” he said brightly, trying to sound cheerful. “Then Eva could become friends with the future heir to the throne.”

Kenny’s smile faded. Harry must have said something wrong. “The Queen cannot produce an heir.”

“Oh.” His smile also vanished. “Fuck...I feel bad for her.” No wonder Y/N was so cold. But how could she know she couldn’t produce an heir?

Harry knew it was none of his business, but for some reason, he was curious. Would it be rude if he asked her the next time he saw her?

“I’ll see you another time?” Kenny said.

Harry worked up a tight smile, trying not to acknowledge the waver in his voice. “Goodbye. Say hello to Stefan and Eva for me.”

Just like that, Kenny left, without taking a second look at him.

Y/N was woken by Jo screaming her name in the corridor before bursting into her bed chamber and slamming the door shut with her back.

The morning sun was a diffused orb of light through the window. A tiny pulsing spurred at Y/N’s temples from not getting enough sleep, and she climbed free from the bed, light-headed and empty.

She didn’t remember how she’d fallen asleep. She’d been so afraid of the nightmares that she couldn’t even shut her eyes. She’d wanted to go to Lance’s chamber — she felt safer with him — but she didn’t want to trouble him, especially after he’d made it clear that they should keep their distance until she was completely over Harry. She should respect his wishes. Yet, she missed him.

She didn’t know how to tell him she’d grown used to having him around and depending on him so much that she felt lost without him. How could she say that when she was still hopelessly in love with Harry? And how could she still be hopelessly in love with Harry if it was Lance who made her feel safe?

Her heart lurched as Lance emerged at the doorway and gave her a tender smile.

“There you are, Your Royal Majesty,” Jo said to Lance in a sarcastic tone as she settled on the edge of Y/N’s bed. “I’ve got great news.”

“Harry finally remembers?” Y/N said.

“You’re leaving court?” Lance said.

“No,” Jo told Y/N. To Lance, she said, “I will strangle you and I don’t care that's treason.”

Lance’s mouth fell open. “Your lady-in-waiting just threatened me!” he told Y/N, and she smiled and gave him a shrug to say, ‘You might as well get used to it.’

Jo clapped her hands to get their attention. “It’s Mary! I came to see her at dawn!”

“You what?!” Y/N and Lance cried at the same time.

“Yes,” Jo said calmly. “I came to see her and I made her talk.”

“But how?” Lance asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jo said. Y/N and Lance exchanged looks of concern though neither interrupted her. “She told me about the antidote.”

Lance snorted as he walked in and stood in front of them, hands behind his back. “She said there was no antidote.”

Jo shot him an annoyed look. “That’s because she wasn’t sure if it existed.”

“What does that mean?” Y/N asked, losing her patience.

Jo scooted over for Lance to sit down beside her. “It’s The Lake of Tears," she said.

“The what?”

Jo rolled her eyes as she turned to Lance. “I keep forgetting that you’re not from here. Here in the North, there’s folklore about a witch who was born with half a heart. She was gifted with healing powers and could cure all sickness, mental or physical, but she could not cure the pain caused by missing half of her heart. The witch spent all her life searching for the other half. When she got to the top of the highest mountain in the North, it was winter, she was freezing to death and alone, so she cried and cried and her tears formed a lake, drowning her in it. Folks call it The Lake of Tears and it’s said to be the cure for all sickness and can reverse all curses and spells.”

“But it cannot bring a dead person back to life,” Y/N added.

Lance’s face was screwed up as he eyed Jo with speculation. “You expect us to believe that there’s a lake on the North mountain — the coldest part of Isolde — that’s not frozen and has magical powers?”

“Are you calling our ancestors liars?”

“You said it was folklore, so yes.”

“How dare you—”

“Enough!” Y/N snapped and four eyes turned to her. She sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, Jo. But I’m with Lance in this. Even Mary, who was a witch, doesn’t fully believe that the lake exists, so why should we?”

“Mary does believe in it,” Jo said quickly. “She told me she and her sister had tried to find the lake but they could not bear the cold and always gave up halfway. I think such powers may exist.”

“It’s dangerous to climb that mountain in winter,” Lance said, his voice rough, and Y/N thought he’d frightened Jo a bit. Y/N knew Lance. He was just worried for her.

“It is,” she said and their eyes locked. “But you shouldn’t unbelieve in something just because it frightens you.”

Lance wanted to rebut, yet he could not figure out what to say. His mouth opened then shut and he averted his eyes, leaning forward with elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Jo seemed relieved that Lance had given in. She sat up straight. “Y/N?”

Y/N pursed her lips, thinking for another second. “Bring me breakfast,” she said. “I’ll eat and we’ll talk more about it.”

“Yes!”

“Y/N—”

“It might be our only hope, Lance,” she cut him off as Jo skipped toward the door and left as fast as she’d arrived.

The silence sank in as Y/N stood up, arms wrapped around herself. Lance stayed seated on her bed, watching her with a look of concern.

“I was right about Harry being alive,” she said. “So I might be right to believe in this, too.”

Lance exhaled sharply. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get disappointed and eventually hurt. I know you love him,” there was something painful in the way he said it, “but what if...what if he cannot come back? What if the person who loved you was gone forever? What then?”

Those were the questions that had been haunting her since the moment she saw the look in Harry’s eyes when he looked at her — the look you’d give a stranger you never intended to see again. There was not a single sign of ‘do I know you?’ or 'have we met before?' Just ‘who are you?’.

“But when I talked to him,” she began, almost like she was thinking out loud, “I felt like the old Harry was there. He might still feel something for me but his feelings are buried deep inside. I think given time I can get him back.”

Lance said nothing at all. You knew Lance had given up on you when he didn’t try to win an argument.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said and rose to his feet.

Just as he was about to head for the door, Y/N jumped into his way and held out her hands. He flinched, just as surprised as she was.

“S-Stay,” she uttered. “Just...just stay here with me until Jo returns. Please? I don’t want to be alone with my own thoughts.”

He took some time to consider her. “Have those nightmares been keeping you up?” It didn’t sound like a question; he just knew.

She nodded. “The same one every night…” in which you and Harry were dying and I could only save one. I tried saving both and then had to watch both of you die…

Her gaze fell to the floor. She saw his feet shifting closer until his arms closed around her, pulling her into him. As he kissed the top of her head and gently stroked her hair, she set aside the guilt and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of his embrace.

“I missed you, Y/N,” he whispered.

“So did I,” she admitted, bringing her hands to rest on his back. “Are we still friends?”

He chuckled. “Only behind closed doors. I can’t always look soft; it’s bad for my public image.”

Y/N snorted and buried her face into his chest. He still smelled like forest and winter, the things that used to frighten her. But at this moment, with him, she felt safe.

“What are we doing here?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Does this have anything to do with getting my memory back? Who are you, by the way?”

Jo swept her eyes across each face and as she stopped at Harry, her face twisted into a scowl. “You’re more annoying than I remember,” she said. “Anyway, we’re here because I need your help.”

Kenny hugged the sleeping child to her chest, the corners of her mouth lowered as she considered their surroundings. “To clean...the library?”

Jo took a look around at the dusty shelves and let out a sigh. This place did need a lot of cleaning. It seemed as if nobody in this castle knew how to read.

“As you can see,” Kenny said, lifting her baby, “my hands are tied.”

“So are mine,” Harry said. “Literally.” Then lifted his tied hands.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Someone untie him.” The blonde standing beside Harry shifted and Jo forestalled her, “No, not you. This one bites.”

The young maid shied back instantly, and when her eyes met Harry’s and he gave her a lopsided grin, it heightened the colour in her cheeks. Jo cleared her throat and shot Harry a warning glare before she gestured for Stefan to untie Harry.

“We’re going to do some light reading today," she said. "Are there any of you who cannot read?”

Harry raised his hand.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jo grumbled.

“Harry, you can read!” Kenny cried.

Harry put his hand down and smirked. “Sorry, I was just testing my hand. Those ropes were way too tight for my blood circulation.”

Jo pinned him with a glare. “I liked you better when you were dead.”

“Wow...Did I steal your money or your grandma’s jewellery?” he chuckled. “Because if I did, I’m sorry.”

Jo almost said, ‘You stole the girl I love and you're going to hurt her,’ but instead she just ignored his remark and went on, “We’re going to do some research for the Queen. I’ll explain to you later but I need your help because there’s little time and a lot of books. Kenny, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I love reading.”

“Great. Oh, this is Natasha. She’s the new maid and she’ll also be joining us.”

“This is my first task ever, and I’m excit—”

“Thank you, Nat,” Jo cut her off, annoyed by how Harry and the new girl kept exchanging questionable glances. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want to read, you can return to your cell.”

“No. I love to read,” he said, but then his eyes quickly found Natasha again. Jo could tell the girl was enjoying the attention more than she should. Jo should be glad that Harry wasn’t going to get his memory back, but what she was feeling was the opposite; she didn’t want Y/N to get hurt.

“Will the King and Queen be joining us?” Harry asked.

“No. They’ve got more important things to do.”

“Because of the protests?”

“We’re not discussing politics here,” Jo said quickly. Harry’s sudden interest in the protests reminded her that he could not be trusted. She flicked her two fingers for the four of them to follow, and as they walked deeper into the candlelit library, Harry and Natasha were already laughing at the back of the line. Jo clenched her fists and her jaw, feeling thankful that Y/N wasn’t here.

Harry didn’t know what he was doing.

He flipped open the front cover of the third book and was met with the musty scent of burnt amber. They were supposed to read everything about the North mountain and folklore about a witch, her desperate search for the other half of her heart, and a lake made of tears that might or might not exist.

Jo had said that the Queen was looking for the lake, but she hadn’t mentioned what for. It was none of Harry's business anyway; he just wanted to finish this pile of books so he could get some sleep.

He’d been reading for two hours straight and his mind kept wandering to different places and he’d almost nodded off a couple of times. He rested his head on his knuckles and flipped another page, fighting the drowsiness that was taking over him. Suddenly, he felt something soft rubbing against his ankle and looked up to find the new maid grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow, his mouth curled when her foot nudged him under the table again.

Beside Natasha, Kenny was resting her head on Stefan’s shoulder and rocking their baby as Stefan read. Harry was trying his best not to wince. As if staying up so late to read stories weren’t boring enough, he had to do it with the girl he still loved and her husband, too.

He took a deep breath and decided to ignore the happy family as he picked up his book and moved to sit next to Natasha. Jo looked at him with an unpleasant expression which he also ignored. This whole night had been exhausting so he might as well have some fun on his own.

“Do you know why we’re doing this?” he asked Natasha in hushed tones, leaning in so close that their shoulders were touching. He could see her face turning red and suddenly thought of the Queen, not knowing why.

Natasha was quite the opposite of the Queen, who was undoubtedly beautiful but the sullen look on her face made her appear much older than nineteen. Natasha, on the other hand, looked young and playful and full of wonder, and she was pretty, too.

She told him she didn’t know more than he did, if not less, and that she could not wait for this to be over. “I thought my first task as the Queen’s maid would be more interesting,” she whispered to him. When her lips brushed his ear, he assumed it was on purpose. Not that he minded.

“Like what?” he asked, intentionally touching her arm with his knuckles.

“I thought I’d get to meet the Queen and braid her hair,” said Natasha. “I heard that she was the most beautiful girl in the land.”

Strange. Harry believed he’d heard this before. “She is,” he said. “I’ve met her.”

Natasha’s face brightened. “Really? What is she like?”

He tapped his chin with a finger, pouting as he glanced heavenward. “Very...queeny.”

His answer made Natasha giggle, and Jo immediately shushed them. Harry locked his lips with an invisible key and tossed it over his shoulder as Natasha tittered into her palm. Jo closed the book, hard, sending dust flying as she stood. She was just about to scold Harry when the door swung open and another maid rushed in. “Jo, the Queen was looking for you.”

“What for?”

The other maid shrugged. “She couldn’t find her dagger.”

A dagger? Harry flinched. Why does the Queen–

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Jo sighed as she put down the book. Before she left, she stabbed a finger at him. “Do not leave the room, Harry.” Then she and the other maid disappeared out of the door without an explanation.

Harry released a long sigh that got three sets of eyes turning to him. He waved for Kenny and Stefan to ignore him, and as the pair turned away, he whispered to Natasha, “Can you wake me up when she returns?”

He had no idea why he was so tired. Normally he wouldn’t fall asleep so easily at night, but right now his eyelids felt so heavy he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

“Sure,” Natasha said and playfully jutted out one shoulder. “You can rest your head here. I don’t mind.”

And he did. As soon as he closed his eyes, the smell of old books and her unfamiliar fragrance lulled him to sleep.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was standing in the castle corridor – the same one he’d been to in his dream the other night. There was no ceiling. Above him was a sky full of stars and the pale moonlight left long stripes of shadows on the floor. He tried a door on his right. It was locked. So was the next one. And the one next to it. All the doors in this hallway were locked. He called out, “Hello!” But all he heard was echoes of his own voice.

Nails dug into his palms, he wandered ahead. He kept on walking and walking and walking until the endless blackness began to clear like smoke. At the end of the corridor, he saw a crooked door. There was water leaking out from under it, drenching his bare feet. The water rose up to his knees, and the next thing he knew, he was swimming toward the door in desperation. He banged his fists against it and the door burst open. Water poured out, sending him rolling across the grass.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees to find that his clothes were dry again. And when he looked around, there was no door. He was standing on a hill. The air was cold. The sky was pink. There were still patches of snow here and there. He thought the scenes looked quite familiar, but he could not remember where he’d seen this before.

Suddenly, a hand grasped his wrist and he whipped around. The world rushed back in, and he saw Natasha staring at him with wide eyes.

He’d returned to the corridor, the real one. There were torches along the walls and Natasha’s skin felt hot against his cold skin.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked and tugged at his arm. “And why are you so cold? Are you all right?”

“W-What happened?” he asked, still shivering.

“What happened? You suddenly stood up and left the room and I chased after you.” What? But the last thing he remembered was him falling asleep in the library. Did it mean he’d been sleepwalking? Since when did he sleepwalk? “You’re lucky all the guards had left their posts otherwise we’d be in big trouble.”

Harry blinked. “Why did they leave their posts?”

“A prisoner broke out of his cell,” Natasha said. “He snuck into the Queen’s chamber and took her dagger. It was the same man they’d captured from the attack. Have you heard of what happened at the border? The Queen nearly died. She was so brave. And the King–”

“Is she all right?” Harry cut her off. “Did the prisoner—”

“She’s all right,” Natasha replied, squinting her eyes, probably wondering why he was so concerned about the Queen. Harry didn’t know the reason, either. “When I crossed the few guards at the west wing, I heard them say that they’d caught the man then he killed himself in the throne room. It was insane! But it couldn’t have been worse than the massacre last year. Have you heard of it?”

Harry worked his jaw for a response, not knowing what to think let alone say. But Natasha didn’t seem to want his opinion.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said, her voice softened at once. “Where are you going?”

“I-I thought I heard something.”

“Oh.”

As her gaze lingered on his lips and her fingers clutched his, Harry knew what she was going to do. And yet, he was shocked when she tiptoed and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly and then with more passion. Why was a maid kissing him? Had everything he’d thought he’d known about the ladies in court been wrong? It didn’t matter anymore. Because when she pulled back, her moist lips parted and her cheeks flushed, staring into his eyes, all he wanted was for her to do it again. He’d been locked up and tortured by Calanthe for almost a year, and for the last couple of days, lonely, heartbroken and disoriented, not knowing who he was and whom to rely on. He didn't need more reasons to want someone.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” Natasha confessed.

Harry stared at her, then muttered, “Fuck this,” and drew her in by her waist. They couldn’t hang him for kissing a girl, right?

Stumbling through the nearest unlocked door they could find, he kissed her against it before she pushed him back until he tumbled into a chair, and she got onto his lap, straddling him. Just as she reached for his belt, the door flew open and their heads shot to it. Harry’s blood ran cold when the light washed over him.

“You don’t have to check on me every two sec—” Y/N’s mouth froze midsentence. She stood rigid in the doorway, gaping at Harry and Natasha, who leapt out of the chair and away from each other. Natasha frantically fixed her hair while Harry adjusted his clothes.

“Please tell me you didn’t do it on my bed,” Lance groaned. It was only then that Harry realized they were standing in the King’s chamber. With all the guards missing, they couldn’t tell which were the rooms they were not allowed to enter.

“Who are you?” Y/N snarled at Natasha. Harry supposed she must be very angry right now. He didn’t know about the rules in court, but there must be one that forbade kissing in the King’s bed-chamber.

“My-my name is...Natasha...Your Majesty.” Natasha hung her head as she curtsied clumsily. “I-I’m your new maid.”

Lance eyed the girl up and down, his face as cold as ice. “Get your things. You're leaving in the morning.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Natasha cried.

Harry didn’t think when he stepped forward and blurted, “It was my idea. Please...don’t dismiss her from court. She admires the Queen and she really wants to serve her.”

For the first time since Harry had met Y/N, he finally got to see the resentment in her eyes as she looked at him. She hadn’t even looked at him like that after he’d tried to kill her. Her bottom lip quivered and her face was red. Lance seemed as cool as ever, but something shifted in his expression as if he was counting down the seconds until the Queen burst into flame. Harry thought she might, but then she said, quietly, “Get out. Both of you.”

Harry was stiff whilst Natasha wasted no time to bolt as she was afraid they’d have her head on a plate if she stayed for too long. That was when Harry saw it. The Queen’s torn sleeve and the bandage around her right arm, dark red blood spreading through it. The prisoner had probably given it to her. Something told Harry it wasn’t the physical pain that he saw in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words felt useless, sucked dry by the cold air as soon as they left his lips.

He bowed to the King and Queen and was just about to leave when Y/N stopped him. “We’ve arranged a room for you,” she said. There was no more warmth in her gaze. “You can stay there tonight instead of in the dungeon. There’ll be guards outside your door. Don’t cause any trouble and they’ll keep you safe.” Her stone-cold expression wavered him, and he wasn’t sure if he should thank her or apologise again. “When everything’s gone back to normal here in the North,” she added, “you’ll be free to leave.”

With that, she waved him out of the door. He walked backwards until he was in the corridor and the King shut the door in his face. For a reason he could not explain, he felt a new sensation throbbing in his chest.

Harry lay awake in his new bed until early hours, and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed again. He’d returned to the corridor and nearly drowned this time before he made it through the door and stood high and dry on the same hill.

There was no Natasha to wake him up, so he followed a pink butterfly, chasing it down the hill until he reached a cliff. The icy wind suddenly changed direction and sailed over him, cooling his face and limbs. He started walking toward the cliff. His footsteps felt so light as if the wind was carrying him. A girl was standing with her back to him, her long white dress billowing, her hair floating in the air.

“Peach?” the word slipped out of his lips.

The girl turned around. Another wind churned up, fierce and mean. Y/N was only wearing her nightgown. Was she not cold? He hurried forward, reaching out his hand to grab her and pull her back before she lost her balance on the edge. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t reach her.

“Peach! Stay right there! Do not move! I'm coming!” he heard himself calling.

“Harry, I’m cold,” she said softly, and somehow he could hear her from that long a distance.

“I’m coming for you!” His voice was broken, growing more desperate, fading into the howling of the wind. The pink sky had grown dark and the trees were rattling. Heavy snow and dry leaves whirled all around him, making it hard for him to locate her. He shielded his eyes with one arm and tried to walk against the wind.

“Harry, don’t come near me.”

“Peach, let me help you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’ll only kill me.”

“Peach!” Harry screamed and jumped forward as Y/N spread her arms like a butterfly and let gravity pull her under. When his body hit the ground, it wasn’t grass, soil, or snow; it was a stone floor. He wasn't hurt, yet he was freezing. He put his arms around himself, shuddering as he rose to his knees then to his feet.

Moonlight allowed him to observe his surroundings. He was in the King’s bed-chamber once again. He and the Queen. She stood by the window, the moon illuminating a side of her face. She was wearing a broken smile.

“Peach, you’re safe,” he heard himself say.

Y/N didn’t speak.

And that was when he saw the knife-hilt on the left side of her chest. Blood was pouring out of the wound, and still, she was smiling. His ears began to ring as if a memory wanted to push to the surface.

Then his eyes peeled open and he jolted upright, gasping for air, wild eyes searching for the Queen, but he was alone and the glow of the fire reassured him that he wasn’t dreaming anymore. There was no time for rational thoughts. He jumped out of bed, still shaking from the cold even though the windows were shut and the fire hadn’t died out. He shoved his feet into his boots and staggered toward the door.

“You were right,” Y/N said, hugging her knees to her chest and rubbing her eyes as the smoke from the fireplace made them water.

Lance was sitting beside her, one leg stretched, the other bent. He was sharpening his knife and had been doing it for so long that it might just be sharp enough to cut metal. She assumed he was just doing it to keep himself awake; he wouldn’t fall asleep before her.

“About what?” he asked, the sound of metal sliding against metal stopped, and silence ensued.

She released a breath she’d been holding. “Harry.” It was hard to say his name now; she’d just remember what she’d seen earlier right in this room. “I don’t think he’ll ever come back. I think...even if we’ve found the lake and stopped the potion from killing him, he might not remember me.”

Lance hmmed and then said, “So are we still looking for the lake?”

She tore her eyes from the flame to meet his. “I don’t want him to die. I still want him to be cured, even if it means he’ll leave me then.”

Lance rubbed his hands over his face and pushed back his messy black hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, making her giggle.

“I know what you’re thinking," she said, then faked his deep voice, “This girl is so stupid, risking her life for someone who wouldn’t do the same for her.”

But Lance didn’t laugh. “No,” he whispered. “I would have done the same for Daliah.”

Things he wanted to say, but couldn’t, stirred behind his eyes, and her heart clattered. “Lance–”

A few urgent knocks sounded on the door, cutting her off. Y/N braced herself for more bad news as she picked up the shawl resting on the foot of her bed, wrapped it around herself. Lance trailed after her, already lifting his blade.

She pulled the door open and her eyes went round. “Harry?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief the second he saw her. “You’re alive,” he panted, which only made her more confused.

Lance rolled his eyes. He told her that he’d wait and went back inside so she and Harry could talk. One of the two guards finally released Harry’s arm and said, “We’re so sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty. But he threatened to cut his own wrist if we didn’t take him to see you.”

Y/N flinched. “Was he carrying a weapon?”

The guards exchanged looks.

"Did you even check him?"

They shook their heads hesitantly.

Harry scoffed, “You really should find new guards. Sorry, gentlemen.”

One of the guards growled. Y/N narrowed her eyes at Harry and his mouth snapped shut. Then she asked the guards to let her speak to him alone.

“Let me guess,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “You saw a rat in your room and you want to switch to a larger room? This isn’t an inn.”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, “I just…” and sighed, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Why?”

He worked his jaw, yet words didn’t come out. Something was wrong and he didn’t trust her enough to tell her. Why was he here then? Had he not messed with her head enough?

“H-How’s your arm?” he asked. She squinted her eyes. “I saw...um...I saw that you were hurt...earlier. You were bleeding.”

“Oh.” She swallowed dryly. “I’m fine. Thank you. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Next time wait until morning to talk to me if it’s not something important.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said and waved for the guards, but Harry quickly stopped her, “Actually!”

Her hand froze in the air, and she signalled for the guards to give her another moment. “Yes?”

Harry scratched the back of his head. “I also...I also want to apologise for earlier. I don’t know the rules here but I suppose I’ve broken plenty.”

She took some time to look at him, his face a sharp contrast of light and dark shadows. He was heartbreakingly handsome and...familiar. The strain in the air between them softened at last, even if only just a little.

“Well, you’ve been through a lot and...I guess you need time to get used to life in court,” she said, her heart stuttering in her chest. “Don’t worry. I will keep my promise and send you back home as soon as it’s safe to travel again.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said and smiled when she didn’t. “Should I still call you Peach? Or is it too weird now?”

Y/N felt a sinking weight in her chest and she didn’t ignore it this time. How many times had he fooled her into believing he still cared about her? How many times had he proven that she’d been wrong? She’d been chasing shadows within these walls. It was time to accept that they were nothing but illusions of the man he used to be, the man she’d lost.

“You should call me Your Majesty,” she said. “You’re right. It feels weird considering the situation we’re in.”

“Oh.” His gaze slipped from her and fell to the floor. Silence sank over them. The corridor felt too quiet.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he said. “Your Majesty.”

She waved for the guards and stepped back into her chamber. His shadow wavered underneath her door for another moment, and then vanished.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles series #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #princess!y/n #queen!y/n #tctm series

105 notes · View notes

muertawrites · 4 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Six (Zuko x Reader)

Part Five

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: Wow it’s been a clusterfuck this week. I’ve been exhausted and unable to concentrate for the past few days, and then today when I tried to release this chapter for patrons it turned out that all of Cloudflare was down, so something like 12 million sites worldwide were just completely unreachable. I plan to force myself into going to bed early tonight so I can actually get myself back on track and be productive over the weekend (I have two requests I want to publish so they don’t get pushed back into all my ideas for next month, and I also want to look into other ad providers outside of Adsense so I can start saving up money for my eventual move out of the country). I promise that next week will be less of a bummer chapter. Here’s hoping sometime we’ll actually catch a fookin break, m8.

~ Muerta

You stand in the portrait hall, awaiting its newest addition with Rina; she grips your arm, clapping giddily as the towering scroll unfurls to reveal the painted image of you and Zuko beside one another.

In it, you're seated to his left side, mirroring the generations of other wedding portraits that line the massive hall; what's different is not only the color and style of your robes, but the fact that Zuko’s hand rests on your shoulder, yours clasped firmly within it. When he did so, the royal historian who was present instructed that the Firelord and lady were never depicted touching one another - you'd placed your hand over his in a unified stance of defiance. You'd also been asked to remove your betrothal necklace for the portrait, and had told the historian in a few choice words exactly why it would be staying on; you still feel the rush in your veins of hearing Zuko mumble “that's my girl” under his breath.

“Oh, it's gorgeous!” Rina exclaims, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “The Firelord looks so handsome in a Water Tribe silhouette; I'm so glad you did this!”

You laugh, hugging her by the arm that's hooked with your own and unable to deny the fact that the Southern style tunic you had the seamstress make for him does provide a nice view of his body, highlighting more of his broad shoulders and sturdy midriff than the billow of traditional Fire Nation robes. It also pairs well with his chest plate, making him look every part the skilled warrior he is instead of some aristocratic monarch ruling only by privilege. Beside him, his fingers locked between yours, your gaze steely and knowing behind layers of ink, you look like a weapon instead of just a wife; you start to think there might be much more reason Hakoda arranged your alliance with Zuko than just forming a concrete tie between your nations.

“My lady,” one of the palace messengers addresses you, bowing respectfully as he approaches. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Advisors Sung and Qiang request an audience with you in their offices.”

You and Rina look between each other, Rina’s eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Just me?” you ask. “Should I also send for the Firelord?”

“No, your majesty,” the messenger says. “The councilmen asked that only you be sent for.”

You nod, bowing to the messenger in thanks before taking Rina’s arm once more, walking in pace with her to the administrative wing of the palace.

“They’re sure to send me out of the room,” Rina tells you, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I’m unsure about Advisor Sung, but Qiang has never trusted servants with any kind of information; he used to work information security under Firelord Ozai until he defected after Prince Zuko’s banishment.”

“If he won’t allow you in the room, you’ll wait at the door,” you state. “Whether he likes it or not, I still have more power than he does.”

When you arrive at the international affairs office, Qiang and Sung are seated around a small table, primed in wait for you. You make a point of not bowing in return when they do so upon your announcement, instead choosing to simply nod in greeting. Sung smiles at you in his polite, pleasant way as you sit, while Qiang eyes you with a cold, almost uncertain stare.

“My lady,” Sung welcomes you, “I apologize for bringing you here on such short notice, but there are urgent matters that must be discussed. As you know, Advisor Qiang has taken the liberty of guiding me as I adjust to my new position as the head of international affairs, and we’ve been mulling over the matter of your wedding portrait for the past few days.”

“More specifically,” Qiang interjects, “we’ve been discussing the stunt you pulled in deciding your wardrobe. Many people across the Fire Nation are not pleased to see their Firelord in Water Tribe garments.”

“It was simply a tunic,” you calmly defend yourself. “The only other change was to the color. Has anyone taken issue with the fact that I wore a Water Tribe dress under a Fire Nation robe?”

You glance between the two men, expecting the question to be entirely rhetorical - you know the answer already, but as you guessed, they’re either too cowardly or too correct to say it aloud.

“We understand your intentions,” Sung replies after a beat, “but we’re uncertain the execution of your ideas is as tactful as it should be; I know I needn’t remind you that we’re still living in very unstable times as of the end of the war.”

“I understand your concern, but I don’t think the nature of our mixed heritage is the most pressing issue at hand,” you say. “The world experienced a century of cruelty under Fire Nation imperialism - it’s important that we reform our militant image in every way we can. Dressing me like a traditional Firelady when I very clearly am not one would have upset far more people than just our citizens.”

“The Fire Nation is still very powerful,” Advisor Qiang argues, “even with the abolition of many of the Earth Kingdom colonies. Upsetting our people could have consequences that reach beyond the mainland’s borders.”

His words are spat at you almost like a threat. You tilt your chin a little higher, meeting his gaze without faltering.

“What do you suggest, then?” you ask.

“We want to keep watch on you,” Qiang tells you. “Our aids will accompany you as you gain more freedom from the Firelord and guide you to ensure that your actions reflect the image the nation wants to see from their leader.”

“This sounds like something Advisor Yong should oversee,” you evenly contest. “I'm certain my husband would like to have his say, as well.”

“We simply wanted to present the idea to you,” Advisor Sung cuts in. “We thought it might give you more peace of mind to have someone beside you; teach you how to properly present yourself to the people of the Fire Nation.”

“You can send your aids to keep tabs on me,” you reply, “but I am still your superior. Firelord Zuko has been more than an adequate mentor. I don't need another one.”

“Do you suggest we have you answer to the Firelord on our behalf, then?” Advisor Qiang asks, sounding skeptical.

“I'm stating that I don't answer to anyone,” you respond. “Zuko is my equal. You're the one born and raised in the Fire Nation - you should understand that better than anyone.”

Qiang fixes you with the chilled, empty glare you noticed your first day in the council’s meeting chambers. You keep your own expression blank, refusing to avert your eyes from their lock on his.

“My lady,” Advisor Sung addresses you, “I promise you, we mean no offense. We truly have your best intentions at heart; we understand that the culture of the Fire Nation is very different from that of the Southern Water Tribe, and only want to keep you safe in the wake of Advisor Fen’s passing. We believe taking extra care in how you interact with our people is the only way to move forward.”

“Alright,” you say, standing abruptly. “I'd like some hands-on training, then. I need fabric to build my wardrobe with, and want to explore my new home. Gather your aids - I’m taking them to the market.”

To say that people are shocked to see the Firelady out amongst common folk is an understatement.

You travel in a rather large group, flanked not only by Rina, Iroh, and Toph, but three of Qiang and Sung’s aids and a small army of royal guards. People flee when you approach, some of them going as far as to fall to their knees before you, bowing out of fear; each time, you offer your hand and help them back to their feet, explaining that you're only out to do some shopping. Once more onlookers notice your kind, gentle handling of those who cross your path, panic turns to interest, many people staring at you as you pass or calling out to you, saying hello; a little girl manages to get past the guards, scurrying out of her father’s flower shop and through their legs, stopping in front of you with an adorably clumsy bow to present you with a dandelion she picked from between the cracks in the cobblestone street.

“Why, thank you!” you exclaim, daintily taking the flower from her chubby little hand and bowing in return. “It's very beautiful, just like you.”

You twist the dandelion into your hair before walking the girl back to her father, who apologizes and thanks you profusely; you assure him it's no trouble.

“How very touching,” Iroh says to you once you continue on your way. “I wonder what the aids will tell their superiors.”

You huff, smirking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Probably that I don't inspire enough fear,” you mock. “I thought the dictatorship ended when my dear father-in-law was thrown in prison.”

“The memories of his reign are still very fresh,” Iroh explains. “A brute hand is all much of the Fire Nation knows in a leader; it is hard to bring change.”

“I still don't like our little entourage,” Toph remarks, loud enough that the men trailing you can certainly hear. “Aang never travels with guards, and he's got a way bigger target on his head than you do.”

“Yeah, but he can also bend everything,” you remind her. “I've never even held a spear.”

“I'm blind and I still kick hella ass,” Toph replies. “You don't have an excuse.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as you shove her sideways so she stumbles; she laughs, coming back at you with a hard punch to the boob and blowing a raspberry into your face. You can't help but cackle, taking her into a headlock and scruffing up her hair.

“My lady,” one of the aids pipes up, her nose wrinkled in disdain, “this isn't proper etiquette for a Fire Nation queen.”

“Oh, spirits forbid anybody be human,” Toph groans. “The war is over and this is a leisure trip. People have to get used to the Firelady acting like a person instead of a government puppet.”

Rina takes hold of your arm, leaning in close to your ear.

“I like her,” she whispers. “Can we ask her to stay?”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“I wish,” you mumble back, “but Toph sort of just does what she wants.”

You choose a small, cozy-looking shop to buy fabrics from, everyone in the group (save for the aids and guards, who have no choice but to wait outside) making easy, pleasant conversation with the owners; they're a relatively young couple from Omashu, who came to the Fire Nation after the war to trade fabrics that weren't widely available in either country, wanting to bring more options to each place. Their shop is filled with soft cottons and delicately embroidered patterns, many laced with shimmering metals and gems only found in the Earth Kingdom; you purchase a few yards of almost everything, leaving them a contact to the palace so that they can come and discuss expanding their trade routes. Everyone is pleased except for the aids, who look on with disapproving glares.

When you return to the palace, you find not only Zuko awaiting you, but Qiang and Sung as well; you hardly acknowledge the two councilmen, instead going straight to Zuko’s side.

“Rina sent me a message about your meeting this morning,” he murmurs. “I told Advisor Yong, too. They should have come to both of us.”

You nod, taking him by the arm and leading him away from the larger group, out into an open corridor surrounding a courtyard that sits off the entrance hall of the palace’s administrative wing.

“There has to be something we can do, right?” you wonder. “We’re above them. We have the final say in everything.”

Zuko sighs, taking your hands within his and holding you close to him, chests pressed together.

“We’re supposed to,” he says. “But my grandfather taught my father and sister how to manipulate their way into power. Lots of other government officials learned it, too, and it hasn’t completely gone away.”

Advisor Qiang passes through on the other side of the courtyard, eyeing you with his signature frigid gaze as Advisor Sung and the aids trail behind him. You look away from him, focusing only on Zuko.

“We have to keep the people on our side,” you murmur. “The government may be able to manipulate itself into submission, but they're no match for everyone else. The world beat them once - we can beat them again.”

📚 table of contents 📚

✨ join me on patreon ✨

{ subscribers: @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @celamoon @omgwhattheeven @i-am-not-a-thot @fandomtrash1616 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @just-another-romantic @berkeliums @eridanuswave @oleander-in-the-wind @kinismanditory @lammello @peppermenty @theawesomefactor123 @loganrwebb @ijustwannabecanadian @a-hopeless-fan @softvv @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @pearl-stonecutter @crazy0t @commander-rex @kittyddandnyla @abbyarchie @smol-grandpa @nonbinary-rogers @themanwiththemetalarmsdoll @witchywrter @canibea-whore-yet @fuckwhateverfuck @eridanuswave @duh-dobrik }

136 notes · View notes