#the weaping monk x fem!reader

[maaaddiexo]

The Witch’s Tower (The Weeping Monk)

Mainlist | Serieslist

Warnings: cursing

part 1/4 (4 for now; maybe more after second season release)

[part 2]

-

He was in pain. She could tell from a hundred feet away. Part of her curse, she supposed. He and Father Carden had come back to the grounds after weeks of hunting the Fey folk and she could feel in the air that not all was good. Something was wrong.

Unable to leave her room, Y/N watched from the tower as he settled in a corner of the garden and carved bow after bow and twice as many arrows. She didn’t know why he didn’t get his wounds tended to but that only added to the mystery around him.

Despite the hot summer sun beating down on him, the Weeping Monk kept his hood up and his sleeves covering his hands. He didn’t even take off his boots. Y/N wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his hair – or anything above his eyebrows for that matter. Like everybody else, she only saw his hands and half his face, and only ever from a distance. For nobody was allowed to know she was there. The Weeping Monk was Father Carden’s greatest known weapon, but he had an even greater one. One he kept a secret – locked away in a tower like a princess in the fairytales her mother used to tell her.

Absentmindedly, Y/N felt the tingle in her fingers and raised her hand. The tingling intensified and a small breeze blew through the room, twirling her hair and fluttering the curtains. Soon it left the room and carried outside and down to the man below.

At first, it would feel like nothing more than gust of wind. But she knew the Weeping Monk was special. That he wasn’t entirely human. And she knew that he would feel the magic in the air when nobody else would. And he did. His hand stopped mid-carve and he dropped the half-made arrow onto the grass. His shoulders tensed and Y/N watched from afar as he reached for his sword. She smiled and pointed her finger towards the ceiling and drew circles in the air. The wind picked up and carried her words down to him.

Look up.

The Monk didn’t like magic, but he wasn’t a fool either. He understood magic and knew when to fear it and when to listen to it. Slowly - angrily - he lifted his head towards the sky and, as if against his own will, his eyes were drawn to the abandoned tower of the castle. He squinted. It wasn’t abandoned at all.

Pleased with her work, Y/N stepped back from the window and walked to the other side of her room, past her easel and paints, and to the wardrobe. She didn’t have a lot of clothes but Father Carden made sure she was comfortable enough not to seek attention. She opened the double doors and pushed her clothes aside, reaching in the dark for the lip of the panel that would reveal her only hiding place. The wooden panel came out easily enough and she gathered the pieces of paper and carried them to the round table in the middle of the room. She splayed them out beside each other so that she could see them all at once. Each one was different even though they were all of the same thing.

Him. The Weeping Monk.

Most were of his hands and the part of his face you could see, but a few were of his full body though none of those were completed. He always moved or left before she could finish. He was dangerous – she knew that. But he was also extremely intriguing and her curiosity had finally won her over. She knew his reputation, but she wasn’t afraid of him.

Creak.

Startled, Y/N looked towards her door. It couldn’t be Michael with her lunch and Father Carden was in meetings all day. Tripping over the area rug, Y/N scrambled to collect all the sketches and shoved them back in the wardrobe, sealing them in place behind the loose panel. She heard the lock click and turned just as the door opened. And there he stood. The Weeping Monk.

Y/N swallowed. He was much more intimidating in person. But he couldn’t hurt her and that knowledge calmed her nerves. The Monk took a step forward but ran into an invisible wall. She pointed to the cross above her door, not that the Monk could see it from where she stood. “This is holy ground, which means anyone who comes here needs permission to enter.” The Monk only stared back at her. He never blinked, and Y/N found that unnerving. “Still, I don’t have any friends and don’t get many visitors so come on in. Oh, but leave your weapons at the door. I don’t care for violence.” She sat back on her bed as the Monk tried to step over the threshold again and was successful this time. He slid the bow and quiver full of arrows off his shoulder and undid the sword belt. “And the daggers in your trousers and boot.”

The Monk rolled his eyes but obeyed, making a show of dropping them next to his other weapons. For a moment, they eyed each other before he finally looked away and began to walk around the circular room. He ran his fingers along the intricate carvings in the shelves and along the collection of books but stopped when he came to her worktable. He only said one word. “Witchcraft.”

His voice was low and gravelly. While others may have found it intimidating, Y/N found it soothing.

“That’s what a witch does. I’m surprised you can see anything from underneath that oversized hood of yours.”

The Monk didn’t respond immediately and instead continued looking around. “Father Carden said this tower was abandoned.”

“It was at one point of time. But where better to hide someone you once thought was human than a derelict tower rumoured to collapse at any moment?”

“You’re a Fey witch?”

“I know you’ve got the scent. Tell me, do I smell like Fey?”

The Monk was quiet for a moment. “No. You smell human.”

“By all accounts I am human. Except for the small inconsistency which is that I have the ability to practice witchcraft.”

“That’s not possible.” Y/N couldn’t tell if it was astonishment or fear she heard in his voice.

“Oh, it’s possible. Just unlikely.”

“How? How is it possible? And why would Father Carden let you live? Here? In our place of worship.”

“The same reason he lets you live. Yes, that’s right. I know all about you, Weeping Monk. So don’t you dare judge me. We’re both his greatest weapons and we let him use us because it means we’ll live to see another day.”

The Monk practically growled. “How do you know?”

Creak.

Y/N blinked. Was it lunch already? “Shit.” She began to panic. Seven seconds until Michael walked through that door. “Quick! In the wardrobe.”

“What?”

Y/N tripped over the rug again as she ran for the weapons. “Not so loud or he’ll hear you.”

“Who?”

Y/N dragged the Monk to the wardrobe and opened the doors. She shoved the weapons into his chest before pushing him back into the wardrobe. “Stay here. Don’t move or make a sound. And don’t come out until I say so, okay? If Michael sees you here, then Carden won’t be able to protect you. And I doubt he’ll choose to either. You’ll burn with me if we’re caught.”

“Y/N?”

The girl closed the wardrobe doors and smoothed out her skirts. “Come in, Michael.”

There was no handle on the door. Just a lock on the outside. He kicked the door open with his foot and walked into the room, placing the tray on the table. “Did I hear you talking to someone?”

“Just myself. Working on a healing poultice.” She held up her hand where she’d cut herself on one of the Monk’s weapons. “Cut myself.”

Michael rolled his eyes as he backed out of the room and grabbed the tray that he’d used to carry up breakfast earlier that morning. “Stupid bitch.”

Unperturbed by Michael’s only insult, Y/N wiggled her fingers at him. “See you for supper, Michael!”

“Shut up, stupid bitch.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Hmm. He’s learned a new one. Good for him.” Still, she waited until she heard the sole wooden step creak before telling the Monk he could come out.

“Do you have a death wish?”

Y/N frowned as she took the weapons back from the Monk. “What?”

“You just locked a killer in your wardrobe.”

“Sorry. Next time you can hide under my bed. Are you hungry? I’ve got some wine around here somewhere.”

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked to her worktable. “Gods, you’re curious. Sit down.”

Realizing he wouldn’t get any answers out of her by resisting, the Monk slumped into the wooden seat and plucked a few grapes off the plate. He was hungry. Y/N messily wrapped a cloth around her wound before gathring a bunch of items from her worktable. She dropped them on the round table the Monk sat at and began sorting through them.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you. I’ll answer your questions in a moment.” In a stone mortar, she mixed and ground herbs and honey into a paste. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Apprehensively, the Monk did. He rolled it up past his elbow to expose the cuts on his arm. Her hand was warm as she held it firm and applied the paste over the wounds. He swallowed nervously. “What are you doing?”

“I already told you. I’m helping you. The blade you were cut with was laced with poison. That’s why it hurts more than usual.”

“How can you tell?”

“I could feel your pain. That’s what happens when magic is near. You can smell the Fey folk and I can sense them and their magic. Okay, see how this paste is light green? It’ll grow darker as it draws the poison from your blood and will only dry when there’s no more poison in your system. It won’t heal the wounds though so don’t worry – nobody will be suspicious.”

“If you’re not Fey, then how do you know all this. And how can you sense the Fey and magic. I mean…you’re human.”

“That is true. But I’m also cursed. Father Carden says that it’s poison that makes the Fey. But there are some humans cursed to similar fates. My parents were human, but they weren’t good people and they killed a Fey Elder. Because of that, the Hidden took revenge on them by cursing me. I’m not marked or anything. I’m just from two different worlds where neither wants me. But back to the story. Despite killing one of their Elders, the Fey took me in with the intention to raise me as their own. But Father Carden had heard a rumour about a human baby kidnapped by the Fey. By the time he heard the lie and found me, I was five years old.”

“Old enough to remember.”

Y/N felt a tear slide down her cheek. “He slaughtered the lot of them. That whole village…nothing was left. Burned or destroyed. Everything and everyone except for me. When they died, all their knowledge went to me.

“Carden brought me here thinking I was human and introduced me as his daughter. But a year later there was an incident and he saw the truth. In order to hide his mistake and embarrassment, he lied and said that I was killed by Fey and killed a whole village nearby just for the story.”

“But he locked you up here instead.”

Y/N shrugged and wiped her tears. “He knew how useful I could be. He said he’d spared my life two times now and I would spend my whole life repaying that debt.”

“And how do you do it?”

“When I feel magic, I send him a sign to meet me. I tell him where I feel it coming from and he goes in that direction and when he gets there, he uses you to sniff them out.” Y/N looked down at the paste. “It’s dry. No more poison. And you should probably leave. Carden will be looking for you soon.”

“Let me ask you something. I can tell you don’t like being trapped up here and used like a puppet so why don’t you just leave?”

“There’s only two ways out of here. The door or the window. If I take the door and run away, he’ll torture and slaughter all the Fey because he knows it’ll get back to me. And I will not take the window because if I leave this place, it won’t be by suicide. I wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction.”

The Monk smirked and collected his weapons. “I don’t think he realizes that you’re nobody’s weapon but your own. What’s your name?”

“He calls me his little angel, but my real name is Y/N.”

The Monk gave a half smile. “See you around, Y/N.”

“If you do come back, it’s custom you bring something to a witch’s place of residence. It’s a symbol of truce. And I…I like flowers.”

The Monk gave a brisk nod. “Flowers.” He closed the door behind him and walked down the winding staircase until he ended up outside, facing the woods. Looking around and seeing no one, he reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out the folded piece of paper. His bootprint was on it because he’d stepped on it when Y/N had shoved him into the wardrobe but the drawing was still clear. And at the bottom, the image had been signed, dated, and titled.

The One Who Cries for the Family He Kills.

He looked at the image again, feeling a pull on his heart. It was him.

[part 2]

#cursed #the weeping monk #lancelot #fey #the weeping monk x reader #the weaping monk x fem!reader #the weeping monk x y/n #magic #fantasy #fanfiction #camelot #imagine #the weeping monk imagine