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edelwoodsouls · 3 years

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maybe in another universe - ch. 2 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 3,570 | Also on Ao3 | Chapters: 1,

chapter two: in the land of the watcher

It's raining.

No, that's not really a good word for it. The skies have split open and are casting down an ocean, and usually Martin would thrive, curl up with a collection of Keats or Wordsworth and have melancholy thoughts as he stares at the grey clouds above.

But no such luck. He's been forced out of his room by Ms Perry, the iron-fisted housekeeper - all four of the teenagers have been relegated to the library, where they can supposedly do as little harm as possible.

It's a tense affair. Basira is curled on one of the sofas with an Ancient Greek to English dictionary and a battered book that looks like it's been set on fire several times. Melanie has managed to pry one of the ceremonial swords off the wall, and is practicing swinging it at precarious angles.

Jon is most definitely not reading the crumbling tome clutched in his hands, though he's trying very hard to pretend. Martin can feel the eyes boring into him, sat where he is in the middle of the room, legs crossed in front of a large, malfunctioning radio.

He's been trying to get it fixed for what feels like hours now, to cling to the pulse of information that has been snatched away in this remote and antiquated house. He can feel Jon getting closer and closer to the end of his very thin patience with every jump of static.

After what feels like the millionth time of almost, when he can feel Jon's irritation about to froth at his lips, Martin finally throws his screwdriver on the ground. The silence in the room is overbearing. "Let's play a game."

"Yes," Melanie says immediately, accentuating the word with an alarming jab of her sword in his direction. "What're you thinking?"

"Hide and seek," Basira chimes in, looking up from her book with a smirk. "This house looks brilliant for it."

"I second that," Melanie nods. "Martin?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Sounds like fun."

"Three votes for hide and seek. It's decided then."

"Don't I get a vote?" Jon mutters, not looking up from where he's gripping his book very tightly.

"No, Jon, you don't, because you're a spoilsport and you'll suggest something like re-alphabetising the library or being good little so and sos. And even if you did, majority rules. So-" Melanie thrusts her sword an inch from Jon's face, "buck up and join in, or fuck off."

Jon looks about ready to attempt murder with his bare hands, but before he can get a word out, Melanie throws her sword dramatically onto the floor with a loud clatter, and closes her eyes. "ONE... TWO... THREE..."

Martin grins as he pulls himself off the floor and flees for the door. It's been a long time since he's felt young enough to play games, let alone had the friends to play them with. There's something so childish, so delightful, about running in a place not meant for running, folding himself into somewhere hidden and waiting with baited breath to be found.

Being hunted, without the consequence of failure.

Jon barrels past him, arms flailing. Martin's never seen him run but god, he's fast. He shoots down the corridor and vanishes behind a flurry of curtains.

Martin continues on until he reaches a closed door. Behind him he can hear Melanie's counting, yelled at the top of her lungs - no doubt the housekeeper will kill them later for disturbing the professor. She's nearly finished, and the adrenaline pounding in Martin's veins is reaching heights it hasn't in weeks, and he needs a hiding place now.

There's a spider's web strung in the corner of the doorway, a tiny house spider nestled at it's centre. Almost invisible, if not for Martin's keen eyes, his bone-deep expectation that he'll find at least one no matter where he goes.

It's just a spider, he tells himself, and the thought sounds hollow even to him.

But he throws open the bolt of the door anyway and tumbles into the room, slamming it haphazardly closed.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the door, and that's why it takes him so long to notice the ornate wardrobe at the other end of the room. There's nothing else here, as if this space was designed solely to house a single piece of furniture.

And it's beautiful, deep maroon wood carved with all sorts of imagery Martin can't make sense of - eyes staring out unblinking from one door, webs strung across the other, both surrounded and wreathed in flames.

Some nameless thing in his gut calls him forward.

The click of those carved doors opening sounds too loud, like the snap of fingers right beside his ear. A breeze dances across his cheeks, though the doors and windows are closed, and the collection of coats inside are still.

Without thinking, he delves in.

He should be surprised by the winter wonderland at the back of the wardrobe.

Somehow, he isn't.

The world in the wardrobe seems to go on forever. He's been wandering for miles, he's certain of it - the chill is beginning to set into his fingers, kept at bay only by the adrenaline still humming through his body at the sheer magic of it all.

Suddenly, ever pretending that magic wasn't real seems like such a childish thing to do. It's right here, in front of him. The snow soaks through his shoes, collects in his hair. His breath puffs in little clouds before his face.

Just an hour ago, he was staring at a dreary English afternoon.

He's definitely not in England anymore.

Still, even with all this magical strangeness, he's not expecting the lamp post. Stood proudly alone in a clearing, as if the other trees have shrunk away from its alien material. It's lit, casting a faint glow on the snow, and he can hear the burn of gas inside the glass.

He stops short. "What."

He hovers at the edge of the clearing, unwilling to disturb the perfect snow circling this strange spectacle. It feels reverent, deferential - something that shouldn't be here, even with all its magic. It feels wrong.

"You're not from around here."

Martin yelps, attempting to spin around too fast to look behind him. Instead he trips over his own feet and goes tumbling into the snow, sending eruptions of white powder up into air.

The voice that startled him laughs, a low and dry sound. "Sorry, friend. Didn't mean to startle you."

Martin's view is obscured by his damp curls and the snow beginning to drip into his eyes, but he just about makes out the hand gloved in fingerless black leather thrust into his face. Each joint is marked with ink, and Martin could swear every symbol is a wide, unblinking eye.

He accepts the proffered hand instinctively, hauled up with surprising strength into standing on his feet.

"Thanks," Martin says, cheeks bright pink not just from the cold.

The figure laughs again, shifts into the pool of light under the lamp post - and Martin gets his first real look at the man. Long, inky hair falling into his eyes. His clothes are a mismatch of leather and dark-dyed fabric that look old, in a way that defies a specific era of fashion but gives a distinctly archaic feel.

The guy brushes his hair behind his ear, revealing his face - five o'clock shadow curving along his sharp jawline, and the longest eyelashes Martin's ever seen, and bright, dark eyes.

For a moment, Martin short-circuits.

"Do you have a habit of falling head over heels for strangers?" the man grins. From deep in his pockets he procurs a metal lighter and a pipe. He leans easily against the lamp post, as if it's totally meant to be there, and takes a drag. The smoke that reaches Martin is strangely sweet and spiced, like cinnamon and cloves.

"Uh, no," Martin says, brushing the snow off his clothes distractedly. "You just startled me."

"I'm very sorry," the guy says. He sounds more amused than anything. "Where are my manners? I'm Gerry."

"Martin."

"Nice to meet you, Martin. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," Martin frowns. "How did you know?"

"Well, for one thing, you're human."

"I'm- sorry?"

"Human. Homosapien. Son of Adam. Take your pic, really, there are so very many labels."

"I guess? Are you-"

Martin cuts himself off as Gerry shifts his weight and the folds of his clothes settle differently, revealing his legs. Unlike the rest of his ensemble, they're clothed in fur that looks like it was originally some ochre shade, and has been dyed rather shoddily black.

Except they're not clothed...

"You're a goat," Martin blurts out, nonplussed, the filter between mouth and brain paper thin.

"I'm a satyr," Gerry frowns in mock admonishment. "Hint two that you're not from around here - that's incredibly rude of you."

"Oh! Uh, sorry."

"I'm messing with you, Martin," Gery grins, a glint-toothed expression that makes Martin slightly dizzy. "But yes, I'm not human. No one born under the eye of the Ceaseless Watcher is."

"I'm sorry, the...?"

"Ceaseless Watcher." Gerry's easy grin flickers, his eyes darting towards the trees. Martin follows him instinctively, but sees nothing except the vanishing darkness of the trees. "The god of Magnus."

"And Magnus is...?" Martin feels very far behind in this conversation.

"This land. Everything you can see in this winter world, from sea to mountains to sky- that's Magnus."

"Right... so I got here how?"

Gerry shrugs. "Who can say, really. The magic here is- unpredictable. Has a mind of its own."

"Magic," Martin repeats. Unsure how to feel about this word being thrown out like they're talking about gravity, or the alphabet - institutional. Factual.

"Magic," Gerry agrees, smirking at Martin's bemused expression.

He should really be getting back. The thought appears distantly, lethargically. He's getting cold, and the others will no doubt be getting worried about him. Or Melanie will, at least. He can imagine Jon rolling his eyes. He's probably gotten stuck somewhere and can't get out. He'll come wandering in eventually.

But Martin doesn't really want to leave. He wants to continue on this adventure, explore this world that believes in magic like it believes in the sunrise each morning.

He wants to keep talking to this mysterious, incredibly pretty man. Goat. Satyr.

"You look cold," Gerry notes, offering Martin a drag of his pipe. Martin accepts more out of instinct than anything, cringeing as the fumes make him choke. "Come back to mine for tea? I just got some amazing jasmin tea from a dryad who owed me a favour, and I promise it's worth the walk."

Martin hesitates, for just a moment. Considers the risks of wandering off with a strange man he met in the woods.

"Just as long as it's not oolong," he says eventually, with a shudder. "I'd love to."

Gerry loops their arms together and begins leading him into the woods. "No oolong, I promise."

Gerry, as it turns out, lives in a cave.

It's a very nice cave, Martin has to admit. The walls are lined with bookshelves packed to bursting - tomes titled in some language he can't read that, as he stares at the letters, suddenly begin to make sense. The floor is covered up by rugs, vibrantly coloured and filled with detail. He feels almost guilty stepping onto them with his wet shoes, walking over intricately stitched faces and landscapes.

He turns to see Gerry tapping the snow off his hooves with a cute little dance, before shrugging off his long leather coat, revealing a waistcoat - and nothing else - beneath. Martin can see now, without a doubt, the thickly haired legs beneath his long grey skirt. There are burn scars crawling across his bare arms - across most available skin.

There are more eye tattoos, too, starkly black against his pale skin. When Martin stares for too long, he's convinced he can see some of them blink.

"Take a seat," Gerry says, nodding towards a pair of invitingly soft arm chairs positioned next to a fireplace.

As Martin sinks thankfully into the chair - he hasn't had to walk that far, possible ever - he watches, transfixed, as Gerry flicks his hand in the direction of the fireplace.

It bursts to life instantly.

"How did you do that?" he asks, eyes wide.

"What?" Gerry blinks momentarily. "Oh, that- magic. A gift from the Lightless Flame."

"The Lightless Flame?"

"One of the gods of Magnus."

"I thought you said the- the Ceaseless Watcher was the god of Magnus?"

Gerry lets out a laugh, low and bitter. "The only one that matters. All the others have... not faded, exactly. Retreated, you could say. Bowed down. The Ceaseless Watcher rules these lands. All others pay subservience."

"Right." The dark tone in Gerry's voice is beginning to unnerve him.

"Doesn't mean there aren't those of us who don't give a shit," Gerry shrugs, that easy demeanour plastering over the top of whatever just slipped out - though now Martin has seen it, the mask doesn't quite seem to fit. "We pay what we have to, to stay alive."

Martin nods wordlessly. He can understand that.

"I'll just make some tea," Gerry continues, darting up some steps towards what Martin assumes must be a kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable!"

Martin adjusts in his seat. Breathes in the quiet, broken only by the steady crackling of the fire beside him. He can feel it, already, beginning to scare the chill from his fingers, beginning to lull any of his hesitations.

A strange rush of adrenaline floods him suddenly at the thought. He sits up, threads his fingers together, eyes darting around the space.

He's forgotten what it is to be comfortable, he realises. This feeling lowering him gently into calm is unnatural, alien - and not to be trusted.

Before he can begin to think about that too deeply, Gerry reappears, two steaming cups in hand. Martin accepts it gratefully, trying to shelve his discomfort for another day's mental spiral.

He'd hate to ruin the first nice thing to happen to him in a while.

"Is it always so cold here?" he asks, taking a careful sip and sighing as it warms him almost instantly. "Where I came from, it was summer. I mean, it was a horribly rainy summer, but still."

Gerry lets out a small laugh. "It's always winter here."

"Always? Like, never anything else?"

"That is the definition of always. But yes, that's the general idea. Summer is too- positive, for Magnus. Winter is hopeless and dreary and lonely. There is far more to fear in a winter's night."

"That's not at all ominous."

"The lack of change is terrible, too," Gerry continues. His eyes are fixed on the fire, the flames casting strange shadows across his skin. "We don't even get Christmas to look forward to."

"You have Christmas?" Martin frowns. "In Magnus? As a concept, at least? I thought that was a particular religious holiday in my world."

Gerry shrugs noncommittally. "There are many winter traditions that overlap. Some things bleed from one world to another. Maybe it started here, for all you know."

Martin opens his mouth to argue about the improbability of all this, but quickly shuts it again. He's only just been introduced to magic and other worlds - and he's pretty sure logic isn't going to enter the equation any time soon.

"What's it like in your world?" Gerry asks suddenly, fixing Martin with a curious, almost hungry look. "Much better than here, I'd suppose."

"I wouldn't count on it," Martin laughs sharply. "There's a huge war going on. Thousands die on the battlefield. Thousands more die back home as the world sets itself on fire. It's- a nightmare."

Martin curls his hands close around his cup, letting the heat burn his hands. The pain sharpens his senses, grounds him in this moment, before memories of smoke and flame can consume him.

"I'm sorrry," Gerry says softly. "That sounds awful."

"Heh," Martin tries for a weak, concillatory smile, though he's sure it falls short. He covers it up with another sip of tea.

Gerry starts talking again, but Martin can barely hear the words. There's a sudden distance to the world, for all that he clings harder to his scalding mug, for all he tries to keep his eyes wide. The sound is muffled, and his vision of the room is beginning to blur.

He has just enough time to look at his cup of tea, at the earthy sediment he can just about make out swirling at the bottom, before understanding, and horror, and a hundred other things crash into him.

But he's asleep before his cup hits the floor.

He wakes slumped in the armchair, and for a moment can't remember where he is. The fire has been snuffed out, leaving only smoking remains, and the chill is beginning to leach back into Martin's bones.

The cave is dark. Martin shifts, groggy- and regains his senses with a suddenly sharpness as he catches movement on the other side of the room.

Gerry is hunched on the stairs towards the kitchen, staring vacantly at his hands, at the eyes on his knuckles. He doesn't seem to notice Martin at all.

"Gerry?" Martin says softly, standing up carefully. His cup lies in shards on the floor, a pool of stone-cold tea leaking from the ruins. He can't remember dropping it.

He can't remember falling asleep.

"I'm sorry," Gerry whispers, so quietly it's barely more than a snatch of air.

"Why?" A chill trickles down Martin's spine; it's nothing to do with the cold of the room. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I didn't- I don't want-"

"Gerry," Martin says, and there's an edge of steel in his voice that doesn't leave room for debate. "Tell me what's happening."

The satyr looks up finally, and somehow Martin isn't surprised that his eyes are glowing bright green, like lanterns in the dark.

"We pay what we have to, to stay alive."

The chill in Martin's veins solidifies to ice. "What did you pay? What do you have to do?"

He already knows the answer, in the hummingbird beat of his heart, in the shortness of his own breath. And still, it feels like a hammer blow, like the slam of a coffin lid, when Gerry speaks.

"You."

"Me?"

"Humans," Gerry says, voice rough and shaking, like he's barely holding himself together. "They aren't native to these lands. They don't exist here. If they ever come, if there's enough of them, they say the end of the Ceaseless Watcher will be near. The world will finally change."

"I'm just one person, though."

"Not for long," Gerry shakes his head emphatically. "Where there's one, more will always follow. So- he kills them."

"Who kills them?" Martin demands. "Stop being so fucking cryptic and explain things to me."

"The pupil of the eye."

Martin is just about ready to hit this guy.

"We're supposed to give him any humans we find," Gerry rushes to explain. "I'm supposed to send you to him."

"But you're not going to, right?" Martin says slowly, inching towards the poker by the fire. It's an impromptu weapon, but it just might buy him a few seconds. "Because I dazzled you so much with my company that you've decided to have a change of heart?"

For a moment, the silence stretches, and Martin is certain he's about to have to fight for his life.

Even with all the unexplained magic in his life, he doesn't like his chances.

Something changes in Gerry's face. He sets his jaw, balls his fists. He blinks, and his eyes return to their normal, unfathomably dark shade.

"No," he says. "I'm not going to. Come on."

Before Martin has a chance to register anything, Gerry seizes his hand and drags him out into the snow.

They run. For what feels like hours, rushing past a blur of trees and ice and rock so fast Martin is sure it must be some type of magic. Gerry's grip is vice-like, but Martin only clings harder.

He imagines bombs falling behind him. A world of darkness and debris, too hot for the season as fires burn through its skyline.

Has he really just traded one daydream-turned-nightmare for another?

When they reach the lamp post's clearing, Gerry skids to a sudden stop, kicking up snow in a shower. He turns to Martin, wild-eyed with a feverish adrenaline.

"You know your way frrom here?" he demands, gripping Martin's arms and searching his face for the answer before he has a chance to speak.

"Uh- yeah- I think so," Martin stutters.

"Good. You need to run. Don't stop, don't talk to anyone - or anything, not even yourself. The trees might hear you."

"The trees?"

"There are eyes everywhere."

Somehow, Martin gets the feeling Gerry isn't being figurative.

"What about you?" he asks. "If the- pupil of the eye, what if he finds out you didn't turn me over?"

Gerry gives him a pained smile. "Run, Martin. While you still have the chance."

"But-"

"I'm so glad to have met you." The way Gerry says this, so softly, so sincerely, brings Martin up short. "Now go."

He doesn't need telling again. With one final, memorising glance at Gerry, a dark figure among a landscape of snow-

Martin flees into the dying night.

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #narnia au #martin blackwood #gerard keay #own work #morgan writes

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nekoabiwrites · 5 years

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Lullaby For A Duke

Okay, so I refound the Lullaby For A Princess animation that was made a few years ago and I am still blown away by it.

But as I was watching it, I was like “wait, warring sides of royalty? welp, i guess i got an idea.” and thus, this was born. I did edit some of the lyrics, but the original song credit goes to PonyPhonic - the original song can be found here.

AU: Royal (Based off of MLP:FiM) Pairings: None Words: 1271 Warnings: Mention of Remus. Anything else, please let me know.

Summary: A prince walks the castle hallways, towards his morning duties. Memories float by and he relives them once more.

---

Passing by the open doorway, the prince stopped and stared into the pristine room. It was still odd and uncomfortable to see it in such an orderly state. It felt too… clinical. The least he could have asked for was it to be left unclean, but the maids of the castle would not leave any room untouched. It gave the empty room a false sense of life, as though someone could wander past and head in there once more.

The prince shook his head harshly and continued walking through the corridors, ignoring the ache in his heart. Once at the end of the hallway, he slowly pushed open the large, ornate balcony doors and stepped out into the early morning air, taking a deep breath.

As he exhaled, the royal looked up to the sky and was faced with the image in the moon. One would have expected that the pain he felt from seeing it would dull as time passed, but that would be foolish to assume. The prince scoffed to himself as the thought crossed his mind.

He stared up at the face in the moon, drinking in each detail and letting his memory take over his mind.

Many years prior, the prince had revelled in the feeling of being loved by all his subjects. He couldn’t think of anyone else in the entire kingdom who was more beloved and revered as him. The subjects around praised him for bringing them the light of day, for leading in such a benevolent manner, for giving them all such wonderful creatures to live alongside. The prince took it all with a smile and a thanks, letting their love fill his being to his core. Somehow, all of that adoration had blinded the prince to the shadow that he cast.

The prince’s brother was far from loved. Their subjects ignored and slept through the night that the other brought, sometimes even cursing it for stopping their fun and games. They were frightened of any creatures that the prince’s brother introduce to the world, despite their helpful nature and their purpose to balance out the world. Some had even gone as far as to curse the brother himself, blaming him for anything less than ideal that happened near to them.

Days and nights passed by, each one bringing more and more frustration and tears to the prince’s brother. One fateful day sealed both of their fates, however.

The prince approached the brother’s chambers, finding the door to be open. He looked inside and found his brother curled up in his bed, sobs racking his body. It was in that moment that the prince realised he’d not given his brother the love he deserved, and the prince made a promise to fix that immediately.

The promise was broken within seconds. After he’d called out, trying to be kind to his brother. The scorned man turned and screamed at the prince, telling him to leave. Reflexes kicked in and the prince yelled back, angry at being dismissed so easily.

Doors were magically slammed in his face. The prince turned away in a huff and started down the corridor. A loud scream had him stopping after only a few steps.

It was transforming, becoming deeper and evil. The prince could only take a shaky breath, his eyes wide with fear. He soon steeled himself and continued on, walking away from the one who needed him.

Only a few nights later, the prince found himself warring with the man who was supposed to be his brother, though he was almost unrecognisable as such. Had any subjects living near the castle been awake to see the spectacle, they would have been terrified to watch the two rulers soaring through the sky and throwing attacks at one another. One of which had the prince being thrown hard through the wall of a nearby temple.

He cried out in pain as he hit the statue in the centre. In his dazed state, the prince felt as though time was slowing to almost a halt. He went to push himself up, but found his hand covering one of the magical symbols that usually hung upon the statue he was against.

An idea came to his mind. He hated it, he didn’t want to do it, but it was what was best for the kingdom. The prince looked back up to see his brother headed straight for him, magical energy surrounding his outstretched hand, ready to attack.

“I’m sorry.” was all the prince could say before he harnessed the power from the statue behind him and let out a large blast of energy that consumed the temple.

Once the light from the magic had dissipated, the prince could see the devastation around him. The temple walls had crumbled, the windows blown out, the floor cracked. But that was all unimportant, his attention was brought to the moon that still hung high in the sky.

New patches of darkness had appeared, forming a familiar shape. The shape of his brother, who was nowhere to be seen around in the destruction. Silent tears slid down the prince’s face as the realisation set in that he’d sent his own brother away, sealed and imprisoned him in the moon. Before he knew it, the prince had dropped to his knees and let out an anguished, tearful scream.

Back in the present, the prince ran a hand through the coloured part of his hair at the memory of the change, still looking up at the image of his brother in the moon. It was about time for him to bring about the daylight, so he reached out his hand and summoned his power. The moon shone with a red glow and it slowly slid down through the sky. As the prince watched, he began to sing softly.

“Lullay moon prince, goodnight brother mine And rest now in moonlight's embrace Bear up my lullaby, winds of the earth Through cloud, and through sky, and through space

Carry the peace and the coolness of night And carry my sorrow in kind Remus, you're loved so much more than you know May troubles be far from your mind And forgive me for being so blind

The years now before us Fearful and unknown I never imagined I'd face them on my own

May these thousand winters Swiftly pass, I pray I love you; I miss you All these miles away

May all your dreams be sweet tonight Safe upon your bed of moonlight And know not of sadness, pain, or care And when I dream, I'll fly away and meet you there Sleep...”

The moon had just dropped past the horizon, the sun beginning to rise behind. Tears began to drip off of the prince’s chin, shining in the light of the sunrise.

“Prince Roman.” A voice called from behind the prince.

Without wiping away the wetness from his cheeks nor turning around to face the knight that had joined him on the balcony, the prince responded, “Here to escort me to the throne room?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“I shall be inside in a moment. Please wait in there for me.”

The sound of the decorative armour clanking as the knight moved and the sound of the balcony doors shutting once again had the prince smiling sadly.

“Well, dear brother, until tonight.” Prince Roman finally wiped the tears from his cheeks and took one last deep breath of the fresh air, before he turned and reached out for the large doors. Only one thought crossed the prince’s mind as he was escorted back past the empty bedroom, ‘158 years left.’

---

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly@justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka @notalwaysthevillian @pumpkinminette @doces-e--tuga @coloursintheblur @safesandersides

#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Creativity Sanders #Duke Sanders #Lullaby For A Duke #Lullaby For A Princess #Inspired by MLP #Royal AU

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