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andrastesflamingknickers · 11 months

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The War Room

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Everything changed quickly once the Inquisition was declared.

Flocks of ravens, enough to turn the sky black, were unleashed by Leliana to spread the word. Soldiers filled the fields outside of the village, training against each other and dummies, sharpening their swords for the coming battles. Banners were erected on every building and every corner with the sword and sunlike eye painted on them. The Inquisitions heraldry, Cian could only assume.

There was excitement in the air, of having a purpose, a direction, but there was also fear. Most of the people—villagers, soldiers, and even those of the Chantry—stayed. But many had left, wanting no part of the Inquisition and it’s ‘blasphemous treason to the Chantry’. Many of them still thought him responsible for the Breach and for what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and refused to join an organization with him in it.

Cian had seen the soldier he had helped on the mountain among those who had left.

He had tried to keep to himself throughout the chaos of change. Tried to avoid the prying eyes of those who saw him and saw something… divine. Oh, Creators—Maker???—he was still trying to wrap his head around all of that. Why did faith have to be so bloody confusing? The last thing he needed or wanted was to be jumped and asked questions he had no answers to, and so he kept away from the people as much as he could.

Beneath the Chantry were empty prison cells. Cian took to spending time down there to avoid the crowds, taking books from the Chantry to read, to try and better understand all that was going on. It had been fifteen long years since he’d learned anything regarding the Maker and Andraste, his knowledge and understanding of them overwritten by everything the Keeper and hahren had taught him of the Creators.

When he returned to the cabin late into the evening, and found two soldiers standing outside his door, his growing anxieties had worsened. They claimed they were there to protect him, because it only made sense that his life could be at risk, either by those who hated that he was an elf, or by those who still saw him as responsible for what happened—for the Divine’s death.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought knowing that he could have a dagger plunged into his back at any moment.

The inside of the cabin was mostly the same as when he’d left. The bed had been made, the box the girl from the morning had dropped was gone, as were any shards of glass that could have spilled, even the fireplace had been lit to warm the space up. On a box by the desk sat light leather armor in the same colors as Cassandras own chainmail, the Inquisition sigil on the chest, as if to drive home that he was a part of this.

Beside the armor was a pair of daggers. His daggers. Curved metal blades, hand-woven leather grips, and the hollow ring at the pommel, accents of green to the design.

A small comfort, one of the few familiarities he was given in this cold, hard place.

Taking the daggers and laying them on his lap, Cian traced the gentle grooves carved down the blades, of the etchings he had made when he was given the weapons. He was sure that if he asked, Leliana could have one of her ravens deliver a scroll to his clan—but what would he even tell them?

The Keeper had sent him out into the world because they were worried of how the growing tensions and brutality of the stupid war between the Templars and mages would affect the clans, of how it could put them at risk because of the role of magic and mages within the clans. She had wanted to know how much danger the clans were in without drawing any unwanted attention onto themselves.

Cian was one of the best scouters and trackers, he was among the best in the clan at going about unseen, and was the best in the clan when it came to interacting shemlen and the durgen’len.

Whenever the clan needed something within a city, be it to get in contact with someone, or to trade with the merchants, Cian was among those sent. He had experience and knowledge when it came cities and humans that most of his clanmates didn’t possess. Because this mission would have required him to go in and out of human settlements, to talk to and interact with those outside of the clans; Keeper Deshanna decided he was best equipped to be their spy.

It didn’t matter that human cities and crowds made him nervous at best, volatile at worst. That having to sail from the Free Marches to Ferelden had brought back so many awful memories that his panic got so bad one of the sailors had to regularly give him some kind of spiked rum that left him loopy for the three weeks they sailed from Ostwick to Gwaren.

He was sure word of what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes would have reached the Free Marches by now, that his clan would have heard. Something like that would have spread worse than a wildfire. The last thing he told them was that he would be there, watching the proceedings so he could bring back news of the outcome, and the last thing he wanted was for them to mourn, believing him dead.

But… what would he tell them?

That he was saved by Andraste? Led out of the Fade in the ruined temples with a mark on his hand that gave him the ability to close these rifts? That he was now a part of the Inquisition, and would be helping them to restore order and put an end to the madness? Cian was sure that Deshanna wouldn’t have minded the last bit, but certainly many in his clan would look on him with disgust at the mention of Andraste, see it as him forsaking their own gods. If he didn’t tell them, they would hear of it eventually regardless, and then they’d still grow to hate him for hiding such a thing from them.

It wouldn’t matter that he never asked for any of this, that he would have much preferred the safety and familiarity of his clan over all of this. His clan would never accept that he was working with an extension of the Chantry.

Those were just the first of the worries that kept him up that first night, what little sleep he was able to compel himself into was short and fretful. When he awoke in the morning, he was feeling no more rested than he had when he went into the cabin that night.

There was a freshly laundered set of clothes waiting for him, and he donned them along with his armor, his daggers finding their home nestled against his back. There were still guards outside his doors, though it was hard for him to tell if they were the same guards who had been there at night, or not. Humans all tended to look the same.

More surprising was that Cassandra was waiting for him outside the cabin, leaning against the low, stone wall, her arms crossed over her chest. At first he had thought she was wearing the same armor—but no, the breastplate was different, and it had the Inquisition sigil painted on it as opposed to the previous one.

“Good morning, Cian,” she greeted, her voice stiff with formality. The woman looked rested, though the circles under her eyes were still prevalent. She made no note of his own, clearly unrested, appearance. “The others are waiting for us within the Chantry,” she said, straight to business.

Cian frowned, but followed after as she started walking. “Who’s waiting?”

She does not answer, unsurprisingly, and leads him through Haven once more. Most people gave them a wide berth as they passed, whispering, pointing, and it made Cian feel like some sort of creature on display, and not a person. Yet Cassandra didn't comment on it, she ignored the crowds and marched forward like a woman on a mission, and Cian supposed that might as well have been the case.

They passed by Varric as they walked, the dwarf sitting by a small fire near a few tents. He looked up and gave them a smile, a wave, and returned to his breakfast and chatting with a few others who were sitting near him.

The Chantry was more lively than the day before, more people were in and milling about, but they gave him and Cassandra space as they walked.

His marked palm stung, like a sudden knife stabbed into his hand, and Cian faltered, bringing it up. The mark hadn’t grown any since he last looked, and the glow had died down. It was still just a long green mark against the pale flesh of his hand, one that ached rather than agonized. Still, he held it with his other hand, massaging his fingers into the skin as if it would ease the pain.

He hadn’t noticed that Cassandra was watching him. “Does it still trouble you?” she asked.

It surprised him. The question sounded like it came from a place of concern. “Nothing like before. It’s stopped spreading, and it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as before,” Cian answered and lowered his hand, offering a shrug. “So, all in all? Can’t complain.”

If he was to be more honest? It felt wrong to complain, like he had no right to complain.

The worst of his pain was over, and though the mark’s burn had been agonizing before, and had trapped him in this nightmare of a position, at least he was still alive. The same couldn’t be said for others. What right did Cian have to complain over the pain a mark brought when the mark was tied to him surviving the Temple’s destruction? What right did he have to complain over that when others weren’t so lucky?

It felt selfish to complain.

Still though, he was surprised by the soft smile that Cassandra gave him, a look of understanding. “We take our victories where we can.”

She had a fairly nice smile, Cian decided, but he quickly squashed those thoughts.

“What’s important is that your mark is stable, as is the breach,” Cassandra continued, her gaze flickering to his hand, before dragging back up to his face. Her smile was dropped, and that stony, serious expression made it’s resurgence. “You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt may succeed—provided the mark has more power.”

“More power?” Cian repeated.

First of all; exactly how much power was Solas thinking they would need to close the breach? Second of all; how in the world was he expected to just ‘power up’ the mark on his hand? Sheer willpower only worked in stories. If they expected him to start drinking lyrium to do so, then he was refusing outright and leaving, Inquisition and saving the world be damned.

Thankfully, Cassandra had answers before he even asked. Maybe Seekers had some kind of mind magic they never spoke of that let them know what people were thinking. “The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place,” she said, her expression tightening in the same way his chest did. “That is not easy to come by.”

Cian let out a short, hollow laugh. “Talk about an understatement,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. Enough power to tear open the Veil was, by no means, going to be easy to come by. The fact that it was possible to obtain at all—even in theory!—was unbelievable. And even if, by some bizarre miracle, he could get that much power, it was for sure likely to kill him. Or turn him into a walking bomb that would kill him plus everyone within his vicinity. Neither were pleasant ideas.

“Let’s just go ahead and power up something we don’t understand. It’s not like it could hurt anything,” he added with a sarcastic bite and a roll of the eye. Because history certainly never talked about the dangers of messing with unknown magics. No, not ever!

But—it got another smile from Cassandra, and even a soft laugh. “Hold on to that sense of humor,” she said approvingly, and okay, maybe the big scary lady wasn’t quite as scary as he had initially thought. Cian was still sure she could and would kill him easily if she wanted, but at least she had sides to her, nicer sides!

Still, they continued to walk, pushed past the heavy door into the room where the Inquisition was more or less reborn.

Yesterday, the room had been empty. Clearly having been used for storage more than anything. But now—it looked like a completely different room, and Cian was half tempted to open the door and check that they hadn’t gone into a different room.

The cobwebs had been cleaned up; all the boxes of storage had been taken away. Several scones had been added, the low fires providing plenty of light for them to see and work. On one side of the room was a shelf with several bottles of fresh ink, quills, and blank parchments waiting for usage, along with other, smaller things he couldn’t recognize. On a table to the side was a tray full of scrolls.

The table itself had been dusted and cleaned, and bore two sizable maps, covering almost the entire table. It took him a moment to realize that the maps depicted the whole of Thedas, split almost evenly between Ferelden and Orlais. Cian had to admit; they were fairly well-made maps, very detailed, even if it had to all be divided between two different, massive parchments.

Across the table were three humans. One, he recognized immediately; Leliana. Arms folded behind her; she offered him a pleasant, welcoming smile as she stood to the far left of the table.

On the other side of the table was another woman. Dark hair tied up into a bun, and her darker skin highlighted by the gold of her clearly expensive dress. The ruffled sleeves and high-quality appearance immediately gave him the thought of a noble. She held herself with the same mannerism of the few he’d seen, too, though with a far more polite demeanor as opposed to the noble heirs who would come and sling racial slurs at him and the others, throwing their weight around because they had lands and titles, as if that gave them the power to do anything.

Between both was a tall, broad man with curly hair made of sunbeams and a slight stubble of a beard. He was dressed in full armor and a cloak of some sort made of dark fur. He was clearly a soldier, and his presence alone was intimidating. But he offered a small, polite smile, and he wasn’t screaming for guards and chains. Yet. So, as Cassandra said; take his victory where he could.

The woman in question had lingered behind him as Cian walked in, staying to close the door. A few moments later she had returned to the table, standing at his side, and it made Cian feel safer. Like she was a shield. Glancing at him, she reached out to gesture to the blonde shemlen he had look at moments ago. “May I present to you Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisitions forces,” she introduced.

That small smile he had faltered, and the man dipped his head, “Such as they are,” Cullen said, though there was no hostility or lingering resentment in his voice. Rather, simple acceptance. “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

It was a knife in the gut, a reminder that he chose the mountain path, and left the soldiers to fight in the valley. But, Cian reminded himself with reluctance, many would have died, regardless of my choice. Even so, he offered Cullen a bow of the head. “Ir abelas. I wish there was more we could have done to have prevented so many deaths.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said, bowing his head in return, and it felt genuine.

Not letting them linger on the topic any longer, Cassandra shifted next to him and nodded to the woman beside Cullen. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet,” she continued, confirming Cian’s early suspicion of the woman’s rank. “Our ambassador, and chief diplomat.”

Josephine smiled, warm and polite, and cradled some kind of tray that had a candle and parchment to it. To better walk and write, he suspected. The quill she carried only confirmed it. “Andaran atish’an,” she surprised him with not only knowing the greeting, but on pronouncing it properly despite her clearly Antivan accent.

“You speak Elven?” Cian asked, the surprise blocking his filter, letting the words spill out before he could stop them. He had honestly expected to not hear much Elven—if any—from anyone but Solas. He was glad to have been proven wrong.

Her cheek flushed, darkening under the glow of her candles stick. “You’ve just head the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

Oh. Well, Cian supposed it was the thought that counted, and he did appreciate her speaking what little of it she knew. It helped put him at ease. “If you wish to learn more, I would be willing to teach,” he offered, extending an olive branch. It’d be nice to have more chances to speak his own language, and if Josephine was willing to learn more than just a formal greeting, he didn’t mind teaching.

At his offer, Josephine’s expression lit up, her smile widening. “Oh, that would be just wonderful,” she said, and after glancing to Cassandra, her expression calmed a bit. “We can work out the details of an arrangement afterwards.”

Waiting a moment longer to make sure neither were about to make any other comment, Cassandra directed her attention on Leliana. “And, of course, you already know Sister Leliana.”

Leliana dipped her head, “Unlike Cullen or Josephine, my position here involves a degree of—”

“She is our spymaster,” Cassandra interrupted, blunt and to the point as ever.

Attention turned on her, Leliana’s smile fell. “Yes,” she said, the annoyance clear in her voice. “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

It was clear that Leliana wasn’t ashamed of her position, but Cian could wholly understand the irritation of having someone outright call her out as a spy, even in a closed room with allies. She had likely been trying to find a more discreet way of saying it, considering how sensitive a position spies were among humans. Among the Dalish?

They weren’t as hush-hush about having spies. The role was just as important to a clans survival as a warrior, and many hunters doubled as spies when the need called for it—himself included. Of course, they wouldn’t have worded it that way. Ghilana Dirth’anshiral. A direct translation would read it as ‘to guide a journey of secrets’.

Or, more plainly put; spies.

Still, though. It left him more interested in knowing her. The harmless appearance coupled with the dangerous air around her, it made sense that she was something important. But a spymaster of all things? Well, Cian could already tell that any piece of advice or suggestion was something he’d need to give full attention to. She wasn’t one to be dismissed.

“Pleased to meet you all,” Cian offered with a smile, and he actually meant it. Despite the nerves of working with humans, these ones didn’t seem so bad, and he didn’t feel like he was in any immediate danger with them. Despite the situation, they all seemed nice enough.

He was given a series of quiet remarks and returns to his words, and after that, the pleasantries were done, and it was back to business.

Cassandra stepped closer to the table, hand on her hip as she addressed him fully. “I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” she said, nodding to his hand.

Right, she had mentioned that, and though Cian understood the why of it all, he was still on edge about the how they would go ab out it. “Solas brought up the theory, did he have any proposals on how to manage it?” Cian asked, and glanced around the room when no one spoke up, feeling a bit more uneasy about it all. “He did have some ideas, right?”

Evidently, no. Or whatever ideas he had, he kept it close to his chest rather than sharing them.

After a moment, Leliana stepped forward. “The Breach, and what caused it, is magic in nature,” she said, and picked up a pin from the corner of the table, bringing it down somewhere in the Ferelden territory on the map. “Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.”

“And I disagree,” Cullen added in a tone that said they had this discussion plenty of times before Cian arrived. “Templars could serve just as well. As you said; the Breach is magic. Templars are trained to combat magic.”

Cassandra let out a long, suffering sigh as she shook her head. “We need power, Commander,” she reminded him. “Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all,” he interrupted, and honestly? Cian agreed. Just supercharging the mark in his hand without understanding it at all could cause more harm than good. It was too big a risk, one he wasn’t comfortable just blindly taking. He was glad someone else at the table agreed with that notion. “The templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it, so—”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interjected.

Cullen turned his attention to her, his eyes narrowed. “I was a templar,” he reminded firmly. “I know what they’re capable of. Rather than risk leveling another mountain top, or worse, they could dampen the magic of the Breach. It’s the safer option.”

It was clear that this was a very volatile topic, and Cian hated that it came down to mage versus templar. Didn’t they have more important things than to further arguing over which side to take? But, despite how heated an argument it was—no one was yelling. There was no shouting over one another, or insults hurled, or any sign of actual animosity between them. At least none that he could see. They argued, but they remained level-headed about it.

In the clan, arguments could so easily turned into yelling matches, and then physical brawls that devolved into hair pulling and biting (for they knew better than to cause any actual bodily harm to each other, no matter how heated the fight was) until the Keeper came and broke them up.

But if someone argued with the Keeper? Those were the worst ones.

Unlike fights between the clan members that often boiled down to trivial things like who scared the prey away during the last hunt or someone lost a thing while traveling, fights with the Keeper were over deeper matters. Such as how they handled outsiders and interacting with human settlements. The one arguing would end up being silenced, effectively put into time out until they calmed down. At worst; it got so ugly that it spread throughout the clan, creating factions that did nothing but argue and fight. Nothing productive ever got done when those happened and the whole clan suffered as a result. Sometimes the one who argued with the Keeper would split off from the clan and leave them, sometimes with others who shared his or her views.

Cian could only remember such a thing happening twice. The first time, Ghil had gotten into a rather ugly fight with Deshanna over humans. A group of shemlen had robbed the clan, stolen two of their halla and one of their aravels, along with everything in it. The Keeper wanted to leave it be, as one of the humans was nobleborn. Conflict would only make things worse for them, and it was not worth the lives of their clan to get any of it back. Ghil hadn’t agreed. The shemlen needed to face consequences for stealing from them, or they’d continue to do so. They needed to stand their ground, show the shemlen they couldn’t just walk all over them.

When it was clear no peace would be found between him and the Keeper, Ghil and three others of the clan left, going after the shemlen who had stolen from them. They never heard from any of them again.

The other had been Lashalani, who had argued that closer relationships with the human—that having a symbiotic relationship with them as opposed to a tense coexistence would do them wonders, that they needed to form an alliance, to protect each other. She left, but she came back after several months, haggard, and no longer believing in the necessity of being best friends with the human cites. She never said what happened, but it was clear the experience had been unpleasant.

Regardless, Cian had his own opinions on their templar-mage argument. While he saw templars as dangerous—oh how often have a group of them harassed his clan because the Keeper and her First were mages—they were trained explicitly on countering magic. They were trained to fight demons. He trusted that far more than the pump as much unknown power into Cian and hope for the best plan.

Not that it mattered a whole lot. Josephine cut the argument short, reminding them all that neither templar nor mage were willing to even speak to the Inquisition at the moment, that the Chantry had openly denounced them.

It wasn’t the most ideal position to be in, but Cian had to admit, expecting anything better would have been delusional. Still, they were efficient. It had been barely a day since the Inquisition had been declared, it was amazing how quick they were to reject whatever authenticity or power the Inquisition claimed.

Still, Josephine focused her attention on him as she continued to speak. “Some are calling you, a Dalish elf, the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry,” she said, and Cian remembered that term being whispered among the village. Again, it was impressive how quickly that had spread. Though he understood why that would upset them so much, the idea that an elf might be anything of important, especially among their own religion, went against everything they likely believed in.

“The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy,” Josephine continued, turning her attention to the others, eyes narrowed with withheld offense. “They’ve declared us heretics for harboring him.”

Cassandra growled lowly. “Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.”

Of course, it was. Cian really didn’t think it possible, but he was growing to dislike that old shemlen even more. The man was going to continue to be a thorn in their side until he got what he wanted, and Cian was in Val Royeaux for execution, wasn’t he?

“It limits our options,” Josephine admitted, turning her attention briefly to her candlelit tray to write something down. “But as it is, approaching either the mages or the templars is currently out of the question.”

Things really couldn’t go their way for once, could it? For supposedly being sent by the Maker to save them all, the Maker apparently really liked making things harder than necessary to actually fix anything.

“Just how am I the ‘Herald of Andraste’?” Cian asked, because for all the questions he had, that felt like the most pressing. He knew Cassandra had talked of him being the Maker’s Chosen just yesterday, but how had it spread that he was Andraste’s Herald? He could understand a few people thinking that, but to have enough that it had the Chantry shaking in its boots? Just how had that happened?

Andraste was the second most important person in their religion, second only to the Maker, important enough that they named the whole damn religion after her. The idea that people, many people, were associating him with her was overwhelming—nauseatingly so.

“People saw what you did at the Temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing,” Cassandra explained as she turned to face him. “They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

He had suspected as much yesterday, when he was first hit with everything. But hearing someone else say it—it felt like a gut punch. Why would someone so important to human faith save him? An elf? One who was of a different faith/ Why would she put all that responsibility on him and not another human?

Someone, please, make it make sense.

“Even if we tried to stop the rumor from spreading—”

“Which we have not,” Cassandra added, cutting Leliana off.

Leliana eyed Cassandra for a moment, partly in clear irritation at being interrupted, and a flash of a somewhat knowing look, one that left Cian with an inkling to who may have been helping to spread that rumor and title. “The point is… everyone is talking about you.”

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” Cullen asked with a hint of a laugh in his voice, directing his attention to Cian, and for a moment his expression was less amused and more concerned. “How do you feel about that?”

Overwhelmed? Terrified? Confused and questioning his own faith? How else was Cian supposed to feel about it? If they were expecting him to say something along the lines of ‘honored’ then they were tragically wrong. He wasn’t going to lie and pretend like it was something great to be shown off like some fancy medal. The title was almost as cursed as the hand.

There were plenty of adjectives to describe how he felt about being called The Herald of Andraste, and so, Cian settled on one that he felt best encompassed what he felt about it all. “It’s fairly unnerving.”

“I can only imagine,” the man said with an understanding nod.

Leliana shifted where she stood. “People are desperate for a sign of hope, something that will tell them that they’ll make it through, that everything will be okay,” she said, her eyes locked on him. “To many; you are that sign.”

“And for others?” Josephine added, her tone more sympathetic. “A symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.”

And, of course, all of that was the opposite of comforting. They both only added more pressure and made the title a thousand times more unnerving to bear. It left him feeling lightheaded and nauseous.

They needed to talk about something else before he actually threw up.

A glowing green hole in the sky felt like safer waters to sail on without completely derailing their topic. “And the Chantry is more concerned about what I’m getting called as opposed to the Breach?” Cian asked them, gesturing above them, because in all honesty, freaking out over him when there was a demon-spewing hole in the sky was ridiculous. “The very real, very active threat? I’m somehow more dangerous to them than that?”

How did that make sense? Him being called the Herald of Andraste should have been lower on their list of priorities compared to the Breach!

Cullen sighed, “They do know it’s a threat,” he said, shaking his head. Cian was glad they saw it as a threat, but it was clear by Cullen’s tone that there was more to it, and he didn’t disappoint on adding on; “They just don’t think we can stop it.”

“The Chantry is telling everyone that you will make it worse,” Josephine added.

To be fair; Cian wasn’t entirely convinced that they were wrong. They were dealing with a threat no one had any knowledge on, their only tool to stopping it being a mark on his hand they had no understanding of. “They’re not unreasonable to say that,” Cian admitted, shaking his head. “We’re playing with fire while not understanding what flames are. If we aren’t careful, we could do more harm than good.”

No one had any sort of argument to offer on that. As useful as it had been at closing the breach, they were all aware that his mark could be dangerous. They’ve been lucky so far that using the mark had left no negative backlashes to anything but himself. But who was to say that things would stay like that if he kept using it?

Eventually, Leliana spoke up, bringing a pin from the side of the table and holding it delicately between her fingers. “There is something you could do,” she began, bringing the pin down on the Ferelden part of the map. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She’s not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

Cian examined the map. The pin was located in the Hinterlands—about two weeks out from where they were in the mountains, not counting how far in the Hinterlands she might be. Not especially far, but certainly not a simple jump away.

The real question though, was that she was from the Chantry. “Why would she want to help us when the Chantry disavowed us? It does her no good to help a ‘heretic’.”

Leliana hummed, “I hear she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters,” she said, as if the why didn’t matter so much on this, and circled around the table to stand beside him, pointing to the map. “You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Crossroads, a small village not far from Redcliffe. The templar-mage fighting has gotten bad down there, and while my scouts are doing what they can to keep her safe, she refuses to leave the wounded and the refugees.”

Admirable, Cian almost didn’t want to take her from there. She wanted to help them, and the refugees needed her. But it was also clear he didn’t have a choice on the matter.

Cullen’s attention had been on the map, and Cian could see the gears in his head turning, strategies and tactics playing out in his mind. “Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisitions influence while you are there,” he suggested when he looked up. “Camps, allies, even doing good deeds for the people you come across can help spread word. There is also renowned horse master in the area, Dennet, find him if you can. The Inquisition will need horses, and there’s few others I’d trust more than him on the matter.”

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and who better suited than you to recruit anyone?” Josephine added, and Cian had to bite his tongue to keep from answering, because he was sure that any one of them would have been better suited than him.

Not only did he have the burden of being the Herald of Andraste, of having to close the Breach and the Rift, he now had the responsibility of diplomat to make people like the Inquisition, and having to spearhead going into the Hinterlands. He didn’t mind travelling, or seeing new places. That was part of why he had agreed to the Keeper when she sent him out in the first place. He enjoyed the travel, he enjoyed exploration.

But this here? One overwhelming responsibility after the other. The weight of the world was crushing him. How could one man do all of this?

“In the meantime,” Cassandra said, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts, “Let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

He swallowed, tried his best not to show how much the title put him on edge, and wondered if she truly believed it or if she was just calling him that to further the cause. But—it was reliving. That she stepped forward and said what she did, about not letting him carry all the weight by himself.

Cian wasn’t doing this alone. He had the four of them around the table. He had Solas and Varric out in Haven, and all the soldiers training outside.

It took a moment, but he silenced his worries and calmed himself. There was work to be done, and even if all that had happened unnerved him, Cian was going to give it his all. Herald or not, Maker or not, there was a fucking hole in the sky, and they were going to close it somehow.

With that, they got to work.

Cullen got out the pieces, he showed him which pins were used for operations currently underway, and which ones were for new ones. He showed him the cards that showed whose branch—His military might, Leliana’s spy network, and Josephine’s ambassadors and diplomats—were handling an operation. Leliana directed him to the trays, where there would be reports and notes for him to look over.

They discussed the situation at the Hinterlands more, Leliana even passed him a report by some Scout Harding detailing the situation down there, and it grew only more gruesome. The war was spreading, and as expected, dragging in people who had nothing to do with either side. Homes were being raided; innocents murdered. It was not a pleasant place to be at by any means. That wasn’t even including the numerous rifts that had formed, and the demons that came with it.

“We can’t end this war, but if we can get rid of the mage and templar pockets in the area—or at least weaken them. That should make things safer for the refugees,” Cian said, and honestly, that was what he cared about. He didn’t care about what this Mother Giselle said or thought. This war was doing exactly as the Keeper feared; attacking and killing everyone regardless of involvement. That couldn’t be allowed to continue.

Why wasn’t the Ferelden military doing anything about that? Redcliffe was some important city, right? Shouldn’t their own military be out and protecting the people of the Hinterlands from the war?

Anxieties and worries forgotten; Cian was sold on going to the Hinterlands. If Ferelden’s king wasn’t going to keep his people safe, then someone else had to. Might as well be the Inquisition.

It was decided, then, that they left for the Hinterlands at dawn. They’d spend the day packing, making sure they had everything they needed, and at day break, he would begin the journey with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas.

With that business finished, there was nothing else needed and the others began to leave the room.

Cian stopped Leliana before she could follow the others, and led her back to the war table. “Was there something that you needed?” she asked as he scanned the map, gaze locking on a part of the Free Marches.

“A favor, if you could,” he said and placed a pin on the map. Looking back up, he swallowed as he found Leliana’s gaze on him, it made him feel small, like she was finding all his secrets just by watching. Pushing that fear away, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a scroll, handing it to her. “My clan—they’ll be worried. I want them to know that I’m safe. That I… I’m trying to help make things safer. Is there any way that you could send this out? I don’t know exactly where they would be camped right now. Considering the time of the year, somewhere west of Wycome along the rivers—the fish are always plentiful at this time, and the Duke there generally leaves the clan be so long as they don’t get too close to the city. I figured with your network, you could find them and pass this on.”

It had to be Leliana to do this. He was sure that Josephine had allies and contacts of her own, but diplomats wouldn’t be able to find the clan as easily if the war had them hiding, not only that, but it could also bring his clan unwanted attention. If he asked Cullen, the man would undoubtedly send soldiers—and his clan would treat it as a threat. There would be blood spilt.

Leliana’s spy network could find his clan, no matter how hidden they were, and wouldn’t risk unwanted visitors following, and he was sure her agents would be able to make contact without invoking war. It was the safest option.

Expression softening, Leliana took the scroll from him. “Of course,” she agreed, and turned back to the map, “The Dalish respect deeds over words, correct? I’ll send your message to one of my elven agents, and deliver something your clan needs as a show of respect and faith. Is there anything in particular your clan could use?”

He was taken aback by the thoughtfulness of it all, Cian had expected her to just send his letter, and nothing more. But to try and show respect to his home with gifts? Leliana was becoming his favorite among the humans here. “If the clan’s camped by the rivers, food should be no concern. Material goods such as jewelry and coin are mostly useless among a clan. Of course, no clan will ever refuse if you bring them ancient elven text, but I doubt you’d just have that on hand. Other than that, Arwyn is always complaining about a lack of iron for smithing, and furs are always welcome. You’d be amazed by how much can be made from fur.”

She smiled, listening as Cian spoke and nodding along. When Cian had finished, she straightened up and tucked his note into a pocket of her robes. “Thank you. I’ll go ahead and make contact. I’ll bring back anything that comes in about Clan Lavellan to you.”

He watched her go, relief seeping through his bones.

As difficult as everything was, it was nice to have people he could rely on for things such as this. He trusted her to do what she could to let his clan know what happened. Now he just had to wait to see if his clan responded, and to hope that they didn’t hate him for it.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #cassandra pentaghast #cullen rutherford #josephine montilyet #Leliana #lavellan inquisitor #Inquisitor Cian #fanfic #Cian's Adventures In The Inquisition #Misc Quests

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scxrlettwxtches · 4 years

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a throne of roses | hwang hyunjin

genre: royal au, fluff/angst, fem!reader

warnings: blood, violence, a little suggestive (hehe)

word count: 16.7k+

description: when the king that conquered your country, hwang hyunjin, arranged a marriage for the two of you, not once did you expect to feel any emotion except hatred and bitterness to blossom between you. will you stand to hate your enemy until the end, or will you realize that the cold-hearted ruler is not as cruel as he seemed?

a/n: im back!! im so sorry to have been gone so long. i suffered a huge writer’s block, and even now, im really not sure how this fic holds up despite being my longest story by a lonnnngggg shot. i really hope people like it ahhhh >.< i will get back to my kiss prompts now that i got this monster fic out of the way! as always, i love all of you guys and my ask box/dms are always open if anyone wants to be friends!! <3

prologue.

The city was burning.

Screams and sounds of roaring flame filled the air, the sky clouded from the smoke. You spurred your horse on at breakneck speed with the remnants of your battered army. A horrible deception, a betrayal of the worst kind, sent you to fight on the border while your enemy snuck in, attacking the capitol at its weakest moment.

You burst into the throne room just in time to see a figure standing above your mother and father. Their blood dripped down the marble staircases leading up to the throne, staining the pure white stone into a sickening red.

“No!” You let out a guttural scream as you flung yourself at the man, your wicked blade aimed at his vulnerable throat, ready to kill.

The man whirled to face you at the last second, raising his blade and intercepting your blow with a loud clang that echoed in the room, “Princess,” he smiled in greeting, holding you back as you continued to press your blade firmly against his.

“Hwang Hyunjin, you bastard!” you snarled, twisting out of the sword lock and parrying with his blade skillfully. Staring at the eyes of the wretched king, the ruler that had drove your kingdom into war, your fury was increased tenfold. You wanted nothing more than to slit his throat and throw his dead body out into the streets for what he did to your beloved country.

Hyunjin let out a noise you vaguely recognized as a laugh, “My apologies. I wasn’t expecting you to return so quickly, Your Highness,” he lashed out with a lethal strike, but you almost predicted it, blocking his attack with your blade. Still, Hyunjin didn’t seem the least bit fazed, and he continued to toy with you, enjoying a fight with someone so skilled, “The attack in the south mountain pass was supposed to delay you for more than two days.”

Your blood boiled at his mockery, because no matter if you’d controlled the winds to bring you back to the capitol, Hyunjin would’ve still had the advantage with his much stronger army.

“You know my father was considering your terms of surrender,” you spit out, ducking under his attack and striking at his open left side, but Hyunjin parried it, smirking as your anger grew.

“Well, he was taking a little too long, so I decided to speed up the process,” he replied, a wicked smile on his face as he finally caught an opening, and with a merciless slash of his sword, he nicked your right arm to the bone, cutting through the chainmail and drawing frightening amounts of blood.

There was no time to wallow in the pain. You dropped your sword, catching it with your left hand and continuing your attack, but you were tiring quickly. Fighting your parents’ war had worn you down, and you didn’t have the strength you had when you first started fighting.

Keeping a watchful eye, you felt a spark of hope as you caught an opening. You grabbed it without a second to waste, twisting your blade and aiming at his leg when you suddenly felt a blinding pain on your calf. You let out a cry, fallowing to your knees before the king who only smiled as his subordinates pinned you down, holding your arms back and pressing your face onto the marble floor.

“Do you have any last words, Princess?” Hyunjin cooed as your hair was yanked back, forcing you to look at the cruel man.

“I hope you burn in hell,” you smiled, spitting at the ground before him.

Hyunjin gripped your chin tightly, the smile on his face icy and controlled, “My, my, what a temper,” he chuckled before letting go of your face and backing away. The sun glinted through the windows, shining behind Hyunjin’s head like a halo. How ironic. The man was no angel, not at all.

The last thing you could see was the king’s conceited smile before you felt blinding pain on the back of your head, knocking you out instantly.

“Unlock the cell.”

Your head raised a fraction, your ears perking up at the mere sound of the familiar voice. After you were knocked out, you were dragged back to Hyunjin’s palace as a prisoner of war, chained in a dungeon cell with your hands hanging over your head, your armor having been stripped of you.

As you kept your eyes trained to the floor, Hyunjin’s footsteps padded towards you, stopping right in front of your battered form.

“Princess Y/N. The goddess of victory. A dazzling warrior on the battlefield, feared by her enemies and respected by her subordinates,” Hyunjin’s voice crooned with mock pity, “How does it feel to become the defeated princess, fallen from grace?”

You smirked, finally tilting your head up to glare at him with your cold eyes, “Better than being a coward that’s too scared to finish the job,” you snarled, and the restraints snapped tight as you pulled them with a violent tug.

“You’re really pushing all the wrong buttons, Princess,” Hyunjin sighed, kicking some of the dirt and gravel that had collected in the dungeon away from his foot, “With all the trouble you gave my army, you deserve the most slow and painful death imaginable.”

“Oh? And what else does the infamously sadistic prince of the north have in store for me? I must say, I’ve been rather bored hanging here,” you sneered, making a deliberate show of licking your lips.

For the first time, Hyunjin looked visibly annoyed, his jaw clenching as he hissed almost to himself, “I should have just killed you.”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. You still have a chance,” you said pleasantly, smiling at the king as if you weren’t chained up in his prison cell.

“Unfortunately, I need you alive.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, “How terrible for you. How might I be of service, Your Majesty” Your voice was mocking, your lips curled in a sneer as Hyunjin studied your face.

The king gave you a halfhearted glare, like he didn’t know whether to punish you for your loose mouth or just let it go because it wasn’t quite worth it. He gazed at you, skeptical intrigue clear in his eyes when he finally muttered, “Release the chains.”

You were not expecting such an order, and frankly, the guard was not expecting it either, “B-but, Your Majesty!”

“I’m not repeating myself a second time,” Hyunjin spoke simply, but his voice had an edge to it, as if daring the man to refuse his command. You could’ve sworn that the guard let out a squeak of fear as he nodded obediently, fumbling through his keys as he began to unlock the chains that cut into the soft skin of your wrist.

When you finally felt the cuffs free your hands, you lost the only support holding you up, and your weakened legs buckled under the weight of your body. Before you could hit the floor hard, a firm body held you up, intercepting your fall and cushioning you with their chest as an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Oh dear,” Hyunjin sighed, easily picking up your weakened and frail body, carrying you in his arms as he walked out of the cell, “What am I going to do with you?”

“You know you could really just kill me,” you mumble in response as your head lolled against his chest, your hand absently bunching up his clothing to find a crevice to hold onto.

“I know,” To your surprise, Hyunjin answered, and in your pain muddled state, he almost sounded gentle, “but I’d rather not do that if I can help it.”

Your tired, dazed eyes stared up at the king, only barely processing his words before sleep wrapped its comforting arms around you, lulling you with soothing words as your eyes finally fluttered closed and your head fell against Hyunjin’s chest.

“No one lays a finger on her. I don’t care if she’s an enemy commander, a foreign princess, or whatever other disgusting things you say,” Hyunjin spoke darkly after he’d tucked you in his bed, pulling the covers over your body. Letting go of his restraint for a moment, he allowed his expression to soften as he brushed a strand of your hair away from your face before his eyes turned ice cold once again.

“Do you hear me? I see one more scratch on her body, and your heads will roll,” Hyunjin’s voice held the undertone of a growl as he stepped away from the bed, “Alert me when she wakes. Immediately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

ii.

The first thing you noticed about your new surroundings was how soft the mattress was. Your finger twitched as your hand began to feel at the satin bedsheets. The pillow your head rested on felt as fluffy as a cloud, a luxury that you didn’t even have back at your own palace. This wasn’t the dungeon...no...this was--

Your eyes flew open as you sat up, your brain hard-wired for danger as you looked around the room. They were surprisingly lavish lodgings for a prisoner of war, if you could say so yourself. From the red satin curtains on the bed to the intricate designs of the ceilings and the walls, you would even venture and say that this room was fit for a king.

“So, the princess has awoken,” A voice pulled you out of your curious thoughts and immediately replaced them with thoughts of murder and annoyance as Hyunjin strolled into the room, dressed as immaculately as always.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the blankets that covered you as you began to massage your legs through the covers. After a couple days of hanging in the dungeon, your legs had lost their strength and you were practically aching bring them back to their original state.

Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin smiled at your snide comments, rather enjoying the dry banter, “I didn’t know it would be a pleasure to see me.”

“It isn’t. I was just trying to be polite,” you said without missing a beat, maintaining a deadpan expression as you commented, “You’re quite generous to provide such a lavish guest room to a prisoner that threatens your control over your newly claimed country.”

“This isn’t a guest room,” Hyunjin corrected you as he pulled a chair closer to your side of the bed, sitting down even as you distinctively refused to look at him, “It’s my bedroom.”

Your apathetic expression faltered for a moment, a true sign of just how much the revelation had flustered you, “Your bedroom?” you repeated, a tang of disgust in your tone that couldn’t be missed even if one tried to avoid it.

“Yes, Your Highness, I’m afraid it is,” Hyunjin had wanted you to sleep in comfort. He hadn’t wanted to keep you in the dungeon for so long, but he had gotten distracted with business with another neighboring kingdom, and he didn’t trust his men enough to let them deal with you. After all, you’d put up a difficult fight keeping them out of your kingdom, and many soldiers were bitter with the long war that was raged.

But all of that? He would never tell you.

Sputtering at his nonchalant expression, you finally looked up at him, a scowl on your face, “Are you truly an idiot? The only people allowed to stay in the king’s chambers are the king and--” you suddenly froze, and Hyunjin could see you putting the pieces together in your head as your eyes narrowed at him, and he had to physically hold back his nervous gulp.

“What are you planning, Your Majesty?” your expression was darker than the shadows of the deepest caves, and your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping the bedsheets.

“Since I’m sure you’ve figured most of it out already, I won’t beat around the bush,” Hyunjin spoke nonchalantly, glancing at your hands for a split second before turning his gaze to your face.

“I want you to be my Queen.”

The silence that screamed between the two of you was shrill and long until you broke it with a choked voice of disbelief, “That’s not funny, Your Majesty.”

“I assure you, I don’t like to joke around,” Hyunjin replied, “I want to wed you and unite our two kingdoms with marriage instead of blood.”

“Well, you should’ve offered that first, don’t you think?!” you snarled, shifting to lash out at the man when you winced, grabbing at your leg that throbbed from your sudden movements, “How dare you say that to me now, after you burned our cities to the ground? After you killed so many of my people?”

Hyunjin was silent for a moment, and if you didn’t know him any better, you might’ve thought he was genuinely contemplating on how to respond. Finally, he sighed, slumping forward in his seat as he reached down and began to gently massage your legs over the covers.

“H-hey--” The protests died in your mouth as the relaxing sensations drove your body to loosen up even as your brain screamed for you to do something. But what could you do? Especially when the gentle ministrations of his hands felt oh so soothing to your worn out muscles.

“Princess, I truly do not want to force you into marriage,” your ears perked up at his curiously gentle tone. What was the man playing at? He sounded almost genuine as he appealed to you.

“Then, don’t,” you replied easily, merciless and without hesitation, “You have already taken over the capitol. I am sure the lords surrendered, they were always a spineless bunch,” you couldn’t hide the spite in your tone. The lack of support from the nobles of your kingdom was another reason you had suffered such a crushing defeat.

Hyunjin let out a chuckle, and his hands squeezed a little softer and with more gentle strokes as if trying to relax you, “Yes, the nobles of your kingdom were quite quick to accept any of my conditions as long as I kept their estates intact,” you scoffed at his words before he continued, “but unfortunately for me, the rest of your people are not as cowardly.”

Your eyes narrowed, “What do you mean?”

“Many riots and small scale rebellions have erupted around the land and in the capitol as well,” Hyunjin admitted, keeping his eyes focused on the blankets around your legs, “We...aren’t familiar with how the country is run, and they are not pleased with the sudden existence of foreign military force.”

“Did you really think they would be overjoyed to see you?” You asked, deadpan.

The king ignored your sarcastic comments, “Small rebellions have begun to emerge, especially in the capitol and in some of the neighboring towns,” he continued, studying your face and gauging your reactions, “They won’t rest until they have their rightful ruler back. Our marriage could solve that and calm the unrest.”

“Marriage can’t be the only option,” you protested, desperate to get out of this, “I can renounce my claim to the throne, and then you’d be the only ruler. You won’t have any need to marry me at all.”

“That can’t happen!” Hyunjin snapped, trying to hide the sudden burst of nervousness that fluttered in his heart, “Your people would never accept that you of all people would renounce your claim. They would just assume I forced you into it.”

“Oh, like the marriage isn’t forced either?” you retorted coldly, crossing your arms.

Hyunjin’s hands on your legs slowed to a stop, “Princess,” his voice was soft, “My men have not begun to enforce the brunt of the law on those riots, but they are growing anxious. The people who are sick of fighting are being targeted by those who call them traitors. Your people are killing each other--”

“And who’s fault is it?” you bared your teeth in a snarl, and if you had a weapon at that moment, you would’ve plunged it into Hyunjin’s shoulder in a fit of rage, “Who’s fault is it?”

The king’s expression grew a little darker, and his hands fell to his sides as he sensed your anger, “I understand your anger, your hatred. If the spots were switched, I would not be listening to a word you say either. But,” his eyes bore into yours, and in them, you found nothing but honest sincerity as he spoke, “you and I both know that I was not the one who started this war.”

You froze, your jaw going slack as Hyunjin’s words seeped into the depths of your heart. He was right; his kingdom did not start the war, yours did. Your parents, becoming greedy for the jewels that Hyunjin’s mountainous kingdom produced, had continued to aggravate and stir up tensions in the border until your army finally threw the first punch.

In the end, it was you who reaped what you sow, and you supposed that this was heaven’s way of getting back at you for your foolishness.

“I have conditions.”

Hyunjin perked up immediately at your words and he nodded, “Let’s hear them,” he said, his expression with its normal mask of impassiveness, but you were beginning to see through it, finding the genuine eagerness that he hid from the world.

“My people will not be treated like second class citizens,” you said, your voice hard. This was something you would never budge on, “They deserve the same rights and the same freedoms as your people.”

“Of course, you have my word,” Hyunjin nodded firmly, “Your people will be treated the same as mine.”

You couldn’t help the flash of approval that shone in your eyes before you cleared your throat, “I will also want to have a say in the new policy reforms you’ll instill on my kingdom.”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, but he didn’t seem surprised by your request in the slightest, “That is a given. After all, I don’t want a queen that doesn’t question my orders,” he chuckled as he studied your face, “Although, I am curious. I already gave you my word that I will treat your people well, why do you want to be involved with the policy making?”

“Because you are a conqueror, not a king,” you replied firmly, not ounce of doubt in your words, “at least to my people. You do not understand their temperament and their customs, just as I do not understand yours. If they sense that your new laws do not actively seek out what’s best for them, they will not follow them, marriage or not.”

For a moment, you feared that you had spoken too much, spoken out of turn for a mere prisoner of war, but Hyunjin gave a noise of understanding after considering your words, “I understand. You may be present for every council meeting.”

That surprised you, and you raised a suspicious eyebrow at the king. You had expected him to accept your advice, but you didn’t expect him to give you the permission to give your advice freely in front of his commanders. You didn’t know much about Hyunjin’s laws, but you studied your kingdom’s neighbors enough to know that this was quite unorthodox.

“What?” Hyunjin chuckled as he noticed your suspicious gaze, “You asked for it.”

“I just wasn’t sure your commanders would be very excited to see a woman tell them what to do,” you retorted dryly.

Hyunjin shrugged, looking not the least bit bothered, “If they aren’t, then they lose their post, that’s all,” before you could really acknowledge just how nonchalant he was about giving you power over his council, he looked at you expectantly, “Anything else?”

After pondering for a moment, your fingers fiddling with the sheets absently, you finally decided on the last condition.

“I will be your one and only.”

Hyunjin’s brow furrowed, and at first, you took it to mean discontent with your demand, but it was merely confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your cheeks grew a little hot as you were forced to elaborate on your rather embarrassing request, “You will not take another wife after you are done exploiting me to transition my kingdom into yours,” you spoke simply, not bothering to mince your words any further, “I won’t be arrogant enough to think that I can prevent you from finding a mistress--”

“I don’t want--” The king suddenly interrupted you, and his choked tone of voice was rather unexpected. Hyunjin looked at you as if he had something urgent to tell you, something that was close to bursting out of his mouth if he didn’t decide to say it himself. Yet, when he finally managed to speak, you knew it wasn’t the words he’d originally wanted to say.

“I don’t want a mistress. I have no intention of seeing anyone else romantically after you,” Hyunjin said firmly, his intense brown eyes staring deep into yours to convey his sincerity, “This condition, I can promise you easily.”

You nodded mutely, not wanting to admit how him treating your marriage with steadfast devotion made you feel. It was just purely for political purposes, after all.

“If you agree to uphold those three conditions,” you looked to Hyunjin as you spoke softly, your next words sealing your fate, “then I agree to your proposal.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Hyunjin let a flash of excitement pass across his face for a moment, “You’ll marry me?” he asked, and if you blinked, you’d missed the eagerness in his tone, “I want you to say it, Princess.”

“Why? Is my word not enough for you, Your Majesty?” Your lips quirked up in a dry smile.

“Are you really so cold as to deny me this one request?” As you gazed at the young king, you noticed the guarded look in his expression, as if he was bracing for you to snap, to lash out at him coldly.

You refused to let it get to you, but you were grateful that he was so receptive to your demands. As a princess of a once flourishing kingdom, you were no stranger to kings, princes, lords, and anyone else of that sort. None of them would ever dream of giving you the courtesy that the man was giving you at the moment. Perhaps you could return the favor at least a little.

“I want to marry you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s genuinely stunned expression stayed in your brain as you went to sleep that night, comfortably swathed in the king’s lavish silk and satin sheets.

iii.

“Not that I’m not excited to return, but why exactly are we going back to my kingdom for the wedding?” You asked curiously as you rode your horse through the mountainous roads necessary to cross into your side of the border, “Isn’t it dangerous to send a captured princess back to her own territory?”

“Ah, but you see,” Hyunjin smiled, the sunlight hitting his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal, “you’re not a captured princess. You’re my fiancé, and it’s a long standing tradition to marry at the bride’s hometown, is it not?”

You rolled your eyes discreetly at his shameless words, giving your horse a light bump of your leg to spur it ahead of Hyunjin’s. Damn northerners and their thick blood, you cursed as you shivered again, still not accustomed to the icy temperatures of the mountains even during the spring.

“Here,” A sudden weight on your shoulders pulled you out of your thoughts, one that was warm and soft. Feeling it with your hands and tilting your head to glance at it, your eyes widened.

“Hyunjin, you absolute idiot, this--”

“Is a royal cape? Yes, I know,” Hyunjin answered nonchalantly, his horse galloping leisurely beside yours.

You sputtered incomprehensibly until you finally managed to put words together, “Only the king can wear this!”

Hyunjin tilted his head towards you inquisitively, “And?”

“It’s basically law!” You exclaimed, wondering if the king truly had some issues like the rumors had stated during your time in the war. Shaking your head, your hand grabbed the edge of the cape, ready to rip it off you when Hyunjin’s hand lashed out, grabbing your hand and stopping your motions.

“Don’t,” his voice was stern as he looked into your eyes, and you felt your blood boil at the light show of concern in his expression, “You’re cold, right? It’ll keep you warm.”

“Did you not hear a word I said?” You scoffed, trying to pull yourself away from Hyunjin, but the road was only so wide, and there wasn’t much room for you to maneuver, “It’s a royal cape. Only the king is allowed to wear it.”

Hyunjin blinked, “Well, I’m the king, so my word is law,” he answered, looking not the least bit bothered, “and I’d rather keep my fiancé healthy than abide by some stuffy tradition.”

You were so flustered by his blunt words that you stopped fighting against his grip. The moment he felt the resistance flow out of your body, Hyunjin flashed you a charming smile before spurring his horse to take a pace just a little faster than yours.

Oh, so that was how he wanted to play. Scowling, you gently kicked the side of your horse, causing them to gallop past Hyunjin as your lips quirked into a pleased smile.

“You know, if you go any faster, you’ll lose our entourage,” Hyunjin mused as he easily urged his horse forward, matching your pace and riding side my side with you, the procession of knights, maids and servants following behind.

Glancing back, you noticed that they were a slight distance away and with a huff of air, you tugged at the reigns, slowing your horse to appease him, “Now, is that really such a bad thing?” you asked, blinking innocently.

Hyunjin gave you a wry smile, one that had grown warmer through the week you’d stayed at his palace. It was a rather strange predicament you had found yourself falling into. Realizing that there was no way for you to avoid the marriage, you had decided to do the only other thing possible to prevent it.

That was to be totally obnoxious to the point where the king would have no choice but to turn his nose up in scorn and leave you to be.

Except, it didn’t quite work that way, and on the contrary, Hyunjin seemed to enjoy bantering with you. In fact, you had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to pull it out of you, to push your buttons as much as you push his.

It wasn’t what you had hoped for, but it wasn’t there worst possible scenario.

“Hello? Y/N!” Hyunjin reached over, poking your cheek and pulling out a surprised squeak from you.

“What?” you snapped, blushing that you were caught so blatantly with your guard down.

The king gave you a strange glance, also noticing that you were unusually inattentive. His eyes studied your face with something akin to concern in his expression before he dropped the subject, “We’re here, the border.”

You looked around, immediately feeling the wave of nostalgia hit you in full force as you stood at the top of the mountain, gazing at the large expanse of your kingdom, or rather, what was once your kingdom. The lush green fields, the massive trees that looked like specs from where you were, and in the far distance, the capitol city. Your old home.

Suddenly, you felt a gentle nudge on your arm as Hyunjin looked at you, “Let’s scout ahead of the entourage.”

Despite your moment of weakness, you couldn’t help but smirk, sweetness dripping from your words, “Don’t you have scouts in your entourage, Your Majesty?”

“Very funny. You know what I mean,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but his expression curled into a sly smile as if daring, goading you towards something, “Don’t you want to race and see who’s really the better rider?”

A predatory smile appeared on your lips, your natural response due to how utterly competitive you were, “Are you sure you want your whole court to witness your loss?”

“Oh, please. You might never want to go out and ride with me again after you experience your crushing defeat.”

The grin you were showing was wicked, not so different from smile that would flit across your face during the heat of a battle, “Don’t run away crying when you lose.”

“I would never run away from you, Princess.”

You only gave him a saccharine smile in return, and without another word, you flicked your wrist, sending your horse forward with a burst of speed. There was no need to look back; Hyunjin was hot on your heels.

The two of you descended down the mountainous path, going faster than normal but staying mindful of the potential dangers. Once you made it to the flat plains, your smile widened and the two of your tore down the road.

For the first time since you’d lost your kingdom, you felt truly free, your long hair and the silk of your dress billowing behind you, the wind blowing in your face as you tore past the plains and into the woods. In a moment of consciousness, you could hear Hyunjin’s laugh from behind you, but you could hardly bring yourself to care. Let him chase you. It only made things more exciting.

You finally pulled your horse to a full stop as you reached the edge of the hill. Breathing heavily, you gazed as the winding road that sloped down, lower and lower until it reached the capitol city. You were home. You stared at the falling sun, the quaint little houses below, and you could almost smell the fresh bread at the corner bakery you frequented back when you were young. sneaking out of the palace because you hated the posh, white bread they served.

Hyunjin pulled his horse to wait beside yours, catching the peaceful smile on your face. There was something alluring about you when you fought against him, but seeing what you looked like when you tasted true happiness, it made his heart soften just a little.

“It’s beautiful,” he commented, slowing his horse down beside yours.

“You should see it during the lantern festivals,” you smiled, looking down at the immense city from a distance, “The city lights up at night, and no one sleeps that entire week.”

“Maybe we should come back to experience it one day,” Hyunjin suggested, his voice casual, but his eyes shrouded with slight uncertainty, knowing that he was probing into untapped territory.

To his surprise, the relaxed smile on your face remained, “That’s not a bad idea,” you mused. Rolling your shoulders, you let out a sigh, looking out at the city below.

Then, reality hit you like a club to the gut as your eyes caught sight of the flag that waved at the front of the castle. Distant, barely discernible, but you knew at a glance. It was not your kingdom’s flag, and it was the cruelest reminder of the reason you were allowed to come home in the first place.

The king followed your line of sight, curious as to what caused such a sudden change in mood. When his eyes fell to the flag looming over the city, it clicked, “Y/N,” he started, swallowing as he considered his words carefully, “I have to establish rule at least for a little--”

“Don’t patronize me,” Your voice was colder than ice, and Hyunjin cursed at ill fate of your relationship. Always half a step forward, then three steps back, “I’m no stranger to conquering cities. Let’s get to the palace before dark,” you flicked the reigns, prepping your horse to begin moving.

“Wait--” Hyunjin’s hand reached over to grab your wrist before he was even fully conscious of his own actions. Surprised, your head whipped around to look at his face before looking down at where his large hand completely wrapped around your thin wrist.

“We have quite some time before the sky begins to darken at all,” Hyunjin reasoned with you calmly, and his thumb brushed against the soft skin of your arm in an instinctive attempt to appease your obvious anger, “And the rest of the court has not yet caught up to us.”

“Do you want us to lay down a cloth on the grass and chat over some afternoon tea?” You scoffed, trying to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, squeezing his hand around your wrist as if he thought you would disappear right in front of him if he wasn’t touching you.

Hyunjin sighed, “I only want you to let me explain myself.”

If your anger had not boiled over before, it certainly did now. You rounded your horse to face him, your eyes burning with controlled fury, “Explain yourself? What exactly do you need to explain? Your kingdom conquered mine, lay siege to the capitol, burned down the cities in your path, and now you’re taking me as your trophy wife--”

“You’re not a trophy wife, Y/N,” Hyunjin finally interrupted you, his voice firm and steadfast. He looked you straight in the eye, his gaze never faltering as he spoke his mind, “I did not ask you to be my wife just to mutely sit by my side. I want your counsel, your advice, your opinion. You will be my Queen in both name and power.”

Taken aback by his words, your anger faltered and turned only into confusion, “Then,” you spoke, so flustered that you didn’t even notice Hyunjin’s hand had trailed down to hold your hand in his, “what was the point in conquering my country so completely, if you were planning to give me power in the first place?”

Hyunjin smiled, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You noticed that he smiled like that often; never quite looking fake but never truly happy either, “Your parents.”

Immediately, you stiffened, and just from your reaction, Hyunjin knew his explanation was partially complete, “I needed to remove them from the picture completely, and to do that, I needed a total victory.”

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in your gut. It was your mother and father that he was talking about! You should’ve been furious, spatting at the ground he walked on for his words to both of them, but in the end, you could only protest weakly, “Still, there was no need to--”

“You know they fed off the poor, right?” Hyunjin asked, his voice turning cold, “You know they corrupted the distribution of wealth and crops to fund their own gambling addiction, right?”

Your heart turned to ice as you stared at Hyunjin in absolute horror, “H-how did you--”

“Do you think your kingdom’s secrets stay inside the kingdom forever?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at your naivety, “Envoys talk, rumors spread. The king and queen of your kingdom were not fit to carry the weight of their people on their shoulders.”

Finally having enough of this pain, this scabs of your heart that Hyunjin was cruelly picking at, you snapped, turning your face away, “Then why marry me at all?! If you scorn at my parents’ corruption, why choose me? Is this just a twisted way of shoving their crimes into my face?”

“Because you’re not like them,” Hyunjin answered simply.

A bitter chuckle slipped past your lips, “You sound foolishly certain about that, Your Majesty.”

“I am,” The king did not mince his words. Why should he, when he knew it was true beyond a shadow of a doubt?

“I know you are nothing like them. You were their bandage, desperately trying to make up for their actions,” Hyunjin continued, “You compensated for their depletion of the bank with your own funds, you fed the poor from food storages hidden from the eyes of your parents.”

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes softened and he let warmth into his voice, “You fought me because of a war they started, and they intended you to be the only one who would pay the price for it.”

Your eyes felt uncomfortable tight as if you were about to cry, and under no circumstance were you going to let that happen in front of Hyunjin, “Why tell me all this now?” you asked, your voice uncharacteristically resigned as you kept your eyes trained at the distant palace, “You think I’m not fully aware of their cruelty? You think I haven’t spent my entire life trying to make up for my parents’ actions?”

Hyunjin didn’t speak for a moment, taking in the weight of your words, “If I may ask,” he started softly, “if you knew about it, why didn’t you overthrow them? You certainly had the resources and the support of your people.”

The question brought a dry smile to your face as you turned to look at Hyunjin, “You’re right,” you answered wryly, “why didn’t I? It would’ve been the most logical course of action, don’t you think?” Hyunjin had no answer, because he knew your question was merely a rhetorical one, and he wasn’t about to fall into another one of your honeytraps and let you dodge the question that has plagued his mind since he first crossed blades with you.

“There isn’t anything complicated to it, really,” you glanced at Hyunjin with a sort of resigned annoyance, “I just couldn’t bring it in me to betray my family.”

“Did they ever even give you anything?” Hyunjin asked incredulously, “Did they ever show you affection at all?”

The almost spiteful questions made you laugh bitterly, “No, not at all,” Turning to Hyunjin, you gave a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, “Foolish me, right?”

Hyunjin stared at you, the sly comeback on the tip of his tongue disappearing as soon as it appeared. Despite your cold expression, your eyes told the truth, and he could see that your heart pained at the notion of having covered for your parents since you were old enough to read, only for them to throw you to the wolves, betraying you for money.

“It isn’t foolish to love your parents,” Hyunjin answered softly, causing your eyes to widen in surprise, “It might be just an innate instinct to, even if they mistreat us.”

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, “Maybe you’re right.”

“You don’t have to feel guilt about what happened to them, you know,” Hyunjin turned to face the horizon where the sun was setting behind the palace.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t lie, it’s written all over your face,” Hyunjin said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “It’s killing you inside that you didn’t save your parents in time, right?”

You looked down at your hands, your heart burning with festering guilt, “How can I not?”

“You shouldn’t,” Hyunjin said bluntly, “They betrayed you to me, hoping that it would save them, when it only sealed their fate. There was nothing you could do about it.”

“I could’ve stopped you if I was only a moment earlier,” you argued, the guilt that had been bottled up inside you finally bursting out due to his prodding, “If I was only a little faster, then I would’ve--”

“Princess,” Hyunjin’s soft voice cut into your thoughts, “They didn’t deserve your kindness.”

You refused to admit how much his words soothed your anxiety, and in the dead of night, how they’d repeat in your head, allowing sleep to finally defeat the trauma your parents had instilled into you.

iv.

“Your Highness, please come sit down so I can do your hair!”

The sound of your exasperated maids filled your bedroom chamber as you huffed, tying your new silk robe in place before plopping down on the chair in front of the vanity, “What’s the rush? We have four hours before the wedding.”

Chaeryeong clicked her tongue in obvious exasperation, “Spending all your time out on the battlefield since birth, do you even know how much time it takes to get ready? Plus, you’re the future Queen, Your Highness! What would your husband think if you didn’t look prim and proper for the biggest event of your lives?”

Ah yes, your current fiancé.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Hyunjin was doing his utmost to get on your good side. The moment the two of you arrived at your palace, Hyunjin lavished his wealth on you and your upcoming wedding. Every day you spent with him, he’d give you a gift, ranging from a simple rose to silk robes made by the finest tailors on the continent. You’d told him over and over that you didn’t need extravagance like this, but the king paid you no mind, and the boxes continued to be delivered to your bedroom every day.

If you were being honest, your heart had begun to feel a little warmer to him, his gentle actions chipping at your icy walls. It wasn’t just the gifts, it was his unabashed care for you that made you think that he was almost excited to be married to you, a rather outrageous idea in itself.

“Your Highness!” a voice interrupted your thoughts as Yuna scurried over to you, “His Majesty is outside.”

“Outside of this room?” you asked, turning to face her in surprise.

She nodded in confirmation, “He says he has something to give you.”

Hyunjin stood at the other side of your door, already dressed immaculately in his uniform, spotless and practically dripping with charm. He had walked over to your bedroom, eager to present you with his daily gift when Yuna had slipped out and promptly stopped him from going in.

“I just want to give her a gift!” Hyunjin had protested weakly, but with how stern she was being, he felt like a scolded child rather than an all powerful ruler.

“I’m very sorry, Your Majesty, but you cannot see the Princess until the wedding ceremony.”

Hyunjin was practically pouting at that point, fiddling with the velvet black box in his hands, “Can I at least talk to her?” he asked, “I’ll slip it through the door.”

The maid gave him a weary look before relenting, “Fine. Wait here, Your Majesty.”

“Hyunjin?” you called out hesitantly from the other side of the door, his name no longer feeling foreign to your lips.

“How are you feeling?” Hyunjin asked, feeling the waves of anxiety calm just from hearing your voice. You couldn’t help but smile; even in this moment, where a typical king would already be in celebration with his friends, almost always in some sort of brothel, he still came to make sure you were alright.

“Nervous, but who wouldn’t be?” You chuckled, playing with the doorknob, and a part of you yearned to open the door just to get a look at Hyunjin’s face. The two of you have spent practically most hours of the day together for the last couple weeks, either dealing with foreign envoys sending their congratulations or revising the laws for your kingdom; it almost felt strange to not see him at all for the whole day.

You could hear shuffling from the other side before Hyunjin spoke uncertainly, “Oh, I have a gift for you.”

“Again?” A breathless laugh left your lips, “Hyunjin, you’ve already spent an unseemly amount of money on me these last few days!”

“I know, I know, but this one is special!” Hyunjin argued before his hand slipped through the crack, holding a black velvet box. You took it gingerly, still shaking your head in mild amusement as you opened the present, your jaw dropping.

“Hyunjin, this is…” your voice refused to work as you stared at the diamond necklace, individual gems lacing the front part of the chain, worth more than any of the jewelry your mother ever had, and certainly more than the ones in your possession that you’d buy from local jewelers to support their business.

“Do you like it?” Even without seeing him, you could hear the genuine eagerness in Hyunjin’s voice, and it warmed your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible, as if he had wrapped you up in fluffy blankets on a cold winter day.

You smiled, your fingers delicately brushing the silver chain, “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, before speaking a little louder in case Hyunjin didn’t hear you (he did), “It’s really beautiful, Hyunjin. Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence before Hyunjin spoke again, his voice softer than before, which made you lean closer to the door just to hear him. You could guess his purpose, to say something to you before the wedding and to keep it out of the ears of the nosy maids that were currently standing at the corner of your room, giggling and gossiping amongst themselves.

“I-I know that you never wanted this marriage.” Was that a stutter you heard? It couldn’t be.

Hyunjin cleared his throat before continuing, “I know, in some way, I forced you into this, and I apologize. I’ll do my very best to be a husband that is worthy of standing by your side.”

For a moment, you genuinely thought you were dreaming, the king’s words repeating in your head over and over and yet making no sense at all. Him being worthy of standing next to you? Who was the king here? Why was he lowering himself to your status?

“Hyunjin--” your hand was at the door, instinctively moving to push the door open so you could speak to him in person, but his reflex was just as fast, pushing back with his own hand and keeping the door shut.

“Don’t come out! You know it’s bad luck!” Hyunjin scolded you, his voice sounding slightly panicked.

You let out a sigh, wondering why everyone embraced so many of these superstitions, even him, “You’re right, the door stays closed,” you reassured him gently.

Hyunjin didn’t speak for a moment, and you almost thought he had left without a word when he began softly, “I know you didn’t want this marriage, but if your heart could have some room for me,” he swallowed, “any room at all, wear the necklace when you walk down the aisle.”

When you returned to the vanity, a dazed expression on your face as the maids giggled and continued to apply your makeup, you looked at your own appearance in the mirror, your hand gently brushing over the simple necklace that currently adorned your neck.

In accordance to the traditions of your kingdom, if your father was not alive to present you to your husband, it was expected of you to wear a gift from them as a symbol of their claim over you. The plain necklace with a single pearl charm in the center of it was the only jewelry you’d ever received from your father, and if you were being blatantly honest with yourself, you despised it.

Unconsciously, your other hand moved to rest atop the black velvet box now sitting on your vanity. Where your father’s jewlery felt like unwanted possession, you thought back to Hyunjin’s words.

“I’ll do my very best to be a husband that is worthy of standing by your side.”

Why did those words send your heart into rapid beating? Why did those words feel so freeing, hearing your husband-to-be proclaim before his vows with such intimacy, only for your ears?

It didn’t take more than two minutes to come to a decision. You knew the path you had to take, the one that would allow you to break from the past and the constant obligation you’ve always felt.

“Yuna.”

“Yes, Your Highness?” Your maid smiles, immediately standing to attention as you open the black box. The other maids gasped at the sight of such a priceless artifact before them.

“Help me replace my current necklace, please.”

The wedding went without a hitch and you were officially the bride of the most powerful man on the continent. Even as the feast proceeded, your people utterly ecstatic that their beloved princess had been married off in such style, you found yourself playing with the ring that weighed down your fourth finger. It was just felt...foreign.

As the night came to a close, and even the most drunken partygoers were politely escorted out of the palace gates, you were ushered into your bedroom by your maids, who looked a little too eager to have anything good planned.

“What are you all giggling about?” you sighed as they gently combed out the flowers in your hair.

“It’s your first night with the king, Your Highness!” Yuna answered, massaging your hands gently, “We have to pretty you up!”

“Oh?” you raised your eyebrows at her in suspicion before lightly jabbing her side, “Are you saying that I’m not pretty already?”

Yuna fluttered her lashes innocently, “I didn’t say that, Your Highness,” Yeji and Ryujin hid their smiles and you only rolled your eyes, never finding it in you to be hard on any of them. The five maids have been by your side since you were young, and you were more than elated when Hyunjin had agreed to summon them back to the palace despite that they, more often than not, made you want to tear your hair out.

Like right now.

“I am not wearing that,” you shook your head, your voice dropping into a low growl. But one thing that always drove you a little insane, none of the girls were afraid of you.

Lia held up the lace sleepwear, smiling at you, “Hm? Why ever not?” She asked, as if the robe wasn’t practically sheer and leaving almost nothing to imagination.

“I’m dressing to go to bed!”

“Yes, going to bed with him, your new husband!” Chaeryeong laughed ushering you behind the divider, “Come on, you’re wearing that nightgown or we’ll tell His Majesty about the time you tried to climb the tower--”

“Fine! Demons, all of you,” you growled without any bite to it, and the only response were the laughter and giggles of your handmaidens.

Hyunjin walked towards the bedroom, still wearing his uniform from the ceremony. Every few steps, he’d glance at the ring on his fourth finger. It wasn’t anywhere near the most expensive piece of jewelry he owns, but you had chosen it for him. You, his newly wedded wife. It made him positively giddy just thinking about it, but he contained himself because he was a king, for goodness sakes.

The door to his bedroom opened as the maids excused themselves. He recognized them as your handmaidens, especially because you had personally went up to him to request--no, demand politely--that they be brought back to your side.

What was curious, though, was the way they were giggling amongst themselves, giggling that only grew when they spotted Hyunjin in the corridor. They gracefully curtsied at him before practically sprinting down the hall.

Hyunjin shook his head with a resigned smile as he opened the door to your now shared bedroom, “Your handmaidens were giggling nonstop as they walked out--”

The king’s voice completely failed to work for a solid minute as he gazed upon your figure, abashedly sitting on the edge of the bed. While he’d always thought you were beautiful, ever since the first, bloody meeting with your swords clashing, this was the first time he realized that you weren’t just beautiful, you were utterly divine.

Whatever self restraint he had, the secret affection he’d buried for so long, it burst out like a raging fire.

“Hyunjin--” your words were cut short as the man rushed forward, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips smashed against yours, taking the gasp of surprise right out of you.

It was unreal, the way you were being kissed, the way Hyunjin was kissing you. It was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like a gust of wind was sweeping you off your feet. His lips were both gentle and insistent, tugging and giving to you in a way that gave you no choice but to let him in.

Your hands gripped at his uniform as Hyunjin hovered over you, his hands ghosting over your bare thighs as he gently guided you to lie down on the bed, never once pulling away from you. Hyunjin’s hands were roaming everywhere, cupping your face to touched the lace fabric on your waist.

His name fell out of your lips as he squeezed your thighs, his tongue coming to explore your mouth with a sort of urgency. It felt like the more you gave him, the more he took.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out as he finally pulled away for a moment to breathe, his lips inches away from yours. Glancing down, his hand trailed to your neck, leaving featherlight touches on the soft skin as he marveled at the way you looked all splayed out on the bed for him, “And that necklace, it looked stunning…” he trailed off as he began to work at your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin.

He was just so good. His hands knew exactly where to touch, where to be gentle. His lips knew when to be soft and when to be aggressive. As your hands instinctively moved to card through his soft black hair, a small part of you, a tiny speck of doubt in your mind festered. How many times has he done this to be so experienced? How many have been in the receiving end of his ceaseless praises and touches?

It was only a hint of doubt, and you tried to shove it within the depths of your mind. Hyunjin’s relationships before your marriage shouldn’t matter, and to be brutally honest, you didn’t hold yourself in high enough esteem to think that you’d be able to keep his interest for even more than a few days. As your mother had once said in scorn, you were more soldier than lady.

When Hyunjin’s lips trailed from your collarbones to just above your breasts, you began to squirm a little, the panic slowly seeking into your body. The king, enraptured by his actions, continued to travel lower and lower, and the anxiety in your chest only grew until it snapped as his hands slipped under your nightgown.

“H-Hyunjin—wait—stop, please stop—” you gasped out, frantically beginning to struggle and writhe beneath him. There wasn’t much of a fight, however, because the moment your panicked tone made it to Hyunjin’s ears, he backed away, completely getting off you and kneeling beside your breathless form, his eyes wide with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before.

Horror.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he choked out as his hands fluttered anxiously around you, debating whether or not to help you or not to touch you out all. In the end, his hands delicately rested on your shoulder as he helped you sit up. Stupid, why couldn’t he read the signs?

You shook your head as you began to shiver, the heated atmosphere from before now fading from your bones, “N-no, I’m sorry,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around your body as if to protect yourself. From him. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Don’t be sorry. It was my fault,” Hyunjin said firmly, and he grabbed one of his robes that were hanging somewhere in the bedroom, quickly returning to your side and throwing it over your shoulders, wrapping you up in clothing that actually covered you.

What had happened? Hyunjin knew you were enjoying it at the onset. He could feel you kissing back, getting swept away as your hands lightly tugged at his hair. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have went so far to the point where he lost control of his own desire. When did you start panicking?

“No, not at all, Your Majesty,” you spoke softly, tugging at the robe around your shoulders to wrap it tighter around your frame, and Hyunjin had to physically hold back a flinch as his title fell out of your lips. You were his wife, for god’s sake! You didn’t need to call him that.

“I’m just...I’m merely overreacting,” you continued, hugging your knees to your chest and looking smaller than he’d ever seen you, “I understand that it’s a queen’s duty to...produce an heir,” you dipped your head, avoiding his eyes, “And I know this is a rather outrageous request, but I don’t want this until there’s at least some sort of affection between us.”

Hyunjin took a moment to process your words before his eyes widened. Oh dear, you’ve got this all wrong. You truly didn’t know. You didn’t know how much thought he’d put into the gifts he sent you. You didn’t know the way he’d tossed and turned the night before the wedding, childishly giddy at the very thought of marrying you. You didn’t know and didn’t realize it at all.

But it was alright. He could tell from just one look at you that you weren’t ready. And that was alright. He would wait. He’d wait his whole lifetime for you.

“You aren’t overreacting,” Hyunjin said, his voice gentle as he moved to stroke your soft hair, “And you aren’t my queen just to produce an heir, you’re much more than that. I won’t ever push you until you’re ready.”

Your eyes widened at his words and your head whipped up to look at Hyunjin, who was now sitting on his legs on the bed in front of you, “B-but, what would people say?” you asked.

“We can pretend if it makes you uncomfortable, and if I hear any malicious rumors, I’ll put a stop to them,” Hyunjin answered, not an ounce of doubt in his words.

Despite your shaken state, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly, “How very terrifying, no wonder they call you the Ice King of the North,” this wasn’t the first time you’ve used that nickname on him, but it no longer held the malice it used to. Rather, there was a small playfulness to it, a gratitude for him being so understanding.

Hyunjin was happy to play along, anything to make you feel more at ease around him, “That’s a total farce,” he grumbled, “I never tortured soldiers for information, I just predicted their moves. I don’t need to stoop that low to win my battles.”

“Oh, you poor little one,” you said with mock pity, reaching up to pet his hair as if soothing a child.

“Little one?” Hyunjin’s lips curled into a smirk as he rounded on you like a predator stalking its prey, “Are you sure I’m the little one here?”

“Hyunjin,” you warned, although it was hard to fight the smile from appearing on your face as you scooted away from you, “Don’t you--Hyunjin!”

You let out a squeal as Hyunjin pounced on you, attacking mercilessly with tickles as you fought back with the same amount of vigor. It was no use, though; Hyunjin was broader and had more than a head over you in height.

Your hand managed to latch onto a pillow and you took it smacking the side of his face hard with the fluffy object. The tide was turned, and you managed to slither out from under him, hitting him as you laughed.

When you finally fell back on the bed, breathless and giggling, Hyunjin rolled over to you slowly. Cautiously, his hand wrapped around your waist, and to his utter surprise, you made no moves to push him away. Instead, you looked comfortable with the gesture, letting him pull you to his side gently.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

“What?” You looked up in surprise, feeling yourself snug against his chest as Hyunjin hummed, silently moving the covers up over your shoulders to keep you warm.

“I’m glad I married you,” Hyunjin murmured again, resting his head on yours.

You were silent for a long moment, his words ringing in his head. They were so gentle, so outrageously innocent for a man who you’d hated only a few weeks before. Slowly, your hand shifting, gently resting on his chest as you spoke softly, “I’m...glad it’s you, too.”

Hyunjin’s body tensed in surprise as if he wasn’t quite expecting you to parrot the words to him at all, and especially in that soft voice that only came out when you were showing your most vulnerable sides to him. His arm tightened around your waist as you closed your eyes, happily nestled in the embrace of your new husband.

interlude.

“Your Majesty. Your Majesty!” A servant waved his hand urgently as he rushed down the hallway.

Hyunjin stopped short in his conversation with one of his commanders, Minho, spinning on his heels to address the man, “Yes, what is it?”

“Here is the invitation list for Her Majesty’s coronation,” he said, handing Hyunjin a long piece of parchment paper. The king unrolls the document, scanning through the guest list quickly before rolling it back in place, “Do away with this list.”

The messenger gawked at his request, utterly dumbfounded, “Your Majesty?” He stammers, puzzled.

“This list only includes the most high ranking officials and lords of the kingdom,” Hyunjin handed the parchment back to the messenger, “I want the throne room opened to all.”

“All?” Hyunjin’s commander sputtered, finally interjecting into the conversation, “Your Majesty, that would be a huge risk to take regarding security! Anyone could potentially sneak in and--”

“My Queen is not the type to only care for the noblemen, but also the rest of our people. We’ve already discussed it in length. She wants the common people present at her coronation as well,” Hyunjin replied.

Minho bristled internally. It had only been a few weeks since the king had brought home his new bride. The fact that he had not consulted with any of his military and economic advisors was already outrageous, and what made it even worse was how obviously besotted with her he was.

Minho disliked her, along with the rest of the nobles. She was foreign blood and she was a technical prisoner of war. She also seemed to prioritize the commoners more than the people that actually paid for this monarchy. She threw a wrench in their plans, and they all hated her.

“Commander? Do you have anything to say in your defense?” The king’s icy tone broke into the man’s thoughts, Hyunjin’s eyebrow raised expectantly.

It was only too bad that the king protected the queen almost more than he did his own life.

“Nothing, Your Majesty. You are right, of course,” The experienced commander knew when to show his white flag, dipping his head in agreement. There was no point in angering his king over something as trivial as this.

Hyunjin obviously didn’t buy his saccharine sweetness, but he wasn’t petty enough to point it out either, “Speaking of the Queen,” he turned to the messenger, “would you happen to know where she is right now? She had wandered off to explore the palace after our military meeting adjourned.”

“Ah,” the poor boy blushed, feeling quite suddenly put on the spot as he answered, “I believe I saw her wandering into the garden, Your Majesty.”

The king could not hide a fond smile from flitting across his face in a brief moment of weakness, “I see, thank you,” he nodded at the boy, and the messenger was more than happy to excuse himself from Hyunjin’s presence. Finally left alone with the commander, Hyunjin turned to him smoothly, “Continuing our previous conversation, I will not enforce a toll between the borders of mine and the Queen’s kingdom. If you don’t have anything else to discuss, you are excused.”

Ah, it’s always the Queen, the Queen, the Queen. Minho thought it was nothing short of repulsive at how only the name of the woman would have his king turning over and showing his belly like an excited kitten. Gritting his teeth, he bowed, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

If this goes on any further, Minho might have to take matters into his own hands. But, for the moment, he didn’t need to get his hands dirty yet. A smile quirked up on his face as he mused about certain...possibilities. Maybe, with the coronation open to all, he wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.

vii.

To be honest, when Hyunjin was growing up, he had believed himself incapable of love. When his father had died early on in his life, he was raised by a mother that knew nothing but greed and a thirst for power. She controlled him like a puppet on strings, using her own son as a vessel for her own agendas. It had taken all of Hyunjin’s effort to finally break free from his mother’s clutches, and when he emerged into the world as a young king, he realized that he was well and truly destined to be alone.

But as he walked around the royal gardens, in search of his wife, his heart making a light skip at the mere prospect of seeing her, he wonder if this was what love was supposed to feel like. And as he stopped short, seeing the back of a familiar woman sitting on the bank of a small pond, her simple, yet elegant dress splayed out gracefully on the ground, he knew this was exactly what love was supposed to feel like.

Smiling to himself, the king walked over to you, shedding his uniform jacket and gently draping it over your small form, “Spending time with the bunnies again?”

You barely bat an eyelash as the familiar weight of Hyunjin’s coat fell upon your shoulders, holding onto it to keep warm as you smiled up at him, “Didn’t Commander Lee want to speak with you alone? What are you doing out here?”

“The conversation was more trivial than I’d expected, so I cut it short,” Hyunjin waved off your worries, sitting down on the grass beside you. Suddenly to his right, two small, cream colored bunnies jump out from the bushes, bounding over to you, already familiar with your presence since you’ve spent much of your free time here.

“Are you sure you should be making your displeasure so obvious? You know we rely on their military strength,” you spoke as you gently reached out to one of the bunnies, tickling its nose with your finger, a light frown on your face as you looked at Hyunjin.

“I’ve made it very clear what I expect from them, and yet they keep disobeying me,” Hyunjin muttered, angrily ripping at the grass to vent his obvious frustrations.

As you studied Hyunjin’s face, you couldn’t help but sense that there was more to his anger at his commanders than he was letting on, “There’s something else, isn’t there?” you approached him cautiously.

Hyunjin looked up at you, surprised, “What do you mean?” One of the bunnies hesitantly bounded over to him, and the king awkwardly pet them, trying his best to be gentle, especially after you’d given him a big scolding about being to aggressive with them a few weeks ago.

“You’re not just angry because they question your policies,” you explained, your eyebrows furrowed in gentle concern, “I mean, I question you all the time, and we’ve only been married for a few weeks.”

The king couldn’t help but chuckle at that, “But it’s different when it’s you.”

“Why? Because we’re married?” you laughed at the sheer cheesiness of the statement, giggling as Hyunjin nuzzled his face into your shoulder playfully.

“What else could it be, darling?” the name fell out of his lips so naturally, he almost had to do a double take with how close he was to saying it like he genuinely meant it, and not just as a lighthearted joke between the two of you.

Instead of pushing him away, you smiled, reaching to gently ruffle his hair, “Don’t avoid the question,” you murmured softly, “what’s got you all worked up?”

Hyunjin debated for a moment before sighing. He could never refuse you of anything, “I don’t like how they treat you,” he said, his voice flat, “I don’t like the way they glower at you when they think you don’t notice, the way they keep trying to subtly tell me to find another wife.”

There was a moment of silence as you stated at him, almost dumbfounded. Then, to Hyunjin’s utter surprise, your lips curled into an amused smile, “That's it?”

Oh, the utter nerve of you! Hyunjin would feel offended if it weren't for the fact that he was angry for your sake in the first place, “That's it?” He repeated in disbelief, “Aren't you annoyed at all? They dislike you for no reason other than the fact that you're not one of them. Doesn't that make you even a little angry?”

“Why should it?” You merely shrugged your shoulders, smiling down at the bunny that was burrowing into your stomach for warmth, “Their twisted thinking is not my responsibility to change. If they're determined to hate me, no amount of money, fear or kindness will change that.”

It was quite amazing, seeing you so nonchalant. Hyunjin had done his best to help you adjust to the new customs, the colder weather, everything that might potentially pull you out of your comfort zone, but you took everything with such grace, such an aura of indifference. It almost turned him on every time he saw you brush off Minho’s jagged comments about your appearance, your background, your parent's crimes with a simple quip in return that would turn the commander's face a shade of deep red.

“You’re unreal,” The words fell off of Hyunjin’s lips before he could even process them. You're unreal? Hwang Hyunjin, you're supposed to be a notoriously smooth talker, a true diplomat!

The look on your face showed your surprise at his sudden comment as you asked almost worriedly, “What’s going on with you today?”

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin cleared his throat, desperate to salvage this rather awkward conversation.

“Well, you seem more emotionally charged than normal,” you commented, “Did something happen?” A mischievous sparkle appeared in your eyes, “Someone catch your eye?”

“Of course. You.”

“Flattery won't make me go easy on you during our sparring practice,” you hummed absently, all of your attention devoted to the bunny in your lap as you tickled its nose with your gentle finger, cooing.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but pout as his advances were all being brushed away, and he felt a little like a shy prince courting a lady for the first time. He glanced at the bunny with an expression akin to mild disdain, “You seem to play favorites, My Queen.”

You chuckled, lifting the small creature into your hands as it curiously sniffed at you, “Well, Sungie enjoys my company, too, more so than the others.”

“Sungie?” Hyunjin repeated the name. He disliked it, mentally apologizing to whoever he’d meet in the future that had the unfortunate fate of being named Sungie.

His blood boiled in a way that a petulant child’s would as he watched you giggle, pressing a light kiss to the bunny’s nose. Wonderful. Not only was this Sungie stealing your attention, he was stealing your kisses, too. When was the last time you kissed him?

Far too long ago.

Hyunjin sighed, and he gave up on his attempts to steal your attention, opting to tell you the more important news, “Your coronation is confirmed for next week.”

Your entire body froze, and you placed Sungie back into your lap, “That’s early,” you responded, and Hyunjin didn’t miss the thin layer of tension in your voice, the only sign that becoming the queen of two kingdoms was more daunting to you than you like to show, “I thought you said the nobles would never agree to it.”

“I think they grew tired of opposing you, since it’s so goddamn hard,” Hyunjin said, and your lips quirked into a wry smile, unconsciously driving him to do the same, “The head of staff gave me the normal list of the same, boring rich military men, but I told him to change it according to what we’d discussed.”

You didn’t speak for a long moment, your eyes drifting off into the distance as if thinking very carefully until his name fell out of your lips, “Hyunjin.”

“Yes?” The king tilted his head towards you inquisitively.

“Aren’t you tired of me telling you what to do?” You asked, meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression on your face, “You married me, the princess of a defeated kingdom, and I prance around making my own rules and then now uprooting your traditions. Aren’t you annoyed at least?”

Hyunjin only shrugged, “I didn’t chose you out of all people to be my queen just for you to stay silent,” he answered before letting out a fond chuckle, “And besides, you never tell me what to do. You just come in with a strong suggestion and we either argue about it civilly or we duel it out. That’s called council, and it’s exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”

For the first time, you stared at Hyunjin in a new light. Was it just because of his words, or was your heart fluttering because of him? Hyunjin didn’t seem to notice how much his words meant to you, beginning to click his tongue sweetly at one of the nearby bunnies, petting their soft fur. Strange, he didn’t seem this attractive the few times he’d done this before.

“Are you alright?” The man in your thoughts interrupted your daydreaming, “You’ve gone all quiet.”

You could only hope that the warmth on your cheeks didn’t show, “I’m alright,” you replied quickly, diverting your attention to Sungie, who had woken up, trying to burrow himself in your lap, “Just thinking about the coronation.”

“I see. Are you excited?”

“Excited?” You repeated with a chuckle, “I can’t say I’m dreading it, but would anyone be excited to carry the weight of two kingdoms on their shoulders?”

“Not everyone thinks about ruling in that way,” Hyunjin reasoned, reaching for one of the bunnies.

You shrugged, “Maybe, but I don’t want to treat my power like something I can carelessly wield--ah, not that aggressively!” Your eyes widened as you grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist when you noticed him reach for one of the bunnies without letting it come to him.

“Why? I was going slow!” Hyunjin spoke defensively, all of his senses heightened at the feeling of your small yet firm grip around his wrist. Cute, your hand didn’t even completely wrap around his.

“Wait for him to come to you,” you instructed him, guiding his hand forward in the right movements to beckon some of the bunnies over to him. All your attention was diverted to helping him, and yet, Hyunjin could not take his eyes off your face, your perfect features, the kindness in your eyes, and those perfectly kissable lips.

He couldn’t wait until the day that a golden crown would adorn your hair, and you would sit in the throne beside him, a spot that no one else but you were worthy of.

viii.

“Are you nervous?”

“Do you want me to lie to you and say that I’m not?” You replied from where you were standing in front of the full length mirror, Yeji and Ryujin putting on the last few accessories of your coronation dress. Per your request, the gown was bold, dark red chiffon falling to the ground with accents of gold plated metal on your shoulder plates. It was a statement, a statement that would tell Hyunjin’s kingdom that you were no prisoner, and a statement that would tell your own kingdom that you were still their princess in heart and soul.

Hyunjin leaned against the doorframe, watching you get ready and conversing with you. For a brief moment, you wondered if he’d sensed your nerves that morning, and had come to bother you only to get your mind off of the main event.

You stared at your own reflection, unwavering. But yet, the woman that stared back at you, the woman who was about to be crowned the queen of two powerful kingdoms, felt unfamiliar. This, this powerful woman, she didn’t feel like you. What good have you ever done with your power? What good will you ever do with your new power?

“Yeji, Ryujin, leave us,” Hyunjin suddenly spoke up, although not unkindly. The two handmaidens slipped their hands away from their work, having only to check the corset straps before they were done with you.

When they left the room, you watched silently in the mirror as Hyunjin pushed off from the doorframe and made his way towards you. The king didn’t seem to be in a rush to speak either, and he took the corset straps delicately in his hands before securing the corset.

“I’m not ready,” Hyunjin said softly as he concentrated on his task, “That was the only thought running through my head on the day of my coronation.”

You didn’t speak, taking in the weight of his words, “I remember,” you answered softly, and as you watched Hyunjin’s brow furrow in concentration as he checked your corset, you couldn’t help but notice how intimate the moment was. “You were only fifteen when the former king passed away.”

“I was groomed for this role all my life,” Hyunjin hummed, slipping his finger into a few of the corset layers to loosen it just a little so you could breathe easier, “Ever since I was born, every waking moment was spent preparing me to be king, and yet, when I stood up there, I never felt more like an imposter than at that moment.”

It was surprising, hearing that Hyunjin, such a cool, levelheaded monarch even at his young age didn’t feel like he belonged on that throne, even though he of all people deserved to sit in it. You didn’t think that he did before, but after seeing him, spending every day supporting him, you realized that, beneath his disarming smile, his heart was gentle and he cared oh so much.

“My Queen,” your eyes widened as you felt Hyunjin take your hands in his, and you turned to face him, admiring the beautiful features that adorned his face. You could count his eyelashes, gazing into the plethora of hazel brown shades in his soft eyes, his soft, plump lips looking so kissable.

Hyunjin held your hands delicately, rubbing his thumbs against the back of them in an effort to soothe your worries, “You will be the most beloved Queen that the kingdom has ever had,” he murmured, “It might not be immediate, and it might not be in the next week, but there’s no one else that is worthy of the title.”

“When will I feel that way?” You swallowed as you looked into his eyes, letting your vulnerability show, “When will I ever feel that I’m ready?”

The king smiled at the question, squeezing your hands, “You won’t,” he said, an almost bitter taste to his words, “You will never stop second guessing yourself, no matter how long you wear that crown,” Hyunjin didn’t mince his words, knowing that you didn’t need shallow reassurance right now. You needed the truth.

“But, you can’t stop just because you don’t believe you’re ready,” he continued, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “Just know, you’re enough. You will always be enough.”

Goddamnit, Hyunjin was making it very hard for you not to fall in love with him.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself as you felt the tension leave your shoulders, “Feel better?” Hyunjin gave you an encouraging smile, seeing you that you looked more like your usual self.

“Much,” you smiled up at him, reaching a gentle hand up to brush a stray strand of hair away from his face.

An hour later, you knelt before Hyunjin on the velvet carpet your head dipped down as the king recited the vows, the vows in which you were taking as the new queen. The pews were filled to the brim with people of all kinds, merchants, farmers, blacksmiths, maids, everyone eagerly trying to get a glimpse of you, your dress, your appearance.

You repeated the vows, and with the dumb stroke of luck, your nerves refused to get the best of you, and you managed to go through the three-page long speech without any major slips. The crowd let out gasps of wonder as the crown, a marvelous artifact in itself with its gold base, its red rubies and diamond embellishments, was taken off its safe place on a red cushion. And with the gentlest of touches, Hyunjin slipped the crown atop your head as you looked down at the ground beneath his feet. As you lifted your head, you could’ve sworn Hyunjin had given you the most fleeting of winks, but you felt an ease flood through your jittery bones.

He stretched out his hand to you, gentle and inviting, and you slipped your hand in his, letting him help you up. Subconsciously, you held back the sudden urge to lean forward and press your lips against his. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin was restraining himself from doing just that.

As the two of you turned to face the adoring crowd, Hyunjin called out in a booming voice, “Long live the Queen!”

The sentiment carried on and on, echoing in the halls as you held Hyunjin’s hand tightly. You could feel the glower on the faces on the nobles, glaring at you with constrained hatred, but you could care less. The people wanted you, accepted you as their queen, and that was more than enough for you.

Smiling up at Hyunjin, feeling relief flood through your bones, the two of you were filled with glee as the cup bearer came out with the two glasses of wine to complete the ceremony, the unification of the king and queen.

“Want to give them something to remember?” Hyunjin murmured in your ear, taking his own glass.

“And how do we do that?” You smiled, raising the glass of red wine to him gracefully.

The king’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that only appeared when he was truly happy, when he was utterly content, and one of his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you snug against him. The other, holding the wine glass in hand, looped around yours as the people began to clamor excitedly at the spectacle, “Like this, obviously.”

The close proximity made you blush, and you stared at Hyunjin, your heart pounding.

“What’s wrong?” He teased you, leaning closer, “Too shy?”

No, it wasn’t that, you thought as the two of you linked arms, getting ready to drink the wine together. All the moments your heart had fluttered, all the moments you felt as if time stood still whenever he held your hand, it all pieced together like a puzzle that was meant for only you to solve.

Ah, you really did love Hwang Hyunjin.

Tipping the glass upward, you caught sight of a small commotion in the pews behind Hyunjin. It sounded different from the excited squeals and gasps of the rest of the crowd at you and Hyunjin’s show of affection. It sounded almost like…

A man burst out from the seats, jumping over the rows as people screamed in terror and tried their best to get out of harms’ way. In that moment, you assumed he was here to attack you, especially with the manic look in his eyes and the razor sharp knife gripped in his hand. Hyunjin had warned you, after all, that not everyone in his kingdom was pleased that he’d married a princess from a foreign land they were at war with.

But he wasn’t aiming at you. He was aiming at Hyunjin.

Out of pure hatred and craze, he reached the two of you, slipping out of the guards’ grasp and advancing towards Hyunjin, his knife ready to sink into his heart. There wasn’t a moment left for hesitation, and in that split second, you lashed out, standing in front of Hyunjin and intercepted the knife with your hand.

Time stood still as your own life blood trickled down your arm, the horrified gasps of the crowd became irrelevant, and you finally got a good look of who was trying to kill your husband. Your eyes widened, and from the distant past, you recognized the man.

“Y/N!” Hyunjin’s voice broke you from your moment of epiphany, and you realized that the guards were already onto him, even as you gripped the knife harder, digging it further into your palm as the attacker struggled to pull it out.

“Wait,” you grit your teeth at the pain, glaring at the guards and tilting your head. Reluctantly, they pulled away from the man, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of watching this random person, this crazed attacker, hurt their newly crowned queen.

“Y/N--”

“I said, wait.”

Even Hyunjin froze at your tone, and the crowd died down, their earlier cries turning into conspiratorial whispers. What was the Queen doing? Has she gone mad? Is she ordering the King around?

Ignoring the commotion, the obvious stain that was now forming in your reputation, you looked the man straight in the eye and asked softly, “You’re...you’re one of my soldiers from the war, aren’t you?”

The man’s jaw went slack, utterly dumbfounded that his commander, and now his new queen had remembered him, a lowly foot soldier that lagged behind in the last regiments, “Your Majesty,” he stuttered over his own words. In his eyes, there was no anger left, only horror at what he had done, what he could’ve done, “I didn’t mean to--I only wanted some form of satisfaction.”

“I know,” you answered softly, loosening your grip on the knife as you noticed that his earlier resolve was crumbling. The man sank to his knees before you, and to the sheer horror of the noblemen in the crowd, you did the same for him, “I know. But this isn’t the way to achieve it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y-your Majesty--” At last, the man dropped the knife and you let go, allowing the bloodied weapon to clatter to the floor. You ignored the rest of the world, you ignored the blood flowing freely from your wound, and you leaned forward, murmuring the words that you always uttered to your soldiers before every battle.

“Do you trust me?”

The man hesitated for a moment before answering softly, but without doubt, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

You smiled, “Then I will rebuild our kingdom in a way that will make you proud. I swear it.”

Knowing that your job was done, you backed away, and the man allowed the guards to take him away without any resistance. Then, from your right, you could hear Minho snicker under his breath, covering their mouths with mock politeness, and your face burned.

“Some queen she is.”

Despite the walls that you put up to hide your fears, your anxieties, you were only human, and you avoided the gaze of the crowd, knowing what they must think. A lowly queen that would bow before her own subjects, make promises to them rather than keeping her head high and mighty.

You didn’t regret what you did for a moment, but you knew how terrible this must look, and how awfully this might impact Hyunjin.

The sound of soft clapping made your ear twitch. Then, it grew louder, it grew into cheers, it grew into clamoring, until by the end, the hall was filled with the excited sounds of the people, drowning out the mocking laughter of the noblemen. You stared out into the crowd in dumbfounded awe as the roaring chant reverberated in your ears.

“Long live the Queen!”

ix.

“Ow!”

You let out a hiss of pain as you sat in your nightgown by the vanity, your injured hand outstretched so it could be treated properly.

Ryujin clicked her tongue in mild annoyance, “Hurts, right? Maybe you should remember that the next time you grab a blade with your bare hands!” She snapped as she dabbed at the cut with a purple salve that the doctor had given you.

Glancing at her, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly, “You get so mad when you’re worried.”

“Who says I’m worried?” Ryujin scoffed, but both of you knew she was playing a bluff. Of course she worried, she worried the most out of all of your handmaidens, only hiding it with her brash attitude.

A soft creak of the door alerted the both of you, and Ryujin was halfway out of her seat already to berate whoever was walking in without knocking when she froze, immediately dipping her head respectfully as Hyunjin stepped into the room.

You averted your eyes instantly, finding some very intricate patterns on the marbled floor as you refused to look at him. Hyunjin was the only person you haven’t spoken to since the coronation early that day, and there was no way he wouldn’t be angry.

Hyunjin raised a brow, noting your actions the moment he walked in. If there was one thing you always did, even since the first meeting, it was to look straight into his eyes. You were probably the first to do it with such vigor, staring back at him as if practically daring him to challenge you. It was hard not to notice when you suddenly began to look away.

“Ryujin, please fetch us some tea, if you will,” Hyunjin spoke lightly as he walked over to the vanity, standing beside the two of you.

Your maid glanced at you, and you gave her a weak smile, lifting your unharmed hand to rest on hers, “It’s alright. I can finish bandaging it, really.”

“Fine,” Ryujin stood up after a moment, brushing off her dress, “you better do it right. Don’t forget that time you refused to clean the cut on your leg after sword practice and the doctor threatened to chop your limb off when it got all gross and infected,” you could only stare at her back, utterly betrayed as she skipped off to do as the king commanded.

As the door shut behind her, you were hyper aware that it was only you and Hyunjin in the room, and the silence was more torturous than anything you’d ever experienced. Keeping your head down, you heard as Hyunjin took Ryujin’s earlier seat.

“Here,” you flinched a little as you saw his hand outstretched, his palm facing upwards.

“I’m...sorry…?”

“Your hand, please,” Hyunjin sighed, wanting more than anything to take your hand himself and bandage it as tightly as possible, but he’d wait. He’d always wait.

Hesitantly, you extended your hand, resting it on his with your palm facing up, giving him a clear view of the rather ghastly cut, which went deeper than he’d assumed earlier. With delicate fingers, he scooped up a dollop of the salve before gently applying it. You immediately recoiled at the sting, but Hyunjin gripped your hand tightly.

“Keep still,” he said firmly, focusing all his attention on treating your cut. You glanced at the way his fingers gently pressed against your palm, the way he handled you with such care, care that you’ve never experienced before, and slowly, the guilt the coiled in your stomach began to crawl up and out of your throat.

“Hyunjin, I’m--”

“Why did you do that?”

His voice was tight as he interrupted you, reaching over to the vanity table and grabbing the roll of gauze while he waited for your answer. You didn’t speak for a long moment because--if you were being completely honest--you weren’t sure what came over you at that moment.

“He was a soldier in my army during the war,” you explained cautiously as Hyunjin began to wrap the bandages around your hand, “He was obviously more desperate than malicious, and–”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hyunjin’s patience finally snapped as he tied the bandage tightly, causing you to let out a wince. You finally looked at his face out of confusion, and he gripped your wrist, holding up your injured hand.

“Why did you do this?” He clenched his jaw as everything that he'd bottled inside since the coronation spilled out of his lips, and he stared into your eyes with such an intensity, it felt as if you were being consumed by his desperation, “The blade could've been rusted, poisoned, anything! What if you ended up having to amputate your whole hand just because of this? What if you died? Did you even think about yourself for a moment?”

“I didn't,” you said softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you confessed, “I wasn't thinking about myself at all, alright?”

Hyunjin looked taken aback, “Then what were you thinking?” He asked, his voice still hard as he clutched your hand in his, “What on earth were you thinking about that could possibly make you risk your own life--”

“I was thinking about you!” You finally blurt out, looking down at your lap, too ashamed to even look him in the eye as your voice grew weak, “All I could think about was you, you getting hurt, and I realized that I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

A tense silence filled the room as you waited for Hyunjin to snap, to scoff at your weakness, to realize that you weren’t as strong as he once imagined you to be.

Your eyes widened when you felt gentle fingers tilt up your chin, guiding you to look up at Hyunjin. To your surprise, he looked almost pained as he shifted closer to you, his thumb brushing your cheek as he whispered, “Don’t say that.”

Confused, you let Hyunjin caress your soft cheeks, seeing that he looked almost desperate to touch you, “Say what?” You probed gently, reaching to rest your fingers on the back of his hand.

“That you don’t want to lose me. Don’t say things that m-make me think you love me,” Hyunjin’s voice sounded so utterly weak, and he studied your face as if you were the most previous jewel in the world. Did he always stare at you like that?

You swallowed nervously before asking softly, “What if I do love you?”

The reaction was instantaneous. Hyunjin closed the distance between your lips, smashing his against yours with so much emotion and desire that you were almost dizzy. He rested his hand on the nape of your neck, gently brushing your soft locks off of your shoulder as he deepened the kiss. This time, there wasn’t an ounce of resistance in your body. All you wanted to do was to let him in, let him sweep you off your feet and hold you close.

Hyunjin shifted, slipping an arm around your waist, and he easily lifted you in his arms, carrying you to the bed without once pulling away from the intoxicating feeling of your soft lips. Oh, how he missed them, how he’d dreamed of them for nights on end, not one dream as perfect as the reality.

“I love you,” he murmured as his lips trailed down from your cheeks to your jaw and all the way to the soft skin of your neck, “I loved you for so long.”

Even in your blissful state, you managed to grasp the meaning of his words and you choked out between his frantic kisses, “H-how long?”

“Since the wedding, I’ve known that you were going to my one and only, my one true love,” Hyunjin said softly before pulling away. He gazed down at your state, both of your hands on either side of your head, your hair fanned out on the pillow beneath you. You looked like a goddess, and he’d spend every night thanking the gods that you were his.

“I never thought--I never even imagined,” Hyunjin rambled on as he dived for your neck, sucking gently as you let out a soft noise at the sensation. It almost drove him mad, “I never even dreamed that you would say yes, much less accept me at all--”

“It’s true,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as your fingers reached up, carding gently through his hair, “It didn’t happen overnight, but now I realize. I love you.”

Hyunjin let out a groan at your words as they resonated in his heart, causing it to pound uncontrollably. He pulled away just for moment, his lips hovering over yours as his hands trailed down your sides cautiously, “I love you too, my Queen. So much,” he said, pecking your lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, chuckling softly as you looked up at him, “Your Queen,” you repeated the title, finding that you loved it very much.

“Well, you are,” Hyunjin smiled in return, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before leaning down again, pressing his lips again yours as he mumbled, “my beautiful queen. The love of my life.”

Blushing, you threaded your fingers through his hair as he deepened the kiss, sucking and nibbling at your lips, causing you to giggle. Nothing felt rushed, nothing felt like one side was trying quickly to quench their desperation. It was just love, contentment, the purest form of peace.

Eventually, Hyunjin’s hands made it down to your legs, ghosting over your skin as he slipped a hand under your nightgown, freezing as he made it to your upper thigh, “Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispered, pecking your cheek.

You stared up at him, full of love and adoration as you brushed his long black hair away from his face, “I don’t ever want you to stop,” you replied with a gentle smile, and Hyunjin never denied you of anything. He dipped down, his hands playing with the hem of your gown as the two of you finally surrendered to each other, letting the world slip away until the only thing that mattered to you was Hyunjin, and the only thing that mattered to Hyunjin was you. Always you.

Ryujin never came back with your tea, having decided to leave the two of you alone when she’d first turned into the corridor. A smug smile curled on her face, and she rushed off to tell the other handmaidens that they owe her ten gold coins.

epilogue.

You were awoken with gentle lips caressing your cheek, fingers lightly dancing over your bare waist. Mumbling softly, your eyes fluttered open and your gaze fell upon Hwang Hyunjin, who was resting on his elbow as he looked down at your previously sleeping figure with nothing but pure love in his expression.

“Morning,” you smiled sleepily, giggling as Hyunjin leaned down, nuzzling his face against your cheek.

“Sleep well?” He asked, his voice scratchy from just waking up. Even so, he couldn’t seem to get enough of you, running his hand up and down your side as his lips trailed from your own lips to your cheeks to your neck.

You hummed in response, playing lightly with his hair as you looked at the sunlight spilling into the window, signaling a new day, “I don’t think we did a lot of sleep, though,” you commented, smiling when Hyunjin pulled away, pouting at you.

“Can’t you let me be romantic just once?” He whined a little as he kissed down your body, kissing your shoulder, your collarbones, your chest, trailing down until he stopped at the soft skin of your tummy.

You giggled as he paused, squirming as he drew circles with his fingers on the skin before pressing a long, gentle kiss to it, “Mm...I hope you’re pregnant…”

“Hyunjin!”

“What?” Hyunjin laughed as he dodged your light swats of indignance, crawling back up to pull you into his chest, “We’d have our little heir, and it would get those good for nothing nobles off your back,” his voice held more bite as his jaw clenched.

You placed a hand on his chest, drawing soothing circles, “Don’t worry about them,” you murmured softly, looking up into Hyunjin’s eyes, “Just for today, just this once, let’s not worry about them at all.”

Hyunjin smiled, pulling you closer as his lips brushed yours.

“I don’t have a problem with that at all.”

fin.

a/n: a sincere thank you to anyone who made it this far ;;_;;

#inkidz #districtninewriters #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin blurbs #skz oneshots #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz blurbs #my fics #skz x reader #skz x y/n #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids x reader

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rwby-sk · 2 years

Note

Hey! Two things; I came to enjoy Silent Knight on my own but now I feverishly crave your content. Thanks for that.

The other thing is that I have an idea for a drawing where Neo is tailoring a costume for Jaune that matches her aesthetic. Since you're the authority for this ship, I wanted to ask if you had any ideas for said outfit.

I am so happy to supply my wares!!!

Oh gosh, I don't think I'm an authority (I hope not) but I'll try my best

Neo seems to enjoy some vintage styles. A bit more post-war masculine flare, with spats, tall boots, high waisted pants, double breasted buttons, gloves, etc

But she also likes some modern high fashion. Cropped blazer sticks out the most, but also her high heels

So for Jaune, his armor would have to be more fashion than function. Maybe something like chainmail under a classic waistcoat? Similar to Qrow's new look. Maybe add an open coat? Or a tailed blazer?

Keep the gauntlets, maybe bring back the single pauldron from volumes 4-6? But slim them down. We're focusing on speed and dexterity now

No jeans. He'd need sturdier khakis (post-war fashion and all) with comfortable dress shoes and tall spats

You cant see the suspenders but its important that we know they're there

Classic adventurer meets new-age knight meets post-war vintage flare

Its hard to mix but definitely doable

At his core, Jaune wears jeans and a shirt with clunky armor on top. It just needs to be freshened up

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ibis-gt · 3 years

Photo

i made a fairytale au for cam and luther and then wrote nearly 5k words of fic for it?? which is wild bc i am not much of a writer. but. that’s under the cut. content warning for a pretty violent scene towards the end but there’s a happy ending i prommy

Once upon a time, there lived a prince. This prince, Luther by name, lived in a kingdom that was plagued by monsters. His father, the king, had gained his throne by feats of heroism, most notably by slaying a fearsome dragon that had ruled the land for years. The time came for Luther to prove he was worthy of the title of prince by slaying a monster of his own…

Down in the countryside, farmers have been complaining for weeks of an ogre stealing their cattle and frightening their children. So Luther sets off in a splendid suit of armor, with a sword sheathed on one hip, a quiver of arrows on the other, and his bow slung on his back.

Luther rides his horse down to the village where the ogre was last spotted. He talks with the locals and gets a description of the creature. At least forty feet tall, they say, with greenish-grey skin and dark hair and teeth the length of a man’s forearm. Luther leaves his horse behind with the farmers because he doesn’t want her getting hurt and marches off, following a set of giant footprints left behind by the ogre, sword in hand. He would have to admit that he isn’t the best at sword fighting, and that really he’s never faced a monster on his own. But his father gave him a crucial tip: every monster has a weak point. Find the weak point, exploit it, and you’ll win every time.

The footprints lead through the plains of grass, past the area where the farmers let their cattle out to graze, and into a dark forest. The sun is going down before he manages to find the ogre, so he sets up a little camp with a little fire and rests his tired bones. His armor isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it takes forever to get on and off even with someone helping him, let alone by himself. He sits with his back to a big boulder so nothing can sneak up behind him and eventually drifts off.

Luther awakens the next morning and groans at how stiff and sore he is. He sits up and pauses, brow furrowed, remembering that he’d gone to bed sitting upright. But just now, he’d been lying on his back. And he’s not the best tracker, but those giant footprints look… disconcertingly fresh. These things add up in his mind. He just about passes out. He crouches down and puts his head between his knees for a moment until he can breathe again and his heart stops pounding quite so hard. He was right next to it! He fell asleep leaning on it! If his father heard about this he’d give him such a beating. How could he not have noticed that the boulder was actually -

His stomach rumbles, interrupting his panicked thoughts, and Luther remembers that the last time he ate was back in that farming village around two in the afternoon yesterday. He digs out a bit of beef jerky and morosely works at it. His father swears by the stuff, but it just makes his teeth hurt. Luther dreams of the kitchens back home and drools a little.

He gives up on the jerky and manages to take down a couple squirrels with his bow and arrows. He gets his fire blazing again and sets them cooking over it, and sits down to draw in the dirt and form a battle plan. He gets wrapped up in his drawing and loses track of time, but is startled violently back to reality as a deep booming voice from behind him says, “Your squirrel’s burning.”

Luther’s eyes snap up to the fire. He hastily pulls the stick with his squirrels off of it, waving it in the air to put out the bit of squirrel that had caught fire. He blows on it and inspects the damage. Not too bad, a little charred. Still definitely edible. Then realization dawns, and he slowly looks up and over his shoulder.

That’s the ogre. He’s unmistakable. Huge, greyish-green, with shaggy black hair and big tusks that jut out of his mouth. He’s down on one knee looming over Luther, modesty barely preserved by a loincloth stitched together out of the pelts of many different furry animals. Luther wills himself to not faint for the second time that day.

“You gonna eat that?” The ogre booms. “’Cause I will if you won’t.”

“W-well, yes, I was planning to,” Luther quavers, “But there are two, so, um, you can have one if you want? We can share?”

He takes the non-burned squirrel off the stick and holds it up. His hand only shakes a little. The ogre takes it carefully between thumb and forefinger and tosses it in his mouth. With such a tiny morsel, he’d usually just swallow it whole, but an interesting flavor makes him stop and savor it for a moment.

“What’d you do to it? Not like any squirrel I’ve eaten. And I’ve eaten a whole army of squirrels.” He slaps a hand on his formidable belly. The sound makes Luther jump.

“I- I didn’t do much, j-just some seasoning, I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, please don’t eat me next."

"You?” The ogre laughs. “Why would I eat you? You shared your food with me. That’s mighty polite. I’d say that makes us friends now, and I don’t eat friends.” He grunts as he shifts position, sitting down heavily and stretching out his legs. “Bad knees,” he grumbles. “Sat like that too long, but I wanted to see what you were drawing."

Luther is now horrifically aware that he is directly between the ogre’s legs. He is also horrifically aware that he was drawing himself hitting an ogre with a sword. He hurriedly kicks some dirt over it.

"Nothing. Nothing interesting. I’m a bad artist anyway.”

“Sure. What’s your name, little tin man? You didn’t seem too talkative when you snuggled up to me last night, but I thought maybe you were just tired. I’m Cam."

"L-Luther.” Oh god. He was supposed to kill this thing, it - well, no, not ‘it’, he can’t think of Cam as an ‘it’ now he knows his name - he’s terrorizing folks, stealing their livelihoods, he’s supposed to drive him away, save the day, bring peace to the kingdom. Instead he’s sharing his meager breakfast and making friends with the monster. How did it all go so wrong!!

“So, Luther, you made of metal? I thought you were gonna take all that off, looks pretty uncomfortable, but you wore it all night. Unless it’s like… you?"

"No, no, um, it’s just… it takes a long time to put it on and take it off? And I usually need help.”

"Well shoot, friend, why didn’t you say so?“ Before Luther can object, a giant hand descends and plucks him up. He panics, struggles in Cam’s grasp, and Cam tsks at him. "I can’t get all that off you if you don’t hold still. Don’t make me squeeze."

Luther goes still. If Cam squeezes the armor, it’ll stay squeezed. He wouldn’t want to still be in it if that happens. Cam clearly has no idea how to get someone out of armor though. He just pulls at clasps and buckles till they break, then shucks the metal off of Luther like an ear of corn. His helmet comes off first, freeing his dark brown curls.

“Aww,” Cam says, “lookit you. You’re kinda cute for a tin man.” He musses up Luther’s hair with a fingertip. "You’re like a little crab,” Cam chuckles. “Crack open the hard shell to get to the soft stuff underneath.” The food metaphor does not put Luther any more at ease as the rest of his armor is pulled off and tossed aside, piece by piece. Cam even strips the chainmail off of him and dumps it on the ground. This leaves Luther in his shirt and breeches, shaking like a leaf and terrified for his life.

“Oh, you cold? Here, I gotcha.” Cam sandwiches him between his hands. Luther awaits the pressure and the horrible crunch that will no doubt be the end of his short life, but it never comes. Cam just holds him there, and truth be told his hands are very warm, and it had been a chilly morning. Luther relaxes very slightly.

After a few minutes, Cam lifts one hand a little and peeks at Luther. “Better?"

"Much better, thank you. Even a little too warm, actually? Can I, um, come out now?"

Cam laughs and opens his hands like a book, then tilts them so Luther tumbles into the palm of his left hand. "So what’s a fancy little shrimp like you doing all the way out here, with that tough shell and those sharp weapons? You huntin’ something?"

Luther hesitates. It’s not… technically a lie, just an omission of truth, right? "Yeees…. Hunting.”

Cam laughs out loud, leaning back and slapping his knee with his free hand. “HA! You are just about the worst liar I ever met, Luther. Whew.” He actually wipes a tear from his eye. Luther feels his face heating up with anger and embarrassment.

“I am hunting! I’m hunting you!” As soon as he says it he regrets it. He slaps his hands over his mouth and cowers back as Cam sits up straight again and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“That so? Huh. Well, you found me, oh mighty hunter. And you fed me, and let me take your armor off you, and left all your sharp things on the ground while you sit in the palm of my hand. So, uh… how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“It… I… um… please don’t kill me?”

Cam grins. It’s not a nice grin anymore. It shows off too many teeth. “Lotsa folks have hunted me, you know. Not a one has succeeded. Most of ‘em can’t find me in the first place, not unless I want them to. Neat little trick we ogres have. We blend in well. The ones who did find me, they regretted it pretty quick. When I heard you clanking along with your silly armor and your little sword, I thought oh boy, here comes another one. But it turns out this one couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map, so he ain’t one of them legendary monster hunters lookin’ to claim some bounty. And he’s a little scrawny slip of a thing, too, and he keeps stopping to look at birds. I kinda liked you. And honestly, when you found me, it took me by surprise. Thought I had you pegged all wrong. Then you made your little fire, curled up next to me, and went to sleep, and it took everything I had not to bust my gut laughing right then and there. And now… well, I don’t rightly know what to make of you. Cute little thing, I know that. But cute won’t save you if you wanna tussle with me. So, little hunter… what’re you gonna do now?”

Luther’s nearly in tears. He manages to say, “Then… were you just… toying with me? This whole time? Waiting to see what I’d do?"

Cam shrugs. "Pretty much.” That does it. The waterworks are in full swing. Luther’s chin trembles, his lower lip wobbles, and then tears are streaming down his face and he’s sobbing.

“Y- you’re s-so-ho meeeaaaan,” Luther wails. “Y-you’re j-just making f-fun of me, I thought w-we were friends!”

Cam has absolutely no idea how to respond to this. For some reason he actually feels guilty. “Aw - no - now look, there’s no call for - just… just stop crying, okay? Please?” Luther continues to sob, heedless of Cam’s pleading. “There, there,” Cam tries, patting Luther’s head. “I’m not going to kill you. Okay? How’s that? I’m sorry I called you - well. All those things. I’m sure you’re a great hunter. Look, you got those squirrels. And hey! That one I ate tasted great. You got some real skill there."

Luther wipes his eyes and looks up, teetering dangerously on the edge of another sobbing fit. His eyes are all watery and a little red-rimmed. "R-really?"

"Yes! Of course!” Cam clings to the compliment like a life preserver. “I bet you’re like, like the king’s cook or something, right? Cause you’re the best in the land?"

Luther’s face crumples a little and he looks down, mutters something.

"What?” Cam holds him up a little closer to his ear.

“’m his son,” Luther mumbles again.

“His son? You’re a prince? And you’re all - oh, hell.” Now he’s really put his foot in it. Luther bursts into tears again and curls up in a little ball.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - oh, ugh, you’re getting my hand all wet.” Cam picks him up between thumb and forefinger and shakes the little tear droplets off his palm. “Now look here,” he says, attempting a sterner approach. “You’re a prince, all right? You can’t be crying and going to pieces just ‘cause some big bad monster was mean to you. You gotta kill big bad monsters, right? So here’s what you’re gonna do.” Cam sets him down gently, picks up his sword and hands it to him. “There you go. You’re gonna take that sword, right, and you’re gonna really let me have it. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?“

Luther purses his lips and looks up at him. "But… all I can hit from here is your foot. That’s no good. I need a shot at something vital."

"Oh fine, fine, Mr. Picky,” Cam grumbles. He shuffles his legs to the side and leans down til he’s practically laying on his belly. “Face shot. Free one for ya. Go on, hit something good.” Luther considers. Just as Cam realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, he draws his sword back and plunges it into Cam’s eye.

- Almost plunges it into Cam’s eye. The ogre moves suddenly, turning his head to the side to avoid the blow. Luther makes a deep gash in Cam’s cheek, and Cam roars. “Oh, you sly little shit. Very good, very sneaky. You almost had me there. Fine. We do this the hard way.”

He gets to his feet, draws himself up to his full, impressive height, and looks down at the dirt where Luther was a moment ago. Cam blinks in surprise. “Where’d you… goddammit…” He looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of where Luther could’ve gotten to.

Luther was not about to let the golden opportunity to run and hide during a big dramatic show of power go to waste. He slides into a patch of underbrush, catches his breath, and takes stock. He has no armor, no food, no bow or arrows. Those are all back at his camp, which is currently ogre territory. He has one sword that he’s okay at using. The ogre has the homefield advantage, and some kind of ability, possibly magical, to hide himself from those who want to find him. Luther shouldn’t let him out of his sight. But he should work on camouflaging himself. He takes a handful of dirt and smears it on his face and shirt. The sword he can’t do much about, he’ll just have to try and keep it from glinting. He glances to his left, away from where Cam still stands, turning in circles and peering around. Luther had only gone a little ways into the woods before he stopped for camp last night. He can almost see the forest’s edge from here. He could dart for the grasslands and try to make it back to the village, but he’d be in plain sight as soon as he’s out of the trees and there’s no guarantee Cam won’t just follow him all the way back. The further he goes into the trees the more firmly he is in Cam’s territory, but the more coverage he has.

Possibilities begin swirling around in his head. His best bet is trickery rather than a face to face confrontation. He’s got a running list in his mind of Cam’s weak points now. Food, monologuing, emotional outbursts. Although that last one’s probably off the table now. Bursting into tears isn’t going to get him out of a second pinch. Bad knees - if he can trip Cam up, he can get a shot at his face again, maybe cut his throat or get at his soft belly and sides. Cam’s a talker and likes to gloat, maybe if he gets him distracted by looking pathetic he could get him to walk right into a trap of some kind. He likes food… but Luther doesn’t have the resources to make a big feast to distract him or sate him, just a pouchful of seasoning that he never leaves home without. His lip wobbles again as he thinks about how that’s back at his camp… he may never see his precious seasonings again.

Meanwhile, Cam is getting frustrated. “Well, the little shit can’t have gone far,” he grumbles. “Just gotta flush 'im out.” Luther watches, petrified, as Cam lumbers over to a nearby patch of underbrush and without warning stomps down on it hard, twisting his foot and smashing every inch of it. He steps back and leans down to inspect what’s left. Luther bites his lip hard to stifle a whimper.

“Nope, not there,” Cam announces. “Eeney, meeney, miney…..” Another bunch of bushes are mercilessly ground into the dirt. “Moe. Hmmm. Where are you?”

Luther can’t stay in his hiding place for long. It’s only a matter of time before Cam gets to him. He needs an opening to make a break for it though, if he runs now Cam will spot him right away. As slowly as he dares, he picks up a large, flat rock, then skims it like a frisbee off to his right, where it hits a tree with a satisfying thock. Cam whirls around, and Luther bolts out of the brush. Cam hears the leaves rustling and turns back around, catching sight of him as he flees.

“There you are! Hold on now, don’t go running off! I just wanna talk, I swear. The whole monster-slaying prince thing not working out for ya? I got a better job offer! You can be my dinner!” Luther keeps sprinting as fast as he can, not even bothering to glance behind him. The last thing he needs is to miss a fallen branch or a groundhog hole and trip.

On flat, open land, the ogre would outpace him easily. But if he can get deeper into the forest where the trees are closer together, that could slow him down enough for Luther to get some distance and hide again, have a moment to breathe and think so he can work on his plan. He’s starting to get an idea of what he’ll need. He needs the element of surprise for sure, and he needs more than just his sword. If he had some rope he could set up a tripwire, maybe. He curses himself for not taking his father’s advice about packing, for letting Cam strip him, for being too weak and scared to do anything when he had the chance, for being born in the first place. His eyes well up with tears and he scrubs at them furiously. He can’t afford to have his sight blurred right now, he needs to keep his head clear and keep moving. He can hear Cam’s thudding footsteps behind him, gaining quickly. He can cover so much more ground in a single step. It’s simply not fair. The little bit of distance he was able to gain with his rock trick is disappearing fast and it won’t be long before he’s in arm’s reach.

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, Cam lunges forward and takes a swipe at him, trying to knock him off his feet. Luther hits the deck and Cam overbalances, stumbling and crashing into a tree. The tree snaps when his weight collides with it, and Cam has to windmill his arms to keep from falling over. Luther scrambles to his feet and keeps running. He even manages to put on an extra burst of speed when he hears Cam roar with frustration behind him. He’s not as fast as he could be because he’s lugging the sword along with him, but he doesn’t dare drop it. It proves its usefulness in the next minute. Cam closes the distance and grabs for him. Luther sees the shadow fall over him and whirls around, lashing out at the reaching hand. He slices across Cam’s palm, and Cam howls with pain and pulls back. Luther dashes away, and Cam stomps his foot in frustration.

"Hold still, dammit! You’re just making it worse for yourself!” He takes off after Luther again, but his stamina’s flagging. It’s harder for a creature his size to haul himself around and he’s used to running down his prey in the first minutes of the chase. This has dragged on long enough to tire him out, but he’s not willing to give up just yet. “When I get my hands on you, tin man, you’re paste,” he growls. “They’re gonna have to come up with new words for how dead you’re gonna be.”

The trees start getting close enough together that Luther has to dodge around them from time to time. He can hear Cam behind him crashing through them, spluttering as he gets a face full of branches and leaves. Luther smiles to himself. That’s nice, at least. At last he gathers up his nerve and dodges to the side behind a particularly large tree, hoping that Cam’s too busy navigating the foliage to notice. His gamble pays off. A few seconds later, the ogre goes lumbering past him without so much as a sideways glance. Luther waits just a moment more, then bolts in the opposite direction.

He’s got a plan now. He probably won’t be able to find Cam again, but Cam can find him. So he’ll set up an ambush. He circles back around to his camp and grabs his supplies as quickly as he can, his bow and arrow, his helmet, his tinderbox, and most importantly, his seasoning. He hunts for deer, takes down a decent-sized buck, and sets up a new campfire, deep in the woods, where the trees are close. He’s hoping that Cam will think that Luther thinks he’s safe in there, and that the smell of the meat cooking will lure Cam in. He takes off his shirt and fills it with twigs and leaves, sets his helmet up on a stick driven into the ground, and makes a decently convincing decoy Luther that he leans against a log. The helmet tilts at an angle that makes it look like he’s fallen asleep. With that set up, and night closing in, Luther climbs up a nearby tree and waits, sword in hand.

He doesn’t watch the fire. He wants to keep his night vision sharp. And sure enough, before too long here comes Cam, moving surprisingly quietly for his size. He squeezes through the trees with barely a rustling of leaves. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the fire and the silhouette that the decoy makes against it. Cam gets right behind the decoy and slams his foot down on it. He grinds it into the dirt with a relish that makes Luther shudder. Then Cam looks at the deer cooking with that lovely smell rising off it, and his eyes go big and shiny. As Cam bends down to pick it up, Luther chooses his moment. He drops like a stone and buries his sword lengthwise in the back of Cam’s neck. The impact sends a jolt up his arms and he hangs on as tight as he can. Cam lets out a garbled scream of pain and collapses face first on the ground. Luther gets to his feet, pulls his sword out with some difficulty, takes a deep breath, and begins to chop.

It’s messy, horrible work. By the third swing tears are rolling down Luther’s cheeks. By the seventh, he’s sobbing. After the twenty-third cut, Cam’s head is finally severed, and rolls to the side. Luther stumbles back. He’s trembling, covered in blood, panting and crying, but it’s finally done.

And then Cam’s head says, “Wow, kid. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Luther watches, dumbfounded, as Cam’s body sits up, searches around with its hands, locates his head, and puts it back on his shoulders as the flesh knits together again. Luther drops his sword in disbelief. He falls to his knees. That was it. That was all he had. He can’t even imagine what he could do against a foe who can just reattach his own head.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay. Um. Make it quick, please?” Cam had been planning to crunch the little shit once he was back on his feet, but he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at how despondent Luther looks.

“Aw, no, no, don’t give up so quick! Really, you almost had me!” Cam scoops him up and pats him on the head. “Look, it was a good effort. I’m sure if you had known I can’t be killed, you wouldn’t have spent all that time and energy trying to kill me. Just do a little more research next time, yeah?"

"Next time,” Luther repeats, and gives a hollow laugh. “There isn’t going to be a next time. I’m not welcome as part of the royal family if I can’t kill a monster. Even my sister’s done her first slaying already. A whole nest of vampires! And I can’t kill one measly ogre."

"Hey, watch who you’re calling measly,” Cam warns, but his heart isn’t in it. “Jeez. You’ve got some issues, kid. Not much of a fighter, I take it?"

Luther shakes his head and sighs. "I’m just not very good at it."

"Well they chose one hell of a first mission for you, that’s for sure. Ogres are tricky ones. We’ve got a lot of defense mechanisms.” Cam thinks for a moment. “You know what you are good at, though? You’re a good talker. Very convincing. I mean, you really had me going, with the crying and all? It was a really good ruse."

Luther bites his lip. "Um…"

"Okay, so it was for real and not a ruse. But you made the best of a bad situation! That’s also a good skill for a ruler to have. You just gotta show your family that your skills are less conventional, but still effective! Like, okay, why do you have to kill me? What’d I do?"

“You’re eating all the farmers’ cattle and scaring people."

"I thought free range meant I had free reign. Eh? Eh?” Cam pokes Luther in the ribs. Luther frowns at him. “Oh, fine, whatever. No sense of humor. You know, that’s pretty important for a king too. Yeah, all right, I’ll leave the cows alone."

"And the sheep,” Luther says sharply. “And the pigs, and chickens."

"I haven’t eaten any pigs or chickens,” Cam protests.

“Not yet. I’m being proactive."

"There you go!” Cam says, beaming. “There’s that negotiator skill! But seriously, if I can’t eat the cows and sheep I’ve got to eat something. Can you make it worth my while? 'Cause I’m not going back to squirrels."

"Well…” Luther says slowly. “What if… I hire you?"

"You… hire me?"

"Yeah. Like, as a bodyguard or something. Then I’d have to pay you, right? I could pay you in food?”

Cam is quiet for a moment. He brings Luther up closer to his face and scrutinizes him. Luther’s heart is pounding out of his chest. For a moment he thinks he’s made some horrible mistake and offended Cam and it’s all over for him. "You’re serious? Not kidding me, here? That’s your offer?”

“Y-yes? Is that… is it bad?"

"Bad? Bad? That’s the best offer I’ve ever heard! Pay me in food? HELL yes, kid! That’s what I like to hear!” The force of Cam’s enthusiasm knocks Luther over on his back. He stares at the sky for a moment. His life is so goddamn weird.

~~~~~~~~~

Luther’s father’s dragon slaying days are behind him. He’s an old man now. He has good days and bad days, but even on his best days he frequently needs help getting around. But when he sees that giant ogre enter his royal halls, he reaches for his spear. Luther eases it out of his hand.

“No, see, it’s okay. I didn’t kill him, but I stopped him terrorizing the countryside, and I kind of… hired him. As my bodyguard. This was easier, and we both benefit, see? Also, um, were you going to tell me ogres are immortal?"

"You were supposed to figure something out,” his father says. “Since you’re so damned smart."

"Well, I did figure something out. Just… maybe not what you wanted me to."

Cam waves lazily. "Hi, Yer Majesty."

"Cam,” Luther hisses. “We talked about this."

"Oh, fine, fine,” Cam grumbles, and takes a knee to bow low before the king. “I humbly pledge my service to your son,” he intones, hamming it up just a little. “Please allow me to protect him from all harms, and so on."

The king glares. His stabbing hand is itching. But he doesn’t currently have a better plan, and this’ll keep the peasants quiet for a bit. "Fine,” he spits, “But you’re taking care of him. Feeding him, walking him, cleaning up after him, whatever. No getting the servants to do it for you. He’s your responsibility now."

Cam grins at Luther. "So, speaking of feeding… when’s dinner?”

#art #writing #giant tiny #g/t #cam and luther #fairy tale au #to be more specific re: content warnings there is a beheading but he gets better so it's okay #tiny knights are very important to me as u can clearly see #there's just something about. someone who is sworn to protect others going up against a force so much larger than themselves #EDIT mobile hates readmores sorry if u get a three mile long post on yr dash :(

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den-system · 2 years

Note

🐭 Do most of your alters/headmates have the same or similar style/aesthetic?

oh absolutely not, no, we all have very different styles and honestly kinda hate it

i will wear just about whatever, i love shitty cursed tshirts and collect them. i care about comfort and clothes i can trash if i decide to run around outside in dirt. patterned button downs are nice for going to the mall or parties tho. i wear a lot of dragon accessories.

vetris and erebus both like dressing nicely but in very different ways. vetris is either in a turtleneck and jeans when weather permits, or like. rich white dude on the dock kind of aesthetic. also, finding violet clothes for him that arent feminine is a pain in the ass. we have a lot of ocean/beachy button downs because of him. vetris avoids accessories when he can, barring rings mostly.

erebus has two styles of dress: anything that makes him look like a dead victorian is ideal. but thats expensive and hard to find, so they join their boyfriend with mallgoth and contemporary witchy looks straight outta hot topic. and SOMEHOW pulls it off. red is ideal and they will refuse to wear 'highblood' colors when it can be avoided. they have very picky tastes with necklaces and earrings and bracelets.

equius wears tank tops and cargo shorts with work shoes until we get heavy duty work boots. thats it. he hates sleeves and its a sensory thing for him. if he could rock it shirtless 24/7 he probably would. he will not wear pants ever, it doesnt matter what the weather is he has to have shorts. no accessories unless it's the chainmail collar he was gifted from our partner system's dirk. he likes the weight and cool metal feel from it.

doc wears vintage fashion, to nobody's surprise. having 'lived' through the 30s-80s and going through what he did in his 'life' he sticks to button downs and slacks or jeans. he really, really wants a specific pair of vans he used to wear despite the fact that we dont wear vans- we wear converse shoes. he often wears yellow and has a lot of sunflowe/sun motifs to him. kind of a low key dr sunshine kinnie but eh who am i to judge. accessorizes like a disaster. whatever we have on hand that can be thrown with our clothes and low hanging necklaces that draw attention to our chest.

seam wears anything cozy. thats it. same with the kid, it's whatever works on the very rare occasion they front.

-Mack

#den-mack #its a PAIN #at the very least a lot of stuff works out fine #but we definitely want to step up our wardrobe variety someday when we have time/space for it #im not sacrificing my shitty tshirts until theyre in tatters tho i love em too much

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little-ligi · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump - No.2

No.2 - “I can’t take this anymore.” Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1552 @febuwhump

Arthur winced and bit back a scream as he pulled himself up onto his horse. Pain flared though his chest and he gasped to draw a breath in. He had to collapse forwards across the horse’s neck as his vision tunnelled and greyed out at the edges. He whimpered, gasping and clutching at his ribs.

“You really shouldn’t be riding,” Merlin scolded immediately, hurrying over to stand beside Arthur’s horse, his hands hovering around Arthur’s torso.

“I’m… fine… Merlin,” he said through teeth gritted against the pain.

“You’re really not.” Merlin put his hands on his hips, frowning worriedly up at Arthur. “You have four broken ribs. And God knows what other injuries! Let me look at you properly, please!”

“Don’t have time, gotta get back to Camelot.”

“Arthur!”

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

“We need to warn my father about that thing.”

That thing being the huge winged creature that had attacked them, throwing Arthur into a rock wall before flying off in the direction of the caves near Camelot.

Before Merlin could protest further, Arthur nudged his horse into a trot, barely holding back a shout by ramming his fist in his mouth. He bit into the leather of his glove as the horse’s movement jolted through his body, each step she took ricocheting pain around his chest.

Merlin scrambled onto his own horse and kicked her to catch up.

“Arthur please! You’re going to make it worse.”

“’m fine, Merlin.”

He was so far from fine he felt like he was going to fall off his horse. But they needed to get back to Camelot.

After a couple of minutes, they settled into an uneasy trot, Arthur’s breathing laboured and his hands in a white-knuckled grip on the reins. Merlin yammered on with his inane prattle, but Arthur could tell his eyes were fixed anxiously on him, watching for any sign of pain.

Keeping his shoulders slightly hunched and bent forward and his breaths as shallow as possible helped lessen the pain, but it was still a constant screaming agony in his chest. Every jolt of the horse’s movement sent fresh waves of pain and Arthur couldn’t conceal the grunts and whimpers that kept slipping from him. Merlin was growing increasingly irritated, suggesting they stop every few minutes.

When Arthur’s horse made a little jump to get over a broken branch across the path and Arthur screamed, slipping in his saddle as an explosion of pain erupted in his side, Merlin lost his temper.

“We are stopping. Now!”

Arthur’s vision greyed again as he struggled for breath and he slid sideways off his horse, one hand uselessly snatching for the pommel of the saddle.

Merlin managed to grab him before he fell completely off, sinking down with him to lower him gently to the floor. Arthur groaned, his hands reflexively clutching at his ribs. He flinched and yelped as his hand touched his side, snatching it away again.

Merlin knelt, unfastening Arthur’s belt and shoving his chainmail upwards to see his chest. He swore loudly and began ripping a strip off his tunic.

“One of your ribs has broken through the skin. Damn it, Arthur! You stubborn, stupid prat!”

“Hey!” Arthur complained.

He tried to take a deeper breath, only to choke to a stop when it was agony, resuming his previous shallow panted breaths. Pain-filled nausea rose in his stomach and he cried out as the spasm jerked his whole torso. Tears streaming down his face, he made a grab at Merlin, whimpering.

“I can’t take this anymore!” Merlin cried, digging his hands into his own hair and yanking it, a look of anguish on his face.

“You can’t take it?” Arthur panted.

“Arthur… I can –” Merlin stopped, clamping his mouth shut. His eyes darted, from Arthur’s face, to his chest, to the sky. He groaned and stood up suddenly, kicking a tree root. “Damn it,” he shouted. “Damn it, damn it, damn it! This isn’t how this was supposed to happen.”

He pressed the backs of his hands into his eyes, which had begun streaming tears.

“Merlin?” Arthur wanted to push himself a little more upright, but stopped himself just in time. He held a hand out to Merlin instead. “What’s the matter?”

Merlin dropped to the floor again and his fingers began fluttering around, dabbing carefully on Arthur’s side with the wad of bandage ripped from his tunic. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was doing but it was causing pain to ignite all across his chest again.

“I can’t take seeing you in pain when I could easily do something,” Merlin said quietly, not looking at Arthur.

“You are doin’ something,” Arthur stammered, biting back a yelp as another wave of pain seared through him.

“No, this is stupid,” Merlin spat and threw the wad of cloth, now startlingly red, to the ground, rubbing one bloody hand over his face in frustration. “I can’t help you like this. I have to –” He stopped talking. Arthur gave his knee a weak punch to make him continue. “I have to tell you something.”

Arthur nodded, slightly apprehensive. “Alright?”

“I can…” He took a deep breath. “I can heal it.”

“Yes, Merlin. That’s what physicians do,” Arthur sighed. His head was starting to feel heavy, the pain pushing in and clouding his mind. Every breath was agony.

“No. I can…” Merlin brushed away another torrent of tears and screwed his face up.

He looked a sight, blood smeared across his cheeks where he’d touched his face. Tears dribbled through the smears, washing the blood into rivulets down to his jaw.

“I can heal it with magic. I – I have magic, Arthur.”

Arthur blinked.

His head was filled with a rushing sound, loud and roaring. Merlin faded in and out of focus, his lips moving but Arthur couldn’t hear what he was saying. He saw them form the shape of his name.

“Arthur?”

“No,” he whispered, his eyes boring into Merlin’s. “You don’t. You can’t have…”

His mind was reeling, shock and blood loss and pain taking over until he slipped into blackness.

------

Arthur came around to a warm feeling spreading throughout his torso. Not the burning pain that had been engulfing him, but more like the feeling of getting into a warm bath, letting the heat of the water wash across his skin. He gasped in a huge shuddering breath.

Merlin’s hands were cradled over the wound. His eyes were bright gold.

As sense and feeling returned to Arthur’s head he pushed Merlin’s hands away.

“You fainted,” Merlin whispered. He looked panicked now, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly.

Arthur blinked blearily, trying to push himself up to be a little more level with Merlin. The first thing he noticed was how the pain was gone. His hand flew to his chest, fingers probing around where mere minutes before had been white hot agony.

“You…” He looked up and met Merlin’s eyes. They were blue now, all traces of the gold gone, submerged beneath the surface again. “You…” He couldn’t think what to say, just stared at Merlin, his eyebrows pulling down into a frown.

Merlin stared back wide eyed, his throat convulsing as he gulped.

Arthur’s hand was still roaming over his ribs, pressing down as hard as he dared on the ones that had been broken. There wasn’t even a trace of pain. As if they had never been broken in the first place. Only a smear of drying blood on his fingers was any indicator that he had even been injured at all.

“I, umm… I healed it while you were unconscious,” Merlin said guiltily, wringing his hands together.

Arthur jabbed his finger into his ribs a final time, then sighed, relishing in the fact he could do so without it hurting. He bit his lip, frowned and looked at Merlin’s scared face.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“Thank…? Oh.” Merlin’s eyes flooded with tears, surprise and relief clear in his expression. “You’re not… angry?”

Arthur sighed again. Was he angry? He stalled answering by pulling his shirt and gambeson down, rearranging his chainmail over the top and smoothing it flat. Then he sat up, scooting back to rest against a tree. He rubbed his fist against his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he answered finally.

“Alright,” Merlin said slowly.

They sat staring at each other awkwardly for several minutes. When Arthur could bear it no longer he got up, brushed himself off and walked over to the horses.

“Arthur? What do you…?” Merlin called.

“Not now, Merlin.” He needed time to think. “We need to get back to Camelot.”

Merlin stood up, his hands balled into fists that Arthur could tell were shaking even from this distance.

“Do you want me to come with you? Or should I…” He gestured in the opposite direction.

“Of course you have to come. You’re my manservant,” Arthur snapped.

Merlin gasped. “Am I still?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

Arthur met his eyes and nodded, unable to put his thoughts in to words, not even sure what his thoughts actually were. This was going to take a long time to figure out. He pulled himself up onto his horse and gestured for Merlin to follow him as he kicked his horse into a fast trot, heading back to Camelot.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday2 #i can't take this anymore #bbc merlin #fanfiction #arthur whump #magic reveal #ligi writes

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kumqu4t · 3 years

Note

Hi! This is for the Ship description thing from the Group Chat. I’m an Autistic Bisexual Woman, and a Writer and Craftsman who draws, writes, bakes bread, keeps way too many journals tbh, and I’ve recently gotten into smithing and sewing, as well! I’ve been described as many things, ranging from “Merry Brandybuck or Aragorn Vibes” to “Owl-like”, and I know myself very well.

I’m 4’ 11” (149.86 cm) tall with messy brown hair, crooked glasses, light blue eyes, pale skin covered in moles and scabs, with freckles on my arms and shoulders. I always seem to bundle up no matter the season, and I love sweaters and my wool-lined corduroy jacket.

I grew up in the Mountains, and I also have a ridiculously good sense of Intuition to the point where I can feel when it’s going to rain before it even really happens, and I have yet to be proven wrong in my weather predictions. It’s hard to describe, I can just kinda feel it in the air, I guess. My love language is absolutely Gift Giving, as I love making and getting my loved ones things that remind me of them, and I have a habit of collecting books, gemstones and sentimental items. My interests include Writing and Craftsmanship, Ireland, Fantasy and Tolkien, Witchcraft and Spirits, Classical Literature, and certain Aesthetics like Dark Academia or Cottagecore. I'm Excitable, Curious, Creative, Intelligent, Kind, Aloof at times, Introverted, Nervous, Silly at times, “Wise beyond my years”, Oddly Mature for my age, Eloquent, sometimes Depressed, Career-oriented, Largely Focused on self-betterment. Sorry this is so long, but thank you so much in advance!

i ship you with thorin!

headcannons:

* thorin thinks your height is absolutely adorable (even though you aren’t that much shorter than him), resulting in:

* endless forehead kisses

* oh you got a papercut? thorin will carry you to the infirmary

* ranting about your hyperfixations while thorin looks on lovingly “that’s my girl”

* you become great friends with thorin’s sister dís, and she helps you plan your wedding

* thorin and you head to the forge together and spend days crafting together

* (yes thorin takes his shirt off while smithing...👀)

* your weather intuition contrasts humorously with thorin’s lack of direction

* you have so many khuzdul nicknames!!! (his favorite for you is ghivashel- treasure of all treasures)

* thorin loves giving you gemstones he finds around erebor to add to your collection

* he crafts many things for you: jewelry, chainmail, trinkets, you name it!

* you are total besties with bilbo, you go to him to complain about thorin’s hard-headedness

* you write beautiful, romantic poems for thorin and he is blown away every time

* and if he wipes away a tear or two after you’re done reading, well you don’t mention it

* he LOVES to brag about you to anyone who will listen

* since you are queen under the mountain, you get nervous during meetings and such, but thorin is always there to sooth you with secretive under-the-table hand holding

* whenever you get insecure or overwhelmed, you always have a pep talk on hand

* you are amazing, beautiful, intelligent, talented, and more, and thorin never lets you forget that!

* whenever thorin gets stressed about his duties as king, you are always there with sage advice

* you give him the tough love he needs to hear

* when thorin is having trouble sleeping (nightmares, overthinking) you read him tales from his childhood

* thorin tries to learn to knit so he can make you sweaters,, he is not very successful, but hey it’s the thought that counts!

* thorin braiding your hair!!!!!!!!!!!

* thorin finding your love of learning so endearing

* he tells you whatever you want to know about middle earth, dwarves, etc

* you learning khuzdul!!!!!!

* you being a human (with the lifespan difference and whatnot) is a subject of anxiety at first, but after nearly dying, thorin learns that time with loved ones is precious, and he wants to spend that time with you

* “not even mahal himself could keep me from you”

(you’re the only one who can make him smile like this)

#erin writes i guess

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sootcloak · 4 years

Text

Living Gale

So I got permission yesterday(????? Is time a thing anymore ????) to write a thing for @lordofcrowns‘ Captain Cyril Stacy, a diabolically fun villain. This piece was based around the general evocative aesthetic of the art he made for the Good Captain. So I did that. It was a good exercise, and doing it for someone else helped keep me motivated.

~2000 words of whip-snappin action and tense posturing, mostly trying to just capture the aesthetic i got from his work in my own medium. General warnings for the things which come with this kinda territory: murder, violence, abduction, etc. And lastly, if you wanna see more of that diabolically fun man, go to lordofcrown’s page.

The jade islets of the Sea of Clouds hang on umbral winds, drifting up and down on the aircurrents. The sky is dark, moody greys and greens which shift over one another. Three figures race across the shifting jadestone islets. Two chainmail-clad templars charge through the underbrush, over stone outgrowths, and across the shallow waters. Their footfalls drum against the earth, scaring gaelicats and other rodents down to earth.

The third figure is a full 30 yalms ahead of them. A heavy white coat trails behind him, billowing as he takes leaping, bounding strides. Strands of his turquoise hair hang in the air as he runs, whipped by both the wind and his own dead spring ahead.

His boots scuff and slide on the slick, smooth stone beneath his feet, the sky suddenly opening up in front of him as he finds himself not at the edge of the island. The two templars come barreling to a halt, their pursuit stopping ten yalms away from their quarry.

“Nowhere left…” One of the templars devolves into a heavy cough, and gasps for his breath in a distinctly over-exerted wheeze. His fellow looks at him with distinct concern in her eyes behind that metal mask.

“I must say, you both have kept up admirably.” The Miqo’te man turns to face his pursuants, gilded eye smoldering as he looks the two over. “Mostly.” He adds. Both tense, and the wheezing knight’s comrade steps forward, clears her throat, and speaks.

“You’ve nowhere left to run. By orders of the Holy See of Ishgard and other bodies of the Eorzean Alliance, you are under arrest under suspicion of crimes against Eorzea and her people, including treason, aiding and abetting heretics, and murder of the highest order.” She takes a bold step forward, shield held to face him with it’s rook-like insignia, and sword leveled at his throat.

“Halone’s Inquisitors will extract the truth of your actions from you.” The out-of-breath templar says, squaring his shoulders. He moves forward slowly, one cautious step and then another, speartip leveled at the Captain’s chest.

Beneath his cap, Cyril’s ears twitch. The clouds far below howl with an odd, almost-beast-like sound. The wind snaps, changing directions and whistling just a little faster around the trio.

“This is certainly a mistake. You should consider what you’re suggesting here.” The Captain’s voice is a halfway-point between a snarl and a purr, low and rumbling in his ribs. He holds one hand up, in something almost akin to a surrender. His other hand thumbs his belt, or rather the handle of the whip wrapped around it.

“You see, I’m just a trader. I have my permits and licenses here, with me. If you’d like-” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, the heels of his boots slowly, subtly shifting to steady his center of balance. The distant, rumbling, angry roar slowly grows louder and louder.

“Save it.” The shield-bearer says, voice muffled by her metal mask and the rising wind.

“We have evidence under sworn testimony that an individual with ties to certain black-market elements would be in this sector of the Sea of Clouds. If this really is a ‘misunderstanding’, you should hold your testimony for Halone’s Inquisitors. You’ll need it.” She spits her words and steps forward, closer to both her companion and the Captain. Her chin raises upwards, coming to rest at an accusatory slant as she waits.

“Ah, someone implicated me, then?” He says, words slow and flowing like honey. His eyes remain steady on the two templars, but his ears are trained on the approaching, angry wind.

“That’s right.” The wheezing knight says, inching closer with. His hands shake and jostle his own spear nervously. “So you’d better come peacefully. We have authorization to kill the target if we have to, and you’re standing real close to that ledge.”

“How brave of you.” The Captain says slowly, his lips turning into a subtle sneer, “Why, such forthright persistence is so rare these days. I’m pleased to know the Temple Knights are yet the bravest, most chivalrous warriors in Eorzea.”

“Of course we- Oh you little.” The realization hits the out-of-breath knight in the middle of his sentence. “Playing cheeky are you, I’ll be sure to teach you some real manners.”

“Don’t take the bait. He’s just trying to get you to attack. He’s better use to us alive.” The swordwoman pauses in the middle of her thought, stopping to listen.

“What’s… What’s that sound?” She says, not loud enough for her companion to hear. Her sword drops ever so slightly.

Cyril snaps into motion as soon as she finishes, hand drawing out his whip and swinging it back in a single motion. The long, sinuous leather snakes around him, curling like a dragon’s tail. The spear-bearer lurches forward, pushing against the now-feverous wind. He plants his feet, and thrusts forward with the point of his spear.

Captain Stacy twitches his wrist.

The length spins out and away from him, like the arms of a cyclone. Whistling, it smashes into the center of the lancer’s chest. The mail rings like a cymbal, and the templar’s ribs snap loudly. His feet lift a few inches up off the ground. A resounding crack silences the wind for a brief second. The lancer lands a few paces back from where he’d stood, groaning on his side. His spear clatters to the ground where he was struck. The whip lurches back, Cyril’s arm winding and tensing back behind his head in a circular, casting motion. His coat billows out over the ledge, filling with air.

“Shit!” The shield-bearer pushes off of her back foot, covering close to half the distance between her and the captain in a single bound. Cyril’s arm circles round once more, and then reaches up towards the churning skies.

“Fast.” He notes, his voice growling in tandem with the fibers of his whip. It would almost sound complementary, if not for the predatory glint in his eye.

“But it’s pointless!” The whip snakes around him, curling inwards and coursing across the surface of his coat. The leather hisses, and his arm streaks downward, painting a thick, vertical black line in the sky as the whip follows his motion.

It falls like lightning, the whip bending outward as it hisses downwards towards her. She raises her shield, but true to his word she’s not fast enough to match the sinuous, ebony whip. It moves in a blur, first striking her shield and shoulder, then twisting around her and catching her in the side of her ribs. Her feet skid, but she holds her balance from the twin strikes.

Then it wraps around her left arm from below. As it snaps into place with an iron-hot shot of pain, she feels more than sees as the captain pulls her elbow and shoulder inward with a terrible jerk. She feels her arm pop free of her shoulder as the whip holds fast and jerks her to the side. She screams in rage and pain as her elbow breaks backwards, her shield clattering to the ground.

Through biting tears, she pushes through the pain and pushes forward yet, blade still in steady hand. She plants her feet as she nears him, his eyes burning into her with all the apathy of a storm at sea. Her good arm pushes forward, tearing the air, cleaving towards him in a single upwards, goring slash. He darts to the side, coat trailing behind him like a phantom.

There one moment. Gone the next.

Something hard and fast buries itself in her gut. His fist, she realizes dully. Her sword soars upwards and then over the ledge as she’s thrown backwards and lands with a metal thud.

She gasps for breath, lungs finding none. Nevertheless, she struggles to her knee, and then to her feet. Her eyes blearily stare upwards. She locks her eyes on him, blurred from pain and tears. Her head is wracked with the building panic born of being so thoroughly dismantled so rapidly. Her ears ring, but her sweat-stung eyes sweep off the Captain to her companion on the ground. He claws at the dirt, trying desperately to flee, but unable to get his footing.

The wind suddenly bellows, the droning that’d haunted the brief encounter opening up into a deathly roar. A monster of wood, metal and steam breaks through the mist and clouds around them, screeching all the while. A magitek-powered airship, leaden with naval cannons and watchful, dark shadows atop the deck darkens the sky behind the captain. He reaches up to hold his cap steady in the gale. The humm and roar of it’s engines rumbes in her aching, airless lungs.

Her eyes, though, remain locked on him. He looks down towards her, and without a word just raises one arm. He points to her fallen comrade, then holds an open hand towards the vessel behind him. He closes his fist.

She makes another breakneck dash for him, legs still wobbly after having the air knocked from her. His eye shines in the umbral glow of the Sea of clouds, and he opens his arms wide as she charges him.

The moment hangs for a second, as she stares with murderous intent. The wind whipping around them loses its sound. Something guttural and crass has torn free of her chest, curses just out of reach of her panicked, enraged instincts. All the while, he stands with his arms wide and head low. The wind races out from behind him, blowing the tails of his coat up and kicking up dust around his feet.

As she rears back with one fist, he steps into her space and snags her wrist with his gloved hand. He spins around her, pulling her back by the arm. As his other hand ensnares her other wrist, she feels the coils of his whip bind her by the wrists. She tries to pivot, to face him, but her legs trip on his knee. Gravity grips her, her body once again thrown to the jade earth of the islet. He places a foot on her hips and a knee on her broken shoulder.

The pain is there, she can feel it, numb and aching as she tries to unpin herself from the Captain atop her. He waves over to the hovering ship, and like vultures, crewmen descend on ropes. As they take her and bring her to her feet, binding her properly, they throw the lancer off the island’s ledge, down towards the clouds.

“You can’t escape.” He says, all the charm gone from his voice as his sneer creeps into more of his face. “And you’re more useful to me alive.” He turns his attention, but not his eye, away from her and to his crew.

“Take her. I’ll see to her when I’ve the time. I have questions for her regarding who they received their information from.” Cyril says.

The men and women gripping her pull her over to one of the dangling ropes, but she keeps her head and eyes pinned on the Captain as he slowly walks over to her still-crawling compatriot. He drops into a squat beside the prone man, hand reaching into his coat, to somewhere near the small of his back.

“You would tell me whatever you want, wouldn’t you.” It’s not a question, but the templar nods in jerky, quick motions. The knight’s movements get more and more frantic, all the while the Captain’s gaze unfalteringly falls on him.

“Yes, of course! Yes!” The dark glint in Captain Stacy’s eye sparks a moment.

“Thought so.” She can barely hear the crack of gunfire over the winds, but the stark red of her friend’s blood staining the jadestone dirt around the Captain’s boots is impossible for her to miss.

“I have no need for a coward and a liar.” He turns his deathly gaze to the woman in his crew’s grip. “We’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted, lady knight. But for now, enjoy your rest.” He nods to someone behind her, and her vision goes dark as a club strikes the back of her chain-clad skull.

#ffxiv #ffxiv creative writing #lordofcrowns #captain cyril stacy #aegis' writing archive #i spent the vast majority of my work on this blasting Helltaker's OST and staring at a screen in a dark room wondering if #'churn' was an actual word or if i'd somehow made it up without realizing #that's just how sleep deprivation be i s'pose #now that i'm done with my work i can go crash into my coffin at mach 10 and die #i should really sleep more but if i have one (1) more weird marriage dream im gonna scream #otherwise have a chill night all i'll see you when my brain rolls the roullette which decides whether im tired or dead awake #oh shit wait its afternoon #ah fuck it i dont have to be anywhere in the foreseeable future

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capsule-cosplay · 4 years

Text

« When you smile, I fall apart. » [RochexIorveth]

(end on hiatus)

Iorweth was sitting near the campfire, bending his back to sharpen his blade. Silently, precisely getting the polishing rock on each side, slowly. The scenery looked like a dream with the firelight dancing on his hands by each movement. Roche was supposed to spy the Scoia’Tael commander to get information of the next plan they were working on. But he ended luring the elf for hours now, silently hiding in the dark of night, the other camp members went to sleep, but not him. Why?

Iorweth was still working on each blade he owned, softly smiling at the dancing flames before him. Silence was his company as he put the last one next to him, widening his smile even more, due to the hard work he had sharpening his blades.

“When you smile, I fall apart.”

The words of the Temerian brunette made Iorweth freeze right here.

“Squass’me?”

The elf could not believe what he just heard. Roche on his own, froze as he realized what he just said out loud, blowing up his cover and hiding to the commander.

The two looked at each other in silence, open mouthed, not knowing if one or another was dreaming or not. Roche was the first to break the moment:

“Well, it’s kind of true…” he said scratching his head “I think I never saw you smile before, makes you look, kind of normal… Suits you.”

Iorweth could not believe he was awake. What did this bloede dh’oine just said? Halfway on anger and awkwardness, he still couldn’t get his eyes away from the Temerian boy, still trying to hide from the Scoia’Tael commander.

Iorweth shook his head, smiling again:

“Well, looks like someone is willing to die tonight… Tell me, is this a new way for Blue Stripes to provoke your enemies?” He stood up, coming slowly to Roche:

“Why didn’t you run after saying this? I can’t believe you’re still here. Waiting for death?”

One step more.

“Waiting for me to kill you?”

Two steps.

“Willing me to thank you for these words?”

Three steps, damn he was close.

Roche began to feel an unusual feeling up his guts “Tell me dh’oine…” the elf said cupping Roche’s cheek with one hand “Why would my smile be so important to you that you lure me all day long?”

Shit. He knew. He always knew Roche was there. And yet, he never said a work against the luring man.

Why?

The elf was close. Pretty damn close. Roche couldn’t even move anymore, heart beating like a crazy drummer on a battlefield.

Has he been always that tall?

“What do you want?” Roche asked. “If you’re not willing to kill me, why are you so close to me?”

The elf smirked.

“Well, it is not usual for me to be lured as you did by such an… Specially interesting dh’oine…”

Roche bite his lips as Iorweth put an awkward break between those words. But the Temerian brunette had no time to think more as a hand moved on his neck. A thumb was tracing his jawline softly, stopping on his bottom lip.

Oh, why did his knees decided to fall on such time?

“Strange, I always though you would be rough on touch, not… As soft as…”

The elf didn’t though of the end of his words, his lips were already connected to the human’s ones in a soft, long and shy embrace. Slowly turning into a more passionate kiss. None of them dared open his eyes, they knew already who they were.

As their bodies came closer, almost melting into one, they kiss also came more needed. Craving for each other with every breath, every touch, every armor part they laid down on the floor.

“Wait. We shouldn’t-” Roche was the first to break the kiss, panting, searching for air, as elves could retain their breathing for much longer than humans. “What if someone comes, I deeply don’t want to end this impaled like a milky pig by Eldain!”

Iorweth couldn’t help himself as he chuckled, even if he knew the reputation this dh’oine had with raw language. “Damn Vernon, can’t you be a little more romantic to predict your fate?” He looked at the man, smiling as he were doing so long ago.

“Still, you got the persecutor wrong.” He leaned on the human, whispering in his ear: “I am the one to make you bend tonight.”

Sharp. These words were sharp.

Normally, humans ended face on the floor in one fist for calling him Vernon.

But his smile. His genuine, gentle, charming smile.

Roche couldn’t help, he was down for the elf, for Temeria’s sake.

“Don’t you worry, it’ll be fine.” Said Iorweth in a breath. “Everyone is asleep for now.” He took his look up the man “For as long as your noises stay for my ears only. I don’t need you to be silent.” He looked up and down on the brunette before smirking and whispering: “This pretty coarse voice of yours can be nice on some…” He licked the dh’oine’s chin “Occasions…”

A sharp hiss came from Roche as the elf made place for his teeth in his neck. And maybe one damned low, strangled, half silent moan.

A hand slipped on his belt, gripping it like a leach.

“Take that off”

Roche cuffed “What, the belt?”

“Everything. Hurry.”

“Heard some elf-ass coming along?” Roche smirked as he began to open his trousers, slowly pulling the elf in pain of wait.

“No. Did you saw me eat anything today, when luring at me like a perv?”

Roche swallowed at the word. “No, why, you’re hungry? Need me to go hunt some berries for you princess?” Roche didn’t keep his smirk for long as the elf was quickly pushing him to the ground. Kissing him one last time, long enough to left him breathless, he slowly began to trail a road of kisses and lickings on the Temerian’s chest. Both were softly moaning with each lip smack.

He was pecking on his ears.

Jawline.

Neck.

Shoulders.

Collarbone.

Pecs.

Stomach.

Abs.

Hipbone.

He stopped at the inner tights of the man, locking his eyes into the ones. Roche was now a messy panting amount of red-faced flesh, deeply sweating. Iorweth smiled innocently at him:

“I am starving for the lilies.” The words were still resonating between the trees as surprised moan came from the lying brunette.

“Dammit you’re-… Way…” He tossed out the elf’s cap and tangled his fingers in his sweaty hair, guiding his head along his shaft in a better angle, making his legs shake. Curling his toes to the ground: “T-too good at-… Th-is!”

The filled mouth of the elf curled as he heard Roche’s voice crumble under his tongue moves. Swirling along the men’s length as his hands explored his chest. A deep humming was the only answer Iorweth gave to him.

Close. He was too close. Too soon. But damn the elf didn’t make it easier to maintain!

“Iorweth… P-please… Don’t… I – I’m not….”

His hands gripped at the elf’s hair as his back bend over.

“Iorweth dammit are you-… Listening to me!?”

A loud pop could be heard in the forest.

Iorweth used his thumb to get rid of saliva bits dropping from his lips.

“You said?”

“You damn elf!” Roche tried to get up but the sidh leaned on him, kissing his neck before pulling over.

“Turn over. And yes, it is an order.”

Roche’s lips began to part, but words fall down his throat. Living the panting mess voiceless as the elf places his lips on his:

“Please, don’t make me wait to treat you good…” Said Iorweth between two kisses, lovingly rubbing the man’s inner tights.

Roche couldn’t get his brain straight, half of his mind wanted him to run away. The other half was, strangely, curious about the elf’s skills… How come he felt so low? How did he managed to put himself above the highest cliff to jump off? For Temeria’s sake, what the bloody hell was he doing!

Still, he listened to Iorweth’s claiming.

Getting rid of every part of clothes he wore. Slowly, hesitant, but the elf didn’t think of it that way.

“What are you doing? I thought you more experienced than that! Ugh, let me help, you’ll be naked for Saovine if you continue to do things that slow…”

Even if the arrogance in his voice was persistent, a small hint of softness could be heard in Iorveth’s concern. He began to tuck under Roche’s clothes, getting rid of every part of armor ceremonially, but still quick, and somehow, with a hunger only him could feel.

“Get it up.”

Roche was shocked: “I beg your bloody pardon?”

“Get. It. Up! Now!”

Roches turned his face away: “You think it can be turned on in by simple ask?”

Iorweth gathered the dh’oine’s glance seriously, a faint smirk on his lips, shaking the man’s leg.

“Well, I don’t know what you have in mind, dh’oine, but your boots will be better off if you lift your leg a bit!” He said in a chuckle. Roche felt himself dying by the following words Iorweth said, lifting himself up to the man’s ear:

“But don’t worry, you won’t need any assistance for this, aren’t I good enough for you to be” He packed the man’s pack in one hand, slowly pressuring it as Roche seemed already prepared “tall enough?”.

Hard.

It was hard for the poor commander to swallow this time...

How could it be? What did the bloody bastard do to get him like that? Too fast, too confident, the elf was too much for him, in every way.

And yet he was standing there. Naked. The floor never looked as beautiful as he didn’t even dare look away from it. But sounds made him break his quick evasion: Iorveth took few steps further, getting rid of his gloves, letting them slowly fall near his ankle, bare legs pointing out of his gambeson.

How could a male have such slim and soft legs as he had? Wrists made no difference, and years, millennials, of sword fighting and archery did not expel the elf to get such beautiful hands.

Long and slim fingers running around each belt, each button, each part of his clothes slowly pulled off. Only to create a soft circle of fabric and chainmail around his body. A firepit in which Iorweth would be a dancing flame, heating Roche, keeping him awake in a cold night. A temptation none should touch, a burning desire.

The gambeson fell, leaving the man in a simple tunic, barely covering his body enough to be decent, but revealing much as Roche’s hope wished. The man stared, explored every inch of skin, scars, letting his imagination flow, drawing history for every detail he saw.

A quick snap of fingers took him back to reality, as Iorweth came closer to him:

“Never saw someone naked before? Who guessed the Blue Stripes Commander was a little new lamb?”

The elf said in a chuckle, barely covering his smile with his hand.

That. Damn. Smile.

“Is this where your bravery stops? I understand you’ll keep the mask on, but is it necessary to…” he lifted Iorweth’s tunic upon one of his hips, gently stroking at his skin. Incredibly soft, drawing every perfect shape of the elf’s muscles, bones. “…Let this on?” Roche said as a faint smirk of victory took his lips, as he saw the elf’s face come from a smile to a visible confusion.

He added:

“Or did you wish me to uncover your delicate body?” Roche took the only chance he had to inverse the roles for once. He was in the middle of a Scoia’Tael camp, totally naked, he had nothing left to lose.

He took a step further, making the elf rewind his trail.

“Tell me Iorweth, how do you want me to do it?” He was still slowly pushing the elf back, stopped by the nearest tree behind him.

“Want me to lift it up like a whore’s corset? Order you to take it off as a slave? Or even better-” He took the low part of the tunic in his strong hands, caroused by years of sword fighting, and special trainings. He murmured to the elf’s ear with the lowest voice he could: “Do you want me to rip it off as Nilfgaard did for your dreams?”

No more.

It took no more than a quick look on the shocked face of the elf to tire his hands apart, perfectly cutting open the light brown tunic. HE caught Iorweth in a gasp this time. HE let him wordless. He made his heart break his ribs from surprise.

HE made the elf HIS.

Roche closed his eyes and frowned a bit, as he saw Iorweth’s hands coming at his face in a fast movement, anticipating the slap he would receive.

Oh, he wasn’t ready.

His brain shut down as he felt these soft, delicate, cold hands on his cheeks. Soon coming along with hot lips roughly pressed against his. It took him only few seconds before letting himself go in, keeping the elf in a close embrace, arms around his waist, hands sliding on his back, a trail along these perfect curves.

Iorweth let his hands fall on Roche’s nape, softly gripping that ugly chaperon of his.

“Don’t you dare.” Said the man with his lips still pressed on the elf’s ones.

“I’m not going further if you keep that towel on you, dh’oine.” Responded Iorweth, still kissing, trying to get rid of the black curse Roche kept wearing anytime of the year.

“Then give up on yours too, elf.”

Darts.

Roche’s eyes were heated lances to Iorweth’s heart. He took a step backward, not even daring to look at the man.

Roche came back at him, taking back the elf’s attention with a cupped hand on his cheek:

“It’s alright, you can trust me, I’m not here to hurt you” He took off his chaperon, tossing it somewhere nearby. “Let me see you as you see me.”

Calm. Soft. Low and warm. These words, this voice, meant the world to him.

He peeked at the man’s face, a soft smile upon it, as his hand trailed to Iorweth’s head cap knot:

“Can I?”

42 notes · View notes

uas-fics · 4 years

Text

Title: A Wedding Minus One Summary: A great day has finally arrived, the true end to the war between humans and elves, the wedding between Elf King Kyle and human Shield maiden Wendy. It is a glorious occasion, for all but the bride, groom, and best man. Rating: T for language Ships: Stendyle Other: I wrote this in 2018, enjoy.

AO3 link

~~~~~

Bebe narrowed her eyes, standing in the doorway. "You need to leave," She ordered. "The groom can't see the bride before she walks down the aisle. It's bad luck."

"That's a human thing. I don't believe in that," The elf king commented as he tried to slip past her, to no avail. King Kyle set his jaw and met Bebe's eyes. He shirked back. Both she and Kyle knew if she wanted, she could physically remove him with ease.

Kyle took a breath. "I just need to ask her something. Bebe, please." He hated that he had to resort to begging, but this was an important matter. Bebe eyed him up and down a moment then rolled her eyes.

"You're lucky I like watching you from behind." She took a step inside the room, allowing Kyle inside. Her gaze lingered on his rear a moment, then she grabbed hold of his shoulder in an iron grip. He nearly stumbled backwards with the force of his sudden stop.

"If you so much as get one hair out of place, the elves will need a new king for a few months--got it?"

Kyle nodded stiffly. It took much of his resolve not to hastily scurry away from her farther into the room. Confident with her threat, Bebe took her leave. She shut the door, but her shadow remained to block some of the light from the bottom. She didn't expect him to stay there long.

A giggle torn his thoughts away from Bebe. He turned and his eyes went wide.

Wendy sat at a vanity, hands resting in her lap. She wore a pale cream colored dress that hugged her torso before billowing out into a long train at the hips. A knit shall with baby blue accent draped across her shoulders and a chainmail belt with small multicolored stones attached between the chain links across her waist.

Kyle forced his mouth shut and swallowed hard.

"You look beautiful," He said, walking over to her.

She flashed him a smile. "You look quite handsome as well. So that is the marriage robe your mother when on and on about." Wendy gestured to the green and gold robe. She reached out and ran a finger along the delicate stitching embroidered on the sleeves.

"It's stuffy, and doesn't have pockets," Kyle replied dryly.

"There are other places to hold your things, besides your pockets." Wendy reached down the front her dress and produced a small, worn throwing knife. Seeing the shock on Kyle's face, she quickly added, "It's my something borrowed. I'm borrowing it from Heidi."

Kyle pulled at his over sized sleeves, tugging them so they covered most of his fingers. "You...don't have any more hidden about do you?"

"I think that's something you'll just have to find out after the wedding," She teased. Kyle tried to smile, but it was strained. Wendy saw this and heaved a sigh.

Placing the knife back inside her dress, she asked, "How's Stan? You're the first person Bebe's let in all day."

Kyle shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since this morning at breakfast--and even then I was preoccupied with Mom fussing and Dad forcing me to go over my vows again. I barely had time to talk to him." Kyle crossed his arms then rested against the vanity.

A wedding is a joyous occasion, especially a royal wedding. The one between the duke and duchess of the Northern Elf kingdom caused celebrations that lasted for nearly a week afterward, even among those who did not hold any connections to the Northern Elf Kingdom. Kyle could clearly recall the tears in Prince Ike's eyes as he watched the duchess march down the aisle. He wondered if Ike would cry when Wendy walked past him the same way.

A sigh escaped his lips. Weddings were supposed to be joyous, and for much of the kingdoms, that was true of this one as well. Kyle and Wendy's holy union would mark the first time in more than a thousand years that one with no elf blood would sit upon the throne. Many believed this wedding would be counted as the true end of the war between elves and humans.

For the most part, Wendy and Kyle kept up appearances. They walked close, hand in hand. They would whisper in each other's ears and smile and laugh. They pressed kisses onto the other's cheeks and lips. From the outside, it would have been impossible to tell the sadness this wedding brought them.

Wendy glanced up at Kyle. "Lean down," She ordered. Kyle did so and Wendy pushed back some of his curly red hair from his face. She smiled, cupping his cheeks. "We need to keep smiling. Remember, this was Stan's idea. He suggested it. As far as I am concerned, no matter who has whose ring on whose finger, this wedding is between all of us."

Kyle placed his hand over hers. "I know. I just wish it didn't have to be like this," He muttered. He pressed his lips against the heel of her palm. Wendy's palms were calloused from her training as a shieldmaiden. There had been some attempts in recent weeks to smooth out her palms, but it seemed to little avail.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. "Me too. Me too." They stayed like that a moment, eyes shut, before Kyle stood back up.

"I need to get back before Mom starts to worry that I got cold feet." He walked towards the door but paused a moment and sent Wendy one last smile. "I love you."

"I love you too." She returned the grin with one of her own. "And we both love Stan."

"Yes," Kyle sighed, "we do."

~~~~~~~

The best man paced back around the fountain. Stan knew he was supposed to be helping in the main hall. He should be there greeting guests in Kyle's place as courtiers and nobles from around Zaron ushered themselves in for the biggest wedding in decades. He should be checking on Kyle, making sure the king had everything he would need for the ceremony. He should be doing a lot of things, but he couldn't.

Stan had tried to do what was expected of him as both Royal Guard to the Elf King and as best man. He really did, but he just couldn't. Yes, the wedding had been his idea in the first place, but now that it was upon them, his chest couldn't stop aching.

He groaned then slumped down against the fountain. He stared up at the sky and watched the clouds float idly by. It was almost noon, almost time for the ceremony. Almost time to see the loves of his life be bound together by the highest holy man the humans had then turn around and be blessed by the highest druid among elves. And he would just be standing by, praying he was able to be tied together with them.

A hand fell firmly on Stan's shoulder and he jumped, nearly drawing his sword.

King Douchebag crouched beside him, a puzzled look on his face.

"You're majesty!" Stan gasped. He nearly scrambled up to properly bow, but King Douchebag's hand kept him in place. The King dropped his hand after a moment then sat down on the edge of the fountain.

Stan relaxed after a heartbeat. It was hard to stay tense around King Douchebag. He had an air around him that lent itself to soothing anger and fostering friendships. Stan pushed himself up so he was sitting with his back pressed against the side of the fountain. He and the king stayed like that for a time, watching the clouds and listening to the water in the fountain. They were just far enough away from the main hall that much of the noise of the wedding guests was lost.

Though his heart still ached, Stan felt the pressing thoughts in his head quiet.

This wedding was for the best. A human--and probably halfling eventually--on the elf throne would bring the kingdoms together after the war. Wendy would make an amazing queen. She was smart and caring and her skills on battle had more than proven her valor. A strong presence like hers beside Kyle would quickly quell any ideas of an uprising.

Even then, it's not as though Kyle or Wendy would leave him forever. It had been a tad ironic, looking back. Before Stan and Wendy were the most open about their relationship with each other, as there had been no reason for them to hide it. Stan did not come from a particularly noble family. It had only been his father's friendship with the previous reigning king that allowed him to gain the ranks he did. Given all that, Stan attempting to court and woo a human was barely given a passing glance by most people.

It had been his and Kyle's relationship that he had to be most careful about. If certain people found out that the Elf King was courting not only someone so low on nobility as Stan, but someone who wouldn't be able to bear an heir, Kyle could have been outed from the throne and his younger brother, Prince Ike, placed upon it instead.

But for the last year or so, he had to act like he didn't care deeply for either of them as they were openly touchy and romantic with each other. For a month or so last winter, he had been so sure that they really were going to leave him for each other, he had nearly fallen back into his drinking habit again. He remembered when he finally worked up the courage to tell him what he was feeling about it. They both went out of their way to do small, almost unnoticeable, gestures towards him to make him feel included.

"Oh, there you are, your majesty."

Stan was pulled from his revery by the Wizard King Cartman. Cartman eyed Stan before turning his attention to King Douchebag fully. "The Ceremony is starting soon and I noticed you weren't in your seat. I thought perhaps you had finally see the err in this union, but I suppose I'm wrong."

Stan glared. "There is no 'err' when people love each other. Not that you would know about that."

Had it been any other royalty, Stan would have held his tongue, but he lost the little respect he had for Cartman when he had gone out of his way to object the wedding and try to stop it. Wendy, Kyle, and Stan even had a running bet going over the real reason Cartman was so against it. Wendy bet that Cartman was jealous and she was positive he held some sort of affections towards Kyle; Stan bet it was just Cartman's prejudices against any nonhuman being rearing its head while Kyle claimed it had to because Cartman just couldn't stand to see Kyle happy.

Cartman returned Stan's glare. "At least the love of my life wasn't stolen away from me by someone I considered a friend." Cartman's face twisted up in a sneer. Before Stan could do something he would regret, King Douchebag stepped between him and Cartman. He frowned at Cartman and met his gaze with a stern look. Cartman chewed his lip a moment then back down.

"The wedding is soon. You should get to your seat," He grumbled as he turned and marched back towards the main hall. King Douchebag shook his head then sent a sympathetic smile towards Stan.

"Thank you, King Douchebag," Stan gave a small bow. "Please, let me escort you to your seat."

~~~~~~~~

"Bebe, it's fine!" Wendy rolled her eyes as Bebe fussed over her dress.

"This is my best friend's wedding, and I am damn sure you're going to look perfect!" Bebe snapped her fingers. "Annie, the satchel." Bebe took the satchel of potpourri from Annie and fixed it to Wendy's belt. The smell of flowers wafted around them as she did so.

Finally, Bebe stood. She clasped her hands together.

"Oh, Annie, can you believe it? One day your fighting side by side against an army of the undead with a girl and the next you're getting ready to walk her down the aisle and let her marry the finest piece of ass you've ever seen." Bebe covered her mouth with her hands. "I think I'm gonna cry." She leaned against Annie, who already had tears in her eyes.

"Don't you dare!" Wendy ordered. "If you cry, I know I will, too, and all the effort you put into this makeup will be for nothing."

"Oh my God, you're right." Bebe took a deep breath. She fanned herself with her hands. "I'm alright. I'm just so happy for you."

"We all are," Annie chimed in. "To think a girl from our tribe would be marrying a king." Wendy laughed, but it was half-hearted. Annie frowned, about to comment, when a knocking came from the door.

Bebe groaned as she marched over. "I swear if it's Kyle again I'm not letting him in. He can ogle my handiwork from the alter!" She pulled open the door. "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

"Greetings, Ms. Stevens," Stan's voice carried from the door. "The wedding is starting in a few minutes, and I'm here to escort the bride to the main hall."

"What? Why?" Bebe asked.

"It's a tradition among elves that the best man ensures the bride makes it to the wedding room."

"Why? Do Elf women die on the way there or something?"

"Kidnapped, actually."

Bebe just shook her head. She turned on her heels and allowed Stan to come inside. "Come on, Annie. Let's get to our places." Annie hurried over and followed Bebe out the door.

Stan and Wendy stood five steps from each other. He had seen Wendy in her wedding gown before, but she was no less breathtaking than before. He swallowed. He felt he should say something, but couldn't think of anything. So instead, Stan ran his thumb over the inlaid mother of pearl on his sword.

"Does that really happen?" Wendy broke the silence. "The kidnapping thing?"

"Yeah, it used to happen a lot. If you didn't like someone, you kidnapped the bride. It's not commonplace any more but," Stan took two steps, "I wanted to see you before the ceremony. You look amazing."

"Thank you." Wendy closed the gap between them. She rested her hands against his chest. She sighed. "Stan, are you sure you are going to be alright with this. Bebe said she had a plan that would 'postpone' the wedding another few months if I had cold feet. I can't promise it wouldn't involve fire and bloodshed, but maybe if we all keep looking we can find a loophole and--"

"We've been looking for more than a year now, Wendy." Stan cut in. "There is no loophole that would allow for more than two people to marry. The only reason you and Kyle can wed is because of a small asterisk on a piece of paper more than three hundred years old."

Wendy pursed her lips. He was right. Wendy wasn't royalty. She had no right to any throne, no matter how far back in her lineage they went. If not for an addendum to marriage law that allowed for royalty to marry someone of non-royal status only if that person had both proven themselves in battle and saved the royals life, their plan would have fallen apart from the start.

"Besides," Stan gently tilted Wendy's face up, "I think I've completely resigned myself to the fact I'll be you and Kyle's personal shared concubine." He chuckled and she smiled at him.

"Stan..." Wendy stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, "Thank you."

"Come on, once I deliver you to your bridesmaids, I need to haul ass up to the alter by Kyle." He took a step back and held out his arm. "Let's go, Queen Brofloski."

~~~~~~

"Oh, Gerald," Queen Sheila wiped her eyes, "Look at our handsome little man. It seems like yesterday I was teaching you to walk and now my baby is getting married and going to be having babies of his own."

Kyle blushed. "Mom, the wedding starting in a few minutes, you and Dad need to take your seats."

King Gerald put a hand on his son's shoulder. "We will. We will. But first, do you have your vows memorized, and you know what to do?"

"For the hundredth time, yes. I know my vows, I know when to step towards Wendy, I know when to pray, I know." Kyle stressed. "Now, please, take your seats." Nodding, King Gerlad started to lead Kyle's bawling mother away from the alter to the first row of seats where he sat her down next to Prince Ike, who looked absolutely bored.

For a moment, it crossed Kyle's mind to go tell his brother to perk up and be as excited for this wedding as the last one, but he quickly banished the idea when King Douchebag entered the room. Spotting him, King Douchebag walked over. Kyle bowed.

"Your Majesty." He greeted. "I thank you greatly for coming to bless my wedding with your presence. It means much to my bride, myself, and my people."

King Douchebag nodded. He fixed Kyle with a long stare. Kyle held the gaze for a moment before he had to look away. King Douchebag was a man of few words, but his gaze spoke more than any words ever could. The king knew this wasn't the wedding Kyle had dreamed of, and he was sorry.

"It will be alright. This is how it has to be, for the betterment of our kingdoms." Kyle whispered. King Douchebag sighed before turning and left for his seat.

"Don't you have an alter to be standing next to?"

Kyle jumped and turn to see Stan beside him. "Where have you been?" Kyle demanded.

"Recently? I was escorting your bride, protecting her from any of your enemies who may wish you ill will." Stan glanced over at Cartman who was trying to look interested in whatever the old noble next to him was saying.

Kyle chuckled. "I have the utmost confidence anyone who dared tried to kidnap her would be met with swift retribution from her alone." He started towards the alter as he continued, "I know she has at least one blade hidden on her person."

Stan laughed and shook his head. "You're going to have a fun night tonight, my king."

As they took the steps towards the alter, Kyle lowered his voice and whispered into Stan's ear. "I wouldn't turn down help making sure I find them all tonight if you wanted to volunteer." Before Stan could do more than blush, Kyle strode past him to his place right of the clergyman. Stan barely had time to scramble beside Kyle when the music began.

Everyone stood and turned as the door of the main hall was opened. Members of the warrior tribe marched in. All of them wore decorative armor and had their swords at the ready, as was tradition. once they came to the end of the aisle, they turned and marched to the sides of the altar. With great flourish, they sheathed their weapons.

A little girl kyle didn't know came skipping down the aisle then, throwing flower petals around with reckless abandon followed by the ring bearer, a son that Kyle's cousin had somehow been able to produce, walked down the aisle, trembling. He prayed the little boy didn't drop the rings or wet his pants. Once the two children had made their way to the end, the basket of flower petals and the rings were taken from them and one of Wendy's bridesmaids ushered the children back to their parents.

Finally, the bride entered the room.

Wendy didn't have a father. Much like all the other shieldmaidens in her tribe, she was sent to train at a young age and was adopted fully into the tribe as a member of the family. So, instead of her father, it was traditional for the warrior's closest friend to be the one to escort her. Bebe beamed with pride as she led Wendy in.

From beside him, Kyle heard something like a single, small, stifled sob. With everyone's eyes on Wendy, he moved his hand over and tapped his fingers against Stan's. He wished he could do more to reassure him, but anything else would be too obvious.

Bebe took Wendy up the steps. Kyle turned and held his hands out, palms up, and Bebe took Wendy's hands from her arm and gently set them in Kyle's.

"We led her from our family into yours," Bebe recited.

"And I shall take her in and treat her as my own," Kyle replied back. with that, Bebe took her place mirror from Stan's, her hands behind her back.

the clergyman raised his hand then announced. "You may be seated."

As everyone took their seats, Kyle whispered, "You ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be," Wendy whispered back.

The clergyman cleared his throat then opened his book. "We are gathered here today to join Kyle Brofloski, King of All Elves, and Wendy Testaburger, Shieldmadian of the Warrior Tribe, in forever in holy union. If anyone has a reason these two should not be wed, please speak now or forever hold your...oh, my..." the clergyman trailed off his eyes wide as the crowd gasped and began to whisper amongst themselves.

Kyle furrowed his brow and swung his head around. He expected Cartman or one of the older nobles to be the ones to try to object, but instead what he saw made the color drain from his face and his skin go cold.

King Douchebag held his hand above his head.

"Y-Your Majesty. You have an objection?" the clergyman trembled.

Slowly, King Douchebag stood. He walked up the steps to the alter. He put his hands on Wendy's wrist and took her right hand from Kyle's grasp. The whispers from the crowd rose in volume, but Kyle's heart was beating too loudly in his ears to make out what anyone was saying. He could pick out individual voices like his mother panicked squawking or Cartmen's obnoxious laughter, but no words.

King Douchebag reached over and grabbed Stan's arm, pulling him over. He set one of Stan's hands on top of Kyle's palms then set the other over the top of Wendy's, finally he set Wendy's hand on top of Stan's and nodded. Feeling the warmth of both Stan's and Wendy's hands against his, Kyle shook himself and tried to focus.

"K-King Douchebag, you...what is this?" The clergy man's eyes were wide in shock.

"Your majesty," Wendy winced, "we can't. It's illegal. Believe us, we checked every law on the current record."

Stan gently pulled his hands away from Kyle and Wendy's. "I'm sorry, your majesty, but I appreciate it very much." With a shaky breath, Stan took his spot back with his hands behind his back. He blinked a few times as the moisture in his eyes began to form into tears.

King Douchebag narrowed his eyes. He then spun around and lifted his hand. Silence spilled across the room. He took a breath and spoke in an all commanding boom, "How archaic a law must be to deny those who are in love the gift of a life together in the eyes of the church and state. And thus, I, Dominique Douchebag, Dragonborn and King of all the Kingdom's and Lands of Zaron decree these laws be unjust and thus to be struck down. From now on, regardless of status, of gender, of race, if two or more adults are truly in love with each other, then it is legal for them to be wed."

The King turn and smiled at them before he headed back down to his seat. The room seemed to hold it's breath. Kyle wasn't sure if he felt embarrassed for having his secret relationship with Stan publicized or if he was overjoyed that he no longer even needed to hide it. Maybe it was a mixture of both as to why his face was nearly the same red shade as his hair.

Then, all at once, the silence was broken when Queen Shelia cried out, "What? What? WHAT?" and fainted out of her chair.

"Mom!" Kyle gasped and bolted down the steps. He knelt down next to his mother, his hands hovering unsure. King Gerald pulled his wife into his lap and fanned her face with his hands. Kyle glanced back up at the altar where Stan stood, frozen with his mouth hung open. Wendy waved her hand in front of his face but received no response.

Slightly panicking, Kyle jumped to his feet and shouted, "I need everyone to please leave in an orderly and fast fashion. Th-the ceremony will be postponed until--fuck--I don't--I'll send you all a letter, just get out!" He knew he was being very unkingly, but at the moment, he could care less. One of his lovers was stiff with shock, the other looked confused and worried, his mother had passed out, and he didn't even want to think about what would be said against him after this.

Prince Ike put a hand on Kyle's shoulder. Kyle turned to his brother, expecting a frown, but instead was greeted with a very large, very amused smile.

"Big brother, this is the best wedding I've ever been to."

~~~~~~~~~~

Kyle laid sprawled out on his bed in his chambers later that night. His wedding robes tossed carelessly aside onto the floor. It had taken most of the rest of the day to get everyone settled into a room or at an inn and to try to gather some sense of normalcy after the chaotic wedding.

There was a knock at the door. Without waiting, Stan peaked his head in. "May we come in?"

Kyle raised his hand and made a come in gesture. Stan held the door for Wendy before shutting it behind him. He locked in before joining Wendy beside the bed.

"I'm sorry," Stan sighed. "To both of you. This was my fault. King Douchebag saw me sulking before the wedding. I think he was just trying to help an old war buddy out, but went about it wrong."

Kyle pushed himself up. He rolled his exposed shoulders. "It's not your fault. I just...I wish he had warned me before he decided to go through with it like that. At least I could have had the smelling salts ready."

"How is Queen Shelia doing, by the way?" Wendy sat down beside Kyle and began to rub his shoulders. She had also changed out of her wedding dress into her normal clothing, though her hair remained in the same braids that Bebe had woven earlier.

"The doctor said she will be fine. Some tea and a night's sleep and she'll be back to normal." Kyle winced. "And ready to scold me, I'm sure."

Stan flopped down on his back. "So, what do we do now? His majesty can proclaim law changes all he wants, but it will still need to be voted on and approved, which will take months to do. Who knows what kind of damage people could do to your reputation in those months."

Kyle shrugged Wendy's hands off his shoulder before landing on to his back next to Stan. He snaked one arm around Stan's neck and pulled him close before holding his other out towards Wendy. Wendy smiled softly and crawled next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know what we're going to do." Kyle admitted. "but, I know we'll be able to figure it out, together."

~~~~

A/N: "King Dominique Douchebag" is actually Latin for 'Deux ex Machina' and Greek for 'the author wasn't sure how to write herself out of this hole without making this a multichapter she was never going to finished.'

#stendyle #stick of truth #stan marsh #wendy testaburger #kyle broflovski #king douchebag #one-shot

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