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amysteriousmessenger · 3 years

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‘Oh, to serve a Princess’ - Ray x Reader NSFW fanfiction

Pairing: Ray x implied female reader CW: Face-riding, fingering, slightly obsessive and a little more confident Ray who just wants to be used Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Explicit

You hadn’t seen Ray in a couple of days, almost a week actually. He said he’d been so busy doing another job for the Saviour that he hadn’t even had time to sleep and had been eating at his desk. He cried on the phone that every time he’d tried to sneak out to come and visit you, a Believer had been waiting outside for him to ask where was going. You missed him, that much was obvious from the ache in your heart, but the punch in your stomach was the worry you had for him. You’d been at Mint Eye for several months, but you had yet to see what tied him so subserviently to the Saviour, besides fear. You’d hoped that he’d at least been eating decently while at his desk, but the various candy bar wrapper sounds you had heard over the phone told you otherwise. You couldn’t help but sigh as you stared out of the window into the night sky. The garden was so beautiful, and you knew how much Ray cherished the flowers growing within it. And yet, it brought you little joy to be enjoying it without him.

Averting your gaze towards the small decorative birdcage that resided in the corner of your room, you couldn’t help but see Ray flash before your eyes again as you touched one of the thin metal bars. Even in the dark lighting of your room, the cage glinted a brilliant gold. You supposed that the cage was just like Magenta. It was so pretty and ornate that, surely, a bird would want to fly willingly towards the gilded embrace it to be loved safely from within its bars. A small bird that longed for protection, to live peacefully. However, it was only when that bird flew into the cage that they would realise it was exactly that: a cage. You felt sick, wiping your fingers against the fabric of your black dress. You’d previously been wearing the dresses that Ray had brought you but they were being cleaned and he’d told you he’d gotten you a new dress, but you hadn’t seen him since he mentioned it. So, you remained in the Mint Eye standard black dress, it was pretty, so you didn’t mind. You looked back between the cage and the garden and figured that the garden would be the lesser of two evils since you’d at least be able to get some fresh air. You grabbed your phone, ID card, and a light shawl just in case it was cold. You didn’t have many shoes with you, but the ground looked dry enough to just wear some light slip-on shoes.

You looked back at the cage once again before swiftly making your way to the door, pulling it open, and having your heart jump out of your chest immediately. Someone was on the other side. It took a second or two for your eyes to adjust and to realise that it was Ray. He hardly looked like Ray. His under-eyes looked practically bruised, he’d lost more weight and he was swaying slightly. He utterly looked exhausted.

‘Ray, are you okay?’ You asked, taking in his appearance. He had brought you a bouquet of gorgeous red roses, but you were more concerned about having him get a little bit of colour in his cheek than the deep rouge of the petals.

‘Yes! I am fine, please do not worry about me, my sweet flower. Might I come in? I know it’s late… I’ve only just finished my work.’

‘Of course, you can but… Ray, you should get some rest first.’ You replied, very much wanting him to get the sleep that he had been so deprived of.

‘A-ah, yes, of course… I did not mean to be a burden, I just hoped I could see you. I went to pick these flowers before I came here, to make up for not visiting’ His half-gloved hands moved the flowers towards you, a pleading look sneaking onto his face. He knew exactly how to have you putty in his hands.

‘Oh, Ray. You’re not a burden. Come in, please, sit down and eat something. They’re so pretty, you know that red roses are my favo- A-ah! Ow!’ you flinched, pulling your hand back from the roses. You’d pricked your finger on a rose thorn. It was only a small drop of blood and didn’t particularly hurt after the initial sting. It was just a tiny dot of blood but, to Ray, it was as though his love had directly hurt you. You didn’t think it was possible, but the colour seemed to drain from his face even more as you watched the panic strike across his features.

‘My princess, I’m so sorry! This is all my fault, I should have de-thorned the roses! I’m so stupid! Useless! I didn’t think and now you’re h-hurt!’ Tears began to well in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but think he looked beautiful, even then.

‘It’s okay, Ray! It’s just a little bit of blood, I just need to take the thorn out.’ You tried to console him as he blamed himself.

‘Please, allow me.’ Ray followed you into the room hurriedly, locking the door behind him. He took the roses from you and placed them on your vanity table. He knew his way around your room very well, since he had personally designed it, and retrieved a small first-aid box from your bathroom. You didn’t think he needed to go to such an effort for such a small, insignificant injury, but figured it would probably bring him a little bit of joy to let him care for you after not being able to see you for so long. He guided you towards your bed, as though you were mortally wounded, and sat down next to you as he fumbled through the small box. He set aside a small band-aid, disinfectant spray, tweezers, and cleaning wipe. You felt bad for worrying ray, especially since he’d had such a rough few days, so you wanted to try and lessen his emotional burden by taking the blame.

‘I’m so clumsy, I usually burn my hands a lot.’ You started before laughing and adding ‘Maybe I should get a pair of gloves like yours, so I stop hurting my fingers so much.’

‘My gloves stop me from biting my nails so much. I often don’t realise I’m doing it but sometimes I just get so anxious. My Saviour told me to wear them to stop biting at my nails and to hide them from her sight, she says my hands aren’t pretty to look at. That they’re a sign of my weakness… Maybe, when I get stronger, I’ll be okay without them. I’m sorry, I need to take the thorn out…’ He whispered as he used the tweezers to remove the thin spike from your skin, making the blood form in a little bubble on the surface of your skin. You could feel your heart clenching as you heard Ray speak about his gloves, and part of you wished you hadn’t mentioned it.

‘It’s okay. I like your gloves Ray, they make you look princely.’ You smiled, using your other hand to gently place your hand on his knee. You felt him tense up for a moment before ever-so-slightly moving closer into your touch.

‘Princely? I-I don’t think I’m good enough for that… but, I’d like to be your prince, if you’d let me, princess.’ Ray replied, averting his gaze back to your finger as he delicately wiped at your finger. Clearly, he was no stranger to disinfecting wounds.

‘You look just like a Prince. I was reading earlier, ‘The Happy Prince’ by Oscar Wilde specifically, and when I read about the Prince having sapphires for eyes, I pictured yours.’ You reached your hand up to stroke his cheek softly with the back of your fingers. You didn’t have the heart to tell him how sad the story of ‘The Happy Prince’ was.

‘Ah… I don’t really know what to say.’ Ray focused on cleaning your finger, his face growing warm under your affection. He couldn’t have hidden the light dusting of a blush even if he had tried.

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you… Your eyes are just pretty.’ You added, worried that you had somehow made him uncomfortable. It was unlike you to be so upfront with Ray, but you just had a pull, a need, to make sure he knew how precious he truly was. He’d never think it for himself, so you wanted to make sure someone told him, at the very least, that he was cherished.

‘P-pretty? I’ve never considered myself pretty, but I like pretty things, like you, and flowers, and the sky… Will you allow me to do something a little bolder than usual?’ He asked, pulling his icy eyes up to meet your gaze for a moment.

‘Of course.’ You knew he’d never do anything without your consent, and you trusted Ray to always treat you with tenderness, so even his ‘boldness’ was sweet. He took a quick intake of breath before bringing your fingertip up to his lips and placing the softest kiss upon where the small prick of blood had begun to reappear, leaving a tiny dot of red on his lips when they left your flesh.

‘I want to… be a Prince for you. They kiss their beloved’s hands, right? And uhm, they- they kiss their love to break the spell.’ He spoke, looking back at your hand as he cupped it with both of his own.

‘True Love’s first kiss? But we’ve kissed before.’ You added, a little confused. You’d done more than kiss before, you’d been with Ray for a few months and the intimacy had been forthcoming. Ray’s adoration was obsessive and, whilst he struggled to accept it, no amount of physical affection was ever enough. He always craved more from the second it was over. But he was uncertain and shy, so sometimes he didn’t know how to ask for more and would, in turn, suffer until you next bestowed it upon him.

‘I wasn’t a Prince then… I want to look after you and treat you like a Princess.’ He said, wrapping the band-aid around your finger and only released your hand to tidy the first-aid box away. You noticed that he hadn’t wiped the blood from his lips despite there being no way that he wasn’t aware of its presence. It was probably the most colour he had on his face at that moment, even in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Ray was almost ghostly in appearance, and yet, so beautiful. It pained you that he couldn’t see that in himself.

‘Okay, you can be my Prince, Ray.’ You whispered. It took a moment for him to hesitate before he tentatively pressed his lips against yours. You hadn’t seen Ray for so long, you had almost forgotten how much you craved his touch. His lips were cold and chapped, more so than usual because of having not looked after himself properly. There was a small tinge from the metallic taste of blood before it quickly vanished, and you could taste the hint of all the sugary snacks that Ray had been subsisting on in his IT room. He was quicker to deepen the kiss than usual, not that you were complaining, but at some point or another: you needed to stop to breathe. It was painfully obvious by the darkening look in Ray’s eyes that he’d have much rather given you his last breath than to pull apart for just a moment longer because as soon as he could, he was back to steal intoxicating kisses from you. You supposed it was due to the lengthy separation that had made Ray be this needy, almost to the point of obsessive , but his kisses were like a drunken summer’s evening: warm and yearning. Yearning for the heat he was so constantly deprived of.

This wasn’t your first time together, so Ray knew what you liked. He knew you liked when he kissed down your neck, when his fingertips danced along your bare shoulders, or when you could feel him whispering into your ear. He was always so meticulously focused on pleasing you that always knew what to do even if he didn’t always have the confidence to execute it without coaxing. This was not one of those times. Ray felt this hunger for you each time, but this time, he didn’t feel the same level of uncertainty that he usually did. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe it was having not had his hands on you in almost a week, but at that moment: you were the drug that Ray was the most addicted to. As he kissed along your neck, your hands found their way into his soft, white hair. Without either of you mentioning it, you both fell back onto the bed together, with Ray leaning over you to continue kissing the sensitive skin on your throat. You couldn’t help but let out small gasps and whimpers under his touch, you really had missed him, after all.

‘Ray…’ You half said, half-moaned. You could feel yourself getting turned on, but the rational part of your brain was reminding you that Ray should get some sleep after having worked for such a long period of time. You wanted him to look after himself, even though that clearly wasn’t at the forefront of his own mind in that moment.

‘Yes, my Princess?’ He pulled away from your neck to ask, looking down into your face from above. He was panting slightly, and you didn’t think it was just from the kissing. Like you, he was flushed in the face and his eyes were half-lidded from sheer hunger.

‘Don’t you think… that you should get some sleep? You were working for so long.’ You said, reaching a hand down from his head to cup his face.

‘D-do you want me to stop?’ Ray asked quickly, a moment of panic flashing that perhaps he had gotten too ahead of himself, that you didn’t want his touch.

‘No, but you’re tired and-’

‘This…is nothing. What kind of Prince doesn’t give his Princess the attention that she deserves, especially after he’s neglected her all week? I-I’ll do anything you ask of me, since it’s you.’ Ray was relieved that it wasn’t him misreading the situation, and you were just concerned for his wellbeing. This wasn’t the lost endurance test he’d had; he could stay awake a little bit longer if it meant getting to be in your company. That much he could manage.

‘A-ah…’ You gasped as he turned to kiss along your bare shoulder. You had missed the sensation of being underneath him like this. His cravat was lightly tickling your chest and you laughed involuntarily. He didn’t take his mouth off of you, but you felt him reach up to his neck with one hand and tug the cravat loose, so it didn’t tickle you as much. He also undid his top button, probably to allow himself to breathe better.

‘H-how do you want me to please you?’ Ray asked, still looking for the confidence to be bolder with verbalising what he wanted to say.

‘Mhm, touch me… Ray.’ You moaned into his ear. You decided that if he really wanted to spend the night with his first moment of freedom, who were you to deny the both of you that enjoyment?

‘Like- like this?’ He asked as he tentatively laid on the bed, half next to you and half on top of you. His gloved hand slowly moved up towards your inner thigh as you parted them to grant him access. Ray’s hand disappeared underneath the hem of your black dress as his fingers found the fabric of your underwear. His confidence seemed to falter for a moment of uncertainty until your own hands found their way into his hair again and you pressed a few butterfly kisses against his sharp jawline.

Usually, Ray took his gloves off to touch you since you wouldn’t actually see his hands in the darkness, but this time he kept them on, primarily because you said that you liked them, and secondly because he wanted to live up to the princely imagery you had described to him. His fingers pressed against you gently, moving in small circular motions up and down the length of you. He’d occasionally vary the pressure depending on which spot he was touching, since he didn’t want to accidentally hurt you. He was teasing you and he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Ray quickly found the spot which made you moan the most. Since he was wearing his gloves, he couldn’t physically feel how turned on you were, so he relied on the mewls you emitted to know that he was doing a good job.

‘More… please.’ You sighed underneath his touch. Ray’s hand found its way into your underwear and you moaned into his mouth as you continued to kiss him, It was safe to say that the situation that definitely gotten heated, but you couldn’t tell from whose face the heat radiated the most, ‘Yeah, just like that…’ You affirmed as his fingers circled around your folds, occasionally teasing at your clit. You briefly wondered why he’d didn’t keep his gloves on for this more often, it felt so good. It carried a certain emotion, being touched with leather gloves, that was making you physically weak at the knees. As much as you enjoyed the feeling of his skin on you, you couldn’t deny that the gloves were definitely doing it for you too. He could feel the slickness of your arousal as his gloved fingers slid along your folds until you were melting against his chest. Ray liked that he was in a position to be able to continuously kiss you as he stroked you, he needed all of you at once. He wanted to be in every single one of your senses, the same way that you were all-encompassing to his. His fingers left you briefly, and you mourned for the sudden lost sensation.

‘My princess, would you mind, uhm, lifting your hips up for me?’ He asked in a husky manner that was almost unlike him. He sounded so needy, you immediately complied and helped him to remove your underwear. While you were there, you also kicked off the slipped that you had put on for your long-forgotten walk into the garden. Once you laid back down, Ray’s obsessive hands soon found their way back to your body.

After another minute or so of circling your clit, his fingers lowered themselves to your entrance. He waited, asking for permission, before slowly entering you with his hand. As always, he was patient with your body, especially after having not touched you for a while. He added one finger at first, moving it slowly to let you adjust, before quickly adding another. You had missed the feeling of having him inside you like this. Ray had to adjust his wrist slightly before he continued to let him curl his finger against you, rubbing along your wall in a ‘come hither’ motion. While you had some lube in your bedside table, you didn’t think there’d be a need for it, since you could feel how turned on you were from the cool air hitting the wetness on your thighs. You moaned out affection and affirmations to Ray as he increased his speed as he let you pull him into kisses at will or held his head against your chest. However you wanted to hold him, he’d happily go along with it.

‘It’s so good, Ray- ah, right there!’ You choked as he hit the spot that made you almost see stars. He tried to focus on hitting that spot, again and again, his hand becoming wetter and wetter which each passing tap on your g-spot. You were somewhat embarrassed that you could actually hear the motion of Ray’s fingers moving in and out of you but it just seemed to spur him on more. He really was talented with those fingers.

‘I want... more. I saw something that I want to try. I-I promise I’ll do my best to make it feel good… I don’t quite know how to phrase it. I want to taste you, from above-’ He explained, slightly haphazardly.

‘Are you sure? Won’t I be too heavy?’ You questioned; a little bit uncertain of his request.

‘Of course not. In the video I saw, they used a pillow to support their neck and-’ He started, but you couldn’t help interject with laughter.

‘Ray, were you watching porn?’ It just seemed so out of character for him.

‘No! I mean, technically, yes. It wasn’t mine… I was checking that none of the Believers were trying to look at stuff they shouldn’t be and I… found a video. I thought it looked like you might enjoy it. I found that I… wanted to please you like that.’ His face flushed with embarrassment, even after everything that had just happened, he was suddenly embarrassed that he stumbled across and watched a porn video.

‘We can try it, if you want.’ The embarrassment spread from Ray to you, realising that you were, in fact, going to be sitting on his face. You were a little bit self-conscious about your body, so you said you wanted to keep your dress on, and Ray replied that thought you were beautiful, but he understood body issues and wouldn’t push you since this was already out of your comfort zone. Ray removed his fingers from you again and, with his other hand, he laid a pillow flat on the bed and positioned it so his neck was supported at a slight angle. You were a little nervous about hurting him, but since he wanted to try it, you were willing to give it a try.

You sat up, unsure how to how exactly you were supposed to get on his face without crushing him, but still equally as desperate for stimulation. You lifted your dress up and bunched it at your hips, throwing one leg over Ray’s chest so you were almost straddling him at the next. You waited for him to give the okay to move closer and put yourself in his mouth. You felt his hands steady your thighs as he nudged you close to him, clearly equally as eager to use his mouth on you as you were to have him do it.

Ray started with a few small, sensitive kisses along your folds, earning small shudders from above. You felt a little scared to move, in case you fell and hurt him, so you intended to just let him take his time in what he was doing, he was going you so much attention after all. You felt him stick out his tongue and run it in a line up and down you, your breath hitching in your throat when he grazed it over your clit again and again. And then, almost all at once, Ray pushed your hips into your face, so you were completely on his mouth. It was as though something took over him, a hungry desire that he didn’t verbalise, but you could see burning in his eyes as he took mouthful after mouthful of you, You threw your head back in pleasure and choked out his name in broken moans. You hadn’t expected Ray to be so upfront with wanting to do something like this, and then actually taking control with it.

His gloved hands were on your hips, moving you over his mouth with speed. He was practically begging you to use him, to let him make you feel good. Ray wanted nothing more than to be useful to you, especially like this. He needed that useless body of his to be good for something, to be good for you. He’d never want for anything ever again if you were to, at the very least, allow him to stay by your side like this. This much he could do. Was it selfish of him to think such a thing? Perhaps. But he decided that, with everything he’d endured in his life, he was allowed to keep that one selfish thought close to his heart. It was a little difficult for him to manage while you were obstructing his view, but Ray undid his trousers and began lightly touching his own erection since it had become uncomfortable to ignore, using your own arousal on his gloves as a lubricant. He was already painfully hard from pleasuring you, but he didn’t need any of the attention to be on him tonight, he wanted to be there just to please you, to serve you.

He stroked himself with one hand and continued to guide you over his face with the other. He particularly liked it when you found the confidence to grip your hands in his hair and start moving yourself against his tongue, using him in the way he wanted you to. You had already been starting to get close to an orgasm when Ray had had his hands inside of you, so it didn’t take very long for the sensation to start building once again. Personally, Ray didn’t have too much stamina so he had to delay his own orgasm for as long as possible to be able to continue watching the show above him to his utmost benefit. He preferred watching you as you moved against him, and he felt drunk when you made eye contact with him whilst you did it. He was the only one who got to see you like this, the only one. He didn’t care what he had to do to keep it that way, he’d be possessive, obsessive, compulsive if needs be to ensure that that would remain the case.

Above, you felt the pressure of an orgasm building quickly under the merciless assault of Ray’s tongue. You could feel that Ray was picking up his own pace and moaning onto you, which felt fucking great. He was starting to get close too, which made sense because of how aroused he had been just from touching you. Besides, he definitely hadn’t had any time to release himself all week, he was probably just a bit pent up too. His lips were pursed over your clit, swapping between kissing it and sucking on it and then using his tongue when you picked up speed in order to let you fuck yourself on it, praises and prayers falling freely from your mouth.

‘Fuc- Ray! I think I’m gonna-’ You didn’t even have a chance to finish your statement before Ray picked up the speed he was moving your hips at, quickly sending you over the edge in his mouth. Did he stop moving you, just because you’d climaxed? Absolutely not. Through the blinding pleasure, Ray continued to use his mouth on you until your legs started to twitch from the overstimulation. It was watching you writhe above him, knowing that he’d done such a good job that allowed him to find his own orgasm too, quickly releasing over his hand. He touched himself through his peak, mentally visualising how both of your arousals must look mixed between his fingertips. He closed his eyes, feeling lost in the moment where all of his pent-up frustrations from the last week came crumbling down into a moment of practical peace.

When he was done, you removed yourself from his mouth and collapsed on the bed next to him. You were both panting heavily as you crawled to his side, placing exhausted kisses along his jaw and temple. His hair was a mess from where you’d run your hands through it, but you thought it just made him look cute. You weren’t surprised to see how quickly the exhaustion took over Ray after he caught his breath and you convinced him to take the risk and sleep in your room for the night, since you weren’t entirely certain he’d made it all of the way back to his own room without passing out. You took turns in the bathroom, cleaning yourselves up from the unfolded events of the night, and crawled into bed together.

‘I love you, Ray. I really do.’ You said, embraced in one another’s arms in the darkness.

‘I love you too, my sweet Princess.’ He replied, clearly trying to fight off the sleep to continue talking to you.

You pressed one more kiss into his pale cheek, ‘I wish you’d know how precious you were to me.’ You whispered, but he was already unconscious.

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forever-rogue · 4 years

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In Name Only - Part 1

A/N: Ughhh, hi! I’m a whore for Oberyn Martell and cannot be stopped. This is gonna be a little series, only a few parts (at least for now), and I hope you enjoy. This was one of my many shower ideas that I couldn’t let go! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: slight language

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I will not marry a man that does not love me,” you cursed the gods for making you a woman. You cursed your mother for being the way she was though it was not her fault that you were her only daughter among six sons. You cursed the laws of men that determined your position in life, “I will not be tied down to man who does not care about me, to a castle that will never be a home, and bear children I do not want.”

“You are an insolent, silly girl,” she hissed at you, and for a moment you feared that she might reached and strike you across the face. She had been prone to doing so when you were younger, but in her older years she had calmed down, softening with the birth of each child after you, each son, each brother you loathed for how easy their lives were, “you should have been married many moons ago.”

“I will not marry a man almost twice my age that openly keeps a lover and already has plenty of children,” a fiery rage set through your bones, one that would probably be perfectly suited in the warm, desert homeland of the husband she insisted you take. In the Reach, your attitude was abhorred, and you were considered the lone deviant of your family, “I will not give up my freedoms because you deem it fit for me to do so.”

“You will marry him and bear him an heir,” she grabbed your hair and roughly yanked it and leaned in so only you could hear, “you are lucky any man will have you. You’re much too old to be unwed and your demeanor makes you almost unbearable.”

“I will not do it,” you gritted your teeth and tried to pull out of grasp, “I will not subject myself to a life of servitude-”

“When I was your age I’d already been long married to your father and had you and two of your brothers,” she reminded, pushing you away with a heavy sigh, “do you think I wanted to get married? I was no more than a child, and you at least are a woman grown. I could have married you off years ago, as I should have. You would have been out of my sight and perhaps tamed.”

“I refuse. I will not bend and break to your whim,” turning away you started to storm off, hoping that some fresh air would calm you down. Perhaps you could ride your horse through the open pastures and fields surrounding the castle.

“And just what do you plan on doing then? Will you wander through the kingdoms on your own, travelling without anything or anyone like a heathen?”

“Perhaps I will,” you shrugged, “it would be better than doing what you ask of me. If you loved me-”

“If you do not marry him, you will be cut off from this family,” her words were enough to cause you turn around and listen to her, “you will lose your name, your worldly possessions, and you will be penniless. Is that really what you desire?”

“All of this because I do not want to take a husband?”

“It is your duty. As it has been the duty of every woman before you.”

“Fuck duty!” your voiced reverberated around the castle’s stone walls as she stared you down, “I will not marry someone I do not love. Father would never make me do so.”

“And your father is dead,” she reminded you with venom lacing her tone, “and what do you even know about love? It is a fiction created to keep little girls happy.”

“I loved him,” your heart felt like it was being ripped out of your chest as you thought of him. Your mother scoffed and dramatically rolled her eyes at you, “I loved him and you sent him away to certain death because you are a monster.”

“That horrid boy? He was a bastard,” she reminded you of the cruel little thing that kept you apart. How you rued the term of bastard; it did not mean anything, it did not determine a person’s character or heart, “he was never good enough for you. And you defiled yourself for him.”

“Because I loved him!” you insisted, “and he loved me! We would have been happy together, we could have built a life together...”

“He was a peasant, he tended stables-”

“That does not matter to me,” you reminded her, “he was kind and gentle and warm. I would have loved to have a life of tending stables if meant I was with him. Because I loved him!”

“You were lost in your girlhood fantasies of what you think love is,” she was cruel, each of her words twisting like a knife in your gut, “he was the first boy to show you attention and you fell for his little trap, and it has left you ruined for other men. You are lucky that Oberyn Martell does not know and he will not care, the one benefit of having a Dornish heathen for a husband.”

“I did love him, mother,” you tried hard to fight off the flood of tears that were pricked the back of your eyes, “and just because you can’t handle that you sent him to the Wall where he will live out his days and die. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“He was a bastard, it did not matter.”

“He was a good man,” your voice broke slightly as you tried to square your shoulders and stare her down, “his only fault in life was loving me. It’s gotten him the most cruel of fates.”

“I have had enough of you,” she steeled herself and strode past you, regal and noble in appearance as ever, “in two weeks time you will travel to Dorne and you will marry Oberyn Martell. You will either oblige and do it, as is your duty or you be expelled from this castle and can live out your days among the bastards that you love so much. It is your choice, whether you bring shame to this family or you disappear into the background as a woman should and become a dutiful wife.”

“Those are both horrible, vile options.”

“That is duty of being born a woman.”

“I wish I was born a man then,” you turned on your heel to walk away, wishing you were stronger, wishing you weren’t on the verge of tears, “maybe then I would not subjected to such a cruel fate, and I wouldn’t let any woman in my care suffer the same.”

“Aren’t you just the martyr,” she mocked you with such a ferocity that you wanted to give her a good whack across her own smug face, “you think you know so much, you know nothing.”

“I know what it means to be a good person, or at least to try,” it was days like that you longed for your father. He had been a kindhearted, generous man, one who did not believe in the stereotypes that divided men and women. He was the reason you had remained unwed for many years, far past the age of anyone of noble blood. He encouraged your wildness, your open heart and free spirit. Your mother had always been the exact opposite. You always wondered how they seemingly got along so well, but you’d come to understand that it was no more than an illusion. The only love they shared was that of their children, and sometimes you wondered how deep that truly ran.

“Enough,” her tone held the cruel finality, the singular word was as sharp as a dagger as she stood in the doorway, the soft light filtering in behind her. She was a handsome woman, and if you hadn’t known better, she appeared almost angelic. But you knew better, much better; she was no more a saint than you were a sinner. You remained steadfast in your spot, trying to channel the ferocity that your father always embodied, “in two weeks time you will travel to Sunspear and you will marry the prince.”

“I would rather die.”

“If you choose your own grave so be it,” she slammed the door to her quarters shut, letting the sound ring through the hall. You had flinched at the noise, but now it only served to anger you. Your whole life, the little joys it still afforded you would be taken away soon, all because of a name. All because you were a woman.

They often called occasions such as these little deaths, but you had a feeling that it would be a lot more than a little pain to make yourself subservient to a husband you did not want.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey from the lush green lands of Honeyholt and surrounding lands into the dry, red deserts of Dorne had been...miserable. While you would have relished traveling and seeing the new lands under any other circumstance, you experienced no moments of tranquility or peace. The landscapes meshed into one and the only thing signaling that you were entered the land of the Dornish was the stifling heat. The Reach was temperate, never an extreme in either direction, but Sunspear provided its first test through the scorching heat of the golden sun.

It would take some getting used to but you could understand why the symbol of the house you would soon be joining was a blazing sun. It never seemed to fade, casting its golden light across every inch of the land. The people that you spied in villages and smaller cities as you approached Sunspear looked as if they didn’t mind; perhaps only a lifetime of heat would allow you to get used to it.

Their curious glances were always trained on you, and your small retinue that would depart as soon as you arrived safely. You were an outsider from a strange land that the Dornish were reluctant to trust; it wasn’t common fro one of Northern breeding to step this far south. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter; you hadn’t thrown a fit, or cried, or screamed, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you so upset. Instead you had remained silent, speaking only a few words here and there as necessary, your true self hidden behind a thick veneer of steel. Maybe your true self would be hidden forever, dying a little bit day by day as you waited patiently for your death.

There would be no ceremony, no pomp, and most definitely no circumstance when you arrived to your new home and to meet the man who would shortly become your husband. You would be all but abandoned in the palace where you knew no one, trying to fend for yourself. It had been at your mother’s request and you knew exactly why she would treat you in such a manner; each of your brothers, all but the two youngest had been married off already, in a show of great festivities and celebration. You were all but kicked under the carpet, a smudge on the family name that she wished to forget.

Your mother harbored no love for the Dornish, whom she considered savages and uncultured; she must have been desperate to finally see you off if she agreed to a marriage proposal from the Martells. You wondered why they had even asked for you; there were plenty of other families in Dorne that could have produced a worthy daughter, or other Northern families that might have agreed. Perhaps they too realized that it would difficult to marry off a prince nearing middle age that housed a paramour and bragged about his bastard daughters. It did not phase you, or bother you in the slightest; you were pleased rather that they seemed to enjoy life to such a degree. But perhaps even the Martells were smart enough to know that they would need heirs, legitimate ones, to recognized by the Northern countries and carry on their name.

When you arrived at the palace in Sunspear, your jaw dropped slightly in surprise - it was a stunning beauty, a feat of architecture that you were loathe to find anywhere else in the seven kingdoms. It presented a sharp contrast to the home you had known your entire life; there was no bleak grays or beiges that met your eyes, instead colorful, brilliant shades of warm crimsons, oranges, tans, and bronzes met your eyes. it was warm and welcoming, despite the reason for your arrival. If this was to be your home for the remainder of your days, at least it was beautiful.

Your carriage came to a harsh stop and you almost slid off your seat at the sudden force. You groaned lightly as you straightened yourself, looking down at the green dress you were sporting and already wishing you had something cooler to wear. If you had been granted your way, you’d be dressed the same as the men that could spy all around the palace, sporting a pair of trousers and a loose tunic. Your father had never cared what you wore, but the day your mother found out that you had been running around like a boy, she had made you wear only the finest dresses. You’d still sneak off in trousers whenever presented with the opportunity, a small thrill running through your veins, knowing that you were directly defying your mother.

The small door was opened and you stepped out, letting your feet hit the warm the sand. You wiggled your feet about, trying to get a feel for it, bending over and picking up a handful of the small grains. It was a dark bronze color, different than the seasides of the Reach, and softer. You liked it, you immediately decided, it was much more comforting than stone and hard soil.

“Knock it off and put it back,” internally rolling your eyes at the septa you swore you were much too old to still have you, you let the sand trickle out of your hand and back onto the ground, “you’re acting like a child. You must behave and act like a proper woman.”

Sighing lightly, you remained wordless, not wanting to start an argument in the middle of your new home before you’d even made a proper entrance. The few items you’d brought from Honeyholt with you were quickly unloaded and brought into the palace. You hadn’t desired to bring much; you wanted a fresh start, a new one that you could call all your own, even if you weren’t here by choice. It felt like you could hang on to a little bit of autonomy that way.

Your most prized possession hung around your neck: a delicate golden chain that contained a small rose colored gem. It had been given to you by your father on your fourteenth nameday; he’d presented it to you with such joy and excitement, having it made just for you. He had claimed that the rose gem symbolized love and that you would always know how much he loved and adored you whenever you wore it. You hadn’t taken it off since his untimely demise; a small consolation for not having him around anymore.

You’d been so lost in your own thoughts, of your father, of your new life, that you hadn’t seen realized you’d stepped foot inside, until a pair of arms wrapped around you. Your body tensed in defense as you came back to reality and saw a young, dark haired girl grinning at you. She was beautiful, clearly of Dorne with her sunkissed skin and dark features, and animated smile. She was dressed in silks of gold and orange, much like the house she served. Appearing to be only a few years younger than yourself, she had a warm aura about her; it was the most kindness you’d experienced in some time.

“I’m Asha,” she had taken a step back when noticed your hesitation and held her hand out instead. You gave her the best smile you could as you gingerly shook her hand, still wanting to tread lightly as you gave her your name, “I’m your handmaiden. I’ll be helping you with whatever you need.”

“Handmaiden?” surely this must be a joke. Back in Honeyholt you’d had maids and servants, surely, but never one that served you in such a personal manner. Perhaps this was one of the perks of marrying a prince, even if he was one by name only, “I’m quite sure that I can handle myself...I’m sorry, forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. I’ve just never had someone...”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, taking your hand and pulling you further into the palace. You tried to get a good look at everything, but there was so much going on all at once that it was hard to keep track of everything, “I’ll be here for whatever you need and should you decide you do not need me at all, then I will remain as your friend, if it pleases you.”

“Friend?” that was the last thing you expected. It something you both had and hadn’t thought much about in the past few weeks. You’d had friends in Honeyholt, less and less the older you became, when they turned into mere acquaintances, tending to the families they were growing, but you’d resigned yourself to a life of solitude in Dorne. You weren’t sure what to expect here; you didn’t think the people would be so welcoming for the stranger that came to marry their favorite prince.

“Yes,” she gave you a dazzling grin, “like I said, if it pleases you. The prince wants to make sure you feel at home and that you’re comfortable.”

“He does?” you’d been there for such a short time, but already you’d experienced more twists and turns than you had expected.

“Of course,” she pulled you up a flight of marbled stairs and down a long hallway, stopping before a grand set of doors. They were beautiful, made of aged wood and intricately carved. You couldn’t stop yourself as you reached up and touched the carvings, letting your fingers glide over them, “ he’s traveled all over the seven kingdoms, the Summer Isles, Essos...so many different places. He understands better than anyone what it is like to be in a new, and often unwelcoming land. He wants you to know that this is your home too. The prince is very happy to have you here and finally meet you.”

“Huh,” you turned to her, searching her eyes for any signs of deception, but you found none. Her dark eyes were wide with excitement as she opened the door and revealed the beautiful interior of your personal quarters. It was a beautiful sight to behold, colorful furniture was strewn about, a large, soft bed with golden cloth over it, and open doors leading to a balcony that housed many plants. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains and rustled the leaves. This space, in the few moments you’d stared at it, felt more like a home than anything you had experienced.

“His quarters are on the opposite end of the hallway,” she explained and nudged her in the direction. Separate quarters, you thought to yourself, how strange, “he wanted to make sure you liked everything. If you’re unhappy with it or require anything else, just say the word and you will have it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, stepping into the space and taking a closer at everything, “Dorne is beautiful...I had not expected this much beauty in the desert lands. The way the Northern lords make it sound...it should be horrid and ugly. But it’s lovely.”

“There is so much in Dorne that they will never tell you about because they will not allow themselves to see the beauty in front of them. We know they see us as savages and heathens, we know what they say, but we are not as they claim. We are different, surely, but does not make us bad people simply because we do not share the same views and beliefs?” she asked as she started to drag in some of the small trunks containing your items. You shook your head with a small smile; no, surely it did not make them any less human. They were already a warmer people than any of the northerners you’d encountered.

Standing up and helping her, she looked at with you with a curious glance. You just carried on, not wanting to let her do all of the work; why should you?

“I can handle it, my lady,” she insisted, but you refused to back down. You repeated your name and insisted that she call you that, “even if you are to be the princess?”

“I take no joy or pride in hollow titles or unnecessary formalities,” you promised her, “you and I are not different are we? We’re both women, subject to the harsh reality of what that entails and the laws of the gods and men. I insist, please, that you call me by my given name. And I am more than capable of helping to unpack my own items. You musn’t do it all alone.

Asha gave you a big grin as she nodded, surprised by your genial approach. Those she had met from the lands north of Dorne would never dare to renounce a title so freely, or speak so candidly with her. But you did; Oberyn would like you, she thought to herself, “as you wish...I think you will like Dorne, it will suit you well. We do not believe that men hold any superior power over women, nor do we believe that women should be reduced to standing behind a man. Everyone is equal here, just as the gods willed it.”

“And yet here I am, to be married to a man I do not know and that does know me and give him an heir,” there was a slight tone of bitterness to your voice that you hadn’t quite intended. You sighed and shook your head in apology, knowing she had nothing to do with your fortune, “I’m sorry...I should not have lashed out at you.”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, “I know how it seems is harsh, but I assure you that not everything is as it seems. It must be shocking to come to a new home and be surrounded by only strangers, but I think you will be just fine; if nothing else you will provide a good wit to match Prince Doran.”

“Prince Doran?” you asked as she nodded, “and he is...”

“I dare they must have kept you quite in the dark about all of this,” you nodded as you allowed yourself to sit on the soft bed, testing it out and finding it just as soft as you liked, “Prince Doran is the ruler of Dorne, his oldest daughter Princess Arianne is his heir and Oberyn is his brother.”

“Oh,” you felt silly, and a bit dumb not being privy to any of this information before. It didn’t surprise you though; your mother did not care for the Martells and it was unlikely that she knew much of this information herself, “I apologize for not being as well versed in your land and people as I should be.”

“There is no need,” she laid out some of your dresses, placing them in the closet that stood against the wall, “one thing you will need to learn is that in Dorne we do not apologize. There is no reason to ever apologize for one’s true self, right? You were not to know this information, so how should you have known? You will learn in time. It is your home now and we are your people.”

“How is that I already feel so much warmer and lighter here than I have in years in my own home, the place I was birthed?” you let out a small laugh in spite of yourself and stood back up, spying some fine silks draped over the chair that was placed in front of the small writing desk, “what are these?”

“Silks,” Asha watched your face turn into a small smile as you touched the delicate fabrics and studied the colors, “they’re a gift from -”

“The prince,” you finished for her and she just nodded with a smile.

“He had a feeling that you wouldn’t be well prepared for the heat and wanted to provide you with something more suitable,” you lifted a few pieces up, holding them against your body. They were lovely, designed and crafted with care and expert stitching, “he asked about your coloring to make sure they’d suit you. And of course, some of the Martell gold and orange had to be included.”

“They are wonderful...absolutely beautiful,” a small sense of satisfaction worked its way into your bones as you realized that your mother would absolutely abhor the clothing, declaring crude and too revealing. But you loved the pieces, knowing they’d be perfect for the hot afternoons and warm evenings you’d come to expect, “this prince...he’s very kind.”

“He can...rough around the edges, but underneath the exterior he presents, he is a most kind and gentle man. His people love him and he loves them as well,” she answered, and you could easily sense the admiration she had for him. Maybe...just maybe, if this prince proved to be as fair and just as Asha made him out to be, things wouldn’t be a complete nightmare, “he wanted to be here to greet you, but unfortunately his duties have kept him away a bit longer than he intended. He will be back in time for your wedding.”

Wedding. Of course. You had somehow forgotten that little detail; this was just some sort of vacation or leisure trip. This was a whole new life you were walking into.

“Oh,” you tried to hide the nervous lilt of voice, but Asha picked up on it anyway. For someone so young, she was very attuned to your emotions. She stood next to you and slowly, as if testing the waters, put an arm around your shoulders. This time, you let her. You let her pull you into a hug and hold onto you tightly as you let your body relax into the comfort of her own. You were almost like clay, melting into her arms; it had been so long since you had experienced the touch of another. She smelled of fresh citrus and spices, a scent you already found comforting, “thank you, Asha. You have been more kind than I could have ever anticipated. It is not lost on me...I should be proud to consider you a friend.”

“And I you,” she insisted, you were quickly interrupted by a loud throat clear from the entrance to your new space. Your oldest brother, now the Lord of Honeyholt in your father’s absence, was standing there, an impatient look on his face. Asha pulled back and bowed her head in reverence, “my lord.”

“Come and make sure your goodbyes, sister,” he completely ignored Asha and turned his cold gaze to yours. Never having been close with any of your brothers, besides the youngest, you harbored no strong feelings for him. He was a fine man, a decent lord, but nothing compared to your father. The halls of Honeyholt were never the same since he sat at the head of the table, “we must leave soon to make it back before our visitors from the Crownlands come.”

“You just mean to leave me here,” it was not a question, but a cold statement of fact, “you do not intend to stay and watch me marry? It is only a short time away.”

“We do not have time,” he insisted already starting to walk away, “besides, what is there to celebrate? You’re married off far too late to...a Martell. Hardly calls for celebration.”

“Goodbye brother,” you called after him, not even bothering to follow and bid anyone else a farewell and a safe journey back, “if that is the way you feel, to leave your only sister thus, then so be it. I wish you, nor our brothers, nor mother any ill will, but I cannot say I will be amiss of any of you.”

“Watch your tongue,” he growled at you from the foot of the stairs, “you are lucky to be my sister or I would have you thrown out long ago. You taint our name and have no respect for decency. You’re just like father; weak and a fool. Always thinking without your brain.”

“So with my heart?” you spat at him, “how dare you take father’s name in vain! He’s more of a man, father, and lord than you will be ever be.”

“And look where that got him,” he reminded you of the harsh reality that your favorite person, the one that you had idolized growing up, was gone, “an early grave.”

“He was ill-”

“It does matter. I am lord now and you will obey me,” he shook his head, “you know, mother was smart to finally marry you off. At least you will be able to take the name of Martell and will stop bringing shame to ours. You are no sister of mine, you can join these...barbarians, become one of them,”

“If I see you again, it will be on your deathbed,” you insisted, feeling a tears of sheer anger roll down your cheeks, as your body trembled with frustration, “I guarantee it. You are no brother of mine.”

He glowered at you before turning around and storming off, his robes trailing behind him. You’d never shared a great appreciation or love for him, but this was a harsh blow nonetheless. Your family, the only one you’d ever know was so content to just cart you off. You wondered how long he had waited for this day - but it didn’t matter. Just like that you had no more home in Honeyholt. Sunspear, and Dorne, was your home now. Even if it was a life you did not desire, at least it would be your own.

“I’m sorry,” Asha appeared at your side, a concerned expression on her face at the heated exchanged. You choked back the few sobs that threatened to bubble up in your throat. You’d essentially just lost the little bit of family you had, “I did not expect such a response. Family means much to Dornishmen, sweet dove. You will never have to feel alone or unloved here.”

“Thank you,” you gave her a small smile, “I hope my family does not dishonor Prince Doran. I have not even meet the man who is to be my brother and already I bring chaos.”

“Prince Doran would never hold the actions of them against you,” she promised, “he shall be glad to meet you and welcome you into his family. As will we all. I can show you around the palace, if you so desire, and the water gardens. They’re most beautiful, especially during the peak of heat, such as this.”

“Will I meet Prince Doran today?” you were curious about meeting your new family, albeit the tiniest bit hopeful. It could be no worse than what you had just experienced.

“I’m afraid both princes will not return until tomorrow,” she explained, “however, they are preparing a feast in your honor for this evening. The Princess is here, and I am sure she will be delighted to meet you. She’s a brilliant combination of her father and uncle, and will surely revel in your company, she grows bored of monotony.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner had been an...interesting affair. You’d gotten to meet the princess, her mother, and many other members of the household and those who worked for and were dear to the Martells - to your family. It was a shocking contrast to the normally reserved and quiet meals that were had in the dreary dining hall of your former home.

The large tables in the garden were laden with delicious foods from all of Dorne, including the famed Dornish wine and everyone sat together, it did not matter their rank, station, or title. They were happy, kind, and jovial, welcoming you with open arms to Sunspear and their family. It was a warmth you had not known before, but not unwelcome. It was a sight to see everyone so happy, joking and laughing, teasing each other until late into the night; they had no reservations, no fears, no inhibitions. And you loved that about them immediately.

Your heart had almost stopped when the princess had presented you with a beautiful golden bracelet, containing the Martell sun entwined with the little dove of your own house. She had gently clasped it around your wrist, before kissing your cheeks gently. You would think of her, her generosity and warmth whenever you wore it.

But even the excitement and relief that the evening had provided was not enough to stave off the tears that found you late in the evening as you sat on the balcony connected to your quarters. You’d been studying the starry night sky, admiring how it glittered over the red dunes of the desert, when you were hit with a wave of sadness that you couldn’t ward of. A few hot, warm, salty tears dripped down your cheeks as you slowly repeated the names of the constellations you could see, stopping only when a small knock came at your door.

You dabbed at your eyes and turned around to see who the visitor was, but Arianne slowly let herself in. You gave her a small smile and she joined you on the balcony, without a word, but a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I am sorry that you must see me in such a state,” you apologized but she shook her head. She was about to open her mouth, but you stopped her with a small smile, already knowing what she was going to say, “do not apologize for being your true self.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a small laugh, rich and musical, “see you’re learning already - you’ll fit in perfectly.”

You remained silent for a moment and let out a long sigh.

“What plagues you so?” she asked gently, “besides the loss of your family?”

“Today has proven it is no real loss,” you admitted, “I am...I do not know if I can do this.”

“Marry my uncle?”

“Yes,” you said quietly, “I vowed to myself that I would never marry someone I did not love, and I know this sounds silly, but my father, before his death, always promised me that he would never send me off to do so unless I desired it. And now...”

“It is not easy.”

“No,” you sighed, a fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, “I cannot bring myself to love someone just because I am required to, nor have a desire to be treated as a sow to be used for heirs. I do not know if I can do this, to myself or your uncle.”

“I realize this is very little consolation, but I do think I might know how you to help, if only a small bit,” she had your attention and you gave her a curious glance, “think of it as a marriage only in name.”

“Only in name?”

“Precisely,” she explained, “you will marry Oberyn, and that will the end of it. You do not owe him an heir and he would never expect one from you. He has eight daughters already, some nearing your age, and he loves them dearly. They keep him busy and if you do not desire children he would never force one on you. You do not have to love him, he knows you likely never will, but just respect him; for outside purposes you will be husband and wife, but behind closed doors, and to those here in Dorne, who not care about such things, it will not matter.”

“Oh?”

“Give it some time and you will find a lover, a man or a woman, or many lovers,” she explained, “love should not be contained so willfully, unless two people desire it. you are free to explore and take as lovers as you want. You give and take love.”

“Oberyn...has a lover,” why you suddenly felt shy, you did not know. Certainly it could not be jealousy? You did not know him nor care for him, and clearly did not love him, but something inside you panged slightly. How strange it would be to be married to a man with a different lover.

“He had a lover, a paramour by the name of Ellaria Sand,” she explained and you found yourself intrigued, “she’s a most kind, generous and lovely woman, and mother to four of his daughters. She is beautiful as she is kind and still comes around often, but she has left his bed sometime ago and has returned to her childhood home in Helholt.”

“Oh?” you wondered if it had anything to do with you, but you had your doubts. What power would you, a mere child compared to his longtime lover hold?

“It was amicable, I believe. They remain friends, and both love their daughters deeply. I think a strong bond and love remains between them, but nothing romantic,” she expanded, but it did not ease your nerves, “I’m sure you will meet her at some point, she comes around not infrequently, but you have nothing to worry about. She will love you, as we already do as well. She will understand what your position as Oberyn’s wife means.”

“Does he take other lovers still?”

“As far as I know,” she shrugged, not deeply concerned with her uncle’s affairs, “anything further than that you will have to discuss among yourselves.”

“I see,” you let out a long sigh and let your shoulders slump, finding little solace in her words. She was trying her best, but it did not chase away all your fears, “still I...”

“Remember,” she said softly, “name only. You will not have be with him, in his presence, any more than you desire. He will grant you many liberties and freedoms. The ways things work between a husband and wife are very different here in Dorne than in the North. You will not be confined to the palace or your husband, you will have your own voice here.”

“Such a strange concept,” you mused as she shrugged, “all my life I’ve been told that my only goal in life is to behave, marry a nobleman, and bear him children. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Welcome to Dorne, sweet dove,” Arianne pressed a light kiss to the side of your head, before moving to leave your chambers, leaving you alone with your thoughts, “and welcome to House Martell.”

You watched her go without another word, envying her easy going personality and liveliness. She’s known this her whole life, and yet she was so happy; maybe there was something to this Dornish way of life. Maybe you could find some purchase here and make a happy little life for yourself. With or without your husband at your side.

You straightened up and stretched, raising your arms above your head as you looked at the moon, shining among the stars. Maybe...this did not have to be as bad as you had originally thought; maybe Dorne could be your own sanctuary. Your head was swimming with so many thoughts, and you were overwhelmed with a tiredness you had not known in ages. You walked back into your bedchamber, leaving the doors open to let in the warm evening breeze. It was quiet now, a quiet that you’d never really experience. Peaceful.

Oberyn watched you moved back inside from his spot in the courtyard of the palace. He and Doran had returned early, at his behest, but not early enough for a proper introduction. He been curious to meet his bride, the wild girl from the North that refused to be tamed. He had overheard you and Arianne, listening intently to your every word, clinging on to them to try and figure out how to best serve you. He wanted you to be happy, he hoped you would be, and if you wanted nothing to do with him, then he would respect that as well.

Whatever you desired, Oberyn Martell was going to make sure you had it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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jessikahathaway · 3 years

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Into Eternity - FINAL

So, oh my gosh this is actually happening???

I have been writing this story for three years and it honestly has gotten me through so much? I love these characters and to give them an ending has brought me so many emotions. Thank you to everyone who has read and has loved these characters as much as I have.

Now buckle up, for the finale.

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Royalty!AU

Words: 8,877

Warnings: Attempted Suicide (it isn't graphic, but it's there so please be aware of that), Explicit Sexual Content, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Unprotected Sex (She preggie, but y'all be careful), Creampie, Dirty Talk. Birthing Scene (Not terribly graphic but just be aware), the fluff we've all been waiting forrrrr! (If I forgot anything please do let me know!)

It had been a week since the fight with Morgana and your death.

Jimin hadn’t been coping well at all.

Taehyung entered the bedroom where they had set you after the fight. Father Jin redressed you and washed your hair, but other than that you hadn’t moved or breathed. Nothing to note that you were alive. Father Jin had resigned himself to his room and hadn’t come out. Jungkook was training for hours on end and Taehyung was too busy trying to keep Jimin alive to do much else.

Hoseok had sent for more guards and they arrived soon after. Although they weren’t allowed inside the palace. No one was to come near, Jimin would have them beheaded.

Taehyung saw the same sight he’d seen for the last week. Jimin, at your bedside, waiting.

“Sire,” Taehyung announced his entrance.

“Taehyung,” Jimin answered softly.

“I brought you something to drink and a bit of porridge, will you eat it?” He asked, looking down at the small mugs in his hands.

“Yes, I’ll eat,” Jimin answered.

Turning around Taehyung sighed as he saw the dark bags under his eyes. The look of exhaustion that filled his frame was overwhelmingly sad. Taehyung knew his friend, and he was a shadow of himself. As if he were slowly dying without you with him.

But Taehyung pressed on, a smile coming across his features.

“Here you are,” Taehyung said, setting the mugs in his hands.

Jimin ate slowly, methodically. As if it was a chore to be doing so.

Taehyung wondered if he tasted it, his eyes were so devoid. It was like he was a skeleton walking around. No joints or ligaments, just bones clacking together. The way he moved was awkward and ungraceful, nothing like the Prince he knew. One thing was for certain.

He missed you.

“Jimin, do you want to take a bath?” Taehyung asked, looking at his friend’s appearance.

“No,” he said quietly.

“It’ll take a few minutes, please,” Taehyung urged.

“I’d rather not right now,” Jimin almost whispered.

“It’s okay, perhaps later,” Taehyung gave in, knowing that it wouldn’t happen later either.

“Taehyung,” Jimin’s voice was stronger this time.

“Yes, sire?”

“Do you think she’s really dead?”

“I don’t-”

“Perhaps this is what they wanted for me. To suffer without her,” he said bitterly.

“Don’t think so lowly of your ancestor, he tried to do what he could for you both,” Taehyung admonished.

“Perhaps I should die as well, join my beloved where we can be free together,” Jimin said, laying his head down on the bed, and gazing at you with misty eyes.

“Jimin!” Taehyung yelled.

Jimin flinched but didn’t move.

“I don’t think this is what Y/N would’ve wanted for you. She wouldn’t want to watch you starve yourself. She would want you to lie here and wait for something that might not happen. She’d want you to go out and live your life. To go out and be happy. Jimin, please listen to me. The way you’re treating yourself isn’t anything like what Y/N would’ve wanted for you. She loved you so much, and wanted nothing but the best for you. So for you to disrespect her wishes like this... It makes me sad, Jimin, truly it does.”

“So you do think she’s dead,” Jimin whispered.

“Jimin,” Taehyung said.

“Get out,” Jimin demanded softly.

“Jimin listen.”

“Get out Taehyung!” Jimin screamed, standing up.

Taehyung didn’t waste anymore time, slamming the door before he left.

It was the day of your funeral...

Jimin had fought tooth and nail to make sure he never saw this day, but here it was. It had been two weeks since your death. And Father Jin said it was time to lay you to rest. Jimin had denied it at first, but now, there was an eerie calm that settle over the palace. Jimin was silent, save for the few words he spoke to Taehyung. But other than that, no words left the man.

“We are here today to lay to rest a soul who has touched all of us in many ways,” Father Jin began.

You were laying in your coffin, beautiful as the day Jimin first saw you. The maids had braided gorgeous ribbons in your hair, and graced your face with the smallest amount of makeup, enhancing that natural beauty you had. Jimin’s eyes were filled with tears as he looked at you. His beloved bride, going so soon. And it was his fault you were dead. Because he couldn’t protect you.

“Jimin,” Taehyung whispered, nudging his friend.

“I’m fine,” he whispered back, wiping his eyes gingerly.

“Lady Y/N was a tender soul. Someone who wanted nothing but to share love and happiness wherever she went. I had the pleasure of knowing her, and I will forever miss her and her laughter. She is with God now, and I will take comfort in knowing that. May God rest her soul.”

Father Jin stepped away from the casket, Namjoon taking his place.

“Lady Y/N was fearless, and bright. Always willing to lend a hand to those in need. I failed her a guard and I will forever be unworthy. But as I continue on with life I will live for her, I will live with her in mind so that no one will ever suffer the same fate. I will protect the Royal family for the rest of my days, and will forever ask for forgiveness that I wasn’t able to protect them this time. Lady Y/N, I am so sorry. May you grace us with your love and kindness, so that we may forgive ourselves as well. You will be missed, dearly,” Namjoon said.

The rest of the proceedings went on, yet Jimin felt numb.

You lay there before him, so close yet out of reach. His soul yearned to reach out for yours, longing to touch you, to hold you. To bring you into his embrace and care for you as you did for him. When it was finally his turn to save you, he failed...

“Y/N was a beautiful person,” Taehyung began.

“She was smart, funny and a true joy to be around. I remember the first time I met her. She was outspoken, yet, in the best way. She challenged all of us to be better. To think more, to be more. She challenged me to be the best version of myself, and all I can say, is that I will continue to be the best person I can be. I will remember her fondly, and I will always be grateful for what she has done for me and my friends. May God rest her soul,” he repeated.

Yoongi spoke next, saying little but it was enough. Although Jimin still felt as though something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

Soon, it was Jimin’s turn to speak.

He felt awkward as he went to the front to speak. He took a deep breath in and imagined you, holding his hand. The warmth that suffused him gave him the strength to speak.

“Y/N was... everything to me. Never have I loved like I loved her. She was beautiful, caring, sweet and... maddening. She challenged everything I knew about myself. Everything I ever thought I knew, and she changed me. Y/N changed me for the better. She made me believe that I could do anything, be anything. No matter what I thought about myself, she always believed in me. More than I did. Y/N was knowledgeable. She loved to read, I promised her a library. That way she could read without me getting in her way, I had a way of interrupting her at the most important part of the book she’d tell me...” Jimin laughed, tears coming down his cheeks. “I love her so much, even now I love her so dearly and so fiercely that this all feels wrong. To be burying her feels like a foreign concept to me that I cannot accept. I-I... don’t want this to be it.”

“Y/N, I love you. Please forgive me,” Jimin said, taking out a vial.

It was poison. Jimin had planned to end his life here. Perhaps that was what had felt so wrong the whole time. The fact that he knew he’d be ending his life in front of his friends brought him no comfort. He only felt guilt, but he couldn’t bear another day without you here. It wasn’t feasible to him. It was everything he could do to stand right now.

“Jimin no!”

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, bringing the vial to his lips.

“I love you too,” a soft voice answered.

Before Jimin could turn around, Namjoon and Jungkook tackled him to the ground, taking the vial from his hands.

“No!” Jimin fought back, thrashing around like a child.

“Sire please!” Jungkook said, reaching for the vial.

“Jimin?”

Everyone froze.

Jimin looked up to see you, his beloved bride, sitting up in your casket.

“Y/N?” he whispered. Unable to believe his eyes.

“Jimin? What’s going on?” you asked, looking around. From your standpoint, you felt like you’d been asleep for a very long time. As if you’d be put under a sleeping spell or something along those lines. But now, you felt better than ever, as if you were refreshed for the first time in a long while.

“Y/N...” Jimin said, looking at you in disbelief.

“Jimin, what am I doing in here?” you asked, placing your hands on the side of the coffin.

“My love,” Jimin said, standing up and coming to your side. You looked up and smiled, so glad to see him.

“Hi,” you said, placing your hand on his cheeks. He’d been crying, you could tell.

“Y/N,” he whimpered, wrapping you up in his arms and cradling you to his chest.

“Jimin?” you asked, trying to push him back so you could look at him. But he held you firm.

“My darling, I thought I lost you,” he said, tears falling down his cheeks so freely.

“I don’t understand, the last time I saw you I was... How am I here?” you asked, looking around.

“It doesn’t matter, my love, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here now,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

“But Jimin,” you started.

“Shhh,” he shushed, tangling his fingers in your hair. “I love you, so much,” he said, tilting your head up.

“I love you too,” you said back, but before you could say much else his lips were on yours. Jimin wasted no time, pulling you from the coffin without much difficulty. Jimin had you in his arms and like hell he was ever going to let you go again.

Slowly he pulled away and let his head rest against yours.

“Can you stand?” he asked, placing your feet on the ground.

“I think so,” you answered. Carefully, you took a step, almost falling to the ground if it wasn’t for Jimin’s strong arms keeping you up.

“Maybe not just yet darling, let me carry you,” he said, sweeping you up into his arms.

“Jimin!” you gasped, hanging onto his neck, not wanting to fall.

“I’ve got you,” he said, starting to carry you back towards the palace. The rest of the men there did nothing but watch as Jimin carried you in his arms.

“I never thought that this marriage would work out,” Taehyung said softly, looking at the disappearing silhouette of you and Jimin.

“Well, never say never I guess,” Namjoon said back, crossing his arms.

“I’m glad it worked out, Jimin deserves to be happy,” Jungkook commented.

“They both deserve it,” Father Jin said, smiling.

Your coronation was creeping up on you.

You and Jimin both would be crowned King and Queen of Arcane Kingdom. The people would be yours to govern and yours to care for. They were now your responsibility and duty. It weighed heavily on you, the stress of being a Royal. But you didn’t let it show, because you had been given a second chance at life another try.

No one gets that lucky.

But you did. And you weren’t going to waste it.

After everything that had happened, you were still so glad that you were with Jimin. Able to call him yours. It made your heart sing knowing he was your partner in all of this, your husband and truest love.

A knocking at the door shook you from your thoughts.

“Lady Y/N,” Father Jin said from the other side of the door.

“You can come in Father,” you said, putting your hairbrush down as you turned to face the door.

“I’m here as you requested,” he said, holding his bible and other various things you’d requested.

“Wonderful, I need your help,” you said, moving towards the bed.

Father Jin looked at you with confusion.

“It’s been two months and I haven’t bled yet. I-I was hoping you could find out if I was with child?” You said softly.

Father Jin almost fainted on the spot.

“W-With child? My dearest Y/N are you sure?” He asked coming forward.

“I’ve been having symptoms, the nausea in the morning, wanting weird foods and of course not bleeding but, I just wanted to know. I know if I have the palace physician check and I am pregnant he’ll run and tell Jimin. I want to tell him myself, it’s our possible child,” you said.

Father Jin beamed at you, quickly getting his materials ready.

“It would by my absolute honor my Lady,” he said. You smiled.

He busied himself with usual questions and looking at your stomach.

Finally Father Jin smiled brightly at you.

Biting your lip hard you heard his answer.

“My dear Lady Y/N, congratulations. You’re with child,” he said. Tears burst from you quickly, unable to handle the emotion of the whole situation.

You had been so worried that perhaps Morgana killing you would ruin your chances at having a child with Jimin. And considering you two had been having plenty of intimate moments, it was starting to become a fear.

But now...

Now you’re pregnant. With Jimin’s child.

Everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

“Father Jin,” you cried, hanging onto him so tightly. He pet your head gingerly, making sure you were alright before pulling back.

“Your timeline is correct, you are around two month pregnant,” he said, looking at your stomach with nothing but sheer adoration.

“I’ve been so worried,” you hiccuped.

“It’s alright Y/N, you are pregnant. And may the Lord bless you and your unborn child,” he said softly.

“Can you please keep this between us?” You asked.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he agreed.

“Thank you Father, truly, thank you so much.”

—

You were incredibly giddy for the rest of the week. Everyone had taken notice of your spunk and lively attitude. The stoic Yoongi even asked what had you all excited.

You just brushed it off, telling them you’d read a really good book or just ate something delicious. You wanted to tell Jimin so badly. But he was nowhere to be found no matter how hard you looked. The only time you were with him was when he crawled into bed with you early in the morning. Wrapping himself around you and keeping you close to him.

But he was always gone before you woke up.

You knew he was getting ready for the Royal coronation coming up soon, but it still made you a little sad. The distance.

However, you had planned it perfectly.

Jimin’s favorite lace night dress was wrapped around your body. A soft pink dressing gown over top. The man enjoyed unwrapping you like a present.

It was everything you could do not to just run to him in his study and proclaim your pregnancy to him then and there. But you oh so loved the look on his face when you gave him surprises.

Teasing little hints.

It was already late into the night, but you were determined to stay up and see your husband. It was moderately boring in your bedroom, alone, but it wouldn’t be lonely for long...

Just as you thought about going out on the balcony for some fresh air, you heard Jimin enter the room. You hadn’t seen him awake in a few days so you rushed over immediately to see him.

“Jimin!” You said, rushing to bring him into your arms.

Jimin smiled, looking exhausted, but happier now that he got to see you.

“Y/N, it’s late. What are you doing up?” He asked, kissing the top of your head with such tenderness it made your heart ache.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Well, you’ve seen me. But I think it’s time for bed,” he said, removing his tunic and draping it along the chair of your vanity.

“Can we talk first? There is something important I have to tell you,” you said, taking his hand in yours.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Just sit down,” you said, moving him towards the bed. Jimin sat down heavily, looking up at you with a gentle smile.

“Alright my love, what did you want to discuss,” he said, rubbing his face.

He was utterly worn out, and you could see it on his face. But you knew what you were about to say would make it all worth it. It would be okay.

“Jimin, I want you to know something,” you swallowed hard. Trying to keep your emotions from becoming too much.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m fine Jimin. But, I want you to know how much I love you. How much I adore waking up in the morning next to you. And how much I love being your wife,” you said, bringing your hand to his cheek softly.

“I love you too,” he said, a smile appearing on his weary features.

“Jimin, I-I...” you stammered, trying to find the words to get them out. Jimin frowned at your flustered attitude. Normally you could tell him anything, he wondered what had gotten you so worked up.

“Jimin,” you said, walking closer. His sparkling eyes looked up at you and you so hoped the babe in your stomach would inherit those beautiful eyes.

“Jimin I’m with child,” you said, bringing his hand to your stomach.

Jimin’s whole demeanor changed instantaneously.

“What?” He croaked, looking up into your eyes with so much hope.

“Father Jin confirmed it,” you said.

“Y-You’re really pregnant?” He asked, looking at your stomach with a multitude of emotions running across his face.

“Yes,” you said.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” he cried, bringing you into his arms. Big fat tears were rolling down his face, catching in your hair and dressing gown.

“It’s okay, Jimin it’s alright,” you said, holding him tightly.

“I’ve waited for so long to hear those words from you,” he whimpered.

“I was worried that... possibly I couldn’t after-you know. But, I-I know they’re healthy, I can feel it,” you said brightly.

“I know they are too, my love. You’ll care for them so well, they’re going to be so perfect. You’re perfect,” he said, bringing his lips to yours gently.

Smiling into the kiss you attempted to deepen it, longing for your husband's touch. But Jimin quickly pulled away.

“I’m so exhausted my love, would it be okay if I just held you tonight? Both of you?” He asked, looking down at your stomach with so much love it made your heart stammer.

“Of course, Jimin, that’s always okay,” you said.

You both went to bed, sharing innocent pecks and warm words of love for each other.

It was so perfect.

—

Being pregnant was rather grueling task, you’d found out.

There were the weird food cravings. The palace chefs could hardly keep up with you. Then the constant nausea that had plagued you and often made you miss out on certain meals. And the aching of your back and feet was another problem.

But the love you felt for the being inside of you right now, was more than you could’ve ever dreamed.

Although, there was another symptom of your pregnancy that had been particularly hard to handle.

You were ravenous for your husbands touch.

Except, he hadn’t really wanted to do anything like that with you for a while... the last time you two had been intimate was when you made this baby. And that was five months ago.

Now that you were coming into a different stage of your pregnancy, everything was getting harder. Clothing yourself, putting on shoes. It was all so taxing and you mainly wanted to rest.

Unless Jimin was there.

In which case you wanted him to ravish you until the morning came.

But, for some reason, he didn’t feel the same.

Of course he loved you, this wasn’t something you doubted. But he was very busy and you were already pregnant so what was the point in engaging in those kinds of activities if the end goal was achieved... right?

You knew Jimin loved you, he said it and showed it often. But you wished he would take you to bed and pleasure you. Let you have as much of his cum as you wanted. However, something was stopping him.

And you were determined to find out what.

Walking through the palace halls you found your husband admiring the gardens out in front of the castle. Jimin loved seeing the flowers blooming and flourishing with colors. Made him feel light inside.

You came up beside him and looked at the flowers with him. He smiled at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and bringing you close.

The two of you stood like that, in silence for a few moments before you decided to speak.

“Jimin,” you said, keeping your eyes trained outside.

“Yes my love?” He answered, looking at you with pure joy.

“You seem distant lately,” you said, wrapping your arm around his waist.

“Have I? I thought we’d been spending quite a lot of time together... although if you’re feeling neglected I can see if I have more time to spare-”

“I-uh... I’ve noticed that we haven’t been... intimate since we conceived and I was just wondering, if you simply weren’t attracted to me being like this? Or if it’s because we’re already pregnant so there’s no need to try anymore or, um, something else maybe?”

Jimin’s face looked mortified as he tried to gather his scrambled mind and unprepared thoughts.

“Y/N, love no! Of course not! I absolutely adore being intimate with you! And not attracted to you? I-I can’t hardly control myself when I’m around you. Pregnant and swollen with my child,” he said, almost growling out the last part.

“Then why Jimin? Why haven’t you been touching me? Letting me touch you! What’s going on?” You asked, wondering what was causing the distance between your husband and you.

“T-the palace physician warned me about being with you like that, I don’t want to hurt you or the baby,” he said softly.

“But it’s not dangerous-Father Jin was encouraging me to, well as much as he would encourage someone to be intimate...” you said. “He said we should be... with one another as much as we can. It’s good for us to relieve the stress and I’ll never complain about you showing your love to me and my love for you.”

“But, what if I go too hard? What if I, I don’t know, make the baby come early? Or what if-”

“Jimin, my love, these are a lot of what ifs. Not a lot of what will... Nothing will happen to me or the child. That I can promise you,” you said, holding your distended stomach with affection. “You’d never hurt us.”

The young King looked so torn. Like he truly didn’t know what to do.

“I’m just... I’m worried about you,” he said softly, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m tough,” you said, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know, God I know how strong you are. More than fit to be the Queen of this Kingdom, my wife, my equal... But, carrying a child is no small feat,” he said, brushing your hair off your face.

“It isn’t but I’m not doing it alone,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’ve been with me every step of the way. We had rocky beginnings, but look at where we are now. Look at how much we’ve overcome and how much we will overcome in the future. It’s incredible, Jimin. You are the ruler that destroyed the witch Morgana,” you said.

“Actually, you’re the one who dealt the killing blow on that one, I just get all the credit cause I’m the King. Unfair if you ask me,” Jimin laughed lightly.

“What I’m saying is, you’re so brave, stubborn and wickedly smart. Surely you can think of a way in which we can be intimate and it not harm me or the babe?” You said, biting your lip.

“Don’t do that, I’ve been having dreams about your sweet mouth,” he groaned.

“Mmm, have you? Perhaps I should give it to you then, hmm?” You teased.

Jimin was a rather dominant person, but you’d discovered that sometimes he likes to be pushed around in bed. Told what to do and to be praised. It wasn’t something you’d been entirely good at to start, but, with a little practice you’d gotten the hang of it.

“My love,” he croaked.

“Jimin, I know you. I know how careful and gentle you can be. I’ll tell you if anything hurts or if I’m uncomfortable. But please, please take me to bed,” you begged.

Finally, it seemed you broke through. Because soon, you were being practically dragged down the hallway. Jimin’s grip on your wrist was tight, but not enough to hurt. You smirked as he hauled you into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind the two of you.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, coming forward to place his hands on your swollen belly. “So beautiful, so perfect carrying my child.”

“All yours,” you agreed, humming as his lips touched your neck.

“And I’m yours,” he said softly.

“Take this off,” you pleaded, tugging at his shirt with disdain. Giving you a coy grin, he pulled the shirt off and threw it on the floor. You ran your hands over his beautiful body, teasingly pinching his nipple, causing him to flinch.

“Little sprite, I’ll teach you to tease me,” he growled. Wetness pooled between your legs. Jimin came forward, finally connecting your lips.

Kissing Jimin was something you’d never tire of. You were certain. The way his plush lips moved over yours with reckless abandon make you squirm. His mouth captured your own, pulling you into a romantic embrace as the pair of you shared your breath.

“Jimin,” you whispered as he pulled away.

“What is it my love? What do you desire?” He asked, moving his lips along your jawline.

“Whatever you’ll give me, I want it all,” you pleaded.

“My my, so greedy. What a greedy Queen I have,” he tutted. You whined at his tone, wanting nothing more for the clothes between you to be removed.

“I just want you, only you,” you pleaded.

“You have me my love, all of me,” he said, kissing you softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, cradling his head. You felt the back of your bed against your knees, forcing you to sit down while Jimin kissed you with such ferocity it made your poor core clench tightly around nothing.

“And you have all of me in return,” you smiled. Jimin pushed you onto your back, making you stare at the ceiling. Your heart was hammering so hard in your chest, you could feel it in your throat.

“I-Is it okay if I pleasure you? With my mouth?” He asked, looking at you beneath his long lashes. You smiled and brushed his hair from his face gently, but this was not without difficulty, you swollen tummy proving to be an obstacle.

“Mmm, that does sound nice. But, you have had me wait five months for you. I’m slightly tempted to skip the foreplay and go right for the main event,” you mused, watching as Jimin’s eyes inflated slightly. You smiled at his obvious desire for you, before you sat up and undid the ties at the front of your gown. Jimin watched as your chest relaxed, breasts bigger than they were before you’d gotten pregnant.

“I-If you’re wet enough,” he said, licking his lips.

“Why don’t you check?” You said, peeling your dress from your shoulders and easing the fabric down. Jimin moved so you could wiggle out of the offending material and lay naked on the bed. He was astounded and slightly concerned that you hadn’t been wearing any undergarments underneath.

“Oh my beautiful wife, how lucky am I to have someone like you...” he trailed off, gazing at your center with wanton desire.

“I’m just as lucky, if not more so,” you smiled, tugging on his ashy locks, earning you a warning grunt in response.

“A husband who neglects his wife for months on end? Surely you jest with me,” he chuckled sadly.

“You are more than attentive. Sometimes smothering, but never neglectful. Jimin listening to the palace physician isn’t wrong. He just happens to think he knows everything while Father Jin has had actual experience with pregnancy and birth. By the way, he will be delivering our child, not that ridiculous palace physician. I’d rather not have him near me when I’m giving birth,” you huffed, pouting slightly.

“Oh? I see, who else did you want there while you deliver? I know I should’ve asked this but-”

“You, Father Jin to deliver and Jungkook as well as Taehyung. Yoongi and Namjoon, and... Hoseok,” you said pondering for a moment.

“Those are all men, Y/N,” Jimin reminded, pouting from above you.

“And? Hoseok is our Godfather for the child, I believe he should be there. Jungkook is good in a crisis and also has knowledge of pregnancy and birth from his mother. Taehyung is such a dear friend, I certainly want him there. Yoongi is always calm and collected, and Namjoon would just feel left out if I didn’t include him!”

“You missed one,” he frowned.

“Of course I want you there silly. It’s your fault I’m like this, so you’re going to be there for the whole thing, no stepping out and no leaving me, understood?” You asked, raising a brow at him. Jimin just nodded.

“It’s not just my fault you’re like this, I don’t ever recall you saying no,” he snarked.

“I’m also not saying no now, if we could get back on track?” You asked, bringing his hand to your throbbing center. Jimin seemed to get the message as he rubbed his fingers along your slit, collecting your slick between the pads of his fingers and your skin.

“My love, so ready for me,” he murmured, coming in closer to kiss your neck. You let out a sigh of pleasure, running your hands down his back, scratching along the skin gently, causing goosebumps to rise in your wake. He groaned as you gripped his ass in your palms, causing him to rut forward like a pup in heat. You smirked at his enthusiasm, squeezing once more before he whined against your skin.

“Oh!” You gasped as he entered one finger inside your tight heat. A soft groan came from his cherry red lips, causing you to clamp down on the digit inside of you. Jimin moved his finger gently, stretching your hole out carefully. Everything he did, he did with purpose. It made your heart stammer in your chest as you could feel another finger slipping in next to the first one.

“So tight,” he growled, pumping in and out of you with a delicious tempo that had your hips grinding down against his hand. “You’re soaking the bed my darling.”

“I-I can’t help it, you feel too good,” you moaned.

“Mm, you sure I can’t have a taste? Just a little bit wouldn’t hurt,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. You wanted so badly to encourage his devilish mouth, but you gripped his wrist and forced him to stop moving those dangerous fingers inside of you.

He looked worried for a moment. But you smoothed your thumb over his brow.

“I can’t wait any more, please don’t make me wait,” you whined, humping against his fingers. “Give it to me, please. Fill me up.”

Jimin’s eyes turned dark as he pulled his hand away from your center. Watching with rapt attention you saw him take his sticky digits and put them in his mouth, sucking lewdly on your arousal. Jimin made a show of it. Licking and sucking on his fingers, trying to get every last drop of your essence off of his fingers. He was also proving that he could pleasure you with his mouth if you’d only let him.

“You want my cock? Want it so bad huh? My beautiful Queen, you want it? Huh? Tell me why I should give it to you?” He said, eyes glazing over as you presented yourself on all fours for him.

“Because, I’ve been so good for you. I’m carrying your baby, so pregnant and full, but not full enough. I need more, more of your cum Jimin. Want more of it leaking from me, please, remind me how you got me pregnant. Please, won’t you give me your cock? Your cum? Please, I want it so badly,” you pleaded.

Jimin’s eyes darkened further. He knew you were good at begging, it was one of his favorite things to teach you, because you learned so quickly what he liked. And he would never be able to deny such an earnest request.

“If that’s what you want my love, then you’ll have it. Have me,” he agreed, moving off the bed to push his pants and underwear to the ground before coming back to the bed. You felt his presence behind you, smoothing over your back gently. “Is this position okay? Or do you need something different?” He asked, kissing your shoulder.

“This is okay, I’m comfortable,” you encouraged. “Now, fuck me.”

Jimin needed no further words as he sank into you slowly for the first time in months. The pair of you breathed out heavy sighs as you finally felt the fullness you’d been craving for weeks. Jimin choked on a moan when you flexed your walls around him, making him buck into you a little harsher than expected.

“Sorry! I haven’t-Since we haven’t been doing anything I haven’t even pleasured myself, I haven’t had the time, you feel so good around me, fuck,” he moaned out, gripping your hips firmly.

“It’s okay, I won’t last long. I’ve missed you so much,” you moaned, your fists tightening in the bed sheets beneath you.

“Oh shit,” he growled, bucking into you again, building a steady rhythm that had your chest jolting almost painfully. Your core was soaking, and Jimin wasn’t letting up. He was fucking into you so hard some of your arousal was falling down your thighs.

“Jimin, harder,” you pleaded, head falling into the mattress. Your husband didn’t have to be told twice as he started rutting into your wet heat with vigor.

“I’ve been thinking about this everyday since you told me you were pregnant,” he snarled, pulling all the way out just to force himself back in once more. You cried out when his fingers found your clit, causing you to grind back against him. The air rushed from his lungs as he watched you practically use him for your own pleasure.

“Everyday? Then why didn’t you do anything?” You whined, bouncing back against him harshly. Jimin swallowed hard as he tried to stave off his looming orgasm.

“Because the physician... I was worried I’d hurt you or the baby, like I said earlier. But now that I know this is safe, don’t expect to be able to walk for a while,” he warned, pulling on your sensitive nipples gingerly. You cried out into the mattress when milk started to leak down Jimin’s hand. He watched as the pearly white substance soaked the sheets beneath you like your arousal had earlier.

“Fuck! Jimin, keep going please!” You begged when he got distracted by your chest practically flooding the bed.

“Have you not been expressing the milk? Doesn’t it hurt?” He asked.

“Yes, it aches so much during the day and I’m so sensitive when I try to sleep. Sometimes I wake up and my nightdress is soaked from milk,” you whined, trying to reach for him so he would keep pounding into you.

“Mm, since I didn’t get to have a taste of your pussy... Maybe you’ll let me have something else instead,” he teased, licking the milk off of his hands and groaning when it hit his tastebuds.

“More, please more!” You begged. Jimin noticed your frantic bouncing and eased you into a spooning position. He was still throbbing inside of you, but you could feel his head come to your shoulder, placing soft kisses against it.

“Let me drink from you, it must hurt my darling. So full and heavy with milk for our child, but they can share, surely?” He teased, kissing the side of your breast while giving shallow thrusts to your womanhood.

“You can have it, whatever you want as long as you keep fucking me. Please, Jimin, I’m so close,” you whimpered. Sensing your urgency Jimin started his brutal pace back up. You cried out in bliss when his mouth met your sensitive nipple. Jimin gently suckled at your chest, causing more milk to enter his mouth.

He groaned at the flavor and gave a few sharp ruts into your clenching pussy. You were besides yourself with pleasure, almost in tears at all the stimulation.

Jimin wasn’t doing much better. Five months without even masturbating was proving to be his end far too quickly.

“Y/N, I’m going to cum. Are you close?” He asked, reaching down to push at your clit gently.

“Yes! Right there, pleasepleaseplease! Jimin,” you cried. Your walls tightened beyond belief, causing Jimin to freeze in his thrusting. He watched your face as you fell apart for him, causing him to reach his end as well. A cry of your name on his lips as ropes of hot cum painted your walls milky white. Jimin shuddered in overstimulation as you continued to clench yourself around his spent cock.

The pair of you lay there, clutching each other in the afterglow as you tried to catch your breath. Jimin decided to move first, pulling his still twitching length from your abused center. You watched as he stood on wobbly legs and came back with a towel to clean you up with. A soft smile took over your features as you spread your legs easily for him.

After he was satisfied, you opened your arms for him. Jimin moved forward without hesitation, wrapping your exhausted body with his own. He kissed the top of your head, then around your jaw and finally a firm kiss was placed on your lips.

“I love you so much my darling,” he smiled, resting his head on the pillow.

“I love you too, we both do.”

—

You’d never thought that giving birth would be a pleasant experience.

But never in your entire life did you imagine it would hurt this much.

The contractions had started early in the morning. Making you wake Jimin with a frantic push.

“My love what is it?” He asked, sitting up in the bed with a bewildered look on his face.

“Get Father Jin right now,” you demanded, leaning forward to hold your severely swollen stomach. Jimin was out of bed and quickly called the guards to get the Priest from his room as fast as possible.

They yelled back their confirmation before they hurried off. You felt the distinct cramping from your groin and moaned low in pain. Jimin came back over to you, looking at you with worry etched onto his features.

“Do you want anything? Anyone? I’ll call for whatever you need,” he said, taking your shaking hands in his.

“Good morning,” you whispered, giving him a weak smile.

“Good morning,” he smiled back, kissing your knuckles gently.

Soon you were in a different room entirely, getting settled into the blankets and all the people close to you had been summoned.

Jungkook and Taehyung had gotten there first, both excited and ready for the proceedings.

“Lady Y/N! It’s really happening? Oh my gosh! I’m so excited for you,” Jungkook said, coming over to place a gentle kiss on your hand out of respect.

“Thank you Jungkook, how is training the new recruits going?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the pain.

“Oh that’s all boring! We don’t want to hear about that!” Taehyung said, coming next to you and also kissing your hand.

“Maybe she does my Lord,” Jungkook sneered. You knew the two of them had always had a friendly competition going on. But, right now you shushed them and told them to go sit down.

Hoseok and Namjoon were next, coming in shortly after Taehyung and Jungkook.

“My lady,” Namjoon said, taking to his knee in front of you.

“There’s no need for that right now, Namjoon. How are you? We haven’t had tea in a while, and I fear if this babe comes now we might not for a long while yet,” you teased and Namjoon just smiled as he stood up.

“We can sneak some tea in soon my Lady, leave the child with the King to see how he fares,” he smirked. Jimin was pouting. You knew it without even looking at him.

“I might have to do that,” you smiled. Hoseok came over quickly after, kissing your hand a few times before looking at you with excitement.

“Is there anything you want? Anything you need? I know you’re not supposed to eat anything right now but maybe some water?” He asked.

“It’s so sweet of you to offer, but right now I’m just tired and a little cranky,” you laughed, trying to keep yourself in good spirits.

Hoseok seemed to understand, giving your hand a soft squeeze before walking over to talk with Namjoon and Jungkook.

“Where’s Yoongi? And Father Jin?” You asked, looking around.

“We’re here!” Father Jin said, a bright smile on his face as he escorted a grumpy looking Yoongi through the doorway.

“Yeah, here,” Yoongi said, yawning and scowling at the older man.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” you whispered, reaching out for the stoic man. His resolve quickly melted as he came by and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

“I’m sure you’d rather be sleeping now too, but I’m fine. Are you alright?” He asked, looking at you with an intensity you always forgot he possessed.

“Yes, just some contractions right now. My water hasn’t broken yet,” you said. Yoongi nodded and looked at Jimin with a soft smile.

“How are you faring, feeling okay?” He asked, looking at the father to be with kind eyes.

“Nervous, but happy,” he confirmed, taking your hand in his.

“Wonderful,” he yawned, going to sit down and hopefully doze off while you were still in the early stages.

Father Jin gathered everyone up and they all listened attentively to whatever he had to say. The day progressed and your water hadn’t broken yet, but the men all stayed, asking if there was anything you needed, holding your hand if you felt a particularly rough contraction.

But most importantly, Jimin was right by your side the whole time.

When your water did finally break, it was like hell also had broken loose.

It was later, probably afternoon when you felt it happen.

Father Jin was suddenly on his feet demanding towels and hot water for you, as well as some herbs that would help numb the pain as much as they could. Jimin looked panic stricken when you clutched onto his hand.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, another wave of pain crashing through you without remorse.

“I’m scared too,” he confessed. “But I know you can do it. You’re already the perfect wife, now you’re going to be the perfect mother... Our child is almost here,” he said, kissing your cheek.

“Jungkook, Lord Taehyung each of you grab a leg and hold them please,” Father Jin said as he sat in front of you. Both men looked shocked at the idea, but you and Jimin both nodded, giving them permission.

Jungkook gently placed his hands on your calf and pushed your leg back holding it in position for you. Taehyung did the same, each of them keeping their eyes respectful.

“Why do we have to hold her legs?” Taehyung asked, looking at Jungkook.

“Gives her more leverage and relieves some of the pressure on her back,” Jungkook answered.

“The only problem is it can close off the birthing canal at an awkward angle, but for now this is the best position to give her a break,” Father Jin said.

When you started pushing, you felt your lower back ache with how much strain you were under. Jimin could only watch as you cried out in pain when Father Jin urged you to keep going.

Everyone in the room was tense with worry.

Your health had always been fragile, even after coming back from the dead you still fell sick easily and had trouble with your lungs. But Father Jin was focused on the baby, while Jimin was focused on you.

“I never expected it to hurt this much,” Namjoon whispered, watching on in horror as his Queen and dear friend struggled to keep conscious through the pain.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you wailed. Hoseok was quick to grab a bucket that was formerly filled with water and held it as you threw up. Jimin smoothed his hands down your back, trying to keep himself from crying. Jungkook and Taehyung had given you a break with your legs so you could turn as you emptied your stomach.

“Y/N,” Jimin murmured, kissing your shoulder gently.

“Sit back straight, Y/N, you need to keep pushing,” Father Jin said. You were delirious with pain and exhaustion. You needed something to keep you grounded. The one thing you knew would always keep you grounded.

“My love, talk to me, just keep talking to me,” you pleaded, voice hoarse with how much you’d been crying.

“Y/N, it’s alright,” Jimin soothed, kissing your sweaty forehead with worry. “They’re almost here, we’re so close to meeting our baby. We’re so close to being a family.”

“Alright your Majesty another big push on the count of three, one... two... three!” Father Jin said, you pushed hard and felt nothing but sheer agony as the child started crowning.

“I can see the head!” Hoseok said, standing behind Father Jin, now hanging onto Yoongi tightly.

“Oh my God,” you cried, head falling back on the pillows.

“Keep pushing Y/N!” Father Jin said, preparing a cloth.

“I can’t, I really can’t, I’ll die if I keep going please,” you stammered. Taehyung and Jungkook shared an anxious look. Namjoon looked at you with fear written all over his features.

“My love, look at me,” Jimin said softly, bringing your eyes to his.

“It hurts, I can’t... Please don’t make me, ah!” You cried out as you felt another contraction.

“Y/N you need to push! Hard as you can,” Father Jin said, looking at your situation.

“Keep going Lady Y/N,” Jungkook said, looking up to your weary face. He’d seen several women give birth in his village, his mother being a midwife. But, to see someone he cared about going through this was difficult.

“You’ll be alright, you will. But if you stop pushing you’re putting you and the baby in danger,” Father Jin warned.

“How much longer?” You cried, giving another hard push.

“You’re so close,” Yoongi said, watching you with concern.

“You’re doing great!” Taehyung chirped, watching on in amazement.

He couldn’t wait to have his own family...

“The head is almost out, come on Y/N, keep going,” Father Jin said.

“Jimin,” you whimpered, clutching his hand as you gave the hardest push yet.

“I love you so much, keep going Y/N, I love you,” he whispered into your ear. You pushed again and finally, finally there was some relief.

“Oh my God!” Hoseok yelped, gripping onto Yoongi’s arm so tight he was certain that he was going to break his limb.

“You’re going to rip my arm off! Father Jin is a little busy right now!” Yoongi growled.

“Can you give me one more push? Just one more,” Jimin asked, kissing your shoulder. Looking at him with tears in your eyes you nodded, giving another strong push before soft cries filled the room.

“It’s a boy!”

“A prince!”

“Congratulations your majesties!”

You slumped back onto the bed, breathing heavily when a small bundle was placed on your chest. Looking down you saw your son, wiped off haphazardly and clutching your nightdress tightly.

“Oh Y/N,” Jimin whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“He’s so handsome!” Hoseok cooed, looking on at you and Jimin both. Father Jin had you push a few more times to deliver the afterbirth, but nothing was as intense as giving birth to your son.

“Ji...min...” you breathed, eyes growing heavy.

“Can she rest Father?” Taehyung asked, looking at the little prince attached to his mother with tear filled eyes.

“Not yet, Y/N, stay awake,” Father Jin warned.

“Why...?” You asked, slowly taking in deep breaths.

“I need to check you and the baby over, and he needs to feed,” Father Jin said softly, cleaning you up still. Your eyes were still heavy, but you heard your baby crying softly on your chest.

Instinctively you shushed him, bringing him to your chest so he could latch on. After a little struggle, he was feeding eagerly. You brushed his hair gently, watching with sleepy eyes as he ate his fill.

Father Jin came over, congratulating you on a wonderful delivery. He did tell you everything you needed to do for the coming days, encouraging you to stay in bed and keep the baby close to form a relationship. He also told Jimin to take the baby and have time as well.

“It’s important that you two stay together for this coming week, I’ll make sure that the advisors and everyone just leaves you alone unless it is absolutely life or death,” Father Jin said, looking at your babe with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“What’s the baby’s name? Hmm? What do we call our new prince?” Namjoon asked, raising a brow.

“Jihoon?” You asked, looking at Jimin for confirmation.

“It’s perfect,” Jimin agreed, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

“Prince Jihoon, I’ll let the advisors and everyone know,” Taehyung said, running into the hall.

“Lord Taehyung! Just hang on a second!” Namjoon yelled, chasing after the excited noble.

“We’d better go and make sure they don’t get into any trouble,” Yoongi said to Jungkook, patting his shoulder before guiding the younger male out the door.

“As much as I’d love to spend time with my Godchild, I have to make sure that my brother and friends don’t cause a scene,” Hoseok said. He came up and gave your hand a gentle kiss. “Congratulations Lady Y/N, I’m truly happy for you.”

With that he left the room, followed shortly by Father Jin.

You and Jimin were alone with your baby, the soft sound of his gurgles filling the room. Jimin looked down at you, eyes watery as he kissed your child’s head. You brushed the tears away from his face, even though exhaustion was flooding your aching body, you wanted to make sure he was okay too. He had also been through a lot today.

“I love you,” you said, watching as more tears fell from his eyes.

“I love you too, both of you... So much,” he whimpered. “That was the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing I’ve ever had to experience.”

“Heartbreaking?” You wondered out loud.

“To see you in so much pain, and there was nothing I could do about it,” he said, looking at your child, hands shaking.

“It’s alright, I’m okay now,” you said, holding his hand in your clammy one. Jimin pressed a delicate kiss to your wrist, looking up at you with so much love and adoration.

“I’m sorry you hurt so much, if I could take your pain I would,” he said, brushing your hair back.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” you mumbled, eyes closing slowly. “Just tired now...”

“Sleep my love, we’ll be here when you wake up.”

And they were.

And they always would be.

Forever.

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the-great-bbe · 3 years

Text

The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles. Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

Or, the sangria beach party that Elia and her loved ones deserved. A short fic to start off Summer is for Dorne!

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Among his many talents, Elia’s little brother is a master of mixing drinks.

He is a viper after all, and vipers know their poisons and how to mix them. Tequila from the agave blooming across the hillsides pairs perfectly with lime juice and distilled orange blossom nectar to make a margarita. Horchata foamy and fragrant with Summer Islander cinnamon can be elevated with sugarcane rum. And there’s nothing better on the gods’ green earth than red wine—proper Dornish sweetwine, not that diabetic piss from the Arbor—left to idle in icy splendor with strong brandy and fruit. Blood oranges, black strawberries, white nectarines, even a tart green apple or two. Their cousin Manfrey picked them all fresh from his private orchards near the Water Gardens just the day before. The bounty of Dorne for Dorne and Dornishmen alone.

A pitcher of his perfect sangria rests in a bucket full of ice slurry. Already her goblet is half empty, despite her efforts to sip and savor. It tastes so rich on her tongue much abused by dull Riverlands ale and Reacher wines. There are few blood oranges to be found north of the Boneway, even for a Princess of Dorne, and Elia feels the urge to inhale her drink. She sighs and rolls her shoulders. Just another sip for now. Summer explodes on her tongue, ripe and rich and such a dear welcome home.

Elia doesn’t remember the last time she was this happy. On Dragonstone it was a constant haze of sulfur and marine fog, and Kings Landing reeks from miles away. But here, on a long stretch of beach near Saltshore, the sun burns bright and delicious above the palm trees. Not a single cloud in the sapphire sky, nor any fog to mar the turquoise seas. Elia rolls her head back against her wicker chair. Perhaps later she’ll relocate to the hammock strung between two date palms and let the balmy sea breeze lull her and her children to sleep. But for now her precious Rhaenys plays in the surf with her cousins and Viserys, and dear Aegon builds a sandcastle with Oberyn’s help.

Instead of cowering from the Mad King’s rages and simmering with hatred towards her once husband, Elia lounges in the shade. Zinc paste is cloudy white on her shoulders, nose and ears to protect her from the strongest of the sun, just like the children. But the rest of her body is resplendent with shea butter and avocado oil. Thick aloe leaves already sticky with cooling sap wait in a basket by her feet in case she must ward away a sun burn, but her skin soaks up the midmorning sun like a child returning to her mother’s embrace. Gods, but the sun! She stretches her arms above her head and nearly knocks her wide brimmed hat aside. She swears she can feel the sunlight itself like warm silk through her fingers, like a waterfall down her chest to pool in her stomach and ignite joy in her veins.

She lets her gaze fall back towards the sea. When was the last time Rhaenys laughed this loudly? When was the last time Viserys laughed at all? Poor boy, but he, his mother and his baby sister are well in hand now. Targaryens by birth they may be, but the blood of Myriah Martell and Dyanna Dayne run sevenfold in their veins. Dorne shall never turn its back on any child no matter the color of their skin, and even from her shaded refuge Elia sees the freckles blooming across Viserys’s shoulders. Good; the more sun the better. Uncle Lewyn’s eldest daughter Obara throws him headlong into the waves and he shrieks with joy, while her little sister Nym and Doran’s Arianne demand their own toss into the surf. Rhaenys and Manfrey’s daughter Sarella help Lewyn’s Tyene search for shells and crabs, giggling and kicking seaweed at each other. When they find a proper shell, they bring it to Aegon and Oberyn who add it to their castle. Aegon blows a messy kiss onto Rhaenys’s cheek and Elia’s heart runs over with sweet warmth. Her babies, alive and well and happy.

It was a terribly close thing by the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia’s correspondence was cut off by Aerys in his paranoia, but she was able to smuggle out a letter to Oberyn when Rhaella left for Dragonstone. He returned with his sellswords to rescue them from their imprisonment, and not a moment sooner—Elia remembers how Kings Landing burned from her view on the ship home to Dorne. To think of what would’ve happened had they stayed…they say that Aerys was cut down by his own Kingsguard, and that the royal nursery was torn to shreds by the Mountain That Rides in search of children to kill.

Elia shudders. Perish the thought, banish it to the seven hells. Rhaegar is dead, and her children are Martells now. Even Rhaella forsook the Targaryen name when they alighted in Sunspear and she was hurried into proper birthing chambers. Daenerys came to the world not as a Targaryen princess but as a Lady Martell of Dorne, with Rhaella Martell the new Lady of Planky Town. Viserys and Aegon shall not give their lives to the Wall and Rhaenys shall not be chained to a Baratheon prince. Not if Westeros intends for Dorne to remain in the Seven Kingdoms, and truth be told Elia wonders if Doran intends to leave anyway. They entered into a kingdom with a union, and perhaps they shall leave with the sundering of one…

But that’s not what matters today. What matters is refilling her goblet. Elia raises it high, and Doran shuffles over with the pitcher. Her dear older brother is shirtless, stained with sand and salt, and there is a sweet flush to his cheeks. Even his bad leg seems fine with the therapy of burning sunlight illuminating their bones from the inside out. Mellario must certainly appreciate that! Her good sister lies on a spread linen sheet on the sands with Ellaria, Oberyn’s paramour. Both of them are bronze in the sun, a silk turban around Mellario’s head and Ellaria’s curls formed into twists down her back. And its’ said that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful in Westeros, obviously people are blind. They look up at them with mischievous grins, before bumping their heads together and giggling. Elia smirks at Doran. “Careful now, habibi. I believe you’ll be ambushed later in the night and whisked away by a mystery woman.”

He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll be sure to not fight back too much.” He plops down next to her and sips at his lemon water. The maesters forbid him from alcohol and sugar until his gout is under control, a true tragedy in Elia’s eyes as the sangria is excellent. But even more excellent is seeing how happy her brother is. Gods, to imagine him mourning her and her babies as they did for uncle Lewyn, it’s a fate she would not wish on her loved ones. She intends to live to a hundred and twenty, just to ensure he’ll always smile at her with crinkled eyes.

Elia leans against his shoulder and peers out towards the cabana higher up towards the oasis grove. “Has Rhaella returned from Saltshore yet? Dany was giving the wet nurse a bit of a hard time.”

“Missed me, have you?” Rhaella, emerged from their cabana and the platters of fruit kept safe from the sea salt there, calls down to them. It’s been only a few months, and Rhaella is unrecognizable. Elia is glad to see the plump roundness of her stomach and thighs where before she was only skin and bone. And her skin, once as pale as parchment and twice as translucent, is as dark as her great-grandmother Dyanna. It glows against her silver-gold hair and lavender eyes, and there is happiness in her face where before there was only stifled fear.

Elia waves Rhaella over to the empty wicker chair by her side. Perhaps later, when the children sleep off their lunch and the adults are properly sauced from sangrias and margaritas, they’ll return to the cabana and lounge on the day beds. Maybe even one of the cabana boys—cabana men in truth, with their strong arms and backs—can give them all shoulder massages. Rhaella has a little favorite who is always eager to help his new lady relax. Elia raises her eyebrows at her good mother and she takes a long sip of her margarita. Elia is far from judging, as Rhaella deserves whatever happiness she can grasp.

They all do. How long have they all suffered these last years? Suffering Aerys, suffering Rhaegar, suffering the war that they wrought upon Westeros. Elia still remembers the screams from Rhaella’s chambers during their terrible stays in Kings Landing, she remembers the cold silences before Harrenhal and the even colder absences after. And now those men are dead and thousands with them. All over some Northern girl, and a prophecy that probably foretold the coming of the seasons than any promised prince!

Well, fuck them. Westeros has a new king now, in that stinking castle filled with blood and shit and ghosts, and the Baratheons and Lannisters can figure it out now. Let them have the starving smallfolk ready to rebel after a harsh winter. Let them have the honor of bartering away pieces of their souls until all that remains is bleeding pride. Let them have it all. All that matters to Dorne is the rice crop, and managing citrus exports, and the wellbeing of its people. Elia plans to build a new school for smallfolk children and petty gentry in Sunspear, as she is now Princess of Sunspear. More Martell branches for a blood orange tree to bear wondrous fruit. All beneath the sun, so bright in that perfect sky…

Elia sips her sangria. Oberyn and Aegon are finished with their sandcastle, and now he’s pulled out a guitar from somewhere and tries to teach his nephew how to play. Rhaenys perches on Obara’s shoulders and pretends to joust with Arianne who is on Viserys’s. Manfrey and his Summer Islander wife Bellegara Otherys finally finish up their romantic walk up and down the shore, with Bellegara joining Mellario and Ellaria’s whisper pile and Manfrey pulling Doran away to talk drunken business. Something about making a fleet of ships to rival Nymeria’s, and selling sweetwine to Sothoryos in exchange for coconut and date liquor. Elia giggles and can’t stop. Not with the sun so warm on her skin, not with Rhaella raising her goblet and toasting the coming summer.

It’s still winter north of the Red Mountains, but not here. No, summer is here for Dorne, and it is here to stay.

Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

#summer is for dorne #sifd #hot dorne summer #sangria beach party #southern renaissance approved

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orsuliya · 3 years

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This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #and unto us a child is born #although the aftermath must wait #this was getting a bit too long and me a bit too weepy #I am an absolute disgrace of a human being #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELEINEENGLAND #also I might have read a book about childbirth in ancient China #it was full of dead babies but on the whole very interesting

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fangirlyah · 4 years

Text

✦bedtime stories - Edmund Pevensie x Reader

summary: your teen adventures in the great kingdom of narnia now became bedtime stories for your children.

warnings: just too much sweetness

word count: 1,242

a/n: according to the books the ages of the characters should be different, but in this one-shot their ages will be those agreed by wikipedia reasoning with the actors’ age in the year of recording of the second film (it is an approximation). at the side of the real names of the characters, there are names that y/n gives them to tell the story:

Peter/Patrick - 20

Susan/Sophie - 17

Edmund/Ethan - 15/16

Lucy/Laila - 12

Prince Caspian/Christopher - 26

y/n / Mérida

"mom! can you tell us a story?!” you peeked through the open door of your children's room, you were heading for your own bedroom to rest but you couldn't ignore your children's request. the light from a small desk lamp illuminated the room, while the three children went to their respective beds. it was ten o'clock at night and none of them could fall asleep.

"please! I want one of those about the magic kingdom!" your eldest son, of eight years old, exclaimed.

"its name is narnia, silly" mary, the only girl, corrected her brother.

you went into their room and took a seat william’s bed, your youngest son.

"if you promise to go to sleep later, i will tell you a story"

"yes mommy" will move his little body, of a four year old boy, to sit on his mommy's lap.

"well, tonight's story begins when little queen laila turned thirteen. it was a sunny day and the whole kingdom was celebrating. every creature, animal and human being was overflowing with joy as the queen had stopped being a child to start becoming a woman. the war with the telmarines had come to a successful end so every habitant of the narnian’s kingdom had more than one reason to celebrate.

sophie, laila and mérida were eagerly preparing for the celebration. the maids had made beautiful dresses for each of them..”

"where were the kings?!"

"they were also getting ready for the party, arranging their fancy clothes and making sure their hair was well neat, as they had to make a good impression.

the main courtyard of the castle was adorned with garlands of cloth in the little queen's favourite colours and the tables were full of delights to be enjoyed.

when sophie and mérida came down the three kings were already waiting for them with smiles on their faces. christopher had a very big smile, which when he saw the older queen became even bigger...”

"and ethan and merida?, you told us that they were in love, mum! how did ethan react?" your daughter asked enthusiastically, making her brother fake a vomit.

"oh yes, they were very much in love. ethan was fascinated by the view in front of him, the queen mérida was beautiful. for that moment there were no wedding plans but, as soon as ethan saw her, he wanted to propose there at that moment..."

"she knew he wanted to propose to her?!"

"she found out years later when he finally did it, after years of friendship"

"there were warriors at the party?!" your eldest son stood on his bed imitating a soldier in the middle of a battle.

"they were all at the celebration. queen lucy was so gentle that she had not allowed anyone to miss the feast. when the birthday girl came down the big stairs everyone had smiles on their faces and applauded her loudly. the food on the long tables quickly disappeared and the same with the drinks, but the guests remained dancing in the courtyard to the rhythm of the band playing on a small stage. ethan had not allowed mérida to dance with anyone but himself, keeping their hands together most of the time. not even his older brother, patrick, who had tried to dance a song with the girl. the birthday girl passed through almost every arm of the guests giving them big hugs in thanks for their presence. the music only stopped when the lion, aslan, appeared at the party to give the little queen a few words of courtesy…”

"you have the same name!” william pointed with his little arm at his brother.

"I still don't understand, mum, how I was named after a fantasy lion" you just smiled to continue.

"aslan was very happy for the little girl, so he gave her a valuable sword with a public speech wishing her well as a ruler of the kingdom of narnia. when night came and the servants took a large citrus and chocolate cake from the kitchen to sing a typical narnian birthday song. patrick, ethan, sophie and laila were already familiar with such a song as they had heard it countless times. but both christopher and mérida did not yet know it…”

"mérida only knew the happy birthday song, so silly!l"

"exactly, she had arrived in narnia a year ago so the birthdays she had lived in the kingdom were few. chistopher only knew the telmarine song and, given the circumstances, it was not advisable to sing it..." your children laughed thanks to your sarcastic comment "even though it was almost midnight and the guests had already left, none of the kings and queens or the princess merida seemed to take away their smile. the moon was full and when they were the last ones left in the large courtyard laila said 'this was the best birthday ever' causing a satisfaction in the faces of all those who had helped organize. when they thought they would close the night merida shouted 'whoever gets me first has the plague!' and so everyone began to run, ending up barefoot moving, with difficulty, on the white sand of the beach, with even bigger smiles. that night everyone slept in complete peace after a long time of suffering, they were one big happy family".

when you finished telling the story your children were already relaxed, trapped between the colourful blankets of their beds. you snuggled them up even more, covering them with the blankets to keep them from getting cold at night. when you were about to leave a voice woke you up.

"mommy..."

"yes, dear?" you answered to your daughter when you were about to step into the hallway outside her bedroom.

"can you tell us when ethan and mérida got married tomorrow?"

"of course" satisfied, she turned her back on you.

when you had already closed the door, you bent down to pick up a toy dinosaur that was on the floor when you heard a voice.

"psss, aslan!" your daughter shouted whispering.

"what do you want, mary?" a sleepy boy answered.

"do you think mummy is mérida and daddy is ethan?"

"you're crazy, these are just fantasy stories"

"but violet told me that aunt susan tells her the same bedtime stories! maybe the kings and queens, are dad and his brothers and sisters!"

"mary, you ate too many turkish delights today. go to sleep"

when you heard that the conversation was over, you went to your room with a smile on your face that only grew bigger when you saw your husband lying down reading a book.

"they will start to get suspicious if you keep telling them about narnia" edmund looked at you as you took off your dressing gown and went into bed to leave a soft kiss on his freshly shaved cheek.

"I think they already do" you added comically making him laugh "guess what they want me to tell them now" ed looked at you with raised eyebrows waiting for an answer

"they want me to tell them when you proposed to me and we got married"

"oh for aslan, that's so embarrassing" he said, recalling his chequered proposal.

"I'm sure more than one man has dropped the ring on the grass while he was kneeling" you loved to bring that up, because that way you could see him blushing and feel his face hiding in your neck.

"tomorrow i tell them the story"

#narnia #the cronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie x y/n #edmund pevensie fanfic #bedtime #stories #prince caspian

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dragonmartellstark · 3 years

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AU Tudor: Best Destinations for Henry VIII's Wives (That is, if they had never married him)

Catherine of Aragon-Queen of England (1485-1540)

Catherine and her husband, the Prince of Wales, Arthur Tudor were deeply in love and that great love was able to overcome the disease they were going through. The improvement of the princes was a great joy for all and the couple continued with their normal life, being a very united and passionate couple also focusing on the task of bringing children into the world. In 1504 the couple's first son, Henry, the future Henry VIII of England, was born. The birth of the little one was a great joy for England and for the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon, since the succession to the throne was assured. Two years later Princess Victoria was born, who would be Queen Consort of France.

In the year 1509 King Henry VII of England died and Arthur sat on the throne as Arthur I of England, Catherine being his consort. Dances and masses were held for the new kings wishing them a long life and many descendants. In 1515 the third daughter of the kings was born, Mary who became queen consort of Spain.

During the years 1515 and 1520 England was involved in numerous conflicts between Catholics and Protestants. King Arthur did not want to start a war of religion trying to appease both sides but to be a fervent Catholic like his queen. In that period, Catherine had two more children: George Tudor in 1516, who became a cardinal, and Elizabeth in 1517 who was Queen of Scotland; During Elizabeth's pregnancy, Arturo suffered an attack at gunpoint by a Protestant and this news greatly upset the queen, giving birth to her daughter prematurely.

In the year 1523 Arthur and his little brother, Henry the Duke of York, made the passes after ten years of estrangement, in addition to promising the Prince of Wales, Henry, with his older cousin, Eleanor. A year later both cousins were married in the Church of Greenwich in a simpler but happy ceremony.

In 1525, Princess Victoria married King Francis I of France shortly after Claudia de Valois' widow. This marriage managed to make peace between France and England.

In the year 1526 there was a revolt between the religious groups resulting in the death of more than two thousand people. This event was known as "the massacre for Christ" being a great tragedy for the kings who tirelessly searched for the perpetrators of the massacre.

In the year 1527 the first daughter of the princes of Wales was born, Catherine who was Duchess of Orleans. A year later she was born Margaret, but she died of smallpox at the age of seven.

Three years later in 1529 the king declared the law of free religion respecting the religions of every inhabitant of England, Arthur being known as "The Conciliator". Despite the fact that Catherine was a fervent Catholic, she respected the Protestant side and did not include religion in the issues of State.

In 1531 Prince Arthur was born, the first son of Prince Henry and his wife Eleanor, this birth being a great joy for all England. A year later another son was born, Luis who would be Duke of Cornwall, the duchy being separated from the title of Prince of Wales.

At first, Princess Mary was betrothed to her cousin, Carlos I of Spain, but he broke off his commitment to marry Isabel of Portugal, having numerous tensions between England and Spain, but the Spanish king proposed to marry his cousin with his son, the Prince of Asturias, Felipe. This engagement did not please the kings very much due to the twelve years difference between the young people, but in the end they agreed to marry in the year 1532.

In 1535 Arthur and his sister Margaret decided to marry his sons James V of Scotland and Elizabeth of England to each other. That same year the couple got married and Elizabeth was crowned Queen of Scotland in this way both countries signed peace.

In the year 1539 Catherine suffered a relapse while returning from a mass, this caused her to stay in bed for several months in which her condition began to worsen more and more, but she remained strong for her country and her husband who did not detached from his queen from the start. One year after complete agony and grief, Queen Catherine of Aragon passed away at the age of 55. It is said that on her deathbed, she hugged her husband, who was devastated when he saw her beloved wife dead in her arms. Catherine's death was felt in much of Europe and she was remembered as a faithful, charitable queen and a great mother.

Catherine was buried in St George's Chapel at Windsor Castle. Just four days after the queen's funeral, Arthur I fell seriously ill and the next day he passed away at the age of 54. The king's last words were "my beloved Catalina."

AU Tudor: Los mejores destinos para las esposas de Henry VIII (Es decir si ellas nunca se hubieran casado con el)

Catalina de Aragón-Reina de Inglaterra (1485-1540)

Catalina y su esposo, el príncipe de gales, Arturo Tudor estuvieron enamorados profundamente y ese gran amor pudo contra la enfermedad por la que estaban pasando. La mejoría de los príncipes fue una gran alegría para todos y la pareja siguió con su vida normal, siendo una pareja muy unida y pasional centrándose también en la tarea de traer hijos al mundo. En el año 1504 nació el primer hijo de la pareja, Henry el futuro Henry VIII de Inglaterra. El nacimiento del pequeño fue una gran alegría para Inglaterra y para los reinos de Castilla y Aragón, ya que la sucesión del trono estaba asegurada. Dos años después nació la princesa Victoria que sería reina consorte de Francia.

En el año 1509 falleció el rey Enrique VII de Inglaterra y Arturo se sentó en el trono como Arturo I de Inglaterra siendo Catalina su consorte. Se celebraron bailes y misas por los nuevos reyes deseándoles una larga vida y muchos descendientes. En el 1515 nació la tercera hija de los reyes, María que se convirtió en reina consorte de España.

Durante los años 1515 y 1520 Inglaterra se vio envuelta en numerosos conflictos entre católicos y protestantes. El rey Arturo no quería iniciar una guerra de religión tratando de apaciguar a ambos bandos pece a ser un ferviente católico como su reina. En ese periodo Catalina tuvo dos hijos mas: George Tudor en el año 1516, quien se convirtió en cardenal, e Isabel en el año 1517 quien fue reina de Escocia; Durante el embarazo de Isabel, Arturo sufrió un ataque a punta de pistola por parte de un protestante y esta noticia altero mucho a la reina dando a luz a su hija de manera prematura.

En el año 1523 Arturo y su hermano pequeño, Enrique el duque de York hicieron las pases después de diez años de distanciamiento, además de prometer al príncipe de Gales, Enrique con su prima mayor, Leonor. Un año después ambos primos se casaron en la Iglesia de Greenwich en una ceremonia mas sencilla, pero feliz.

En el 1525 la princesa Victoria se caso con el rey Francisco I de Francia poco después que este enviudara de Claudia de Valois. Este matrimonio logro hacer la paz entre Francia e Inglaterra.

En el año 1526 hubo una revuelta entre los bandos religiosos resultando en la muerte de mas de dos mil personas. Este acontecimiento fue conocido como “la masacre por Cristo” siendo una gran tragedia para los reyes quienes buscaron incansablemente a los perpetradores de la masacre.

En el año 1527 nació la primera hija de los príncipes de Gales, Catalina que fue duquesa de Orleans. Un año después nació Margaret, pero falleció de viruela a los siete años.

Tres años después en el 1529 el rey declaro la ley de libre religión respetando las religiones de cada habitante de Inglaterra, siendo Arturo conocido como “El conciliador”. Pesé a que Catalina era una ferviente católica ella respeto al bando protestante y no incluía la religión en los temas de Estado.

En el 1531 nació el príncipe Arturo, el primer varón del príncipe Enrique y su esposa Leonor, siendo este nacimiento una gran alegría para toda Inglaterra. Un año después nació otro hijo varón, Luis que sería duque de Cornualles siendo el ducado separado del titulo de príncipe de Gales.

En un principio la princesa María fue prometida con su primo, Carlos I de España, pero este rompió su compromiso para casarse con Isabel de Portugal teniendo numerosas tenciones entre Inglaterra y España, pero el rey español propuso casar a su prima con su hijo, el príncipe de Asturias, Felipe. Este compromiso no gusto mucho a los reyes debido a los doce años de diferencia entre los jóvenes, pero al final accedieron al casamiento en el año 1532.

El 1535 Arturo y su hermana Margarita decidieron casar a sus hijos Jacobo V de Escocia e Isabel de Inglaterra entre si. Ese mismo año la pareja se caso e Isabel fue coronada como reina de Escocia de esta manera ambos países firmaron la paz.

En el año 1539 Catalina sufre una recaída mientras regresa de una misa, esto provoca que se quede en cama por varios meses en los cuales su estado empieza a empeorar cada vez mas, pero se mantiene fuerte por su país y su marido quien no se a despegado de su reina desde el comienzo. Un año después de completa agonía y pena, la reina Catalina de Aragón falleció a la edad de 55 años. Se dice que en su lecho de muerte abrazo a su marido el cual quedo destrozado al ver a su amada esposa muerta en sus brazos. La muerte de Catalina fue sentida en gran parte de Europa siendo recordada como una reina fiel, caritativa y una gran madre.

Catalina fue enterrada en La Capilla de San Jorge, en el Castillo de Windsor. Tan solo cuatro días después del funeral de la reina, Arturo I callo enfermo de gravedad y al día siguiente falleció a la edad de 54 años de edad. Las ultimas palabras del rey fueron “mi amada Catalina”.

#catherine of aragon #arthur tudor #arthur i of england #henry viii #victoria of england #mary of england #george of england #elizabeth of england #house tudor #AU

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hrhduchessoflancaster · 3 years

Text

Chapter Ninety-Four: The New Elizabethan Era

Disclaimer: see Prologue

A/N: Almost at the end now, everyone. Just one more chapter and epilogue to go. Hope you enjoy it! Thank you. xx Bea

_____________________________________________

September, 2020

Harry and Elle had remained in Sussex for a month after Philip’s death but duties over the UK had made them return to London. Elle’s parent’s and occasionally Charles and Camilla as well were more than happy to babysit the youngsters. Charles had taken the Sussexes to Highgrove and much like he had done with Arthur when he was a baby, the proud grandfather introduced his littlest grandchild to the all the animals and plants at the estate, going into much detail about the care of each one of them. Owen, like his older brother, enjoyed seeing the animals the most and even tried to pet a few of them.

“ He’s a curious little boy, isn’t he?”, said Charles as Owen stretched out his arms trying to grab a hold of the sheep’s ear.

“ He most certainly is! Arthur was more of an observant baby. Owen is the opposite. Acts first. Think later. Something we’ll have to be more careful about in the near future.”, said Elle. They said their farewells to the animals and walked along the path towards the house.

“ Have you heard from Will and Kate? We’ve been so busy lately with engagements and meetings that we’ve barely had time to breathe.”, asked Harry.

“ I have. They’ve been visiting mama every weekend, keeping her company.”, said Charles with a sad smile.

“ And how is she?”, asked Elle, balancing Owen on her arms. Charles sighed and shook his head.

“ Hanging in there. But we fear she’s losing her will to live.”, he replied.

As Harry had predicted, the Queen quite never recovered from her husband’s death. She resumed her public activities after three months in Sandringham. While there, she had often received visits from her children and grandchildren, as well as her great grandchildren, which seemed to bring back a bit of light and laughter into her life. Her animals were also a source of joy for her. She had traveled to Balmoral for the summer and enjoyed having the family around but it also brought many memories from Prince Philip that left her shaken up.

Once the summer was over, instead of returning to London she decided to reside at Windsor and remain there, where she could continue her duties but be away from the public eye. And even though she had put on a brave façade, they all knew she was suffering. A loss such as hers leaves deep marks on the heart and soul and takes a toll on the body. And little by little the family saw the spark she once had, fade away.

**********

By mid September they returned to Sussex for an extended stay. There, they took the time to take their sons to the Ashdown Forest and played Pooh sticks with them and explored bits of the forest itself, much to the enjoyment of the children. Arthur, now three, had taken up to running while Owen, who was still tumbling on his feet at almost nine months old, tried to follow suit. While there, they also took the time to improve their vegetable garden and farming, started renovations two of the three cottages at the property into a guest houses for visitors who wished more privacy as well as the rooms at the end of the first floor and the second floor into more suitable bedroom and a playroom for the children. They had a hired a full-time staff to work at the property with a housekeep living on site in one of the cottages while the remaining workers lived in the village, which was a short distance from the house.

Elle had taken the time she had with Charles at Highgrove to get some tips into what and how to plant at the property. In addition to the herb and vegetable garden, she also wanted to grow a few fruit trees such as apple, mulberry, raspberry, peach and pomegranate as well as some strawberries in the field next to the vegetables. She also wanted to plant a few flowers and start beekeeping. In a few years, she imagined, the property would have sufficient food to stock up their pantry and sell it in the farmer’s market at the village. Arthur loved helping her out when she was planting, helping put in seeds for the flowers and some other edible plants. He’d giggle and smile when he got his hands dirty but was ever so gentle with how he handled the plants, following the gentle guidance of his mother.

On Harry’s birthday, they kept it low key and decided to have a small celebration, just the four of them. Elle had baked a caked and the boys ‘helped’ decorate it with some fruits they had picked while in the village. She had also prepared their shared favourite pudding ‘Eton Mess’ so they could have as a side dish to the cake. They gathered around Harry, laughing and cheering as they sang Happy Birthday and he blew the candles.

“ Thirty-six huh, Major? You’re getting old…”, joked Elle, kissing his cheek. He chuckled and shook his head, cutting a piece of the cake which he divided into three parts so he could give the first piece to them. Harry helped Arthur eat small pieces of the slice while Elle crumbled a bit of the cake to give Owen a taste. In a light and loving mood, the small family enjoyed their food

“ Boys! Should we give Dada his gifts?”, she asked her sons and they cheered once again. Elle then handed each of them a parcel which they handed without ceremony to their father. Opening Arthur’s first he smiled as he saw the the little card with a doodle made by his eldest son and Elle’s calligraphy written at the bottom which read: “ To Dada. You make me happy and I love you.”. Below it, a pair of grey tracksuit trousers that he’d been needing for a few months. Smiling, touched with the gift, he hugged his eldest son and kissed his cheek.

“ Thank you, little cub. I loved it.”, he said and the boy grinned at his father then sat down beside him. He then took the one Owen had practically thrown at him and unwrapped it. Inside, there was a white t-shirt with an impression of his tiny hands in forest green, with his name and age printed below it. He chuckled and put it on, smiling at his youngest son and family, once again touched by the simple yet meaningful gifts he had received.

“ Thank you, little warrior.”, he said, hugging Owen and also kissing his cheek. “ Thank you all. I loved my gifts. The boys seemed satisfied with their father’s reply but soon lost interest in him and amused themselves with the wrappers, tearing it to pieces. Elle smiled, watching her sons and quietly approached her husband.

“ You have one more, Major.”, she said, handing him a small rectangular box. He eyed her suspiciously while opening it. Inside, placed in tissue paper was a familiar bracelet design: a leather string, and a metal plate with numbers and letters in it.

“ Let’s see if you can guess this one.”, she said. Smiling, he took a closer look. 52° 49′ 47″ N, 0° 30′ 50″ E.

“ Well… assuming you’re following the same pattern, are those the coordinates to Sandringham?”, he asked.

“ Yes. Owen needed his own personal bracelet, too.”, said Elle, putting it on his wrist.

“ Thank you, love.”, he replied, kissing her softly. “ Maybe we can get someone to put them all together in a single bracelet, so I can wear them all at once.”, he said to her.

“ I think that’s a great idea! She said, playing with the infinity band encrusted with diamonds that Harry had given her after Owen’s birth.

“ And leave room for more… for I’m sure we’ll have more memorable moments to add to the collection.”, continued Harry. She smiled, nodding her head and pulled him towards her, hooking her arms around him and pressing their lips together for a more passionate kiss.

“ Easy there, love. The little ones are still up.”, whispered Harry, his lips still dangerously close to hers. Elle smirked and bit her bottom lip.

“ In an hour we’ll remedy that.”, she said, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

**********

On the following week, the couple travelled to Stratford-upon-Avon for Elle’s second official visit to the Royal Shakespeare Company, which she had become a patron after Arthur’s birth. She had been to a few plays and been in touch with the directors but this was the first time she’d visit them after she and Harry had stepped up their duties. The children stayed with nanny Jackie who had been hired again once they had Owen and their workload increased. That way, the children could travel with them and the nanny would come along to take care of the boys while they were at work.

They had taken the helicopter and descended on Warwick that morning which was a 15 minute drive to Shakespeare’s birthplace. This time around, they’d be shown some landmarks in the city as well as attending a performance of Henry V later that same evening. They’d be staying overnight at Warwick Castle at their own expense just so they could enjoy the visit properly. At Warwick, Lisa and Daniel took care of settling their thing in the castle and Nanny Jackie took the children with her as well while Elle, Harry, Ronald, Ingrid, Alfred and Leo drove to Stratford. The couple was met with a crowd surrounding the main street, waving little English flags on their hands. Dressed in a black, long sleeved shirt and a burgundy knee high skirt, Elle waved at the people and Harry followed beside her as they walked at the entrance of the school where Shakespeare studied.

“ Your Royal Highnesses, it’s a pleasure to have you here at Stratford.”, greeted the Mayor of the town, shaking their hands.

“ Thank very much for having us. My husband and I are very happy to be here.”, said Elle, smiling. They proceeded to be taken inside the school, where they were given a private tour, followed by other landmarks such as Shakespeare’s home, Anne Hathaway’s cottage and Trinity Church where he’s buried. After the tours, they returned to the castle to rest and change for the evening.

At the castle, they enjoyed some quality time with the boys during the afternoon by privately walking around the main building and grounds, trying to shoot a few arrows, meeting the actors and actresses dressed up as knights and ladies. Elle took upon herself to explain a few bit and pieces of medieval history to her children who seemed to enjoy being entertained by her mother as she made faces and sounds when telling particularly interesting moments of the Middle Ages.

Once the sun started to go down, they returned to their suite, took care of the children and left them in the care of nanny Jackie while they dressed up for the night. Harry put on his suit while Elle put on a black dress with soft purple flowers in a mesh fabric draped over the base, giving it a shimmer. Before they left, they kissed the boys goodnight and departed for the theatre. Upon arrival at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, they were met with a line up of photographers and a few o the board members and directors from the RSC, whom Elle had previously met.

“ Welcome, Your Royal Highnesses!”, greeted by Gregory Doran, the artistic director of the company.

“ It’s a pleasure to be here. I’ve been longing to watch of the historical productions here at Stratford for a few years now and now I finally can!”, joked Elle, and they both chuckled.

“ You cannot believe how excited she is for this.”, said Harry, grinning.

“ I hope we can meet the expectations and deliver a performance to remember.”, said the director.

“ I have no doubt it’ll be wonderful.”, said Elle.

Moving inside the theatre, they were directed to their box and received with a trumpet sound and applauses from the public. They smiled and acknowledged the audience before taking their seats. During the play Elle smiled, cheered, cried and got emotional as the story she knew — both historically and culturally — so well. At the end of the play, they were taken to the backstage, where they met and talked to the actors and actresses.

“ I actually enjoyed it!”, said Harry smiling at Elle, as they rode back to Warwick.

“ I had a feeling you would. It’d a war play after all.”, Elle replied chuckling.

“ Yes, I enjoyed that. But the speeches were also very good. Very inspiring.”, said Harry.

“ Oh absolutely! So much so that during World War Two the BBC recorded a film of Henry V to be broadcasted at home and internationally to the soldiers as a way to boost moral.”, said Elle.

“ Really? Didn’t know that. Makes sense though.”, replied Harry. The short ride to the castle was enough to bring their adrenaline down, which made them jump to bed as quick as they could and fall soundly asleep in each other’s arms.

***********

October 2020

Back in London, Elle met up with her friends for lunch and tea at Kensington Palace while Harry, Richard and Edward were out together at polo training for the match they had coming up. Melissa and Trevor had yet to meet Owen and were delighted to see him and how much Arthur had grown. Valerie and Mary were also delighted to see their friend and children.

“ Look at you! A mother of two!”, said Melissa, smiling sweetly as they watched the children play. Rose, who was a bit older than the boys, coerced them into playing her favourite games which the boys welcomed as a distraction to their own playtime games.

“ Arthur looks so much like you…”, commented Trevor, who in the past year had gotten engaged and remained his bubbly self. “ Owen, however, looks a bit more like Harry.”, he continued, earning agreements all around.

“ Hmmm… I don’t really see it but I guess I’m used to seeing the the bits that are mine and the ones that are Harry’s in both of them.”, replied Elle.

“ Speaking of children, how are Blair and Jeremy, Mel?”, Elle asked.

“ Oh, Blair started uni this term. History of Art and I’m entirely guilty and proud of her choice.”, said the older woman and they all chuckled.

“ Jeremy is having the time of his life at school ever since he started playing rugby. François thinks he has a genuine future in it.”, she continued.

“ That’s amazing! I’m really happy for them.”, said Elle. “ Oh how time passes quickly… yesterday they were little children!”, she continued and the mothers agreed.

“ They do grow up in front of our eyes, don’t they?”, said Mary.

“ They do. I’ve caught myself crying a few times while folding their clothes. Owen’s already wearing size one year old. He’s growing up too fast!”, said Elle.

“ Speaking of babies… I have something to tell you.” Said Mary smiling coyly. Elle’s and Victoria’s eyes widened.

“ No! You are? You are!”, said Victoria and Mary nodded her head, chuckling. “ I’m gonna be an aunt again!”, she said happily.

“ Congratulations! I’m so happy for you and Rick. I’m sure Rose will love having another sibling.”, said Elle, hugging her friend.

“ We’ve been trying for so long, you know? I’m only a couple of weeks along but I wanted to share the news with people I know wish me well.”, said Mary.

“ Of course we do and we’re ecstatic for you.”, said Valerie encouragingly.

That afternoon was filled with joy and laughter that Elle had missed severely int he past months after they had lost the Duke of Edinburgh. It felt good to be surrounded by people who could make her smiled and forget for a few moments, the sorrow, sadness and loss that had permeated their lives in the last couple of months. Those sad days, however, would soon return.

On the 9th of October, near 8 am, they received a phone call from Charles asking them to meet with him immediately at Clarence House. Their staff was alerted by his staff and were already set in motion to take them there. They rushed to the familiar home, barely greeting Greyson on their way to the Drawing Room. They were slightly shocked to see not only Charles and Camilla there, but also Andrew and Edward. All of them looking visibly shocked and red in the face as if they’d been crying.

“ Oh good, you’re here.”, said Camilla. “ Charles, they are here.”, said Camilla to her husband who had been talking in rushed tones to his siblings and senior advisor.

“ Harry, Eleanor.”, said Charles, hugging them both and sniffing on their shoulders.

“ Pa, you’re scaring us. What’s wrong?”, said Harry, cautiously.

“ It’s your grandmother. Anne has just called. I’m afraid… I’m afraid she’s passed away.”, said Charles, sobbing. Their eyes widened and tears began falling from their cheeks, which triggered the rest of the family to also cry in their shared grief. They hugged Charles while he cried at the same time as they held themselves amidst such tragic news.

“ How?”, asked Elle, turning to the people in the room, still in disbelief.

“ Heart failure, in her sleep. According to what Anne has told us.”, replied Edward. Gulping and sniffing, Elle nodded her head.

“ At least it was peaceful.”, she replied and they all nodded their head. Charles composed himself and dried his face with his fingers.

“ Operation London Bridge is on the way. The Private Secretary and Prime Minister have already been informed. I imagine the rest of the government will soon receive the news as well.”, said Charles, visibly shaken.

And so they did. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office were also communicated and passed down the news to the other fifteen countries of which Her Majesty was the head of state and also the governments of the Commonwealth. The news vehicles were also alerted and all schedules programmes were interrupted. Soon, the news had reached the world that this most beloved Queen had passed away, age 94. A footman pinned a dark-edged notice to the gates of Buckingham Palace, much like her own father’s death had been notified. But unlike during her father’s reign, the staff of all royal households took to social media to address the public and keep them updated about a book of condolence and other way they could share take part in the ceremonies around the the UK and abroad to celebrate Queen Elizabeth.

That morning, the Prime Minister, Mr. Christopher Simmons recalled the Parliament and it would meet within the first hours of the news being shared. There, he addressed the House of Commons. Soon after, all government building were flying their flags at half-mast and all ceremonial ornaments were placed in black purses as a sign of mourning for the past monarch.

That same day, her body was moved, and placed at St. George’s Chapel, with the royal standard draped over her coffin. The first funeral rites were given at the by the Windsor chaplain and the guards stationed at the castle mounted a guard of honour inside the building and would remain there for the next two days before he body was transported by by car to London, where it would remain at Buckingham Palace’s Throne Room for a day.

In the afternoon, the Prime Minister came around Clarence House to meet with Charles who was now the Head of State. The family’s engagements were cancelled for the rest of the month and Elle and Harry remained at Clarence House overnight, their children had been brought to them by their staff, so they could support Charles and be close as a family. On the following day, they drove with Charles and Camilla to St. James’s Palace for the Accession Council meeting.

“ Your Majesty, Your Royal highnesses, we’re very sorry for your loss.”, said a councillor as the family entered the building side by side. Inside it, members of the Privy Council, officers of the State, members of the House of Lords — which included Elle’s father and uncle, the Archbishop of Canterbury and other senior members of the Church of England, the mayor of London, high commissioners and representatives of the Commonwealth realms.

As Charles took his place at the front of the room, with the people surrounding him, Charles made his Oath of Allegiance to the Council, the Church of England and Church of Scotland. Then, Charles seated on the Sovereign’s Chair and one by one, the members of government present as well as Harry, Elle and Camilla made their oaths of allegiance which would be repeated in a more ceremonial manner during his coronation in a few months. Afterwards, they moved to the Proclamation Gallery outside the court of the palace where the proclamation was read out-loud by the Garter King of Arms.

“Whereas it has pleased Almighty God to call to His Mercy our late Sovereign Lady Queen Elizabeth II of Blessed and Glorious memory, by whose Decease the Crown is solely and rightfully come to the High and Mighty Prince Charles Philip Arthur George. We, therefore, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this Realm, being here assisted with these Her late Majesty's Privy Council, with representatives of other Members of the Commonwealth, with other Principal Gentlemen of Quality, with the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens of London, do now hereby with one voice and Consent of Tongue and Heart publish and proclaim that the High and Mighty Prince Charles Philip Arthur George is now, by the death of our late Sovereign of happy memory, become King Charles the Third, by the Grace of God King of this Realm and of all His other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, to whom His lieges do acknowledge all Faith and constant Obedience with hearty and humble Affection, beseeching God by whom Kings and Queens do reign, to bless the Royal Prince Charles the Third with long and happy Years to reign over us.”

“ The Queen is dead. Long live the King!”, he shouted.

“ Long live the King!”, was repeated by all.

#phff #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction

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adowbaldwin · 3 years

Text

because im not on crack and Baldwin x Miss Piggy

@sazmags just for you, hope you enjoy

She was as every bit intimidating as he was, and she walked the with knowledge of such. His employees scrambled to their battle stations as her heels clicked on the marble and they quivered with every tap.

Her smirk was as wide as it possibly could be, her nose wrinkled under such lengths. She was not a woman to be ignored, and demanded attention for those she sought out.

Her gorgeous blond hair whipped side to side as her rump swayed increasingly pronounced as she approached his office. She wanted him to escort her to the Oscars, and demanded that he did so.

Since the revelation to the world about creatures there had been mixed reactions, and Miss Piggy had been utterly enthralled by the magazine cover of the rich, very rich stern Copper Prince. She had been devout to her Kermie, but now all she wanted to do was drape off his arm after a night of galivanting around Hollywood.

He groaned running a hand through his hair in frustration. He could smell the uncooked bacon approaching, and new his ears would bleed any moment. He knew better then to anger the devilish Muppet but paid no mind to be as cruel to her as he was to his own family. he had been warned, many times by the families ‘media assistant’ that he was to not, under any circumstances anger the most influential Pig in Hollywood.

He had ignored her emails, texts and letters and now she was, outside his door and he could no longer refuse her. This had truly been the most perplexing times in his life, and he had seen out most Empires.

He would, most definitely murder Matthew now no matter little Cara’s Objections.

“Ooohh Mr Montclair” she fluttered her lashes “you have been ignoring me, you naughty vampire” she giggled

He sighed deeply, his eyes fluttering close as if to block out the sight before him “Hello, Miss Piggy” he grumbled “I was not aware you had been in Newyork”

“Oh, that’s because you’ve been ignoring me” she strut over to his desk, hopping up onto the chair opposite him, crossing her little legs over so her dress fell short giving a view of her thighs “what is a woman to do, with no date to the Oscars” she twirled the lengths of her hair between her fingers and waited for his response.

“I do hear Pepe is free for the evening” he smiled wishfully hoping this would lead where it would surely go

She laughed deviously “Pepe has the right hair colour, but none of the right charm” she jumped out of her seat and snapped her fingers “SARAH” She squealed in her high pitch voice, making the entire building wince “COME HERE IMMEDIETLY”

Niceties were over, she had become boresome of flirting to his will. She will have her Copper Prince.

Sarah, her long suffering human assistant followed into the room “Yes, Miss Piggy” her voice was low and timid, and it was a welcomed break from her employers decibels

“Give Mr. Montclair the details of Saturdays events, and ensure he buys a new tuxedo to match my dress”

Her assistant gulped; she was being death stared by both of the two most intimidating employers she had ever met and she may have felt a trickle of wee fall.

She nodded and held the door open for her employee to walk through. Miss Piggy made a definite sway as she left, and did not once look back over at the man whom had turned 17 shades of pale.

There she had it, what she wanted.

The lights clicked, paparazzi screamed and celebrities fawned to their side. When her pink stretch limo approached, he almost thought of speeding off but he could not for the life of him disappoint the media manager. She was far too lovely for him to upset.

He had, as instructed put on a new tux that perfectly matched her dress. She scolded him relentless for not looking happy in his photos, and even bashed him with her purse when he tried to walk straight off of the red carpet.

The bar was a Godsend, where even George Clooney had given him a knowing look and a sympathy pat on the back. Apparently, according to Zac Effron she had tapped up almost every man in Hollywood during her long career and some of them even had wives.

He clapped feigning adoration when people collected their awards, and even pecked Miss Piggy on the cheek as she stood to get hers. He may not enjoy this encounter, but he was still a 2000 year old gentlemen.

She almost fainted when he did, and he did not miss the purposeful shimmy of her front over his arm. He felt sick, and could not wait to leave. She felt excited, and couldn’t wait to leave.

She had been adamant it was gentlemanly for him to escort her inside her home, and pour her wine. She reminded him, that in social circles she held all the power and secrets and could crash his empire with a flick of her wrist.

She twirled the wine flute in her hand letting the velvet liquid splash up the side of the glass, they stood in her kitchen silently watching eachother “So Mr Montclair, what a delightful evening it has been” she smiled, trying to be seductive

He bit back the bile rising in his throat “Quiet so. Perhaps you should retire, it is late” he was wishful, though he had not realised the seed this would plant

“well” she placed her flute on the table top “how forward of you” she bring her hands to her dress, and ripped away at the velcroid fabric “OH Mr. Montclair I’ve been waiting for this all evening”

His face, genuinely paled. He had not meant that. his breathe caught in his throat at the sight, and not in a good way and his eyes almost bulged out of their sockets “Oh God” his voice was hoarse as he felt the blood rush from his body.

There was a loud thump as his body connected to the floor, his wine spilled out all over and it looked like a murder scene. Baldwin Montclair had fainted.

Who would have thought, all it would take to break the Head of the De Clairmont’s was a Pig.

Philippe and Hugh, who had been watching the escapade with great joy had positively wet themselves from whatever heaven they were in. It had been the upmost wonderful thing they had ever seen him endure.

#ADOW #a discovery of witches #baldwin #baldwin montclair #MISS PIGGY #CROSSOVER #fic #ask

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itsthe-neo-zone · 4 years

Text

Married To Mr Choi - TXT Series

Please read the Masterlist before continuing ahead with the chapter. (Check the warnings and read the interlude before reading the first chapter. Thank you)

Chapter 1:

Every young girl dreams of her moment, the one where she drapes a sweet pearl gown over her figure and the sparkiest diamond headpiece over the crow of her head. Some even go as far as filling the grooms place with their ever-growing recent crush they have over the boy next door or their special friend in nursery.

Even I had those thoughts, me being the pride and joy of my family, the youngest girl -the only girl- in my house. The house of Tesoro, or Treasure in other words. Noble, famous, and extremely rich. Surely my moment in the snow gown and tiara would be the talk of the century? My marriage would be to the one I find, my soulmate, the true love and my prince that would save me from the towers I was locked in.

But as I stand here in front of my reflection, I didn’t feel any of the infatuations that I had as a young girl. No giddy or jittering feeling at the silky lace skin I wore over my own.

“What do you think of this one?”

“I don’t like it.”

A loud sigh sounded from behind me, she wasn’t even trying to hid it. The frustration dripping from between her teeth.

“I initiated the marriages for all 8 of your brothers and when I want to finally celebrate your coming of age you make my suffer through like this?”

“You didn’t even think about it sis.” A mutter came from the back. I wanted to turn and snap back at San but if it wasn’t for the overly extravagant and 8-pound heavy train splayed behind me. It blocked my movements if I wasn’t able to walk now how I was going to wear it on my freaking wedding day.

“Let’s see if we can try finding a middle ground for both the bride and her mother.” The assistant interrupted, feeling the tension thicken around the room.

She helped me down and as I pulled at the thick material against myself to avoid the troublesome look of tripping up. This whole ordeal was embarrassing, especially since I know this marriage wasn’t going to ever work out.

As I finished changing out of the dress and into the cotton robe that had chaffed my skin from the amount of dressing and undressing, I heard a light knock on my door.

“Come in.” I fixed and tugged at the robe covering myself thoroughly

“Are you feeling ok?” it was san, he pulled at the door and closed shut after he slipped inside. Locking it.

“No.”

“Why’s that.” He took a seat making himself comfortable on one of the many plush fuchsia armchairs scattered in the dressing lounge. “Is it the dresses? Or maybe mothers choice in compliments?”

He hummed in a sing song way, but I was no way in the mood to be teased and joked with. “I don’t call those compliments. She called me fat in one of the dresses and it wasn’t even me. It was the stupid cut of the dress.” My feet stomped a few times.

Smirking at the small pout that graced my lips, he played with a set of pearl beads that were hanging off the vanity. It was odd seeing my eldest brother in these types of surroundings. His work clothes didn’t match one bit. The gun strapped at his hips didn’t seem too friendly either.

It sacred most of the friendly and feminine-like workers and assistants in the bridal wear shop. But I was used to their outlandish and odd looks they wore. All part of their job, I guess.

“Just pick any goddamn dress and prepare yourself. Lets get this over with.” He stood up setting down the jewellery. “You know this is all for social reasons.”

“It’s unfair.” I stepped away turning my back. San could be volatile when he wants to be. Harsh and ruthless in his emotions, unlike Wooyoung.

“I know. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t like Mila. Deal with it.” He muttered; I could hear the gritting of his teeth beneath the sputtering of words.

“This is marriage. It isn’t a gathering I’m attending or befriending someone I hate. This can’t be undone.”

“So? You’re not marrying any random freak. This is the Choi family were talking about.” He thudded his steps to the door brushing slightly past me his boots hitting against the soft carpet mimicked the sound of muffled thunder.

“Mila, if you want peace of mind, you’ll marry him with no complaints, it’s whats best for the family.”

‘its whats best for the family’

those words made my blood boil and my fists clench hard. Always those meaningless and hurtful words, so degrading and painful to my own thoughts and neglectful of my own desires.

I watched him push past the threshold of the doorway and push past the trembling assistant that was tugging at dresses double or triple her weight.

“I have a few more dresses I think you may like.”

“I don’t know about that.” Sighing I slip the robe off my body for the 60th time today.

“She actually picked a dress this time. Yes. Finally. So love are you going to be here for the ceremony.” The soft voice spoken mutedly and with a tone of contentment came from the main salon.

“Oh that’s good news. The sooner the better.” I heard mothers words muttered from the hallway. Gracing down the corridors I didn’t ever mean to listen in, but her voice and words were intriguing. It seems like she was talking to my father.

I rushed past the main doors making a beeline to my room. There on one of the soft ottomans sat Wooyoung.

“What are you doing here brother?” pushing the door shut with a soft click I turn to face him. He was adorned in his work clothes.

A dark shirt with his gun holster peaking out from underneath the leather jacket. His hair was ruffled up and he was wearing tight slacks with black wing tip oxfords. He had his handgun between his fingers swinging it round. I subconsciously hoped he had his safeguard on.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” I sat at the edge of my bed lips in a tight line as I pushed a smile.

“Are you not happy with this wedding?” I let out an exasperated sigh. Not this again. Wooyoung doesn’t live with us. He’s married and he has his own estate a distance from here, this is the first time he’s heard of these complaints and I have a hint on who had blurted. His name begins with S.

“Did San tell you?”

“You know he cant keep his lips shut when he’s with me.” I nod glancing downwards.

“Mila, you know I picked this marriage for you. I wouldn’t choose someone that I know can’t look after you.”

“I know but I would have been happier to choose myself.” I played with the ends of my hair, twirling the soft strands around the tip of my finger.

“Marrying that Christopher guy would have been good for you but not for the family.” His eyes wavered slightly. He didn’t catch my lingering gaze. “You’re being self-centred when thinking about this.”

“And shouldn’t I be? It’s my marriage.”

“Christopher bang isn’t part pf this underground work his family have no presence in the mafia realm, so he won’t be of use to you?”

“To us, you’re a part of this.” The grunt leaving his mouth as he stood up warned me, I was entering dangerous territory.

“Really wish I wasn’t.”

The black wavy hair obscured his vison from me rendering me completely confused. He didn’t show much of his emotions, ever since we were young, I could only see them from his eyes. He wasn’t going to like those words no matter what I said.

“The truth is, you’re marrying from the choi family and that’s that.” His voice left no room for discussion. An exhale left my lips as I watched him leave. Judging from the direction his footsteps took he was going towards the salon.

I had the afternoon to myself later after that heated discussion and the morning excursion. So I decided to take a bath and meet up with a friend, Afterall the afternoon was one of the last I would spend with a close friend as unmarried young ladies.

“So?” Yuna glanced to me before reaching out for her smoothie blend, we had both ordered, “You’re really marrying him?”

I wasn’t looking at her, my head was filled with many worries and they kept gnawing, taking as much of a chunk of my brain as they wanted. “Yeah I guess I am, marrying a Him.” I chewed at the ends of my lips slightly.

It feels different when I say it out loud, it feels real, it’s really happening having my lips voice what was coming gave me that reality check. I didn’t have any control over what was happening, and it was all slipping out of my hands like sand, I couldn’t stop a thing or grasp it.

Its sacred me.

“I heard one of the Choi brothers is married already.” Yuna spoke with caution. “You should double check about that, y’know?” taking another sip she set the glass down before moving closer, I could see her doe eyes from my peripheral.

“I’m not surprised. Anyone working in their fields has to hasten and rush in their life, everyday could be their last day living.” I mutter.

Bringing my glance from the fields of greenery in the estate towards the summer blend of fruit before me, I spare her a quick look before realizing she’s staring expectantly at me.

“What?”

“Nothing, it feels weird.”

I huff, I wasn’t expecting that.

“You shouldn’t think too much, its tiresome for you…” smirking I lift the glass mimicking her movements earlier.

“It’s just, we’ve grown up together Mila, we know almost everything there is to know about each other,” she shifted a little, her blond hair strands falling to shield her face. “I just- its…I never imagined this is how out would go for you.”

“Neither did I, what can we do though?”

A short pause was left between the two of us and as I was relishing in the moment of peace it took me back to when I was a child, not too long ago.

I loved the freedom and the happiness me and my brothers shared. Our innocence the purity on our fingertips.

“Run away?” Yuna offered but as she did, she let a giggle out smiling happily back at me. Yuna seemed so happy. I wish I could be the same. I was so envious of her.

“I wish I could do that Nana.”

I really did, now that we’ve all grown up it seems that the responsibilities piled up and increased.

The pressure toiled above our heads high and the hands my brothers had once filled with purity were covered in drenching blood. The guilt was intolerable they had learnt over the years to let go of it. Some - San - threw away all their emotions to give themselves peace of mind.

When I was a young girl, dreams of wearing a flowing white dress and holding hands with my prince was all I ever dreamed about.

I was infatuated and obsessed with the thought. We all are as young girls…

The idea was all that pushed me, I was oblivious to the happiness that was being sucked and stolen from us. Till this day I blame myself for my brothers situation. It hurts to see the empty voids of stone cold and ice grey look at me. It’s like they’re taunting me. This is what you’ve done. It’s all your fault.

Everything came at a price, this lavish lifestyle and our family legacy, I lost my family for all this and I’m about to lose my future too.

That night, the insomnia came back to haunt me, i didn't get a seconds rest.

~~~

My fingers were getting tired, but I pushed through, I hadn’t reached anywhere, it was getting tiring trying to memorize the last few parts of this piece and it just wasn’t sticking in my head for some reason.

“First you spill the glass of juice, and now this?” San sniggers throwing himself against the main sofa adjacent to me. For someone who lived in an estate surrounded by lush fields and the glimmering view of a large pool reflecting onto the ceiling above me, I was too melancholic.

“What?” I snap back. Throwing a glare at him I continue fixing the thin strands of string on the harp I sat at. “It’s just not my day, is it…” I mumble gnawing on my lips subconsciously.

“If that’s correct then it’s not your month Mila?” the snickering continued. He clearly had nothing better to do today.

“Oh be quiet,” I rubbed the tips of my fingers, the creases were starting to form again.

“No I’m being serious. Why you always so bitter.”

“Leave her alone San.” A distinct grumbling and barely familiar voice entered the main salon. The tall male made his way across the entryway and into the open cuisine corner past the bar.

It had been a long time since I had heard his dull and monotonous voice echoing past the halls of the manor.

“Seonghwa, what a pleasant surprise.” San’s voice dripped with feigned adoring. He was just pushing his limits at this point and Seonghwa had low patience when it came to these decisions.

“Brother, how have you been.”

“Fine.” He grunted in response, seemed like something was on his mind troubling him. “Congratulations on the marriage news Mila.”

“Thanks.” I visibly cringed out of defence. San being the calculating and sly bane noticed the change in my demeanour.

“I wouldn’t congratulate her, knowing princess Mimi here,” he waved the pointer finger towards me “she’d want the wedding over in any way possible.” The younger male smirked flinging his head back against the armrest of the extended chaise longue.

“Stop.” I mouthed, slightly hissing at him. He just wouldn’t cut his snarky attitude. I secretly hoped he’d choke on one of the grapes he was dropping into his mouth.

“Mila, is this true?”

I paused sighing. I noticed I’ve been doing that a lot more than the usual the past few days. Looking up to the taller male I caught his eyes with mine. They were blank.

From the early age of 6, I was amazed at how he could manipulate his voice to show emotion and sound genuine, when he truly felt not a single ounce of care or love for anyone or anything. Seonghwa being from a different mother along with my older brothers, it felt strange to have him around and so I never got to see him that much.

“I… it’s just-”

“Mila.” If I ever hated to hear my name come out of anyone’s voice in a calling tone it was my mothers. It gave me anxiety just hearing the two syllables.

“Yes mother?” I was barely able to blurt out the response, through my teeth I uttered the words loud enough for her to hear and enter the room.

“There you are, listen up.” “I just got off the phone with Mrs Choi, the date has been set and their family have accepted. Prepare yourself,”

“For what, when?” San asking the questions I needed to hear made me feel mixed emotions and all at the same time.

I felt grateful. I knew I couldn’t ,move my own tongue. It felt heavy. I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. It was like all knowledge of speaking had been erased from my mind.

At an unchanging moment I felt a rage and burning fury against him for being so oblivious and blind. Deep down I didn’t want to hear it. I never wanted to overhear a thing about this topic. I didn’t want him to ask, shed have to answer that way.

I already knew, I knew it from the moment she entered the room a bright grin plastered on her face. It wasn’t the marriage that had given me a little shock it was how soon it was.

I swore to myself that for a short moment, felt my heart pause. Was this what people said when they felt themselves have a heart attack?

“You’re getting married, tomorrow.”

#Tomorrow x Together #beomgyu x reader #txt mafia au #ateez mafia au #ateez wooyoung #yeonjun #choi san #kpop fanfic #txt series #mafia au #kpop marriage au #Married to Mr Choi #kpop fanfiction #txt fanfic #ateez fanfic #straykids mafia au #straykids fanfic

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aam-loves · 4 years

Text

a Prince and a Witch

Jughead watched how the wild debries of Southside kingdom changed into tailored lawns and forests of North Riverdale through the window of his carriage.

He was going to spend a month at the Cooper castle before marrying the princess and taking her back to his home. It was against the tradition, usually the bride to be was coming to the land of her betrothed and spent the month pre wedding getting to know royal family and kingdom. But they should be grateful the opportunity arose at all, as people weren’t eager to make contacts with Southside kingdom.

The Kingdom itself only existed thanks to its immaculate edged weapons and talented blacksmiths, that were made with resources from Greendale mines that passed into the possession of Southside kingdom when all the royal family of Greendale were executed during first witch hunt. That kept the kingdom afloat, but barely so.

So, they weren’t in the position to argue when the royal family of Northern kingdom of Riverdale proclaimed their wish to marry their youngest daughter off to the heir of Southside. But surprised they were. Riverdale was a prosperous kingdom, the heir to the throne Prince Charles married a foreign princess creating a strong alliance, the oldest daughter Princess Pauline was married off to Prince of Thornhill, thus forming strong connection between families. There would be a line of suitors for young princess’s betrothal, but in some surreal turn of events she was promised to him.

Riverdale kingdom was pale and light. All colors dimmed as if not to catch the eye. Even grass and trees seemed to fade their color not to stand out. It was a contrast to Jughead’s homeland. Southside was bursting with colors of it’s wild greenery, lively river and stone buildings. Though a bit dark, it felt alive. Riverdale felt strict and polished. Fake.

He heard the legends and knew that all these light conveyed violence and atrocity underneath. King Harold was known to particularly enjoy watching witch executions himself.

That was a one more question in the reason of this strange union. Rumor had it Jughead’s mother and sister were witches, because Queen Gladys fled the kingdom taking little princess Forsythia when the witch trials reached Southside. Jughead didn’t remember her well, he was still a child when that happened. But he didn’t care witches or not, they were his family and he missed them terribly.

He never understood people’s fear of beautiful women with supernatural abilities. He studied a lot of cases of witch trials, but couldn’t find the proof of them being harmful to people. Their abilities were described to include healing, powers over elements, love charms, illusions. Jughead was fascinated with supernatural and was glad that his kingdom wasn’t so strict in its aversion to witchcraft, but his father reminded him to keep it under wraps in the North.

Deep in his thoughts he didn’t notice how he arrived to the Cooper castle.

It was a big white building, a lot of flowers inside, so many of them that his head became a bit dizzy from sweet aroma.

“Prince Forsythe Pendleton Jones the third of Southside” he heard his name declared.

Jughead entered the hall, the king and queen were seated at their thrones. Prince Charles stood proudly by his father and young princess stood by the queen, her eyes on the floor.

The Cooper family was a picture of perfection. All blonde hair, creamy skin and blue eyes.

“We are happy to have you at Riverdale, Prince Forsythe” the king said.

“It’s my pleasure. I’m honored to be your choice of a suitor for your daughter.” Jughead spoke, bowing a little.

His betrothed stood there, keeping her eyes on the floor, not eager to meet his gaze. He could understand her, nobody would want to leave their prosperous kingdom to live among blacksmiths.

“You will be shown to your chambers for rest after your travel. Then we will have the feast to celebrate our alliance.” the queen told him. Jughead bowed again and just as he was turning to leave the great hall the princess raise her eyes. Green. Unusual color that you could hardly meet these times. It was believed green eye color was witch’s color.

The evening came and he was seated beside Princess Elizabeth during the feast. He could look at her closer and her beauty was otherworldly. She looked different from her family not only because of her intense big green eyes, but all her appearance seemed more open, inviting, lively. Her hair more golden, as if shining, her lips more pink and cheeks more rosy. She was quiet all evening and he didn’t know how to start a conversation. “Hey, so we are gonna be married” didn’t seem like something appropriate.

He asked her to dance like a well-mannered prince that he was and they spun around the floor.

She smelled like candles, herbs and amber. Very different from the sweet flowery scent of the castle, but very alluring.

The time went from there. Princess Elizabeth was a mystery for him. Quiet, evasive and intense at the same time. They finally strike a conversation the next day while walking through the gardens. Her voice melodic and her speech very intelligent.

Finishing the conversation they came to an agreement to call each other by their chosen names. Betty for her and Jughead for him. He earned her first soft smile then.

By the end of his first week he knew that she was very different from her family. She wore darker colors, dressing in royal blue, purple and his personal favorite- emerald green. Her posture usually tentative and calm could change in a moment by some remark from her mother, but Betty always put an end to any conversation just with her intense gaze and straightening of her shoulders.

She spent a lot of time in her chambers and in the gardens. Several times he saw her with a book.

She was pleasant to him, but held her distance. He didn’t pressure her, but couldn’t help wanting to be closer. She was just alluring to him.

The second week they were called for wedding planning. The wedding were to be held in the Cooper castle and in 2 days after the wedding they were to leave for the Southside, to held feast for his kingdom in honor of their knew queen.

It seemed Betty became even more evasive. He often couldn’t find her in the castle in the evening.

One night he couldn’t sleep, disturbed by thoughts about his mysterious beautiful bride. He went to meet sunrise on the balcony of his chambers that provided a great view of the forest and river.

He thought he saw a mirage from the lack of sleep, but no, there was a figure, that just emerged from the forest. Golden locks escaping emerald green cape. A bag in her hands.

He watched her next two days. She was quite as usual, but sometimes he thought he could feel her looking at him and when he turned to her, her eyes were soft and a bit sad.

The third day after dinner he hid in the dark alcove in the corridor leading to her chambers. When the castle fell silent he saw her escaping her chambers in that same emerald green cape.

He followed her through the night, walking at the safe distance, hiding behind the bushes on the way to the forest.

She was walking fast, obviously familiar to the trail, dodging low branches and overstepping big roots.

A dry branch cracked under his foot and in the moment she was before him. Intense green eyes almost glowing in the dark, hand outstretched with the tip of a silver knife pressed against his throat. Then her eyes widened in recognition and she dropped her hand.

“Jughead? What are you doing here?”

“Wha-...?” he was at a loss for words, “What am I doing here? What are you doing here, Betty? Why are you walking in the forest at night.”

She watched him for a long moment and he could see the struggle and then sadness in her eyes. She sighed.

“I guess now is as good time as any, I won’t be able to keep it from you for long anyways” she said and then....

The night forest around him was lit with hundreds of lights. He looked in awe, he thought fireflies at first, but then one floated right in front of his eyes, that were little sparks of fire. And then just as they appeared they were gone. Forest was enveloped in the darkness again.

“Wha-...how?” Jughead gasped.

“I’m a witch, Jughead. Now you can run or tell everyone or whatever...” she looked tired and hopeless.

“Why would I tell anyone? They’ll... I don’t want to even think about it” Jughead gaped at her.

Betty furrowed her brows and searched his face.

“I just don’t understand how...?” Jughead asked again.

“You know how my father started the witch hunting?” Betty started with a question.

He nodded.

“So, this first witch that was brought to fire, Geraldine, she cursed him before everything went into flames. It would be easy for her to curse him to disease or even death. She was a dark witch, but even they don’t bring harm for sheer joy. She wanted him to suffer. I think you can guess now how he suffers. His own child representing everything he fears and hates.”

Jughead was speechless so she continued.

“Charles and Polly were already born and my parents didn’t pay attention to her curses as their life continued the way it was. I was born two years after that. Green eyes were the first sign. My mother tried to explain it by her family having green eyes, but it got worse as I was growing. I was an ignorant child, I didn’t know how to use or control my powers. I became a pariah in my own family.”

Jughead was looking at her with wide eyes.

“What...” he cleared his throat, “What are you powers?”

Betty smiled softly looking at her hands, “I believe they call it a witch of nature. Wind, water, fire, plants. I suck at casting spells and frankly speaking I don’t really want to. But I can brew pretty good healing potions.”

“How do you know it? Everything you told me... and how to brew potions?”

“Well as I told you I was a pariah in the castle, but there were people who were kind to me. There was a man working in the kitchen, Pop, I liked coming to him and I told him about strange things happening to me. He took me to the old witch, that lived on the outskirts of the other side of the forest. She taught me as much as she could with my young age. Unfortunately she didn’t live long enough. Her home is still there and there were books and her diaries left. I taught myself Latin to read them.”

Jughead nodded, than furrowed his brows, “Wait... did you say Pop? As in Pop Tate?”

“Yes. Parents were furious when they learned he took me out of the castle, they wanted to execute him, but I threw a stunt. I cried and sent everything flying, organized a natural tornado inside the castle. They let him leave on the promise he would never tell anyone about me.”

“I think I know him. His has a tavern in Southside now, it’s my favorite place.”

They stood in silence for some time. Then Jughead sighed and reached to touch her hand.

“Betty...”

She raises her head and her skin was glistening with tears running down her face.

“Juggie, I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. You are so good. You are nice, and kind, and intelligent and handsome... and I’m going to ruin your life...” Betty sobbed.

“Hey” he took her face into his palms gently, brushing tears off her skin with his thumbs, “what are you talking about?”

“Jughead, I’m a witch! People hate us, they hunt us down and kill! I never supposed you were capable of violence, but I thought you’d run in disgust by now... You can’t bound yourself to me, they’ll burn us together!” her eyes were wild and she rambled.

He just smiled and leaned in to connect their lips.

They’ll have a wedding and pack all her books, herbs, candles and stones, and go to Southside. They’ll tell his father the truth and he’ll bless them with wistfulness in his eyes and Jughead will again think of his mother and sister were really witches and if his father sent them away to keep them safe. They’ll tell people that the future queen took interest in healing to explain her love for collecting herbs and brewing beverages and they’ll love her for her kindness. Southside will become a prosperous kingdom in the rule of Queen Elizabeth and King Forsythe the third.

#riverdaleevents #color me riverdale #theme six: purple #bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty cooper #jughead jones #betty x jughead #betty cooper and jughead jones #bughead fic #fanfiction #riverdale

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