#just our hot headed quarter horse whos a push over once she trusts you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

Text

The Stables ~ MYG [Request]

WORD COUNT: 3.3K

PAIRING: Prince!Yoongi x StableGirl!Reader

GENRE: Prince AU, Angst with fluffy ending, mentions of a childhood accident, memory loss

A/N: Hope you enjoy thiiiissss! I didn’t make it too angst since he did end up liking her in the end so I hope this is okay for you!

Ever since you were a little girl you'd lived in the huge palace that was just beside the beach. It looked out on the shore with a huge Kingdom right behind it with loyal subjects. Everyone within the kingdom was kind and caring, always going out of their way to make the people around them happy which was why the Kingdom worked so well. The castle was well respected as well as the people that lived inside of it since they were the royal family but just because you lived in the castle it didn't mean that you were a Princess of any kind.

"Y/n?" You heard your grandmother ask as you walked through the door to your part of the castle. It was split up so that the royals had their castle but you lived in the servants quarters with your grandmother. She'd been running the stables since before you could walk. After poking your head through into her room she smiled up at you.

"How was Star today?" Star was the name of the Prince's horse, you'd been having a lot of trouble getting him to trust you which was why your grandmother was asking. The horse didn't seem to take too kindly to your grandmother randomly not coming back to work with him and instead, replacing her with you,

"He was better," A barefaced lie but you knew if you told your grandmother the truth she would risk getting out of bed to go and see what was wrong but nothing was wrong. Star just didn't seem to like you being around him, he was fine with other people but just you.

"How was your day?" You moved into the room as she questioned you and you walked over to her bed, running your hand up to her head to see if her temperature had gone but it was still hot to the touch.

"It was okay. Have you eaten? Shall I heat up some soup?" She placed a shrivelled hand on your wrist and asked you to sit with her. It had been far too long since the two of you got to sit down together like this. Ever since she got sick you'd taken over her jobs in the castle, working in the stables as well as your own job which was a part-time bar-maid job in the Kingdom centre it was hard to get a minute to yourself but you needed the money for her medical bills. Although you worked for the King and Queen and your grandmother had worked there since she was a little girl they weren't keen on paying for her to get better.

"I ate some soup. The young prince came by and gave me some from the kitchen." The mention of Yoongi made your blood boil. The thought of him stepping foot in your house made you even madder but you tried to play it down in front of your grandmother.

"I felt you tense. He's a nice boy if you just got to know him..." She continued on with the nice boy speech while you drowned it out in your head. Yoongi had been nothing but a rude stuck up kid ever since you met him. You figured it was because he was a Prince he thought he could push people around whenever he wanted and get them to do what he pleased. He always acted as though he wanted nothing to do with you, to everyone else he was the kindest person in the entire world but whenever he was around you it was a different story. He'd either completely ignore you to the point where it feels like you don't exist or he would be rude to you. There was never an in-between.

"Besides, you'll be working for him when the King and Queen pass, you need to get along." You rolled your eyes before getting up, mumbling to her that you would bring her a fresh cold cloth for her head but you just needed to get out of her room and away from the Yoongi talk.

Once your Grandma was asleep you slipped into your barmaid skirt, pulling a cape over your head as you headed out of the back door.

"Evening," Jimin - one of the night guards - said as he saw you walking in his direction. Every night without fail he would accompany you into the town so you wouldn't have to walk alone in the dark. The kingdom was safe sure but it was better to be extra safe than sorry.

"How's she's doing?" The question you always hated being asked, everyone within the Palace and Kingdom seemed to know that your grandmother had fallen ill as much as you tried to keep it under lock and key. Everyone thought that it was their business to know what was going on,

"She's doing okay. She said she had some soup from your friend earlier so that's good...She didn't eat yesterday," Jimin chuckled as you called the Prince his friend instead of using his real name.

"You can call him Yoon-" You covered Jimin's mouth with your finger and he rolled his eyes at you.

"You know, there was a time when the two of you would-" He stopped speaking when you began curtsying so he bowed to the King that was passing you in the street followed by guards and Yoongi who didn't even glance at you before he smiled and greeted Jimin.

"I'll see you later, thanks for walking me again." You rushed out your words before running in the direction of the bar, you didn't want to hear that you and Yoongi would have been friends one day or that he was nice but you just weren't seeing it.

"There she is! The woman of the hour!" Your boss cried out bringing the attention of the local drunks over to you, you waved your hand before heading over to the bar. Hanging up your cape before taking orders right away, wanting nothing more than to earn your money and head home before waking up extra early for the stables the next morning.

"Shit, shit, shit." You mumbled running as fast as your legs would carrying you towards the stables. You'd slept over the guard that normally came to wake you up and now you were going to get into trouble if anyone found out that you were late,

"Y/n? I fed Star and changed the water but-" The other girl who worked in the stables with you began to curtsy so you followed her lead, looking at the shoes of the man in front of you.

"Is Star ready for his morning ride?" You knew it was Yoongi from the tone of his voice,

"I'll go and get him." The stable girl mumbled leaving you alone with him as you raised yourself from the curtsy. Going over to your own horse as you run your hand down her Maine, there was an awkward silence as you tried to act as though Yoongi was there.

"You were late this morning," Yoongi commented as he watched you from behind, he stared at you as you continued to stroke your horse. He could remember when you first got her and how attached you were to her and his heart swelled watching you still be so friendly with her,

"I know, I slept late because I didn't finish until late last night." You were doing your best to be as pleasant as you could with him, after all, he was the Prince and he was above you.

"I don't appreciate Star being taken care of by someone who isn't qualified." You turned around to face Yoongi as he made a remark and he took a step back once he saw you. The scar that you had gotten when you were kids was on your forehead and guilt washed over him as soon as he saw you. The scar that changed everything in your lives. The two of you had been close friends but after your accident, Yoongi felt so guilty for you not being able to remember anything he pushed you away. Ignoring you whenever he saw you around the palace and being rude because he couldn't handle the guilt he felt when he saw you and the large scar on your head.

"Star is acting up because he can sense a storm coming, be careful." The stable girl mentioned as she brought Star over to Yoongi, handing him the reigns and smiling.

"I'm sure myself and Star will be fine. Y/n, don't be late tomorrow or you'll be out a job," He snapped as you rolled your eyes, your back still turned on him as you hummed out an answer for him.

"How can you be so rude to him, he'll be our king soon." You ignored the stable girl, taking your horse out and smiling.

"Going for a ride, clean the stables." You mumbled to her as you swung your leg over the horse and climbed onto her back.

The rest of the day you'd managed not to bump into Yoongi and you didn't have the bar to work in that night.

"You should have been on time, do you know how tardy that makes us look?" You didn't want to spend time arguing with your Grandmother who was sick so you agreed with what she was saying, nodding your head and feeding her some soup you had made.

"It was an accident, I was late because-"

"I don't want to hear excuses! Do you know how embarrassing it was to have Yoongi come around and tell me you were late?" You ignored her just trying to make sure she ate but there was a loud bang from outside the door.

"The thunder," She grumbled, shivering as she felt a breeze come through the small window in her room. Your eyes glanced over at the window to see rain hammering down against the floor and it wasn't the smallest of storms.

"The horses must be scared," That was the one thing your grandmother worried most about, the storms always affected the horses and whenever there was a storm she would make sure she could be there for them whenever.

"I'll go down and check on them," You whispered, tucking her under the covers while you went to get dressed to brace the storm.

Yoongi stared out of his window and down at the stables as he heard you trying to calm down the scared horses. The sounds of their scared neighing could be heard from his room and he could see the rain was getting worse,

"Star, hey, hey hey." Yoongi could hear the desperation in your voice as you tried to calm his horse down and he raced down the stairs to see if you needed his help, his heart pounding as he saw you backed against a wall.

"Star, look it's going to be okay." You tried speaking with him normally to calm him down but it wasn't working, the sight of seeing you backed into a corner by a horse sent memories swimming back to Yoongi as he stared at you.

"Y/n?" Yoongi called out when he galloped back over to where he had seen you last, the two of you were on a horse ride that morning trying to clear his head. His parents had just told him about most of the responsibilities he would be facing when he turned 16 and this was his chance to clear his head with you. You'd grown up alongside one another as the best of friends even though he was of Royal blood but that never stopped you from being friends. This morning after riding off together the two of you decided to see who could beat one another home the fastest, racing along the side of the cliffs near the beach so you wouldn't be seen by the king, queen or the guards that were hunting for you both.

"Y/n?" Yoongi's voice grew with worry as he realised your horse was on her own laying down on the grass and you were nowhere to be seen. He climbed down from Star and walked over towards the edge of the small cliff that was near him, it was a small drop to the beach nothing that would hurt but he couldn't help but feel panicked seeing you laying there. Facedown in the sand with blood around you,

"Y/N!" He screamed out in pain as he began climbing down the side of the small drop and to your side, he rolled you over to see a large cut on your forehead.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" He panicked, taking off some of his shirt to wipe the sand away from your wound and trying to get a response from you but you didn't move.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP!" He screamed out but there was no one around, you'd both ditched the guard's miles away and it was the two of you out there alone.

If he hadn't left you alone and ridden off so fast you never would have lost your memory that day. You could barely remember anything from your childhood, most of the memories you had were from 16 and up and Yoongi blamed himself all of the time. Because of that he never let himself get close to you again, in fear of losing you or hurting you again, he loved you far too much to let that happen.

"Star, here..." Yoongi clicked his tongue and Star began backing away from you, walking towards Yoongi as he whipped his tail from side to side.

"That's a good boy," He breathed out as you relaxed at the back relieved that Star was out of your face.

"I'll get him out-" Yoongi was cut off when a large clap of thunder sounded, Star kicked the back of the stable wall and you screamed as the wood began to splinter off.

"Y/n!" The way Yoongi screamed your name felt as though it was echoing in your head, you sat on the floor holding your fingers over your face trying to get the thought of Yoongi out of your head but he yelled out your name once again and images flashed in front of you. Riding a horse and falling down a small cliff before everything faded to black.

"Here, drink this," Yoongi whispered as he handed you a glass of water looking at you. You glared at him as he held your face in his hands, turning it towards the light of the flame in his room.

"You have a cut, stay here." He mumbled going towards his bathroom and coming back with some tissue and more water.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" You mumbled as he began cleaning up the small cut on your cheekbone, some of the wood that had splinted off hit your face cutting you on impact but it was nothing large.

"Believe it or not I'm not always nasty...I just- feel guilty whenever I look at you," You hissed as he touched the cut on your cheek, it hurt a lot more than it should have for something so tiny.

"Why?" You mumbled as you stared up at him, he looked back at you with wide eyes,

"Do you not remember anything from when you were younger?" You shook your head at his question so he sighed to himself,

"I supposed it's for the best...Just...Just if you want to know you should ask your grandmother but don't come complaining to me when you do, tell her to tell you the truth" You stared at him as he finished cleaning up your cut and then walked to his door, opening it and waiting for you to leave.

Walking through the door to your grandmother's bedroom you frowned seeing her awake,

"The storm," She mumbled as you crawled into the bed beside her, she took one look at your face and sighed as she saw the small cut.

"What happened?"

"Star kicked the wooden wall behind me and I got caught. Yoongi cleaned it up actually," You mumbled as you laid your head on her shoulder, thinking back on the weird memory you had when he called your name out.

"Grandma? Did something happen when I hurt my head? I know you said I was horse riding but-"

"We've been through this, what you remember is what happened," That was the problem, you didn't remember what happened you only remembered what everyone told you. You were out riding your horse alone when you fell off,

"Yoongi said you knew the truth." The mention of Yoongi's name made her sigh.

"You have to know why we kept it from you first," She whispered to you as she began to draw invisible patterns into your skin. Explaining why they told you that you were alone after the accident. After it happened Yoongi couldn't bring himself to look at you without feeling responsible for what happened, it had been his idea to go for a ride, his idea to lose the guards and his idea to race back home but he never would have expected you getting hurt. The two of you were always such amazing riders and the path was clear, once he knew you weren't behind him he knew something was wrong.

"If he'd found you a minute or two later you'd be gone," You were trying to wrap your head around the fact that yourself and Yoongi had been friends before the accident,

"I know that face...I told you, Yoongi was a nice boy," She laughed softly but you still couldn't work it out, he had been so rude and mean to you all these years because he felt bad for you getting hurt?

"So because we were friends and I got hurt-"

"Friends? Honey, friends didn't look at one another the way you and Yoongi used to," You froze in place as she started to laugh loudly, your eyes were wide as you realised she was insinuating there was something more between the two of you.

"You may not have been together but I have no doubt in my mind you would be now if it wasn't for the accident," She taped your nose but your head was starting to spin at the thought of everything, small memories starting to come back to you the longer you thought about things.

"Star is ready for you," You said to Yoongi the next morning as he came into the stable, he looked unsure about coming over to you but you smiled at him. The night before you'd had nothing but memories coming back to you from when you were younger, all of the times you spent with Yoongi.

"Yoongles, you don't have to feel guilty..." You said as Yoongi turned his back on you, his whole body tensed at the mention of his childhood nickname that you had for him. Only you knew about the nickname, slowly he turned back to stare at you.

"Yoongles?" You nodded at him smiling as you moved closer to his body,

"That day we went riding...My horse kicked back because she was scared of a stick shaped like a snake...You have nothing to feel guilty for." Yoongi's mouth fell open as you spoke to him as though you'd never lost your memories, he couldn't believe it.

"I remember everything...After my grandmother told me about why she never told me about that day and why you were so mean to me all these years..." He felt his heart twinge at the thought of being so cruel to you but he smiled at you,

"I'll make it up to you...We could go for a ride like old times? Maybe get some food?" You nodded at him as you agreed to spend the day with him, looking forward to catching up with him and learning about the true Yoongi he'd grown to become after all these years. Although it was never going to make up for what he'd said and done to you he was going to do his best to be the friend he was all those years ago and hopefully one day be more.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @kneel-begyourpardon @innersooya @sw33tnight @jin-from-the-block @sweeneyblue1 @acciocriativity @that-anxious-bisexual

196 notes · View notes

survivorwildwest · 3 years

Text

Episode 12 - Us and Our Friends

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a jackrabbit finds comfort in some tallgrass.

Ken has woken early and made his way to the town’s campfire. He surveys the campfire and the boulders they’d been using as seats, then the shadows of the few buildings in town and the sun.

“Why are you staring at the sun,” Kass asks as she walks up behind him.

“I’m not. I’m just... checking something,” he says as he turns to her and removes his hand from his brow.

“What are you checking?”

“I’m working on something.”

“That much I gathered.”

He puts his hands firm around the only boulder in the shade. He drops his hips and presses his chest forward as he pushes the boulder from its place. As he tries to move the boulder to its side, the force of his chest pushing forward pops open the top couple buttons of his shirt. The strenuous and sweaty work makes his shirt stick to his back. Once the boulder is sufficiently horizontal, Ken stands up and wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead and removes his shirt. He bends down again and slides his hands under the boulder. His heels dig into the sand as he begins to roll the boulder. The waist of his pants remains stiff, giving just a glimpse of his ass, as he slowly lunges through the sand. Once Ken feels the boulder has been moved far enough from the fire, he turns around to see Lauren approaching from the saloon.

“Good morning, Ken,” she calls.

“Good morning, Lauren,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”

Lauren takes a seat next to Kass and asks, “enjoying the show?”

“I’m certainly not complaining,” she says.

Ken returns shortly after carrying what he’s been building. He places it where the shaded boulder had been.

“I built a bench for us,” he tells them.

“What, when, how,” Kass asks.

“The last few days. We had all these leftover tools and supplies and, you know, I always need something to keep my hands occupied.”

“That much I’ve gathered,” Kass jokes, looking at Lauren.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a tortoise reaches for a flower with his beak.

Colby appears with the day’s tree mail.

“Weight?” Wendy guesses.

“I guess,” Colby says.

At high noon, the final eight meet Jeff in front of the day’s reward challenge. As always, he’s full of smiles standing next to his clydesdale.

“For today’s reward challenge, you will be divided into two teams. Each team will, together, hold a board over their head. Over each person’s head will be a bucket of water. Each bucket weighs one quarter your starting weight. Your hand will be attached to a disc keeping the water in the bucket. If you drop your hand, your bucket will empty and you’ll be out, leaving your teammates to carry your weight. Last team standing wins. Want to know what you’re playing for?”

They all yip and they all yeehaw.

“The winning team will take a trip to a movie theater for a viewing of an American classic set right here in the old west! We’re talking popcorn, soda… air-conditioning and of course... the traditional beans. Worth playing for?”

They all yip and they all yee and darn tootin do they all haw.

“Alright,” Jeff says, “We'll do a schoolyard pick for teams.”

Jeff passes a bag of two black and six white rocks around. They reveal and Jeff announces, “Kass and Jerri, captains once again.”

The two women count one-two-three-shoot to decide who goes first. Jerri’s paper covers Kass’ rock this time. She picks Colby first. Kass takes Ken. Jerri calls Michaela’s name. Kass says Lauren’s. Jerri looks at Wendy, whose smile is so big her whole body vibrates, then to Bi. Jerri drops her head and calls for Bi. Wendy drops her smile and joins Kass’ team.

The two teams stand on platforms set to each of their heights so their buckets can remain level. Jerri takes the first position for the orange team. Standing next to her in the second position is Michaela. Taking the third position is Colby. Bi, standing on the tallest platform of the challenge, takes the end.

Kass takes the first position for the teal team. Ken and Lauren stand in the second and third positions. Wendy rounds them out in the fourth position. Once everyone on their platform, Jeff calls for the challenge to start.

Both teams start strong, unwavering in their support and balance. Jeff begins his narration, “This is a challenge of balance, you don’t want your bucket to tip, but also of trust. If you trust your teammates enough to hold the weight, you can drop out... Eventually, your arms are gonna get sore and you’re gonna try to fight the urge to drop out but maybe you should. If you can communicate, the weight won’t be too much to bear.”

After a few minutes, everyone has closed their eyes and fallen completely silent. Kass eventually speaks up, “How are you guys feeling?”

“I’m good,” Ken tells her.

“I’m good,” Lauren says.

“I’m fine,” Wendy says, her eyes still closed.

“Okay, I’m gonna drop,” Kass says.

“Okay, do it slowly,” Lauren says.

Kass removes her hands from the handles and drops her arms to her sides. The water splashes over her and she exhales “aaaahhh!”

“Feel good,” Jeff asks.

“Oh, I’d recommend they all drop out.”

After another ten minutes, Jerri asks her team how they’re feeling. Michaela gives a simple, “yeah.” Bi says, “You’re good.” Jerri lets her bucket shower her with water and she joins Kass on the bench.

After an hour and ten minutes, Wendy says, “Will you guys be okay if I step out? I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Lauren says.

Wendy turns her face upward and drops her hand to take a shower.

“How’s that,” Jeff asks.

“Amazing,” she says.

Bi snarls at the wet Wendy as she walks past.

“Jealous, Bi?”

“It does look nice,” Bi responds.

“You can drop out,” Michaela says. “We’ve got this.”

“No, I’m alright. I’m good.”

“Michaela and Bi negotiating going down to two people,” Jeff narrates, “Ken and Lauren doing the work of four people. Colby, meanwhile, hasn’t said a word this whole challenge. Are you not a fan of my questioning Colby?”

“Don’t need it,” he says without opening his eyes.

“Alright,” Jeff says, “message received.”

“Ken,” Lauren says.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna…”

“It's okay. I can take it.”

“No, I mean--” she says as she faints and drops her disc.

Ken and Jeff both rush over to make sure she’s okay. The medical team rushes in to check on her. They determine she’s going to be fine. She just passed out. When she comes to, she sees Ken and feels his hand in hers.

“Are you okay,” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Did we lose?”

“Yeah,” Ken laughs, “I think so.”

“Aw, damn. I really wanted to go see a movie with you.”

“We can go some other time,” he promises.

“I’d like that,” she says as she places an ice pack on her forehead. “Oh, I didn’t even get to feel the water splash on me!”

“Is the ice nice?”

“The ice is nice, yes. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says.

Jeff turns to the orange team to let them know they’ve won. They all let the water splash over them but with less enthusiasm than they’d hoped for after seeing Lauren pass out.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a trailing four o’clock shakes in the breeze.

Jerri, Colby, Michaela, and Bi ride their horses to a large marquee with pink and green neon lights, alerting anyone within a mile of this dusty, old movie palace. They tie their horses outside the theater and walk in. They take in the scent of the warm film and the popping corn. They each grab a bucket of popcorn and various other treats and drinks. Colby and Jerri take two seats next to each other in the back of the theater, spreading their snacks in the seats around them. Bi and Michaela take the seats in the next row and do the same.

From above, the projector illuminates. The warmth emanating from the bulb is a comfort from the shock of the theater’s air conditioning. The increasing flip of the film roll starting is heard and on the screen before them, they see “Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Lumière No. 653.” appear in white text on a black screen.

“Oh,” Colby says, “This is that movie where everyone was afraid the train was coming at them.”

The film plays and the screen fades to black, but the whirring of the projector continues. Fireworks burst over a castle, a lamp hops across the screen, then a red car says, “This is Agent Leland Turbo.”

“What is this,” Michaela asks.

Then the title card appears on screen, “Cars 2.”

Everyone bursts into laughter. Colby falls back and raises his knees as he laughs. He slaps his knee, forgetting he’d rested something there, as one does in a movie theater. His hand gets hot and sticky and wet, “Ah,” he shouts as he jumps up from his seat.

Michaela turns around and, seeing the mess Colby’s made yells, “Ha! Colby’s eatin beans!”

Everyone laughs at him as he runs off to the bathroom to clean up.

When he returns, he takes the seat next to Jerri that is not covered in beans. Jerri whispers softly to him, not to interrupt the antics of Lightning McQueen and Mater, “You know we have beans at camp. Why’d you go for the beans?”

“I don’t know, I just like beans. I don’t really like sweets like that,” Colby also whispers, giving John Lassatter’s vision the respect it deserves.

“Aren’t you farting a lot,” Bi turns around and whispers.

“Honestly, no. I haven’t once.”

“What,” Jerri asks, surprised but still whispering.

“I haven’t been able to fart once since this started.”

“That’s weird,” Bi whispers.

“Are you okay,” Jerri whispers.

“What are y’all whispering about,” Michaela asks at full volume.

“We just didn’t want to interrupt the movie,” Jerri explains.

“I don’t give a shit about this movie,” Michaela says, “What’s going on?”

“Colby can’t fart,” Bi tells her.

“Bi,” Colby protests.

“What about all those beans you been eating,” Michaela asks.

“Nothing,” Colby tells her.

“Do you feel sick,” Michaela asks.

“No, I just can’t fart.”

“So, you’re just eating beans for the fun of it,” Bi asks.

“Col-beans,” Michaela calls him.

“Colbeans,” Jerri and Bi both laugh-shout.

Colby just smiles and appreciates they’re all having a good time, despite it being at his expense.

“You know we’re just joshin you, Colbeans,” Michaela says.

“Yes, I am a veteran in this,” he says, looking over at a grinning Jerri.

“You know we love you, buddy,” Jerri tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” Colby says, gently resting his hand atop Jerri’s and for a moment they gaze at one another.

“So,” Michaela says, “Should we talk about the final four?”

“I’d be happy with this four,” Bi says.

“I’m on board,” Jerri says.

“Absolutely,” Colby agrees, “I guess the next question is, who are we targeting next tribal?”

“Well, it seems Lauren’s the glue over there,” Bi says.

“Ken’ll be mad,” Michaela says.

“Ken will get over it, then he’ll come running back to us. Wendy and Kass aren’t going to comfort him. We use him to take out Kass, then Wendy, then we take him out and voila we’re the Final Four,” Bi says, putting her hand in the center of the four of them.

“Makes sense to me,” Michaela says, putting her hand on Bi’s.

“Sure,” Jerri says, placing her hand atop Michaela’s.

“Should we come up with a name,” Colby asks, putting his hand in.

“The McQueens,” Bi says, overhearing Mater cheer for his friend Lightning McQueen as he leads the pack around a bend in a canyon.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a river digs away at the land for years on end.

Back in town, Ken and Lauren sit together on the bench he built. Wendy sits on the next closest boulder. Kass pokes an ember with a long stick around the fire.

“So, who’s the next target, Lauren,” Kass asks without making eye contact.

“Oh, I’m not in charge...”

“You’ve got a captive audience right here if you want to present anything,” Kass tells her.

Everyone looks at her expectantly.

She sits up straight and says, “Okay, what about… Colby?”

“Big move,” Ken says.

“But, we could do it. The four of us stay strong. They can put their votes on whoever, as long as they don’t play an idol or anything--”

“What if Colby wins immunity,” Kass asks.

“Then we put all our votes on Jerri.”

“I don’t want to vote for Jerri,” Wendy argues.

“Okay,” Lauren thinks it over, “Bi? Is anyone close with Bi?”

“I’m not worried about her,” Kass says.

“She’s smart,” Lauren says.

“She’s not a jury threat,” Kass explains.

“Ken,” Lauren says, turning her attention toward him, “Would you vote for Michaela?”

“Michaela and I… are close...”

“It might be our only option,” Lauren says, “You need to take her out before she takes you out.”

“I don’t think she’d do that.”

“Are you sure,” Kass asks, “She’s gotten awful close to Colby.”

Ken tilts his head back and forth as he considers Kass and Lauren’s proposal.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a cactus’ bloom wilts under the ceaseless sun.

The McQueens return to town after their viewing of Cars 2. Michaela follows Ken into the saloon. Ken sits at the piano and slowly plays a single note over and over as he droops his head over the keys.

“What’s going on, bud,” Michaela asks, taking a nearby seat.

“They’re coming after you.”

“Who?”

“Lauren and Kass.”

“Are you gonna vote with Lauren?”

“I don’t know. Who are you guys targeting?”

Michaela drops her head in a similar way and says, “Lauren.”

“Aw, man. What?”

“Bi thinks she’s the glue between y’all.”

“Bi thinks she can just take out whoever she wants.”

“What do you think of this? Me, you, and Lauren, plus Jerri and Colby take out Bi right now.”

Ken nods his head back and forth as he thinks it over.

“She’s gonna take everyone out one by one until she makes it to the end. We take her out right now, Kass after that, then Wendy, then it’s us and our friends in the Final Five. We just gotta stay strong.”

“I like the sound of that.”

In a talking head, Ken says, “You know, Michaela’s a smart girl. So, that’s the problem... She’s a huge threat... Good at competitions... She’s a smart chick… It’s a tough game. It’s a really tough game.”

The next morning, Colby hikes through the Mojave Desert with Jerri and Michaela to collect Tree Mail.

“I know we just made a Final Four deal with Bi,” Michaela says, “but I can’t trust her after her taking out Wardog like that.”

“Sure,” Colby says, “That makes sense.”

“You talk to Ken already?”

“Yeah, he’s on board.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t win immunity,” Colby says.

“Yeah, it’s about time you won one yourself,” Jerri says, slapping Colby’s back.

“I’ll say. It’s been 20 years since I last won one,” Colby says.

“Oh, it’s only been about 9 days for me,” Jerri teases.

“Yeah, it’s been like eleven or twelve for me,” Michaela piles on, “but for real, I need it tonight. They’re coming for me.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a rock teeters on the edge of a cliff.

When they return to camp, Michaela stands beside and just behind Colby as he reads the Tree Mail to the tribe around the morning fire.

“Robbery,” Michaela finishes.

Colby assumes the same rhyme and points a finger gun at Michaela.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a train track stretches across miles.

The final eight meet Jeff outside the train station. Jeff wears a conductor’s cap & overalls as he explains the challenge to them.

“This challenge is called The Eight Train Robbery. Each of you will be carrying a sack with you. First, you will have to untie and unlock a briefcase. The key is somewhere inside the train station. Once your briefcase is opened, you are free to take as much cash from it as you want. But, you’ll want to be quick because a train will be coming to town five minutes after the challenge starts. The train will be refueled with coal while stationed here. You have until the engine is filled to get onto the open box car before the train leaves. If the train leaves before you get on, you’re out. Inside the box car, you will find a chest with your name on it. It is locked with a combination lock. Figure out the combination and collect the chest’s contents. Then, climb the ladder. On top of the box car, you will find a dummy that is half your starting weight. Throw the dummy off the top of the train. Once the first person throws their dummy off the train, the train will slow to a stop and the conductor will unlatch the engine from the rest of the train. You have until the engine is completely removed to get your dummy off the top. If you can’t do it in time, you’re out. The rest of you will have the opportunity to run through the train and collect as much cash as you can before the engine leaves again. The first four people on the engine will move on to the next round. The engine will drop them with four horses. They will then race to the finish line. The first three people across the finish line will have their money counted. Whoever collected, and held onto, the most money throughout the challenge, wins immunity and has a one in SEVEN shot at winning this game. I’ll give you a minute to strategize and we’ll get started.”

The final eight contestants stand in front of eight dummies wearing a vest over a puffy white shirt inside the station. The dummy’s ankles are tied together and his hands are tied behind his back. In the dummy’s hands, behind his back, he’s holding a briefcase. Jeff calls for the challenge to begin. They begin untying the knots. Colby drops his dummy on the ground to get a better angle on the knots. The rest of the tribe follows suit after its proved successful. Colby is the first to untie, followed closely by Wendy, then Bi. Colby checks the ankles, but sees nothing. Finally, he notices a box hanging next to the door. He rushes over and reaches inside to find the key with his name. He returns to his dummy, where he left his briefcase. Meanwhile, Wendy and Bi both brought their briefcases with them while retrieving their keys. As soon as hers is open, Bi flips the suitcase over her sack. Bills fly everywhere, many of them not making it into her bag. She doesn’t seem to care as the train is already refueling.

Colby runs into the box car and finds the chest with his name. It’s locked with a combination. He looks around the boxcar for four digits anywhere. Next to him arrives Bi. She sees the combination lock, then immediately looks in her sack. She pulls out a handful of bills and notices they all show the same scene: Pocahontas marrying John Rolfe. Each bill was printed in 1865. Bi inputs 1-8-6-5 and it opens. Inside the chest is more cash. Bi tips the chest into her sack and rushes to the ladder, climbing to the top. Wendy implements a similar strategy. Meanwhile, Colby is taking his time to make sure he gets as much cash as he can before he has to leave. He successfully transfers all the bills that had been carefully placed in the briefcase into his sack.

Meanwhile, Ken, Michaela, Lauren, Jerri and Kass have all begun unlocking their chests when the train begins to slow. Colby has made his way to the top, where he sees Wendy and Bi have both thrown their weight off the top. Colby does the same. Michaela, Jerri and Kass shake as much cash as they can into their sacks and head to the top of the train. Ken and Lauren remain in the boxcar alone as the train slows to a walking speed.

“You need to win this,” Ken says.

“What?”

“They’re gunning for you. Take my money.”

“What? No! You keep it. You can still win this.”

“You’ll have more than anyone else if you take mine,” he says, handing her his open briefcase.

She opens her sack and together they pour all their cash into her burlap sack. She rushes to the ladder and throws her dummy off the roof just as the conductor removes the train from the engine.

The remaining competitors line up behind the caboose. Wearing a conductor’s uniform, Jeff holds his arm in the air and announces, “Survivors ready? Go!”

They rush into the caboose and look around for hidden cash. Bi is the first to realize there’s nothing to find in the caboose and runs into the next car. Colby is quick behind her, followed by everyone else soon after.

In the next car, they find more dummies. Each of them wearing fancy tuxedos and gowns. Those in tuxedos smoke cigars. Those in gowns clutch their rhinestones. Bi opens a purse and dumps its contents into her sack. Colby reaches inside a tuxedo and pulls out a money clip. Kass finds a wallet. Michaela finds a purse with some cash. Wendy runs past and into the next car where she has first dibs of all the dummies. She grabs some cash from various pockets before her competition runs in. She runs off into the next car while everyone searches the dummies for any remaining cash.

Bi is the first, after Wendy, to the next car. Then, Colby, who is followed closely by Jerri. They all rummage through the dummies when Kass and Michaela join them. They all turn their attention to the engine 50 yards ahead. Bi is already almost there. Wendy is nearly halfway. Everyone else races for the final two spots on the engine.

Bi is the first to the engine. Wendy climbs aboard shortly thereafter. Colby takes the third spot. The three of them look over the back of the engine to see Michaela outpacing Jerri, but behind either of them is Lauren. She takes long, quick strides and passes Kass, then Jerri, then, despite being the last out of the train, she passes Michaela and claims the fourth and final spot on the engine. The conductor blows the whistle and the engine moves forward.

The engine stops where four horses wait. Colby, Lauren, Bi, and Wendy take their places in line with their horses. Jeff raises his arm and says, “Survivors ready? Go!”

The four horses are off! Bi takes a quick lead but Colby is determined behind her. He’s sure to not overwhelm his horse and keeps a steady pace. Wendy is close behind, giving her horse clear direction. Lauren falls behind. Her long legs make for an awkward fit on the horse’s back so it's hard to control. Colby’s pacing has worked out and he’s now directly behind Bi and her horse. He drops his shoulders slowly and presses his spurs into his horse’s sides. The horse giddies up and takes first place with just 30 yards remaining. As the finish line draws nearer, he hears the trots of another horse approaching. He quickly glances behind him and sees Wendy and her horse sprinting ahead. They are gaining speed faster than Colby and his horse can. Wendy passes them by and crosses the finish line first. Colby is next to cross soon after, followed closely by Bi. A few seconds later, Lauren crosses the finish line fourth and is eliminated.

The tribe meets again in the train station where Bi, Colby, and Wendy count the money they collected. Bi pulls out all her money, totaling “Ten Thousand and Eighty One dollars,” Jeff tells them.

Wendy empties her sack to the tune of “Twelve Thousand, Four Hundred Eleven Dollars.”

Everyone is shocked and applauds. Bi and Kass both side eye Colby as he looks around nervously. He giggles, certain he hasn’t beaten Wendy for a third time in a row.

“Twelve Thousand, Four Hundred And…” Jeff pauses, “Eighteen Dollars. Colby wins immunity!”

“Oh, man,” Colby says, “you had me going there, Jeff.”

“Congratulations, Colby,” Jeff says as he places the bandolier over Colby’s shoulder.

“Well done,” Michaela says.

Colby points a finger gun at her, winks, and fires.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a tortoise takes a step.

Back in town, Colby places the bandolier over the bar. He pours himself a whiskey as everyone congratulates him. Bi and Kass take a seat at the bar.

“She almost won again, Colbster,” Kass says.

“Wendy,” he asks.

“That would have been three in a row,” Kass says.

“How long has it been since you won one of those,” Bi asks, nodding up to the bandolier over his shoulder.

“Twenty Years.”

“So, I was like twelve years old the last time you won.”

“Okay, yes, Colby’s old now. What’s your point,” he asks.

“If we don’t take out Wendy now, what’s to stop her from getting to the end and winning. Isn’t that what you did?”

“I did more than just win immunity challenges, Kass.”

“Like, what?”

“I formed strong bonds with the people in the game.”

“You mean like Wendy’s doing,” Kass asks.

Wendy sits on the bench in the shade and plays with an ember in the fire when Ken and Lauren approach and take a seat next to her.

“Hey, Wendy,” Lauren says.

“Hey guys,” Wendy says.

“We’re all still on board for Michaela, right,” Lauren asks.

“Well,” Ken says, “What about Bi?”

“Michaela’s too smart, man,” Lauren says, “We have to take her out now. Before she expects it.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a ringtail cat crawls across some rocks.

As the moon illuminates the night sky, the final eight ride their horses to tribal council. Jeff approaches the campfire on his clydesdale, followed by the jury on their five akhal-tekes. They align their horses behind the remaining tribe members in a star shape. Jeff begins by asking Colby, “Colby, how long has it been since you’ve held individual immunity at tribal council?”

“Twenty years, Jeff. And I had been on quite the run then.”

“Five in a row,” Kass reminds them.

“That’s gotta be helpful, knowing you're safe so many tribals in a row,” Jeff says.

“Oh sure. Going on an immunity run is incredibly helpful, but that also means there’s a bigger target on you when you’re not immune. It’s a real double-edged sword.”

“Wendy,” Jeff says, “This is the first time you’re not immune in a few tribal councils. Does what Colby said make you nervous for tonight?”

“Oh, nooo. I understand where Colby is coming from, but I think I’ve built enough quality friendships that they don’t want to see me go!”

Jeff doesn’t respond with a followup question. Instead, he just smiles, appreciating Wendy’s exuberance.

“Everybody loves, Wendy, Jeff,” Kass says. “It would be silly to get rid of her.”

“Lauren,” Jeff says, “You made it pretty far in the immunity challenge.”

“I would have won if I’d crossed the finish line in time.”

“You had collected more money?”

“Yeah, Ken helped me a bit in the beginning.”

“Last I heard,” Jeff says, “You two were just friends? Is that still the case?”

“I mean,” Lauren coyly says, “What is a ‘friend’ on Survivor?”

“That’s a good question,” Jeff asks, “What is a friend on Survivor?”

“I think we’re all friends,” Wendy says. “I hope, at least.”

“A friend is someone you can trust implicitly,” Michaela says “in and out of the game.”

“Do you feel there are people in this game you can trust implicitly,” Jeff asks.

“How long have you been doin this show,” Michaela jokes, then, “But really, I do. At least, I hope so. This game, ultimately, is about building relationships.”

“Alright, with that, it is time to vote. Kass, you’re up first.”

Kass makes her way into the cave and casts her vote for Wendy. When she returns to the tribe, Ken makes his way inside, then, Colby. Jerri casts and shows her vote for Bi. Michaela follows her. Bi casts her vote. Lauren casts her vote for Michaela. Wendy makes her vote. Jeff tells them he’ll go tally the votes. When he returns, he says, “If anyone has the hidden immunity idol, and you want to play it, now would be the time to do so.”

Michaela looks around her fellow tribe members, then back to Jeff, who reads the first vote. “Michaela,” he announces. Her head drops.

“Michaela,” Jeff continues.

Michaela looks around, trying to deduce the author of the votes. Jeff reads the third vote, “Michaela.”

Ken’s head drops. Michaela’s brow furrows.

“Bi,” Jeff continues, “Bi, Wendy.”

Wendy’s head darts around as Kass grins.

“Wendy.”

Bi grins and looks over at Colby, who adjusts his hat as he looks at the sand.

Jeff reads the eighth vote, “Wendy.”

“What?!” Jerri and Michaela simultaneously yell, turning to Colby.

“We’re tied. We will revote. Wendy and Michaela will not vote,” Jeff says. He passes the urn to Colby who brings it back into the cave. Colby casts his vote, followed by the other five voters. Jeff tallies the votes and returns to the campfire.

“I’ll read the votes,” he says, “Wendy, Michaela, Wendy, Michaela, We’re Tied. Two votes each.”

Michaela bounces her knee as she stares down Jeff. Wendy grabs Jerri’s hand.

“Wendy,” Jeff reads.

Wendy clutches Jerri’s hand tighter. Jerri wraps her other hand around Wendy’s wrist and runs her thumb over her skin. Michaela has turned her attention to Colby. She stares at him with untrusting, yet hopeful, eyes.

Jeff opens the final vote, “Thirteenth person voted out of Survivor: Wild West and sixth member of the jury, Wendy.”

Jerri hugs Wendy tight as she says goodbye. Wendy grabs her torch and makes her way to Jeff.

“Wendy,” he says, “the tribe has spoken.”

She hugs him and says, “I’m just happy to get to go to Ponderosa this time!”

He laughs and says, “It’s time for you to go.”

Wendy rides her quarter horse toward the horizon as the final seven get back on their horses and head back to town.

“We didn’t need to do all that,” Michaela tells Colby as she gets on her horse.

“I’m sorry.” Colby says genuinely.

“Yeah,” Michaela says, riding off.

Michaela and Jerri voted for Bi on the first vote. Lauren, Ken and Wendy voted for Michaela on the first vote. Bi, Kass and Colby voted for Wendy on the first vote. On the revote, Jerri switched her vote to Wendy.

Read Episode 13 here

#michaela bradshaw #Jerri Manthey #wendy diaz #bi nguyen #ken mcnickle #Lauren O'Connell #colby donaldson #kass mcquillen #survivor #survivor wild west #edge of extinction #david vs goliath #millennials vs gen x #the australian outback

1 note · View note

msjr0119 · 4 years

Text

Forgive me

Part 10

Warnings: includes suicide, abuse, swearing.

Based on true events but using TRR characters who are owned by Pixelberry.

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @beardedoafdonutwagon @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @lauradowning29

******

Riley attempted to sleep, Leo’s words kept roaming through her mind. They were all in danger. Not knowing how to inform Liam of the bombshell- she didn’t want to increase his heart rate and delay him being discharged. She considered informing Drake and Maxwell, but Drake already believed that she was crazy talking to Leo. Olivia. Leo mentioned Olivia, Riley hadn’t really spoken to the woman before but she had heard stories regarding her- maybe she could help Riley with this situation. Deciding to give up with sleep, she got ready for the day- whilst she was getting ready she thought back to the first time she met Justin in New York.

Riley, Leo and Rob were in Kismet- as always Riley felt like the third wheel. Offering to get the next round in, a man slid up next to her.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Riley avoided eye contact- not wanting to pull.

“What do you want to drink beautiful?” Creep.

“I’m fine thank you. I’m actually out with my partner and his friend.”

“I knew you’d be in a relationship, why wouldn’t you- you’re like a goddess. What’s your name?”

“Riley.”

“Hi Riley, I’m Justin. Looks like I came just-in time. If you ever become single, here’s my business card. We could meet up?” Riley took the business card- briefly looking at it. She knew she was going to rip it up straight away. Placing his arm around her hip- she shuddered, not wanting some creep touching her like that. Leo and Rob wondered what was delaying Riley with the drinks- looking up Leo noticed her trying to push the stranger off her.

“Hey man, get your hands off her. She’s mine.” Anton looked at him as if he had seen as ghost- “Prince Leo in the flesh. Finally I’ve found you.” He whispered.

“Did you say something?” Leo asked eyeing the man up and down.

“Sorry. You’re a very lucky guy.”

“Yes I am, she’s a diamond. I’m Leo. This is Riley, my fake girlfriend- I’m really gay.” Leo slurred, Riley rolled her eyes back- wingman my arse, she thought.

“I’m a lesbian too. Weird relationship huh? See ya around Justin.”

Sitting back down, Leo wondered why she said she was homosexual- wondering if she actually was, the alcohol was confusing his mind.

“Why did you say what you did up there?”

“He’s a creep Leo. I had bad vibes about him.”

Walking around the palace grounds with Lucas, she knew that Leo would be following her around- if Liam knew the truth he would berate her for being unprotected.

“Hey!” Riley jumped at the voice that had startled her. She would soon be joining Liam in a hospital bed attached to heart machines.

“Drake you scared me! What are you doing up at this time?”

“I could ask you the same thing? I’m an early riser- I always go to the stables to check on the horses. Why are you so jumpy?”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“King Constantine has hired someone to be our press secretary- that someone killed Leo. It wasn’t suicide. Leo told me.”

“I think we need to get ouija bored out- with you and Liam talking to him. If Leo is really here, ask him what happened on my eighteenth birthday. There was only me and Leo there, and I doubt he would have spoken to you about my personal life whilst you were in New York.”

“Leo?” Drake folded his arms laughing, knowing she wouldn’t provide him with an answer.

I ordered him a stripper. He was a miserable and ungrateful so and so. She straddled him, he had an erection- in the end she was more my type. I didn’t realise I ordered a drag queen- once he found out he was sick all over her. Tell him he’s hot as always.

“I know what happened Drake.” She began laughing hysterically. “Trust Leo to do that to you.”

“Go on then... what did he do?”

“You got a hard on over a drag queen stripper then puked once you’d realised.”

“Shit! He really is here.”

“He said your hot as always.”

“Rewind to what you said about the press secretary...” Once Drake realised that she and Liam wasn’t crazy- he knew it was serious. Riley explained everything, including what Leo said regarding Olivia and her daggers.

“So, between you, me, Max, Liam and Liv we have to get rid of this psycho before he makes the royal family all fall like dominoes?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take Lucas, you go and inform Liam. I’ll arrange for Olivia and Max to meet me.” Hesitating leaving Lucas, she knew she could trust these people- but doubts were still lingering in the back of her mind.

“You can trust me Princess. I’ll look after him. My dad was a royal guard- he taught me a lot.”

“Okay. Thank you. Let me know what Max and Olivia say.”

“Will do.”

******

Arriving at the hospital, she was shocked to see Liam stood up- pacing the room.

“Hey.”

“Riley.” Liam walked over to her, holding her tightly.

“I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t think you’d come and visit this early. I can come home. I can come home to you and Lucas.” Riley was pleased that he was being discharged but also, dreading how she was going to explain what had been happening.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

There was silence whilst the nurses sorted out the discharge, Liam had kept asking Riley if there was anything the matter- just shaking her head, he knew she wasn’t entirely telling the truth. Ignoring it for now, he was relieved to be going back to the palace to sleep in his own bed with the warmth of Riley sleeping next to him. Missing Lucas whilst they had been separated, he also couldn’t wait to spend time with him. After the short drive, they arrived at the palace, through the back entrance- Liam just wanted to head straight to his quarters to spend a bit of alone time with Riley before everyone bombarded him with questions. Opening the door, Riley was fussing over him as if he was some type of invalid. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but he could walk and talk- that was all that was required.

Pulling her towards him, holding her tightly- his cock twitched at the sight of her. The hospital had warned him to not complete in activities that could raise his blood pressure- but he didn’t seem to listen, ignoring the advise that they had provided him with. Beginning to kiss her, the gentle kiss soon turned passionate- Riley noticed the desire in his eyes, knowing she needed to confide in him before she totally bottled it up.

“Liam, as much as I’m happy that you’re home... I need to tell you something....” Liam kissed the sensitive part of her neck, ignoring the seriousness in her tone of voice- selfishly just wanting her all to himself. He had missed her immensely- grateful that she was in his life.

“You can tell me after. Right now, I want you- all of you. I’ve missed you so much Riley.”

“Liam please!” Liam pulled away from her, wondering what had gone off whilst she had been in New York and he was in hospital. Hoping that she hadn’t changed her mind about their relationship, paranoid thoughts ran through his mind.

“Have you missed me?” He asked concerned, after confessing to his friends that he wanted to propose he was beginning to believe that she could be having second doubts- she wasn’t hesitant towards his touch or gestures even on the first night that they had met. Tracing kisses along her neck, past her jaw- to her ear, he could hear her slightly moan before responding to his question.

“Of course I have. But .... but.... please don’t kiss my neck and earlobe ... this is really important....”

“Go on....” Feeling defeated, he would listen to her- then attempt to seduce her again.

“We are all in danger. Leo was murdered- by Justin- our new press secretary.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. You were in hospital, I didn’t want to delay you coming back. Your father suggested that we need press secretary due to the press asking about myself and Lucas. When I met the person.... I knew him.... he was a creep... he tried it on with me plenty of times in New York- it got that bad that Leo placed an injunction against him. When I was in the room with them, Leo told me to stay calm and that we were all in danger then he.... he informed me that Justin planned his ‘suicide’... it was murder...he told me to tell Drake, Max and Olivia and that we can all bring Justin down- before he brings all the royal family down. He wants the throne, Liam. I’m scared he won’t stop until he gets it.” Liam cupped her cheeks. “Have the told the others?”

“Only Drake. He’s got Lucas.”

“We are going to see my father, then we will get Lucas and speak to the others. Everything will be fine. You and Lucas are my future- I won’t let any harm come to either of you.”

*****

Escorting Riley to his father’s study, he tried to believe that there was nothing to worry about. All that mattered to him was to keep Riley and Lucas safe, make them feel loved, and to eventually officially become family.

Knocking on the door, there was no answer. The royal guard that was stood dormant outside, explained that there had been a visitor prior to them arriving. Barging through the door, he immediately pushed Riley back out- to avoid her seeing what he could see.

“Liam. What’s up?” He heard her shout. Exiting the room, he whispered get medical assistance now to the guard.

“Nothing. Sorry.” Riley forced Liam’s hand off hers, being as stubborn as she was she needed to see for herself what was the matter with the King.

“Oh my god.”

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #drakewalker #liam rhys #trr forgive me #riley x liam #leo rhys

36 notes · View notes

supremeuppityone · 6 years

Text

A Comedy of Farriers

This was written for KC Week Day 7 - Emotions. We’ll mostly explore confusion and, of course, embarrassment in this story as Klaus meets a bubbly blonde at his family’s stable and is irritated to see that she appears to be dating his brother (when she could be dating him instead). Misunderstandings abound as Klaus clumsily attempts to be the noble brother...

“Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.”

― W.C. Fields

A thousand hot knives pierced his skin and painful flames radiated from his bicep as Klaus let out an impressive string of curses that echoed throughout the stable. He glared at the Andalusian, who tossed back its thick black mane as though daring him to come closer after delivering such a powerful (and incredibly painful) bite to his bicep.

An annoyed huff startled him, and he whirled around to see a stunning blonde glare at him before scolding, Seriously? What the hell did you think would happen when you approached his blind zone? Marcellus is very sensitive.”

Despite his annoyance at the blonde, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way her dusty jeans and faded black tank top hugged her curves. “I can assure you, I’m quite familiar with Marcellus’ mood swings.” Cocking his head to the side, he smirked down at her as he asked, “You don’t know who I am, do you, love?”

“You’re one of the over-privileged, overindulged Mikaelsons. Since I hear Elijah is a fussy chronic suit-wearer and Finn would cut out his own tongue before stooping to speak to the help, I’m assuming you’re Klaus — internationally renowned artist whose mood swings are even more legendary than Marcellus’,” she told him with another unimpressed eye roll.

What remarkable fire. Intrigued, he started to hold out his hand to properly introduce himself when an involuntary spasm of pain from his arm reminded him of his injury courtesy of his temperamental horse.

Concern flickered in her blue eyes despite her obvious irritation with him, and she quickly maneuvered him out of the stall and sat him on one of the wooden benches just outside. Her touch was surprisingly tender and he found himself leaning into it while breathing in the smells of saddle soap and a hint of peaches that made him wonder what she would taste like. “I’m Caroline. I’m the farrier for Mystic Stables,” she introduced herself with a brief nod, pushing up his shirt sleeve to get a better look at the horse bite.

Klaus dumbly stared at her as she examined the rapidly bruising flesh, oddly compelled to count the adorable cluster of freckles dancing across her nose. “Klaus...I’m uh, Klaus Mikaelson,” he clumsily offered, noting her amused expression as he hurriedly added, “But you already knew that I guess.” Inwardly groaning at how ridiculous he sounded, he tried to regroup and think of something witty to say, but was too distracted by the warmth of her touch as her fingers grazed the wound.

“Even though horses are grass eaters, their jaws are very strong and they have surprisingly sharp teeth. If startled, they’ll act out aggressively, even if they recognize you. Of course, you haven’t been to visit Marcellus since he was moved to Mystic Stables a year ago, so I’d argue his reaction is perfectly understandable,” Caroline told him in a voice full of reproach. Standing up, she rummaged through a cabinet above their heads, her tank top riding up to give him a teasing flash of her bellybutton.

Clearing his throat, he turned his head slightly, not wanting to come off as a creep. “Can I assume that is how you handle stable visitors with poor manners then, sweetheart?”

Grinning down at him, Caroline grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and began lightly dabbing at the edges of his bite where the horse’s teeth had sunk in slightly. “Actually, I have a few different methods of dealing with bad behavior at the stables.”

“Like threatening completely innocent, slightly tipsy blokes with a shotgun,” drawled a newcomer, and Klaus grit his teeth as he recognized the voice of his mischievous little brother, Kol.

Klaus watched with a sinking feeling as Kol draped his arm companionably around Caroline’s shoulders, and Caroline bumped him affectionately with her hip as she told Klaus, “It was my second day here and I was working late when a completely shitfaced Kol and his equally drunk buddy had climbed over our gates and were clumsily trying to put saddles on Tyler and Mason.” She shrugged, smearing a bit of ointment on Klaus’ bruised flesh as she added in fake innocence, “I thought they were trying to steal our clients’ best Quarter Horses, so naturally I pulled a shotgun on them and threatened to shoot off their balls.”

“Fairly certain Josh pissed himself when this fiery little minx started shrieking at us about deep cracks causing pressure on laminate and how it could lead to Tyler being lame,” Kol joined in with a cheeky smile, “Honestly, we would’ve picked a different horse to race against Mason had we known Tyler was injured, little bird.”

While Caroline returned the medical supplies to the overhead cabinet, Klaus studied the way his brother watched her with a fond smile that was worlds away from his typical smugness. Damn it — Kol genuinely liked her. “It’s sensitive laminae, Kol. And yes, had you and Josh tried to do your stupid drunken race, Tyler might’ve ended up permanently lame. And you and Josh would’ve ended up permanently ball-less,” she told him with a sinister gleam in her blue eyes.

“That’s why I’m your apprentice farrier, little bird. That and I bring you lunch every day,” Kol replied, shaking the sack his was holding.

Caroline squealed adorably, snatching it and inhaling deeply. “Your brother is the best, Klaus. He’s always looking out for me,” she told him, ruffling his brother’s brown locks affectionately. “I’m going to go take my break now and Kol, please get started measuring Mason for those special racing shoes we discussed.” She nodded at Klaus and told him, “It was nice to finally meet you, Klaus, but watch out for blind zones next time, okay?”

As the brothers watched her walk away, Klaus couldn’t help but feel as though part of his future happiness was walking away too. Stop being such a prat. Kol is clearly happy with her. “Hell of a story, mate. Caroline seems like a special girl.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Kol replied, “She is, Nik. She was so bloody protective of the horses, not realizing at the time that our family owned over half of the ones stabled here, and I knew I needed to figure out how to get her to be that protective of me.”

“And that’s why you’re mucking about this place as her assistant, rather than gallivanting across Europe like usual,” Klaus asked curiously. He briefly recalled a completely gobsmacked Rebekah telling him that Kol had moved in with someone, but it hadn’t occurred to him that his spoiled, selfish little brother had finally decided to settle down.

Buckling a leather tool belt across his waist, Kol answered somewhat defensively, “Caroline is a good person who didn’t see me as the constant screw-up our family thinks I am. All us Mikaelsons have more money than we could ever spend, but so what? She saw through who I’ve been pretending to be all my life. I like the person I am now because of her and I’d hate to think what kind of mess I’d be if Caroline wasn’t in my life.” Brown eyes narrowed, he pointed a finger at Klaus, warning him, “And I saw how you were trying to chat her up. Nik, don’t cock this up.”

Klaus reassured his brother, “I wouldn’t dream of it, mate.”

Having never played the role of the noble brother, Klaus found himself a bit lost over the next two weeks. He told himself that he started frequenting Mystic Stables because he missed Marcellus after being overseas at various gallery openings for the past year. However, it wasn’t his temperamental Andalusian’s company he kept seeking out. He’d take Marcellus out for a quick gallop through the main trail dotted with apple trees, but he found himself constantly craning his neck for a glimpse of golden curls tucked underneath a ragged baseball cap.

He watched with an admiring eye the gentle manner she had with all of the horses, clearly willing to take the time to get to know their individual personalities and earning their trust. She’d once confessed to Klaus that she’d had few close friends growing up, always feeling more of a kinship with horses, and wanted to repay the kindness those gentle giants had shown her by giving them the best life she could. Selfless, gentle soul. She was a hard worker and incredibly loyal to the creatures, and Klaus found himself feeling almost as jealous of the horses as he was of his brother.

And then there was the singing. The first time he’d heard it while walking Marcellus for his post-ride cooldown, he’d assumed one of the grooms had left a radio on. However, the second time it occurred, he realized it was Caroline softly crooning to a skittish Dutch Draft. The gigantic creature was stomping the ground, but Caroline was fearless. Her melodic voice seemed to soothe the beast until it docilely allowed her to lift each of its massive hooves as she trimmed and filed away, blissfully unaware of her enthralled audience.

When she wasn’t unwittingly serenading Klaus, Caroline could be found working in one of the smaller pens to take advantage of the sunshine and gentle breezes. The precious few times he’d seen her astride a horse had left him breathless and blushing like a schoolboy. She’d been magnificent, like a fierce warrior queen charging into battle. She’d caught him staring one time too many and had teased him with, “What’s the matter, Klaus? Did you forget how to ride?”

“I’d be open to a riding lesson, sweetheart,” Klaus purred, inwardly berating himself for his dodgy innuendo. Stop trying to flirt with your brother’s girl.

Caroline threw back her head, laughing as she told him, “You Mikaelson boys are shameless flirts. Kol warned me about you, you know. Sexy broody artist-type who Kol swears collects hearts the way I collect boots.”

The fondness in her voice as she spoke of Kol sent him crashing back to reality, and he felt the teasing smirk leave his face as he told her abruptly, “Yes, well, Kol has been known to exaggerate from time to time.” Uncomfortable with the way her own sunny smile dropped at his sudden coldness, he mumbled something about being late for a previous engagement and rode Marcellus back to his stall. A few days later, he found a flyer for children’s riding lessons and Caroline’s cheerful, curly-cue writing at the bottom that read, “Hey grumpy, I signed you up for the beginner’s class.” He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped as he looked at the smiley face she’d drawn with its tongue sticking out.

After that, he was on his best behavior — friendly, but not overly so in case he forgot himself and started shamelessly flirting again. It helped that Kol seemed to be popping up more than usual lately, teasing his brother good-naturedly and always leaving the stables when his shift ended with a careless wave in Caroline’s direction, telling her, “See you at home, little bird.” Granted, he felt his heart sink just a bit more each time he heard Kol say that, but he couldn’t fault his brother for wanting to constantly announce that he was the lucky bastard Caroline came home to. If it were him, he’d probably have hired a skywriter.

Of course, he could’ve sworn that Kol seemed to take particular delight in pointedly dropping little tidbits about his relationship, going on and on about something they called Margarita Monday Madness, wiggling his eyebrows comically whenever Caroline’s back was turned.

Or, the time Caroline asked Kol to move a few of the hay bales and he did a mini-striptease as he stripped off his shirt in front of her as she rolled her eyes and giggled. Klaus recognized the challenge in his troublemaking brother’s expression, and pulled off his own shirt, unable to stop himself from casually peeking to see if Caroline was watching. From the pink staining her cheeks, he thought she was, until he realized Kol had added to his little show by slowly pouring his water bottle over his chest. Bloody wanker.

Klaus accidentally had left his sketchpad behind, telling himself he wanted to document Marcellus grazing along the picturesque ruins of an old farmhouse. Bloody liar. Caroline featured quite prominently in his sketches these days. Giggles coming from the office drew his attention, and he decided to see what mischief Caroline was getting up to. He rounded the corner and stopped short at what he saw through the open doorway.

One of the stable hands, a dodgy bloke named Enzo, was leaning in dangerously close to Caroline, his dark eyes shifting from side to side as though checking to see if they were alone. Klaus hung back in the shadows, fists clenched as he watched Enzo whisper something that was no doubt scandalous in her ear.

Whatever he said made Caroline squeal in delight, clapping her hands excitedly as she enveloped him in a hug, pressing her curves against him as Enzo squeezed her tightly, his eyes closed blissfully. Bloody hell. That blonde tart was cheating on his brother. How could he have been so wrong about her? How in the hell was he going to tell Kol? Or, should he stay out of it? Fists clenched in anger, he stormed off, intent to drink until he no longer had the disgusting image of Caroline and Enzo seared into his brain.

Daylight streamed through Klaus’ bedroom window, temporarily blinding him as he rolled over and let out a string of curses as his head began to pound from his hangover. Caroline. Enzo. It all came rushing back to him and he rubbed the side of his face with a heavy sigh. He had to tell Kol. Just picturing how heartbroken Kol would be made his own heart ache, but he couldn’t allow his brother to be played for a fool. Ignoring the pounding in his skull brought on by far too much bourbon and self-doubt, he threw on some clothes that didn’t appear too rumpled and drove over to the flat Kol shared with Caroline.

High on equal parts righteous indignation and adrenaline, he didn’t bother knocking before using the key Kol gave him for emergencies to barge in. He found them passed out on their couch, the TV playing softly in the background. He glared down at Caroline, hating how her soft golden waves perfectly framed her beautiful face. Deceitful trollop.

As though sensing Klaus’ presence, Caroline stirred, yawning loudly as she opened one eye to regard him blearily. Nudging a snoring Kol with her foot, she grumbled, “Why is your hot, grumpy brother glaring at me so early on a Saturday morning?”

Klaus hated the way his heart fluttered hopefully when he heard that Caroline thought him attractive, but he quickly tamped down that feeling. He was furious — how dare she be such a callous creature and toy with his baby brother like this?! Jabbing an accusing finger in her direction, he ground out, “Tell him what you’ve been doing, Caroline! And don’t try to deny it, I saw you yesterday!”

Shifting to rest on his elbows, Kol mockingly gasped at Caroline, “I knew it! You did eat the last slice of chocolate raspberry torte!” High-fiving Klaus, he added, “Good show exposing that dirty lying vixen, Nik.”

With an exasperated sigh, Klaus told him, “No, Kol. I saw Caroline with Enzo yesterday.” As his little brother’s eyes widened, Klaus ran his fingers through his messy curls, his tone apologetic as he told him, “I don’t know how long it’s been going on. I’m so sorry, brother.”

He threw another glare at Caroline, who had the gall to look offended. “What the hell, Klaus? So, you’re my grumpy stalker now?”

“That’s a bit rich, you feigning righteous indignation, sweetheart,” Klaus seethed. At her angry scoff, he shouted, “You’re cheating on my brother with Enzo!”

Klaus watched in confusion as Kol and Caroline glanced at each other, seeming to carry on a silent conversation with a quirk of their eyebrows. When they both burst into hysterical giggles, Klaus realized he’d clearly made a mistake.

Still breathing hard from laughing, Caroline said, “Kol and I are roommates and friends. Where the hell did you get the idea that he and I were dating?!”

Kol wore a chagrined expression as he cleared his throat awkwardly, “Yeah...so I might’ve figured out you thought Caroline and I were a couple and I had thought about setting you straight, but you so clearly fancied her that I thought it would be a bit of a laugh to see how long I could keep up the pretense.”

Caroline began brutally smacking Kol in the face with one of the fluffy pillows from the couch, muttering mostly incoherent phrases like “let me go on and on” and “you knew this whole time” heavily laced with curses while Klaus just yelled, “Arsehole!”

Jumping off of the couch to escape Caroline’s pillow assault, Kol’s brown eyes glittered with mischief as he said, “Nik, I swear I was going to tell you soon...for your birthday.”

Klaus growled, “My birthday is next summer, you wanker!”

“I think we’re all forgetting the most important bit we learned here — Enzo.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he asked her anxiously, “Did you talk me up? Is it time to get out my naughty spurs? Come on, help a bloke out, little bird!”

Thoughts racing, Klaus tried to make sense of everything he’d just learned while fighting off the remnants of his hangover. “So you’re not dating Caroline. And you’re gay?”

Rolling her eyes, Caroline answered for his brother, “Kol’s not a fan of limiting his dating pool.” Glancing at Kol, she told him, “And yes, I was an awesome roommate and lied my ass off about you and didn’t even tell your crush how you secretly think Mariah should’ve gotten an Oscar for Glitter.”

Horrified, Kol hurriedly said, “That’s not what I said! The movie was just not as bad as everyone says it is...And also, Margarita Monday Madness secret confessions are supposed to stay secret!”

Klaus couldn’t help the indulgent smile that crept across his face as he watched his brother and Caroline bicker back and forth good naturedly. He saw it now, the connection they share was clearly one of a close, loving friendship, and he couldn’t believe how blind he’d been. Before he could begin to form an apology for his ridiculous assumptions, Caroline commanded Kol, “And you can return the favor by joining Enzo at his favorite breakfast spot over on Augustine Street so I can show your brother my naughty spurs.”

Klaus could feel his neck flush from Caroline’s blatant interest, but still managed to throw a flirtatious smirk her way which caused her to blush prettily under the heat of his gaze. Kol interrupted their moment when he poked him in the chest on his way out of their flat, warning him, “Nik, don’t cock this up.”

Klaus smiled as he reassured his brother, “I wouldn’t dream of it, mate.”

#kcweek18 #klaroline fanfiction #Klaroline #uppity bitch fanfic

19 notes · View notes

codynaomiswireart · 6 years

Text

Sleipnir

Some more Varian angst. Sorry/not sorry.

It was a bright, sunshiny afternoon in the capital of Corona, and Varian despised every second of it as he continued to work under a beating sun, a gloved hand wicking sweat out of his face as the crowds continued to mill about around him. “Crick! Crick! Crick!” went the wrench as he tightened one of the bolts on a merchant cart in the central plaza, doing his best to ignore the glances, stares, and murmurings his presence prompted as people shuffled on by. Pete, Stan, and the Captain of the Guard himself stood nearby, their stoic manner deterring anyone from getting too close, and deterring Varian from attempting any sort of mischief or escape.

Crick! Crick! Crick!

I had been two weeks since the battle of Old Corona, and within that time Varian had been sentenced to many hours of community service in the kingdom’s capital. He supposed it had been the king’s idea of being merciful – and likely it was – but Varian hated it. It was humiliating and boring, and Varian (almost) wished that he had just been sentenced to something like solitary confinement instead. At least then there would be no pretending that in just doing a few favors for everyone around town for so many hours that Varian would somehow “come to his senses” in it all.

Sure, Varian had impressed Uncle Monty with his clockwork candy town window display (made ENTIRELY out of sculpting sugar), and Feldspar with his automatic shoe-shining machine…but none of it mattered. Not really. Even when – despite his obstinate state – Varian did his tasks as only he could, nothing had changed; his father was still trapped in amber, Varian was still being punished for his crimes, and he still hadn’t done anything to make his dad proud.

What a waste.

At first, Varian’s tasks had been a few odd jobs around the castle itself, as (nearly) no one trusted him outside of its front gates. That interim time especially had been bitter salt in the wound to him. Not only had he found himself in the custody of those who had wronged him deeply, but now they had him working for them, like some sort of palace servant.

Varian hated it.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Across the way, Varian could hear Xavier pounding away in his forge, and Varian’s heart ached with the longing to once again pick up a set of tongs himself and mold some hot metal into some sort of spectacular creation. But it was no surprise though that there was quite the wide range of tools and activities that he was now restricted from, and it only made his wounds feel the sting of more salt as he listened to the echo of the blacksmith’s hammering.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Varian paused in his own work, testing out the tightness of the bolts with a quick push and tug before sitting down for a moment, taking a few gulps of water from the canteen allotted to him from the palace kitchens. He kept his eyes downcast from everyone as he adjusted his vest (they insisted he wear the absurdly bright and stupid thing while carrying out his tasks around town), and shifted the shackle around his left ankle that connected him to a small ball and chain, just heavy enough to prevent him from running away.

…Not like he had anywhere to run to now. But as the Captain had told him, “Sorry. It’s protocol, kid.”

By now, Pete, Stan, and the Captain had learned that attempting to strike up any sort of conversation with Varian was almost certainly futile. The boy had hardly spoken more than a few, monosyllabic words since they’d brought him to the capital (a trait they had never witnessed before from the formerly chatty alchemist), and any attempts to get him to speak more were met with a defiant silence, or Varian deliberately making more noise from whatever he was working on, drowning out their voices from his ears.

…There had even been one time where Stan and Pete attempted a kind of apology for throwing Varian back out into the snow on that oh so terrible of days those several months ago. “We were just doing our job kid-” Pete had tried to say, only to be met by a glare from Varian that would’ve sent a dozen daggers clean through the both of them, if only it could. Needless to say, attempts at conversation since then had been very few and far between, though the nitwit guards still tried nonetheless.

The only soul who Varian spoke more than a few words to was Rudiger, who had been allowed to stay with Varian at the queen’s insistence. Though it was suspected that Varian would use Rudiger to smuggle in supplies for an escape plan (or other hostile dealings), Queen Arianna was able to eventually convince the Captain to allow Rudiger to stay with the boy, so long as he too was under close surveillance and under lock-and-key as well. When Varian was in the palace, Rudiger was allowed to tag along with him on a leash. But when Varian was out in the town, Rudiger was kept behind, confined to their secure living quarters.

Varian could hardly believe that after everything that happened – or more specifically, after everything he’d done, if he allowed himself to be honest with himself – Rudiger had voluntarily chosen to stay with him, and under such conditions, too. Varian would often mutter his gratitude to Rudiger once they were alone together at the end of a hard day, and would also proceed to vent to him about how stupid and unfair everything was when it came to everyone else. Rudiger was a patient listener though, and while Varian missed hearing another voice in dialogue with him, it was certainly much better than nothing.

With a heavy sigh, Varian hoisted himself back up again, tucking his canteen away and reaching for the oilcan in his limited tool kit. As he looked to squirting some on the joints of the trade cart, the usual hustle and bustle noises around him were interrupted by a child’s sudden cry.

“WWAAAAAAHHHH!”

Varian turned, looking over his shoulder to see a little girl in the middle of the cobblestone clearing holding what appeared to be a broken toy of some sort, a few of its wooden parts strewn across the way in front of her. Several people also paused to glance at the commotion as the girl’s mother came running up behind her, trying to console the child as she gathered up the broken pieces, trying to tell her that they would find some way to fix it.

“Oh dear, hard luck huh?” Varian overheard Stan say to Pete as he turned back to continue his work, his teeth clenched at the sound of the child’s continued sobs.

“Yeah, poor kid.”

Varian huffed. What did that kid know about any real pain or loss anyway? Stupid toy wasn’t even real.

After another few seconds, the sounds of the child’s whimperings suddenly stopped, and then the sound of little feet scurrying across the cobblestones could be heard, along with a woman’s shout of, “Sweetie wait! STOP!” and “Hey! Hold on kid! You can’t go passed this point- hey! Stop! Come back here!” from the Captain.

And finally-

“PLEASE SIR!”

Varian nearly jumped out of his skin as the sweet, high-pitched, pleading voice suddenly sounded at his shoulder. Varian’s head whipped round, coming face-to-face with the tear-stained, freckled face of the little girl, who held out her broken toy and its pieces towards him.

“P-please sir! Can you fix him!?”

Varian blinked, mouth opening part way in surprise at the sudden, unexpected turn of events (and for hearing himself being called “sir” for the first time in his life). He glanced back and forth from the girl, to the broken pieces, and then up at the guards and mother who now stood in a semicircle around the two of them. Varian could see the look of worry in the girl’s mother’s eyes, which had of course noticed the vest and ball and chain he wore, and then there were Pete, Stan, and the Captain, who all three glanced between each other with looks of uncertainty.

Varian suddenly felt very transparent, the horrible feeling of being watched with the intensity of a hawk as the little girl piped up again, her innocent mind oblivious to the situation she had just rushed headlong into. “Please sir!” she pled with Varian again, holding out the pieces more insistently. “Please save Sleipnir!”

At the sound of such an unusual name for a toy, Varian looked down again at the pieces. He now saw why the girl must’ve picked him out in the crowd to have possibly been someone who could fix him. The little girl held a beautifully carved and painted wooden horse; the kind that had wheels and could be pulled around with a piece of string. Somehow – likely from being a bit too rough with it on the cobblestone streets – one of the axels had snapped apart, with two of the wheels having flown off completely, and one splintered in half. The paint of the horse had also gotten scratched up on one side, and a crack ran along its right flank. Given the sorry state of the toy horse’s wheels, she must’ve seen Varian working on the trade cart’s wheels from across the way, and figured he then must know what to do to fix it.

Varian frowned, brow furrowing as the situation also suddenly seemed so familiar to him…

“You’re the only one who can help, please! You need to come to Old Corona with me. Now!”

“Um, listen kid,” the Captain finally interrupted, stepping forward to put himself between the girl and Varian. “I’m afraid Varian can’t…Well, you see-”

“C’mon, sweetie,” the girl’s mother tried again, reaching for her daughter’s wrist. “We can find someone else who will fix-”

“NO! Sleipnir needs help NOW!” the girl insisted, tears threatening to pour down her freckled face again as she pulled herself away from her mother’s grasp.

“It’ll be alright honey,” her mother tried again, more firmly this time. “Sleipnir will be fine until later. Let’s just head home and-”

“NOOO!” the girl began to cry, as the mother began dragging her away by the wrist, and the guards looked helplessly from one to the other.

“No no no no!...Princess! My dad needs help! RAPUNZEL!”

Varian cringed hard. “…For crying out loud!” he thought to himself as he rose to his feet.

“Hey, wait!” Varian called, all eyes suddenly turning to him, and mother and child pausing to look behind them. “I-I can fix it. Er, him. I can fix him,” Varian called, then turning to the Captain. “If I have your permission, Captain.”

The Captain stared down at Varian, eyes wide. It was the most that he had heard Varian speak at one time since they had admitted him into custody. After a moment or two of thought, the Captain’s expression softened a bit, and he nodded. “Perhaps there’s a way to reach you after all, boy…” he thought to himself as he turned toward the mother and child.

“If quite agreeable ma’am,” the Captain began, “the boy does know quite a bit about fixing things. Plus he is doing community service under our watch. I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

The mother looked from the Captain, to Varian, to his ball and chain, and back to the Captain again. Her expression told everything that Varian needed to know.

“Of course,” Varian thought to himself, as he watched her open her mouth to reply, Varian’s head hanging low, and his hair dangling over his stinging eyes.

“Please mommy…” the little girl interjected before her mother could reply. “Please let him save Sleipnir!”

Looking down at her daughter, her mother’s worried eyes softened a bit, and with a small nod, allowed her daughter to go trotting back to Varian, eagerly shoving the broken pieces of Sleipnir into his hands.

“Ok,” Varian began, laying the pieces out on a small piece of tarp that had been hanging on the cart, and the little girl watching the whole time with fascination. “Let’s see here…Not too bad, all things considered. The axel is snapped though. We’re gonna need a new one. I think this bit of wiring should do the trick. As for the snapped wheel, I’ve got some wood glue here somewhere that should take care of that…”

As Varian continued to put the pieces back together, he continued to chatter on about every step he was making, and the little girl looked on in wide-eyed wonder, hanging onto his every word as he took her step by step through the repair process. After only a few minutes, everything was done, and aside from the paint still scuffed on one side, the wooden horse was good as new.

“Just make sure you let the wood glue dry before you try wheeling him around again, ok?” Varian told the girl as he handed Sleipnir back to her, the little girl turning him over and over in her hands as she studied Varian’s handiwork. Varian suddenly came back to himself as he caught himself smiling at her fascination – the first real smile that had graced his face in a long time – and shook himself, set his face back to its usual stoic manner as he gathered up the tarp in his arms, slinging it back over the handle of the trade cart as he set about to resume his original work.

“Now, just be more careful from now on wi-”

Varian never did finish what he was going to say, for as he turned back around, he felt the little girl’s small arms wrap around his middle, her head buried in his work apron.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” she said gleefully, face turning up to look at him, her eyes shimmering with joy. Varian stared back down at her, completely stunned, and hands hovering in midair, unsure of what to do.

“A-alright now, sweetie,” the girl’s mother said, gently peeling her away from Varian, “Say good-bye to the nice boy, and let’s go home now.”

“Bye-bye! Thank you!” the girl called to Varian as she tucked Sleipnir under one arm, waved good-bye with her free hand, and her mother giving him both a sympathetic and grateful look over her shoulder as they turned away and walked down the avenue.

“…Bye…” Varian whispered after them, raising a half-hearted hand in return before returning to oiling the joints of the wagon, the guards and the Captain straining to hold their usual stoic expressions as they resumed their positions nearby him.

#tts #tangled the series #varian #fan fiction #secret of the sun drop #captain of the guard #cassandra's dad #cassandra's father #pete the guard #stan the guard #corona #community service #angst #help #creative writing #fixing things #wooden horse #drabble

334 notes · View notes

letaliabane · 7 years

Text

Hate (Care For Series)

Pair: Thorin Oakenshield x Healer!Reader (a pretty short one too lol)

Genre: Arguing, Angst (lots in this one so fair warning), Fluff (eventually)

Inspired by prompts from imaginexhobbit + “I hate you!” + “Why do you hate me?!”

A/N: Thorin and Y/N’s relationship is getting nowhere, and with the road to Erebor seeming to be endless, will Rivendell be able to act as a tonic for the two hot heads? Or will Y/N decide that her place is no longer needed in the company?

PREVIOUS (Mistook)

I cried out as I threw all my weight behind my sword towards an incoming warg who was sent skidding across the plaines along with its orc master. I couldn’t help but smirk as I continued behind the other dwarves. Well that really wasn’t how I was a couple of minutes before.

I allowed my eyes to flutter close as I rested within the confides of a large oak tree, beneath its towering branches that sheltered the morning light from my eyes, the trickling of water a lullaby upon my senses as the stream continued to flow. As a young child I had always found comfort within the branches and roots of trees that towered over me, knowing that I would be guarded, but the idea of being in nature always made me feel safe—

My eyes snapped open once more at the sound of twigs snapping beneath a large amount of weight, sitting up and calling out instantly, ‘Guys? You there?’

Silence.

‘Guys come on, where are you? I’m not in the mood for jokes at the moment.’

Nothing.

CRUNCH-SNAP!

I laid my head against the forest floor as yet enough twig snapped, this time much closer. The footsteps that echoed through the earth did not belong to one of a dwarf. The nagging in the back of my head got louder as I slowly and finally, I pulled out my sword, trying to avoid scraping the delicate metal against the sheath.

Once more silence fell, my heart beat pounding against my ears. My scream caught in my throat when the warg stuck its head around the corner of the large oak tree, snarling ferociously, saliva and blood dripping from its jagged teeth.

But that didn’t stop me from using the hilt of my sword as a hammer against its forehead, allowing it to let out a caterwauling shriek, shrinking away from me with a whine.

I took this opportunity to jump out of the confines of my hiding spot, dodging as it lunged towards me, only to drive my sword deep into its neck, its howl reverberating throughout the depths of the forest. As I twisted the weapon further into it’s windpipe, the warg’s body went limp, and it moved no more.

I fell to the floor with a gasp as I pulled the bloodied sword out, trying to balance my breathing as best as possible. The adrenaline was coursing through my body fast, my hands shaking uncontrollably, slick with the blood from the dead creature.

I couldn’t even register the calling of my name until Gandalf’s face swam into my vision, his eyes wide in horror and shock as he took in the scene before him.

I felt him grasp my hand tightly in both of his as he abandoned his staff that cluttered the forest floor, clearly ignoring the fact I had blood all over my palms. I looked up at the calling of my voice by the hobbit, only to see all the dwarves beside him, their own weapons drawn by their sides … and Thorin. He stood there, his eyes glimmering with what looked like a mix between hesitancy and distress, but not at the warg, but at me. And yet I couldn’t help but ignore him.

Another voice caught my attention, causing me to look up and see a familiar wizard, his eyes squinting as he wore a weary expression, the side of his face covered in bird poo, making him all the more familiar. ‘Radagast, it has been far too long.’

‘Too long indeed little one! Are you quite all right?’ I nodded at this, unable to articulate anymore words without gasping for air. Bilbo and Fili was at my side in an instant, helping me to my feet shakily, allowing to lean on them. ‘What happened? Why are there wargs on our tail?’

‘We’ve been tracked my dear, by a warg pack no doubt!’ Gandalf cried as he looked around. ‘Indeed, meaning that an orc pack is not too far behind,’ I spoke as I picked up my sword, sheathing it with a grunt, ‘We are being hunted Gandalf and we won’t be able to outrun them. Especially with the amount we carry.What about our ponies can’t we use them?’

I turned to the rest of the company as Ori exclaimed, ‘We can’t! We have no ponies; they bolted during the fight at dawn!’ I inwardly groaned, rubbing my forehead as I muttered under my breath, only to look up as the brown wizard cried, ‘I’ll draw them off.’

I shook my head as I made my way over to his side. ‘Don’t be foolish Radagast!’

‘She’s right! These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you!’ Gandalf proclaimed as came to my side, the much shorter wizard puffing out his chest with a smirk, speaking pointedly, ‘These are Rhosgobel Rabbits! I’d like to see them try. ’

We had been forced to flee the comforts of the forest. And thats how we ended up here in the middle of an open field, fighting off a pack of deadly wargs. They surrounded us from all sides, the wargs growling at us like prey while the orcs jeered and tipped their chins to the sky, speaking foreignly in a tongue that was just as foul as their voices.

In horror, I watched as Ori, bravery and yet foolishly, shoot a large rock at the Orc pack leader with his slingshot, to no effect, only causing it to force its warg to reel onto its hind legs, sending the poor dwarf to its knees in a cold, fearful sweat. In an instant, I stood before the hideous creature, holding my sword up, about to strike when I heard a familiar cry.

‘This way, you fools!’

I turned to see Gandalf appear from between a crack in the rock, desperately waving towards the rest of us. As the Wargs began their approach, the dwarves and Bilbo began to slide into the large crack in the rock, disappearing from sight.

As I ran to join them, Dori lost his footing, tripping through the brush and tweeds, forcing me to skid to a halt, turn and grab him by his tunic and pull him to his feet, pushing him in front of me as we dived head first into the cave, coming to a halt at the feet of the other dwarves. Suddenly, a familiar Elvish horn sounded, making me look towards the light with a small hope smile, and then it all suddenly fell silent.

With that, Gandalf took the lead through the close quartered caves, even forcing some of the dwarfs to sidle through them, particularly and especially Bombur. Finally the clearing of the caves came into view, and I couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of the quaint little town below in the valley.

‘The Valley of Imraldis, or in common tongue, known as Rivendell, the last Homely House east of the sea.’ I couldn’t help but smile at Gandalf’s words, the hobbit taking an instant notice with a kind smile of his own, ‘You’ve been here before?’

‘Oh yes Bilbo … I’ve come home.’ We turned at the scruffle between the dwarves, looking distastefully at the beautiful town, Thorin particularly as he argued with the wizard, ‘You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? You old fool they will try to stop us!’

Gandalf only huffed at this, ‘Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking and charming to me … and our dear Y/N.’

At this I turned to him in horror, the same expression mirrored upon Thorin’s face as he just chuckled, turning me away from the others and leading me down the sloped path. ‘Are you nuts Gandalf? Aren’t you usually the one that does the talking without my help?’

‘Yes, but I am doing this only for you my dear. Just trust me,’ He said with his usual mischievous grin as i just let out a sigh and smile in return, ‘Haven’t I always?’

Once me made it down into the valley and crossed the bridge into Imraldis, taking in the pleasant calmness and peace that the village brought to one’s heart. ‘Little one?!’

I turned at the calling of my familiar nickname, unable to hold back my smile at the sight of my dear old friend who made his way down the flight of stairs. He instantly pulled me into a hug, laughing against my ear with delight, Gandalf smiling at the sight while the others murmured amongst themselves in distrust.

I pulled away to look up at Lindir who took in my appearance with a smile and shook his head, ‘My how you’ve grown my dear. Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen.’ (We heard you had crossed into the Valley)

‘We must speak with Lord Elrond.’ The dwarves choked at the sound of the elvish tongue rolling of my lips as easily as water, Thorin turning with a keen eye at the sight of me conversing with the elf. ‘My Elrond is not here.’

My eyes widened in shock at this, ‘Not here? Where is he?’

Suddenly, the familiar horns rang out once again, turning in shock as the dwarves closed ranks at the sight of the armed incoming horsemen, only to reveal Lord Elrond himself among their midst, and once again I could not hold back my smile.

‘Gandalf, Farannem ‘lamhoth i udul o charad. Dagannem rim na Iant Vedui.’ (We’ve been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South. We slew a number near the Hidden Pass).

Elrond’s eyes averted to me, widening in shock, ‘My dear, silmë.’ He dismounted his horse, not even allowing me to greet him properly in the traditional elvish customs before taking me up into his arms like a child, he too laughing in shock, ‘It has been too long. Your all grown up now!’

‘My lord Elrond I am not that old!’ I say as I pull away, but he just waved that away, ‘Has the wizard been keeping you busy my dear? We haven’t seen you in these parts for quite some time.’

‘Too busy, he keeps me over the books for months, and when I finally look up a year has gone by.’ The two men chuckled at this before a cough was heard, all of us turning our attention back to the dwarves who stood there, still with their weapons raised. I couldn’t help but shake my head, watching as the two races conversed, Lord Elrond extending his invitation to take refuge within his small town. But in my eyes, it was a piece of paradise. I was really home..’

I turned to Lindir who gave me a small smile, leading me towards the villas as he said, ‘Come let us get you changed into something better than these dusty travel clothes. And then you must tell me all that you’ve been up to.’

I stare at myself in awe, never remembering a moment like this when I actually looked decent for once, but it was as if a new confidence had grown within me at the sight of my “new” self. The shimmering dress flowed right to the floor with a small trail, the jewels and flowers that were delicately placed in my hair almost sparkling in the candlelight. I smiled slowly, turning to the elven ladies before bowing to them, ‘Thank you.’

They all smiled, some giggling at my appearance in content before Verrona, the head elf maid who I was very well aquainted with, helped me down from the small podium, lifting my trail as the ladies led me towards the courtyards where the banquet would be served. I am announced quickly by one of the elf guards, who smiled slightly as he proclaimed, ‘Y/N has arrived.’

The elf maidens move out of the way slowly, the company all on their feet at the sight of me, their eyes wide, some of their mouths agape while others simply smiled.

‘Wow!’ I hear Ori murmer in awe as his eyes widen in shock with a smile, making me giggle. ‘My, Y/N, you look absolutely divine,’ Balin says as with a large smile. Kili nods at me, getting knocked in the stomach by Fili as he stares on.

‘Indeed, Y/N, you are indeed a precious sight for these old, sore eyes! A true vision!’ Gandalf say with a laugh as I just shake my head, smiling brightly, ‘Gandalf your comments are indeed too kind.’

My eyes couldn’t help but hover over the company and avert slowly towards Thorin who eyes were glued to me, looking up and down at my figure, my heart leaping as I almost see the tug of his lips that curve into a small smile.

Fili came to my side instantly, beating Kili aside who groaned in annoyance, lending an arm to me with a smile and a bow, before helping me up the stairs towards an empty seat beside him and, who I least wanted to be next to in all honesty, Thorin. But I was comforted by the thought of his back towards me the entire meal, even though I did feel a small ache now and again when he excluded me from many of the coversations.

I left the dinner table in a hurry, a stride in my step to get away from the cheery cries of the dwarves. Even though their merry song was more uplifting than the lullaby tunes of the elves, their table manners were shocking, and I couldn’t stand another minute of it.

Thorin too had left the table before things had gotten out of hand, where I did not know, or care for that matter.

With a sigh, I made my way through the corridors and walkways of the heaven-like village, exploring to my heart’s content, bowing my head to any of the other elves who passed or smiled at me. As night fell I felt in need to retire after such an eventful few days, especially after the quarrel with the dwarfish leader. I knew that I hadn’t heard the last of that.

But my eyes soon became tempered on the sight of Lord Elrond and Gandalf making their way through the gazebo towards what I knew was the White Council’s dome, knowing that something of importance was going to take place there. And I could tell instantly by the way they were arguing.

‘Of course I was going to tell you, I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I am doing-’

‘Do you?!’ Elrond asked incredulously as he turned on Gandalf, ‘It is a dangerous move, Gandalf! Even if you succeed and gain defences back in the east, there is still an element of danger!’

I knew it was wrong to listen in on such a conversation, turning to leave, only to gasp as I faced Thorin who was unfazed by my reaction, his eyes to still glued to Lord Elrond and Gandalf as the elf lord went on.

‘Have you forgotten? A strain of madness runs deep in that family! His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?’ The wise men’s voices faded as they disappeared from sight, silence falling over the pavilion. I turned to look at Thorin who’s expression was unreadable.

‘Is there something you wanted?’He looked up towards me as I questioned him gently. There was no other reason why he should be up here otherwise as I had gained my own quarters away from the rest of the dwarves.

I saw a hope in his eyes, desperation almost. It glinted and shone just a strongly as the moonlight that bathed us in its pleasant warmth.

Then it was gone. ‘No, not from a human like you anyway.’ And with that he was gone.

After some well earned rest, and with the help of some of the elf maidens, I joined the dwarves downstairs for breakfast. And this time, they seemed to be a bit more relaxed. Maybe the sleep did them some good too. But there was no sign of Thorin.

When Kili suggested to do some sparring, many of the dwarves cheered in agreement, while some, like Bilbo, Balin, Oin and Dori retired to the library to hide their noses within the pages of some old, familiar comforts. I decided to join in on the sparring. It had been a while since I had some companions to practice alongside.

I showed the dwarves the open courtyard, and with the help of the elf guards, set up a small training area, even hanging targets up for Kili to practice his archery. I decided on two daggers, changing up the feel for it and Ori being kind enough to look after my own sword, and most importantly, against Dwalin.

I blocked his attacks, fast on my feet when dodging but too slow as I was sent to the floor in a heap, winded by the punch of his fist into my gut. He leant over me in concern but I waved him off, taking his hand and allowing him to pull me up as I caught my breath. He just gave me a smile, patting me on the back-More like slapping as he gave advice, ‘You were hesitant in your attacks. You must be swift and must have confidence when attacking.’

‘I try. In some moments I do, like with the warg, but others I just can’t-I don’t know why!’ I say as I pick up my daggers from the floor, flicking them back and forth in habit. Dwalin just shook his head with a chuckle, ‘Your young my dear, you have many years ahead of you to build your confidence upon the battlefield! I can see it already how you have immense skills with your sword. One day you will strike with not an ounce of hesita-’

‘No she won’t.’ We turned at this to see Thorin at the bottom of the flight of stairs, Orchrist in his hand, staring directly at me. I turned to him at this, my skin becomes flushed at his words, my relaxed hands turning into fists, ‘And what exactly are you trying to say, Thorin?!’

‘Oh nothing! Nothing at all!’ He said with an air of arrogance, the other dwarves turning at this, even some of the guards, even with averted eyes, were keen on hearing what the dwarf had to say. ‘Thorin if you have something to say I suggest that you say it. Now.’

He turned with a smirk, almost making me sick to my stomach, ‘You know I’ve said it from the beginning, you can’t fight to even save yourself! How easily you fell to Dwalin just then. You mix with our race and the elves, and humans and wizards but I see you for what you really are. Your pathetic, weak-’

‘Thorin-’ Dwalin stepped forward, a dangerous baritone in his voice, forcing me to hold out an arm to stop him. I wanted to hear what he had to say. ‘And I wonder who could be known to have survived while being under her protection. I know of no one, and know that anyone under your protection, is well and truly doomed to die.’

At this I was shaking, to the point where my daggers fell from my hands. Once his back was turned, I could’nt stop myself as I grabbed the hilt of my sword, shocking Ori who let out a loud gasp, metal grinding against the sheath with a high shrill shriek. Thorin turned in horror as I raised my sword with a mighty cry, not even giving him enough time to stop me as he raised Orchrist to avoid being beheaded.

I shook with a fierce fury, my eyes wide and alert, almost frightening Thorin as I pushed my weight against my sword, muttering dangerously under my breath, ‘You know why I came to you that night? Why I followed you?! It was because I understood your pain! I understood-I understand NOW!’

I threw my weight behind the sword, nearly sending Thorin to his knees before he continued to avoid my attacks pathetically. I was swift, unstoppable as I slashed my sword against his.

‘Pain!’

Clank

‘Suffering!’

Clank

‘Death!’

‘I’VE FELT IT ALL!’ I screamed as I finally sent the “king” to his knees, but once against stopping my attack, his sword grinding against mine as I stared into his eyes, seeing only what I could presume as fear. ‘Do you know how scared I am when I take up my sword, when all I want is to protect others and forget the fact that I could die in a matter of seconds?! AFTER ALL that I have been through-I don’t NEED ANY OF THIS!’

Finally, I disarmed the dwarf, his sword flying through the air before clattering to the marble floor, skidding along it before coming to a halt before the trees. I breathed heavily as I looked down at the leader of the company, seething angrily, ‘Why do you hate me so?! I don’t need this! This-this quest! All I wanted was to befriend individuals who needed assistance in their quest to find their home! I WANTED TO HELP!’

I was screaming at this point. Tears were running down my cheeks but I took no notice, the pain too unbearable and uncontrollable to care. It seemed like the entire village had gone silent, as if all ears and eyes had turned to that courtyard.

‘I gave up EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! My safety, my solitude, my peace, to help you! But all I’ve done it welter under the flames of your hatred and arragonce! And you know what? I hate you Thorin Oakenshield! I hate you and I hope you know it! Becausw I’m done being a puppet in your stupid quest! You can STICK IT where the sun doesn’t shine!’

I threw my sword to the floor, turning on my heel and running up the stairs, ignoring the calls of Kili and Fili, of Dwalin and Ori, of any of them, running once again, from the pain that was so unbearable.

‘You are disgusting!’ Fili spat angrily as turned to his Uncle, ‘Maybe your the one who’s turning weak!’ He shook his head before storming off, followed by the other dwarves who too threw their leader dark casted glares before disappearing from sight. Thorin stared at the sword that now lay at his knees, breathing heavily as he looked towards the balconies of the pavilion to see Gandalf, shaking his head in shame as he too, disappeared from sight. Once again, Thorin was left all alone.

A/N: This was hard to write and get done properly! I love writing angst and Hope you all liked it! (Evil chuckle) And know that things will eventually get better in the story, I promise! (If you’ve read ahead you would know :P) All the love x

Silmë = Starlight

NEXT (Truth) or Care for Series or Masterlist

161 notes · View notes

ellebeebee · 7 years

Text

An Alternate Meeting

Honestly, I shouldn’t post this yet, but I don’t feel like holding onto it. This is a somewhat long piece where I look at some OCs and how they fit within the 7kpp world and what they do together. Lord Guillaume is a character I created for my Past submission to 7kpp Week, and I wanted to see him do some other things. And then all these other people were like pushing themselves into the story, and here we have this.

Anyway, this is an alternate first meeting for my widow, Sabine, and her LI, Zarad. Zarad, visiting Revaire, finds himself invited to a party at the manor of the infamous lady of Namaire. There’s art appreciation, a dash of politics, and even some romance.

4,800 words (I know, lol, it’s a bit much for something that essentially lacks plot), general rating, Widow/OC, warning for alcohol

“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing gracefully and within perfect protocol.

He was tall, dark-complected and neat in appearance. A trim-fitting suit with understated trimmings and a somewhat somber coloring spoke to good taste, good blood, and a slightly intolerant spirit. Just the type Zarad tended to grate on.

Zarad smiled widely. “Please, ambassador. You are too polite; it’s your coach, after all.”

The man bent his head. “You honor me, Your Highness, but I am merely an under-ambassador. And of course I welcome your company.”

“As I understand, it’s the lady of Namaire’s welcome I should be begging tonight,” Zarad said. “I am intruding, after all.”

At this, under-ambassador Lord Guillaume Comtois finally cracked a wry smile. “Trust me, Highness. She will be delighted at your presence.”

At Zarad’s side, the under-under-ambassador from the Corvali embassy in Revaire Lucre Mantova clapped his hands and grinned.

“Alright,” Lucre said. “Now introductions are out of the way, let’s head out, shall we?”

Zarad was allowed to enter first (rank and beauty before all else, as someone has probably said once somewhere), with Lord Guillaume and Lucre following after. The conversation was soon quickly and cheerfully taken in hand by Lucre, towards the rumour he’d heard that Didier would be present that evening. It was, after all, the main reason Lucre had secretly fudged his prince’s itinerary so that he could fit in a party tonight. Without the pretense of the imperial Prince Zarad wishing very much to meet the playwright Didier, Lucre would probably have not been able to convince Lord Guillaume to bring him along; they knew each other from the diplomatic corps, but were not particularly well-acquainted.

Zarad didn’t mind too much. Lucre was pleasant and fun, and by all accounts the recently widowed Baroness of Namaire had all sorts of interesting people at her gatherings. And interesting people tended to have interesting talk, and Zarad survived on such snippets of information, misinformation, and blatant lies. He wasn’t particularly curious about Didier, but he could make passing smalltalk about the man’s work.

Which he did, at length, with the two other young noblemen, as the ride lasted for some time; their destination lay in the rolling hills outside the capital, a second estate separate from the city manor and the main chateau in the seat of the Namaire barony. Useful for time spent in the city during the social season when the weather became particularly hot and the streets, as a result, particularly foul.

The sun sat low in the sky by the time the coach clattered to a halt outside a manor nestled into a hillside with a lovely view of a little lake. Coachmen descended upon them, their charge led by a butler, and soon they were released into the warm late afternoon air. The three were about to be ushered across the pebbled front court into the house, when some yelling from the gate behind them stopped them. They turned to watch, curiously, as a single rider careened into the inner yard towards them.

The horse pulled up abruptly, and a young man dismounted, throwing his reigns at a servant. Face splotchy and breath coming hard, the man’s simple and student-ish clothes hung from him crookedly.

Lord Guillaume stepped forward, brow raised. “Caius--”

“Sirs,” the young man said, barely looking at them before striding at a near run into the manor.

Lord Guillaume huffed a little, then glanced at Zarad. He bowed to the prince.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. That was Caius, a prominent merchant’s son and a student of the law. A friend of the Baroness. He’s usually much more polite.”

“What is our youth for, other than amnesty from protocol on occasion,” Zarad smiled winningly. “The passions of springtime.”

Lord Guillaume’s handsome face did not register a bit of offense at the prince’s words. “As you say, Highness.”

“Shall we go in?” Lucre offered hopefully.

Lord Guillaume gestured them ahead.

A butler led them through the airy halls of the villa, perfumed by the soft scents of an abundance of fresh flowers in every room. Finally, they entered a broad and deep room with sitting areas at the edges occupied with over two dozen lords and ladies. An apparent makeshift stage occupied the distant end of the room, with a semicircle of chairs acting as the empty audience. Chatter, clinking glasses, and light laughter scented the air along with the wafts of cake, champagne, and hors d'oeuvres.

The butler announced them, and retreated quietly. A new wave of whispers and side glances accompanied their entry. Or rather, Zarad’s. He smoldered appropriately for his audience. A thread of giggling wove around the room.

While gesturing for the prince to have a seat at an unoccupied settee, Lord Guillaume frowned around at the room. He was looking for the hostess, apparently, as she had not greeted them. A man in a emerald half-cape with a matching damask cravat caught the Revairan dignitary’s eye. He crossed the room to them.

“My Lord Comtois,” the man said, bowing.

“Maestro,” Lord Guillaume returned the greeting. “Your Highness, this is Mikkel Didier, playwright. Didier, his highness--”

“Come,” Zarad interrupted. “It’s Zarad. If you get started on all those titles, I won’t have near enough time to strongarm the maestro about his newest work.”

Lucre interjected excitedly, “It’s an honor, sir. I’m Lucre Mantova. Aide in the Corvali embassy. I am a huge fan.”

“I am a chronic victim of my own ego, my lords,” Didier said with a smile. “Nothing soothes it like meeting a fan.”

“I suspected we would get along,” Zarad said conspiratorially.

“What is the stage setup for?” Lucre asked, hope beyond hope in his eyes.

“A gift for Sabine-- Baroness Namaire,” Didier said. He glanced at Lord Guillaume. “Who will, I’m sure, be terribly distressed to have been so rude as to miss greeting Your Highness as you came in.”

“Politeness is the last thing I wish from a lovely lady,” Zarad said. “As I have heard she certainly is.”

The playwright nodded. “She is. Quite lovely in every aspect. I am quite grateful to her. One hopes, when starting with starry-eyed romantic notions, that one’s work will be enough to fill seats in the theatre. But without the influence and benevolence of patrons like the Baroness, I would be a mere street hawker and not the wordsmith I pretend to.”

“I find I have more and more in common with you every second,” Zarad laughed. “Without my imperial parents, I find I would be a mere penny illusionist, and not the prince I pretend to.”

Didier chuckled. “Just so.”

They continued on chatting, Zarad and Didier quipping at one another with Lucre poking about for hints about this or that play. All the while, Lord Guillaume remained mostly silent but for a few polite additions. They started on drinks. It was another third of a candlemark before the doors to the room reopened.

“Guillaume Comtois, you are late!”

A young woman stood in the doorway, pointing accusingly at the man. As the rumours said: she was lovely. Dark-haired and tawny, and wearing a gown of a slender yet modest cut that emphasized her figure.

Red velvet.

Lord Guillaume stood, the party’s chatter quieting a bit, and approached her.

“Sabine--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” the baroness stated, holding up her hand. “Unpardonable. You can walk right out the way you came in.”

Despite her words, she gave her hand to the under-ambassador to bow over.

She continued, her eyes sparking, “Imagine my agitation, my hurt, as I languished here without you. Unloved and unattended.”

He gave her a severe look. “I highly doubt that is true. Even if Didier wasn’t here, I spotted no less than twenty of those poor souls you’ve bewitched somehow.”

The group laughed and calls went out to ‘set him out on his saddlebags’ and ‘spare no quarter, darling!’ She laughed and traded cheek kisses with Lord Guillaume.

“You and Agnes Rossi-- I don’t know why I even bother,” the Baroness said, taking his arm.

“She’s not here?”

“No,” she said, mock-scandalized, “And she promised me a painting! These days, it’s nothing but cons and thieves.”

“Speaking of,” Zarad commented lightly as they approached him.

“Your Highness, may I introduce you to Baroness Sabine of Namaire. Sabine, Prince Zarad of Corval.”

She curtsied at Lord Guillaume’s introduction, which Zarad returned with an extravagant bow. He took her hand and kissed it with exaggerated tenderness.

“The whole city abounds with songs of your praises, my lady,” Zarad said. “I see now they’re all terribly tone-deaf and can’t even hum half of what is true.”

Smiling, the Baroness eyed him, then said aside to Lord Guillaume, “A Corvali prince? It’s not a painting, but I suppose it’ll do.”

“I’m afraid being a painting is a bit beyond me,” the prince admitted. “But I’m sure I could better tell of your graces than any mirror, my lady.”

She laughed outright. “I look forward to it, Your Highness. But come, I have duties as a hostess, and you are going to help me with them.”

She slipped easily from Lord Guillaume’s arm to Zarad’s. She led him around the room, introducing him to the various nobles and artists and dignitaries drinking her wine and eating her sweetmeats. Revairans were an interesting lot. Nothing kills a Revairan like another Revairan, they say. But underneath those deadly artifices and the rank fear, he sometimes found that there were sparks of desperation for life. A sincere warmth and love just dying for any outlet, any person to project onto. Such were the Baroness’s guests.

But more curious was the student, Caius. Zarad had seen, from the corner of his eye, as the young man entered the room quietly and shortly after the Baroness came in. When she and the prince finally came around to him, silently drinking a glass of wine, the student had the composure to at least look sheepish.

“And this is Caius Agramont, earning his doctorate currently at the royal university. He has a very promising career ahead of him,” the Baroness stated with charm.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Caius Agramont said. “I was beyond rude earlier.” He bowed.

“You’ve met?” she said, raising a brow.

“In the only way that men of the law should meet others,” Zarad said, with smiling magnanimity. “Briefly, and unlittered with excessive wording.”

The student bowed. “You are too kind.”

Zarad nodded, and allowed the Baroness to hustle him along. Soon, she had him properly acquainted with her entire guest list. When Didier caught her eye and gestured toward her, Zarad found himself deposited in the care of a pretty young pianist whose pretty little fingers had a habit of ghosting across his silken sleeve. Soon, the chime of a spoon against a glass rang out, and the room quieted.

“Thank you,” said the Baroness, standing in the middle of the room and gazing at them all. “Now that I have your attention, I’d like to reveal the little surprise Didier has promised us all tonight. The Chancellor’s Men themselves are here-- yes, ladies, Misters Pentius and Hattier in the flesh--” A waft of giggling arose. “They are here to perform a brand new, never before staged scene from his new play.”

The group immediately began chattering excitedly. Servants herded them all into the little makeshift audience, taking their empty glasses and giving them new ones. Zarad found himself wedged between Lucre and the pianist. Lucre was practically vibrating with his excitement and his rhetorical exclamations about his own excitement. The pianist, between Zarad’s encouraging smolders and her own confidence that she wasn’t making any mistakes, made the mistake of letting slip a few names of interested parties for her sponsorship within the Revairan royal cabal.

Between all this, Didier’s company of actors strode in, decked from head to toe in colorful, elaborate costumes and transformed the room into a faraway land, a faraway time. It was a spin on an old story, that had roots in several countries, in different forms. The familiar characters given flesh and soul through the cadences of Didier’s poetry and the feelings of the actors, bared as they had been by the costumes and the makeup and the pageantry.

When the scene finished, the playwright stood to applause and took centerstage.

“Thank you,” he said amongst the babble of adoration. “Please-- no, I’m afraid that is all tonight, my lord. The full piece shall be played in the usual place within the month, which I’m sure you knew already. No, I must be firm. But-- But,” He held up his hands to quiet them. “As consolation, I’d like to take the stage with a part that I used to play, with my small skills, such as they are.”

“Oh, Mikkel, no,” the Baroness said, cutting the quiet. “Oh, you can’t. My makeup.”

A thread of laughter wound about the little audience.

Zarad worried that Lucre beside him would literally combust. Before writing for the stage, Mikkel Didier once walked the thespians’ planks himself, and the greatest of his parts has always reportedly been that of the tragic hero Janid from the same-titled play from antiquity. Especially that of the final soliloquy wherein he declaims his mistakes and the wrongs he committed against his brother and his country, and resigns himself to a death that he believes a just punishment. It was a piece widely considered the height of Old Revairan literature.

Zarad shifted to pay better attention. There would be no small number of theater fans at home that would abuse him most frightfully if he did not provide every detail of this. A certain aunt, for example.

“Please continue, Maestro,” Zarad called out. “I always find the moved tears of ladies beyond beautiful, even more so when those tears fall upon my shoulder.”

Didier bowed with a flourish. “My apologies, Baroness. Rank and good manners dictate I go on.”

And he did.

It wasn’t just the perfect structure of the stanzas and the beauty of the particular translation from Old Revairan that Didier had chosen. The timing, the quiet force, and the masterful control of Didier’s performance spoke of him as more than just a master of his art; the man would no doubt last through time as a singular genius without rival.

Zarad would not be exaggerating when he later told the story of the night, and described how there were far fewer dry eyes than wet among them. When he glanced down the row he sat in, wedged inbetween the unabashedly sobbing Lucre and the quietly damp-eyed pianist, Zarad saw that the Baroness was indeed ruining her makeup. Her hand hovered with a forgotten handkerchief, her eyes, spilling tears, yet rapt upon the declaiming playwright.

For a while, Zarad amused himself by picking out which of the guests were genuinely crying, and which were putting on for their peers around them (he suspected the hostess was not putting on; or she was very skilled indeed). And then Zarad caught, from the corner of his eye, the student Caius a few rows back. While all eyes were pinned to the stage, a single pair stared, transfixed, at the Baroness of Namaire. The young lawyer had something in his face that Zarad had not seen often before, and which he was hardly accustomed to seeing in the faces of those who relied on half-truths and clever turns of phrases to protect themselves. An honesty that Zarad was not sure what to make of.

The soliloquy ended, and applause followed. The Baroness stood, dabbing at her eyes and smiling wetly.

“Bravo, darling,” she said loudly. “Small skills, indeed. Every year you grow more and more shameless with your modesty.”

Didier bowed to her. “I am but a humble entertainer, subject to the whims of the audience.”

“Well. I’m sure we all have much to say on the performances we were just given, but perhaps the conversations would be better served over dinner. Shall we--”

At that moment, a woman dressed in a frock coat and breeches entered with a servant announcing her as the absent Agnes Rossi and the large covered object following her in as the promised painting. A landscape of a purple heath done in a very modern manner, with harsh and hurried strokes of paint and a tumult of vivid feeling. The gathering ooh’d and aah’d appropriately, the Baroness sighing with a smile and forgiving Rossi for her tardiness.

With the addition of the artist, the servants of the manor again herded the party of nobility, artists, and the acting troupe into the dining room. It was a piece of work, that dining room. Lined with windows black with night and warm with infinite candles. The gilding and the mirrors and the crisp creases in the white linens. An under-butler corralled Zarad to his spot, and he found himself seated in the place of honor next to the Baroness to her right, with Lord Guillaume Comtois to her left.

Their conversation began at the soup course with Didier and the Chancellor’s Men, and the Baroness pointed out, with a conspiratorial undertone, that one of the actors had slurred and improvised his way through several lines that she had good authority were completely different on paper. The actor had changed the meaning and tenor of his part, and no doubt would receive a tongue lashing from Didier later.

“I love Didier, but sometimes he is a terrible brown noser with my type, and an absolute beast with his actors. He means well, though,” she said softly.

“He is a man that knows exactly what he wants and how to get it,” Lord Guillaume said.

“He certainly didn’t become the artist he is by being nice,” the Baroness added.

During the fish course, Zarad lamented to the Baroness the competition for the attention of all the pretty ladies of at her table: the actors Pentius and Hattier seemed to be drawing every single feminine eye, with the girls leaning almost indecorously over their plates to catch better looks. He was hinting about their presence itself. It was a rare thing that nobility would consent to break bread with actors, those strange creatures meant to be looked at in these social heights and then shuffled off when the looking was done with.

The Baroness did not take the bait, and merely made comments on the social spheres through which she knew Corvali actors tread.

And then, during the entrée she leaned toward him with another of those enticing conspiratorial whispers.

“Well, Your Highness, have you guessed yet who is the royal friend among my acquaintances?”

Zarad raised a brow. “You assume I’ve been looking?”

“Oh, I know it. For one thing, you haven’t had that look on your face once this evening. Foreign guests always get this particular look when they are curious and wondering which person in any gathering is the most familiar with the royal palace. But you haven’t looked like that. So I think you already know.”

Zarad smiled and bit into another slice of tender venison. “The easy answer would be to say it’s the honorable Lord Comtois right here.”

She laughed, glancing at the under-ambassador. “Yes. Of all the guests, he is indeed the one to receive the most benefits within the shadow of the crown.”

Lord Guillaume ate silently. But his eyes spoke of wry resignation to the accusation.

“But I assure you, everything has been the fruit of his labor. He is intelligent, hard-working, and decisive, and completely deserving of any largesse.”

Lord Guillaume shook his head, smiling. “Alright, Sabine. Your compliment has been noted.”

She smiled back at him. “Good.” She turned again to Zarad, and leaned in again with sparkling eyes. “Shall I just say it? It is Madam Rossi down there. She thinks she is doing it because it amuses her, but she is mistaken. She is sloppy, and I don’t think it will be long before she slips. She isn’t important enough to be any real danger-- to herself or anyone else-- but--”

The Baroness shook her head. “One does hope that artists are little more honest than the usual sort.”

Zarad idly rotated his wine glass on the table. He cleared his throat.

“And what of Lucre?” he said quietly.

The Baroness of Namaire and Lord Comtois both paused. A nearly imperceptible stilling of their silverware and glasses, but Zarad had not imagined it. The two continued on in their meal with all grace.

“We did wonder if you noticed,” she said, smiling. The words were meant for him, the smile for the rest of the table.

“You took a great risk in asking,” Zarad smiled back.

“A risk worth taking, Your Highness,” Lord Guillaume stated. “My job is, after all, to smooth over diplomatic wrinkles. And an uncalled for royal friend in the Corvali embassy?”

The lord did nothing as uncouth as to shrug, but the gesture was in his tone all the same.

Zarad laughed lightly. “The Revairan crown is certainly assertive, is it not?”

The Baroness returned to him another of her lovely, slow smiles. By all rights, Zarad could take the episode as the Baroness and the Lord Comtois currying favor. But he suspected it really was as simple as Lord Guillaume said. Spies in embassies was nothing new. But it was usually the host country’s plants, and not the home country’s diplomats turning against their homelands. Lucre had been clever, but during his stay in Revaire Zarad had sensed something amiss.

In any case, the secret would keep. And the excellent dinner with excellent company continued on. During dessert, the three had a lively conversation about Revairan wine. The best in the world, and Lord Guillaume had just purchased a vineyard and winery and had some interesting stories about his learning the art of vinting.

Post-dinner, more parlors and music rooms were opened, and various guests took turns at a beautiful state-of-the-art pianoforte. Some dancing commenced, with amusing and melodramatic reels from the actors, and a billiards table began turning into a dangerous weapon in the hands of the inebriated guests. It was, all in all, turning into a wonderful night lasting a bit beyond the boundaries of propriety.

Despite his usual care when it came to alcohol, Zarad found himself needing air. Revairan wine was indeed dangerously excellent. He slipped away from the revelers and ventured deeper into the manor, avoiding the eagerly helpful servants along the way.

“Oh? It looks like you know the coolest spot in a house, too.”

The Baroness of Namaire stated this, smiling up at him where he stood on the broad steps down into the wine cellar. Zarad climbed down a bit more and plopped himself into a seat on the steps, quite against the strictest decorum.

“You owe me a favor, my lady,” he stated, his words accompanied by one of his best smolders.

“Do I?” she said archly.

“Yes. You have taken me into your home, accorded me the most gracious welcome, delighted me with the work and performance of a great maestro, fed me an excellent dinner, and plied me with the most delicious wine.”

“Ah,” the Baroness said, nodding sagely. “I see. Of course I should be indebted to you after putting you through such treatment.”

“I’m glad we can agree,” Zarad said. “After all, what will I do when I leave the warmth beside you? You have me, as Lord Guillaume said, bewitched. By your lovely character, and most dangerous of all, by your lovely countenance. I can not imagine that in all the lands ever more I shall find a lady so incomparable.”

“Incomparable because my beauty has magicked away your words, or incomparable because your lies find no foundation to expound on?” she said with mock-severity.

“Ah, now you owe me two favors, my lady Baroness. For surely you know you wound me with your disbelief. I am as sincere as the moon, forever chasing the trailing train of his sun.”

She laughed and shook her head. She changed her tone to become slightly more serious.

“All right. You have honored my parlor and my table with your presence, Your Highness. I suppose I could offer you one favor.”

“Then what if I wanted that favor now? A promise to not get offended if I should say something potentially offensive.”

“Oh? You are planning to offend me? I suppose it is better than being carelessly offensive. Very well.”

Zarad paused. He studied her, and she studied him. He watched as she saw the shift in his expression from the playful smolder to something else.

“I don’t think this is a compliment in this country, but you look very good in red,” he said quietly.

The Baroness did not say anything for a moment. She did not straighten or register outrage in her expression. Her cheeks, over the evening, had become lightly flushed with alcohol, and her lips were painted a pretty rose that suited her. Her tears from earlier had washed away some of her makeup, and a kerchief had done its best to clean up that mess. But it was becoming and casual. That red velvet dress did indeed suit her tawny skin. But her eyes were blue and clear and sharp.

“You’re right. That isn’t a compliment in Revaire,” she said softly.

She sighed and looked over her shoulder, into the dim candlelight of the wine cellar. “It’s almost been a year. Soon I won’t be wearing red at all.”

“But you have found happiness in a year,” Zarad said.

The Baroness glanced at him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d overstepped his bounds. It had not escaped his notice, could not have escaped many eyes truthfully, the way that law student looked at the lady. Or the way the lady kept her eyes away from his.

Zarad continued, “I only comment because it is rare to see such happiness found in our world. It pleases me, and I have no ulterior motives.”

“Is that so. No ulterior motives,” she stated quietly. “I can’t tell if you’re asking for advice in discretion or if you’re asking to kiss me. Either way, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

He raised his hands placatingly. “Please. I meant no real offense. Truly.”

She studied him. The night rang with quiet. The party and clamor upstairs were as distant as memory, and here they stood in the coolness of the cellar, in a twilight otherworld. The Baroness swept a dark curl from her face and shook her head.

“I see you’re asking me a different sort of question entirely. You know, I love people. I thought you did too, but I suspect I was wrong,” she said, gazing up at him. “I love loving people. I like getting to know them, worrying about what they think of me, feeling all excited and flustered at meeting them anew. Sometimes they disappoint you, or you disappoint them-- that’s often my case.”

She laughed, both sweetly and bitterly.

“Then you fight-- and I love caring enough about my relationships to fight with the other person. It can be terribly messy and hurtful and make you feel awful. But it’s so nice to come out of it wanting to apologize and then you are so much closer afterward. Oh, I just love that.” She sighed with a smile. “Of course… sometimes you fight and… it just ends. Just like that. You cry for a while, and then you pick yourself up, and throw yourself back into the fray. Oh, it’s so wonderfully messy. I do love that. I do.”

Zarad shifted. “So then… Your law student--”

“He’s not my law student. He’s a whole person that can chose to live as he wants. But, no, he isn’t my anything anymore.”

“I see.”

She laughed again. “I see what you mean about my wine. It is quite vicious in its deliciousness, no? I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“No, my lady--”

He stopped and turned. At the top of the stairs, a shadow fell down toward them. Caius Agramont stepped down the flight and stopped some lengths away from them. His gaze locked onto that of the Baroness. Silent, she straightened unconsciously. Her eyelids fluttered with emotion, real emotion, suddenly brought to bear. Her lips parted, but no words came. The law student, too, seemed to have something terrible caught in his clenching throat.

After that long pause, the Baroness of Namaire pushed away from the wall she’d been leaning on and stepped carefully up the stairs. She paused where Zarad sat.

“Good night, Your Highness,” she said.

“My lady,” he said, bending in somewhat of a bow.

She continued on, looking up at Caius Agramont.

“Sabine,” he said.

“There must be something like magic in the air tonight. I was just thinking of you, and here you are. It is lucky, as I am quite drunk, and would appreciate your assistance very much.”

With that, he pulled her into his arms and they climbed back out of the stairwell together. And Zarad heard-- said low and deep as if the phrase had been drawn from a dark and precious well-- the words:

“I missed you.”

#7kpp #fanfiction #zarad #widow #my writing #this is like an extended characterization piece rather than a full story #but it was fun to write #and I think I know my characters a bit better now #tw alcohol

4 notes · View notes