#theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 11: You Are My Queen

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI)—missionary, unprotected PiV (do not endorse, wrap it up), "fucked dumb" (more like "fucked tired") if you squint, food stuff (... idk it gets messy. Honey is involved.) ❧ Word Count: 10.2k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: After the defeat of Negan and his Saviors, you are confronted with the pain of what you've experienced, and you must confide in Daryl. Of course, the bittersweet moment becomes a reunion fit for lovers.

❧ A/N: Um so hi! You guys didn't think I was never gonna finish this did you? I mean I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I did it! I mean, I tried. I had a few different ideas for how to end the series, and then I realized that this isn't quite the end. I am going to write an "Epilogue" chapter that will just be wrapping up everything with Ezekiel and basically the princess telling her dad about Daryl. But for now, this is the end! Now I gotta focus on Begin Again now that I finally have this done(ish). Hope you guys like it, and thank you for waiting <3

Far from the carnage and warfare, miles away in a secluded wood, the hearth burned brightly, illuminating the small cottage in a warm glow that seemed so distinct from the deep, dark night that surrounded outside. 

The scarlet wound on his thigh bubbling with vinegar and wine, you held a wooden spoonful of warmed honey, letting it drip slowly over the clean injury. After the bath you’d given him, he wore nothing, save for the loose drawstring braies of linen that reached just above his knee. 

Your delicate fingers spread the translucent liquid gold over the surrounding skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you kept note of his visage. Though his face was relaxed, and softened by the warm glow of the fire, he was stoic. No matter how you treated his wound, he did not flinch, or so much as show any signs of discomfort or pain. 

As you wrapped his leg with a clean gauze, you spoke to him, cutting through the silence that had settled between you for the last several minutes. 

“Does it not hurt?” you asked softly, barely above a whisper. 

“No,” he replied simply, though that was not entirely true. The blade had been the worst hurt of it, but now, it was only a dull sting. Perhaps so much pain in his life had heightened his tolerance, or dulled his sense. 

In fact, the sensation was pleasant. All he could really feel was the soft pads of your fingers gently spreading the liquid over his skin, the honey acting as a soothing agent after the cleansing properties of the wine and vinegar had settled into the open wound. 

Wrapping the last bit of gauze around his thigh, you gently folded the linen of his braises back over, a soft puff of air escaping your lips all the while. 

“You are brave,” you said, your eyes lifting with a gentle flutter of your lashes. 

With a shift of your legs from underneath you, you carefully replaced the spoon of honey into its jar, setting it aside upon the floor next to you. It felt good to no longer be upon your feet, now bandaged and clean after Daryl had so adamantly insisted that you let him do so. Now, though, you’d tend to him, after everything he’d done for you that night. 

But with the fortitude of a true knight, he did not show pain nor pride. He did not bask in any glory or relish in his victory. He did not shed a tear, his limp as he walked not slowing him down or keeping him from getting you to the safety of the cottage. Not only was he brave, but he was humble. The man you’d once called a sorry excuse for a knight had turned out to be a paragon of gallantry, though he never had to prove that to you. You’d known the error of your words since he returned to you that night so many moons ago, promising to take you beyond the walls without payment or worldly reward.

That seemed worlds away now. The way you’d looked at him then was a far cry from now, when before you was the embodiment of the greatest warmth and sweetness you’d ever felt. The swell in your chest had cut your breath short for a moment, while the knight shifted on the floor cushion upon which he sat, leaning forward to pull you closer by your hands, until you were cradled in his arms, your body curled up upon his lap and your head resting against his bare chest. 

That was when your breath came back, the soothing motions of his hands caressing your sides reminding you of the safety he gave you now. Negan was no more, the Saviors were no more, and soon, your father and the surviving militia would meet you here, but now, there was nothing in this world except him, and you. 

When time just began to crumble away, your eyes heavy with the promise of sleep, you were brought back to the surface of consciousness by his voice, steady and low.

“You are brave.”

A puff of amused air escaped your lips, though you did not contradict him, only listened as he spoke, that voice of his more soothing than the honey on his wound. 

“You killed Negan.” 

Though you could not regret your actions, you shivered at the thought of that moment, the knife driving into his back, the feeling of the blade tunneling through tissue and finally puncturing his frozen heart. It made you cling tighter to his chest, as if to cower from the memory that haunted you in the back of your mind. 

“If you hadn’t, I would not be here now, holding you.”

Indeed, that was what he was made for―holding you, serving you. Just as you clung tighter to him, he held you with more strength, not out of fear that you’d be taken from him again, but out of sheer devotion. 

“And I owe you my life.”

“No,” you replied, almost startling him as you lifted your head. As if by instinct, he held your chin softly, the calloused pad of his thumb stroking its soft skin in short, but slow, back and forth motions. “There is nothing that you owe to me. Certainly not your life.”

Though you remained stern in your expression of earnestness, his lips curled into a gentle smile. 

“I owe you everything. My life’s devoted to serving you, you know that.”

But as you looked at him, his eyes so full of love and hope for the future he had with you, there was still a hesitation inside you. It was like a parasite, worming its way inside your heart to keep you from fully embracing the comfort he brought you. It had not held such an effect on you, until now. Now that you could comprehend it, the hideous guilt that troubled you so. 

He could see it in your eyes now, too, as evidenced by his smile fading and his eyes, still filled with that same love, growing dim with concern. 

“What is it?”

To keep it from him would only cause more abject pain, but to hurt him, to tell him of the betrayal that you believed you had committed against him. How could you go on, now that the thought of that man’s cold, slimy hands all over you would not let you rest in the arms of the man who truly loved you?

And if you told him, would he rebuff you, disavow his love for you and never even hold you again? 

“Nothing,” you said, but the quiver in your slowly faltering voice betrayed you, and the feeling of a cold, dead hand strangled around your heart made you shiver. He brought you closer to his chest, where warmth briefly tore you from the icy snare of guilt and shame. It was only a temporary respite, though. The only way to rid yourself of this regret was to tell him. 

Another man’s mouth had been on yours, the salty, bitter taste of which you swore still lingered and made a mockery of your once pure lips. You’d truly never felt that Daryl had ever taken any purity from you. In fact, he made you more pure, but the bitterness of Negan’s filthy tongue had sullied you, you believed, and now you were nothing more than a broken woman, despite how whole you felt when he held you in his arms.

“Tell me,” he said, with that eerie whisper of knowing on his breath. Even the soothing circular movements of his splayed out hand on the small of your back were made with careful concern. Indeed, he knew that whatever troubled you must have been to do with what had transpired within the last week. 

Afterall, the blot of watercolor black and blue around your eye gave him an inkling, one which made anger well up in him like molten lava bubbling to the surface, igniting him with a kind of rage that was strong enough to bring that scum of a man back to life just to slice his head clean off a second time. And, oh, would he do it again if he had the chance, just to know, again and again and again, that the man who tormented his princess could never bring more harm to her, or anyone else.

“Daryl, I…” 

Your words having fizzled out into thin air, you shook your head and loosened yourself from his arms, as though you were unworthy of their embrace. The more you thought of that night, the more you believed that to be true.

“What happened?” he asked, his body beginning to stiffen as he mirrored you—both of you frozen in fear of whatever you would say, if you would say anything at all.

For a moment, he felt both weightless and heavy, in some kind of strange limbo wherein worry overtook his physicality before any words could confirm the worst of his fears. It washed the color from his face, where once a warm pink had blossomed from the feeling of the nearby hearth and your body so close to his, once again, after everything that had happened. 

Now, he could only begin to think of the heinous things that could’ve been done to you… Knowing how Negan had looked at you, how he touched you that night of the joust. There was something sinister in his eyes then, and now, there was a similar dread in your expression as you looked away from him, eyelids heavy and head downturned.

With a gentle hand on your shoulder, his instinct to hold you too strong to completely ignore without at least a single touch, he began to speak again—voice quiet yet raspy. 

“Did he… did he touch you?”

Of course, he had, but what Daryl meant by his words seemed deeper than their surface level definition. The vitriol in his voice, the sting of the word touch, which once might have been so much more beautiful on his lips, was palpable, lacerating your heart further. If it wasn’t for the pain of the guilt, you would still feel the hurt of the sadness in his voice. 

You raised your eyes to meet his, though his face was blurred in the haze of your tears. A kind of shocked concern shaped his expression as he held your cheek with so much delicateness, as though you were but an assemblage of rose petals sewn together with gossamer twine.

He spoke your name now, low and almost a whisper. There was something so earnest about that, the way he called you only by your name and nothing else. No title, no epithet. Just you, just a woman, but not just a woman at all—a woman for whom he’d give the skin off his back to keep warm. 

With his fingers laced delicately through your hair, he begged you with his eyes, glassy and clear, almost translucent to the point you swore you could see his soul bared before you. Even just in his stare, he made himself vulnerable to you, and soon, whatever fear you had of him turning on you melted under that comforting, warm gaze. Just for a moment, you gave in, and used your tongue to forcibly tear out the words that were stuck in your throat. 

But still, you could not look at him as you spoke.

“Yes, he…” Your voice trailed off, followed by a deep breath of air you’d hoped would give you the strength to continue, but it only brought forth the tears that threatened to give way.

Two big arms encircled you hesitantly, slowly enough to allow you to break free had you not craved his touch, but his touch was all that could give you peace now. No further questions were needed, he surmised. He wasn’t sure he could even bear to know more of what was done to you, so he kept you in his grasp, which you did not fight. 

With a shaky voice, he spoke against your cheek as he held onto you. Your head found a cradle in his shoulder, where tears wetted his bare skin. On his breath was a gentle shhh sound, like a light breeze rustling the leaves of an ancient oak in cool night air. It comforted you, along with the steady motion of his hands on your back, moving in slow, languid circles. 

But no longer could you only contain your emotions to your sobs. Now, you raised your head and faced him, looking him sharply in the eye despite the pain that singed your heart with each syllable:

“I had a plan,” you began. “I… I only wanted to get close to him. He called me to his chambers… I had a knife. I let him touch me…” Once again, you could no longer hold his gaze. You continued on, now tripping over your own words as you scrambled to explain, through a tear-soaked voice that trembled in fear of whatever reaction you’d receive. “Only just with his lips… His filthy lips. Then as soon as I could, I tried to stab him. I swear, all I wanted was to get close to him, long enough to kill him.”

The knight only looked at you with a steady gaze, one that only softened with each passing moment. You felt his arms tighten around you, and you weren’t sure if it was an attempt to comfort you, or to suffocate you. Either way, you would’ve died a thousand times to feel that touch.

But you longed most of all, now, to know exactly what he was thinking. To hear those words you knew must’ve been brewing inside that head of his—those words that would crush you under the weight of their rebuke. Though those words never came, no shame or disappointment, only another kind of pain in his eyes. A pain that was born of your sadness as each tear you shed sent a new wave of agony through his aching body.

Shakily, you whispered to him, pleading in all but words for him to tell you how much he hated you for betraying him, for letting another man touch you. “My love… Won’t you end my suffering and speak to me?”

At times, Daryl’s movements carried more meaning that any service his vocal cords could provide. All he could do in that moment was hold you by your cheeks, his thumbs meandering in circles to gently rub the tears into your skin. 

And, finally, he did speak, but his words caught you off guard far more than you thought possible. 

“What are you afraid of, princess?”

Afraid of?

“I… I do not understand.”

“The look in your eyes, the fear. You look afraid of me. Why?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat as you shook your head, both in denial and in confusion. “I do not fear you.”

Quite the contrary, you wanted nothing more for him to hold you until your heart gave out. 

“I—I fear that you will detest me,” you continued, now trying desperately to let your tears drown out your words. “I fear I’ve betrayed you.”

In your mind, you had, and Daryl would have had every right to leave you now: alone and pitiful. Though he didn’t. He only kept his eyes on yours, and though you had a shameful urge to look away, you could not tear your gaze from his. There was no spite in his eyes, no bitterness or loathing. Not even anger. 

All you could see in his eyes was the same gentleness, the same kindness and utter servitude that he devoted to you with each passing moment his eyes took you in. That sentiment had always been there, nothing had changed, no matter what you could say. It would never change. There was no enmity there, only the strength of his love for you. 

His hands held your cheeks still, pulling you gently closer until his forehead softly touched yours. The feeling made you shudder, as though still you could never fully comprehend the sensation his touch gave to you. You were sure that you would never get quite used to that feeling, though you never wanted to. That sense of novelty was a pleasant sensation all on its own. 

“My princess,” he said, his grainy voice barely above a whisper as his nose touched yours. His lips began to upturn ever so slightly into the softest smile, natural and sweet. “There’s nothin’ you could do to make me think that.” 

As you shuddered a shaky breath, he held you closer still. You let out a heavy sigh, one that felt like it had been lingering deep inside you ever since you escaped the Sanctuary.

“You’re trembling,” he said, running his coarse fingertips along the exposed skin of your neck, until his hand met the loose neckline of his chemise that you borrowed, draped over you more like a dress than a shirt as the oversized garment reached just below your thighs. He leaned back to look at you, still sniffling back tears. With a strong hand, he swept back your hair to nestle it in the warm crevice behind your ear. 

“You cold?” he asked, already beginning to tug a blanket from under a nearby cushion. “Here—”

“No.” Your suddenness nearly startled him. It reminded you just how fragile he was, no matter how reluctant he was to show it. “I’m all right.”

Daryl knew, though, that you still could not shake the guilt, like a vulture’s ravenous gnawing at your heart. He knew you too well, so well that it almost frightened him. There was no one else with whom he could see through, whose transparency reflected a deep, intrinsic understanding beyond conscious comprehension. The depths of you were overwhelming, but he could never fight the profound urge to navigate them, despite the sadness that his love’s empathy could bring.

With a deep breath of his own, he brought you back to his lap. The ease with which he could manipulate your body with the most gentle yet sudden caress would never fail to momentarily paralyze you. You melted into his arms once again. It was only a matter of time before you became completely at his mercy, though there was absolutely no part of you that protested, except maybe that last shred of guilt. 

“You know I love you,” he said. “You know I serve you.” You must have broken out into a smile, because he, too, smiled. “And you know that you’re here now. You’re alive. Whatever you did to get here, whatever I did to get here… They’re sacrifices—risks.”

You found your hands returning to his body, their place on his broad, firm shoulders solidified like indentations in concrete. Swallowing hard, you felt a chill run through you, but it was not from the fear of losing him now—it was the effect of his touch, his hands having found their way beneath the shirt he lent you, sprawled out over your back, stroking in gentle rhythms. 

“Daryl.” Your voice seemed to crumble under the pressure of the air that you spoke shakily into, the utterance of his name so delicate upon your trembling lips. “What I did, it haunts me. Perhaps you can forgive me, but how will I forgive myself, when I let that man—”

He did not let you utter another word before he interrupted, his own voice soft with sympathy. How he could remain so patient with you in this state, you would never know.

“I know your heart, I know you.” Now he all but forced your weary head to rest upon his chest, where the gentle beating of his heart warmed your cheek. “The only anger I have is for the man who touched you, not you.”

But still, it was hard for you to forget. The only cure to that ailment seemed to be Daryl’s touch, his assurance that he loved you beyond what words could convey. You needed his touch, but not just skin to skin. There was more, a lingering desire that floated between you perpetually, yet was stronger now than ever before. 

It was a desire that penetrates, that longs to be penetrated. The kind that only lovers of the truest caliber could satisfy in the company of one another, the company which you had been deprived of for far too long. 

The pestilence Sir Negan left for you to wallow in would only be destroyed by the greatest expression of love—that which made all pain and sorrow and suffering pale in comparison to the feeling of knowing that your heart was in the safe hands of no one else but him, your lover. 

Your knight. 

When silence overcame you, he uttered your name softly against one cheek, while his hand delicately brushed over the other. If he touched you anywhere else, you might crumble into a million pieces, like an ancient Grecian statue carved from the most fragile marble. 

Only the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard against your soft breaths caressing the shell of his ear, while your hands crept carefully up his chest, brushing over the creases of his underarms to grasp at his shoulders. They felt so hard, so firm and unbreakable. You held them tighter now, and in response, he tightened his arms around your waist to bring you ever closer, until your lips found his.

The kiss was tender, light, each of your lips dancing softly over the other’s. With a tilt of his head and a brief respite, he caught your lips again, this time more firmly, yet still somehow cautious. 

Perhaps he’d never grow completely forthcoming in his lust for you, which seemed almost sacrilegious, yet somehow sacred. He knew that he’d be killed for this, but how on God’s green earth was he going to keep his hands off you? How could any star up above in those vast, empyreal heavens compare to the gleam in your eyes when he uttered your name, each syllable dripping with honeyed cadence? How could the rich, melodic refrain of any skilled bard’s lute come close to the dulcet sighs that tickled his ears so delectably, almost tauntingly? How could there be anything more soft, more supple, than your body—that which occupied his thoughts far more often than he could ever truly admit? 

Even your scent roused his most lustful thoughts, that sweet citrusy musk entangled with heady notes of the most intoxicating rose, the petals of which could not compare to the plump, velvety lips he traced his work-worn thumb over now, parting them gently until a sliver of darkness formed, with just a flash of white where your teeth could be seen. 

Finally, those lips opened just a bit more to speak again. “I want to forget that night,” you said. “I want to forget everything that’s happened… besides you.”

Truly, nothing was of consequence to you now, but him. You wanted to be enveloped in him. To be absorbed in him. To be one with him.

If he hadn’t been so lost in the vibrant hue of your glittering eyes, speckled with sparks alight from the nearby hearth, he might’ve noticed the feeling of your hands exploring his bare chest, your palms melting against the buttery surface of those defined muscles. When the sparkle in your eye lost his attention, he did feel it—that soft touch with just a hint of something more… indecent.

With a slow, meandering movement, never taking those silvery blue eyes from yours, he took both of your hands in his, where they rested so delicately in the strong cradle of his warm palms. He brought them to his lips, the touch of which was so featherlight that you could barely even hear the sound of them pressing an ever so sweetly suggestive kiss to your hands. 

It was then that the chemise you wore slid slowly off your shoulder, its size much too big for your frame. With even just your collarbone and the slope of your neck now exposed, much to the delight of his increasingly wandering eyes, he knew there was no escape from the desperation you awakened in him. Only it was not just desperation, but the insatiable urge to provide for you the comfort you so needed. It was written clear as day in your eyes.

Even so, you could not let the heavy air between you go without another plea, though it seemed to him almost like a command—from a princess to a knight.

“Make me forget.”

And so he obliged, not with another kiss, but with a tight grip on your waist, lifting you until you sat upon his lap, where the heat of his center warmed the bare underside of your thighs. After he took a moment to gather his thoughts in the midst of his sudden haste, he did not keep you in that position for long. The feeling of your weight upon his lap was too divine, nearly too much. If he took you now with too much urgency, that which was so strong he could hardly hide it, he might reach the peak of his pleasure much too soon. 

So you were caught in a slight whirlwind for just a moment, in one last burst of quickness punctuated by a low, raspy rumble in his voice. Now you were laid out rather ungracefully, resting on piles of weaved woolen blankets and furs strewn loosely upon the floor. 

There was not as much hesitation now, having already seen your body in its most bare form. He lifted the chemise over your head with ease, and when the fabric no longer obscured your vision, you met his face—a gentle, almost unnoticeable curl of his lip. 

Above you, his eyes took their time roaming your chest, but not just your breasts. There was a delicateness to you everywhere—the slope of your collarbones, the way your shoulders rolled as you started to grow aroused, the pulsing of the strained tendons in your neck. 

But before he could bring his lips to kiss your neck as he so deliberately planned on doing, he noticed the now tipped over jar of amber-colored honey slowly dripping from the lip of the vessel onto the floor, not far from where your hair had been strewn about amidst the sudden movements of passion. Those same movements must’ve caused the nearby jar to lose its balance. 

Now brought to his attention, the silken honey seemed to shimmer with a warm, enticing glow. His heavy, blown-out eyes returned to your body, now with a sparkle of mischief, perhaps. You weren’t entirely sure, as you’d rarely seen such a quality in his gaze before.

In a trance of combined anticipation and confusion as the man held his half-naked body over yours, you looked up at him with innocent questioning. 

“My knight?” you asked quietly, your voice only a faint, fragile whisper, delicate as a butterfly’s wing. “You seem confounded.” A soft tickle of laughter trailed off from your voice. “Does something trouble you? You moved with such vigor only a moment ago.”

He was unsure of how to explain in words the idea that came to him then, though you seemed to have grown accustomed to his sometimes reticent nature. That would prove to work in his favor now, as he all but remained silent in response to your questioning, opting instead only to scoop a bit of honey onto his index and middle fingers, slowly removing them from the jar with a hefty glob of the sticky substance. 

You turned your head to watch in confusion, which quickly became concern.

“Does your wound need more honey? Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replied simply, with a more serious tone of lust to his deep, gravelly voice, the vibrations of which sent a fresh shiver down your spine. 

For several moments, you were held hostage by his gaze, which roamed down the expanse of your neck. Your heavy breathing told him what he needed to know—the way your chest heaved with each passing second. You craved him, more than ever before, perhaps. With each new breath, he swore he could hear a slight pleaing whimper just trailing behind. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, he brought his honey-drenched fingers to your lips, already slightly agape. 

But he did not want to force the liquid into your mouth, only to coat your lips in its sweetness. 

So he traced the shape of your lips, leaving behind a trail of gold sheen to glaze the soft, plump skin. Despite your slight disorientation, you allowed him to do as he pleased. After all, there was no other way to forget the pain of all that you’d experienced. No other way to be completely enveloped in the pleasure of love. 

Soon you could taste the honey seeping into your mouth, dripping slowly onto your tongue. It tasted sweet, of course, but as his lips gently pressed to yours, the taste seemed even sweeter. 

Between your lips was a sticky mess of warm sighs and saccharine wetness, with his tongue invading your mouth impatiently, swirling feverishly as your hands reached up to grasp at his shoulders. 

Your touch ignited a fire in him, deep in the pit of his stomach, from which a guttural moan melted into your mouth. 

And he knew there was more of your body that he needed, more skin he could drench in the warm nectar of the honey, more skin he could lick clean. 

A fragile sigh escaped your trembling lips as he separated himself from you abruptly, though the disappointment in your voice compelled him to return to your honeyed lips for just a moment to kiss them in an offer of apology for his momentary departure. 

He separated once more, leaning to the side to find the jar of honey, and immediately collecting another hefty, dripping glob of golden syrup. 

There was a shaky whimper in your voice when he trailed his honey-drenched fingers over your breast, circling slowly around the nipple. 

The more he applied to the soft tissue of your nipple, the more the substance globbed and began to drip slowly, like molasses, down the slope of your breast, making your back arch at the tickling sensation. 

The knight could only watch your breast become drenched in translucent golden liquid, the subtle scent tempting him to come closer, until you could feel his warm breath against your heaving chest. 

An absent-minded sigh escaped your quivering lips, with his name: “Daryl…”

Just as he heard it, his own name spoken on the wings of a swan’s breath, his flattened tongue caught a plump drip of gold slowly making its way down your breast.

He licked upwards then, reaching the hardened bud of your nipple, where his tongue circled eagerly now, yet with a slowness just enough to delay your pleasure, to properly torment you with his toying attention.

But his own temptation prompted him to take the whole sweetened nipple into his mouth, which craved above all else to taste every inch of you—the delicate, virtuous princess writhing naked underneath him as he made use of your body to the fullest extent of his desire.

With his mouth upon your aroused nipple, he suctioned his lips, now himself becoming too impatient to merely kiss the engorged flesh. 

The feeling sent your head reeling backwards against the pillow, with a low, breathy moan. Each kiss made you cry out louder, more impatiently as your body craved more of his kisses. 

But what he wanted was more honey.

So he took the jar again, this time tilting it so that the golden liquid began to drizzle in zigzag patterns over your chest, then your stomach.

Now you felt drenched in honey, sticky with it. Not to the point of discomfort, but amusement at his fascination with it, his tongue now licking up the trail.

You let out a quiet laugh, your voice low and sultry as you began to speak. “You’re making a mess of me.”

He did not stop lapping up at the drizzled honey, except to look up at you with a subtle mischief gleaming in his eyes of quicksilver blue for a few moments, long enough to say, “A very sweet mess.”

Soon his lips returned to yours, while his chest pressed against yours in a sticky embrace. You couldn’t help but laugh softly against my mouth, while your hands reached up to loosely tangle in the soft umber colored tresses upon his head. 

And it felt like heaven to him then—your softness underneath him, your own sweet taste overpowering the saccharine honey, the tickle of your laugh fluttering against his lips, the slight scratch of your fingernails upon his scalp, the intoxicating warmth between your legs opening up to take him in as your legs wrapped around his waist. 

That eagerness of yours made him snicker. Unable to resist the urge to chide you a bit, he pulled his lips away for a moment.

“Your highness seems restless,” he said, nodding his nose against yours with a small but wicked smile curling to one side of his face. “I thought princesses were supposed to be patient and proper.”

With a tilt of your head, you glared up at him, only with a very slight sense of playful annoyance.

“You know nothing of patience or propriety, depraved knight. It is you who so wantonly tempts my resolve… Who compels me to crave your devilish touch, which causes my weary mind such carnal turmoil.”

The knight’s quiet laugh seeped out from the charmingly crooked crack in his lips. With a low hum, somewhere between amusement and lust, he leaned down to kiss his increasingly restless princess once more.

When the kiss broke, he brushed the back of his hand against your heated cheek in soothing motions as he spoke softly against your slightly pouty agape lips. 

“Those are big words,” he said, with a low rumble of laughter underscoring his scratchy voice. “They sure sound pretty on your lips.”

As your hands absentmindedly roamed the broad expanse of his heaving chest, the muscles underneath the hair-speckled flesh flexing under your soft touch, you met his gaze from above you with a mischievous glimmer in your eye.

“My love,” you hummed softly, your eyelashes fluttering slowly against his cheek as his mouth roamed aimlessly over yours. “You torment me with your caresses… Your sweet touch.”

“You said it was devilish,” he replied between kisses, using your dramatized words against you. 

“It is,” you laughed softly. “Devilish and sweet. But it’s your touch. I wish to feel it every moment of every day and every night for all eternity, and the eternity after that, and before that, and every eternity in between.”

Daryl’s hand lifted to the side of your face, gently placing a strand of unruly hair behind your ear, to continue his increasingly feverish onslaught of kisses on your other cheek. 

“Yes, your highness,” he replied, much to your amusement. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Mm, you’re mine.”

After a momentary pause, he seemed to turn more serious—almost frightening—as he grabbed you with more impatient vigor, your arms having no choice but to cling around his neck. With your face surrounded by soft tresses of brown hair, you let out an instinctive cry, as though he was a predator and you were prey, about to be devoured. Though there was nothing in your biology that compelled you to fight him off. You’d accepted your fate, and you welcomed it.

Your weight was suddenly cradled by the softness of the bed beneath you, though your legs were still wrapped tightly around Daryl’s waist. That did not keep him restrained for long, for he soon unraveled himself from your entanglement and began to strip himself of his worn linen braies.

There was hardly any time to marvel at his anatomy—he soon climbed back over you, catching your breath with his mouth once again. You could at least feel his now unhindered length, though. You could feel it harden between your legs, where the warmth of your soft thighs made his cock begin to twitch from the pressure. 

As though your body wasn’t close enough for his liking, he looped his arm under the arch of your back, lifting you up just enough to feel your belly pressed against his. If he concentrated enough, he swore he could feel the delicate fluttering of your excitement inside you.

The tingling became stronger now, his body moving above you with enough rhythm to force his cock against the fleshy folds between your legs. The feeling was still so foreign, having only felt it in its fullest form once before, but you knew that tingle just from the sight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him. He did not even need to touch you there to make your body react in such a way, you were certain. 

Taking notice of your soft moans against his lips, and the slight gyration of your body, he used his free hand to find the warmth that so enticed him. His fingers settled in that crevice, staying still for a moment, until by some impulse they began to move. Up and down, up and down… A rhythmic motion not unlike the way the rest of his body moved, too. For your part, you broke the kiss to let out a moan that could not be contained by the velvet cage of his adoring mouth any longer. 

“Oh!”

Your head had tilted back so far that your neck was now exposed, completely subject to his will. As his hand moved not faster, but with more pressure, more insistence, he trailed his lips down your jawline, leaving messy, imprecise kisses along your perfumed skin. 

Applying increasing pressure, he sank his fingertips into you, that warm, sodden opening between your legs. The sensation was still so new, though the slight burning pain was less than before. You only clenched your teeth slightly, feeling his fingers extend deeper within you, curling upwards toward your belly. 

For a moment, he could not pay attention to anything but the way you felt—the way your body reacted to his invasion. Your passageway seemed to pulse around his fingers ever so slightly, as if it was some innate reaction, coercing his fingers further.

He only noticed your slight discomfort when he looked at you, your eyes shut tight. He pressed his lips to your cheek, his hair falling in your face. It was soft, yet ticklish, like a curtain of brown feathers draped over you.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice a soft, soothing whisper. If his touch wasn’t pleasing you enough, his voice so gentle and yet gruff was sure to push you over the edge of pleasure and into the realm of extraordinary bliss. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s only slight… You’re quite gentle.”

Against your cheek, you could feel his lips curl into a smile. All the while, his fingers moved slowly, back and forth, migrating between the shallow part of you, and the deepest part.

“Do you like it this way, your highness? Slow… gentle? I could go faster, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”

With a laugh, you shook your head, amused. “You could hurt me and it would still feel like heaven.”

He smiled down at you, then pressed another kiss to those plump, agape lips, sparkling with wetness and trembling with desire. Daryl was never a particularly confident man, but something about the way you wanted him, craved him beyond anything he’d ever known, he felt like he had the whole world in his hands. 

And now, he felt the world quake and shiver round his curled fingers, an accumulation of warm wetness pooling where his knuckles breached the entrance of your body in repetitive motions. Coupled with the aching softness of your uncontrollable moans were the sounds of his fingers moving inside you, the rhythmic, involuntary squeezing of the canal creating drenched and airy sighs of its own. 

As his fingers pulsed inside of you, you clung tightly to his shoulders, the tan, sun-freckled skin stretched thinly over defined muscles. A strained sigh escaped your lips as your fingers dug into his skin. Daryl’s pace slowed steadily to keep you from coming too soon, but he knew you were so very close. 

It amused him a little, the way your body was so sensitive to his touch. He found arousal in the way he could so easily bring you the ultimate pleasure, and the way he could withhold it at will. Despite how subservient he was to you, he could not help but revel in the dominance that came over him when so much control of your perfect body was given willingly over to him.

But you sighed and pouted as his fingers paused inside of you. Opening your eyes, you tilted your head and looked up at him—he traced your jawbone with his finger, while the fingers he had inside you playfully wiggled upwards to make you shiver.

“Daryl,” you sighed, not quite sure what else to say but his name.

In response, he smiled as hazy silvery blue eyes roamed your face, taking in each and every flawless feature. “You’re so beautiful… My sweet angel. I’d like to have you like this forever.”

Though your heart fluttered at his sweet words, you could only muster a few words, as your body anticipated its release: “Do not stop.”

But he did the opposite, removing his fingers altogether and leaving you throbbing, writhing desperately as you groaned softly. 

Panting, he sat up, lifting himself up from the bed to look at you, taking you in for a moment as he decided on what to do next. After all, he was leading the way. 

Before you could say another word, or even lift up your head to see what he was up to, you felt his hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you towards him as he stood at the end of the bed. 

You managed a surprised exclamation at the sudden jolt, your legs now spread just wide enough to fit his body as he climbed over you, his weight holding you against the bed. Now he kissed you again, with lips and tongue moving wildly over yours. Lost in this passion, you found your hands exploring the wide, muscular surface of his back, moving in erratic circles. With each flex of his muscles underneath your soft palms, you let out a breathy sigh, swallowed by his mouth on yours. 

As much as you craved his kiss, you knew you craved the hardness between his legs that was pulsing against your sodden entrance more. It was so close to being inside you, so close to that feeling you had only known once before, that you coveted ever since he first made love to you. There was an overwhelming emptiness there always now, where you hadn’t quite felt one before. You had known the carnal pleasures of sex, and now it was like a curse of desire had overtaken you. Not a desire just for the feeling, but for him, and the feeling only he could give to you. 

He felt your desire, too. It only heightened his own as his lower body moved against yours, assuaging his hunger for the embrace of your body just enough to keep him from spoiling this moment of closeness with his impatience. You deserved more than a quick burst of passion that ended in an underwhelming sensation of relief. That was what he’d only known before, after all―mindless, loveless moments with nameless, faceless women who could satisfy his purely biological need in the most practical exchange of goods. These occasions were few and far between, but never satiating beyond that primal desire. This was unlike anything he’d felt before, and to make love to someone, real love, was a change of pace he had to orient himself with. A most welcome change, of course. 

But he could not hold out much longer, he knew this of his body well enough. So at last he pulled his lips away from yours, his focus turning to the space where your bodies were so close to connecting. He reached down, with a series of gruff pants escaping between his lips, to bring the tip of his cock to your entrance. 

There was just a tickle of his flesh brushing against yours, but it was enough to elicit a shiver and a sigh against his sweat-dripping cheek. There, you pressed your lips to his face, with the salt of his clammy skin on your tongue. As he slowly entered you, you felt your body loosen, no longer tense with need, but now just beginning to feel full and warm. 

And with a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself further. Despite how slow he tried to move, he could not waste another moment―he did not want for anything in this moment but to be completely inside of you. 

The feeling lingered for a while as both of your bodies rested in place. He did not move, neither did you. There was only the erratic beating of your hearts and the heavy breaths escaping your lips. Daryl’s head found its place in the space between your head and your shoulder, where he found refuge in the warmth of your hair, scented with galgant and cloves. 

Though you could bask forever in the feeling of him inside you, still and deep, your desire was to feel him move again. 

As if on their own accord, your hands moved swiftly down his back to squeeze the flesh of his buttocks, as you’d call it. Ass, as he would call it, you were sure. The feeling elicited a laugh which tickled your cheek. 

“Where did you learn to do that, princess?”

“Nowhere,” you replied, just as he lifted himself up to look down upon you. There was a look of playfulness in his eyes, with a considerable amount of increasingly impatient lust. It excited you more, so you moved yourself as much as you could in an attempt to feel the friction of his cock inside you. 

Amused at your clumsy wiggling, he relented with a subtle swirl of his hips and a movement of his body which pulled him further out of you, until he slowly buried himself deeper again. 

His arms propped up the bulk of his weight as he moved in and out of you at increasing pace, his breath becoming more and more ragged all the while. Nothing could hold him back as he began to lose control of himself. Every cell in his body screamed for release, and he couldn’t slow down now. His lower body moved faster with each thrust that shook you to your core, where the tingly feeling of pleasure was building up inside once again.

Wide-eyed and breathless, your hands moved to his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself steady, but it was no use. His sheer physical strength and size was enough to make your body practically seize from the force of his thrusts. In these desperate, hungry movements, there was a deep reverence—a kind of devotion you’d never known before, not even as a princess. He made love to you like it was an act of worship, in every conceivable way.

From the way he focused on you, as though the sun and stars revolved around you, to the feeling of his body making every frantic, passionate movement not only to sate his need, but to please you, he wanted nothing more than to serve you, as was his sworn oath.

And as you came closer to losing control of your loins, your body squeezed and writhed around him. In a fit of pleasure, so close to the precipice of bliss, your back arched and your head was thrown backwards with an involuntary spasm, as your legs clenched tight around his waist to draw him further into you. 

He was so deep, and you felt so full. The pain was there, lingering, as you were stretched open again and again. In all your ignorance, a part of you feared he’d tear you open, but you trusted him—your gallant, noble knight.

Now your hands held for dear life to his upper arms, where well-worn and well-defined muscles gleamed with sweat and ached with each part of him that needed release, which was soon to come. Your heavy, quickened breaths formed a pattern that seemed to match his, with occasional moans, groans, and even a slight curse or two escaping his tightened lips. 

And soon, a sudden wave of vibrations overtook you—that sensation you’d been dreaming of since the first night he bedded you. It was like a hurricane sweeping through your body, each new pulse of tingling pleasure surging through you like a strong gust of wind that left you squirming and crying out underneath him. 

It was a feast for his eyes to see you like this, and to know just how much power his love held over you. With each gasp, each breathy moan, each soft convulsion that contorted your body, he lost himself in your bliss. 

He couldn’t help but kiss your trembling lips as your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling his body further against you and into your pulsing center. This feeling, along with the soft dance of his tongue across and around yours, drew him closer to his own release.

It had been buried deep in the back of his mind from the moment he realized you were taken—that terrible longing, tainted by the fear that never again would he feel this again. Of course he knew the most important thing was rescuing you and returning you home safe, but there was that selfish part of him that desired you carnally, because once was not enough. 

Now that you were safe, he feared he’d never be able to go another second without you again.

So, with a final deep thrust and a hearty groan, he let his body go. He was quick enough to free himself from you, releasing the buildup of his arousal onto the soft inside of your thigh. 

The warmth tickled you slightly as it trickled down. You watched through hazy, lidded eyes as Daryl’s hand stroked his pulsing cock until it was rendered limp as if with exhaustion. His body drooped over yours, his head cradled against your shoulder. Fast, heavy breaths warmed your neck. In a matter of seconds, he caught his breath enough to catch your lips with his once more.

Heady air thick with the scent of honey and sex swirled between your bodies, moving languidly beneath the fur blanket Daryl had draped over the two of you somewhere between lazy, sweaty kisses and tangled arms. 

Tonight was different than the first night you made love. That night, the passionate fire he stoked inside of you kept your mind alert enough to stay awake with him into the wee hours of the morning, murmurs of dreams and worries slipping between your lips. Tonight, you could hardly keep your eyes open once you’d felt your body sink into the straw-filled cot beneath you. 

Daryl, in his lust, hadn’t noticed you’d begun to drift off as he showered you in kisses. When your hands began to slowly lose their tight, needful grip on his shoulders, he let his lips separate from yours with a smile. Your head sank like an anchor onto the pillow beneath you. With your last sensation the feeling of your knight’s lips pressed gently to your temple, you entered a deep, much-needed sleep.

The night was still when you awoke in a slight daze, colored a deep brownish orange from the flicker of the dying hearth. Your newborn senses clung to the feeling of the soft fur beneath your outstretched hand, where once Daryl lay. 

You stirred awake at the realization of his absence. Sitting up, the fur blanket fell from your body to expose your naked breasts. A sudden shock dispelled any last remnants of sleep. You weren’t at all accustomed to sleeping in the nude, after all.

Moreover, you feared something, though you weren’t quite sure what, had happened to your knight.

As you raised yourself from the modest cot to dress yourself in the once discarded chemise, you could not help the fearful thought of whatever remained of the Saviors taking Daryl from you, leaving you alive in some cruel, twisted act of revenge for the death of their leader.

But as you stepped outside, into the darkness of the early morning, Daryl’s voice, grainy and soft, came to you through the crisp air. In your slight daze from waking just moments ago, it took you a moment or two to recognize his voice speaking your name. 

Your eyes caught up faster than your ears when you turned to see him, illuminated only by the light of a small lantern placed on the pebbled ground near his feet. He was dressed already, a simple tunic of linen white, with a wool cloak of deep indigo on his back. The closer you stepped towards him, the more the almost crimson glow of the majestic Friesian’s coat shimmered to distinguish the creature from the black of night. 

“Phantom?” you spoke softly, rubbing your sleep-heavy eyes as if to wake yourself from a dream. You’d almost forgotten about the loyal steed, and it was hard to imagine him surviving the chaos of the battle just hours ago, but then again, you survived. 

Phantom seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head to meet your eyes, and left the side of his master to slowly come towards you. The gentle creature’s muzzle seemed to slide perfectly between your delicate hands as he huffed a breath of air. After a few moments of accepting your pets, he raised his head to nuzzle your shoulder, nearly putting you off balance with the sheer force of the large animal’s affections.

Daryl flinched for a moment, about ready to lunge forward to catch you if you fell, but you caught yourself with your back foot, laughing despite the slight pain of the raw blisters that began to form there from last night’s escapades. 

“Oh, I am so glad to see you.” The horse lowered his head as if in reverence, some kind of formal acknowledgement of your voice. You ran your fingers through Phantom’s silky forelock, which you knew to be quite pleasing to the destrier. “I thought I might never do so again.”

“He found his way home.” Daryl’s voice came closer, until you felt the warmth of his chest against your back. His chin rested upon your shoulder, a comforting weight. “Like he always does.”

Daryl’s arms squeezed tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. While still lavishing attention upon the rather needy horse before you, you closed your eyes and took in his scent of pine and honey. But you did not stay still long, turning to see his face you’d dreamed of, just to remember that he was real. Phantom, though, huffed in slight disappointment.

“When will my father come?” you asked quietly. Something about the stillness and the darkness of the early morning, just a matter of time before the sun would begin to rise, made you whisper. 

Daryl’s chin lifted towards the distant horizon, where the first sliver of dawn slowly parted the darkness of night to give in to the pale light of morning. 

“He said we’d meet here at first light. Should be any moment now.” 

Daryl’s mind drifted elsewhere. Last night’s events had left him with a whirlwind of emotions and revelations. Negan’s death brought with it the triumph of war, the splendor of victory that he knew well from practically a lifetime of battle. And with war came the inevitable grief of countless lives lost. Daryl’s thoughts lingered on the duke, the prince, and the rogue Savior who’d helped them. He wondered if they’d made it out of the dungeon alive. 

And when those thoughts gave way to the realization that, within only a matter of time, you would return to the arms of your father, and no longer would you be his. The king would never understand your love for each other. Why should he, anyway? Daryl was of lowly birth, even if he was a knight. As much as he wanted to believe King Ezekiel would allow him to marry you, he knew he was more likely to end up headless at the mere suggestion. 

As he held you now, and as he knew you in the most sacred passions of love that you had shared, you were not just a princess, but his princess. When you were away from him, the world around you blissfully unaware of the truth, you were just a princess. Not his, at least as far as the world was concerned. Despite all logic, he knew there would need to be a time when the love between you was not hidden in the shadows of the forest. 

Daryl’s pensiveness was not lost on you now. You felt him cling tighter to you as he looked off into the distance, a heaviness in his face. Your hand caressed his cheek with enough pressure to bring his attention back to you. His expression became lighter by just a tad, but whatever plagued his thoughts was still lingering. 

“What is it, my love?” 

“Nothing, I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to rid himself of these worries. “I wish  we had more time.”

Where there was once a look of concern blossomed a sweet smile that was almost potent enough to make him forget your father altogether. 

“We always have time. We will make time, like we always have.”

But in your heart, you knew what he meant, and you felt the same. How long could you go on like this, hiding your love from your father? Escaping into the woods to consummate your love in secret? For as much as you loved him, and as sure as you were that your heart belonged to no one else, you were not sure how you could keep your love a secret much longer.

Still, the time would come when you could tell your father. You were sure of that. 

“You told me that you’d marry me,” you whispered, lips fluttering against the soft hairs of his cheek. “You said someday, you’d marry me. And a knight always keeps his promise, especially to his lady.”

The knight let out a huff, then soon found himself nuzzled into the warmth of your hair, where memories of every moment spent in your company curled around his face in a deep, honey-scented embrace. 

“Someday,” he murmured. “I promise you, my princess.”

When his lips touched yours, he felt your tremble against the cold. He pulled the cloak from his back to swing it around you and wrap you in a woolen cocoon. Pulling you ever closer, your chest was heated by the fire that seemed to perpetually burn in his. Another longer, deeper kiss, then a smile shared between the two of you.

“Perhaps one day, I will be your queen.”

His warm hands rubbed your back in steady motions as his eyes traced dreamily over your face, each curve and crevice and color another feature he would keep to memory for in those moments when he could not hold you. He wanted for nothing in this moment—everything he could’ve dreamt of wanting was here, in the shape of you.

“You are my queen.”

A new heat rouged your cheeks and ignited your heart. To be his queen seemed to be the greatest height you could ever reach, if only it meant you were the queen of his heart. 

Dawn stained the sky with rich hues of rosy orange and dusty violet as you fell into another kiss, though your lips would be torn away by the distant sound of clopping hooves coming closer beyond the horizon. Not just a handful, but nearly hundreds. 

But the fearful flutter in your heart soon subsided as the blue flag of Alexandria raised above the militia, their silhouettes coming into view. They were led in triumph by the king, flanked on either side by Duke Richard, and one man you did not recognize—Prince Jesus of Hilltop. In your father’s hand was the chain that leashed his mighty companion, Shiva. They were victorious, and no more would you fear Negan, nor walkers, nor death itself. Not when your knight was near. 

Not even death could tear you from him, and as you held his gaze, you felt a calmness overcome you—a relief, as though you knew that everything, somehow, would be all right. 

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus smut #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[greatfandom]

Daryl Dixon Re-Blog Masterlist ;)

SUBMIT YOUR FAVORITE FANFICIONS HERE

OR CLICK THE 3 DOT BUTTON AND CLICK SUBMIT

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Baby Talk - Daryl x Reader by Ficnation

Never Do This Again by Attentionplease 18+

How Much Can Ya Take? by Attentionplease 18+

Happy Birthday Smut - The Lake - Attentionplease 18+

You shouldn't have follow me! by attentionplease 18+

Handjob - Daryl Dixon by attentionplease 18+

Blowjob - Daryl Dixon by Attentionplease 18+

(Pre-apocalyptic) Daryl Dixon - Hangover by Attentionplease 18+

Fluff Alphabet - Daryl Dixon Attentionplease

Ya should've told me by Attentionplease 18+

Kink - Sensory deprivation by attentionplease 18+

Kink Edging - Daryl Dixon by attentionplease 18+

NSFW Alphabet Daryl Dixon by Attentionplease 18+

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Don't Leave me Daryl Dixon by sickoherd

How TWD Characters Adapt to the real world again by matstwd

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my breath of fresh air part four by duckmania127

You Deserve My Love by Madstwd 18+

Father's Day by theteasetwrites

I just ride - episode 2: writer by dreamdaryl

untitled by sublimecatgalaxy

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shades of cool by svtts

nosebleeds by yourbiggestfear88 18+

untitled by duckmania127

untitled by sublimecatgalaxy 18+

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untitled by daryl-dixon-daydreams

Adult Toys and Lace by Madstwd 18+

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Panic Attack by Madstwd

Our Past. by littlegodzilla 18+

A New life - Daryl Dixon x reader by noellawrites

Fearless Pt 1 - Daryl Dixon x reader

Scars and sitches, Ch 8: Well, shit. by minervadashwood

untited by minervadashwood

untitled by aceswritingcase

The caged animal - Part 1 by onlydarylnormanfic

the caged animal - Part 2 by onlydarlnormanfic

Always in My way by onlydarylnormanfic 18+

First time by onlydarylnormanfic 18+

Wattpad Recommends #1 (Daryl Dixon x OC) 18+

Untitled by daryl-dixon-daydreams

taken by daryl-dixon-daydreams

untitled by sublimecatgalaxy

Heels by green-eyedladywrites 18+

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friends with(out) benefits by writings-of-a-British-fangirl

Spagetti & wildflowers by darylsgirl

Afraid of something Daryl Dixon x reader by dnaddymaro

untitled by sublimecatgalaxy

That damn dress by madstwd

Fight the dead; fear the living by milkywaybottles

Warmth by thejuniperoffcial

Broken Trust by sourwolf-sterek32

untitled by daryl-dixon-daydreams

Part of the fun is possibly getting caught by madstwd 18+

Vis a vis by littlegodzilla

I was claimed by daryl fucking dixon by darylsgirl 18+

The farmers daughter by darylsgirl 18+

He's just like the sun by darylsgirl 18+

He's just like the sun part 2 by darylsgirl 18+

There ain't no competition Darlin by darylsgirl 18+

You know you want this by darylsgirl 18+

Spaghetti & wildflowers Part two by darylsgirl

I will not kiss you by partlystiles

NOTE SPONSORED TO PROMOTE

@onlydarylnormanfic I really hope to see you back, I really enjoy your work :)

I know this is late guys but it takes a lot of my time to individually link each reblog.

Please let me know if there are any broken or double links comments below. I also want you guys to know I do see your comments, but this is a secondary Tumblr page and I prefer to say anonymous but for some reason, Tumblr won't let you comment with your secondary Tumblr page.

As always guys, this is to drive traffic to authors who deserve it! -- and saying that if you have any reason you don't want your fanfiction re-blogged PLEASE comment below or direct message me privately.

Thank you all you beautiful amazing people :)

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl #twd #norman reedus #dad! daryl dixon #daryl dixon breeding #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon masterlist #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader smut #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryldixonsmut #darylneedscarol #daryl imagines #daryl dixion imagine

[tenpintsofsundrop]

🏷️📚

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

A lot of the time, not particularly? I don't actually spend a lot of time reading fanfiction, because I spend way more time writing/working on my own fics, and if I do read stuff, it's because someone else reblogged it and it came across my dashboard, or because I am just going through a general fandom archive for something I like on AO3.

If I do narrow it down by a specific tag - something I often search for it large fandoms (especially the DC fandom, which has a lot of fanfiction) is A/B/O. It's always interesting to see how different people write it, and I really like seeing how masked vigilante characters are turned into an A/B/O AU.

I am also a sucker for Friends To Lovers or PWP.

But most of the time when I read fics, I will read a broad spectrum of anything as long as it sounds interesting/catches my attention.

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

(Now feeling slightly sad that I am realizing all my fic recs have been deleted along with my old blog, but I am loving how fresh and new this blog is.)

I recently rediscovered @m0chaminx who writes really amazing Gar fics - I am definitely going to reblog some of their fics to be on this blog soon. And @theteasetwrites is someone who writes amazing TWD fics who I rushed to follow when I made this blog, and they are two writers who I remembered right off the top of my head, but other than that - idk.

If I was gonna make a more comprehensive rec list for a specific fandom or character, then I would have to spend some time doing research for it.

#kxixc #noveldeep #sundrop answers #interactions #ask game #about me #fanfiction #sundrop's recs

[theteasetwrites]

The Wrinkle

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 9/10 Interim (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: very vaguely sexual if you squint (just some kissing and a butt grab) ❧ Word Count: 1.3k

❧ Summary: Aging is a natural part of life, but when you notice a wrinkle, it's hard not to be a little sad. Your husband, however, reminds you that you're still just as beautiful, and so is your wrinkle.

❧ A/N: Another oneshot that takes place in the same universe as my series because I am procrastinating writing the last chapters 😀 (but tbh this fic also works as a standalone piece because I didn't really reference anything that happens in the series). I just want to keep writing for them forever, you know? Anywho, I was inspired by all the anti-aging talk on social media I've been seeing lately. People have always been obsessed with looking young, and skincare companies often profit off that insecurity, which is something I've been thinking about a lot. I haven't seen anything where the Reader is a little insecure about her aging, so why not write a comfort fic about that? Aging is beautiful, btw. 💕

Honey, olive oil, aloe, oats…

You’d tried everything, every natural ingredient you could get your hands on. Every moisturizer you made seemed to work on some level—your skin was always soft, at least. The dryness was quenched, and, most importantly, you were happy with your face, for perhaps the first time in your life. 

Happy, until one night, you saw it. 

“Oh, God,” you gasped, leaning over the bathroom sink as you rubbed in your moisturizer just the same way you did every night. Tonight, though, was different. By the light of the lantern you’d placed on the shelf beneath the mirror, you saw the smallest sliver of a… You couldn’t even bear to think of the word. 

It was a line, near the outer corner of your eye. It curved downwards slightly, representing the movement of your cheek when you smiled. Only now, you weren’t smiling. You were frowning in disappointment at the image in the mirror. How could you be getting crow’s feet at this age? You were still young, weren’t you? Aren’t I? 

“Everythin’ okay in there?” Daryl’s voice called out from the bedroom, just beyond the door. “Been in there a while, hon.”

“Fine.” Not fine. “Just moisturizing.” Lots of good it does.

“Well, hurry up, woman,” he teased. “I gotta take a piss.”

You scoffed, turning the copper knob of the door with a slippery, oily hand. “Come in,” you sighed. “I’m almost done anyway.” You turned back to face the mirror, dabbing another few fingertips worth of moisturizing cream. 

He shook his head as he watched you meticulously massaging the concoction until it was completely absorbed by your skin. It was always a fascinating sight. He never understood it completely, but just as you allowed him to engage in his interests, he allowed you yours. Still, he couldn’t help but think sometimes you cared too much about looking pretty, when to him, you didn’t need to put any effort in at all. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, placing a rather drawn out kiss upon your shoulder, where the skin was exposed by your thin strapped nightie. His hand rubbed your other shoulder, taking his opportunity to feel how naturally soft you were, even without moisturizer. 

You offered a reluctant smile as you looked back at him in the mirror. “Thank you… I don’t feel like it.”

Now that baffled him. You’d never been very confident in yourself, he knew that. You were alike in that way. It was tiresome for him, though. He knew your beauty better than anyone, and for you to not see it was heartbreaking. Then again, you felt the same way when he refused to accept his beauty. You were both much too humble for your own good.

Still behind you, he swept back a handful of your hair, revealing the supple flesh of your neck. “Why not?” he asked, then gave himself the pleasure of tasting your neck with his gentle, slightly ticklish lips. That always made you feel better. Usually.

“I—I… just found a wrinkle.”

Detaching his lips, he looked up at you to furrow his brow. As he searched your face, each curve and line so familiar to him, he couldn’t see anything had changed. 

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, girl?”

You reached over to turn up the flame in the lantern, brightening the small bathroom. “Look.” You pointed to the spot just at the corner of your eye. “A little wrinkle, right by my eye.”

Squinting didn’t help. He leaned forward, still trying to see what the hell you were so worried about. Finally, he pinpointed the vague, shallow line, almost more like a little shadow that stood on its own. It was hardly anything to him.

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “That ain’t a wrinkle.” He ran his hand through the hair on his scalp to pull back his bangs, putting his face completely on display for you. “You wanna see wrinkles? Looky here.”

Only Daryl could make you snort when you felt like feeling sorry for yourself. “Stop,” you laughed. “You hardly have any wrinkles. Besides, you’re older than me anyway. I’m only thirty-two.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And you got no damn wrinkles. Even if ya did, you’d still be a stone cold fox, so just believe me when I say you’re the most beautiful damn woman in the world, okay?” 

Though you were sure you’d never believe that, it did feel terribly good to know Daryl still found you attractive. It was ingrained in you to want, to need, approval from men, and it took you a long time to get out of that mindset. Hell, it was still there to an extent, but Daryl was the only man whose approval you cared about now, only because you knew he’d never break your heart or take advantage of that trust you put in him.

“Daryl,” you laughed, your cheeks filled with a hot blush at his words. “Thank you, but—”

When his hands cupped your cheeks, his gaze softened, as if to make sure you knew what he was doing. Of course, you did. He kissed you, his lips enjoying the taste of your natural moisturizer. A small whimper from you melted into his mouth like candy on his tongue, while your arms tangled loosely around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer to you. 

You always loved the feeling of his warm, strong hands upon your hips, gently squeezing the soft flesh there. He’d often lower his right hand, using it to squeeze your bottom, always making you squeak softly against his lips. 

“Oh!” you laughed. He was so predictable. “Stop it!” You playfully slapped at his bare chest, with little to no strength in your flimsy hands. Because he knew you weren’t serious, he squeezed a little more, causing you to stand on your tippy toes and gasp a little more. If anyone could distract you from your little insecurities, it was Daryl. 

His lips poked at every little spot of skin on your face, which was scrunched up in faux annoyance. Your laugh, and your wide, toothy grin, were proof enough that his wild, impromptu kisses and less than innocent bottom-squeezes were working like a charm. 

“What am I gonna do with you, angel?” he asked, his lips becoming tired and his mouth beginning to downturn in a sudden expression of seriousness. His weather-worn fingers lifted your hair from your face, pinning it back behind your ears. There was an unmistakable hurt in his eyes. Only you knew the extent of his sensitivity, his ability to feel what you felt. When you told him that you don’t feel beautiful, it killed him. “What do I gotta do to make ya see how perfect you are?”

You sighed as you watched your own hands absentmindedly rub his broad shoulders, the smattering of freckles all over them always a comfort to you. Many nights you’d lay in his arms, just counting them as his low, gravelly voice lulled you into a deep, warm sleep. 

“Just hold me,” you said. “That makes me feel beautiful, being close to you.”

That smile of his always melted you, had you like putty in his hands. It was small and a little lopsided, and you could only see a sliver of his wide, slightly jagged teeth, but it was like your life force. Seeing him smile, seeing him happy, for just one minute, meant everything to you. Of all people you’d ever met, he deserved, more than anyone, to be happy. That was your job. 

“All right, pretty girl.” He pulled you close once again to press a small kiss to your forehead. “I’ll hold ya.” Just like he did every night. Still, you could never get enough of it.

“But first,” he added, letting go of you, “I gotta take a piss.”

He was always so romantic.

~

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Masterlist

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fic #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x reader #the beginning series #theteasetwrites oneshot #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

The Dixon Problem

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: swearing, mild violence ❧ Word Count: 5k

❧ Summary: Not everyone is happy with the Dixons’ presence in the camp, especially Shane. When things go haywire, the only solution is a compromise, and to let Daryl know you care.

❧ A/N: I realize I’m posting this after a weird little argument over the ethics of zooming in on a man’s crotch but here we are. This is a fanfiction blog, believe it or not. Anyway, here’s another fic set in the same universe as The Beginning (I really like doing these ok), and this one takes place between Chapter 4 and Chapter 5. I really wanted to do some oneshots that would’ve happened before they got together because idk it just seems to cool to read about them before they kissed at the CDC and sort of build up to that. I find it fun to hint at their burgeoning attraction to one another, and how they’re both kind of in denial about their little crushes lol. We all know it was love at first sight. Also I loved writing Daryl fighting with Shane it was so fun. Daryl should’ve punched Shane in the show don’t @ me.

A deep huff escaped your lips as the back of your hand wiped the dripping sweat from your brow. The sun was a few hours from setting, but Georgia summers were unforgiving, and even a setting sun would prove to be dangerous if you didn’t hydrate.

Taking a sip of water from the crinkly plastic bottle, you watched Lori skillfully sew up the rips in one of Shane’s shirts. It was a skill you had neglected, but at one point, you were pretty good with a machine. Hand sewing was something else entirely.

“You’re so good at that,” you said. “How’d you learn?”

Lori smiled as she looked at you, staring in awe. “My mom sewed, my granny sewed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my great granny sewed, too.”

“That’s sweet… Maybe you could teach me sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were trying to get Mr. Crossbow to teach you how to hunt?” She spoke with a crooked smile, on the verge of laughing. You failed to see what was so funny, frankly.

But mostly, you were embarrassed. The warm blush on your cheeks and the butterflies doing somersaults in your belly betrayed you, though you just pretended none of it was there.

“Well, he, uh, said I should learn how to fight first. He said he’d teach me that, though.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm… Why are you laughing?”

Lori lowered her head until her hair covered her face, but you heard a few snorts and giggles from beneath the dark curtain.

“You’re so cute,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Cute? Why am I cute?”

“You just are…” She leaned closer to speak in a quiet voice. “I bet Daryl thinks you’re really cute.”

You scoffed, trying to laugh it off as you awkwardly nudged her shoulder with yours. “Stop. That’s not funny. Not true, either. I think he finds me annoying.”

“Oh, really?” she asked. “What about the little rock he cracked open for you? That doesn’t sound like the actions of a man who’s annoyed.”

That “little rock” was now your prized possession. You had one half, and you’d let Daryl keep the other. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to you. That rock was a geode, something your father would’ve added to his extensive collection. Maybe you were thinking too much into it, and maybe it was cliché, but you liked to think that it represented the last beautiful thing in the world. You kept it by your cot, on full display so it was the first thing you saw each morning. Sometimes, the translucent purple shards would catch the new light that streamed through your tent in just the most perfect way.

“He was just being nice,” you said. “Daryl’s… really nice. I mean, he’s a little… grumpy, but he’s got a good heart. I can tell. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t think so.”

Before Lori could respond with another teasing quip, you both flinched at the sound of Daryl, the man you were just talking, and thinking a little too deeply, about. His voice was raised, one decibel away from being a yell. It sounded like it was coming from the center of camp, near Dale’s RV, so you both jogged over, anxious to see whatever was causing Daryl to yell a series of curse words and a few other words you couldn’t yet make out.

“Stupid cop!” you heard, now getting closer. “Who the hell do ya think you are?! This ain’t Miami Vice.”

You stumbled upon Daryl, with his chest puffed up and his hands moving vigorously along with his hostile words, in some kind of argument with Shane, who only shook his head with his hands on his waist as the bowman hurled insults his way.

“Listen, Dixon,” replied Shane, who was visibly also beginning to lose his temper, “we gotta maintain some order ‘round here. Now, I don’t give a shit ‘bout what you and your white trash redneck brother used to get up to in bumfuck nowhere, but there’s women and kids here, and I don’t want this shit ‘round ‘em.”

Oh, noble Shane, you thought to yourself, but then again, you still had no idea what the men were arguing about, so maybe he had a point. Still, you did take some issue to being compared to a child, but you weren’t about to jump in the middle of a fight between two burly, hotheaded men for the sake of feminism.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?! It ain’t nothin’, Merle goes off into the woods to do it! Ain’t no women or children gonna get hurt. You’re just as stupid as you look, Columbo.”

“It ain’t them seein’ the drugs I’m worried about,” Shane replied, getting closer to Daryl until their chests were nearly touching. “It’s you and your ugly ass brother.”

Drugs? You knew Merle had a stash of drugs, including crystal meth, and most others figured it based on, well, everything about him, but you didn’t think Shane would pick a fight with Daryl over it. Maybe Merle himself, but not Daryl. Merle wasn’t even there that day, having taken his turn to go hunting, though he never brought back nearly as much as his brother. You weren’t sure if it was because Merle wasn’t a very good hunter, or because he just didn’t care enough to bring back food for your group, but either way, it was clear which brother was better.

“Man, that’s bullshit,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at Shane. “You wanna see a threat then look in the mirror. There’ll be a big arrogant prick starin’ back at ya.” Daryl punctuated his sentence by shoving the other man backwards, but before Daryl could strut away as he planned, Shane shoved him back.

“Watch yourself,” Daryl warned, voice low and raspy. “I don’t want your pig blood on my hands.”

He tried to brush past Shane, but the man was fuming. He shoved Daryl back once more, knocking him to the ground.

A puff of dirt swallowed his body as you let out a small gasp of disbelief. No one in the group had gotten physical with anyone like this yet. Maybe it was only a matter of time before it happened. After all, a group of several strangers under incredible physical and mental stress in the middle of the end of the world was a recipe for disaster, but you’d hoped it wouldn’t happen so soon.

All you could register was the sound of Daryl’s grunting before he sprung back up to sock Shane across the face, disorienting him. He soon struck back, but Daryl ducked and delivered a blow to Shane’s stomach.

Shane had managed to deliver a few blows of his own, but at this point, all you could focus on was thinking of a way to break them up without getting hurt yourself.

“H-hey!” you shouted out, along with Lori and several other women who’d gathered around, yelling to the men to stop. “Stop it!”

Dale was frantically climbing down the ladder of the RV, then greeted the scene with wide eyes. “Hey, hey! Break it up!” He managed to get his arms between the two of them, but he could only keep Shane back. Daryl even tried to get around Dale so he could deliver one last blow to Shane’s face, but T-Dog came up behind and pinned the enraged man’s arms back.

“Get offa me!” he yelled to T-Dog, then turned his attention back to Shane. “I’m gonna beat your ass, you hear me, bacon bits?!”

Dale stood between them, holding his hands out to keep them both at bay. Their chests swelled with heavy, panting breaths as their faces molded into their own unique scowls. Shane’s was terrifying, much more than Daryl’s. His dark brown eyes didn’t need to narrow at all, they were just as terrifying in their wideness. His mouth wasn’t agape, it was sealed shut as the breaths pumped out of his flared nostrils. He stood completely still, like a ticking time bomb. You’d never been more terrified of the man.

Daryl paced back and forth for a few feet on each side of him, his face much more natural looking, but still enraged. At least you could make some sense of Daryl in his anger. He didn’t send a shiver down your spine like Shane did. Well, and maybe you were a little partial to Daryl now, since he’d shown you kindness. In any case, the awkward silence that permeated the stiff, humid air was excruciating.

“Just calm down,” panted Dale, arms still outstretched between them. “What the hell is going on here?”

Shane huffed before speaking. “I was just tryin’ to have a civil conversation about the drug use goin’ on in this camp.”

“Drug use?” questioned Lori. “No, no way. No drugs, not around the kids. That’s the last thing we need right now.”

Daryl turned to look at Lori, not with anger, but confusion. He seemed troubled, unable to reconcile something in his head. His eyes squinted shut as he wiped his nose, which had just begun to bleed from the punch. He spat a glob of pinkish saliva onto the dirt ground, then turned back to face Shane.

“Talk to Merle,” was all he said. His voice was quieter now, almost timid, but still with an air of defensiveness.

He turned back again, in the direction of his tent. You met his glance for a moment, at which point he seemed to stop in his tracks. His foot backstepped, flashes of blue still on you until they averted to the ground. When he regained his focus, he moved quicker, more determined. Still, his confidence seemed drained after he looked your way, but all you could pay attention to now was Shane, who was walking directly towards you, huffing and puffing.

“What the hell were you thinkin’, bringin’ those meth heads here, huh? You stupid or somethin’? I thought you were some kinda… librarian.” He ended his sentence with a sarcastic chuckle.

Before you could respond, Lori spoke up, and thank God she did. You were still petrified by Shane’s aggression, and Lori knew him from before the fall. Maybe he’d actually listen to her.

“Stop it, Shane,” she scolded in an almost motherly tone. Fitting, since the argument between him and Daryl seemed more like that of children than two grown men in their thirties. “It’s done. No point in arguing about it.”

For your part, you took a moment to collect your thoughts, then spoke to Shane with as much bravado as you could muster. “It’s because of Daryl that we’re not starving to death,” you said.

Dale stepped forward, hand outstretched slightly to gesture towards you. “That’s a good point, but what about the drugs?”

You shook your head profusely. “I don’t know anything about any drugs.” That wasn’t true, you knew Merle was getting high, and that he was a dealer, but that honestly didn’t matter to you much at this point. As far as you were concerned, everything that had ever separated the human race from each other was out the window. Drug addicts were no different from Mormons now. Granted, Merle could be unpredictable, and you hated him, frankly, but Daryl and Merle seemed like a package deal, so you’d have to deal with both of them if your group was to reap the benefits of having a skilled hunter.

Plus, you might’ve fostered a bit of admiration for him. Friendly admiration, of course.

“Well, I just ain’t havin’ no crystal meth in this camp,” replied Shane. “And I’m about this close to killin’ your buddy, so’s as far as I’m concerned, this is your problem to solve if you wanna keep them here.”

Diplomacy wasn’t your strong suit, but if it kept Shane from kicking out the Dixon’s, you’d try your best to find some common ground.

“Compromise,” Dale said with a nod. “(Y/N), you should talk to Daryl, ask him to talk some sense into Merle when he gets back to camp. We give them shelter, they get rid of the drugs.”

It sounded more like an ultimatum than a compromise, but you were perhaps the only person who’d had any meaningful contact with the slightly more tolerable brother, so you put aside your reservations to head to the Dixons’ camp, several yards away from the rest of the group.

He was on one knee as he chopped the head off a squirrel on the sawed log he was using as a butcher block. The sound of the axe slicing through the flesh and digging into the wood was so powerful that you flinched, alerting the hunter to your presence.

Though he didn’t look your way. He simply set aside the axe and continued skinning the creature as if you weren’t there.

“You want a piece of me, too, woman?” he asked. “Whatever you gotta say, I ain’t in the mood.”

You bit your lip as you stood still, thinking of what to say. Daryl was tricky, you knew that. Sometimes he was nice to you, and sometimes he wanted nothing to do with you. No one in the camp knew how to deal with him, really. You only knew a little because you somehow found yourself trying to ingratiate yourself with him, but why? You still weren’t exactly sure.

“May I sit down?” you blurted out, thinking that might be the first step to talking to him.

He looked up at you then, with a suspicious glare.

“Why?”

Just as you were still trying to get used to talking to him, he was still trying to get used to your desire to talk to him in the first place. Why would a woman like you want anything to do with a man like him, anyway? Surely you had an ulterior motive, though he couldn’t deny there was something genuinely kind and soft about your face. Maybe even, dare he say, pretty? Not just physically, though he was painfully aware of that, but through and through, you were quite lovely. Well, that’s how it seemed, anyway.

Merle always said that women couldn’t be trusted, that if they weren’t childlike and dumb, they were manipulative and cunning. Nothing else, nothing in between. Of course, Daryl had a hard time believing that. People weren’t that simple, and Merle’s authority on the topic of women was questionable at best. Still, old habits die hard, and maybe he was just a little skeptical of your intentions. After all, no woman or man had ever shown this much interest in talking to him.

Daryl was, for all intents and purposes, a loser. He still felt like one, though he had to admit, when you brought him to your camp, insisting that your group needed him, he did feel a small sense of real, genuine pride, for the first time in his life. Maybe he had something to offer, something good he could do. Maybe you really wanted him there, and he wasn’t just a loser with a bad temper and a meth head brother.

His deeply ingrained insecurity, though, told him otherwise, and that you were only kind to him because of what he could offer your group, not because you actually appreciated him. But then again, the rest of the group had all but ignored him since he arrived, and you were the one who’d spoken more than five words to him at a time. That had to mean something, right?

“I want to talk to you,” you said simply. “So, can I?”

He chewed his lip as he looked you up and down, as if inspecting you. Wordlessly, he nodded, then lowered his head again to focus on the mutilated squirrel.

As you cleared your throat, you sat yourself on a dinky camping chair across from the fire pit. Both of you were silent for a little while, with only the sounds of flesh tearing from the muscle of the little furry critters Daryl was skinning. You watched with furrowed brows, though at a certain point, you had to stop looking, otherwise you’d get a little woozy, so you lifted your gaze to the top of Daryl’s head, covered in short, choppy brown hair.

Surprisingly, just before you were about to say something, Daryl spoke first. “I ain’t no meth head,” he said abruptly. “I don’t touch that shit.” Not anymore, he thought, but something stopped him. Could it be… embarrassment? Maybe shame. All he knew was there was a part of him that cared what you thought, for some odd reason. He’d trained himself not to give a damn about anything, though it was in his nature to. Why was your presence bringing out his sensitivity? It was a blessing and a curse. It hurts to care, he’d always thought. Nothing good could come of it. He cared once, before he knew how cruel people could be.

“I never said you did.”

“S’what you all think,” he replied. “Y’all think I’m some kinda… stupid redneck bastard.” Wouldn’t be wrong, a voice inside him retorted.

“I don’t think that.”

He finally raised his eyes again, glowering at you. “You will.”

It shouldn’t have hurt you, but it did, just a little bit. “I bet you I won’t.”

He shook his head and stood up to retrieve the red rag that was often dangling from his back pocket. Wiping his hands, he nodded towards you. “What’d ya really come over ‘ere for? They send ya over to kick me out?”

You shook your head immediately. “No, no. Not at all. Just… You need to tell Merle to quit with the drugs.”

Daryl scoffed, almost a laugh. “Askin’ Merle to give up crystal’s like askin’ him to cut off his own hand. ‘Sides, ya don’t think I’ve tried? Ain’t no use in it. Might as well jus’ kick us to the curb ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen.”

His apathy frustrated you, and you let out an exasperated, now quite irritated, puff of air. “So you’d rather live out in the woods by yourselves than in a group, with people who will look out for you?”

“None of these people will look out for me,” he scoffed.

“Well, I would.”

He looked your way again, this time not suspicious, but confused. “Why’d ya bring me and Merle here in the first place? All ya got to show for it is bein’ yelled at and bossed around by that asshole Shane.” He spat the man’s name out in obvious distaste.

“I told you,” you said, “I thought you would be able to help us… And you saved me. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

He lowered his head again, busying himself by cleaning between his fingers with the rag in the hopes of distracting you from the obvious blush on his cheeks. When he didn’t respond, you realized you hadn’t asked him a similar question.

“Why’d you save me, anyway?” you asked, your voice a little more quiet, as if afraid of him even hearing it.

After all, you were a complete stranger, why should he have helped you? What you knew from human nature was that people often only helped others if they knew there was something in it for them. True altruism was hard to come by, and often not evolutionarily beneficial. Those who helped others and put themselves in danger often died out before their lineage could carry on. Well, that was your vague memories of anthropology class resurfacing, but it still applied.

Indeed, you yourself hadn’t been acting out of true altruism. You had decided to bring Merle and Daryl into the fold because they were hunters, and they could benefit your group by providing your people sustenance. But Daryl’s motivations were less clear.

He swallowed hard as thought for a moment, himself now forced with the reality of facing that question. Why did he help you?

For the next several moments, he transported himself to that day just a month ago, when he was trudging around in the woods outside Atlanta, listening to Merle ramble on about some drunken memory, a relic of his “glory days” that he seemed unable to forget about. They had no destination, no idea where they were going. They’d tried the refugee center in the city, but that had been overrun about as soon as it was set up. Merle was quite content to rough it, and so was Daryl, so long as there weren’t flesh-eating monsters roaming around.

When he heard the rather faint sound of a woman screaming, somewhere ahead in the maze of aspen trees dotting the humid forest, something in him switched, and though he remembered the muffled sound of Merle’s protesting, all he could hear at the time was the scream getting closer and closer.

Soon he was in a small clearing, setting sight on a decrepit creature. Below it were two squirming legs, belonging to the screaming woman who was just inches away from becoming something’s lunch.

Without hesitation, he lifted his bow to shoot, snagging the creature in the head until it fell less than gracefully onto your chest. Pushing the body off, you faced him, mouth panting and eyes hazy with tears.

He tried to think of what he thought then, but it was difficult to put himself in that position again. He only remembered your face, how scared you were. You seemed so fragile, and yet somehow brave enough to look him in the eye. Most of all, you were peculiar to him, different from anyone or anything he’d seen before. Of course, there was nothing particularly strange looking about you, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. You were just… special, with a calming aura of warmth around you, something he was instinctively drawn to for whatever reason.

So, how was he supposed to explain that? You seemed special, important, warm… Creepy. He knew that would’ve sounded creepy. He was already embarrassed from Shane’s display earlier, and his stomach stung to think of you seeing that cop strike him across the face, to appear weak. Once again, he wondered why he cared in the first place.

He finally settled for a somewhat satisfactory explanation. “S’just what people do.”

Indeed, he would’ve done it for anyone. That wasn’t the issue Daryl struggled with, he knew right from wrong, for the most part. He struggled with understanding why you looked at him the way you did, and why he found himself wanting to keep you safe even after the creature attacking you was long dead.

At least you seemed happy with that answer, as one corner of your lips upturned into a small smile. “Well, I am sure some people wouldn’t have done anything. I’m really grateful… And I really don’t want you to go. Merle… I will put up with him if it means you stay here, but if you could please talk to him, try to get him to at least hide the drugs better and maybe go further away from camp to do it, I’d be even more grateful.”

Though he had no idea how he was going to get Merle to agree to changing anything about himself, he couldn’t deny that you were convincing. Something about your wide, almost pleading eyes. Somehow, making you happy seemed to make him happy, too.

“I’ll try,” he said. “But I ain’t promisin’ anything. Merle don’t care ‘bout what I got to say.”

“Well, he should,” you said as you stood to your feet. “He’s your brother… I have a brother, too. We used to talk all the time, though we sort of lost touch before all this.” You gestured around vaguely, ending your sentence with a small nervous chuckle.

Daryl almost didn’t speak, didn’t want to ask what he was thinking, but the look on your face as your lips began to droop and your eyes became vague made him wonder if maybe you needed to talk about it.

“Where is he?” he asked simply, though he immediately began to regret it when he noticed you shifting awkwardly where you stood. “I mean… I, uh… Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you replied with a shake of your head. “No, it’s fine. He’s, well… I don’t know where he is. Last time we talked he was in Atlanta. Actually, that’s why I was headed there when it happened.”

“It’s okay,” you replied with a shake of your head. “No, it’s fine. He’s, well… I don’t know where he is. Last time we talked he was in Atlanta. Actually, that’s why I was headed there when it happened.”

It seemed to be a universally agreed upon signifier. The fall, the turn, the apocalypse, the plague… Everyone called it something different, but what it all came down to was The End, or The Beginning, depending on who you asked.

“Sorry,” was all he could reply, though he found himself going further, speaking more than he normally would’ve. “Hope he’s all right.”

That meant more to you than anything anyone had ever said to you since the world turned. You hadn’t told anyone about your brother, and you weren’t sure why you decided to tell Daryl, but it felt right. In a world where everything was suddenly wrong, lots of things still felt right, all of which had to do with him. Strange.

“Thank you. I do too. He means a lot to me… I’m sure your brother means a lot to you, too, so I understand why you care so much about him. He’s lucky to have you as a brother.”

If Daryl wasn’t so strangely calmed by your presence in this moment, he might’ve protested to the assertion that Merle meant a lot to him, but he supposed he really did, whether or not Daryl liked it.

As he shifted his shoulders, he raised his hand to scratch his neck, chewing the inside of his bottom lip all the while. The unique little nervous mannerisms he had were already becoming part of your ever-growing encyclopedia of quirks Daryl displayed, and you had to say you found that quite endearing. Indeed, you truly felt that Daryl could become a friend. You wanted him to be a friend.

It reminded you that Daryl spent almost all of his time alone. Whenever Merle was gone or at the edge of camp getting up to his illicit activities, Daryl was by himself. You figured he had to get lonely, and surely the sole company of a man like Merle would eventually drive him insane, even if he was his brother.

“Daryl?” you asked, moving closer as you tried to telepathically direct his gaze up at you.

He did, and a flash of silvery blue eyes that caught little sparkles of light from the sun looked up at you. His eyes were quite deep set and narrow, making them seem at first glance to be cold and uninviting, but that wasn’t really the case at all. Now that you saw them in full view, there was mystery there, something waiting to be revealed. You had a feeling whatever it was, it was something lovely. Your curiosity made you eager to get to the bottom of it.

“Yeah?”

Even the strange softness of his often rough, gravelly voice struck you. As he licked his chapped lips, you found yourself trailing your eyes to his light stubble, sparse on his cheeks but more concentrated around his lips, which weren’t particularly full, but beautifully sculpted as if by delicate, intentional little hands. You found his face much more tolerable than his brother’s. Handsome, even. Perhaps not an A-list Hollywood movie star (certainly no one so clean-cut as Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, both of whom you had at one point hung posters of on your closet door in the mid-nineties) but he had been blessed with good proportions and a pleasant visage that you only dwelled on for a moment until your subconsciousness took the image into its darkest recesses. The last thing you needed to do today was to admire a man’s physical appearance, though it did tempt you for just a few seconds. Maybe a few more.

“You should really join us for dinner tonight,” you said. “You know, around the fire… Dale’s going to make something special. I have no idea what, he says it’s a surprise.”

When his breath seemed to hitch and his muscles flexed in seemingly anxious response, you quickly tried to explain yourself. “I mean, I know it’s awkward, with the Shane thing… but Shane has watch during dinner tonight. Maybe you can just… talk to me, and Dale, Andrea, Amy, Glenn, Jacqui… We all sort of congregate, talk a little bit. I’m sure they’d like to get to know you more.”

He found himself wondering how to respond, how to tell you that he hated talking, especially to people he hardly knew. Then again, he liked talking to you. That was clear to him.

“Maybe… I dunno.”

Though you didn’t want to pressure him, it was hard not to try to convince him. You were shy sometimes, too, but the older you got, the more you realized that you needed people, and that couldn’t be more evident than right now, when people were hard to come by.

“All we have is each other,” you said. “You told me that the world’s never gonna be like how it was, and you’re right. We should never take people for granted anymore.”

He’d never wrap his head around the way you spoke sometimes, how you could be so articulate and intelligent, and at other times, so high-strung or bubbly or aloof… You were about as hard to read to him as he was to you.

“I’ll try,” was all he replied.

“That’s all that matters.”

When he briefly lurked around the fire that night, exchanging a few brief words with Dale and Andrea (and you, of course), you felt like you’d gotten somewhere further with the temperamental hunter.

He didn’t stay for long, and hardly ate any of Dale’s “mushroom mash,” but it was something, and though the day started with a fight between Shane and Daryl, it ended with the latter feeling just a little more welcome.

Most of all, you had no regrets about bringing Daryl Dixon to your camp. You had a feeling it was the right thing to do.

~

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Masterlist

#the walking dead #the beginning series #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #twd fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus fanfiction #the beginning oneshot #theteasetwrites oneshot #theteasetwrites fanfiction #theteasetwrites series

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 1: Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mentions of blood/gore and violence ❧ Word Count: 5.3k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Duke Richard of House Grimes and his knight, Sir Daryl, arrive at King Ezekiel's court, though they do not know why they've been invited. Meanwhile, things are not well in the kingdom of Alexandria as a new threat begins to terrorize its citizens. Despite this, the princess dreams of seeing the world outside the castle walls by which she is imprisoned. She meets someone who she thinks might be able to help.

❧ A/N: Well, here it is. The first part of this weird ass thing I'm writing. I realize that this is super cringey but do I care? Well, a little, but you know what, I am having so much fun writing this and learning about medieval stuff so I am happy with it. I will link a "Before You Read..." page so that you guys can get a little more background info about what I'm trying to do here. I know this is kind of a weird AU and stuff so I have some disclaimers in that link. I've also included a link to the Merciless Beauty Glossary, which lists definitions for some of the terminology I will be using throughout the series. I recommend having that document open as you read as you can use it to quickly refer to in case you come across a word you are not familiar with.

Beyond gentle slopes of overgrown emerald pastures rose tall, imposing battlements of limestone, with tiny silhouettes of guards poking out of each crenel. From this distance, they looked hardly menacing, but the king’s guards were diligent, and their prowess in battle was not to be underestimated. 

The duke raised the blue flag of Alexandria, signaling to the guards that they were no threat. In response, a guard reached over the wall to wave the same flag.

“They see us,” remarked the duke, pulling on the reins of his golden horse. “Here.” He handed back the worn piece of cerulean fabric to the knight who rode by his side. “Strange customs, but I don’t blame them.”

They moved upon their horses in a dignified trot, the knight’s ebony friesian stallion trained to mirror the movements of the steward’s palomino steed. 

“They should be afraid,” said the knight. “The world is a dangerous place. Can’t believe they’ve held out this long.”

The duke flashed him a knowing look, that almost seemed to curl into an amused crack of the lips. “Sir Daryl,” he said, “I’ve always admired your optimism.”

The knight adjusted his feet in the heavy iron stirrups. He’d never quite get used to his lord’s jests. “Sorry,” he spoke simply. A man of few words, Richard always said. 

“It’s all right, but you’d be advised to put on a cheerful face for the king. Joviality goes a long way with his type.”

“His type?”

“Unlike you, my friend, King Ezekiel is known for his… good humor.”

Daryl scoffed from the corner of his crooked smirk. “Thanks… What does the king want with you, anyway?”

Richard’s brows knit together in another amused expression of faux offense. “You think I’m not able to acquire a king’s favor? Careful, knight, you’re a free man now, but you could be downgraded to villein if necessary.”

Of course, the serious knight knew that such a threat was meant in good humor. Ten years of loyal servitude to the duke was more than enough reassurance. 

The men continued onward, their horses plodding through moors that seemed to stretch on forever. The castle couldn’t come closer for Sir Daryl. He was dreading it, the pomp and circumstance of it all. But then, he knew that when he became a knight. It wasn’t the typical story, in fact. He wasn’t of any kind of good birth, his parents being poor and rather unsuccessful merchants in some other kingdom he’d purposefully forgotten the name of. 

No, he wasn’t a nobleman’s son or a squire. He’d earned his title almost reluctantly, through his triumphs and battle prowess in the First War. That is, the war that preceded the Scourge. 

A knight’s duty was to protect a lord, of course. He’d managed a position as the protector of Duke Richard’s land, just outside of Alexandria. In exchange for his protection, the knight had a place to live, and not a bad place at all. It was better than any decrepit wooden shack he’d lived in before, and, as far as nobility went, the duke was not a bad man. In fact, he was a good man, and that was hard to come by in times like these. 

“But it’s odd,” Richard continued, “I don’t know what the king wants with me. I know he wants me to join his court, but I’ve heard he hasn’t invited anyone to court in ten years, since it broke out.” It, of course, was always understood as a reference to the plague that killed ordinary men with a gruesome fever, then brought them back as snarling, rotting walking dead men that feasted on the flesh of those who were unlucky enough to still be alive. 

No one knew where it came from, but many thought the curse was nothing short of the wrath of God Himself. It was the only explanation in a world completely devoid of comfort. Though the idea that a supposedly benevolent god bestowing such a pestilence upon his so-called beloved children was hardly comforting. In these times, people took what they could get. 

“Maybe he just wants your wonderful company,” Daryl replied, sure to speak with a sarcastic lilt to his gruff voice. 

“No, no,” Richard said. “It doesn’t make sense. Ezekiel and I have only spoken a few times… You know, there’s a princess.”

Oh, yes, everyone knew of the princess, of course, though no one had seen her in years. The gatehouse of that castle hadn’t opened in ten years. No one had come in, and no one had gone out. Until now, of course. 

“There’s always a princess,” Daryl huffed. “What does that have to do with anythin’?”

“Well, she’s got to be a woman now… I’m sure the king is looking to wed her to someone.”

Daryl flashed a suspicious glance at the curly-haired man, who returned the look with a steady shake of his head. 

“You think he wants you to court her?”

“I don’t know, but if what they say is true, the princess is the most beautiful woman in Alexandria. Some say beyond Alexandria, too.”

It was odd for a man of Richard’s age and status to be unmarried. His wife had died six years ago in childbirth, along with the child. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it was a great tragedy in the duke’s life. The knight couldn’t see him remarrying at all after that, but if the king was going to offer his daughter to him, he would be a fool not to accept. 

“Women with that kind of beauty are hard to come by,” continued Richard. “And royal, too. Hell, the princess is the king’s only child. That means… I could become king when he dies.”

“Gettin’ ahead of yourself,” chided Daryl. “We’re not even at the gatehouse yet.”

“Welcome, my friends!”

The king extended his arms wide, about as wide as the grin upon his countenance. He crossed the great hall, the steps of his pointed poulaines echoing off the grand high ceilings. The king’s hand clasped jovially upon the duke’s shoulder, but the gesture quickly turned into a hearty embrace. 

“It’s good to see you,” said the king. “It’s been too long, Richard.”

“It has.” 

The duke raised his eyes to gaze upon the magnificence of the hall. Though the exterior of the castle may have appeared quite imposing, the great hall was warm, welcoming, even. Elaborate arrangements of strong wooden arches upheld the roof, complete with intricately designed corbels to support them. Draped from the high stone walls were long blue banners bearing the royal family’s crest, no doubt made from the finest threads. Tapestries depicting mythical creatures and romantic scenes of knights going to battle or courting ladies were on full display, too. The hall was illuminated by the gilded light of what seemed to be a hundred or so candles, some upon sconces, others upon tables and in iron chain chandeliers. The pungent aroma of honey and elderflower tickled at the uninitiated noses of the two travelers, and, sure enough, in the king’s hand was a fine pewter goblet, which no doubt must’ve been brimming with a particularly pungent, sweet smelling mead.

“Come!” exclaimed the king. “Have a drink! This is cause for celebration.”

The loud bravado in the king’s voice must’ve alerted the court as finely dressed nobles began to pour in from the arches and the upstairs landing. As the duke and his knight followed the king to his banquet table, just in front of his imposing bronze throne, the court gathered in greater globs. Murmurs began to permeate the great hall, and the knight could just feel an army of eyes laid upon him and his lord. It wasn’t a feeling he reveled in. 

“We’ve already had our feast,” said the king, sitting himself comfortably at the head of the long wooden table. “But I can have a servant bring you something. Only the finest dining here.”

“We’ve already eaten. Just a drink is fine for now, your majesty,” said the duke. As he sat, the loyal knight followed. 

Daryl felt bear, having been made rid of his greatsword and his cloak by the guards at the entrance to the keep. There were few places outside of his home that he felt safe enough without either. 

“Ah, libations!” exclaimed the emphatic king. He held his goblet high for emphasis. “This is the finest mead in Alexandria and her surrounding kingdoms. It comes from a monastery, I’ve been told. They raise bees there, isn’t that fantastic?”

The knight and the duke exchanged a glance. They had no idea what to make of the king. He was so full of merry, the likes of which they hadn’t seen in years. Perhaps it was the mead, but Richard knew the man was jovial. Still, it was a kind of shock.

The servants arrived with intricately detailed pewter pitchers full of the honey wine, filling their goblets to the brim. The excesses of wealth and royalty were foreign to the knight. Duke Richard was wealthy, yes, but not like this.

“So,” spoke the king, “I trust your journey through my kingdom was pleasant? No dead ones crossed your path?”

“Not at all,” said Richard. “Your kingdom is quite safe, it seems. Those tall walls will keep anything out.”

“Hm, yes,” agreed Ezekiel. “But you can never be too careful. No one’s left the castle in ten years, I’m sure you know. It’s better to be safe.”

That reminded the duke. He intended to ask why the king had invited him to court, but before he could speak again, the boisterous king looked to Sir Daryl with an enthusiastic curiosity. 

“This is your knight?”

“Yes, this is Sir Daryl.”

The king settled back in his chair, stroking the gray corkscrew hairs upon his noble chin. “Ah, I’ve heard of your gallantry in battle, how you earned your title. My father knighted you, didn’t he?”

Daryl looked to his steward, wordlessly asking for permission to speak. Richard nodded. “Yes, your majesty,” spoke the knight. His voice was raspier than usual, having been silent for so long since arriving at the castle. After all, what could a knight possibly have to say? His only duty was to protect his lord, as a vassal. He was of lower rank than Richard, and, though he never much cared for the details of hierarchy, it was in his best interest to know his place.

“How grand! Well, gentlemen, I do hope you find this court to be a fount of merriment in these dark times.” He gestured to the surrounding great hall, and the people who watched with bated breath as they clung to the monarch’s every word. “Everyone has been so eager to meet you. This is a momentous occasion. A toast!” The king stood to his feet, raising his goblet high. Others followed suit, of course, as the two newcomers sat overwhelmed at the king’s table. “To Duke Richard and his knight, the first additions to court in a decade of strife.”

“Huzzah!” 

With a long drink of his mead, the king met the duke with wide eyes, then removed the cup in a near panic, though it was a jolly panic. “I almost forgot! How could I forget? My daughter, (Y/N). Elizabeth! Fetch my daughter!”

“Yes, your majesty.” The mousy young maid with flaxen hair frantically ascended the staircase with great haste. 

Richard straightened in his seat, clearing his throat. The knight could tell he was nervous, but he couldn’t understand why. A princess was hardly anything to be nervous about. It was the king the duke needed to impress, he thought. 

“Minstrels!” the king exclaimed, gesturing towards the troupe of musicians across the great hall. There were three, each dressed in colorful garb and feathered caps. One held a lute, the other, a flute, and the third, a tambour. “Play something for the princess’s entrance. Something… delicate, but dignified, like her.”

“Yes, your majesty!” one of the minstrels replied.

Yes, your majesty, seemed a rather common phrase around here.

Then, from atop the stairs appeared a young woman.

You heard the musicians begin to play their little tune—a soft, simple tune that seemed to evolve with each step you took. Each step was calculated and precise, partly because that was how you were trained to walk, and partly because you were careful not to trip over your gown. Your father had instructed you to wear your best clothes the last few days, though you weren’t sure why. You’d heard of a duke coming to court, but it was hardly of any interest to you. Why should you care? Why should you welcome an outsider when you haven’t been able to leave this dusty old castle in years? 

“That must be the duke,” whispered Margaret. She followed your every move, as a lady-in-waiting was supposed to. 

“He’s handsome,” Michonne whispered back. 

You shushed the ladies out of the corner of your mouth. They were much too excited for their own good, much more excited than you. 

At the base of the staircase, your father held his hand out to you, beaming at your beauty. Tonight, you wore your favorite champagne-colored surcote, made from a heavy silk, with long, flowing sleeves that split at the elbow to reveal the pure white lace-front gown. The décolletage was modest, but deep enough to reveal just the beginning of your cleavage, formed by the tight lacing that held your chest in place. It wasn’t quite in vogue these days, but then again, nothing was in vogue these days. 

As you took his hand, you realized that the duke and his knight were standing for you. Of course they were, but their new faces caught you off guard. You knew everyone in court so well, it was strange to see two strangers standing for you.

Your father lifted his hand, in turn raising your arm to show you off like a prized mare. With knitted brows and a quivering lip, you flashed him a confused expression. He’d never introduced you like this before, but then again, he never introduced you to anyone before. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, turning his attention to the duke and his knight. “I present to you my daughter, (Y/N), Crown Princess of Alexandria.”

The men each bent over to bow before you, and you took in their appearance with great interest. It wasn’t often you had new faces to study.

The duke was well-dressed, wearing a damask scarlet doublet that must’ve cost a fortune, with tight-fitting wool hose to accentuate his lean legs. It would be remiss not to note how handsome he was, with a head of lush curls and a short, well-trimmed beard to frame his salmon-colored lips. If it weren’t for his title and his clothing, you could tell the man was a noble just by looking at the shape of his nose, aquiline and strong. Yes, he was handsome.

But just beyond his shoulder, your eyes were pulled like magnets to the knight. His clothes were more muted, but made from a fine material. A plain black wool tabard draped over his broad shoulders, his waist cinched with a fine leather belt, strapped to which was a lone misericorde, the dagger which you knew from your studies to be what knights used to deliver the final death blow to an enemy. The sharp tip sent a shiver down your spine as you wondered briefly if he’d ever had to use it. 

Though his coloring was similar to the duke, both having hair of brown and eyes of blue, their similarities ended there. The knight had a much more tired face, world-weary. It was difficult to see clearly, given the shadows created by the long wavy locks of hair shrouding his visage, but he appeared to have a reddened scar trailing from his brow to his cheek, crossing over his left eye. 

From what you could see, he looked nothing like any man you’d seen before. He was weather-worn and hardened by the world, at least, that’s how he looked. He must’ve seen such terrible things, you thought. In the fine lines of his face, you could begin to make out an image of the world outside. Here was a man who must’ve known its ins and outs like the back of his hand, must’ve been so brave to have survived this long outside the walls, fighting the Dead.

Though your face was softened by curiosity, the knight’s was stoic and cold. He seemed somehow both distant and alert, aware of his surroundings despite his reluctance to be surrounded by them. The duke’s kind face was much more welcoming, but, for a moment, you were held hostage by the knight’s narrowed, serious gaze. 

“Your highness,” said the duke. “I am Duke Richard of House Grimes.” He turned to gesture towards the knight. “And this is my knight, Sir Daryl.”

A curious name for a curious face, you thought. Still, you tried to maintain your focus on the nobleman.

“It is an honor to meet you, milord,” you replied. “The court has been anticipating your arrival.” Though I haven’t. “Oh, these are my ladies-in-waiting, Lady Margaret and Lady Michonne.”

You brought the ladies forth, each of them curtseying before the duke. It gave you a moment to look upon the knight again. 

“Pleasure,” the duke said to your ladies. “And… may I say, princess, you’re just as radiant as they say.”

You looked wide-eyed at the king, who smiled bigger than he had in years. The blush that blossomed upon your cheeks was not one of flattery, necessarily, but slight embarrassment. “Oh… They speak of me?”

“Yes. Common people often praise your beauty. Many would sell their land or their livestock for the chance just to get a glimpse of you. I must admit, it would be worth it.”

A whirlpool of emotions formed in your belly, mostly confusion. You’d never been complimented quite like this before. “Well… Thank you, milord. That’s very kind of you to say.” Swallowing hard, you turned to your father, who seemingly expected you to return with an equal compliment. “Father, I’m going to retire to my chambers for the evening.” You turned back to face the duke. “Goodnight, Richard. I hope your stay in court is pleasant.”

Your father’s smile faded with your announcement, but he nodded as he tried to offset his disappointment. “Of course, my dear. Goodnight.”

At length, you sat before your vanity to remove your jewels while Elizabeth prepared your bed as usual. She hummed to herself the same little tune the musicians had played earlier for your grand entrance to meet the duke. Removing your translucent veil, you got to work undoing the circles of elaborate braids and removing the genuine pearls laced throughout when a rapping came at the door of your chamber.

“My dear, it’s me,” said your father. “May I come in?”

Oh, for pity's sake. 

You turned on your stool to gesture towards Elizabeth. “Let him in,” you said. “I can undress myself tonight. Goodnight, Beth.”

The young girl nodded before opening the door for the king. He thanked her as she left, while you straightened up to no doubt receive a tongue lashing for your less than friendly reception of the newcomers. 

“(Y/N),” he sighed, sitting at the foot of your bed as he adjusted his gold trimmed velvet robe. “My dear… I must say I am a bit disappointed that you didn’t sit and speak with the duke tonight.”

“Well, father, I… It’s hard to be excited about these new guests when I myself haven’t been outside the castle since I was a girl. And now, all of a sudden, you’re letting in some nobleman and his knight? Why?”

To the king, it was obvious, but to you, it was totally unclear. There was much about the world you still didn’t know, and though you were knowledgeable, on account of your royal tutoring, you were still naïve in many ways. 

Your father stood as he sighed, piecing a long, gray-black dread lock behind his ear. “Well, I was hoping…” He shook his head, then crossed over to you, taking your hands in his as he looked at you with that adventurous sparkle in his eyes. “You liked Richard, didn’t you? He was charming?”

You were caught off guard by the question, but you shrugged and nodded with a half-smile. “Why, yes. He’s charming.”

“And handsome?”

“Well… Of course. He’s very handsome, any woman would think so.”

“So…”

“Father, are you… trying to ask me if I want to court the duke?”

“Yes,” he laughed in relief that you caught on without him having to explain. “Richard is a good man, one of the best nobles left. He’s wealthy, too. Though I was always hoping for a political marriage for you, as long as the man is at least a noble and a suitable husband, I think this kind of match would be good for you. In fact, we could move Richard here, that way you never have to leave the castle, and—”

“Father!” you exclaimed, shocked by how excited he was at this idea without even hearing your thoughts, of which you had many. “I’m not ready to marry!”

“But you’re twenty-six, my dear.”

Standing to your feet, you shook your head and pulled out the remaining braids in your hair. “I’m just not ready. The duke is… He’s perfect, but I’m not interested. I can’t explain it, it’s just not a match.”

“But you’ve hardly spoken to him!”

You didn’t need to speak to him to know, you just knew. It was impossible to explain. All you knew was that it wouldn’t work, and that marriage was simply not in your near future. You had other priorities, other… curiosities. Love was not one of them, except in your fairytales and love poems. You had a hard time believing love could be any better than that. 

“Father, please. I’ve told you how I felt, and I’m sorry if you brought this man here just for me, but I can’t force myself to try with someone who doesn’t interest me in that way.”

He crossed the room with a soft step, his face morphing into an understanding smile. “I know, darling. I’m sorry to have upset you. I would never force you into a marriage that didn’t please you, I just… I just want you to marry a good man. Well, so long as he’s a noble, at least.”

Your father was never a traditional king, but he still insisted on some things, and one of them was that you would marry well. Well meaning high status. Some things were sacred.

“But if the duke isn’t to your liking,” he continued, “I won’t force it.”

“Thank you, father. That means a great deal to me.”

“Good.” His hand cradled the back of your head to bring you forward, allowing him to bestow a fatherly kiss upon your forehead. “Someday, you will make a great queen. A better ruler than me, I am sure.”

“Father,” you laughed. “You are a great ruler. The people love you. Everyone loves you. That’s what matters.”

“My sweet girl,” he said, now holding your cheeks to admire your pretty, delicate features. You were truly a princess through and through. “You’re the most precious jewel in my crown.” An old phrase he’d said to you since you were a little girl. The man was so sentimental, a trait you admired greatly. “I bid you goodnight.”

As he headed back towards the door, you began to think freely, with your mind returning to the knight beside Richard. Daryl, you recalled his name. You’d never heard a name like that, nor seen a face like that. 

“Father?” you called out to him just before he could leave.

“Yes, my dear?”

Looking down, you toyed with the fine silk fabric of your surcote, prefering to study the rich champagne color than to face your father as you asked, “Tell me about Richard’s knight.”

The king’s brows furrowed, his head tilting to the side in a display of curiosity and confusion. “The knight? Sir… Daryl, I believe?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, still nervously rubbing the garment between your fingers. To clarify, you lifted your gaze to your father. “Well, I mean… I was just curious. You know how I have a fascination with knights and things of that sort.”

The king shook his head with a warm, deep chuckle. “Oh, daughter. Well, I don’t know much of him, other than that he is brave, loyal… He was knighted by your grandfather, you know. Just a few years before he passed.”

“And he is of noble birth, like Richard?”

“No, no,” he replied. “Not at all. His parents were lower gentry. He earned his title in battle, a rare feat for a knight, as you know.”

Indeed, most knights were born to nobility, becoming pageboys before the age of ten, then promoting to squire in their youth. After years of studying under an established knight, the squire would then undergo the dubbing ceremony. He’d learn the code of chivalry, and he’d pledge allegiance to a lord, offering military services in exchange for a fief, or land. It seemed that Sir Daryl must’ve met many of these requirements, but he certainly wasn’t a noble. 

“That’s quite interesting,” you said. “I knew he seemed different. Well, goodnight, father.”

“Goodnight, my sweet.”

When the candlelight was extinguished, and the only sound left in the dead of night was that of the crickets chirping and the toads ribbeting, you were left in solitude with your thoughts. These thoughts were not new, of course. They were visions of the outside world, beyond the castle walls and the walls of the kingdom. They hung somewhere between consciousness and dream, but your thoughts were intentional, purposeful. You thought of the trees, the flowers, the little streams. You thought of the deer and the birds and the butterflies, every beautiful thing you hadn’t seen since the Scourge began. That plague had taken everything from you, your mother, your freedom, your peace of mind.

Others had it much worse, of course, and you knew that, but that didn’t ease your heartache. There were many nights you cried yourself to sleep, hoping your father couldn’t hear, for he did what he did for good reason—he was terrified of losing you, his only child. 

But tonight, you didn’t cry at all. In fact, there was a strange sense of hope nestled in your heart, something you hadn’t felt in so many years. At first, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but as your head and your heart began to work together, you realized—it was the knight.

Not only was the knight a new addition to the court, but he was brave, a fighter. He would surely help you escape. 

Escape was something you’d thought of before, but now, it seemed within reach. Of course, you wouldn’t leave forever, just a day. Just a day outside the walls, breathing in the fresh air, feeling the soft grass underfoot. There wasn’t anyone else. The guards all pledged such strong allegiance to the king, they would surely inform him of your plans if you asked. The others weren’t skilled in combat, couldn’t keep you safe. No, the only solution was the knight. He would help you. Surely, he would help you. 

In your alone time, you often walked the corridors of the keep, as there wasn’t much else to do when you weren’t occupied by your books or your needlepoint. Today was no different, though the court was still excitable over the arrival of the duke last night. 

You tried to ignore that, instead keeping yourself in your thoughts as you wandered aimlessly, until your father’s panicked voice resounded from inside his cabinet, adjacent to his bedchamber. What you made out were the words, “How could this happen?!”

Curiosity overcame you, your boredom having been relentless. You looked around the corridor for a moment, ensuring no passersby would see you. The guards were at the other end of the hall, facing away from you. If you were quiet, no one would see you pressing your ear to the ornate wooden door. 

“Constable,” your father huffed, “are you quite sure?”

“Yes, your majesty,” spoke Lord Constable Aaron. “There have been reports of mysterious cloaked knights extorting citizens throughout the kingdom. They demand crops, livestock, women… They threaten murder if they don’t get their way, my liege. We had some isolated incidents in the past, but this past month, they’ve been happening more frequently.”

“And you didn’t think it of import to tell the king?” questioned Lord Chancellor Gerald. “There hasn’t been crime like this in Alexandria since we closed our gates.”

“I didn’t want to worry his majesty with incidents of petty crime,” responded the constable. “But now… Well, a boy has been killed.”

“What?!” your father exclaimed. “Who?”

“Thomas Webb, son of the innkeeper, James. He was only sixteen… I’ve been told it was…”

The constable trailed off, his voice becoming shaky as he spoke. 

“Speak, Aaron,” demanded the king. 

The constable cleared his throat, then lowered his voice. You pressed your ear harder against the wood of the door, so much so that you feared a splinter. 

“Apologies, milord… It—it was a gruesome death, the likes of which we haven’t seen in Alexandria since the Dead breached our walls. But this wasn’t a dead man, it was a knight in black armor, their leader. We could hardly identify the boy, his head was… Well, your majesty, his head was obliterated.”

A small gasp escaped your lips, your hand quickly reaching up to catch it before it alerted the guards. 

“By God,” uttered the chancellor. “What kind of knight are we dealing with?”

“A knight wouldn’t commit a crime like that,” spoke an at first unfamiliar voice, but you quickly identified it as that of the duke. “No, not any kind of true knight. A dishonored one, maybe.”

“It’s of no concern to me what this man’s status is,” said the king. “All I care about is protecting my people. Constable, I need strengthened security across the kingdom, especially in the merchant district. Something tells me these marauders are targeting the middle and lower classes. I also want tighter security at the outer curtain. No one should be entering or leaving the kingdom without my permission, and if they’re entering clandestinely, there must be a blind spot or a chink in our armor. If the living can get in, the Dead can, too. Get it sorted. There will be no more of this… obliterating in my kingdom, understand?”

“Absolutely, your majesty. We’ll double up our defenses. This won’t happen again… Oh, and… There is one more thing.”

“What is it?” asked the king. “I have very little time for idle conversation today, constable.”

“Yes, yes, of course, your majesty, but… Well, this is quite important. The knight in black armor left a message with one of our guards, just before he… chopped off his arm.” 

Your lips trembled with fear. How could a man do such a thing? And this man was in your kingdom, hurting your people. It was horrifying. That poor guard, you thought. That poor boy… Oh, that poor, poor boy. 

“Good lord!” huffed the king. “All right, what is it?”

The constable cleared his throat as you heard a crinkling of paper. “Your majesty,” the constable read from the letter, “let this be a first warning, an introduction of sorts. My name is Sir Negan of House Smith, my people are the Saviors. If you cooperate with me, there will be no more bloodshed, but if you go against me, I will plunder and pillage this pretty kingdom until the streets are soaked red. I ask, or demand, rather, for one thing: your daughter.”

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Healing Touch | Part 2

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—bathtub sex (slippery, I know), handjob, fingering, missionary, str8 people sex, oral sex (m receiving), ball stuff (?), praise kink (!!!), dom(ish?) Daryl, language, mentions of injury ❧ Word Count: 9.1k

❧ Summary: Daryl returns for his follow-up appointment for his injuries, and this time, he's not leaving without the special treatment you so boldly promised him.

❧ A/N: Finally! I think this is my second most requested sequel, after Soft Spot (which I WILL make a part 3 for...). Sorry it took me like over a year to do this lol but I hope it was worth the wait! I simply had to write a smut piece for the sequel because the sexual tension was through the roof. I mean Daryl sported a big boner throughout the first one so... It was inevitable that this would happen. Also I realize Daryl might be slightly OOC here (I made him kind of more confident than I usually write him), but also, I feel like Daryl actually would get kind of confident once he gets in the mood. I mean he definitely does have his nervous moments here, but I like writing confident Daryl making the first move. Also I realize bathtub sex probably isn't all that great irl but a girl can dream ok? Plus any kind of sex with Daryl is amazing to think about, let's be real. Enjoy!

He could’ve changed the bandages himself, but maybe you wanted another excuse to touch him. Well, there was no maybe about it. That was your plan.

You wondered if maybe you’d been too bold by suggesting you could “help him out” the next time he got a hard-on, but then again, you took the opportunity to shoot your shot, and he still agreed to come to the office today and let you change his bandages. 

That night, you hadn’t been able to get to sleep for a few hours after settling into bed. Though you tried to clear your mind, you couldn’t shake the thoughts that had formed in your head since that day. Daryl’s body was beautiful to you, even if it had been covered in road rash from his crash. It only made you want to touch him more, to heal his wounds so he wouldn’t have to feel the burning of the dirt digging into his skin. 

Even as you touched yourself, fingertips getting more and more desperate and moving frantically towards pleasure, you thought about him. The comforting weight of his broad body on top of you, thrusting and panting and grunting and groaning and—

“Oh, Daryl…” Finally a wave of vibrations, a swell of bliss, a series of tiny, breathtaking shocks… “Yes… Yes…. Oh, yes!”

In the hazy images that played in your pounding head, you saw his half-lidded eyes blinking softly at you as his own body became overwhelmed with the release your body had granted him. With his thick, work-worn fingers tangled through your hair, he let out a grunt and sunk his head into your neck, where his open lips pursed to drag a sloppy, tongue-heavy kiss across your skin. 

The ghost of his body over you, you writhed in pleasure between sweat-soaked sheets. You swore you could hear the man’s gravelly whisper in your ear, the sound of your name on his lips, in his low, honeyed voice. 

You imagined him still inside you, keeping you warm and filled. Your fingers, though, were hardly an adequate substitute for the real thing. When you saw the “problem” growing in his underwear yesterday, you could just barely make out the length—substantial, and very tempting. Even his thickness made you instinctively swallow hard, with a nervous lip bite that nearly broke through the sensitive skin of your lips. 

Two fingers weren’t enough, so you’d tried for three, and that seemed to feel more like what you imagined he would, opening you up almost to the point of discomfort, but quickly soothing you the deeper he went, soon hitting a spot inside you that had your other hand tightly clawing at the bedsheet. 

Several minutes of straining, thrusting hard against the palm of your hand as the fingers inside you curled and pulsed impatiently. When the pressure became too much, you felt release again, and now, in your mind, Daryl nestled his head between your bare breasts, with hands pawing at the supple tissue. 

When his mouth moved to suction around your nipple, you imagined his sleepy bedroom eyes tilted back up at you, admiring your lips as they fell open, and a breathy moan escaped into the night air.

“Daryl…”

Sleep had so rudely interrupted your bliss, ripping you from the man’s embrace to plunge you into a restless, dreamless slumber. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, in your heart of hearts, you knew it couldn’t work out. Daryl was a patient, and you shouldn’t have been so forward with him, even if it was some kind of half-serious joke. 

Would he even come to the office the next day? 

You busied yourself with whatever tasks you could find—disinfecting the counter, reading up on Pete’s appointment notes, preparing prescriptions… 

Only a small handful of patients passed through. Little Nina came in with a scraped knee, Mr. Treneman had a routine checkup, and Ms. Sherman picked up a new inhaler for her asthma, but no Daryl. 

But he was across the street, watching the last patient leave the house. 

His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, eyes narrowed as he tried to spot you. He felt like a pervert, standing there, waiting for his moment. 

Of course, he didn’t even know what his moment was. He could still hardly believe the things you said yesterday, and how he somehow flirted back. Whatever it was about you, it emboldened him, made him… confident. 

Well, as confident as he could be, considering most days he didn’t think much of himself at all. Still, you could ignite something in him, and he’d only felt a taste of it yesterday, with that small burst of confidence which promised you he’d return today, with the hopes of changing his bandages and cleaning his wounds once again.

Your touch hadn’t left him. Of course, the physical feeling wasn’t there, but the feeling you left inside him remained. There was a roaring fire in his belly when he saw you, and there was no quelling it. 

As he made his way across the street, hands anxiously stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, he made a promise to himself in his head: if he got… excited again, he wasn’t going to hide it. He was either going to wait for you to make a move, or make one himself. Either way, he was mentally preparing himself for rejection, but also… sex. Just in case.

When the bell on the door chimed delicately, signaling that someone was making their way into the doctor’s office, you straightened your back in your swivel chair, dropping your pencil to subconsciously fix your hair and smooth your plaid wool skirt. Looking at your oversized cable knit sweater, you pulled off a few cotton “fuzzies” as you cleared your throat before calling out, “Be right there!”

Please be Daryl, please be Daryl, please be Daryl, please be Daryl… The phrase was repeated like a mantra in your head. It was strange, though, because although you desperately wanted it to be Daryl, to see him and to take care of him again, another part of you was so nervous and embarrassed that you almost wished it was anyone but him. The man was doing things to you that turned your brain upside down and inside out. 

“Hi, Daryl.” The words slipped out a little too soon, a little too enthusiastically, but the moment you saw him, awkwardly loitering in the kitchen turned examination room, you couldn’t help but smile so wide that your cheeks began to ache. It was such a pleasant ache, though. Daryl was here, and that felt good. “What brings you in? Oh! The bandages.” You noticed that today he wore a jacket over his vest and button-up shirt. You were slightly disappointed, considering his arms were so… pleasing to you. But if you were going to change his bandages, he’d have to strip down again. Well, maybe you could have him strip a little more than he needed to. Maybe.

I’m a terrible nurse. 

“You got time?” he asked, not knowing what came over him. Indeed, he wanted to make sure you didn’t have any other patients after him, in case… Well, the air was thick and heavy with whatever tension there was between you two. It should’ve been obvious. He wanted you all to himself, however long that would take. Preferably, it would take a very, very long time. All the rest of the afternoon, into the night. That would be ideal. Daryl certainly had nothing on his schedule, having denied Aaron’s suggestion of taking the day to go on a recruiting mission, due to his minor motorcycle accident yesterday. It was the only time he’d ever milked an injury, just because he wanted to see you.

“Of course,” you said, turning to prepare another bowl of warm, soapy water. “I don’t have any other appointments. I’m off the clock in an hour… Well, there’s no clock.”

You turned back around to see Daryl sitting himself on the exam table, slowly removing his jacket as he let out a hiss of discomfort between his teeth. “Damn,” he said with a wince. Your breath faltered as you set down the bowl on the counter before coming to his aid, taking the other sleeve and gently pulling it off. 

“Poor thing,” you sighed, setting his jacket on a nearby coat hanger. When you returned to his side, you began stripping his vest, then his shirt. He watched you bite your lip, concentrating on undoing the buttons. He could’ve done it himself, but you wanted your hands as close to touching him as you could get. “How’s your head?”

It took him a few moments to register your words, as he was finding himself lost in the hue of your hair, the way it so beautifully framed your face. “It’s uh… It’s fine. Woke up with a bit of a headache, but I’m all right.”

You tilted your head and clicked your tongue. Even the thought of him with a headache made you want to wrap your arms around him and make all his pain go away. “It will go away,” you assured him. “You should really rest for the next few days. Have you been resting?”

Daryl didn’t get any sleep last night, none at all. Maybe he dozed off between thoughts of hearing your imagined voice whispering sweet nothings, your soft words settling on his ears like the delicate dewdrops on a flower’s petal in the haze of early morning. When the sun had risen, he took a walk outside the walls of Alexandria, trying to clear his mind, but all it did was remind him of how lonely he was, how much he wished someone was there with him.

Not just anyone, though. Just you, you and him together. Him holding your hand and keeping you within arm’s reach, safe and never in danger of the dead that roamed aimlessly outside. You’d smile as you told him about your day, all the things you did at the infirmary. Maybe he’d learn a thing or two about medicine, but mostly, he just wanted to hear your voice, to hear you speak about things he had hardly any grasp on. Just to see your face light up as you spoke about your work was enough to keep him interested. 

Love had never really occurred to him before as something available to him. It always seemed like something people talked about in movies, or something everyone else had but him. Now, with these feelings you had awakened in him, he couldn’t stop wondering about the possibility of it being real for him. 

As he trudged through meadows of sunkissed wildflowers, he found himself pondering, wondering what your favorite flower was. You seemed like a rose kind of girl… Blush pink with a dark green stem and red-tipped thorns. Maybe an innocent, sweet daisy on some days, but a fragrant, beautiful rose most days. 

Where the hell was he going to find a rose bush, though? 

“Daryl?” 

He shook his head and blinked hard as he removed himself from his thoughtless thoughts. “Didn’t sleep much at all last night,” he replied.

Though you meant to ask him why, you remembered the arousal in his jeans, and maybe that had something to do with it. “Well,” you sighed, and suddenly Daryl realized he no longer had a shirt on, “this shouldn’t take long, I’ll just change these bandages and then…” You trailed off, as you didn’t know what would come next. You certainly hoped for something… special, though maybe he’d forgotten about your less than subtle flirting yesterday. After all, he was slightly concussed. “Yeah.”

You went to work slowly unwrapping the gauze around his right arm, revealing the bright red rash spread all along the surface of his skin. That gravelly road must’ve done quite a number on the epidermis, and maybe it was the different lighting of the new day, but his rash almost seemed worse than yesterday. Squinting at the marred flesh, you spotted several tiny pieces of gravel and dirt that you hadn’t gotten out yesterday. 

It made your eyes shoot wide open. How could you be so neglectful? Of course, those pieces were very small, and it was inevitable that there would be some missed spots, but you should’ve been more careful. Maybe you were too busy letting your eyes roam over the defined muscles in his arm. You’d never seen any man with arms like that, deltoids so firm and triceps so distinctly separated from the biceps when he flexed. You could point out practically every little detail of them, even the brachioradialis and the flexor carpi radialis… 

“Oh, Daryl,” you sighed, and he had to admit, he’d thought about you uttering those words in a much different, more intimate setting. “I think I might need to do a deeper clean. There’s still dirt and gravel in there… Oh, I’m so sorry, Daryl. I should’ve done a better job.”

“Huh? It’s fine. A little dirt ain’t ever hurt nobody.” 

“But… It’s not fine.” You wrung out your washcloth in the bowl, then gently dragged it up and down his arm, trying to find the balance between scrubbing too hard and not hard enough. No matter how hard you tried, though, it seemed the more stubborn bits of dirt lodged in his skin refused to budge. You didn’t want to hurt him, though. If you scrubbed any harder, you might make the rash worse. 

He caught your worried expression, and eyed the guilt in your face. You felt horrible, like you’d neglected your duty as a nurse all because you were infatuated with your patient. If the world was anything like it used to be, you would’ve been fired. If you’d acted on your fantasies, you’d lose your license. 

Now Daryl felt for you, your worry permeating the air and translating into his own sympathy. “Hey,” he said, using his other hand to place it gently upon yours. The feeling stopped you from scrubbing, your hand and the washcloth underneath it frozen in place on his bicep. His strong, firm, warm bicep. 

You swallowed hard as your eyes met his. They were so kind, and so blue. It wasn’t an electric, vibrant blue, though, it was more like a subdued ocean blue, calming and deep. You didn’t even notice that your lips had split open slightly, agape in your awe of him. It didn’t help that his hand held yours so tightly now, and neither of you wanted to let go. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I ain’t gonna sue you.”

You laughed under your breath at the idea. “Oh, thank God. Well, um… I think the best thing would be to soak these rashes in warm water for a while, loosen the dirt.”

“You mean like a bath?”

“Mhm… Would you, um… We have a bathtub here.”

Perhaps it was unspoken, but there was no doubt that you both had the same thing in mind. It had escalated so fast, and there soon became no other option for either of you. The mind is a powerful thing—it can convince you that the least practical solution is the best one.

Once again, you didn’t need to bathe him, and you knew you shouldn’t, but Daryl didn’t protest, and you only went with your gut, your instincts telling you that you needed to, quite simply, rid this man of his dirty old jeans and get him into a tub of hot, steamy water. 

You’d shown him briefly to the bathroom, then turned on the bath, putting your hand through the stream to test the temperature. It was hot, but just right. That comfortable, steamy heat. “I’ll be right back,” you said, voice shaky in slight disbelief of how things had escalated. “I’m just going to get you some towels and a washcloth.”

As you walked down the hall, retreating to the linen closet, you knew there was only one logical conclusion to this. Well, there was only one you were thinking of, and that was… You couldn’t even let yourself think of the words. There was no universe in which Daryl would need you to bathe him. He was perfectly capable of doing it himself, in his own home, without you scrubbing him. You’d taken this all too far, and you had no excuse this time.

Still, he hadn’t protested, hadn’t said anything about the proposition making him uncomfortable. He seemed happy to let you wash him, and he was. 

He was so happy that, once again, he couldn’t quite fight the urge he had been so desperately trying to hold back. As he undid his belt, watching the water rise in the bathtub in front of him, he chewed his lip, wondering if he’d stepped into a dream. 

As far as nudity went, he wasn’t too prudish. He valued his privacy, but you were, as you reminded him yesterday, a medical professional, and you’d seen it all. Plenty of nude men, he was sure. Granted, he was still self-conscious. At least a nice bath would soothe the pain of his rash that, he had to admit, was hard to bear. If you used your healing touch on his naked body, maybe he’d get more out of the experience than just another fantasy. 

But what if it became something real? How else is this going to end? he wondered. He needed to make his move, that was certain. Now or never.

His injured, aching leg caused him to hiss in pain as he pulled off the right pant leg of his jeans. When he kicked off his socks, he was completely naked, vulnerable. Still, somehow it felt right. At least he trusted you, though his interactions with you were limited. After this, he’d know you much more… intimately, he was sure. 

When you returned, a few bath towels and washcloths in your hands, your eyes widened to see Daryl sitting in the bathtub, the water now turned off and filled much higher. He sat with his legs tucked up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his knees. Chewing his lip, he looked your way, then lowered himself a little, as if in embarrassment. 

“I, uh…”

You laughed and shook your head. “I told you,” you said. “It’s fine. I have seen plenty of men naked. In medical contexts, of course.” Setting the towels upon the counter, you turned to close the bathroom door. “When I was in college, I worked at an old folks’ home. I can’t tell you how many old men I’ve—” Catching yourself, you shook your head as you sat yourself on your knees beside the bathtub. 

Luckily for you, he smiled. A small, playful, lopsided smile. He’s so cute. “You callin’ me an old man, nurse?”

“No, no,” you replied nervously, laughing under your breath. At least he seemed rather easygoing. When you first saw Daryl, he seemed like he would rather be surrounded by a herd of walkers than talk to anyone. Little did you know, your charm had worked wonders on him, and even if he really was quite shy, since yesterday, it became clear that he could no longer resist you. “You’re not old.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Why you bathin’ me then?”

Because I am a very, very bad nurse.

“Because you’re hurt,” you replied simply, but sincerely. As you soaked the washcloth in the bathwater, his gaze softened. You cared about him, you really did. Maybe you went a little overboard, but he didn’t care now. He knew he was in good hands, and if you wanted to take care of him in this way, who was he to stop you. Besides, if it meant getting your hands on him again, he was happy to oblige. “And yesterday, I didn’t take care of you as well as I could’ve. I need to make it up to you…” You trailed off, then cleared your throat. You felt his eyes on you as you wrung out the washcloth, water trickling back into the tub. “So you should let me really get this gravel out. I think I’d never forgive myself if you got an infection.”

You lifted your eyes to him again, and grabbed a hold of his right arm. Squinting, you tried to spot the stubborn dirt, and when you did, you raised your washcloth to his skin, and began scrubbing once again. 

“You, uh… You give all your patients baths?”

Your cheeks reddened as you cleared your throat. “N-no… I, um… No. Is this weird?”

He huffed and shook his head. At least he was still smiling. “Nah, just different. I mean, yeah, it’s a little weird, but after yesterday… Figure there ain’t many awkward situations left between us.”

“Hm, I haven’t given you an enema… Or a prostate exam… Or a colonoscopy. Do you need any of those done, too?”

Though you were joking, if he needed it… You’d do anything for that man. He was everything you wanted—attractive, funny, smart, brave… Well, you didn’t know him too well, but from what you’d seen, what you’d heard, what you’d known, you could tell he was a good man. 

“No, ma’am.”

The giggle you let out was heinously adorable. The way he called you “ma’am,” in that southern accent of his, with that gruff undertone and that wispy softness of his voice, it was too heavenly not to giggle at. It sent shivers up your spine.

And then his body, dotted with thousands of tiny water droplets, reddened by the steam of the hot water that surrounded him, soaked and soft and just so beautiful. He still kept his legs hugged to his chest, but soon you’d need to scrub there, too, as you knew he had a great deal of skin peeled off just above his right nipple. 

“Could you…” You gestured to his chest with your washcloth in hand. “I just need to get your chest wet.”

He loosened his legs until they were stretched out further, allowing access to his chest. You tried so hard not to look down, where his… penis—oh, God, you thought, his penis. 

Terrible. Absolutely terrible. You had no right to look down there, no right at all, but you did. Just for a second. A quick glance was all you needed. It was submerged in the steamy hot water, while his body lowered itself more. The squeak of his bare skin against the porcelain tub alerted you back to your task. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice your stare. 

“Thank you,” you said, not quite sure of exactly where you were or what was happening. You eyed his chest now, focusing on the raw, red skin that expanded from his right side to his right pec. It looked so painful, like it must’ve stung so bad. Your heart skipped a beat, both from the idea of the pain he must’ve felt, and the fact that his broad, strong chest looked so enticing. 

Just as you’d never seen arms like his before, you’d never seen a chest or a pair of shoulders like his, either. Strong, wide, muscular… Even his collarbones tempted you, begging for kisses and your delicate finger to trace along them. Further down, his chest hair had caught little droplets of water, and soon, you were meticulously washing his chest, soaking it in hot water as you cleaned the wound. You hadn’t even noticed the time going by, having been so consumed by his body. 

As your stare got more intense, his eyes settled on your face, where you held your lower lip between your teeth. The sound of water trickling from the washcloth into the bath brought you back to your senses, and your eyes met his. 

Moments passed in idleness, until his lips curled into a half smile, and a breathy laugh emerged. “What’re ya lookin’ at?” he asked, though he knew he’d been looking first, watching your every move and wondering when he was going to make his. 

You cleared your throat and smiled back. It was a smile you couldn’t ignore, one that couldn’t be held back. Like the sun always rises in the morning, the crescent moon of your smile was inevitable. A face like his could send you into orbit, and the way he was looking at you… It was like someone had hung little stars in his eyes. Those pretty, gentle blue eyes, shrouded in darkness by deep brown locks that framed noble cheekbones. You always had a thing for brunettes with blue eyes. 

The question lingered in your ears. What’re ya lookin’ at? The most perfect man you’d ever seen. You couldn’t say that, of course. Well, you’d already broken every rule in the book, but you were determined to be a little more subtle.

“You have very pretty eyes,” you said with a shrug. “That’s all.”

He seemed confused by that. Indeed, no one had ever told him he had pretty eyes. All he knew was they were blue and sensitive, and he needed a good pair of sunglasses. “Pfft,” he scoffed. “Nah.”

“You do!” you exclaimed with a laugh. “And a nice face…” You trailed off, feeling yourself about ready to say, “and a very nice body,” but you didn’t thank God.

“You, uh… got a real nice face, too.”

“Thank you,” you laughed. “I… I really shouldn’t be doing any of this.”

He shook his head, and as you removed your hand and the washcloth from his chest, he quickly grabbed you, returning your hand, and keeping his above yours. He began to guide it, instructing it to keep washing him. “Keep goin’,” he said, his voice low and nearly a whisper, like what you’d heard so many times in your head last night, begging you to touch him. “Feels good when ya touch me.”

It felt so good that he knew what was coming… Down beneath the water, his cock strained and began to throb slightly, almost twitching. He could feel it rising, getting longer and harder with each circular movement of that warm, wet cloth on his aching skin. The unavoidable tingles along his shaft became concentrated at his tip, gradually reddening as blood pooled there. Veins became more prominent, bulging along the lengthening shaft. His instinct was to hide it, tuck his legs back into his chest in the hopes you wouldn’t see it, but another instinct was becoming stronger, and that was his need for you. 

Instead of hiding it, he guided your hand lower, now just above his navel. Your eyes widened almost innocently, but there was no real innocence inside you. It was pure lust, and at the sight of the little light brown hairs that led down from his belly to his cock, you forgot to breathe. 

“Daryl…” Your eyes followed his happy trail down to his swollen, hardening cock. Unabashedly now, you nearly salivated at the sight. So this is what he had tucked away in his boxer briefs yesterday. Impressive, thick length, with room to grow… You could think of a few ways to get him even harder. 

Though he tried to maintain his confidence, Daryl could never quite rid himself of his shyness. He looked away for a moment, clearing his throat, but keeping your hand just under his belly button. 

“I got that problem again,” he said lowly, his voice gravelly yet somehow breathy and sweet like honey. It entranced you. “Said you’d help me out… That offer still stand?”

As he lowered your hand down his pelvis, your shaky grip on the washcloth finally relented. It dropped into the water, and soon you felt a new type of flesh between your fingers. It was coated in a patch of tiny hairs, and his hand took you even further to the base of his cock, where his own fingers gently curled yours around the thick shaft. 

The heat of the hot, steamy water combined with his own pulsing body heat to warm you from your hand up to your chest, which was heaving with each heavy, nervous breath. 

His eyes grew soft, almost sleepy, but your touch was invigorating. Despite the utter relaxation in his face, inside there was a deep, demanding need to pull you in and use all his stamina to feel every sensation your body had to offer. He needed to explore every inch of you, every twist and turn of the inside of you. He’d bend his aching body every which way just to get every last angle of you. He wanted it all, everything, and that’s exactly what he’d give to you, too. 

With his question still lingering in the steamy, heady air, you swallowed hard, hoping to lubricate your dry throat enough to speak. “I—I… I really shouldn’t.”

“But I need it,” he said quietly, controlling your hand to slide it downwards, very, very slowly. Of course, you could’ve stopped him, as his touch was so gentle, so respectful, but you didn’t want to stop him. He felt so good between your fingers, and he really did need it. He was so hard, so swollen. You could feel the topography of his veins all along the shaft, each one so defined and practically pulsing. 

When he saw your face soften as you watched his hand instruct yours, he knew he’d struck a cord there. You wanted to take care of him, to help him. You wanted him to be safe and warm and healthy. It turned him on, far more than he anticipated. 

He needed a woman like you, to make him feel loved, to care for him even if he didn’t always care for himself. Of course, he’d care for you, too, and take you in his arms to keep you safe from a world that could take you from him at any second. There wasn’t any time in this world for waiting. There was a woman right in front of him, someone who was everything he could ever hope for. If you’d let him, he’d never let anything hurt you, and he’d always be there to show you the tenderness you deserved. 

“Daryl…” 

He never cared much for his name, until he heard you say it. The tone of your voice was breathy, almost begging. Every inch of your face was a reflection of your blissful confusion. As much as you hesitated, you knew you wanted him, too, and when his hand tugged on yours, forcing it to wrap around the tip of his cock, whatever strength you had in your arm faded away like the last strained breath trapped in your throat. 

Your sigh coincided with his as his strong, large hand put pressure over yours, squeezing around his swollen head. He moved your hand back towards the base of his cock, encouraging you to stroke him. He needed this more than he needed you to change his bandages or clean his wounds. He needed this kind of touch from you, not anything else. 

“Come on,” he huffed, leaning back slowly against the edge of the tub until his back lay against the white porcelain. He released his hand, but yours stayed put, coiled around his cock. It was a little harder now, and you couldn’t take your eyes off it, but when his hand pulled your chin so you could face him, you got lost in his eyes once more. “Please.”

His self-control was strong, and it was the only thing keeping him from rather abruptly lunging towards you and pulling your body into the tub with him, but you were wearing a rather fuzzy sweater, and getting it wet might’ve been an issue. Tearing it off would be the next best thing.

You leaned over the edge of the tub a little more, getting a better view of what you were doing. Just looking straight down at his hard cock under the water made a tingle surge between your legs. You leaned forward more, bringing your other hand to rest on the base as you stroked along his tip. His legs twitched slightly with every circle of your thumb, and though you were concentrating on your task, out of the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth drop as his eyes shut closed and his head fell back.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

He was so sensitive, more easily stimulated than the other men you’d been with. Maybe he hadn’t been touched in a long time, like you. “When was the last time?” you asked, your mouth moving faster than your thoughts. 

His heavy eyelids labored open, with slivers of silvery blue shining back at you. “Don’t even remember,” he said. His gaze drifted hazily downwards until he could watch your hand tug gently on his length. With his hands submerged in the water, he clenched his fists, trying to hold back his urges. He needed to savor the feeling, he knew that, but it was taking so much willpower not to get to know your body more intimately. 

You kneaded his cock with more pressure, now almost squeezing around the base and the tip with each pass. It was so long now, and thick with blood and swollen vessels that pumped his cock with arousal. It curved gently towards the end, leading you to wonder if he could reach some special spots inside of you. 

As it stood up higher, now poking out of the steamy water, you could get a better look at his testicles, which looked heavy and almost burdensome. He let out a hiss between clenched teeth when your other hand moved down beneath the water to gently massage them, moving your fingers tantalizingly slowly. 

Your touch became a slight squeeze, but it felt good. There was an ache there, where his body begged for release. He’d get it soon, if you kept touching him the way you were. 

“Is that good?” you asked, your voice softly quierving. You hadn’t touched a man like this in so long. It got you excited, too, as you found your thighs squeezing themselves together to try to satiate the tingling sensation between your legs. 

Daryl returned his heavy gaze to your face, where your lips were trembling in starvation for him and his affections. You could only think about dragging your mouth across his wide, heaving chest, painting it with your kisses and leaving love bites wherever you pleased. When he tilted his head side to side, it displayed his thick neck, the muscles and veins slightly bulging, the skin reddened and glossed over with a sheen of sweat. You’d leave a few heavy kisses there in the dreamscape of your mind. Well, you already had your hands in a very… intimate place, so maybe he’d let you get closer next. 

“Real good… Don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t dream of it. He felt so good in your hands, so hard and pulsing and begging and throbbing and—

Some moments later, with a low growl punctuating his sudden movement, he jolted forward, arms bursting open to envelope you and pull you forward. The bathwater splashed, some spilling out over the side of the tub, wettening your lap. 

His swift attack on your lips left you little time to think. He himself had forsaken thought, opting instead to ravish you much more spontaneously than he’d initially intended, but you held him, kissing him back, reciprocating his gesture by thrusting your tongue into his mouth and swirling it around his. 

Whimpering against his lips, you pulled away for just a moment, eagerly bringing your sweater up and over your head to reveal your bra. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tugged at the straps to pull the cups down, and you quickly undid the clasp on the back. 

“Get in here, girl,” he warned, his eyes dark and heavy as they gazed over your heaving breasts, your nipples hard and cold against the air. “Need ya to take care of me.”

You stood briefly to slide off your skirt and socks, followed by your underwear. “Are you sure?” you asked, despite your actions as you stepped into the tub, your feet on either side of his legs. “I mean… We shouldn’t.”

He reached his arms up as far as he could to grasp your hips, coercing you down until you knelt in the tub, knees and thighs submerged beside his. “Yeah, we should,” he said.

He couldn’t help but latch his lips to your nipple, sucking desperately at the hard tissue. “Oh…” you moaned under your breath. 

His tongue swirled and flicked wildly, his hands laced around your lower back to bring you even closer. You felt his cock against your mound, throbbing and twitching. Looking down, you watched it practically move on its own. “Your cock…” you panted, hardly even aware of your own voice and what it was saying. All you knew was that he needed you badly, and you needed him, too. 

His lips separated from your chest for a moment, his blue eyes dreamily looking up at you. “It’s hard for ya,” he said, and you swore you shivered under your skin with each pass his hands made up and down your sides. They rose up again to cup your breasts, massaging them, and giving them a squeeze which made you gasp. He smiled slightly, crooked and naughty. “You like it?”

You liked it too much for your own good. You weren’t ready for him, but you were in the perfect position to ride him, and it was so tempting. “Oh, yes… Daryl, you’re perfect.”

His cheeks blossomed with a pink hue. When you noticed, you laughed and cupped his face as you settled deeper onto his lap. “You’re blushing, tough guy.”

His arms wrapped around your back to pull you closer until your lips touched his. He pecked your lips, then your nose. His short, scruffy facial hair tickled you, making you giggle softly. You felt one of his arms loosen up, and his hand reached down between your bodies to guide his wet hard cock to your slit. 

You flinched and locked your hands around the back of his neck when the feeling of his tip grazing your clit sent shivers up into your belly. Your entrance tightened and contracted, already preparing for him. Letting go of his cock, he brought his hand up to your clit, putting pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Oh,” you whispered, letting your head slot into the crook of his shoulder. “That feels… Daryl, that feels so good.”

The sounds of the water became more boisterous as his hand moved faster, harder, increasing the pressure. Your knees dug into the hard porcelain surface of the bathtub, but it was impossible to feel any discomfort when the tightening and tingling started to overtake you. 

With his cock tucked firmly between your folds, he maneuvered you slightly to get the tip at the entrance, where it tickled your sensitive flesh. You couldn’t help but rub yourself harder against his firm hand, sending ripples through the water. 

One of his hands came to the back of your head, gently pulling your loose hair to lift your face from his shoulder. “Pretty girl,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your lips. His hand still moved, with one thick finger sinking slowly into you. “I wanna fuck you so bad.”

He slipped another finger in, and it felt like Heaven. If his fingers felt this good, you couldn’t even imagine what his cock would feel like. “Please,” you begged, lips trembling against his. “I’d let you do anything to me.”

“Mm,” he hummed with a smile. His fingers dug a little deeper, curling up inside of you as his thumb drew tight, hard circles over your clit. You threw your head back, moaning so loud that your voice echoed slightly in the spacious bathroom. “I wanna do all kinds of things to ya… Dirty things.”

He leaned forward to catch your nipple with his lips again, this time biting down gently, causing you to yelp and giggle. “Daryl!” This was a side of him you’d never known before, of course. It was strange to see his confidence reach such a new height. All you knew of him previously was that he was the shy, mysterious, slightly grumpy archer of Rick’s group. They were new in town, and most people were a little scared of them, but something about Daryl was comforting to you. His presence in Alexandria didn’t frighten you at all, really. It made you feel safe, and many other things, too. 

Water nearly splashed over the side of the tub as he pulled his hand out of you and firmly grabbed your bottom. “Why don’t ya put it in?” he asked. “Nice and deep.”

You missed his fingers inside you, so surely his cock would be the best replacement. You grabbed a hold of his cock, angling it towards your opening. Of course, you didn’t take it in right away, instead opting to use his tip to tease your clit. 

His fingers dug into your bottom as he let out a hiss between his teeth. “Fuck.”

You circled your hips over his cock, then lowered yourself, his tip now just breaching the entrance. “Ooo…”

The hot water felt so good flowing into you with his cock, warming you up from the inside. He could feel every ridge and curve of your body enveloping him. Soft, pulsing flesh massaged his cock with each movement you made to get him as deep as you could get him. 

When he was all the way inside you, you leaned forward slowly, your chest pressed against his as you lay there for a moment, eyes closed in pure bliss. Being filled by him was unlike any other sensation. 

You felt his strong arms wrap right around your back as he, too, shut his eyes. The pain he’d experienced from yesterday was all gone now. The warm embrace of you and the water surrounding him seemed to heal him more than any ointment or bandages could. 

Despite the pure beauty of that moment, he needed you to move, to let him prove to you just how much he had really needed you. 

“Come on, angel,” he mumbled against your cheek before leaving a wet, sloppy kiss there. “Take me for a ride, huh?”

You laughed. “What if I slip?” 

He tightened his grip around you even more. “Won’t let ya.”

You believed him. 

You straightened your back, placing your hands on his shoulders so you’d have something to hang onto, and, boy, were those shoulders wide and strong, with those adorable smatterings of freckles that charmed you so. You pressed several kisses to them as you rocked your hips back and forth, slowly but surely.

“I love your body,” you said between kisses. “These shoulders… Your arms… You’re so big and strong.”

His breath got caught in his throat when you began to rock faster, now simultaneously gyrating your hips, round and round. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

Every movement you made drew you closer to release, with your throbbing, sensitive clit rubbing against his pelvis, which he moved against yours.

“Baby…” you moaned like prayer.

He’d never been called that before. He liked it, so much so that he used his strong grip on your hips to manually bounce you on his cock, with his eyes lowered to watch as the water splashed where your bodies met. 

Your toes were curled forward, trying to keep you steady. When they lost their grip, your knees slipped on the submerged porcelain surface. “Whoa!” you cried out, your forehead planting itself square in the middle of his chest. 

He flinched and sat up a little straighter, still inside you. “You okay?”

You raised your head with a boisterous laugh, and, instead of answering, cupped his cheeks to kiss him. Your weight made him sink back down, and your continued movements had him groaning deep into your mouth. 

You thrusted harder, now on the brink of orgasm. Lifting your lips from his for just a moment, you uttered the phrase, “I’m going to come.”

That sent a shiver of excitement through his cock. “Good girl,” he said. “Come all over me… Wanna feel it.”

You nodded frantically as you panted, now aggressively rubbing your clit on his pelvis as his cock simultaneously tickled you in just the right place. “Oh, God,” you sighed, your face straining as you worked so hard to feel your release. “I’m almost there, baby…”

He thrusted up into you as much as he could in his position, and more water seemed to splash all over, some pouring over the edge and surely pooling on the tile floor, but all that mattered to him was your pleasure. 

You grasped harder onto his shoulders, your eyes now closed as your breasts bounced with each hard thrust. He could feel the twitches of your walls becoming more and more intense, and soon he’d come, too, if you kept squeezing him like that. 

“Oh! Oh!”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His honeyed voice was the last straw. The proverbial string inside your belly snapped, and a cascade of heavenly pulses erupted from your clit. You twitched and writhed on top of him, at first frantically, but soon your body fell into a natural rhythm as you rode him and your high. 

“God,” you sighed through agape lips. “Oh, shit…”

It lasted so incredibly long, allowing you to languidly sway with the current of the water as it settled down. Daryl’s body had stopped moving, but his hands were delicately caressing your sides, the rough calluses on his fingers tickling your soft skin every once in a while. His hands settled on the sides of your cheeks where he brushed your hair back behind your ears. With heavy eyelids, you looked back down at him and smiled wide, deliriously happy. 

“Feel good, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, your voice high-pitched and a bit dazed. Indeed, you felt a little bit lightheaded from the experience. It was the best orgasm you’d ever had, and now that you were looking back at him, that dreamy, mysterious man you’d fantasized about for so long, you were even more dumbstruck. 

“C’mere.”

He pulled you back down until your chest was pressed up against his, and your lips were receiving a passionate massage as his hands laced through your damp hair. His tongue traced around your lips as you smiled deliriously. “Ain’t done yet,” he said, nodding his head as his nose rubbed yours. “Scoot back.”

He helped you off his lap until he could stand, his body dripping with water as he did so. You were a little confused, watching him step out of the tub. Still, he was hard, throbbing, and red. You knew he couldn’t be done with you just yet. 

“Daryl?” you asked, a slight whine to your voice. “Baby?”

He grabbed a towel to quickly dry off his legs, then threw it aside. “I ain’t leavin’.” He stepped forward til his knees hit the edge of the tub. His hands came to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair once again. There was pressure to his touch as he pulled your head forward, and you realized now that you were in the perfect position. “You got such a pretty mouth,” he said. “Can ya finish me with it?” You nodded, of course. You’d be honored, and he was so ready to come for you, with clear liquid beginning to drip from his tip, and it definitely wasn’t water. 

With one hand moving up the base of his shaft, and the other cupping his heavy testicles, you brought your lips to his tip, where you left a long, sweet kiss. Even that seemed to make his cock twitch, and a soft, yet deep, moan escaped from his lips. Your touch was so tender and sweet, and your soft, pillowy lips engulfing his tip was just so heavenly. 

The deeper he entered your mouth, the more saliva pooled at the tip of your tongue, coating his shaft with every movement as you slid him back and forth with your hand. Each prominent vein bulged in your mouth, with the salty taste of the clear liquid on your tongue. 

From his perspective, he adored how you looked with his cock in your mouth, how your lips pursed and your tongue stuck out to cushion the underside of his shaft as he went in, pulling out a little, then going back as far as you could take him without gagging. He didn’t want you to gag, or to hurt you at all. He just wanted to feel every part of your body in the most intimate way. 

You pulled him out for a moment, taking the opportunity to place playful, sweet kisses along his shaft as your eyelashes fluttered up at him. He looked so beautiful in his pleasure, his head tilted back with his eyes shut and lips agape, a deep, sexy moan escaping when you suctioned your lips to one testicle. They were quite big, so only one could fit at a time. 

“Ah, fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

You returned to his tip after leaving another trail of kisses on the underside, and a few extras on his reddened, leaking head. “Am I doing good, baby?” you asked. You found that you quite liked his praise, and that his tendency to call you a “good girl” was something you’d have to try extra hard to elicit. “Am I being a good girl for you?”

“Mmm,” he hummed with that sexy crooked smile of his. “Such a good girl… Doin’ so good with my cock.”

Well, you thought, I am a medical professional. 

But your tongue was unable to speak as you swirled circles around his tip, messily dripping saliva all over your breasts as they hung over the edge of the tub. 

Just before you could open your mouth to take him again, he pulled back, his hand now stroking himself as his soaking wet chest heaved and his cock throbbed harder. “I’m gonna come,” he said. “Where do ya want it, nurse?”

You laughed as you straightened your back, jutting out your breasts. “My chest, please.”

Something in the way you said “please,” with your perky breasts and cold, hard nipples right in front of him, made him let loose. 

He let out the loudest, deepest moan yet as his semen spilled over you, caught by your breasts. Your heavy eyes watched in lustful fascination at the display, and it seemed the white strings would never stop coming from the tip of his cock. He had so much that once he’d drenched your breasts, you brought your tongue to his head for the last spurts to be caught in your open mouth. 

“Good girl,” he praised again, noticing how much you liked it. As you swallowed the last drops, you were quite suddenly picked up, with his hands lifting you by your underarms until he had you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you with a series of strained grunts. 

“Daryl!” you laughed, wide-eyed and slightly terrified he’d drop you. “Where are you taking me?”

“There a bed around here?” he asked, hoisting you up so he wouldn’t lose his grip. He immediately regretted not asking where the bedroom was before picking you up, as he now stood naked, wet, and carrying Alexandria’s naked, wet nurse (who was also covered in his bodily fluids, mind you). 

“The door to your left,” you laughed, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. “Don’t you drop me!”

He kicked the door open, then nearly sprinted to the bed, dropping you and himself on the soft mattress. You laughed as he frantically covered you both with the bedsheets and blankets, but the laughter died down when he bundled you up, rubbing your arms outside the blanket as he tried to warm you. 

“Are ya cold?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head with a smile as you looked up at him, marveling at his beautifully rugged face. “Quite warm… What about you? Are you comfortable?” You unwrapped your hands from the bundle he put you in, raising them to rub up and down his pecs when you noticed his rash. “Oh, Daryl! You need ointment on your rashes.” You began to sit up, planning on running downstairs to fetch the burn treatment, but Daryl’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into him. 

“Nah,” he said, a hint of a laugh coating his gruff southern accent. “All I need is you, ain’t no pain if I’m holdin’ you.”

“Oh…” You bit your lip as you rocked your shoulders, flattered and giddy. “Well, then I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s right,” he replied, tucking you back under the covers, being sure that you were snug and warm before he kissed you. You trapped him in your kiss by wrapping your arm around his neck, pulling him deeper. Your tongue slipped into his mouth to greet his, and they swirled around for a while, dancing so playfully. 

Your feet found his beneath the covers, so you flexed your toes to tickle him, causing him to laugh into your mouth and nearly bite your tongue. “Hey,” he said as he pulled away. 

“What?” you laughed. 

He shook his head before diving back down to kiss just above your collarbone, where he licked and sucked at the skin. “Nothin’...”

“You’re easily distracted,” you laughed, watching him move to your shoulder with his tongue.

“Mm,” he hummed against your shoulder. “And you’re a sweet thing… Like to keep you.”

“Well, I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his face turning a little serious. 

You tilted your head with playfully narrowed eyes. “You think I have sex in a bathtub with every patient, Daryl?”

He chewed his bottom lip before leaning in to kiss your lips once again. “No, just… Don’t wanna mess this up by assumin’ nothin’.”

“I’d be crazy not to be yours.” Your hand lifted to brush through his messy, dampened hair. It was a little darker from the water, but still a lovely ashy chestnut brown, which complimented his sparkling blue-grey eyes just perfectly. “And I think you need me around. To tend to you… ailments.” 

Indeed, you became Daryl’s personal nurse at times, patching him up when he inevitably got himself hurt in some sort of heroic escapade, or, more commonly, when he picked something up the wrong way and injured his back. In any case, you were more than happy to take care of him, and it helped that you soon moved in together, and that Daryl’s appointments often had… happy endings (if he wasn’t too injured, of course).

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Part 1

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #twd #twd fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #twd smut #theteasetwrites oneshot #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 100: Happy Ending

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—gentle sex, missionary, just very basic stuff really, and I don't think there's really anything else! ❧ Word Count: 7.8k

❧ In This Chapter: A year after the events at the Commonwealth, things are falling into place, and Alexandria is back on its feet. Daryl returns home from diplomatic duties at the Commonwealth, but he has an idea to run past you, and it involves a new journey.

❧ A/N: We made it. This is the last chapter of the series. It's been a wild ride. For the last chapter, I had to throw in a little smut, as a treat (and also @normanplusdaryl would've murdered me if I didn't have them have sex again before the end <3). I also wanted to tie a few loose ends, like the character I introduced in 11A (Billy—who was initially intended to be a love interest for Lydia, but then Elijah and Lydia got together and I wanted to follow that from the canon because they were so cute) and Robin's bunny. I will probably make a separate post talking about what this series means to me and how happy I am that I've completed it and that so many people have enjoyed it. For now, though, I'll just say thank you. <3 Hope this final chapter is adequate.

You felt a tiny tug on your corduroy skirt. It startled you for a moment, but then you remembered Westley’s little habit.

One year old and he was already crawling all over the library, touching everything he could get his little hands on. As you looked up from your cataloging, you met the boy’s impossibly round, silvery blue eyes. “Westley Owen Dixon, what on earth are you doing?”

He smiled up at you, in his hand a glob of dirt. His face, too, was smudged with the stuff. You quickly lifted him in your arms, removing the dirt on his cheek with your sleeve. “Where did you get this, huh?”

The child was fond of dirt. He hated being cooped up, you were quickly realizing. Being outdoors was his favorite pastime, but he was much too young to play outside on his own, like Robin. 

“Billy?” 

“Yeah?” The young man looked up from his book. He knew the routine well now, but you had to make sure to let him know. After all, it was what you always did. A year of library training under your tutelage had worked wonders. You were glad he’d decided to join Alexandria, after he’d helped you and Lydia what seemed like yesterday. 

“I’m going to take him out for some fresh air,” you said, as you usually did. “Watch the desk for me? Make sure no one steals any books?” You eyed Mr. Gibson playfully. The old man had a habit of forgetting to check out the books he borrowed, though he always brought them back. 

“Sure.”

Outside, you were greeted by a gaggle of children running past, including Gracie and Robin. When Robin turned on her heel, running back to you, you laughed in confusion at her sudden approach, but she was reaching her hand out, and you knew what that meant.

“Tag! You’re it!” she giggled, looking up at you and the baby with a wide grin. 

You scoffed, looking back at the other children as they giggled. “I most certainly am not!” you said, leaning down to ever so slightly hit Robin’s shoulder. “You’re it!”

It caught the child off guard, who didn’t think you’d be quick enough to tag her. “Hey!”

As you scurried off, Westley let out a series of burps and giggles in your arms. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You stopped in your tracks to see Aaron, calling out to you from the garden. Nearby, some of the other children were swinging wooden swords, while a horse-drawn carriage wheeled through town, carrying the latest harvest for trade. In the busy Alexandria square, people moved to and fro, some hard at work, others just chatting. It didn’t really matter, though. All the work would get done. 

“Hey, there, boss man,” you said. He scoffed, always rejecting that nickname. He wasn’t the boss, really. No one was. Still, he was a leader of Alexandria, like Gabriel, like Daryl, and, you supposed, like you. In your own little ways, you ran this place, too. 

“Told you to stop calling me that.”

“Since when do I listen to you?”

“That’s a good point…” Aaron’s attention quite quickly turned to his nephew, the baby in your arms. His baby voice was always vastly entertaining. “Well, hello there, wiggles.” On account of Westley’s… bouncy nature, Aaron had bestowed upon him that nickname not too long ago. There was no telling where such a little child could get all that energy from, but he had it in spades. Aaron took the child in his arms, lifting him up and down as he held Wes by his underarms. “Whoa!” he said, watching the child laugh and coo at the movement. 

“Be careful with him!” you said. “Don’t break him.”

You watched in amusement at Aaron’s silly faces, how he stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes for the baby’s enjoyment. “Aw, he likes me.”

“Yes, you’re his favorite uncle.”

“I better be.”

Outside the walls, you heard the faint hum of a motor. Not just any motor, of course. There were very few motors left in the world, besides Daryl’s.

“My dad’s here!” you heard Robin exclaim to the other children. 

The girl ran between you and Aaron, and you watched as she sprinted towards the gate. The motor had stopped a little while after she’d gone out of sight, but you did hear his voice very faintly, speaking to Robin in that soft voice of his. 

As soon as he saw you, he waved with one hand, the other resting upon Robin’s shoulder as they came forward. Beside him was Carol, and behind him was Lydia and Elijah, with Judith and RJ following along. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was home again, and everyone was safe, for now.

He took Wes in his arms, bestowing a kiss upon his head. Soon after, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. Over his shoulder, you watched as Robin greeted Judith, the two girls rocking each other back and forth in their hug. They hadn’t seen each other in a while now. Daryl made monthly trips to the Commonwealth and Hilltop, helping to supervise his trades, but the children rarely came along. One day, you knew Robin would beg to come along, too. And then Wes, and then you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.

“How are ya?” he asked. As he bounced Wes, you concentrated on fixing his windswept hair. 

His thumb drew absentminded circles over your lower back, just at the junction of your skirt and your tucked-in blouse. You missed your clothes getting wrinkled by his touch, as much as you tried to look as neat as possible. When he was gone, there was an unmistakable absence of his very particular touch. It was sloppy, but tender. Somehow, he simultaneously put no effort into his movements, and all the effort in the world.

When your fingers finished meticulously sorting out his hair, you let out a refreshed sigh, breathing in the crisp April afternoon. You could practically taste the newly harvested strawberries, finally in season after a long winter. A year ago today, this field you stood in now was barren, dry. Now, it was so green, and even better than it had been before. Lush tangles of vines and leafy greens were lovingly planted in rows upon rows of wooden planters. Alexandria had never been so alive, literally and figuratively. 

“I’m fine,” you said happily. As usual, your eyes began to wander his body, examining the new holes in his clothes you would have to patch up. At least he was clean. He must’ve caught a shower at the Commonwealth, where he’d picked up Carol and the kids. She was a leader there now, helping Ezekiel and Mercer run the place. “How was the event?”

The memorial day, the anniversary of the end of the Commonwealth as it once was. No longer a police state run by greedy politicians, it was still the biggest settlement you knew of, but not the best. That was, and always would be, Alexandria, as far as you were concerned. 

“All right,” he said with a shrug. The movement made Wes giggle as he found fascination with the piece of Daryl’s chestnut colored hair that he held between his little fingers. “What’cha doin’, scout?” he asked, bouncing Westley until he giggled some more. “Already one year old…”

You leaned close to get the child’s attention. “Look, Daddy’s back,” you cooed, pinching his rosy little cheeks. They felt like dough in your fingers, so soft and warm. “Can you say ‘hello, Daddy?’” He’d only turned a year old last week, but you were eager to hear him eventually speak his first words. If you could gently coax them out of him, you would. “Say, ‘hi, Dad!’ Or just say, ‘Dada?’”

He only stared blankly at you, blinking his wide eyes as a droplet of drool began to slide down his chin. “Da,” he mumbled.

Close enough. 

When the sun had set and the day’s activities had come to an end, you found refuge in your living room, watching Robin sit cross-legged on the living room floor, holding a white puff of fur in her arms. Daryl sat beside her, holding Wes, who stared in infatuation at the creature. 

“Say ‘Daisy,’” Robin instructed him, holding the rabbit closer. “C’mon, Wes! Say ‘bunny,’ pleeease. This is a bunny. This is Daisy, my bunny.”

The only person who wanted Westley to speak more than you was Robin, who was so eager to have a little brother to talk to. He only blinked, wriggling slightly in Daryl’s arms. He reached out, patting Daisy between her long ears. 

“Gentle,” said Daryl, who guided Westley’s little hand. “Nice and gentle… Look at ‘er little nose, Wes. Ain’t that funny how it wiggles?”

Dog, whose nose was resting upon your thigh as you sat petting him on the couch (so he wouldn’t get jealous, as Daryl said), lifted his head up with alert ears. He still didn’t trust the rabbit entirely, but he was learning, just as Westley was, to be gentle. 

“No, Dog,” you said in a low tone. “You just stay right here.” The dog whined as he looked up at you, his tail wagging so much it made a noise against the couch cushion. “Oh, really?” you replied. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’re not going anywhere near that bunny until―

“Mommy,” interjected Robin, “can’t we let Dog come close to Daisy? He won’t hurt ‘er.”

After all, it had been several months since the rabbit joined the family. There just wasn’t any end to Robin’s pleas after the baby rabbit had been born. Ezekiel wasn’t helping matters, either. He insisted upon Robin taking the only pure white rabbit in the litter. Still, you had terrifying visions of Dog tearing apart the poor defenseless creature right in front of Robin and Wes, scarring them for life. Dog did have a bad habit of bringing home small, fluffy creatures, though they were always mangled and bloody when he left them on your doorstep. Daryl had only cooked two of them, and that was a miracle in itself. He would’ve cooked up all of them if you had let him. 

You looked between Daryl and the dog, whose big brown eyes seemed to glimmer with the light from the fireplace. He whined again. “Oh, all right,” you said. “But don’t let go of her.”

You loosened your grip on the dog, letting him cautiously leap off the couch. His ears perked up, he slowly sniffed towards Robin and the rabbit. 

“Come ‘ere, boy,” instructed Robin. “Come see Daisy.”

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment when the dog got so close that he pressed his nose against the bunny’s, just for a moment. At the same time, Wes reached out his hand to pat Dog. 

“Daw…” the boy cooed. 

Your eyes lit up, so did Daryl’s. “What did you say, sweetie?” you asked.

Daryl gently bounced the boy, as if trying to shake the word out of him. 

“D—dog.”

“Dog?!” you exclaimed, excitedly climbing off the couch to crawl over to Daryl and the baby. “Oh, Daryl, his first word!”

Robin grimaced as she pet Daisy, who was also the object of Dog’s attention as he sniffed her small puff of a tail. “I wanted him to say bunny.”

“Maybe he’ll learn that next, sweet pea. Can you say it again, Wes? What is this?” You pointed demonstratively towards Dog. “This is a…”

Daryl smiled widely, amused by the boy’s confusion. “Hey, buddy. Good job, why don’t ya say somethin’ else…” He pointed towards you, his eyes gazing over you affectionately. “Who’s that, huh? That’s Mama. Say ‘mama.’”

“Blah bluh.” The baby’s nonsensical sounds erupted from his mouth with a small bubble of spit. 

You all broke out into uproarious laughter. “Aw, that’s close enough,” you said, your voice faltering a little. It could’ve been worse. When Robin said her first word, “Dada,” you were overwhelmed with happy tears. This time, you were a little more composed. 

“Look, Mommy!” exclaimed Robin. “Dog likes Daisy, see.”

You averted your attention from the baby to see Dog’s nose gently nudging the rabbit’s body. He seemed to recognize that the creature was a friend, not food. You’d seen the dog’s reactions to rabbits and squirrels and the like before, but he’d never seemed so calm and collected. Perhaps he was smart enough to know that Robin loved her bunny, and that any friend of Robin’s was a friend of Dog’s.

“What a good dog,” you said, patting his back. “Everyone’s reaching a milestone today, huh?”

Not long after that, Aaron came knocking on the front door. He was on his usual Friday evening business—picking up Robin to spend the night. Tonight was special, as Judith and RJ were visiting, too. It was more like a slumber party at Gracie’s house, with Aaron dutifully volunteering to take care of all the children that night. 

The best part for you, of course, was getting to be alone with Daryl. 

The man didn’t let go of Westley until the child was falling asleep in his arms. He’d been gone only three days, but when a child grows so fast, it feels as though just one day is a whole year. As he put the infant to bed upstairs, you tended to the fire, dropping in another log with a flurry of bright orange and red sparks. You quickly used the poker to maneuver the logs. Two hands held tight to your hips as you bent over, squeezing your waist.

“Baby asleep?” you asked.

He turned you around shortly after you stood up to replace the poker. Upon his face was a lopsided smile, the kind that was infectious. Your own grin carved itself into your cheeks, lifting them high until your eyes began to squint. 

When his arms wrapped tight around your back, pulling you close against his chest, he craned his head to find your neck, where his lips latched onto your exposed skin. Eyes closed, you nuzzled into his neck, too, where you caught faint notes of pine and soil, and a hint of cigarette smoke.

“Daryl,” you sighed, your hands finding themselves feverishly clawing at his strong, broad shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

His mouth zig zagged up your neck, dotting kisses along your jaw, then finally settling happily on your lips, where they seemed to fit so perfectly. “Me too, angel… Wes is sleepin’ like a rock. Dog’s all tuckered out by his crib.”

“Precious,” you spoke against his lips. “I can’t wait for him to learn how to walk. Remember Robin? She was following you all around the house.”

“Knowin’ Wes, he’ll be chasin’ me. Little terror’s already got so much damn energy with the crawling.” With a laugh, you imagined the idea as you lowered yourself to the ground, tugging Daryl down with you. “Perfectly good couch right there, woman.”

“I want to enjoy the fire,” you said, leaning your back against his chest. He knew the position well, spreading his legs as he leaned against the side of the armchair. You shimmied yourself until you were slotted between his legs, while his hands settled upon your stomach to pull you in even tighter. “Mm, perfect.”

He seemed infatuated with your neck tonight. Perhaps it was your new homemade perfume, scented with apple blossom and honey. Indeed, he seemed to be practically devouring you with his lips. 

“You smell good,” he mumbled between kisses. “Good enough to eat.”

With a teasing grimace, you turned your neck to face him. Though his words and the languid movements of his hands as they pawed at your silky nightgown were tempting, you were more determined to hear about his travels for the time being.

“Any news from the Commonwealth?”

“Jus’ the usual. Carol’s got some plan to talk to Aaron ‘bout gettin’ the railroads workin’ again. They already got a lot of people ready to work on it, just gotta make a plan, and Eugene is comin’ up with ideas for fuel… I dunno, he told me all ‘bout it but it went right through my head.”

“How’s Rosie?” Eugene’s daughter was born just a few months ago. You were still hoping to meet her soon. 

“She’s fine. Looks nothin’ like Eugene, maybe that’s a good thing.”

You shook your head at his joke. “Well, not everyone can be as handsome as you, my love. And the books, did you pick up the books?”

Daryl had a new job added to his long list of responsibilities. In fact, you considered him to be his own position at your library: the official interlibrary loan delivery man. 

“I did,” he said with a nod. “Got ‘em in my bag, ready for ya to… do whatever you do with ‘em. And I dropped off the books they asked for. How you gonna keep track of all these books comin’ and goin’? Ain’t it difficult? Don’t want you stressin’ yourself out with this… interlibrary thing.”

If Daryl had it his way, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger or do anything at all, but you wanted to run the library. After all, he built that library for you. It meant the entire world. 

“It’s not stressful, honey. It’s important. Making sure everyone has access to the information they need, or the stories they want to read to keep their minds off things, that’s all important. When Maggie gets the time to start thinking about a library at Hilltop, we’re going to start an interlibrary loan program there, too. Lydia told me she’d like to run that library… It’s going to be wonderful.”

No matter how many times you told him your dreams, your plans, your hopes for the future, he would always look at you like you’d just shown him the biggest, brightest star in the sky. That’s why he built that library, why he did everything he did to keep Alexandria and the other communities together. Though he thought his actions were small, what he did, he did so you could be happy. There wasn’t anything you could want that he wouldn’t give to you. Just to hear that swell in your voice, and to see that flash of radiance in your eyes. 

When you spoke of your dreams, you were the most beautiful thing in the world to him. 

“Jus’ as long as you’re happy. Ya know, I’m real proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Oh? What for?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

His forehead leaned against yours, his hand cupping your jaw with the utmost tenderness. “Yeah. You’re doin’ everything you wanted to do, bein’ everything you wanted to be. And ya make this place feel like home. Alexandria ain’t nothin’ without you.”

“Stop,” you laughed. “I’m just a librarian.”

“Nah,” he said. “You’re much more than that to me. I mean, you are a librarian. That ain’t all you are. You’re changin’ the world, in your own ways.”

“Well, I… couldn’t have done anything without you, Daryl. You gave me everything I wanted, and more. You made me feel like I was strong.”

“You are strong,” he corrected. To punctuate his statement, he placed a firm kiss upon your lips. “My strong, beautiful woman.”

A sudden burst of laughter erupted from you as he used his body to pin you to the floor. With your body now underneath him, you wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. 

“You’re such a charmer,” you said, lips brushing against his ear. His tongue spread warm saliva over the expanse of your neck. Between slow, drawn-out licks, his lips pursed to kiss you, his hand wrapped up in your hair. Your lips desperately searched for his in the dimly lit room, with only the warm glow of the fire to guide you. Raising your hand to palm at his face, you clasped his chin to pull him down until your lips met. 

It was an unspoken chain of events now—words weren’t necessary. Tonight, you’d make love together, with no chance of Robin hearing or walking in on you, and little Wes was just a baby, all snuggled up in his crib upstairs. Dog wouldn’t know what the two of you were doing, he was just a dog. Still, Daryl always shooed the canine away if he happened to try to climb into bed during your more intimate moments. 

But tonight, he didn’t seem to care about privacy from the dog, as he clawed at your nightgown, trying to pull it off on the living room floor. 

“Daryl, we could go to the bedroom if you want. Wes won’t wake up.”

“No, right here. Want you right here.” You didn’t mind. 

As he sat upright, he stripped himself of his black button-up shirt, the buttons on which were already stretching beyond their ability on account of his broad, stocky build. Your nightgown peeled off easily over your head before you tossed it somewhere behind you, into the warm darkness of the increasingly balmy room. 

With a frustrated grunt, he stood to begin undoing his belt. Beneath your now naked body, you felt the high pile of the plush rug underneath you. It wasn’t as soft as your bed, but it was enough. Still, an equally as naked Daryl crossed over to the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows. 

“Here.” He leaned down to tuck the pillow underneath your head. You bit your lip as you watched him maneuver himself until he was atop you again, breathing deep, heavy breaths. “You comfortable?”

“I love you,” you answered, in a complete haze. “Come here.”

Your lips clasped together again, this time kissing with open mouths and lustful tongues. As his body began to move against yours, you both felt the heat of the nearby fire begin to just barely sting your skin. It was a good sting, though. It reminded you that you were alive, after all this time. You were still alive, together. 

“I love you,” he repeated. The phrase was bookended by more kisses, each more sloppy and impatient than the last as the heat and arousal rose up in him. “I love you... I’d die for you.”

Between your bodies, his erection twitched against you, tucked somewhere between your thighs. It all felt so warm. 

“You don’t have to,” you said, heaving and panting as your body rocked up against his. “I’d much rather you live for me.”

You could feel him smile against your cheek, his hand planted firmly beside you as he lifted his body enough to see yours. His other hand traveled south to feel you, to insert his fingers inside you. 

“Oh…” His knees dug into the carpet as he steadied himself, focusing on pleasuring you. His thumb tickled your most sensitive spot mercilessly, causing you to squirm and writhe underneath him, just the way he liked. “Daryl…”

When you said his name, a fire of some otherworldly kind ignited within him. It was wild and demanding and took complete control over him. He could no longer keep himself away from you, so he buried himself inside, letting out a drawn out sigh as your arms reached up to envelope him. 

“Oh, yes, Daryl… Please.” Your begging only emboldened him. 

He bestowed another kiss, then dragged his lips down over your neck, finally grazing over your aching breast. His warm, sweet breath soothed your nipple, where your teething baby was slowly but surely being weaned from breast milk. 

“They still hurt, angel?” he panted, almost whimpering. You felt so good around him, he could hardly stand it. Your body was made for him, having been filled by him after all these years, but every experience was slightly different, with new pleasures for him to reap from you, and to give you. 

“They’re… a little tender.”

Without sucking, he licked the slightly swollen flesh, tracing gentle circles with his tongue. He eyed you, but your head was thrown back, with only a breathy sigh to signal your approval. The softness of his tongue was so soothing, combined with the steady rhythm of his body as he pumped himself inside you. While one hand kneaded the tender flesh of your other breast, his other hand stroked your clit, matching the slow, loving movements of his hips.

“I’ll make ‘em feel better,” he said, moving his lips to the other breast. 

His open mouth drenched your sensitive nipple in his saliva, then his tongue swirled it around in slow, languid circles. Only Daryl could make love to you with such sweetness and gentleness, but with such great desperation and need. It took all his willpower not to suddenly increase his pace, but he knew that what you needed now was his sweet, slow love. Besides, in this room, in this moment, you had all the time in the world. Everything else outside of the junction of your bodies didn’t matter, for the time being. 

Your back arched, you jolted upwards as a sudden shock of pleasure ran through you. Daryl’s touches were getting you more and more aroused, closer to orgasm. Meanwhile, he buried himself deeper inside of you, twitching with each involuntary movement of your body. The wetness that pooled where your bodies met was dripping down your bottom, surely being absorbed by the carpet. You made a mental note to wash it tomorrow. 

With only yours and his soft pants, grunts, and sighs mingling with the crackling of the fire, the house was quiet, peaceful. The sound of skin on skin became more prominent as Daryl’s speed increased inevitably—your passageway was so slick now, he slid in and out of you with ease. 

Though his head was now buried between your breasts, you reached down to lift him up until his arms stretched out to hold him up, hovering over you. In your throes of passion, your ultimate peak of pleasure incoming, you needed to look at him, to see his face as he watched you fall apart. 

“You’re beautiful,” he huffed. And you were. Your skin was drenched in sweat, probably from the immense heat of your bodies and the nearby fire. Beads of sweat and saliva that speckled your breasts were glimmering with the sparkle from the light. Your arms were flailed above your head, though not for long, as you reached up to pull his hair back, giving you a better look at his face. He was sweating, too, panting with agape lips that were made puffy from your kissing. He always had deep-set eyes, but they looked so dark now, filled with lust and the utmost desire for you to feel the pleasure you so deserved. 

As you squirmed underneath him, you managed to smile at his compliment. No one had ever made you feel as beautiful as him, and he really made you believe it. “I feel beautiful,” you panted. “I’m so close…”

He straightened his back a bit, digging into you from a slightly more extreme angle. It caused you to let out a gasp of surprise at the change in feeling, the new stimulation his tip was creating as it hit into you. “Oh, oh!” 

With such an incredible feeling came the need to cry out, so you covered your own mouth with your hand, trying not to wake the sleeping baby upstairs. Though your hand muffled your moans, the sensation was so strong that your other hand dug into the skin of his shoulder, making him grunt in return.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. He’d let you use his body in whatever way you needed to. In fact, he liked it much more than he should’ve. When you were rough with him, even though it was unintentional, it awakened a wildness in him that he often thought he’d grown out of, but it was always within him, you just had a way of bringing it back out.

The newfound confidence he gained made him move faster now, yet still with the gentleness he started out with. He breathed out a huff, then a few words. “You like this?” he panted. “You like what I’m doin’ to ya?”

“You know I do,” you mumbled against your palm. 

“I feel ya about to come,” he said. “Feel ya squeezin’ me.”

Another jolt of pleasure, another tightness throughout your core. His movements didn’t give you a chance to recover—you arched your back and gasped as the string inside you broke. Your legs spread further apart by instinct as your hips writhed and gyrated with every pulse. 

Even in the dim light, he swore he could see your entrance twitching and tightening around him where his body met yours. He certainly could feel it, that enticing pressure that commanded him to stay in you, begging him to let himself go. 

Well, the last time he did that, you ended up with a surprise bundle of joy. 

With your body still squirming and moaning underneath him, he pulled himself out, tugging with his hand as he watched you enjoy the last moments of your bliss.

You opened your legs up even more, reaching your hand down to stroke your slit, just to give him something to look at. It was quite amusing to watch him, too, how his hair hung loose over his face as he hung his head down to watch your movements. He finally reached his peak, his other hand catching his spend.

With that, his energy left him. He allowed himself to fall back down onto you, then roll himself over with you in his arms, until you were snuggled against his side. 

It didn’t last long, though, because you were cold, so you fetched the quilt draped over the edge of the couch, along with another throw pillow for Daryl. He’d insisted he didn’t need one, and that you should have both, of course. You ignored him.

The fire was low now, almost embers, but it was still bright enough to bring light to your faces. You traced the curves of his features for a while, tickling his nose any chance you got. It occupied you as you thought of new worries.

“You’re going to the Hilltop tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, then Commonwealth, then back home. Like I usually do.”

You knew the routine well—the trade route always involved several stops at the three settlements, and the whole circuit took about a week to complete, but one week out of the month without him was still the one thing you wished to change in your life. Granted, you were quite spoiled if the only problem in your life was not getting your husband to yourself twenty-four seven. Maybe you were just clingy, but Daryl always liked that about you, and, anyway, he was clingy, too. Possibly even more than you.

“Hm…” You tightened your arm around his waist, nuzzling your head further against his chest, as if to never let him leave. “Well, say hi to Maggie and Hershel for me. Oh, and Robin has another little letter for him she wants you to deliver. It’s on her desk, I’ll get it in the morning before you leave.” The two children had become pen pals ever since Maggie returned to Hilltop. You found their new friendship to be quite sweet, knowing that Glenn would’ve loved to see all the children getting along. 

“Guess I’m a glorified mailman now, huh?” he said with a huff, which you knew to be his form of laughter. “Well, uh…”

His voice trailed off and his small smirk faded as he began to think. He didn’t look worried or upset, but nervous, almost. It was strange, he’d hardly ever looked nervous around you anymore.

“What is it?” 

“Nothin’, just… There’s somethin’ I been thinkin’ ‘bout for a while. Been meanin’ to ask ya.”

There was a strange quality to his voice, almost like he was… excited? Nervous, and excited. It made you shake your head in slight bewilderment. He seemed so youthful, with the subtle, flickering glow of the nearby embers accentuating the angles of his high cheekbones. 

“Go ahead.” Whatever was making Daryl so excited, it was bound to make you excited, too. 

“Well, I was thinkin’… Maybe tomorrow you could come with me on the rest of the trip.”

That wasn’t all he was thinking, but it was the first step. Luckily, the first step went over well. You immediately beamed at the thought. In fact, you’d wanted to ask, but you feared that Daryl might grow irritated at your desire to be with him when he was doing his “job.” The fact that he asked you was a relief. 

“Oh, that’s a great idea! I’d love to go, honey. I really want to see Maggie, and I’d love to meet Rosie. I’m sure Ezekiel would like to hear about Daisy. Aaron could take care of the kids, and I know Gabriel would help, too.”

“But, uh, that ain’t all I was thinkin’.”

“Oh?”

He cleared his throat. “Ya know… Ya know how, a while back, I said I’d take you on a vacation?”

The thought amused you as it came back to mind. Indeed, it was almost exactly a year ago, down in the sewers underneath Alexandria. It was a dark time, but in the midst of that darkness were moments like that. 

“Yes, I remember. You said something about… riding off into the sunset on your motorcycle,” you laughed. “Well, that’s how I interpreted it, anyway. Why?”

He shrugged, though he knew why he was asking. “Guess I was jus’ wonderin’ if maybe we could do that soon, that’s all. Maybe when we get back from the trade, we can just… be gone for a little while. Few weeks. I dunno.”

As your fingers absentmindedly traced shapes through the wiry hairs sprouting from his chest, you thought of the logistics of such a plan. You knew that Aaron wouldn’t mind taking care of the kids, and Gabriel did owe you a few favors after you’d taken care of Coco. Lydia and Elijah lived in Alexandria, too, and would surely keep an eye out for the children that Lydia came to know as her family. Some of the other neighbors would be fine with helping out, too. They all loved Robin, and many of them had offered to babysit Wes whenever you needed it. Dog was already eating off everyone’s porch, and Robin was now an expert at caring for her rabbit. 

“Where will we go?” you finally asked. 

“Jus’... anywhere.”

And so, the next morning, you were off. 

At the Hilltop, Maggie expressed interest in your “vacation.” She said it would be a good opportunity to find new people, and to find leads for new resources for the communities. Of course, before you’d leave, you’d stop again back at home to say goodbye. 

It wasn’t an easy goodbye, not in the slightest. You held onto Wes for some time that morning, while Daryl went through extra care to go over the “security protocols” with Robin. You weren’t entirely sure what that included, but it had something to do with operating the complicated lock on your front door. 

Outside the gates, Aaron met you to see you off, with Lydia holding baby Westley. Beside his bike, Daryl held Robin’s cheeks in his fingerless-gloved hands, kneeling down to the girl’s height. He squinted his eyes as he examined her face, clenched somewhere between forced strength and the strength she was born with. There seemed to be a glimmer in her eye, where a tear threatened to fall. 

“We won’t be gone long,” he said, brushing the tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Few weeks, month at the most.”

“But it’ll feel a lot longer,” she said weakly. Still, she allowed her lips to curl into a half-smile. “Can you bring me back a new Barbie? A veterinarian one?”

Ever since you began telling her about Hershel, Maggie’s father and her friend’s namesake, she dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, taking care of all the animals in Alexandria. It was a dream that you hoped would come true for her. 

“Yeah, I’ll look for it… And I promise we’ll be back ‘fore your birthday.” She beamed at that. She was turning eight in a month. Time was going so fast. 

He took her in for a hug, and with his chin resting upon her shoulder, he quietly said, “Keep an eye on your brother, all right? And take care of Dog. Make sure he don’t eat that bunny.”

She laughed before placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Okay, Daddy. I promise.”

“And be good for your uncle. Listen to him…” He trailed off, knowing he didn’t really have to waste those words on such a well-behaved child. Now, Westley was another story, but alas, he couldn’t quite understand anything Daryl would say to him. “I dunno why I’m tellin’ ya, birdie. You’ll be just fine.”

As he rose to his feet, you came towards them, Wes on your hip as he chewed on his teething ring. His little feet wiggled in his tiny cowboy boots (the ones Daryl brought home because they reminded him of a certain police officer he used to know) as you handed him to his father, who held the restless child up in the air as he made a wide-eyed face to entertain him. “Hey, scout, now you’re the one I’m worried ‘bout.” 

You felt Robin’s arms wrap around your waist, and her cheek leaning against your upper arm. As you looked down, you freed your arm to squeeze her close. Your hand settled in her hair, brushing back the silky, pale brown waves. “Will you be all right, sweet pea?”

“Yeah, just…” She looked up with glassy eyes and slightly quivering lips. “I’ll be worried, s’all. There’s climbers out there.”

That was the newest threat. A new… adaptation. Some walkers were climbing, even picking up objects. Not many, but enough to warrant new protocols. That was part of what you were interested in exploring. Maybe someone, somewhere, knew something about these new walkers. Or at least, maybe you’d get some leads. It couldn’t hurt to look.

“Mm, well, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but… I’m pretty good out there.” You pulled your ice axe from its loop on your belt, flashing the thin silver blade. “And nothing’s going to stop me and Daddy from coming back home to you and your brother, you know.”

“I know.” You took her in for a full hug, squeezing her so tight she squealed a little. “I’ll miss your hugs.”

“Me too…” You sighed as you pulled away to look at her. She looked so much like Daryl, as she always did, but for the first time, you noticed a quality in her face that resembled… you. It was a brief resemblance that seemed to only show itself in certain angles and lights, but it really showed now. Maybe she was growing up, not anywhere near a young woman yet, but you could see it in her. It was coming, and it brought a tear to your eye. You didn’t want to miss a second of it, but this would be good for you, for Robin, for everyone. 

“I think this might be the longest I’ll have ever been away from you, chipmunk. Your daddy’s been away for months before, but…” 

Robin’s kiss distracted you from your imminent tears. “It’s okay, Mommy. We’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. Maybe when you get back, Wes will know some more words.”

You felt Daryl’s warm presence beside you, and you heard Wes’s babbling. The little boy just looked so happy, smiling wide with the few tiny baby teeth he’d been growing. As you brushed back his wispy brown hairs, Daryl pressed a kiss to his cheek before handing him back to Lydia. 

“You sure you’re okay with taking care of him?” you asked. “You can always ask Gabe and Aaron for help, too. They’ve babysat him before.”

The young woman extended her metal arm for a hug. You sighed against her shoulder, knowing you were going to miss her, too. “We’ll all take care of them both,” she said. “It takes a village, right?”

“Thank you… It means a lot to me.”

Aaron was the last one you had to say goodbye to. It took a lot of willpower to end that hug, but wherever you were going, you had a long way to go. 

“Be careful out there,” he said. “And don’t worry about everything here. Just… just be careful, okay?”

There was no mistaking that look in his eye, and that slight frown on his face that aged him a few years. You much preferred his smile, but you knew he was a lot like you, and that it was hard to smile when there was so much to worry about. “I will. I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He nodded with a strained smile. “I know.” With a sigh, he pulled you in for another hug. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he had a bad feeling. 

“Aaron,” you said, “stop worrying. I told you I’ll be careful. You know, I lived out on the road for a while, unlike some people.”

His smile seemed natural now, more warm and relaxed. “You’re my baby sister,” he said. “I’m always going to worry about you. Dad used to say I had to watch out for you, make sure the other kids didn’t pick on you.” 

And yet they still did, but he tried his best. 

“And you always did watch out for me. Now I can watch out for myself.”

“I know, (Y/N). Still, be careful.”

When you pulled yourself away, Daryl stepped in to hug Aaron. It was a far cry from the first day the two met, you thought. You rather clearly recalled Daryl’s first words to Aaron being, “No one gives a shit.” If you’d been asked to imagine the two men sharing a hug back then, you weren’t sure you could do it. 

“Take care of my sister,” he said, quietly enough so that you couldn’t hear as you strapped your bag to Daryl’s bike. Light packing wasn’t your strong suit, but somehow you managed to fit everything you needed into one knapsack. 

Daryl chewed his bottom lip as he nodded. Aaron had spoken in a stern voice, but underlying that was a clear understanding between brothers, not just friends. “I will.”

As he climbed onto the bike, he turned the key into the ignition, bringing the engine to life. When you settled behind him, grasping at his shoulders to steady yourself, you were alerted to Westley’s cries, no doubt spurred on by the loud engine, though you were a little gutted inside, thinking maybe, just maybe, he knew you were leaving. 

“Bye!” you called out over the roar of the bike. Robin, Lydia, and Aaron matched your wave, and soon Westley’s cries calmed down. Maybe it was the sound of your voice. 

Daryl flashed a smile towards them, then turned his head to speak over his shoulder to you. “Ready?”

With a deep breath, you wrapped your arms tight around his waist, but not before adjusting his poncho slightly. “Ready.”

It was a beautiful April day, with fluffy clouds rolling slowly in the pale blue sky. Beyond the nearby hills, you could just see the sliver of the moon begin to dip below the horizon. Darkness was far away now, and for a moment, you thought back to the beginning of a different journey, one that started in darkness, but ended in the light. 

Well, it didn’t end. Nothing ever really ends. 

With a kick of the stand, the wheels were rolling, and Daryl stepped hard on the gas, jolting you to grip onto him tighter. Your chin dug into his shoulder, just the way he liked. That way, he knew you were really holding on, and that you were there with him. It was what he needed. In his heart, he knew one thing—he’d never be able to leave home again without you. 

The road went on straight for a while, and every chance you got, you looked back to see those three figures getting smaller and smaller, but Robin’s little arm was still waving. You let go of Daryl for a moment to wave back, even though you were sure she couldn’t see you.

I love you all. 

Soon the road bent, turning into a grove of trees that finally separated you from your home, the place you fought for, and the people that made it worth fighting for. 

But then, there was still Daryl, and that was more than enough to remind you of every beautiful thing you had in this world. In fact, it all started with him. It started that day the bolt from his crossbow tunneled through a walker’s skull, the walker that very well would’ve killed you if it weren’t for him. 

If it weren’t for him, you’d have never known love at all. That was what you believed to be true. There was no love like his before him, but whatever love you did have, it wasn’t his. His was what you’d been waiting for all your life, what you were put on Earth to feel. 

Today wasn’t unlike that day you met him, you supposed. It was a time when everything was changing, and as one world was ending, another was beginning. Though this time, you didn’t feel anything was ending, only that today was the start of some great journey. You couldn’t explain it, you just felt it. 

However the world would change next, you found yourself repeating that old mantra: Don’t ever be afraid.

You were so lost in your thoughts for a while that you didn’t even notice the great speed at which you were going. As you pinched his side, signaling for him to slow, you shouted above the sound of the engine, “Slow down!”

He shook his head as he let out a laugh. “Thought you’d never notice.” His foot eased up on the gas pedal, and now you could more clearly watch the trees go by, one by one. 

You weaved through a small group of walkers stumbling on the road, but their mindless groans were easy to ignore. In fact, you didn’t really notice them at all. Nothing could spoil this moment, this beautiful world that you’d come to know and love, despite everything that threatened to take it away from you. 

No, nothing could take this away from you. Nothing could take away this bright light of love that seemed to move at the speed of sound down the old dirt road. It was unstoppable, and wherever the two of you went, you’d take it with you, and never let it go. 

Now, you just had to figure out where you were going, but something told you that the light of love would guide the way. 

~

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Series Masterlist

#daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus #the beginning series #theteasetwrites series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Series Masterlist

❧ Media: The Walking Dead // Medieval Fantasy AU ❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Reader Pronouns: she/her ❧ Status: ongoing

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ Spotify Playlist

❧ Synopsis: For ten years, the world has been ravaged by a plague known as the Scourge. The kingdom of Alexandria remains one of the few bastions of peace in a world of death and decay. Keeping the kingdom and its castle closed off from the rest of the world has kept its citizens safe. For you, the princess of Alexandria, and King Ezekiel's daughter, it hasn't been easy. You dream of seeing the outside world again, and when the king invites a local duke and his knight to court, marking the first time in a decade that an outsider has been allowed into the kingdom, you see it as your chance to finally be free. The duke's knight, Sir Daryl, seems to be your only hope, but around the same time of the knight's arrival, trouble begins to break out in Alexandria, with a mysterious group of bandits and outlaws breaching the walls and wreaking havoc. Their leader's threats endanger both the kingdom, and you. Can your loyal knight protect you?

❧ A/N: So this is happening. No one really asked for it, but it's happening.

❤️‍🔥 = smut (18+)

❧ Chapter 1: Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly ❧ Chapter 2: Me, Who Was Once Serene ❧ Chapter 3: The Wound Is Quick and Keen ❧ Chapter 4: Only Your Word ❧ Chapter 5: While Yet the Wound Is Clean ❧ Chapter 6: Through Life and After Death ❤️‍🔥 ❧ Chapter 7: I Tell You Faithfully ❧ Chapter 8: The Whole Truth Shall be Seen ❧ Chapter 9: Heal the Injury ❧ Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart ❧ Chapter 11: You Are My Queen ❤️‍🔥 ❧ Epilogue (coming soon)

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x oc #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead smut #norman reedus x you #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus #daryl dixon smut #theteasetwrites series #theteasetwrites masterlist #theteasetwrites fanfiction #merciless beauty series

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: war, violence, scary situation, blood and gore, death ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: Alexandria and the Hilltop's forces besiege the Sanctuary, with three objectives: save the princess, kill Negan, and burn the place to the ground.

❧ A/N: I am so sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the schedule for this chapter, but I have been quite busy with school, work, and life, and this chapter was pretty hard to write because it was so action-heavy, and I am not very good at writing action scenes! So I wanted to make sure I was taking my time and not rushing through it. I really hope you guys like the second to last chapter, and thank you to everyone who waited patiently the last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

The sky was stained violet in the twilight that married day to night. It was that strange time of transition, wherein the sun had set beyond the distant hills, leaving only a soft halo of light behind, while the moon still had yet to claim her dominion. 

And it was quiet, that uneasy kind of quiet. The kind that did not settle, but hung in the air with a heaviness, threatening at any moment to implode. 

But the silence in the Sanctuary provided you with the solitude you needed to do all that you knew was left to do: pray.

You could not pray to God, though, for the last time you had, you knew he hadn’t even bothered to hear you. Perhaps you were a sinner. Well, you knew you were. Everyone was a sinner, and you were no exception. In fact, you had more to answer for than most—you’d lied to your own father, lain with a man to whom you weren’t married, and, worst of all, you’d tried to kill someone. 

So why should you pray to God, who would surely not listen anyway? 

But you still believed in Heaven. You still believed that Daryl was in Heaven, even if he, too, had been a sinner. You had to believe he was there, where he walked amongst angels in perpetual bliss. So, you prayed not to God, but to him. 

Your weak knees wobbled on the cool, rough stone underneath you. A faint stream of the last light from the dusk outside crept in through the tiny crack in the old stone wall. You focused on that crack of light, its dying shimmer reminiscent of the sparkle in his eyes of cobalt blue. Just the thought of him, how you’d never see him again, brought forth the tears.

“Daryl,” you said quietly, squeezing your eyes tight as you sniffled. Lowering your head, you clasped your cold hands together, and held them below your chin, just like a prayer. “I do not know if you can hear me…” 

Another sniffle as you shook your head, as if embarrassed by how pitiful you must’ve looked—on your knees in a dark, cold dungeon, wearing only a dirt-stained chemise and a pair of once beautiful pinsons on your aching feet. You’d never felt more ugly than now, not only because you felt filthy, cold, and thin, but because you felt as though all your poise and dignity had been stripped from you, until you were bare. Though you weren’t naked, it very nearly felt like you were.

The lump in your throat could not be held back much longer. With a blubbering burst of tears, you sobbed against your hands, still clasped together in prayer. 

“Oh, my love… I—I do not know what to do.” The only comfort you had was in that last little sliver of blue, that crack in the wall. It was darkening now, almost black as night settled in. You still kept your gaze locked on it, that little bit of hope. “I have tried to be strong… I tried to k-kill that bastard, Negan. I did it because I do not want to feel like a prisoner ever again, but… now look where that got me.”

Your cry almost melted into a laugh at your own failure, but even that could not distract you from the grim situation you found yourself in. In fact, as you sat in momentary silence, with only the constant drip… drip… drip of a nearby drain to entertain you, you could only think of him. 

Though you knew in your heart of hearts that you could not be to blame for his death, you still felt as though you were the catalyst, the cause of your own woe, and the death of the love that you had just barely begun to feel. 

“Most of all… I miss you terribly, and I have not known such pain as this in so many years, to think of how you must have suffered, how you…” You swallowed back a strained gasp, shuddering to think of what had happened to him. “I never wanted you to die for me, Daryl. Never. I only wanted… I just wanted to be free. You set me free, and you did not have to. You did it because you were a good man. You are a good man. You always will be to me. I will always love you.”

Releasing a deep breath that shook you to your fragile core, you wiped your tears with the dirty sleeve of your gown. The pressure made the sensitive bruise around your eye sting. As silence settled in again, you thought of one more thing to say, one more utterance to release into the cool night air, surely never to be heard by anyone but the rats and the maggots that plagued this disgusting prison. Still, if there was a chance that your love could hear you, from wherever he was, you were going to be sure that it would mean something.

“My love,” you spoke again, “I am frightened… and I have often felt alone, before you, but now… I fear there is nothing left, that all that’s left for me is loneliness. All I’d need to believe otherwise is—well, it is silly, but… some kind of sign. Something to show me that there is still hope. If you could, would you show me something? Anything? Please, my sweet knight.”

But there was nothing. Only silence. You shook your head, feeling your tears welling up within you again. After all, what were you expecting? A beam of light, a prophetic vision, an epiphany? “Fool,” you muttered. “He cannot hear you… No one can.” 

As you began to rise to your feet, a sudden rumble echoed from somewhere outside the walls. It seemed distant, and quite faint. It was not a common sound you’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours you’d been locked away, but it was familiar. It reminded you of the cannon fire from that night, when the Saviors attacked Alexandria.

It couldn’t have been that, though. The cannon fire was much louder, and had shaken the—

Boom! 

You were sent back to the ground, not on your knees but on your side. The ground shook underneath you, while another round of explosions assaulted your ears. Reaching up to cover them, your eyes shot open when you realized. 

“We’re under attack!” a distant voice cried out.

When the shaking subsided, you heard racing footsteps from the floor above you, swords being unsheathed and men shouting at each other, barking orders and arguing in panicked hollers. There were no windows in that dungeon, but there was that sliver—that crack in the stone wall. You lifted yourself in a hurry to cross the cell, closing one eye to look through the jagged fissure. 

All you could make out for several moments was opaque blackness. The night had swallowed what was left of day in the time that had passed, but in the distance, coming over a gentle slope, was a sight you could not believe.

First, you saw the flames, the torches that some of the men carried as they rode on horseback. Much further in the distance, you could make out the silhouette of the bombards mounted on carriages, some being loaded by men in full suits of armor, others being pushed forward, making their assault on the keep. 

They’d already made it past the castle walls, it seemed, as the battlements were all but destroyed, with flames swallowing the remaining rubble. It was too dark to make out their alliance, but you knew it could not be Alexandria. The kingdom was too weak for such a siege, and you’d never seen such bombards before. No, this must have been some foreign faction… Perhaps they even could have been just as evil as Negan and the Saviors. 

You could not allow yourself to have hope of being rescued, but you had asked for a sign. Any sign. Though you were hoping for something more metaphorical, you supposed this would do.

As the armored Friesian’s hooves galloped over a fallen Savior’s writhing body, the knight raised his sword with one hand, and, in one swift motion, sliced the head of another’s clean off before rounding the corner of the keep. 

Through his armet, with only two thin oculariums allowing him to see, he could just make out the great entrance, raised high by a flight of imposing stone steps looking over the besieged castle grounds. The armored Prince Jesus and Duke Richard followed closely behind, each upon their own steeds and slaying every Savior that came barreling towards them. 

“We must go on foot now!” Jesus shouted over the warfare, men-at-arms all around them, some roaring battlecries, others wailing in agony as they writhed in the bloodied earth, Saviors and Alexandrians and Hilltop soldiers alike. “Onward to the keep! That is where your princess will be, and Negan.”

The three men dismounted before their horses ran off, over the debris from the fallen walls and towards the safety of the woods. Sir Daryl watched them as long as he could see them, before they dissolved into the smoky darkness of the night. 

Making their assault on the keep, the three fought through the crowd, knocking men from their horses to rid them of their helms before driving their blades through their faces without too much remorse. These men were all different degrees of evil, but they were all on the same spectrum. They all stole, tortured, killed, raped… There could be no remorse for the Saviors, who had shown no such remorse before.

With each step the knight and his companions get closer, climbing the steep hill towards the entrance to the keep, the other soldiers of Alexandria and Hilltop followed, preparing to assault the keep—Negan’s home. 

They were fueled by vengeance, rage at the ravaging of their homes and the murders of their loved ones. In the distance, Daryl could hear the king shouting above the chaos. “Surround them!” he said, wielding his own sword as he fought amongst the common men. “Push on! To the keep!”

But the mass of soldiers was too thick for the battering ram to get through without conflict, and that door was not going to open by itself. More likely than not, there were Saviors on the other side of that door—likely Negan’s most skilled, trusted guards. 

Seeing this, the king turned to whistle the signal. 

The beast was released from her chains, then, and with a roar, Shiva bounded towards the skirmish, her strong paws pushing the Saviors out of the way before she dug her claws into them, her teeth cutting through the steel of the armor to puncture their flesh. A few Alexandrians and Hilltop fighters were knocked over in the event, but the tiger kept the Saviors down long enough for twelve of the king’s men to run up the steps to the keep as they carried a long, heavy wood beam with the steel head of a ram on its end. 

The knight, the duke, and the prince stood by, their swords held high in preparation to fight the Saviors on the other side. 

The men with the battering ram heaved several times, each time making the door splinter until finally the ram broke through, destroying the door as the men plowed through, dropping the beam to lift their blades and fight.

Daryl went first in afterwards, with Jesus and Richard following behind. Sure enough, the place was crawling with Saviors, armored and wearing the black and red colors of House Smith.

The knight was faced with a particularly skilled Savior, who advanced towards him in a diagonal lunge, his sword swinging with intent to attack the weakest point—the underarm.

But Daryl was quick, parrying for a moment, only to regain his stability and counter the Savior’s next strike with his own. 

Though he had the perfect moment to slash at the briefly exposed skin between his helm and his gorget, instead he seized the opportunity to tackle the man with such force that his weapon clattered to the floor as he pushed him into a hidden alcove beneath the stone staircase, where the Savior fought for freedom from the knight’s attack, but Daryl was using all his strength to keep the man pressed against the wall.

He sheathed his own sword to reach for the misericorde strapped to his leather belt. With the dagger in one hand, he used the other to yank open the visor of the man’s helm, exposing two wide, frightened deep brown eyes. 

The knight was young, probably only just promoted from a squire, but Daryl did not have time to care. He’d already killed plenty of young men tonight, and one more wouldn’t make him any less damned. 

He lifted the blade to the Savior’s left eye, its narrow tip poised to puncture the young knight’s pupil as though it were the center of a target. In the confined space of his helm, he breathed heavily, the heat of his anger and adrenaline burning fumes in the back of his throat as he spoke three simple words, his voice louder than even he had anticipated, but he had no time to repeat himself: “Where’s the princess?”

“I—I know of no princess.”

A low, muffled growl escaped Daryl’s lips. He pressed his chest harder against that of the Savior, his grip on the dagger becoming at once firm and shaky as irrational rage overcame him. It was as though he was looking Negan in the eye right now. Though, this Savior had a kindness in his eyes, one distinctly different from the evil of Sir Negan’s serpentine stare. Still, there was deceit behind those eyes. Years of interrogating prisoners of war had trained him well, despite the psychological toll it had taken on him. At least he could tell when a man was lying. 

“Wrong answer,” he replied through lips tightly drawn into a snarl. He did not need to harm the knight beyond the suffocating weight he inflicted onto the young man’s chest, he only had to narrow his eyes in a freezing stare. “Wanna try again?”

The young knight swallowed hard as his defense began to crumble, though he still feigned ignorance. “Sh-she is here.”

Daryl huffed as he inched his dagger closer, the tip grazing the Savior’s eyelashes as they fluttered in nervous movements. The knight never did have much patience, and now, with your life and the lives of his men at stake, he couldn’t care less about the chivalry which was supposed to dictate his every action and every word, even in battle. In fact, he’d never been chivalrous enough to care about that before. When it came to war, every man was a savage, and Daryl was no exception. 

“You’ve got about five seconds to tell me where she is ‘fore you lose your damn eye.”

“No, please!” The Savior caved easily, and it was clear that, despite the fact that Negan trusted him enough to be one of his personal guards, he was not particularly loyal. Not if he surrendered that easily. From Daryl’s knowledge of war, a truly loyal soldier would lose his eye and maybe a few other body parts before giving in. “Last I heard she was locked away in the dungeon. Negan gave orders to put her in there just last night. I haven’t heard anything since, that’s all I know. I swear!”

For a good several moments, Daryl did not remove his blade, his lips snarling at the Savior as he processed his words, and contemplated whether or not to kill him. 

He wanted to. No Savior left alive, he repeated in his head like a mantra, but he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. Something told him not to. Perhaps it was that last bit of gallantry, or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“What’s your name?” he asked the young man, words which he’d never thought he’d ask of an enemy. The man seemed confused by his question, so he jolted him against the wall and demanded again, “What’s your name?”

“Alden.”

“Alden… This place is gonna burn to the ground. If you value your life, you’d leave now and never look back.”

The Savior nodded, his eyes softening as Daryl removed his weight and the knife from his face. As Daryl turned to begin his search for you, Alden said one more thing. “Wait!”

The knight turned, half-expecting the man to turn on him, just as a precaution. 

But he did not attack him. He only held out a large iron key, dangling from the ring in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

You paced back and forth the length of the cell, wringing your hands nervously before you tried again, though you were sure either no one could hear you, or no one cared.

But you had to try, even if every cell in your body was against it. Death seemed inevitable, and perhaps you truly had nothing more to live for, if the world was as dark and cold as it seemed, but you believed that fortune held you in its favor, somehow. The attack was a sign. A sign from Daryl. That’s what you had to believe. There was no time to stand idly by, you had to act. And the only way to act, in your current position, was to shake those bars that held you in your cell, and to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey!” you cried out, your voice drowned out by the sounds of warfare outside and above you. “Hey! What is happening?! Let me out!”

As they neared the dungeon, racing down the winding steps that took them underground, the four men plowed through more Saviors, the ones tasked with guarding the dungeon. Despite being nowhere to be seen, Negan must’ve sent extra defenses to protect the subterranean corridors. 

With the help of Jesus and Alden, the duke and the knight tunneled their way through the maze, each corner they turned revealing a new foe, until they found themselves nearing a great iron gate, beyond which Daryl swore he could hear your voice. The fear and confusion pierced his heart like a thorn, though the familiarity in your voice was like the sweetest rose. 

“This way!” cried Alden. “Hurry!”

The four men raced towards the gate, with Alden hurriedly turning the key in the lock. Daryl did not hesitate, throwing the door open with a great echo of the squeaking of hinges. He stepped in quickly, and the other three men followed, though Daryl pushed them back. 

“Stay out here,” he said. “Keep watch. If anyone followed us—”

“Go,” said the duke. “But hurry.”

For the first time in several hours, you heard the creaking of the opening door, the footsteps that echoed through the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. Though you could not see who they belonged to, you had more fear in your heart than hope. 

All you could see beyond the bars of your cell and at the end of the hall was that same glow of that same fire of that same sconce that provided the only light you had in this God forsaken place. As you stepped back, terrified of the slow, heavy footsteps growing increasingly loud, the shadow of the figure played against the stone floor, flickering with the light. 

Surely, you were to die tonight, whether by the hands of a Savior or one of the intruders. You could not see any other way for this to end, though you had wished so much for Daryl’s sign to be true. 

“Please,” was all you could muster, your voice shaky and delicate, close to shattering like thin, weak glass. 

He followed your voice, his vision obscured by his helm that he had forgotten to remove in the haste to locate you. When he turned the corner, finally laying eyes on you, his heart could not bear to waste another moment—he moved as fast as he could in his heavy steel armor, which you could not recognize at all.

It was not the armor of Alexandria, nor of the Saviors. No, it was the Hilltop’s armor, but you’d never seen it in your life. 

All you could see was an unfamiliar man in unfamiliar armor hurriedly jimmying the key in the lock of your cell door, while you cowered in the dusty dark corner, frightened. With nowhere left to go, you sank to the floor in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest for some semblance of comfort. 

“I—I am not one of them,” you stuttered. “Please.”

But the knight did not respond, himself too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. He stood before you now, frozen for a moment, until he kneeled to face you at your level. Between those thin, rectangular windows built into the cold shiny steel of his helmet, you could see a sparkle of cobalt blue, like the reflection of the sunlight that danced upon gentle waves of the sea on a bright summer’s day. For a split second, you swore you recognized that glimmer, the way it made your stomach do somersaults and your chest swell up with air when you’d forget to breathe properly.

Only now, you were sure it was fear that made your body react that way, not the eyes of your lover, so you thought. 

It could not be… And yet, he moved like him, he was built like him, he even very nearly smelled like him—a warm, woody musk. Perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks on you, though, or just wishful thinking.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words were so strangled by the tightness in your barren throat that he could hardly hear you, his helm dulling his senses. “Who are you?”

Just then, Daryl realized how negligent he had been in his stupor. He was still wearing that helmet, and you could not see him for who he was. He could speak, but he feared he’d just cry, and what kind of knight in shining armor would weep before his beloved lady?

You watched with bated breath as the knight lowered his head, his gauntleted hands rising up to either side of his helm. It took some effort to pull the thing off, with it the linen padding and chain mail that protected his head. Left behind was only a curtain of long, shoulder-length hair, chestnut in hue, with subtle streaks of sun-kissed brown and ashy flaxen laced throughout. 

His head still hung, you could not quite make out his face, as it was shrouded in sinuous ripples of hair that so much reminded you of Daryl, but you could not let your mind wander into irrational fantasies of seeing him again, though it was tempting to do so.

With a drag of his hand, he pushed back the hair that hung over his forehead, then lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face blotched with blackish-gray ash and gunpowder from the cannon fire that he’d fought through to get to you. 

But it was not dark enough to disguise him, his features clear as day. Gentle, deep-set eyes of blue shone brighter now without the obscurity of his helm. A short, rounded nose of button shape sat above a pair of panting lips. They were not plump, nor exceptionally thin—there was a softness to them. Around those lips, a smattering of a thin layer of facial hairs, which faded into high cheekbones, defined just enough to bring shape to the otherwise soft curves of his face.

The part of him that made you shudder, though, was the long, reddish scar that split above and below his left eye. You’d traced that scar over in your mind a thousand times, recreated it to perfection whenever the image of your knight’s visage lulled you to sleep in the comfort of your warm feather bed. 

Could it be some cruel trick, some strange sorcery, some facsimile that you’d conjured up in your troubled mind? Or perhaps, and most mercifully, you were dead, too, and this image was an angel sent to carry you into Heaven… Though you knew you were not bound for such a place. No, he was real. You could feel it.

But you could not believe it, not until you touched him, reaching out to hold his ashy cheeks in both of your hands as you leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of his body which you once thought was cold and lifeless. Yet here he was, alive, his heart beating fiercely, as though it yearned to tear itself from his chest and his armor and bury itself next to yours, where it belonged. 

“Daryl?”

When he spoke your name, you could not keep yourself from him much longer, your head dizzy with shock and your heart fragile with the sudden break away from grief and utter despair. Your body melted into his arms, your cheek held firm against the cool hard steel of his pauldron as your tears began to puddle on the surface. 

There were no words between you for a while, only the sound of your gentle cries against his shoulder, and the heavy breaths he panted out as his lips gently grazed your neck, one hand supporting your back while the other tangled in your hair. 

But you could not keep yourself from lifting your head up from his shoulder, letting your eyes dart frantically all over his face. Despite your tears, your lips curled into a smile, with something between a laugh and a cry escaping between sighs. 

He could not handle the separation, though. His eyes squeezed shut, he leaned forward to touch your forehead with his, then the tips of your noses were stuck together like glue, your lips tickling each other’s in featherlight grazes as your breathing synced and your heartbeats seemed to create a harmony from their natural rhythms. Of course, you could not hear it, but you both felt it, deep in your souls. 

“I thought you were…” Hesitation to even speak of the possibility of his death stopped you from continuing, your voice instead softening into a teary sigh, the breath of which he felt on his trembling lips. 

Just the sound of your voice had him in pieces, crumbling like a dried leaf in the palm of your hand, the hand which he held in his, his grip firm but so gentle. And in his arms, you were trembling, cold and tired and hanging onto him as though he was an apparition that could dissolve at any moment, and after everything you had seen, you feared that could be true.

“Are you real?” you whispered, still surrounded by him and his corporeal presence. “Am I dreaming, or are you really my knight, my Daryl?”

“I am real… I am your knight, and I am gonna get you out of here.” Now, he pulled away, the reality of the situation setting in, but his gaze was set on the purple swelling of skin around your right eye. Though you tried to lower your head, as if to hide it from him, he lifted your chin up with his armored hand. Tears trickled down your cheeks, squeezed out as you closed your eyes. 

A burning rage took him over then, that puffy, bruised flesh striking him like lightning that set him ablaze. As he examined you, you swore you saw his top lip twitch into a snarl. The anger was not at you, of course, but at the mark of your assault, and the hand which had committed it.

“He did this?” he asked. “He hurt you?” You had not known such intensity in his voice, or such a menacing fire of fury behind his eyes. Underlying it all, though, was concern. Concern for you. His soothing touch as he stroked up and down your arms proved that. “Did he touch you?”

Though a part of you wanted to lie, to forget about Negan and everything you’d gone through, you could not lie to him, not your love. 

“H-he… Yes.”

You did not have to say more. 

“I’ll kill him. Right now. Son of a bitch is a dead man.” He’d stood to his feet now, with you still clinging to him, and his hands still holding onto your arms as you shook your head. You could not risk losing him again. You’d already gone through the pain of losing him once, and now that you knew that pain, you could never go through it again. 

“No, my love. He is not worth risking your life, not again.”

Of course, he knew you were right—your safety was more important than his desire to kill Negan, and right now, in the catacombs of the Sanctuary, you were anything but safe. His priority now was getting you as far away from Negan and the Saviors as possible, and just hope to God that whoever found Negan killed him slowly, because that’s what he deserved for laying a hand on you.

At the very least, he’d see that you’d never be hurt again so long as he could help it. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he held it by the blade to offer you the handle. “Take this,” he said. You took the misericorde with a shaky, tired hand. 

Before you could speak, the duke’s voice called out: “Let’s go!” he cried. “Now!”

There was no time to even consider it. Daryl took your hand, leaving behind his helm in a hurry to lead you out of the dungeon. You were greeted by the three other men, two of which you had never seen before, one of whom was dressed in Savior armor.

But before you could even ask, the Savior led the way down the cavernous tunnels below the Sanctuary, where footsteps and screams and sounds of cannon fire echoed through the old, winding passageways.

“There’s an escape route through here!” said Sir Alden, pointing further down the underground tunnel, leading into darkness. “It opens into the woods!”

The Saviors, though, were following not far behind, a squadron of them rounding the corner to see the prince, the duke, the knight, the traitor, and the princess, all momentarily frozen to face the dilemma: either stay and fight them off, or keep running until you reached the other side. Either way, they would have to fight at some point. 

One strong hand pushing you back behind him, the knight withdrew his sword, as did the other men, standing firm against the Saviors, but Prince Jesus had another plan.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll keep them busy, you get the princess to safety.”

Daryl hesitated, looking between you and the prince, whose sword was about to strike one of oncoming attackers. “Go!” he called out, still feeling the knight’s presence. It was not honorable to leave an ally to battle alone, but then, it was even more dishonorable to put a princess in danger. 

With only a few more moments’ hesitation, the knight took your hand, spinning you around to pull you further down the tunnel, into darkness.

There was hardly a flash of light to guide you, but somewhere in the distance, a sliver of bright moonlight crept underneath the iron door that surely led out into the woods outside, far from the cannon fire and bloodshed. 

At length, you reached the exit, the knight only letting go of your hand to lift the bar that kept the door sealed from the outside, and to then break the link of the chain lock with the steel of his armor. When the door was thrown open, a gentle, cool breeze awakened you, into the relative peace of the quiet sylvan glade. 

You could only double over for a moment, panting heavily as Daryl closed the door behind you. When you felt his arms lifting you up, you stood upright, falling into his embrace. 

“We’ve got to keep movin’,” he panted, his armor weighing him down and forcing his breath to escape him more strongly. “Further we get the better… The horses aren’t far from here.”

Beyond the gentle slope of a hill, you could see the Sanctuary—plumes of gray smoke illuminating the crumbling parapets and the burning towers that once had stood tall and formidable. Even now, you could faintly hear the voice of your father, commanding the cannons to release more fire upon whatever rubble was left behind. The forces of Alexandria and the Hilltop did not retreat, not even now, but kept pushing, with the intent of killing every armored Savior man big enough to carry a sword. 

Frozen in fear, you were shaken by Daryl’s hands on your shoulders, his touch reminding you where you were, and that you were alive. Free. It was not unlike the feeling you had when you escaped through the tunnels that first time, stepping out into these same woods.

He spoke your name, drawing your attention to him. Wordlessly, you let him guide you, his arm wrapped around you as he practically held half your weight to move you with him. Somewhere in the darkness, you’d lost your slippers. Once you’d relished in the feeling of being barefoot in these woods, but now, your feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the sharp twigs that your soft soles dragged over. 

But his strength kept you upright, though gravity seemed to be working against you. Just for one moment you wished to stop, to catch your breath and to rest your poor, lacerated feet. “Daryl,” you said. “I—I must stop. Just for a moment.”

He felt your weight begin to sag as he nearly lost his grip on your waist, but he was quick to set you down upon a fallen log, coated with overgrown moss nearly soft enough to feel like some sort of cushion. It was a welcome relief as you struggled to stay sitting upright, despite your desire to lay down and sleep for an eternity or two. 

“Let me see,” said Daryl, lifting your foot by your heel to examine the sole. If you’d been more alert, you’d have been more embarrassed for him to see the state of your feet, bloodied and feeling as though they had been whittled down to the bone. “I will carry you… We can’t tarry long.”

“Just… just a moment, please.”

The pain in your voice carved a new fissure in his heart, your hand clinging to his shoulder, the other gripped tight around the knife at your side as you strained to control your tears. Though you screwed your eyes shut with the tension of your pain, the gentle feeling of his forehead against yours forced them to flutter open, his face a welcome relief from the agony that plagued your sore, tired body. 

It occurred to you again that he was alive, real, that this wasn’t some kind of strange dream. Or maybe it was. You could not tell, with the hazy glow around him as your tired eyes struggled to focus on his visage. “Daryl…”

All pain melted away for a moment as you lifted your hands to feel the warmth of his cheeks. You could feel his smile, both in the lift of his face and the depths of your soul, which you were sure now was tied unbreakably to his, for he was alive, and so were you. 

“I love you,” was all you could say, with so much more fervor and earnestness and purity than you had before, to anyone. You said it once more, this time through a weak laugh that made your voice tremble in delirious glee: “I love you.”

He did not need to reply in words—his soft, featherlight kiss conveyed more than words ever could. It was more coherent, more potent, more true. Your lips conformed to the gentle contours of his as you leaned forward, fully immersed in him and his love, his warmth embracing you like two strong arms of burning hearthfire. It was not an impassioned kiss, but one of comfort, reassurance, and the truest kind of love. 

As he pulled away, you ached to feel his lips once more, but his eyes entranced you. Even in just the light of the full moon, you could still see that crisp blue, enveloping you in his longing. 

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said.

“Nor did I… Every second I was in that horrible place felt like the world ending all over again. All I wanted was to hear your voice again.” 

On his knees before you, he felt like a pilgrim at the altar of his Goddess, to whom he promised eternal worship and sacrifice—the only divinity he devoted himself to, the only saint worth sanctifying, the only idol he held to such exaltation that he would gladly be nailed to a cross in sacrifice for Her and Her alone. In the temple of your body, he felt your heartbeat against his chest, even beyond the plate of armor that separated him from you. At least, he swore he could. How he missed that feeling.

“I’m here now, princess… And I love you.”

For a while, the space between you seemed to be the entirety of the universe, the center of it all right where your chests met, where your hearts beat. In the bliss of the silent, cool night air, you smiled. “Oh, my sweet knight.”

But the peaceful darkness was broken by the harsh glow of a flame, creeping into your line of vision despite all your focus concentrated on the man before you. Behind him, a figure was silhouetted by the light, moving between the trees on the edge of the forest. 

It was a figure you knew well.

Tall, lean, almost slithering, but much too bold for that—he moved with more arrogance. It was more like a saunter, but with an unmistakable rage in his heavy, ominously slow step. 

Daryl felt the presence, shooting up from his knees to withdraw his sword, his body shielding you from whatever danger lurked. The minute he saw his face, that wide, chortling grin, a strange feeling overcame him. Though it was mostly abject fury, there was a hint of satisfaction, as though the perfect opportunity had befallen him. 

Bloodlust. He’d felt it before, but never like this. Never before did he have such a resolute desire to kill a man, and now the man was before him, he did not have to wish that he could’ve been able to kill Negan himself. He was right there, and just as he knew he would the minute that vile man set his filthy snake eyes on you, he was going to kill him. 

There was no question, no hesitation, no other option. Daryl would have his head for taking you from him, for hurting you, for even looking at you. 

In Negan’s hand was the lit torch from which the light had come. In the other, a sword. He was not heavily armored, only protected by a breastplate and loose chain mail draping over his arms, but the way he glowered at Daryl now, his smile becoming more devious and sinister by the second, you knew he was here to fight. 

With your knife behind your back, you stood to your feet, positioning yourself so you were nearly alongside Daryl, but he quickly moved in front of you, shielding you from the presence of Negan. 

But beyond his shoulder, you could still see the bitterness in his gaze as he approached, sauntering as he swung his sword by his legs. 

“Daryl, I presume?”

For the first time in his life, he made sure that his title was honored. “Sir Daryl.” 

Negan’s eyes widened in amusement and faux impress. “Pardon my inelegance… Sir Daryl, I believe you have taken something from me. Something that belongs to me.”

Behind your snarl was a momentary lapse of fear, only vanquished by smoldering anger and hatred. To think of any universe in which you belonged to that man was nothing short of abject horror. You only hoped that such a universe could never exist. Before you could think about it too long, Negan added another few words to his vile declarations. 

“And I want it back.”

The it in question was you, of course, and the insinuation that you were some kind of object to be passed around only fueled Daryl with more hatred than his heart could stand. Another word from that man might have been fatal to the both of them. 

“You’ll die first,” he said. 

Negan let out a hearty chuckle, underscored by a biting bitterness that cut through the knight’s armor, reminding him of the danger he was up against. Daryl might’ve been a good fighter, but surely Sir Negan was no amateur. He had been knighted once, after all, and he could not have made it to his position as a leader without some battle prowess. It was evident in the way he walked, his sword now held high in both hands, the torch he once carried thrown haphazardly to the dirt and illuminating the scene with the hellish glow of an orange flame. 

“Are you challenging me to a duel, knight?”

“No,” replied Daryl, swinging his sword upright with impressive swiftness and skill. “I won't duel a dishonorable knight… But I am going to kill you.”

As Negan held back another insufferable chuckle, you stood to your bare feet, one hand still holding the knife behind your back, the other upon the knight’s shoulder, as if to pull him away, but he was planted firmly. In fact, he nearly lunged towards the other man, if it weren’t for your touch. 

“Daryl, you do not have to fight him,” you said under your breath, your concern not for the other man, but for the wellbeing of Daryl. You had already believed him to be dead just an hour ago, and you did not possess the strength to face that reality again.  “He is weak now. The Sanctuary has fallen… He has nothing. He cannot take me again.”

But that was not good enough for him. 

Negan was ordered to be killed on sight, and there was no way in Hell he would let that man go with his head still intact. Not after what he had done. The evidence was on your face as he looked back at you, his sight beginning to practically blur with rage. No, it did not matter how powerless Negan was now. All that mattered was ridding the air of his filthy stench. 

“Princess,” Negan said, a bite to his teasing voice that made the bruised flesh around your eye sting. “When I kill your useless knight, you come with me.” There was a crazed desperation in his eyes, and a frantic adrenaline running through his veins until they bulged in his sweat-shined forehead. 

The powerlessness came rushing back, the feeling that you were nothing but property to be claimed by whichever powerful man came along and made his decree. But that would never happen again, not anymore.

You’d spent too long feeling trapped in a world that you had no control over, like a flimsy paper doll subject to the whims of a careless child. Though there was not much you could do now, there was the reassurance that you were ultimately in control of your own destiny—that you were free. 

And Daryl had freed you. Though you had the power in you all along, his love had changed you. It made you stronger, and now you stood in the face of that which threatened your destiny. With whatever power was within you, you would protect that destiny, and that destiny was him. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Daryl said to you, his voice low and rumbling with the earthquake of fury that rose inside of him. There was nothing else to say, only a steady look cutting through the heavy air between you. With a nod, you clenched your jaw and straightened your back in an attempt to hold back the fear of losing him again, though above all, you had faith in him.

Only three words fell from your trembling, burning lips: “Yes, you will.”

At length, Daryl stepped forward, while Negan matched his movements to the knight opposite of him. As their swords swung up in unison, the tension between them was broken by their sharp blades cutting through to meet, the sharp, stinging sound of silver crossing silver ringing in your ears as you watched, eyes wide and unblinking for fear of one second changing everything.

There was no fear of going back to Negan now, only the fear of losing Daryl.

But he was a good swordsman—that much you knew. And as he advanced forward diagonally, he met Negan’s next swing with a front guard and a heavy step forward to push the lighter man back with his body weight, then striking again in an attempt to lacerate the exposed skin of his opponent’s neck. 

Negan was swift, though, fading backwards only to catch himself with the skill of a trained swordsman. He took a fierce lunge with his sword’s point aimed at the space between Daryl’s breastplate and his underarm, but Daryl blocked the attack with a short guard, his sword held with such force that it propelled Negan’s sword nearly out of his hands. 

Daryl’s movements were equally as swift now, his attack coming quickly as he lunged towards Negan with the offensive. He raised his sword high now, coming at the taller man with a window guard that poised his blade just above his own head, the point headed directly for Negan’s eye. 

If the strike had hit, you were sure you’d be sick to your stomach to see the steel penetrate his face, blood surely spewing in a geyser as the blade would tunnel through the brain and exit out the back of his head, but Negan was too cunning, once again. 

With a pivot, he swiveled himself to the right of Daryl, using his height to his advantage as he turned his sword at an angle, then used the pommel of his hilt to strike at the base of the back of Daryl’s neck, the pain of which elicited a grunt from the man who stumbled forwards. 

A fearful gasp escaped your lips, though only rage burned through you, causing you to grip harder on the handle of the dagger you still held behind your back, waiting only for the right moment to strike. You took to studying the man’s weak points—the spots at which his minimal armor allowed for easy access. His back was only draped in chain mail, which you knew to be weaker than steel plate. 

And the blade Daryl had given you was incredibly sharp, with its point small enough to penetrate through small crevices and weak spots in armor. If you could get through that chain mail, you might puncture his heart from the back… But he moved so fast, his feet conjuring a whirlwind of dust as he slid to and fro above the dirt ground. 

Though Daryl had caught himself before he could fall, he was winded by the hit to his neck. Negan only smiled, swaying his head in arrogant amusement as the knight returned his gaze with a glare. 

Had this been a true duel, Negan’s hit would have been unsanctioned, an unfair and unchivalrous move that would have had him disqualified. Daryl should have known, though, that a dishonored knight would not abide by any code, and that the only way he would be able to defeat Negan was to forgo any last shred of chivalry he could spare. 

A man of Negan’s ilk did not deserve such a privilege anyway.

“You see, my princess,” Negan called out over his shoulder to you, his eyes never leaving the huffing and puffing knight whose face grew more red and more strained with each second that Negan still breathed. As he spoke he swung his sword in haphazard circles through the air in front of him, a slight chuckle rumbling under his voice. “He’s pathetic, a waste of a good sword. How could your so-called knight keep you safe when he can’t even keep his balance?”

Daryl stood still, momentarily paralyzed by unspeakable anger as sweat soaked through his hair and trickled down the hot skin of his face. Heavy pants and an increasingly frantic heartbeat nearly drowned out the man’s loud, brash voice, but it cut through like a hot knife, scorching his burning skin as his words gouged a little deeper with each stinging utterance.

“Oh, but he could not even protect you when the Dead invaded your kingdom… He couldn’t protect you then, and he sure as hell can’t protect you now.”

The man turned towards you now, peeling his aways away from Daryl to saunter slowly in your direction. You stepped back, eyes wide and lips agape with quick pants. As fear overwhelmed you, you kept your hands behind your back, just waiting for him to get a little closer, though he never did. 

Daryl lunged towards him, taking advantage of Negan’s momentary lapse of attention to raise his sword and swing it down just as his opponent turned around. But Negan was quick, retreating with a backwards step and a block that pushed Daryl back too.

And Negan knew what he was doing—weakening Daryl with his words, drawing out his anger to render his technique sloppy and uncoordinated. So he continued, gesturing the tip of his sword towards the knight. 

“You know how this ends,” he said. “You know that I’m gonna win… Because people like me, we always win in this world. People who take what they want and get what they want.”

But none of those words meant anything to Daryl, who could not comprehend anything past the smug grin that split Negan’s face, and the boiling of his blood as he grew nearly faint with rage. 

Through heavy panting breaths, he spoke without even hearing his own voice: “I said… I’m the one who’s gonna kill you… And I am no liar.”

With a strong footing, he threw himself forward with a grunt so loud that it could have suited as a battlecry. His swing was fueled by pure hatred, to the point that he moved even faster than Negan could deflect this time. It made your heart jump in your chest, watching your knight seem to gain the upper hand again, his sword never relenting and his movements swift enough to dodge every stroke that came his way. 

Now, Negan was winded, his long legs seeming to almost shake underneath him as he struggled to keep his body guarded against Daryl’s blade. With a swift advance, calculated yet impassioned by another outburst of anger, he drew Negan’s attention with a false strike, his blade not following through with the swing directed towards his abdomen. 

Negan’s right shoulder was effectively exposed now, displayed for just a millisecond directly before Daryl’s eyes. Where his pauldron slipped, loosened by the movement, a sliver of aged leather was revealed between plates of shining black steel. In a split second, he made a hard strike, the edge of his blade slicing through the leather and gouging open the skin of his shoulder. 

Negan bellowed deeply, groaning in pain as he swung haphazardly while Daryl faded back, narrowly missing the edge of his blade. 

The cut was deep, digging through muscle and ligaments and nearly into bone. If Daryl had swung any harder, his arm might’ve been hanging on only by a thread of blood dripping flesh. 

But there was enough strength in his arm still to raise his sword again, barrelling towards Daryl as fast as his anger could carry him. Daryl deflected his strike with a front guard, but the second blow was strong enough to do the unthinkable.

Your eyes widened as a gasp escaped your lips, the edge of his sword cutting through the air as it flew a yard or two away from your knight’s outstretched hand. With nothing to block against Negan’s next move, Daryl was rendered defenseless.

“Daryl!”

The knight had fallen on his back, struggling to return to his feet just as Negan walked over him, planting his muddied boots on each of his wrists to keep him pinned down, despite his fingers flexing in desperation to reach the handle of the sword that lay just inches from reach. 

And your heart had dropped to your stomach again, your frantic mind scrambling to figure out what to do. There was that blade in your hands, and perhaps you could… No—not perhaps. 

There was no doubt in your mind now what you needed to do, the red cascade of blood beginning to pour over the silver steel of his greaves. Negan’s last swing had been strong enough to slice through the armor, into the flesh of Daryl’s thigh. Without his sword, and without the strength to free himself from underneath Negan’s feet, he could not defend himself against Negan. Even with the wound to his shoulder, he had the upper hand. The final upper hand. 

That fear showed itself again—that same confusion and uncertainty that overtook you and made you freeze when that herd closed around him, a feeling which you knew all too well. Now, he was not surrounded by the Dead, but something much more evil: a man whose selfishness and greed trumped any human decency he once might have had. 

But you would never feel powerless again. Not when you were in control, and that misericord in your trembling hands could put an end to the fear that had held you in its clutch for a decade. All this time, you thought freedom was in leaving the walls of Alexandria, but it was in something else, too. 

Freedom was in putting an end to that which kept you imprisoned in fear. 

As you moved forward, your aching, lacerated feet carried you slowly, silently towards the man whose back was turned to you. With your eyes narrowed on a ring of silver in the center of the chain mail draped over his back. Unblinking and barely breathing, you lifted the small blade, trapped in the clutch of your hand beneath your white knuckles. 

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me, huh?” Negan’s head tilted slightly as he watched Daryl struggle to free himself, his face displaying the utter amusement that such a sight afforded him. “Now, I just don’t see that happening… You know, you really shouldn’t come to a duel without a sword.”

With a huff, the knight spat a glob of saliva at Negan. A futile exercise in defiance, but what else was he to do? 

“Now, because I am a merciful man,” he continued, the tip of his sword beginning to dig into the skin of Daryl’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of fresh blood onto the already bloodied edge, “I’ll let you make your peace with my princess, whom you so unceremoniously swept away from my castle.”

Without turning completely towards you, he called out your name. “My princess,” he said, “is there anything you’d like to say before I rid your knight of his weary head?”

For a moment, you feared he would turn to see you just inches from him, your knife poised to dig into his back, but just before you lunged forward, you answered him—with the only words you could think to say in response:

“I am not your princess.”

The closeness of your voice widened his eyes, and just before he turned, you’d felt the heaviness of the knife tunneling into his flesh, its sharp tip carving a path straight to his cold, evil heart. 

You swore you could even feel it beating, if it had ever beat at all. 

Negan stumbled backwards, taking you with him as your hands were still grasped tight around the handle of your dagger. 

And the weight was lifted from the knight’s wrists, as Negan’s grip on his own sword faltered and weakened. The blade fell from his hands, but in midair, the knight caught it by its hilt as he leaned up with all his strength.

In just a moment’s time, he swung.

The slice was clean, only a splash of hot blood stinging your cold cheek. Severed with ease, the head flew in midair only for a few moments, landing in the dirt not far from the knight’s fallen sword. 

Negan’s headless body sank to the floor, almost with an eerie consciousness, as though even his body insisted to stand his ground until the last possible moment. With only the distant crackling of the torch and the heavy breaths back and forth between you and him, the silence of the night swallowed the tension that had once lingered in the air. 

Now there was only relief, and whatever was left of the fear you had began to crumble away. 

~

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Series Masterlist Next Part ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

The Other Brother

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 3 (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, Merle being slightly annoying/sexist (are we surprised really) ❧ Word Count: 5.1k

❧ Summary: Merle has just made a home for himself in the prison, and though you aren't happy about it, you're trying to keep cool. When a conversation breaks out between you and Merle, you realize the one thing you have in common—you both love Daryl.

❧ A/N: This is another oneshot from my series, The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning (and yes I do regret naming it that because the title is so long lol). I wanted to capture a scene we didn't see in the series, which is another conversation between the reader and Merle (see Chapter 20 for a refresher on the last conversation they had... it didn't go well). I didn't want to make Merle redeemable in this scene, but I did want to have him have another talk with reader because their dynamic is interesting to me. I also wanted to get some more Daryl backstory (that's always fun) and to see that from Merle's perspective. I do think Merle cares about Daryl deep down, he's just a shitty brother (and person). Also cute Daryl and reader moments, of course.

Morning light poured through the tall, paned windows of the cafeteria. It was still early, but you were up, about to start your watch in the guard tower. With tensions rising between your people and the Governor, it was becoming all the more necessary to keep alert. Even Rick, Michonne, and Carl had embarked on a mission just a few hours ago, in the hopes of bringing back a cache of weapons.

You’d hoped that Andrea’s efforts to make peace last night weren’t in vain. For your part, you would try to help any way you could, but there was no way of reconciling the truth—Merle had captured Glenn and Maggie, and Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Oscar had killed several of the Governor’s people in order to get them back. There wasn’t going to be any peace made from that. 

But that wasn’t of any consequence for the moment. There were other things to worry about, too.

First there was the matter of checking on little Judith, who had just begun to stir awake in her makeshift crib (just a box with blankets and towels for cushioning, and Beth’s handwriting scrawled “Lil’ Asskicker” on the side). 

You couldn’t help but peer into the box to look at her, and, thinking you were completely alone, you set down your axe and your pack to transition into your baby voice. 

“Well, hello there,” you cooed to the newborn. She was only about a week or so old now, but she’d already been through so much. The baby’s hazel colored eyes opened sleepily, her pink lips opening in curiosity as she studied your face, albeit with not much going on inside that little head. 

You curled your fingers gently but firmly around her sides to lift her into your arms. Her legs wrapped around your side as you bounced her softly. “You’re just a little angel, aren’t you? Yes, you are. Judith. J-U-D-I-T-H. That’s your name. My name is (Y/N).”

You continued to spell out your name, laughing at the final letter when Judith drooled a little, with spit dripping down her chin as she, too, laughed. 

“Oh, great,” you said. “Silly goose. Here, let me wipe your chin.”

You turned to the kitchen sink where a roll of paper towels was propped on the side. After sitting yourself down at the table, holding Judith as you wiped her chin, you felt a pair of cold, beady blue eyes boring into your back. 

Merle was standing in the middle of the stairs leading up the window perch, one leg obnoxiously propped on the railing, and his amputated arm sporting the homemade blade attachment that you found quite unsettling. 

He stepped down slower now, mustering a small smile. As best as you could, you ignored him, not bothering to look his way, though you recognized the feeling of that stare anywhere—it wasn’t unlike Daryl’s in its intensity, though his always felt much more affectionate.

You hadn’t said a word to him since yesterday afternoon, when he’d made a point to say that his brother could never love you. As much as you tried not to let it get to you, you couldn’t forget those words. They seared and stung and oozed. 

Merle had touched on an insecurity deep within you, one that had never truly gone away. You feared he was right—Daryl couldn’t love you. 

There was no rationalization to it, but rational thought didn’t exist in that part of your mind. Daryl loved you. He wouldn’t have come back to the prison the other day if he didn’t. But if he did, maybe he wouldn’t have left in the first place.

You just couldn’t grapple with Merle. He frightened you, even disturbed you. He represented everything that Daryl had left behind, every bad thing he’d experienced in his life before you. If you could put all of Daryl’s trauma and anger and sadness into one person, that person would be Merle.

You only hoped he’d leave you alone, since the last time you talked to him in this room, you nearly splashed boiling water at his face.

“Early bird gets the worm,” he said. How could Daryl’s brother have such a grating, annoying voice, while Daryl had the softest, sweetest, albeit a little gravelly, voice you could imagine? “You tryin’ to catch any worms today, sweetheart?”

Give me strength. 

You shook your head, still looking down at baby Judith as you cleaned her. 

You heard Merle’s steps come closer as he trudged down the stairs, until finally setting himself down at the same table. His face was directly across from you now, so you had no choice but to see him.

You held Judith closer to your chest, as if instinctively keeping her as far away from Merle as possible. After all, he did have a very sharp, long blade jutting out of his arm. 

“Do you need something?” you asked curtly. 

He raised an eyebrow, and perhaps you should’ve known better than to say that, since he looked like he was about to reply with something rather crass.

“You could tell me where my baby brother is,” he said. 

That was a bit of a relief. “He’s in bed,” you said. “Sleeping in.”

Merle knew his brother, and that wasn’t something Daryl had ever cared to do before. Well, maybe he didn’t know his brother as well as he thought.

“Sleeping in?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as a wry smirk curled onto his face. “You wear him out, girl?” There it is. “Too much hanky panky? Ya know, my brother ain’t no spring chicken. How old are you, anyway?”

He looked you up and down, as if trying to figure it out on his own.

“Twenty-six,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact as you prepared Judith’s baby formula on the table. 

He let out a whistle, much to your annoyance. “Well, shit.”

You rolled your eyes as you replaced the lid of Judith’s bottle, now filled with liquid formula. “I’m a grown woman,” you assured him. 

“Ain’t no disputin’ that,” he agreed. “Just still a little… shocked, s’all.”

It took every fiber of your being not to engage, but there was always that part of you that just couldn’t let people like Merle walk all over you. It took you a long time to figure out how to stand up for yourself, and though sometimes it was still a struggle, people like Merle reminded you of why you couldn’t be quiet anymore. 

So to change the subject, at the very least, you asked him a question, one that had been on your mind since you learned that Merle was alive. 

“What do you want?” you asked. 

“What d’ya mean, Bambi?”

“I mean… why are you here? Just to mess with Daryl’s head?”

Perhaps you were going too far again. You had already developed mild regrets about telling Merle off yesterday, though it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. After all, he offended you, and you’d held your tongue for long enough. Still, a part of you wanted to get along with Merle as much as you could, though you knew there would never be anything better than vague ambivalence towards each other. 

“Funny,” he scoffed. “I was gonna ask you the same question.”

Asshole. 

“You think I’m messing with Daryl’s head?” 

“That’s what women do,” Merle replied simply. “Complicate things. A real sweet, pretty one like you can make a man weak, turn him into jelly. Evil. No wonder the Garden of Eden fell. That damn woman.” His voice turned into a sharp hiss as he spoke, his facial features tightening as he continued. There was vitriol there, like he was spitting acid at you. “Daryl’s always been… sensitive.” He spoke the word like it burned his tongue as it slipped out. “Shoulda known a woman like you would come along and sweet talk your way into his heart. Ya know, since I got here, I wonder if my brother is even the same guy from last time I saw him.”

You couldn’t count how many times you rolled your eyes during his little rant about women. You’d heard it all before in one way or another, how women are so “complex” and have some kind of nefarious plan to get men to do their bidding. All rooted in misogyny, of course. You always found it rather funny how men could say such things about the wickedness of women, and yet sexualize them in the same breath. 

“He’s the same man,” you said. “He just changed. This world changes people, some for the better.” You propped the baby’s head up a little higher in the crook of your arm to begin feeding her from the bottle. “Daryl stepped up. Sophia, Carol’s little girl, she got lost in the woods, and Daryl led the search. He almost got himself killed trying to find her. And on the road, he hunted for everyone, protected everyone.” Judith caught your attention when she coughed a little, having drunk her formula too fast. You patted her back softly until she stopped. “Daryl loves this baby, too. He calls her Little Ass-Kicker. He’s so good with her.”

Merle’s eyes narrowed at you, investigating you. Some woman he’d once thought to be insignificant and not long for this world was suddenly more knowledgeable of his brother than he was. In fact, he was starting to wonder if you knew more about him than he ever did. 

“Well, shit,” he said. “Looks like little Daryl’s made himself into a regular Prince Charming. Seems like just yesterday he was gettin’ wasted off moonshine and pissin’ himself in the drunk tank. Had to bail his drunk ass out with my drug money. Little shit.”

You blinked in confusion. That didn’t sound like your Daryl, but he always said he got into trouble when he was younger. “When was that?” you asked, curious to hear any stories Daryl hadn’t told you.

Merle smiled at your intrigue. “Kid was about… seventeen.”

You shifted your shoulders as you adjusted Judith in your arms, then stood again to gently put her back in her crib. “If I engage in conversation with you,” you started to say, “do you promise not to be an asshole?”

“Depends what ya mean by ‘asshole.’”

“I mean… don’t say offensive things.”

“Depends what you mean by ‘offensive.’”

You sighed and shook your head as you sat back down. Ignoring his last comment, you asked, “What was Daryl like growing up?”

Merle’s eyes widened at that, and he broke out into a boisterous chuckle. “What was Daryl like?” You nodded. “Oh, man… Well, sweetheart, Daryl was somethin’ else.”

“What does that mean?”

Merle’s laugh subsided, and he could tell by the curiosity on your face that you were serious. You wanted to know about Daryl’s life from Merle’s perspective. After all, he was the only family from the world before Daryl had left, and as much as you hated to admit it, you still occasionally clung to that world. You found yourself wishing you’d met Daryl before all this, though ultimately, you were happy to have met him at all. In any case, the past fascinated you, and your curiosity was always a force to be reckoned with.

In a matter of moments, Merle began to straighten as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to dust off the old memories that had lain dormant in the derelict attic of his mind. 

“See, Daryl’s ten years younger than me. Hell, I remember the day he was born… He was a mistake. My mom, she wanted to, ya know, get rid of him ‘fore he was born, but that kinda thing wasn’t looked upon kindly. Matter of fact, she was hopin’ for a girl. She was so sure it was gonna be a girl. Then Daryl popped out. Imagine how surprised she was. ‘That ain’t no damn girl,’ she said.”

You smiled at the way Merle told the story. Imagining baby Daryl was quite amusing, too. You were sure he was adorable.

“When I held him for the first time, he squirmed and cried… He was so little.” Merle’s eyes trailed to baby Judith in her crib, who was nodding off to the sound of Merle’s voice, much softer than usual. In a way, it reminded you of Daryl’s, and once again you were reminded that they were brothers. “I think it was that same year, this Hall & Oates song came out. I dunno, but Mom named him Daryl, ‘cause she liked it so much.”

Your eyes widened, as did your smile. “Daryl Hall? He’s named after Daryl Hall?”

“Mhm… And my dad liked Merle Haggard.”

You laughed as you stored that information, fully intending to tease Daryl later on. 

“First thing I knew about Daryl was that he was a baby. Mom babied him, made him all soft. Daryl could do no wrong… She loved him. Dad didn’t love no one. Cold son of a bitch. Barely looked ya in the eye ‘less it was to smack ya. Started drinkin’ a lot more when Mom died. Daryl was about… five, I was fifteen, off stealin’ whiskey and cigarettes.”

He paused for a moment, shifting in his seat uncomfortably as his face muscles began to tighten. A palpable shift in his demeanor began to manifest itself, and he averted his eyes from you.

“Daryl was a good kid,” he said. “He got into trouble, but he didn’t know nothin’ else. He was a lot younger when Dad started hurtin’ him. I mean, I was gone. I was always gone. Barely knew. It was easier for me to leave, to avoid it. He hurt me, but I was older. I could jus’ leave… Daryl jus’ dealt with it for a while. A long time…”

You knew what Daryl’s father had done to him, how he slashed the skin on his back with a switch from a birch tree. It was hard not to know about it. Daryl’s back was evidence, etched with thick, raised scar tissue. On the rare occasions Daryl talked about it, he would pass it off as if it were nothing, despite your attempts to comfort him in the wake of these traumatic memories. Sometimes you felt that he was too reluctant to let himself feel the weight of his emotions, but you couldn’t say that to him. He needed to come to terms with his past in his own time, his own way. 

“He beat me too,” he continued, “but Daryl got it worse. I know that now. Kinda funny, I left ‘fore things got real bad, and yet Daryl turned out better than me. How the hell does that happen?”

You shrugged. “Well, Daryl has a good head on his shoulders.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Knows a good thing when he sees it.”

You looked at him curiously, innocently. “Hm?”

“Talkin’ ‘bout you, Bambi.”

“Oh.”

Me? If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as though Merle was… complimenting you. Not in a crass sexual way, or with a sarcastic remark—it was genuine. You could tell. 

“Mhm… You’re good for him.”

You were taken aback, bewildered. Wasn’t this the very same man who accused you of being nothing but a “passing fancy” and “a hole for Daryl to put his dick in” not twenty-four hours ago? Surely you were speaking to a different man. 

“Where is that coming from?” you asked, genuinely confused. “I thought you hated me.”

Merle chewed his bottom lip in thought. Another little habit similar to Daryl’s. It was quite surreal. “I don’t know my brother half as well as you do,” he began, “but I knew him ‘fore all this… ‘Fore the world went to shit. He was lost for a real long time, followed me around not knowin’ what else to do. Yesterday, you said he didn’t think for himself, that he was like a puppet. Maybe you’re right. Maybe… maybe that’s what I did to him.”

You lowered your head, slightly ashamed of your words, though you meant every bit of them. From what Daryl had told you, you had always gleaned that Merle manipulated him, taking advantage of Daryl’s sensitivity and leading him down paths that weren’t good for him. You might not have known Daryl for as long as Merle, but you knew that Daryl was much more emotionally fragile than he seemed at the outset, and that people like Merle could easily take advantage of him. Of course, Daryl wasn’t completely innocent in his actions, but you always felt that he was much more himself these days, without the influence of his brother. You only hoped that Merle being here wouldn’t deter his progress.

“But you,” he continued, “you brought somethin’ outta him.”

You shook your head in denial. “No, it was all of us. This group, we’re family. We all changed each other. But Daryl… he’s always been good. I believe that. When he saved me from that walker in the woods, that day I took you both to our camp, I knew he was good. It wasn’t me, he just needed the opportunity to be good.” He needed to get away from you, was what you really wanted to say, but perhaps that would be a little too harsh for the moment. 

He chuckled under his breath, amused by the thought of his kid brother being so good. “You really love my brother, don’t you, girl?”

Your cheeks became flushed with red, despite your confidence in that answer. You loved him so much it scared you. You loved his heart, his mind, his body, his soul… Beautiful didn’t even begin to describe him. The short time you’d been together in this world felt like centuries, though time moved faster these days—a year was like a decade. That year you spent with him was fraught with fear and blood and death and every other unholy thing you could think of, but all that paled in comparison to the deep, profound love you had for him. It kept you going on particularly dark days, and held your hand when the light seemed so far away that you couldn’t see in front of you. 

His love was the last beautiful relic of a time when love was all too often taken for granted. His love was unending and unwavering, even when death loomed at every corner and threatened to rid the world of every last ounce of happiness. His love was sweet, pure, sincere, almost unfathomable in its depth. 

When your love met with his, it was the closest thing you could get to a dream in this terrible nightmare of a world. So yes, you did love him. Very, very much.

“Yes,” you said clearly, not wanting to be mistaken. “I love Daryl very much.”

He was silent for a while, as if processing the information. He knew you loved him, though, just as much as he knew Daryl loved you. What disturbed him was a newfound kind of protectiveness for his little brother, which he hadn’t felt so much since the little boy was born. 

“Would ya hurt him?” he finally asked, eyes boring deep into yours. “Would ya break his heart?”

The man continued to bewilder you, and for a few moments, you had no idea what to say, though you knew exactly what the answer was.

“No,” you said. “No, never. I’d never hurt him.”

Merle nodded solemnly, though with a vague sense of trust. “He’s been hurt a lot. By my dad, by me… See the way he looks at ya, Bambi. Nothin’s ever made him this happy. Tell ya the truth, I don’t think he’s ever been happy. Not till you. Saw it at the quarry, too. You had him in the palm of your little hand since the moment he saw ya, I knew it. Jus’ didn’t think you’d last long enough for him to realize it.”

You thought for a moment, still trying to fully process Merle’s words. “Well,” you finally said, “Daryl means everything to me. Breaking his heart would break mine.”

“So we got ourselves an understanding then?”

“Understanding?”

“Yeah. You hurt my little brother, you answer to me.” 

Your slight fear of Merle kicked in, sending a brief shiver up your spine. Though you wondered if Merle really cared about Daryl, you couldn’t help but take his warning seriously. 

“I still don’t like you, Merle,” you said abruptly, trying to regain your confidence. “If you’re going to live here, and hang around Daryl, I have a few ground rules, too.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his hand and his blade hand behind his head. “Lay ‘em on me, sugar tits.”

You scoffed, glowering at him. “First of all, don’t call me that. And you need to stop sexualizing everything. It makes me and Daryl very uncomfortable.”

“Damn, you’re no fun at all.”

“Just be respectful,” you said. “Boundaries.”

Merle shook his head, and you could tell he hardly knew the meaning of that word. “You done usin’ those big college words now? Think I liked you better when you didn’t talk so much.”

Your lip tightened as you pulled a mean glare, rising from your seat to return your axe to its place on the loop of your belt. You then picked up Judith, planning on taking her to Beth before your watch shift started. “Get used to it.”

It was an uneventful shift, with no signs of the Governor or his army on the horizon, giving you time to think about the new situation. Merle wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, and you had to accept that. Everyone did. No one liked him, and you were sure even Daryl didn’t particularly like him, but that was Daryl’s brother, and the only part of his family he had left. You found it hard to understand Daryl’s devotion to him, considering Merle had abandoned him as a child, but you didn’t need to understand—the point was that Daryl wanted him here, and you loved Daryl.

Relationships sometimes require sacrifice, you knew that. Perhaps this was the first sacrifice you’d have to make for Daryl, and though it came with being irritated by Merle’s bigoted presence, you told yourself that from now on, you would pick your battles wisely, only fighting with Merle when you deemed it necessary. Perhaps Daryl himself would soon grow tired of Merle, but until that time, you’d stick it out for him. Only for him.

You hadn’t even seen Daryl yet that day, except for a few times from a distance as you stood in the guard tower. In a running joke, you raised your binoculars to spy on him, watching him help Glenn with the reinforcements to ensure the prison was strong against any threat, namely the Governor. 

When he felt your eyes on him, he raised his hand to his forehead, blocking the sunlight from his sensitive blue eyes. “Get back to work, woman!” he yelled up at you from the ground. 

“You first!” you called back, still watching him through your binoculars. “That barricade isn’t going to make itself, Dixon!”

He scoffed and shook his head, though his slight smirk betrayed his amusement at your teasing. Fully intending on getting you back in some way, he paused to remove his jacket and vest, revealing his bare arms. With narrowed eyes, you adjusted your binoculars to more clearly display his toned muscles, gleaming with sweat in the afternoon sunlight. As he lifted the large wooden pallet, you studied the flexed tendons and bulging muscles all along his tan, impossibly large arms. 

When he finished moving it to block the entrance to D Block, he dusted off his gloved hands and shook the dark caramel bangs from his face, looking back up at you with a subtle, teasing wink, and a slight purse of his lips as he sent you a little kiss. Maybe you were still a little mad with him for going off with Merle, but how could you really be mad at him? 

“Baby,” you quietly giggled to yourself, dangling your legs playfully over the edge of the guard tower. “Mm… You’re such a tease, baby.” 

Your shift ended shortly thereafter, and when Maggie relieved you of your post, you helped Beth take care of the baby, teaching her how to properly get the little one to sleep. After helping Carol with dinner, you retreated to a small patch of wild blue violets, where you sat cross-legged against the wall of the prison, watching the begin to set.

Spring afternoons were pleasant in Georgia. The air was still cool from winter, but not unbearable, not at all. Overgrown violets and weeds surrounded you, and the dead were far off somewhere else, behind that chain-link fence upon which you relied so heavily. The Governor had torn down the furthest fence, but the one closest to the prison still remained, and though the future remained uncertain, you felt yourself let go for a moment, leaning your head back against the brick wall and letting out a deep sigh. 

The silent moment was broken by the snap of a twig, sending your eyes wide open as your gaze whipped towards the sound. Daryl stood peering around the corner, his hand curled around the edge of the brick wall. His lip quirked upwards in a slight smile, which you returned. 

“Hi,” you said quietly. 

“Hi…” He looked towards the setting sun for a moment, then slowly made his way to you, careful not to trample over the delicate purple flowers. “Ain’t ya gonna have dinner?” He slid down the wall to sit beside you, tucking his knees to his chest. 

“Later,” you replied. “You know I like watching the sunset.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And I like watchin’ you watch it.” You laughed under your breath and bumped his shoulder with yours. “S’true. Beautiful…” 

“Me?”

“Mhm. You.”

“Aren’t you a charmer?”

“I try to be.”

“Hm, well, that’s more than I can say for your brother…” You trailed off, palming your forehead when you realized what you’d said. “God, sorry. I, um… I talked to him today.”

He nodded solemnly, though with affirmative confidence. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Told me so, while you were in the tower. Told me a lot of things.”

“Great,” you sighed. “What did he tell you?”

“Told me that ya love me,” he said. “But I already knew that.”

You smiled with rosy cheeks, a little embarrassed that Daryl now knew you told Merle you loved him. After all, Daryl was quite private with that kind of thing, and you knew he liked to maintain a certain image, especially with his brother, who would have no qualms with calling him “Darylina” if the occasion called for it. 

“Did he tell you anything else?”

He scoffed as he recalled Merle’s words. “Said I oughtta take real good care of you, ‘cause you’re special.”

“He did not,” you laughed. “You’re so making that up.” 

“I’m not,” he replied. “Well, he also said you got a big mouth.”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “Asshole.”

“Yeah… but I think he’s startin’ to like you,” he said. “I know you don’t like him, and I don’t expect ya to, but what matters to me is that he likes you.”

You furrowed your brow and smiled in your amused curiosity. “Why does that matter?”

He shrugged, and of course he had a very practical reason for wanting Merle to like you. “‘Cause I need to know he’ll keep ya safe if somethin’ happens to me.”

Your face softened into a quivering pout, yet your eyes smiled at his sweet words. “Oh, baby,” you laughed, scooting closer to grab his hand and place it in your lap. “That’s sweet… But nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”

He tilted his head while reaching out to hold your cheek in the rough palm of his worn hand. You leaned into his touch almost immediately, closing your eyes as you rubbed your cheek against him. His body was always so warm, every single part of it. When he held your cheek, you always felt particularly adored, like that was the greatest kind of physical affection a human being was capable of showing. Of course, you had known much greater, more intimate pleasures with him, but that gentle caress of your cheek was something else entirely. 

“But if somethin’ does happen,” he said, “I told Merle that he better take care of you, make sure nothin’ happens to you. S’all I really need from him, just to know you’d be all right.”

“And what did he say when you told him that?”

Daryl shook his head. “You really wanna know?”

“Mhm.”

“He said he’d be sure to take real good care of you…” Daryl repeated the sentence much in the same way Merle would, so you knew exactly what he meant.

“Oh,” you frowned, shaking your head. “He’s such a pervert. How are you even related to a guy like that?”

Daryl’s other hand came around you, gripping your shoulder and pulling you closer until his lips could connect to the space where your neck and your shoulders meet. When his tongue lapped at your skin, his lips suctioning sloppily in between licks, you let out a boisterous laugh. “Daryl! Mm… You’re a pervert, too…”

Your hand came up to lace through his hair, massaging his scalp as his mouth pampered you, inching up your neck until his outstretched tongue slid along your jawline, tickling you with his stubble. 

He pulled away slowly, then nuzzled his nose against your heated cheek. You felt his breath near your lips, and all you wanted was to feel his mouth on yours, for as long as possible. Forever, ideally. 

“Also told him to cool it. He says shit like that to you, you tell me. I’ll kick his ass,” he said. “I aint tryin’ to make excuses for him, but Merle… he only really knows how to talk to prostitutes.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” you laughed. “Are you saying I’m a prostitute, Daryl?”

“Nah,” he replied, shaking his head, and by extension rubbing his nose side-to-side against your cheek, making you giggle. “You’re just a beautiful woman, and Merle ain’t ever seen a woman like you.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted at the assumption that you were anything special, but you knew Daryl thought you were special, and apparently Merle did, too. “Well, he better get used to me,” you said, turning to match your lips up to his. “Because I’m going to be around for a long time.”

~

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 7: I Tell You Faithfully

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: suggestive/steamy (no sex but still sexy enough for a warning), scary situation, violence/gore, ...angst... pretty big angst ❧ Word Count: 6.3k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Days before Negan is expected to return, Sir Daryl is assigned to keep you under his watchful eye at all times. When walkers threaten the safety of Alexandria, can he protect you from the cold hands of death, or will blood be shed on this fateful night?

❧ A/N: Ok so, a couple things. First, I ended up having to split this chapter into two parts, so that means that this series is now TEN PARTS. Yeah. Oh, and I am no longer calling it a mini-series, it's just a full on series because there are way more chapters than I thought there would be! Anyway, Negan will be in the next part, don't you worry. In the meantime, enjoy this... interesting chapter.

Darkness fell upon the kingdom once again, as it always did, but tonight, an indeterminable sense of abject terror lurked in every corner. The castle’s halls were silent, and even the great hall seemed devoid of the usual mirth and warmth it held. 

The king’s return from his travels earlier that day had revealed that his last effort to rally the forces of neighboring kingdoms had come to naught, for their defenses had suffered even greater losses at the hands of Negan’s men. 

And now, Alexandria’s militia was depleted, too, with only half of the king’s guards left to protect the castle, and less than that left to defend the kingdom’s walls. 

The fate of Alexandria was entirely in the hands of the same man who threatened to destroy it if he didn’t get what he wanted, and what he wanted, of course, was you. 

But your father was steadfast—he would not let Negan take you without a fight, a fight which you were sure could not be won. 

For your part, you could only wait. Wait for Negan’s return, for the king to refuse to hand you over willingly, and for the Saviors to kill anyone who stood in their way of taking you. Fear overwhelmed you now, your mind blighted by your worry. What if Negan killed your father, or your knight? 

You pleaded with the king, begging him to just let Negan take you, for the sake of the lives at stake, but he was resolute, or prideful. In the end, though, even if your father agreed to give you to Negan as his wife, there was no telling what the man would do. He could take control of Alexandria with a snap of his fingers, and none of this worry would matter anyway. 

Sir Negan would get what he wanted, simply because he had the strength and power to do so. To make matters worse, the king wasn’t the only one with a plan to keep you from the clutches of Negan.

A part of him knew it was futile to try to fight the inevitable, but he had to try. What kind of knight would he be if he did not try to protect his lady, after all? 

When the king assigned Daryl to not let you leave his sight, not even in your own chambers, you felt both relief, and guilt. Guilty that your father did not know of the nature of your relationship, of the love he made to you just the night before. 

Daryl received strict orders, of course: “She is not to be left alone,” the king said. “She is to be confined to her quarters, where you will look after her and ensure her safety. In the event of an attack, you will guard her with your life.”

The words that stuck out to him most, though, were these: “I am entrusting you with the most precious jewel in the crown of Alexandria. You will not let her be taken.”

And he wouldn’t. He did not need the king to tell him that. 

Hands clad in gloves of leather rested upon your waist, pulling your back snug against his chest. Outside your window, a bright full moon bathed the castle grounds and the sleeping kingdom sprawled out before you in a cool, bluish glow. You tried to see beyond the walls, keeping an eye out for any intruders. All you could see were a handful of walkers being taken down by the few archers left in the crenels of the battlements. This was not an uncommon sight, but it worried you nevertheless—there seemed to be more than usual, coming in much shorter intervals, almost enough to overpower the guards.

“Daryl,” you whispered, your voice dissipating into the darkness of the night. The weight of his chin resting upon your shoulder eased your worry for just a moment. “I feel something is wrong.”

He did, too, but he couldn’t say that. His priority at the moment, besides keeping you safe, was keeping your mind off that which worried you. Still, he could not just brush off your fears. 

“How so?”

“The Dead, see?” You extended your index finger as you leaned over the stone sill of your open window, pointing towards the outer walls. As though trying to prevent you from falling, he grasped tighter to your waist. “I’ve been watching them the past hour, and the constable has already sent more guards to defend the outer walls… What if…”

You felt him pull you back by your waist, just before he moved past you to pull your window shut. One last gust of cool night air chilled your cheek. Turning back to face you, he offered you a slight smile, to which you responded with a deep exhale. Then, you smiled back. 

From a stranger’s perspective, there would be nothing to smile about. Nothing at all. But, even in the midst of unspeakable terror, at least you were together. 

The warmth of his arms engulfed you like a worn, familiar blanket. The tickle of his slightly chapped lips against your temple made you release a soft giggle. In rapture at the feeling of his touch, you closed your eyes and hummed a small sigh. It was risky, of course. Though you knew no one would dare enter your quarters without permission, or at least knocking, there was always that slim, miniscule chance. 

Just a few corridors away, your father was in his cabinet, meeting with his advisors for the third time that evening. It felt like a sin, being in his embrace like this, so close to your father. That being said, there was no way in Hell you’d push him away, not when you feared you’d be torn away from him against your will at any second. 

Between the kisses he planted in a trail down the side of your face, he spoke softly through his raspy voice that tickled you in deep places. “Don’t think about it,” he said. “I’m here.” The space between your faces closed a bit when he leaned his forehead against yours, the tip of his nose soon following suit. With a small, breathy laugh, you leaned into him, letting your nose rub his back and forth. “Everythin’ will be all right.”

“I want so much to believe that is true,” you replied. “But I can’t. I’d rather have no hope than to have it taken away from me.”

Your hands found their place at the junction of his neck and shoulders, where you studied the frayed edges of the collar of his gambeson. As if to take your mind off your troubles, you curled your fingers around the ends of his hair—soft, undulating waves of warm chestnut hue. 

Even though it felt so right to be held by him like this, to feel his lips and his hands touch you with such an intimacy you had never known before, you were still getting used to the concept of being loved like this, and of loving someone like this. It came naturally, though, so it was easy to feel comfort in these new sensations, even if they were strange. 

“I don’t care about hope,” he said. “I just can’t let you get taken away from me.”

Your lips quivered into a shaky smile as you held back the lump in your throat. At this point, you’d cried so much the past few days that you weren’t sure how you could have any tears left to spare. 

Noticing your glassy eyes and your quiet sniffles, he gently coerced you towards your canopied bed, upon which you were seated. He let himself sink into the plush feather bed beside you, still holding you in his arms all the while.

“Tell me something,” you said, using the sleeve of your gown to brush away your tears. 

He chuckled at your vagueness. “Tell you what?”

“Anything.”

“I love you.”

Though that was not the ‘something’ you had in mind, it was enough to stretch your lips into a wide grin. “I love you, too, but I was hoping you’d tell me one of your stories.”

“Which one?”

“One you’ve not told me before.”

That was going to be a difficult feat, as he was sure he’d told you just about every story he had. He held you closer, then tipped himself backwards, until he was laying stretched across your bed, your body snuggled tight against his. Your hand found its place in the center of his chest, the rise and fall of which you watched in fascination as he thought of what story he could possibly amuse you with. Most of his stories were full of bloodshed and war, but he was always careful to omit the gory details, for the sake of his lady’s delicate heart. 

As his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, he thought to tell you a simple, silly story that afforded him much embarrassment, but would surely amuse you enough to take your mind from your troubles. 

“There was this lake,” he began. “A small lake, I don’t remember where I was. I think it was… just outside a small village, a few kingdoms away. Anyway, I was riding through there with Phantom, filthy and covered in dirt.”

You hummed a little laugh. “That is not surprising,” you said. “You have a habit of being filthy and covered in dirt.”

“Clean right now, aren’t I?” His arm tightened around you to squeeze you. “Clean enough for you, princess?”

“Yes, yes. Please continue, sir.”

“Yeah, let’s see… Well, I was goin’ through this village, by this lake, and I decided to wash in the lake, you know. No one was around.”

Intrigue made your eyes widen at the image—the thought of your knight, naked, bathing in a lake. “You disrobed? Oh, do tell me more, my strong, handsome knight.” Your hand circled in eager movements atop his wide, brawny chest. “I am sure that must have been quite a sight.”

“Wicked girl,” he teased. As his teeth dug indents into his bottom lip, his hand lowered down your back to reach your rump, squeezing the plump flesh above the rosy pink gown you wore. “Somebody ought to teach you manners.”

“Mm,” you hummed in response. With your gentle movements, he felt the weight of your leg folding over him and settling between his thighs. His other hand did not waste the opportunity to slide up the smooth skin, pushing past your skirt and lifting it enough to allow him access to your thigh. Your legs always stirred such a sinful, guilty feeling deep within him, as he knew he shouldn’t have looked at them, but they taunted him, tortured him. Now, your body not only belonged to you, but to him, too, so long as you allowed him. 

Wide, dreamy eyes looked up at him through fluttering lashes as the cool leather of his gloves caressed your forbidden velvety skin. “What happened next?” you whispered over his ear. Entranced by the closeness of your soft, heavenly body, he’d all but forgotten his story for a moment. 

“Right, yeah. Well, I took off all my clothes, dipped myself in the lake. Then these kids, they couldn’t have been older than twelve, they must’ve snuck up on me, ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention. I only saw ‘em runnin’ away, with all my clothes.”

“Oh!” you laughed, and he laughed, too, though his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Only the sound of your delicate, lilting laughter could make him smile at the thought of being robbed by mischievous little goblins. 

“It’s not funny!” he replied in a voice rippled by the undercurrent of his chuckle. “They took my sword, and my favorite baldric. Don’t even know how they could carry the stuff, they were so small.”

Clearing your throat, you attempted to stop your laughter, though it was hard to do so. “So, did you walk around naked after that?”

“Oh, no, no,” he said. “The lil’ ones were kind enough to leave a new set of garments for me.”

That surprised you, as you thought this story would only get more interesting from here. “Oh, I see. That was thoughtful.”

“Yeah, ‘cept it was a damn jester’s motley.”

Just when you’d thought your amusement was at its end, you broke out into another fit of laughter. If you’d thought the idea of Sir Daryl frantically running through a village in the nude was amusing, you weren’t prepared for the image of your noble knight dressed in the loud, particolored vestments of a court jester. “No!” you laughed in disbelief. “Did you wear it?”

“Well, I had to. I couldn’t run around stark naked. I’d face degradation.” Though losing his title would not have been as degrading as it was to prance around in that hideous outfit.

You, however, found it terribly adorable. “Oh, how I would love to see you in a jester’s costume.” 

His gloved hand delivered a very gentle, weak slap to your thigh, causing you to whine exaggeratingly between laughs. “I looked like a fool, wandering around that village looking for those little imps. The whole damn town was laughing at me, askin’ me to put on a show. One of the kids must’ve felt bad—he took me to where they hid my stuff.”

“Poor thing,” you cooed, though the smirk upon your face betrayed your amusement. “What tribulation you’ve faced, brave knight. Your gallantry is unparalleled.”

Daryl shook his head, narrowing his eyes at your teasing. “I’m glad you find my humiliation so funny, milady.”

“Oh,” you sighed, turning more sympathetic now as you leaned in closer to him to drag your nose over his cheek. “I am sorry, my love.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I was tryin’ to make you laugh, anyway. Take your mind off things. Did it work?”

Although you had found his story to be quite charming, and for a good few minutes, the imagery of your stoic, serious knight in such a situation did divert your mind from the fear that overwhelmed you, but few things could truly keep the worry at bay.

Well, you could think of one thing that might. 

“Yes, a bit,” you replied. From the dim candlelight of the flickering sconces upon your walls, you could see his lips parted ever so slightly, and his half-lidded eyes wandering over your body as it clung to him. From what you’d discovered the previous night, you knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Daryl,” you hummed sweetly. “Would you…” As you trailed off, you felt his hand move up further, lifting your dress to render you half-naked. His hand now on your bare bottom, he pulled you even more snug against him, until the friction of his thigh against your exposed womanhood made you shiver in his arms. 

“You don’t gotta ask, your highness.” Moving ever so slowly, taking extra care not to hurt you with his strength, he lifted himself to flip you over, until your back rested upon your plush bed. He lay atop you now, sinking his mouth upon yours. 

A quiet whimper of satisfaction melted against his tongue, which moved in tender, languid swirls around yours. Unlike his kisses of last night, this was without any desperation or frantic excitement—it was soothing, an act of tenderness that was born out of compassion and care. Still, though, the unifying quality in his kiss was the same: undying love and devotion.

“I’ve missed your tongue,” you confessed between kisses. “Your fingers, your…”

The memory of your misunderstanding as a result of your innocence brought a smile to his lips, which you felt as he kissed you. He lifted his head to look at you, your lashes fluttering like the fragile wings of a hummingbird. 

“Rooster?” he suggested with an impish smirk. 

“Oh, you devil,” you laughed. “You will never forget that, will you?”

“Nah,” he said. “Just like I’ll never forget how you felt… and how you tasted… how you moaned my name.”

Feeling his hand slide between your thighs, you let your head fall back as a sigh escaped your lips. It gave him the opportunity to kiss down the side of your neck, letting his tongue roll over your skin as his hand rubbed in vertical motions over your slit.

“Oh, my love.” You clung to his flexing shoulder blades, as if he could be torn from you at any second.

“Sweet angel,” he mumbled against your collarbone. “All mine.”

“Yes.” You were already breathless, just from his gentle touch. At that moment, Negan and the Saviors could not touch you, could not plague your mind, could not make you afraid. There was no danger here now, just him, and his touch, and his love. With him, you did not fear even death. How could you, when he made you feel so alive?

“I love you,” he whispered against your ear, as though speaking it any louder would get him thrown in the dungeon, and indeed it would. 

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering closed as his hand moved faster now. “I love you more.”

The light of the candles in your room flickered, as if a gust of wind had invaded your room, despite the shut state of the window. It only distracted you from him for a moment, until his soft, raspy voice caught your attention again. “Impossible,” he said. “I love you most.”

At the feeling of his fingertips grazing your most sensitive spot, you let out a breathy whimper of his name. He pressed his lips to yours once more, his other hand brushing back your loosened hair. Just as your body began to relax, completely giving yourself over to his guidance, his strength, his protective hold of you, a distant yell that echoed through the castle tore your mind away from his embrace. 

It was faint, too faint to recognize, but you could make out the vaguest words in that short burst of panic. Well, there was only one word. “Fire!”

Outside, the unmistakable rumble of cannonfire shook the kingdom walls, where guards, or what was left of them, moved frantically from bastion to bastion, loading heavy cannonballs and cartridges of black gunpowder into the mouths of the long-dormant war machines. 

It jolted you upwards, as Daryl tore himself from you with great haste, sprinting towards your window to look out upon the scene. All you knew was that you’d heard that sound before, on a night much like tonight, though it was a decade ago—when the Dead breached the walls. When your mother died, surrounded by flesh-eating monsters that were once men. Torn apart, limb from limb, teeth digging into her once flawless skin, blood pooling around their feet as they gnawed on her. Alive. Screaming. Kicking. Begging. 

And you watched it all, with that terrible booming of detonating cannons in the distance. Frozen on your bed, and yet somehow trembling, you could still hear her scream. No, please, no!

Daryl looked beyond the expanse of empty land that separated the castle from the kingdom, drawing his sight to the walls, where grey, nearly opaque dust was pluming in thick clouds to obscure his sight. When the smoke began to clear and he could see past the flames on the ground, he could finally make out the silhouettes of jagged figures limping towards the kingdom walls. But there were more of them than he’d seen in years, not since he’d been part of the military efforts to eradicate the Dead, until they finally realized it was no use—there were too many of them. 

They seemed to form an army of their own, ranks upon ranks of walking dead soldiers trampling over the wreckage of the cannonballs, walking through the dim fires they left in their wake, some lighting up like torches, and yet still moving, making their assault on the walls. 

Daryl did not need to see more. He knew this scene, this story. He’d seen countless kingdoms’ walls be taken down in a matter of hours by a herd this size, he just didn’t think it would happen here, where walkers had never formed this kind of herd before. No, it did not seem right. Not… natural. But that was of no consequence at the moment, as he had no rationale behind his fear, only a hunch that this was not right, that there was more at play here than just happenstance. What mattered most, though, was you. 

And you were still petrified, your breath heaving as you stared off blankly, your mother’s voice still crying out to you. Your name, ringing in your ears, but not in your mother’s voice now. It was Daryl’s, him crouched down before you, his hands holding your cold, quivering cheeks, his voice nearly a cry as he tried to get your attention. 

“Daryl,” you said, senses finally coming back to you now. 

“We need to go.” He did not leave room for you to argue as he coerced you to stand on your feet, then left briefly only to retrieve your brown wool cloak, which he then draped over your shoulders in a hurried motion. “Whatever you need,” he began to say, “get it.” You watched idly as he opened your wardrobe to procure one of your travel chests, which he flung onto your bed and unlatched to open. “Hurry,” he said, retrieving his greatsword from its place beside the door. 

What was keeping you standing there, staring at him in abject fear, you did not know. Perhaps it was the memory of that night, still haunting you, keeping you locked in a state of traumatic remembrance. That was a part of it, yes, but there was something more, something in the pit of your stomach. You knew what this was, even if you didn’t realize that you knew. You knew that there was no point in packing, in running away. You knew this was the end. 

You could only muster his name again, shaking your head frantically now as your breath caught up with you, short and quick. Your throat was dry from the passage of air stinging with each pant. Your head felt light, like a hot air balloon about to pop. If it weren’t for Daryl’s sudden grip upon your shoulders, you were sure you would’ve fainted, but he kept you conscious with just his intense, serious gaze.

“Come on,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

We don’t have much time. Those words lingered in your heart much longer than they needed to, but you couldn’t shake this feeling of imminent dread. 

“Daryl,” you said again, this time with your own wide-eyed stare meeting his. “Something’s… Something is wrong.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “There’s a herd outside. That moat’ll slow ‘em down but it ain’t gonna stop ‘em, and those cannons are just gonna bring more. You get that many together and they’ll tear down any wall or gate, and I’m not takin’ that risk. Not with you.”

“No, no, not that.” Now, your voice faltered. An uncomfortable lump in your throat prevented you from speaking briefly, but you swallowed it down, despite the stinging of fresh tears threatening to stain your cheeks. “I think it’s… Negan.”

There was no indication that it was, of course. After all, Negan wasn’t supposed to arrive for another three days, and these were walkers. Still, it all seemed too coincidental. Never before had walkers behaved like this, not since that night, and after that herd was cleared, Alexandria was mostly at peace, with only a few incidents of a walker slipping in every so often, usually on account of some particularly absentminded guard on gate duty.

No, someone had to have something to do with this, you thought. Somehow, some way, Negan was coming for you. 

But Daryl shook his head, his hands holding your cheeks once again as he spoke, his voice hurried, yet patient. “Listen to me,” he said. “It could be anythin’. It doesn’t matter what it is, doesn’t matter at all.”

When your gaze fell, he held your chin to force your head back up. With a tilt of his head, he looked at you softly, not with frustration or anger or even annoyance, but understanding. He, too, was afraid. He knew this all too well—the fall of a kingdom. To think it could be happening here, to your home, he knew he had to be strong for you, as he always did. He’d never let himself weaken in the face of anything that might cause you harm.

“Even if it’s Negan,” he continued, “I’ll die ‘fore anyone or anything tries to take you, you understand?”

“No, no, Daryl—”

“Hey.” The castle began to shake now, with bigger cannons releasing bigger cannonballs and more gunpowder. More panicked commands from the constable and the other guards, more explosions, more tears. “It’s gonna be all right.” 

Another tremor made you fall deeper into his arms, making you feel only more helpless. It wasn’t that you wanted to be this delicate, terrified thing. It was only that you had no choice—you were a woman, a princess. Your life was in the hands of other people—men—for your whole life. If you knew anything else, you might’ve been able to go out there and slay those walkers yourself, but what did you know? Nothing. All you knew was that you loved Daryl. That was the only truth, the only power, you could hang on to in this moment of utter powerlessness. 

“I’m here.” Your forehead found refuge upon his shoulder, just for the brief time you’d have before the world would come beating down on your door. “And I love you.”

“I—I love you.” A strangled sob distorted your words. Sniffling, you lifted your head to wipe away your tears. “But I can’t run. This is my home. These are my people. I must do something.”

And that was why he loved you. 

Yet, what on Earth could you possibly do? 

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But you can’t help them if you’re here. I can help lead the people through the tunnels, but I’m takin’ you through first. That’s my job, and I’ll carry you outta here if I gotta.”

When your tears subsided, you raised your head. Dignified, like a true princess. It almost made him smile. Almost. Your strength was not like his, but it was resolute, determined, true. You were strong, but not strong enough to fight him, when you knew he was right. 

“Like… a sack of potatoes?”

Now, he had to smile. Just a little. A miniscule curl of his lips, just on one side, but enough to reignite your hope. 

“Prettiest damn sack of potatoes I’ve ever seen.”

At length, you emerged from your quarters, with just that chest and the knife Daryl had given you. The objective was to find the king on the way to the tunnels, leading him and you to safety to regroup with the king’s advisors and make an official decree to evacuate Alexandria’s citizens to the safety of the tunnels until the herd could be diverted. At least, that was your plan. 

Unbeknownst to you, there were other plans in motion.

With Daryl leading you down the corridor, moving swiftly towards the entrance to the castle dungeons, where the tunnels began. But the corridor was quiet. Where were the king’s guards? And where was the king? Surely he would’ve rushed to your quarters, demanding to ensure you were safe. 

Something’s wrong, you wanted to say again, but as you mirrored Daryl’s quick steps, you began to hear something. It was faint, but loud enough for you to recognize as a kind of hiss. Not just a hiss, though, but a low growl accompanying it. Several growls. Several hisses. Several footsteps, lumbering and aimless, but the closer you got to the end of the corridor, the more those footsteps seemed to have a mission. 

Rounding the corner, the unthinkable happened: a few dozen walkers gnashing their teeth and reaching out their decaying arms to grab at the air in front of Daryl, who leaped back to grab your hand, the jolt causing you to drop your suitcase.

“Come on!” He led you back down the corridor, hoping to get through the other side, but another smaller group of walkers appeared, their pale, lifeless eyes widening once their senses feasted upon your living flesh. 

With a shaky hand, you held your knife high, as Daryl lunged forward, attempting to clear the path. Your back against the wall, your gaze ping-ponged back and forth, from one impending herd to the other. 

Daryl had removed his sword from his baldric, swinging it effortlessly despite its great weight. He did not hesitate to take down those walkers, kicking them back and slicing through their heads without a second thought. When he had slayed them all, he grabbed your free hand, pulling you behind to make a break for it down the next hall. 

A few stragglers tried to claw at your gown as you ran hand-in-hand towards the dungeon, but Daryl pulled you hard enough away, until you reached the old iron door that led underground. The familiar glow of the sconces on either side was almost comforting, but the growls from the other side of the door made you step back, Daryl unsheathing his sword once more. 

With the smell of your flesh further aggravating the Dead, the door began to rattle, the bodies on the other side pushing against it. You had no way of knowing how many there were, but there were enough to make that sturdy door shake like a leaf. The tunnel was compromised. That much you knew. 

It was too much like that night. Too much like the night the castle was crawling with walkers and the Tombs had been flooded by those hideous creatures. They had poured in through that very same door, which was not going to hold much longer. 

Daryl acted fast, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away, towards the front of the keep. “We’ll go out the front,” he said. “Stay close. Don’t let go of me.”

You held tight to him, as he said, keeping up with his long strides as he turned several corners, each corridor echoing with the nearby snarls of the impending Dead. 

Somewhere behind you, the sound of a hinge breaking, followed by a dreadful crashing sound as the iron door gave in to the weight of the herd. Yes, you were sure now. This was no coincidence. Something brought the walkers here. Someone brought the walkers here. How else would they be coming from all these different directions? You knew it. 

It was only until you sprinted through the great hall and out into the foyer that you lost all hope of escaping—another small herd was flowing in through the door, trampling over squirming, screaming guards while other dead men feasted on their flesh. Blood flowed in a shiny, nearly black pool at their rotten feet, their sights set on the two nearest living breathing things before them—you and Daryl.

There was no choice now, nowhere to run. Daryl turned to you, his gaze hard and stern. You felt his grip on your wrist tighten, though it did not seem permanent. It seemed as though he tightened his grip because he knew he would soon have to let go of you.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’m gonna clear a path through ‘em.”

As his grip loosened, you tugged on his hand to bring him back, your eyes wide and pleading, your head shaking frantically. “No, there are too many! We’ll find another way!”

He looked between you and the snarling beasts, their slow gait only becoming more and more threatening the closer they got to you. “Do ya know any other way?!” he shouted above the now deafening growls of the ravenous, drooling walkers. 

 Though you knew the answer to that question, you still tried to think, wracking your brain for any possible alternative to Daryl going in there, but there was nothing else, not with the entire ground floor now teeming with the Dead at every corner. Every passage you could think of, every stairwell, was blocked. In any case, the keep was designed to be the most protective stronghold on the castle grounds—no one gets in, no one gets out. Sooner or later, the Dead would have to be dealt with. You just didn’t think it would be right now. 

When you were frozen silent, he freed himself from you again, reiterating only the phrase, “Stay here.”

“No, Daryl!” 

Charging towards the walkers, he aimed for the first walker to the left, his goal to weed out just enough walkers to get a path between the herd and the wall of the doorway, creating enough room to get through before they swarmed that space again. Unable to tear your fearful eyes away, you backed absentmindedly into the nearest wall, chest heaving with short, panicked breaths. Nestled in the inner pocket of your cloak was your rosary, which you took up in your trembling hands to hold above your heart. In your other hand, you kept your knife at the ready, though you were sure that you wouldn’t even be much use with it. 

The image was too vivid, too reminiscent. The knight was fast, slicing off rotting heads in quick succession, but it was not enough. They still surrounded him, one’s gnashing teeth only held back by his hand pushing the creature away by the forehead, until he could raise his sword to behead it. 

But soon, his strength was dwindling against the herd. He let his sword fall to the ground, procuring two daggers from the waist of his baldric. He could move faster now, with less exhaustion, but the herd was too big, much bigger than he initially thought. 

You watched him push through the herd, taking out whatever walkers he could reach, but the force of it was too strong. They surrounded him tighter, his back firmly against the stone wall. When the nearest walker’s mouth came gnashing just an inch away from his neck, you felt your heart leap from your chest, and before you could even take another breath, your rosary clattered to the floor.

“Daryl!”

Knife held high, you did not waste another moment. You could not watch him get ripped apart, not for you, not for anything or anyone. There was no rationality in it, as you knew you could not fight them, but if you could keep as many of those putrid things from tearing the flesh from his bones, you would. 

You’d do what you couldn’t do for your mother, all those years ago.

Just when he heard you call out his name, he turned towards you, seeing you coming closer, the sound of your voice distracting some of the walkers as they eased their assault on him. All he could feel in that moment was cold, lifeless hands clawing at him and foul breath beating down on his skin. 

“No!” he cried out, then he called your name, begging you not to come closer. If you did, you’d surely die, your lack of experience with herds working against you, but there was nothing he could do. 

With a deep, shaky huff, you raised your knife to strike down on the first walker’s head you could get your sights on. It came towards you then, its jaw unhinged and dripping blood, with pink flesh caught in its teeth. You could only hope in that moment that that flesh did not belong to your love, and that you weren’t too late. 

And then, before you could even bring your knife down, you felt a sudden weight around your waist, pulling you back. An arm. 

The startling motion knocked the wind out of you as the body behind you twirled you around quickly, attempting to drag you away. But you did not recognize the gauntlet on the man’s hand, the steel not emblazoned with the crest of your family. No, this arm did not belong to anyone you knew, or could trust. 

Amidst the chaos, you attempted to turn in the man’s arms, but he was stronger, strangling your wrist until your knife clattered to the floor. “Let go of me!” you cried out, and above the sound of the walkers snarling, Daryl heard you, but he was sinking to the floor now, the oppressive weight of the herd all around him bearing down and forcing his body to crumple like paper beneath them, their mangled hands reaching out to grab him.

He cried out your name, desperately. Not for you to save him, but for him to save you. All he could see of you, through the gaps between the walkers’ jagged bodies, was your face looking back at him, while the helmeted knight behind you dragged you away. 

“Daryl! No!”

You kicked and screamed and sobbed and flailed whatever limbs you could still have some control over, but the knight did not let go of you, as all around you, more knights in unfamiliar armor cleared a path back into the keep, towards the tunnels. 

It was only until you turned around that you saw it—the knight’s tabard of black and red, and the heraldry of House Smith. 

The last thing you saw, before the burlap sack was tossed over your head, was the herd closing in, dipping down to finally tear Daryl completely from your line of sight. All you heard was his scream:

“No, please, no!”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 5: While Yet the Wound Is Clean

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, violence, references to sexuality, slight creep behavior, scary situation ❧ Word Count: 9.3k (aka very long)

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary (you're gonna need this.)

❧ In This Chapter: The king is hosting his annual jousting tournament, an opportunity for Sir Daryl and other knights to display their cavalry prowess, and a cause for celebration. The party is soon interrupted, though, by a man whose name has haunted the kingdom of Alexandria for months, but his face has remained a mystery, until now.

❧ A/N: Just as a heads up, I definitely recommend popping open the glossary for this chapter because there are going to be a lot of terms thrown at you that might not make sense (lots of armor/jousting terminology). Plus it's just kind of interesting to learn about medieval stuff, so I highly recommend checking out the glossary! It will help immerse you more. Anyway, guess who's here... Finally, after so much buildup, our main antagonist makes his appearance. I don't want to spoil it, but you probably already know. And sorry in advance that this part is so long. I had a lot to fit in here! Hope you enjoy it though.

Daryl never much cared for tournaments. 

But it was part of the whole knight thing, of course, and, considering the fact that he was the first knight from outside the castle walls to attend King Ezekiel’s court in just over ten years, it was an unspoken obligation for the knight to compete.

In usual circumstances, knights would use this opportunity to display their battle prowess, and to sharpen their marshal skills in preparation for the real thing. Daryl found little use for the practice, however, but there was one aspect of the tournament that did interest him, something that Duke Richard had been reminding the knight of on a near-constant basis.

“If you lose,” said the duke, amusedly watching the knight struggle to strap the steel plate pauldron to his shoulder, “I’ll personally inform the king that you’re bedding his daughter.”

He didn’t even want to joust at all, frankly, but the duke insisted, and filled the knight’s head with all kinds of fantasies of impressing you, and even bearing your favor for all to see. But, that would be too bold, he thought. Still, the idea spurred him on, influencing him to participate in the tournament’s most anticipated event―the joust. 

Long before the Scourge, King Ezekiel hosted numerous tournaments in the castle courtyard throughout the year, with knights from far and wide traveling to Alexandria to display their skill and valor in armored competition against one another, followed by a luxurious banquet held in the great hall. When the plague spread through the land and the kingdom was closed off, the castle’s drawbridge was raised, too, and tournaments were scheduled only once a year, and only the knights already present in court could participate. 

This year, though, was the most exciting tournament in ages. With a new knight at court to display his skills, the other knights were eager to rise to the challenge, but there was anticipation in the air, as it was known that Sir Daryl’s skill in the joust was not to be underestimated. In fact, he’d never lost the handful of jousts he’d participated in, and at least three of the knights he defeated had died from their injuries. Well, that was par for the course, after all. Jousting was dangerous, and oftentimes, it was a fight to the death. 

“I won’t lose,” replied the knight with a huff, now buckling on heavy silver gauntlets over his suede black gloves. Upon the steel, the motto of his family was engraved in gold at the wrist: Fortes Fortuna Juvat―Fortune Favors the Bold. “‘Sides, if you told the king that, you’d be lying.”

Richard turned to procure the favor you’d gifted him a fortnight ago from the knight’s bedside table. “Then what, pray, is this?” the duke laughed, twisting the lush red silk around his finger as he shook his head. “Unless there’s some other maiden you’ve been spending all your free time with.”

“Pfft,” scoffed the knight. If only he could have already put on his helmet, then he wouldn’t have to endure the embarrassment of the blush upon his cheeks. “Means nothin’.”

Richard carefully replaced the delicate fabric. “Means you’re her favorite… Means she fancies you.”

Though the idea was painfully sweet to him, he had to deny it, lest the duke get his hopes up about the nature of your feelings for him. He had to convince himself of some other truth, some other reality that was, in actuality, much further from the truth. 

“Means she’s grateful for my help, s’all.”

“Mhm… Anyway, you’ll be competing against the great Sir Shane.” 

Daryl’s eyes rolled nearly to the back of his head as he draped a tabard, emblazoned with his the Dixon coat of arms, over his steel plated cuirass. “Don’t remind me.”

“Why not? You should be eager to knock a dalcop like him off his horse. He could surely use it, prancing around like a puffed up peacock the way he does.”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” replied Sir Daryl, with his usual air of nonchalance. But it was a facade this time, for the first time in all his years of jousting. For once, he did care about winning, about emerging triumphantly unscathed from the perilous performance. Why? Well, he’d never jousted in front of a particular beautiful princess before.

It was a crisp spring morning, bright and cheery, as the annual tournament always brought with it a feeling of mirth, as though the world wasn’t replete with terror and the constant looming threat of death. The courtyard was always beautiful, but it became a colorful display of pageantry as a procession of nobles from court flooded into the stands. The castle’s resident merchants and servants set up booths to offer refreshments, namely mead and chilled cider, while the king’s favorite minstrels played a jaunty tune to underscore the boisterous laughter and cheerful talk amongst the gathering of a hundred or so fancily dressed noblemen and women. 

Today, you looked upon the scene with rose-colored glasses, though usually you hardly even bothered to attend the tournament, instead opting just to show up for the banquet. Food was a great motivator, but watching knights on horseback bash each other’s chests in with big sticks was hardly of interest to you. 

Until Sir Daryl informed you he’d be participating, that is.

Your interest in the event was now twofold: for one, you were terrified of your favorite knight being knocked from his horse, suffering the wounds of the joust that could undoubtedly lead to his demise. Your second, more base, interest was in seeing the knight triumph, the idea of his skill in battle exciting you despite your pacifist nature. Indeed, even your father was surprised at your presence, questioning you as you each sat elevated above the tiltyard in the royal balcony, watching the servants arrange the finishing touches before the joust began. 

“I must say, I was not expecting you to attend,” remarked the king. “Since when are you interested in seeing the joust, my dear? I seem to recall you often referring to the sport as ‘barbaric.’”

You took a nervous sip of cider from your pewter goblet before speaking. “Well, I… I wanted to please you, father, since you always put so much effort into arranging the tournament.” You offered a sweet faux smile to bolster your fib.

He didn’t seem to catch on, his jolly laugh carrying in the gentle breeze as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder with a playful shake. “I’m happy you’re here. Oh, look! There’s your bodyguard.”

Trying not to appear too enthusiastic, you calmly craned your neck to follow the king’s extended arm, your eyes landing to the spot where he pointed. Oh, my.

Sir Daryl walked almost gracefully in the cumbersome armor, having been experienced in the practice of carrying such bulky steel upon his person. You’d never seen him so decorated, his body ornamented by a full set of the most protective armor money could buy. Its shine was nearly blinding, the reflection of the high late morning sun shimmering off the freshly polished steel. His helmet, like all jousting helmets at the time, was of the frog-mouth variety, his eyes and the surrounding skin the only part of his visage that could be seen through a narrow ocularium. Despite this, it was easy to spot the knight, his characteristically broad shouldered frame standing out even beneath all the armor, and his family’s crest painted upon his shield and tabard.

Beside him was his horse, Phantom, similarly dressed for the occasion, with barding of steel plates covering his face, neck, back, and hindquarters. Draped above these essentials was the steed’s caparison, boasting alternating checkers of red and yellow, to match his knight’s crest, of course. 

Without a second thought, you rose from your seat to greet him, but quickly you remembered your father’s presence beside you. “Oh, father, may I―”

“Yes, yes, go on, but be quick. The tournament’s about to start.”

You weren’t entirely sure your father even knew what you were about to ask, but you were just fortunate that he was agreeable to whatever you were going to say. The mead was probably helping to lubricate his inhibitions. 

“Thank you, father,” you said before bestowing a kiss upon his scratchy cheek. “I won’t be but a few moments.”

As you hurriedly side-stepped through the seats, you skipped down the steps and rounded the corner to meet the knight, the skirt of your particolored heraldic gown of yellow and green, your family’s colors, bunched up in your delicate hands to prevent you from tripping over yourself in your excitement. 

“Sir Daryl!” you called out over the heads of a passing group of nobility. 

The knight’s vision was terribly limited, but above the anonymous heads of people whose names he did not quite care enough to learn was the shining reflection of your simple pewter coronet, with two meticulously constructed braids coiled into circles on either side of your bright, freshly rouged face. He almost didn’t recognize you, him being so used to seeing your hair down or in a much less boldly colored gown, but you looked like the picture of beauty to him in any case. 

On your way to him, you asked a passing merchant for a shiny red apple, which you held out to Phantom as you gracefully approached the armored destrier. He sniffed the fruit for a moment, then took it in his mouth in one fell swoop, while your other hand gently stroked his chamfron. 

“Poor thing,” you cooed most woefully at the horse. “Such a gentle creature being forced to compete in this barbaric, savage sport.” You side-eyed the knight, his face completely unrecognizable, as it was locked away in a large, almost comically shaped helm. Snickering, you held back your laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Daryl, his voice muffled underneath the helmet. He knew, though, that he looked, for lack of a better word, stupid. He never liked armor, especially not the kind used for jousting. It made him look so pompous, he thought, and the bright reds and yellows of his tabard and shield, combined with a gaudy blue panel adorned with three large white stars, was just too flashy for his taste, but if he didn’t compete, he was sure Duke Richard would never let him hear the end of it.

“Nothing,” you replied, voice rippling with giggles. “Nothing at all.” Your gaze trailed playfully up and down his silver-covered body, right down to his sabatons. “I think you look rather… dashing, actually.”

He huffed inside his helmet. “I look like an idiot,” he said.

“No, you do not,” you replied, more seriously now. “You look like a knight, and that’s what you are.” Peering over his shoulder, you looked across the tiltyard to see Sir Shane outfitted in similar armor, though his heraldry was of his own house―Walsh. His tabard and shield, as well as his horse’s caparison, were of red and black. As you sized him up from a distance, your face blanched with worry. “Do be careful,” you said. “Sir Shane has never lost a joust in all the ten years he’s been at court. One knight lost his eye jousting him just last year.”

A strange surge of bitterness rose up in his throat like bile. Could it be… jealousy? Subconsciously, his chest seemed to puff up as he turned to look towards the other knight. “It will be easy,” he said, somewhat boldly as his rarely displayed confidence began to show. “‘Sides, I’ve never lost either, milady.”

Just then, a young flaxen-haired squire, Henry, you knew him to be called, approached the knight with a hook-shaped arret which he affixed to the knight’s cuirass, for the purpose of keeping his lance steady as he charged. 

“Good day, Henry,” you said with a smile. After a brief “your highness,” and a nervous bow, the boy scurried off to gather more of the knight’s equipment, then, while Daryl’s mind began to wander as he became lost in the red of your lips, coated in that intoxicating rouged balm he knew too well. “Well, I should―”

“Wait,” interjected the knight. That particular shade of red had reminded him of something he had packed into the saddlebag beneath Phantom’s decorations. Lifting the brightly colored caparison, he dug clumsily around the small leather pouch, his large gauntlets causing him much frustration as he grunted under his breath, eliciting another small laugh from you as you watched him fumble in his clunky armor. “Goddamnit,” he huffed again, his confidence slowly waning about as quickly as it had waxed. “It’s in ‘ere somewhere…”

Finally, he triumphantly procured the red silken fabric. Your favor.

“Oh, Daryl! You still have my favor!” you said, taking the silk sleeve into your own hands to feel the familiar fabric once again.

“Course… Is―is that all right?”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course. It’s yours to keep. You must let me tie it round your arm for good luck. I’d be honored for you to be my champion.”

Your champion. He was queasy with your sweetness, and with the sudden tingling he felt… below his belt, he was reluctant to admit.

“Yes, your highness,” he replied, holding out his arm. He couldn’t let himself even breathe as you twisted the fine scarlet silk tight around his right rerebrace, the feeling so wonderfully snug and warm, even if he couldn’t physically feel the sleeve there at all. 

“There,” you said proudly. “Now you’re my champion, whether you win or lose.” Your once confident voice became unstable with quivering anxiety. “But please win, my knight. I… I just could not bear to see you hurt.”

And I, you, my princess.

In the distance, the knight marshal called out to announce the beginning of the tournament. Quickly, Daryl hoisted himself onto his horse, while the lance handler passed to him his weapon, a lance that swirled with red and yellow stripes. The ten foot long pole was menacing as you watched with wide eyes while Henry affixed the strap of Daryl’s shield to his left forearm. 

“Good luck, Sir Daryl,” you said to the knight, then your eyes averted to the Friesian horse below him. “And to you, as well, Sir Phantom.”

I love you, he wished to say, but he had neither the courage nor the confidence to say such a thing at a time like this, or ever. 

Instead, he simply nodded your way, then watched you through the narrow opening in his helmet as you returned to your place in the balcony, beside the king, who raised his goblet towards him. 

Sir Daryl returned the sentiment with a subtle but intentional upward tilt of his lance, while the knight marshal instructed the jousters to come forward. 

You watched with bated breath as the match began, Daryl’s black horse cantering towards each other, each on either side of the wooden tilt that divided the tiltyard. The closer they came to colliding, the more they each lowered their lances, mirroring each other in an almost artful fashion, until Sir Shane’s lance drove into Sir Daryl’s underarm, eliciting a shocked, but entertained, awe from the crowd.

“Oh!” you gasped in fear, covering your agape mouth. “He―he… Father, that should not be allowed.” 

To your shock and horror, the king only laughed at your dramatics. “My dear, it’s only the first pass, please. Look, Sir Daryl is fine. No lances broken.”

“But he could be hurt… Oh, this game is vile. Is there not some other way for knights to prove their skills?”

“Yes,” replied the king, his eyes still transfixed on the next pass, during which Daryl’s lance intersected Shane’s breastplate, but not enough to knock him from his horse. Still, the knight marshal announced that five points were granted to Sir Daryl of House Dixon, with Sir Shane holding four points thus far. “But what better way to test a cavalryman’s marshal skills than a good old fashioned joust? Look.” The king pointed towards the knights, their horses each cantering towards each other once again for another pass. “It takes precision, grace… Tis an artform… Ahhh haha!”

The king stood tall, cheering with the crowd as they all stood up with their hands outstretched in a celebratory motion. “What’s happening?!” you cried out over the crowd’s cheers, yourself now standing to try to see past the dancing hands that obstructed your vision.

“Sir Daryl won the first match!” he said triumphantly. “Look! Sir Shane’s lance is broken, marking the end of the first match.”

The rules of the joust were arbitrary, in fact. They varied from tournament to tournament, but King Ezekiel’s tournament always required three matches, each one ending when a knight’s lance broke from the impact of the other knight, or when a knight was knocked from his horse. A knight could also yield honorably to the other at any point, at which the knight who yielded would lose the match, but be commended for his chivalry. 

But of course, you didn’t much care for the rules, all you cared about was Sir Daryl, his underarm visibly wounded from the way he awkwardly wielded his shield as he prepared for the next match, Phantom shaking his head as he whinnied and pawed at the straw-covered dirt. Sir Shane was given a new lance from one of the handlers, while the runners cleared the field of the broken bits of wood that had splintered off Daryl’s shield. 

“He’s hurt,” you sighed. “Under his arm…”

“At ease, my dear. Watch, the next pass begins.” 

Your father was captivated, his pupils ping-ponging between Sir Daryl and Sir Shane as the two began another canter towards each other, their lances about to intersect again. 

Daryl only saw red during a joust, his opponent becoming nothing more than a moving target. Whatever chivalry he had, he could put it on display for the crowd of nobility, but inside him was a raging bull, much more concerned with winning than impressing. Well, except you―the princess, whose wide, terrified eyes he could feel tickling his skin, even beneath all that armor. 

I’d be honored for you to be my champion, your voice echoed almost ghostly in his head. My champion repeated relentlessly, over and over and over for God knows how long, until an uproarious cheer from the crowd tore him from the delightful torture of your sweet voice and your intoxicating words. 

Phantom’s hooves had kicked up a great deal of dust in the swift canter of his movements, but as the horse turned, Sir Daryl narrowed his eyes through his helm to see the opposing knight writhing on the field, his horse displaced from underneath him and his lance torn to shreds beside him.

A gaggle of valets and runners filled the tiltyard, some of them assisting Sir Shane and lifting his helm to inspect for damage, but the knight tore his arm away as he rose to his feet, replacing his helmet with a deep, frustrated grunt. It seemed that the two knights had yet another thing in common: they were both sore losers, and that was not very chivalrous.

The knight marshal announced another five points to Sir Daryl for unhorsing the knight, who climbed back on his mount despite his torn tunic and cracked cuirass. The final match began, with the two knights barrelling towards each other with more tension in the air than before.

“I cannot even bear to look,” you said, despite the fact that your eyes were glued to the scene. “Someone could get killed, never mind the injuries.”

“He’ll win,” remarked the king, though that did nothing to ease your worries. Seeing Sir Shane’s fall was enough to give you heart palpitations. 

But winning was all that mattered to Sir Daryl in this moment, his mind completely occupied by you―your voice, your scent, your touch, your taste… He could only imagine the taste, of course, but it was sweet, just like everything else about you. 

Your champion… I will be your champion, no one else. I am yours, my princess… My queen.

With another roar of the crowd, the knight returned to this plane of existence, where the coronel of his lance shredding through Sir Shane’s cracked steel cuirass to deliver another blow strong enough to unhorse the knight, his body crashing to the ground as a cloud of dust enveloped his frame in a cruel miasma of defeat. 

Your heart stopped for a moment, not only because the poor knight had surely suffered a great pain, but because your knight was victorious. 

“Huzzah!” the king cheered, standing with the rest of the crowd as they tossed brightly colored streamers and waved the miniature blue flags of Alexandria. In celebration, the marshal raised the banner of House Dixon upon the high wooden flagpole hovering over the tiltyard, triumphantly bearing the colors, arms, and slogan of the old family. 

“I never doubted you for a moment, good sir,” laughed the duke, his arms crossed as he watched the knight lift his helm from his head in relief. With a smug grin, Richard bowed before Daryl.

“Pfft,” he scoffed, just before shaking out his sweat-soaked hair. Not eager to boast about his accomplishment, he turned towards the fallen knight, who was being lifted into a wicker stretcher, carried by two valets. “He gonna be all right?” 

“A few broken ribs, a little internal bleeding,” sighed the duke. “He’ll live…” Richard squinted his eyes as he examined Daryl’s disheveled appearance, his face blotted by dirt and a bit of blood from his face hitting against the inside of his helm. Jousting may have been considered a gentleman's game, but it was hardly dignified in the end. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he laughed. “And put on your best clothes.”

“For what?”

Richard crossed his arms as he shook his head, amused by Daryl’s lack of attention to the day’s schedule. “The king’s banquet, fool.”

“A toast!” the king announced, holding his goblet of mead so high and with such vigor that you were sure it’d splash over your head. “To our champion knight, Sir Daryl of House Dixon!”

The great hall hadn’t been so lively in years, it seemed. Even the previous banquets paled in comparison to the mirth that echoed through the corridors of the castle. The feast was grand, indeed, with two pigs’ heads on either end of the long refectory table. In the center, of course, was the king’s prized swan, roasted and seasoned with only the best exotic spices, saved for the annual occasion. 

Only the noblest of the court’s nobles were seated at your table, which was raised upon the dais and overlooking a dozen or so smaller tables, where the lesser nobles raised their goblets to join in the king’s celebration of the knight. While he typically would've sat lower, Daryl was placed ceremoniously at the high table, an honorary distinction for his victory at the joust that morning. 

As you raised your glass with the others, you noticed the anxiousness in Daryl’s face as he tried to muster a smile, but you were sure he felt horribly nervous. You knew that he hated being looked at, or any attention to be solely upon him, and there were about fifty or so people looking at him, paying him quite a bit of attention. 

In fact, all night, Daryl seemed distracted, and indeed he was. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. At least, when you weren’t looking.

Tonight, you wore the prettiest gown he’d ever seen―a gown of mauve colored velvet, with a lighter lilac shade of detailing gracing the wide neckline that barely clung to your exposed collarbones. Down the front, the seam was decorated with the very same detailing, adorned with glittering jewels, pearls, and delicately embroidered designs. The impressive bordering continued at the split of your sleeves, exposing the cool, pure white of your long-sleeve chemise underneath. 

In your hair was a silver circlet encrusted with matching pearls, with a thin, translucent veil of white draped perfectly over your intricately braided hair. He felt unworthy just to look upon your face, the skin so plump and smooth and without a blemish in sight. To even breathe the same air as you now seemed improper―he’d rather suffocate than dishonor you with his presence, his impure stare threatening to sully you and your perfect virtue that he’d risked his life to protect. 

Even now, surrounded by nobility and sitting only a matter of feet from the king, your father, he still couldn’t help but think of you in ways he knew to be wrong, some downright sinful. As much as he tried to tear his mind from you, for fear that he’d corrupt you just from the thought of touching you, he just couldn’t do it. By the time dinner ended, he’d explored every square inch of you, if only in his head.

The revels only continued after the feast, with now slightly inebriated nobles dancing in a circle about the great hall, their feet stepping in sloppy movements to the lively tune of Dance of the Forest of No Return,  with the king’s favorite troubadour, Luke, leading the other minstrels with his fiddle.

When Daryl tired of sitting with the remaining nobles at the king’s table, he used the energetic chaos of the dance to snake through the crowd and take cover beside a wide stone pillar, where he could recover from seemingly endless conversations that went nowhere with people who’d never cared to speak to him before today. 

With his arms folded across his chest, he leaned against the pillar to watch them all dance―one of Duke Richard’s hands was interlaced with that of Lady Michonne, whom Daryl had known his lord was laying with. It did not bother him, for he did not care about what the duke did in his spare time, but he found that their affection for one another was enviable, and he’d never felt such a way before.

Love had never interested him. He’d always poured himself into his skills―practical things. Love was much too grand, too intangible. What Daryl trusted most in this world was what he could touch, the mundane. He did not have the time nor the interest for flights of fancy like love. Of course, the only aspect of love he knew of was that of a carnal nature, because that was what he could wrap his head around. 

Long before he was a knight, he’d gone adventuring to distant lands, accepting work as a guard or hired military for whatever king or constable would have him. In between breaking up drunken brawls in dark, dingy taverns or slaying nameless faces in a battlefield somewhere, he found his relief, more or less, in “unchaste” women, but only when he couldn’t reach particular itches by himself. 

Even in those times, he never thought of love, nor wanted it. He was sure he’d never felt anything even remotely close to it, until you

What he felt for you was more than lust, and even then, he knew his lust was different than anything he’d felt before. It wasn’t motivated by his own need for release, but by his desire for you―to please you, to know you in every way, to show you how much he cared for you. His lust was not born out of selfishness, but out of love, and there is nothing selfish about real love. 

He knew it was real, too. It consumed him, mind, body, and soul. You consumed him, to the point that he found himself searching for you in the chain dance, both to keep his eye on you, as your bodyguard, and to allow himself the pleasure of your sweet face, and the curves of your body so perfectly accentuated in that gown… He found you, dancing in the circle, your hands each joined by two other men. 

The circle split then, your arms tugged by one of the men from your left, while the man on your right joined with the woman to his left. He pulled you into a rambunctious dance, his hands appropriately situated upon your hips, but much too low for Sir Daryl’s taste. 

Swords were not allowed in the great hall, unless one was a guard, but the knight was allowed one rondel dagger, just in case. He stopped himself when he felt his hand instinctively reach for its hilt, strapped to his belt.

It’s just a dance, he thought to himself. But, oh, how his heart ached, just at the sight of a man touching you that way. He tried to pull his attention away from the man, instead calming himself by relishing in your laughing face. But then, why couldn’t it be him making you laugh, swinging you around and squeezing your soft, warm waist… 

“You should ask her to dance.”

Daryl blinked in surprise at the duke, Lady Michonne by his side as she held back a snicker. “What?”

“Ask her to dance,” Richard reiterated, this time himself laughing at the knight’s bashfulness. “Or would you just prefer to watch?”

“Pfft,” scoffed Daryl. “I’m not watching nobody.”

Lady Michonne stepped forward with her characteristic boldness. “Her highness speaks highly of you,” she said. “Very highly… She speaks of you ad nauseam, in fact.”

Now that was surprising. “She does?”

“Mm… Here she comes now.”

Daryl’s back straightened as he puffed his chest out and held back his shoulders, resuming his more formal stance. 

You’d not spoken to him since that morning, just before his joust, and it had saddened you that his face was hidden by his helm. Now, in the warm light of the great hall’s flamed sconces and magnificent chandeliers, you saw him properly. All evening, in fact, you’d been just as entranced with him as he was with you. Whenever he averted his gaze from you, after several moments of studying you, you were doing the same―taking in every inch of him like he could’ve been taken from you at any second. 

In the several months you’d known him, you’d never seen him so… princely. Granted, he still hadn’t quite mastered the art of combing his hair, with a few stray strands of chocolate-colored bangs hanging sloppily over his forehead, but he was dashing, as always. 

You held back a soft giggle every time he shifted uncomfortably in his tight black doublet, its shiny brass buttons stretched to their maximum in order to accommodate his broad chest. The poor man looked terribly uncomfortable in the snug hose that graced his stocky legs, but you relished in the view.

“Good evening, Sir Daryl,” you spoke with a peppy lilt to your honeyed voice. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

Only when I see you, my princess.

“Yeah... Ahem, I mean, yes, your highness.”

You formed a smile at his blunder, not that it mattered to you. You were quite fond of his informal manner of speaking. 

In the several moments you were entranced by the knight, Lady Michonne and the duke had slinked off somewhere, no doubt to afford you privacy with Sir Daryl. 

“Well… Why aren’t you dancing?” You’d hoped that this line of questioning would somehow reveal your desire for him to ask you to dance. If you were more bold, you’d ask him yourself, but when those sapphire eyes fell upon you in an intense gaze, you were rendered meak and powerless. The hold he had over you was nearly frightening, but the adrenaline lit a restless, scorching hot fire in the pit of your stomach, one that moved lower with each breath he took as he held your gaze. Lower, lower… Starting a fire in your loins.

“I… don’t know how,” he said. “‘Sides, I’m s’posed to be watching you. I mean, watchin’ out for you.”

You tilted your head with a teasing smirk. “I do not think there is any peril here, Sir Daryl. I can assure you that I feel perfectly unthreatened. You are relieved of your bodyguard duties tonight. In any case, it’s a celebration of your victory.”

A shiver ran through you as you recalled the scene of this morning’s joust, the knight’s strength and skill in battle on full display. You shouldn’t have found it as… intoxicating as you did, but his body in that suit of armor hadn’t left your mind since.

“You were magnificent today,” you added, quickly shaking your head as you realized what you’d said. “I mean, very… good. You were very good today.”

“Thanks,” he replied in an attempt to appear nonchalant, when really his heart was pounding against the inside of his ribcage, demanding to be set free from its stuffy confines. 

With a sudden pang of discomfort, he rotated his shoulder and grimaced at the soreness of his underarm, where Sir Shane’s coronel hit him during the joust. Memory flooded to you of the moment it happened, how terrified you were that he’d been injured.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, outstretching your hand to gesture towards his shoulder. 

Daryl cleared his throat as he shook his head. “Nah,” he said, though he was hurt. He just couldn’t let go of his pride to admit it to you. “Just a cramp…” His train of thought was derailed most suddenly when he fixed his glance upon you, your whole face shining like an iridescent full moon hanging delicately in the night sky, your eyes sparkling like mysterious, faraway stars that he knew so little of, but often wondered about when he found himself lost in the clouds, daydreaming about beautiful things that eluded his earthly knowledge. 

That warm, hearth-kissed glow of your plump, unblemished cheeks sparked a fire of confidence in his belly, one that would surely get him into trouble if he let it reach his head, but those flames tickled at his heart, the beat of which resounded over any rationalities his inner voice tried to spew.

He didn’t know the first thing about dancing, and he was already terrified of clumsily stepping on your feet or grasping too hard at your soft hands, but he was willing to embarrass himself if it meant he could touch you in this moment.

“Would you, uh…”

You blinked sweetly as you leaned forward, trying to better hear his soft, low voice underneath the cacophony of voices combined with the energetic music that echoed through the great hall all around you. “Yes, Daryl?”

Clearing his throat, he started again, this time, his voice louder and more confident as he looked you in the eye. “Your highness, may I―”

“AHHH!”

A sharp, blood-curdling scream erupted from the shadows of the great hall, followed by a terrified noblewoman running to the crowd, cowering in her husband’s arms. The dancing ceased as a discordant strum of lute strings punctuated the abrupt end of the festivities, while confused chaos spread like a plague to each partygoer, circling around the woman to see what had frightened her so.

Whatever it was, Sir Daryl did not hesitate, pinning you behind him as he withdrew his rondel. His immediate thought was the unthinkable―walkers. Though the event was nearly impossible, given how secure the kingdom and the castle was, there were always blind spots, and Daryl could name about a dozen of them off-hand, all of which could have easily been breached. Well, that was his first thought, but it was quickly dispelled when one of the king’s guards limped shakily towards the center of the hall, his hands bloodied and held together at his stomach, where a thick stream of scarlet expelled profusely. 

No longer able to keep his body intact, the guard fell forward, with a tangle of shiny, loose intestines spilling out of him before his lifeless body hit the timber of the floor.

On account of the knight’s broad shoulders obstructing your view, you could only hear the gasps and screams and cries of the terrified people, and the voice of your father rang out, begging everyone to remain calm. When you peaked over Daryl’s shoulder, you couldn’t keep yourself steady, your head dizzied from the sight of the gore. “Oh!” you cried out, grasping tight to his waist for fear you might faint. “What is happening?!”

The knight only backed up, taking you with him as he wrapped his free arm backwards to grasp your hand. “Shhh,” replied the knight. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Daryl backed up until he reached a door that he knew led to the castle pantry, which surely would be a suitable place to keep you hidden from any danger, whatever it was, but as he turned, he was met with an unfamiliar knight in unfamiliar armor, draped with a tabard of black and red―the coat of arms featuring three red fleurs-de-lis and three white crosses. He only studied it for a moment as the enemy knight lifted the sharp tip of his sword to Daryl’s neck, pushing him and you back towards the crowd. 

Reluctantly, you were ushered to the edge of the mass, where the king had pushed aside several nobles to kneel down beside the fallen guard. You watched your father turn over the man’s body, shaking his head in something between rage and anguish. “Who did this?!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall. He looked around the room, up and down, left and right. “Show yourself, coward!”

Only moments later, there was nothing but a disembodied voice that answered him. The voice was deep, unfamiliar… with a heavy dosage of arrogance. 

“Well, shit,” the voice said. Everyone searched their surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. “I’m terribly sorry, my liege. You see, sometimes… I just can’t help myself.” 

His voice rippled with a conceited chuckle, a sound that was much too disturbing for the current situation. To hear someone laugh so callously at the poor man’s body, engulfed in a pool of deep red blood, was just horrific, so much so that you held back a sniffle as tears began to trickle down your once rouged cheek.

Slow, heavy footsteps approached, their slight rattling indicating that the man was armored, and, indeed, he was. As he appeared from the shadows like an apparition of the night, the warm light of the great hall illuminated the owner of the voice―dressed in ebony armor, with a matching black spiked morningstar mace dangling haphazardly from his gauntleted hand. Tucked in his belt was a blood-soaked dagger, dripping as he approached slowly, coming further into the light.

Behind him were several helmed knights, all wielding bloodied swords. You feared they had killed most of the on-duty guards, rendering the court defenseless against these brutes. The thought was enough to have you shaking as you squeezed Daryl’s hand, the warmth of his strong grasp providing some comfort, but not enough to soothe you, especially when the knight sauntered his way towards your father, holding his mace over his shoulder arrogantly. 

Your father snarled as he sized up the unhelmed knight―a tall, thin man with hair black as a moonless night and slicked back to the nape of his neck. Upon his face was a short, graying beard, which looked almost as scratchy as his grating, deafening voice.

“You must be…” He paused for a moment, holding his finger to his chin as his eyes floated up to the ceiling. “Oh, King Ezekiel, the Kindhearted.” The knight bowed dramatically. “Silly me. I should’ve known.” With another laugh, he let his gaze wander the great hall, his head nodding while that infuriating smirk stretched over his face. “This is some place you’ve got here, your majesty.” He sauntered around, causing the court nobles to back away with a series of terrified gasps the closer he got. They did not seem to faze him, though, he only continued talking, admiring the beauty of the hall. “This place is magnificent!” he laughed, then let his eyes fall back upon the crowd, their hearts beating hard enough to nearly fill the silence.

“Oh…” The black knight’s hand rose to cover his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed in exaggerated faux sadness. “Oh, my… I―I interrupted something, didn’t I? Well, I hate to break up your… splendid soiree, but, tell me, good King Ezekiel the Kindhearted, why, praytell, was I not invited?”

The king stood straight, steadfast and unwavering. You admired him greatly, as you were sure you would’ve been much too frightened to say anything to the man, whose identity you were beginning to realize, though you did not want to admit it.

“Sir Negan of House Smith,” the king acknowledged stoically. “You’ve slaughtered my people, stolen our provisions, made a mockery of my kingdom… Why in God’s name would I invite you here, where you and your so-called Saviors are most unwelcome?”

Sir Negan narrowed his dark eyes, though he still smirked. It was not a smirk of good humor, though, but a sinister one.

“Well, I suppose I thought we had an understanding,” he began, now making his way through a cluster of people to take a vine of red grapes from atop the nearest table. He popped one in his mouth, then hummed loudly, so loud that his sound of pleasure echoed through the great hall. “Those are some good grapes! You people don’t mess around.”

“What is this ‘understanding’ that you speak of?” demanded the king. “And speak quickly.”

“Or what will you do?” replied Negan, approaching the king once again until he got so close that Ezekiel swore he felt droplets of grape juice spew from the knight’s mouth onto his face. “I’ve killed at least half of your manpower, I’ve raided your armory, and there’s about, I’d say, four times as many of us as there are of you.”

You worked up the courage to examine your surroundings, and now there were Saviors encircled all around you, blocking each and every exit. There were no guards to be seen. You were trapped, subject to the knight’s whims. He and his men could slaughter you all right here, right now. The suspense was the worst part.

“But that is of no importance now,” added Sir Negan, now pacing before the king, his mace swinging by his feet like a pendulum. “What is important, however, my good king, is our simple, clean-cut understanding, and our simple, clean-cut understanding is as follows: you give me what I ask for, and I won’t slaughter each and every last one of you sorry pricks.”

Another gasp erupted from the crowd, only serving to amuse the man. “That’s the spirit,” he laughed. “Now, because I’m a reasonable, merciful man, and a knight of chivalrous honor, I will spare you and your little kingdom tonight. This… tarriance, as it were, is only to provide you the courtesy of yet another warning, the previous of which has gone sorely unacknowledged. This shall serve as your second warning, and a third will result in more forceful measures being taken, if you catch my meaning. In fact, what I am most interested in at this moment, instead of killing all of you and pillaging your great abundance of resources, is laying eyes on my future bride. King Ezekiel the Kindhearted, won’t you show me your daughter―my princess?” He spoke the final words with a venomous laugh, as though the whole thing was a game to him, a source of amusement. 

For Daryl, it was anything but. You felt his hand grip yours tighter, his body standing firm before you as his back straightened and his chest puffed up to its fullest extent. His breaths became labored and voluntary as the blood raced to his head, where images of striking the knight down before another filthy word about his maiden, his lady, his princess could spew from the bastard’s smug mouth. 

For your part, you let your tears absorb into the fabric on the knight’s back, where you begged silently for the power to disappear into thin air and never have to hear the knight’s voice ever again. It stirred in you all the fear you’d tried so hard to escape, all the death of hope that plagued your darkest dreams and reminded you of the cruelty of the outside world. Now, you felt as though you had let that darkness in, and it eclipsed every beautiful thing you’d known.

“I will do no such thing,” replied the king. “You will leave at once, and never show your face here again. My daughter is not a bartering chip, and the kingdom of Alexandria will stand strong against you.”

Sir Negan’s smile slowly morphed into what could only be described as a poisonous scowl, while his hand gestured lazily to one of his men, who then disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. 

“I did not want to have to do this,” he said, his voice lower now, more menacing, and not nearly as arrogantly jovial. “But you forced my hand… Bring out the girl.”

Squirming in one of the knight’s arms was Beth, her mouth gagged by a red handkerchief and her hands tied behind her back as she let out several muffled whimpers. In your overwhelming fear, you grasped tighter to Daryl’s hand, whispering involuntarily, “Beth…”

A gasp erupted from the crowd, and even your father seemed to falter, his courage visibly draining from his once stoic face as another knight pushed down on the girl’s shoulders until she was kneeling before Sir Negan, who brandished his mace with too much ease for your comfort. The horrible man let the heavy silence settle in as he took slow, languid steps towards the girl, her eyes weighed down by pendulous tears as she sobbed against the fabric in her mouth. 

“Let her go at once!” demanded the king, though the frailty in his voice reminded you that there was nothing he could really do to stop Negan. His guards were all dead, and the whole court was outnumbered by knights. It became quite clear at this moment that there was one person in charge of the events that would unfold tonight―Negan.

Sir Negan turned to point his mace towards your father with an aggressive jolt of the spiked weapon. “You, my king, are in no position to be making demands. See, I am holding court now, and as my first royal decree, you will show me the princess, or I will clobber this young maiden’s head in til it pops open like one of these succulent table grapes.” The knight fed himself the last grape, then tossed the vine over his shoulder. “Choice is yours, your majesty… But then, if you tell me no, I’ll just bash some more heads in. I can do this all night.”

Silence settled in again, with only the murmuring of the constable and the chancellor as they attempted to advise the king on what to do, though he only looked terrified now. You’d never seen the color drain from his face the way it did then. 

But the knight lost his patience, clicking his tongue as he shook his head. “Do not make me count.” 

The king silenced his advisors before taking a deep breath. “No more blood needs to be shed this eve,” he said. “I’ll give you anything you want―food, weapons, livestock… But not my daughter.”

“Five!”

No! you screamed in your mind until you swore your eardrums grew sore. 

“Four!”

You tugged on Daryl’s hand as you whispered, “I have to―”

“No,” he replied. 

“Three!”

“Please!” begged the king. “Don’t do this, there must be something―”

“Two!”

Sir Negan raised his mace high above his head, both hands gripping at the handle as he prepared to slam it back down. Beth’s sobs now echoed through the hall, despite the gag. Though it was hard to tell exactly what she screamed, you swore you heard the words, “No, please, no!”

You couldn’t let it happen. Besides, if he only wanted to lay eyes on you, there couldn’t be much harm, could there?

“Stop!”

Negan’s mace paused in mid-air, just before he was about to deliver the blow. He looked towards your voice, then, as you pushed with all your might to escape from behind Daryl’s body, his arm outstretched as a last resort to keep you from going any closer to the man.

Now, you swallowed back a lump in your throat, trying to remain dignified despite your fear, which manifested in a small, but noticeable, quiver to your voice. “I am (Y/N),” you said, with your precarious confidence fueling you enough to speak again, this time more nobly after you took in a deep breath. “Crown Princess of Alexandria, heiress to the throne… And by my royal decree, I command you to release her at once, or I will have your head.” An empty threat, but it proved you were serious.

Your father spoke your name in a tone somewhere between appalled and petrified. Before he could speak again, Negan silenced him.

“Ho-ly shit,” the vile man laughed. Such foul language was never permitted in the great hall. He was a scoundrel, of that you were sure. “Isn’t this something?”

With his mace dangling by his legs, he sauntered towards you, the whiteness of his teeth carving a dent in the lower lip of his wicked smirk. With each languid step he took, you tensed and shivered, while Sir Daryl breathed deep, guttural breaths, almost akin to a growl the closer the man got to you.

What could he have done at this moment? He could not hide you any longer, now that Negan had seen you. He could not strike the man, for there were far too many Saviors outweighed against him and the handful of other knights and noble warriors among the party. No, all he could do was pierce the man’s soul with a thousand yard stare to rival them all. 

“You… are… fiery.” Each word was punctuated by another slinking step towards you, until Negan got too close for Daryl’s comfort. He fought with himself as he side-stepped in front of you, his mind telling him to stay put, his heart begging him to keep him away from you, his own body a sacrifice for your dignity, your honor. He could not let the man’s presence taint you. 

Negan leaned back with a look of amusement, a sharp chuckle under his breath as he shook his head. Daryl only stared back through adroitly critical eyes. 

“You’re more of a door than a window, my good sir,” laughed the black knight. “Pray, just who do you think you are?”

Without a moment to think through his words, he spoke quietly, just above a whisper, a simple phrase: “I’m the one who’s gonna kill you.”

“Sir Daryl,” you spoke shakily. If Daryl got himself killed right now for your honor, you’d never forgive yourself, or him. “Stand down.” He turned his gaze to you, your face pleading with him as little tears shone like crystals in the reflection of the light. Each tear was another laceration to his heart. “Please,” you whispered, your voice falling softly on his ears like a dewdrop on a trembling flower’s petal. He did not notice your hand grasping at his forearm, squeezing gently, as if to assure him that you were all right, though it did little to placate his rage at the man.

Wordlessly, he stepped away, all the while keeping his gaze upon Sir Negan. The growl that escaped below his breath was drowned out by the arrogant man’s triumphant chuckle. Indeed, Daryl had won once today, but what he felt now was an incredible, profound loss, or just the beginning of one. Somehow, the physical pain of this was a thousand times worse than a measly lance to the chest. 

“Good,” he said, his eyes lingering over parts of you that would’ve been off limits to anyone but your hypothetical husband, all while his tongue wetted his bottom lip unabashedly. Bile rose in your throat, but you swallowed it back, standing up straight and stoic despite your desire to recoil in abject repulsion. 

“You truly are… the most ravishing woman in the world.” The sudden earnestness in his deep, contemplative voice terrified you more than the sight of his mace, its spikes grazing against the fabric of your dress as he dangled it absentmindedly by his legs. 

He slowly leaned closer to you, his hot, oppressive breath stinging the side of your face as he whispered through tight, sneering lips: “I cannot wait to ruin you, princess.”

You shuddered as his gauntleted hand rose up to caress your face, the cold steel burning like dry ice. Not far from you, Daryl grasped the hilt of his rondel, his daggered eyes roaming Negan’s armor to find any chinks for him to stab through, but he knew that, if he let his impulsiveness overtake him at this moment, it would only make matters worse. He had to keep what little composure he had, while he watched the scoundrel’s filthy hand assault your maidenly beauty. 

“Keep your purity ready for me,” he whispered again, this time his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I’ll be back for it.”

When he pulled away from you, you released a staggered breath of relief as your knees struggled to hold your weight. Soon, Sir Daryl’s hands gently held your upper arms. You lifted your weary head to face him with glassy eyes, while his begged you wordlessly for the answer to an unspoken question. 

“I’m all right,” you whispered, though you did not have to say anything. His hand rose slowly to lift your quivering chin. It was wholly different from Negan’s touch, which was lecherous and cold. Sir Daryl touched you with concern, warmth, comfort… Love? 

You hadn’t enough time to contemplate the meaning when Negan’s voice echoed through the great hall once more. 

“Well, I don’t know about all of you,” he said, “but I had a great time!” He flippantly waved his hand to the knight holding Beth, who untied her restraints and removed her gag before she scurried towards your father. He took the weeping young girl into his arms, as she was always like a daughter to him. The poor thing was shivering in the king’s arms, but you thanked God she was safe. 

“Leave now,” your father said. “And never come back.”

Sir Negan only laughed again. “Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that. In fact, I’ve already cleared my itinerary to return in one week’s time. At that time, you will―and I mean will―hand over my bride―my prize―and whatever else I ask for… If you refuse, well, I’ll just have to take my prize by force, and then pillage your whole kingdom because, frankly, I’ve grown tired of not being taken seriously by you people. Actually, I might just take her by force, rob you, and burn your kingdom to the ground without even bothering to ask you first. Depends on my disposition that day, if I am feeling like giving you another chance. In any case, that woman is mine.”

He gestured his spiked mace towards you, once again tearing off your gown with his dark, perverted eyes. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he lamented with a smile. “Oh, well, I suppose we should take our leave, men. So long, lords and ladies, your majesty, your highness… Til next we meet.”

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 3: The Wound Is Quick and Keen

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, scary situation, violence and gore, references to death and traumatic situations (including child abuse) ❧ Word Count: 6.6k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Sir Daryl escorts you outside the walls of Alexandria for the first time, and though the excursion is mostly pleasant, it is rife with danger. A close call leads the two of you to a secluded cottage that only Daryl knows of, where a bond begins to grow.

❧ A/N: The princess is free! Well, kind of. She is so cute I love her. And Daryl... UGH. Literally the best. I don't have much to say about this part, but I wanna give a quick shoutout to all my friends who have been beta-reading this series! @weretheones @finalgirlrick @darylspissslit @devnmon @purple-witch-23 @littlelovingideas @spncupcake thanks so much friends!! I appreciate you<3 Also pls check out their work because they also write TWD stuff and it's amazing

The long, dark, sepulchral tunnel seemed at once cavernous and claustrophobic, with the light of the knight’s torch only illuminating a few feet ahead, but the feeling of a much wider expanse of darkness, in which shadows that may or may not have really been there lurked within the blackest corners. It was no small wonder they had been not-so-lovingly dubbed The Tombs. 

Though you were sure nothing was behind you, it felt as though an unseen entity stalked you, stepping on your heels despite no real physical weight overcoming you. There were always rumors around court about these tunnels, how they were haunted by the souls of those who perished in the first struggle against the Dead, but you tried not to pay mind to those rumors. After all, that would mean your own mother haunted these dank, miserable passages, and that was a fate worse than death, you thought.

But Daryl knew this tunnel now, having made sure the path was clear and snuck his horse out to meet you at the end of the underpass just an hour before. Still, you found yourself not straying more than a foot from him, his broad, cloaked back becoming a strange source of comfort to you in this abyss of darkness. 

“You’re sure there are no dead ones in here?” you whispered. “It smells of… death.”

“I went through here twice… No walkers.”

“Walkers?”

“Dead ones.”

Oh. A colloquial term. 

Silence settled in again, with only the echoes of globs of water dripping onto the rough cobbled stone to fill the eerie space where words had provided some relief. In that silence, your anxiousness caught up with you―what if Elizabeth’s lie fell through? She’d informed the guards not to disturb you in your chambers, that you had fallen ill and needed rest. She left strict instructions not to check on you, for fear of contagion. And with your father out of town, there shouldn’t have been any chance for disturbances. Even so, the only thing more terrifying than this tunnel was the idea of having less freedom than you already did. Being confined to your bedchamber for the rest of your life, surely, would’ve been the punishment if the king discovered your escape. He wasn’t a cruel man, but his overbearing nature could inadvertently lead to such a cruel decision. 

When a horse’s neigh startled you from your thoughts, you stumbled forward to cling to the knight’s upper arm, which flexed and stiffened in response to your sudden movement. Your chest pressed firmly against his back, he felt you briefly shiver in fear, though as your senses came back to you, you chided yourself for your jumpiness. 

“S-sorry, Sir Daryl.”

If he wasn’t caught in a rather serious situation, he might’ve let his internal amusement at your persistent formality manifest itself in the form of a chuckle, but he only huffed instead. “Just Daryl.”

Blinking hard, you loosened your grip on his arm, reluctantly pulling yourself away. He seemed to radiate warmth, and this tunnel was so cold and frightening. “Sorry. Daryl.”

He peered over his shoulder to speak again. “Stop sayin’ sorry.”

With a sniffle, you nodded your head. “Sor―” You stopped yourself. “All right.”

The further you traveled, the louder the sounds of Daryl’s horse, which provided some comfort now. It meant you were getting closer to getting out of here, and closer to fresh air.

At the end of the tunnel, Daryl placed his torch in the iron sconce hanging on the wall of a modest wooden door, with a thick bar placed across to prevent the Dead (or alive) from getting in. There stood the knight’s horse, too, hardly visible in the blackness that matched his sleek, shiny coat. From what you could see, though, the horse was beautiful, with a long crimped mane of ebony and a long forelock draping messily, yet gracefully, over his eyes. Upon each leg was a slight feathering, just above his hooves, nearly cloaking them. 

“What a beautiful horse.” As he lifted the bar with a huff, he looked your way to see your hands caressing the animal’s neck, and his black nose buried in the loose tendrils of your hair. “Oh!” you laughed. “Friendly, too. What’s his name?”

Daryl wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke bluntly. “Phantom.”

“Oh.” You sounded a little disappointed. “Well, that’s not a very friendly name for such a friendly horse.”

The knight scoffed as he took the horse’s reigns. “He ain’t friendly. He’s a warhorse.”

He didn’t expect such a look of excited curiosity to form upon your face. “Oh, a destrier? How grand.”

With one hand guiding the horse towards the door, the other unlatching the final lock, Daryl looked back at you. You could see a sliver of bright light pouring in through the thin line where the door was beginning to open. Of course, you’d seen light before, but not like this, not from this direction. Somehow, it was different. 

“You wanna stand around talkin’ about horses all day or you wanna go outside?”

The last thing you wanted to do was spend more time inside this rotten intestine of a tunnel. “Lead the way, Sir―I mean, Daryl.”

Trying to avoid the inevitable smirk that formed on his face, he pushed the door open further, slowly guiding Phantom into the light of day, which allowed the horse’s coat to shine an almost reddish chestnut tone. 

But the horse’s beauty was momentarily eclipsed by the magnificent glade of silver birch trees before you, a simple dirt path diverging through the forest. You’d seen these trees from high above, and from a great distance, outside your window, but never had you seen them so close, so almost within reach. Many times you’d reached your hand out, imagining you could touch the trees, but now, there was nothing standing between you and that forest. 

As you stepped forward, you relished in the feeling of dirt and leaves underfoot. You’d felt the ground before, in the garden and the courtyard, but this was something different, something new. In fact, you wanted to feel it on your bare skin, the closeness of the earth. 

While Daryl busied himself with readying the horse’s saddle, you were stripping yourself of your brown leather shoes, letting one bare foot take your first step as you worked on removing the other shoe. 

The knight looked wide-eyed at you, your feet now sinking into the dirt beneath you. “What the hell are you doin’?”

To his surprise, you let out a sing-song laugh as you took several more steps towards the forest. With your head down, your hair draping all around the sides of your face, you were focused on the movements of your feet, as if you could feel the sensation through your eyes. 

“I used to run around barefoot as a child,” you said, lifting your face to his. He was greeted by a wide, toothy grin, the likes of which he hadn’t seen upon your face. He’d seen the joyful expression upon your face when he offered to escort you outside the walls, but this was something else entirely, accompanied by bright, carefree eyes that captured the glow of the sunlight streaming down to consume the last of the early morning mist. “It’s just not the same in the courtyard at the castle.”

Your attention peeled away from the knight as you took in the trees all around you, tall and magnificent, surely hundreds of years old. The stories these trees could tell, the things they’d seen—you’d hoped that their knowledge would make up for your lack of it for the past ten years. If you couldn’t have seen such things, at least they had.

Absentmindedly, you meandered towards the trees, your arms outstretching the closer you got as you prepared to touch them. Daryl could only look on in slightly amused confusion at your wonderment for such mundane objects of nature, but he had to remember, it’d been a long time since you’d seen these things out in the wilds, outside of the manicured gardens and meticulously trimmed botanicals found within the walls of the castle to which you were confined. Still, the little laughs and sweet giggles that bubbled up from within you were undeniably delightful. 

But Daryl couldn’t let you spend all day admiring a silver birch tree. He hopped upon Phantom and instructed the beast forward, until a blackness swallowed your peripheral vision. As you blinked your attention towards the knight, his hand now outstretched to you, you noticed your shoes had been stuffed carefully inside the saddlebag near his thigh. 

“C’mon,” he said with a nod of his head. “There’s more than this.”

Your bare feet skipped delicately through waves upon waves of tall white beardtongue, the petals of which occasionally tickled your bare thighs when they got caught inside your gown. You had to admit the feeling gave you a rush so strong that you skipped faster through the meadow, careful not to trample over any of the wildflowers.

Daryl’s presence was a comfort to you, him standing at the edge of the meadow with Phantom’s reins in his hand, and your velvet teal cloak draped over the crook of his elbow as he watched dutifully. Though no walkers had come across your path yet, he worried most about the poor, soft soles of your feet being marred by the elements. These thoughts were always immediately dismissed, though, as his job wasn’t to fret over your cleanliness, but your life.

“Oh, Daryl!” you called out, alerting him a bit too well as he instinctively grasped for the hilt of the greatsword strapped to his belt. He huffed when he raised his eyes to see you entranced by the pale blue spotted butterfly resting upon your hand. “Look!”

Again, you let out a sweet laughter, the cadence of which tickled the knight’s spine like a feather being dragged languidly over each vertebra. With the tiny, delicate creature flapping its wings upon your hand, he admired your gentleness, how sweet your eyes turned when gazing upon the beautiful butterfly. It was strange—he’d been out here with you for almost two hours, and yet no walkers or bandits had crossed your path. It was almost as if your purity somehow deterred those things, those horrible things that plagued this land. Indeed, he’d never seen the world like this before, so much happier and sweeter than it had once been. Perhaps you didn’t need this world, but this world needed you. No, of course not. That was silly, he told himself, shaking his head to rid himself of his own thoughts. No one woman could change the world just by existing in it.

“Oh,” you sighed in a bittersweet tone. The butterfly flew away, your eyes following it for as long as it could before it disappeared beyond the hill. 

Don’t be sad, princess, he found himself thinking, his own heart seeming to sink a little when your eyes turned just a little soft with sorrow. Please don’t be sad. 

“Well,” you sighed again, your voice getting louder as you approached him, your hands lifting your gown just enough to allow you to step high over the tall flowers. As if by instinct, his eyes trailed to your bare ankles, then your calves, your knees, and just a sliver of your soft thighs… 

Stop looking, that rational voice in his head commanded. But the improper, unabashed voice replied, But, oh, milady… What fine legs you have.

“This meadow is beautiful, but there must be more to see.” You took your cloak from him to swing it around your shoulders and clasp it around your neck, then circled around the horse to retrieve your shoes from its saddle. “Where are we going next?”

Daryl thought for a moment, but his immediate attention was directed towards the gracefulness of your movements, the way your fingers curled through Phantom’s forelock and tickled underneath his chin, and the way you nuzzled your nose against his… How gentle the warhorse was, as if you had some soothing effect upon him. 

If Daryl was a superstitious man, he’d say you worked some kind of womanly magic upon your surroundings, wooing him and his horse and even the Dead. If he was a cruel man, he’d accuse you of being a witch, demanding to see if you bore the Devil’s mark or if you sank in water. Of course, he didn’t believe in sorcery or witches or Satan, but he did believe you had worked some kind of spell on him, one of a more corporeal nature. 

“Daryl?”

He cleared his throat as his senses came back to him. “Yes, I, um… I know of a lake nearby. Would that, um, suit you, your highness?” He tried to speak in his best chivalric tone, though he knew not why. He never cared much for that before, until right this moment, and it seemed almost against his will. Maybe witches were real, afterall. Still, he wasn’t about to rid himself of this warm, ticklish feeling in the pit of his stomach, even if it was the work of the Devil. 

A sweet, beautiful, kind agent of the Devil.

“A lake would be lovely,” you replied. 

At length, you walked alongside Daryl, who let you guide Phantom this time. You’d insisted upon walking to the lake, giving the poor horse a break from carrying the weight of the two of you. It was no disappointment to the knight, who found that he quite liked spending more time with you, prolonging his time outside the walls to hold your cloak as you frolicked or to kneel and let you hold onto his strong shoulder as you brushed the dirt off your feet. It almost sickened him how much he relished in being of service to you. 

And it was such a beautiful day, the perfect day for you to see the outside world. In your fascination, you were rendered quiet, turning in every direction to catch with your eyes every bird or deer or squirrel or insect that crossed your path. The woods were serene, too, much brighter and free of any pestilence that your father had so ominously warned you of. 

Indeed, you wondered where the Dead were. It seemed too good to be true, considering the horrible memories you had of that night your mother died, of seeing her getting pulled into a swarm of walkers as she reached her hand out to you, calling for you. You still remembered how you struggled to reach for her, your fingers just grazing her trembling hand before you were yanked away by a guard. 

Of course, you knew there was no way you could’ve saved her. Her neck and arms were already being feasted upon, spurts of blood shooting out and sprinkling in crimson globs upon your tear-stained cheeks, while her screams were increasingly drowned by the sound of her flesh tearing from her bones. When her body was taken in completely by the hoard, you heard one last scream—No, please, no!

As this memory inflicted itself upon you, the feeling akin to a knife in the chest, you stopped in your tracks, staring blankly at the vision before you that seemed to have crawled out of your head. Between the trees ahead of you, five or six of the dead lumbered clumsily over sticks and stones towards you. 

When the knight pushed you behind him, drawing his sword, you studied the appearances of the dead men with shock. They wore clothes just like any commoner, one even wearing a blacksmith’s apron, another wearing a simple white linen coif upon her head, not unlike the ones you owned, except yours weren’t caked in dried blood, but the similarity was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Dar-Daryl…” Your voice faltered as you backed away, your hands clinging tight to the reins on the horse. “What do we do?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that you didn’t know the first thing about walkers, how to kill them, how to avoid them. He should’ve told you. He planned on telling you, but he got… distracted. So distracted he’d forgotten of the Dead’s existence altogether.

“Just stay behind me,” he said. “If one comes at you, you run.”

Run? Run where? I do not know these woods… 

“All right.”

He held his sword with both hands, and you wondered how on Earth he could hold such a large thing, no doubt made of fine, heavy steel. He must’ve had a great deal of strength, not to mention the heavy armor he would carry in battle. Indeed, he was broad and seemed hearty enough to withstand almost anything. 

A sparkle of sunlight reflected off the silver blade as it sliced through a walker’s neck, severing the head in one fluid motion that caused you to gasp in horror at the sight. 

But Daryl moved so fluidly, with such ease and intensity. Every stroke was purposeful, and every kick and turn and step was made with confidence. As you watched in combined terror and amazement, you realized that he really was a great knight. His chivalry left much to be desired, but you could tell why he achieved his status as knight. Soon, the walkers were all headless, and he got to work plunging the blade of his sword directly into the creature’s severed heads, which appeared to still be alive. 

You leaned forward in awe, curious about how the heads could still be alive when severed from the body. 

But your thoughts ceased when a cold hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you with great strength down to the forest floor. You came down with a yelp, both from the startling action and the feeling of your ankle twisting in an unnatural manner, creating an awful pain that traveled all the way up to the top of your head to send you nearly passing out.

But the lone, legless walker kept you awake, yanking at your leg with its teeth gnashing horribly, creating a terrible clicking sound with each attempt to take a bite of you.

You pulled away, kicking at the thing’s forehead to get it away from you, but it was relentless, and soon set its sights on your neck as its disgusting, rotting body began to climb up your torso, its mouth dripping foul blood over your surcote as you gasped and panted and screamed in fear.

In the distance, you heard the loud whinnying of Phantom, then the sound of his hooves against the dirt, getting further and further away. 

All this happened in a matter of milliseconds, with the knight moving quickly to tear the dead man away from you, throwing its growling body several feet away from you. With a grunt, he swung his greatsword overhead, bringing it down to slice the creature’s head vertically with a horrid squelch. 

The thing fell back in its final state of death, allowing Daryl to sheath his bloodied sword and hurry over to you, his gloved hands feeling all over your arms and legs and torso. Your eyes widened at the touches, how brazenly he handled you with his strong, filthy hands. 

“You bit?” he asked.

Oh. 

He kept feeling you, lifting your dress to examine your calves with a stoicism and seriousness you wouldn’t have expected from a man with his hands all over you. But then, this was a serious situation. Get your mind out of the gutter, you chided yourself. 

“N-no, I’m fine…” Dizzied from the sudden fall, you raised your hand to your forehead, then stroked it through your now wild hair. As you became aware of your body once again, you realized the dull ache surrounding your right ankle. “Oh, my… my ankle. It hurts.”

He lifted your gown again to examine your ankle, the skin around it inflamed and swollen, and it was angled rather sharply inwards. A grimace contorted the knight’s face. “Sprained,” he said. He knew that well, having seen the very minor injury many times in battle. Of course, if the worst injury one received was a sprained ankle, that was a blessing. 

As his hands cradled you underneath the underarms to lift you, he peered behind his shoulder with a deep huff. “Damn horse,” he cursed. 

Struggling to help lift yourself with your good leg, you realized, too, that the horse had run off in the midst of the chaos. “Oh, no! How are we going to—Oh!”

You felt caught in a whirlwind as the knight somehow slung you over his shoulder, his arm wrapped around the backs of your legs to hold you in place as he began to walk, not wasting any time to catch up to the horse. 

“What are you doing?!” you cried out in confusion. Your sight was momentarily shrouded in darkness as your face was buried in the wool of his cloak, but you lifted your head to see the ground moving beneath dizzyingly as you bounced against his back. “Are you… carrying me?”

“Gotta catch up to Phantom… Ain’t gettin’ anywhere very fast with you limpin’.” He punctuated his sentence with a strained grunt, then stopped briefly to bounce you until you were more securely draped over his broad shoulder. 

“How do you know where he went?”

“There’s a cottage not far from here. He knows to go there.” That, and he could track the horse’s trail quite easily. 

You remained quiet for a while, until he hitched you up again. “You know,” you remarked, “this is not how you carry a princess. A rather large sack of potatoes, yes, but not a princess.”

He tried to hinder his laughter. It was difficult. 

“How did you find this place?” you asked, sat upon a dusty old floor pillow beside the warm, burning hearth.

The cottage was small, just one room. You’d never seen such a modest home, with straw blanketing the dirt floor and a small hole in the roof to allow the smoke from the hearth to escape, with only one small window to let in a tiny stream of afternoon light. 

You watched Daryl crush some mix of pungent herbs, water, and oil with a mortar and pestle, his hair hanging like chocolate colored silken drapes over his concentrated face. 

He looked up for a moment, his hooded eyes peeking out between those brunette strands of hair. He chewed his lip, eying your swollen ankle. The guilt hadn’t stopped washing over him since it happened. How could he be so negligent to let you get hurt? 

“I, uh… Found it a long time ago, when the plague broke out.” With the herbs crushed into an oily paste, he carried the stone mortar over to you, kneeling down to lift your ankle onto his thigh. You watched curiously as his fingers scooped up a glob of the slightly purple-toned concoction, then spread the paste over your swollen ankle. “Was fighting the Dead,” he continued as he rubbed more of the coarse cream over your skin. “A swarm cornered me here. Wasn’t much safer, though… An old man and his wife, but the old man had turned, was just about to take a bite of the woman, but I put him down.”

He noticed your shiver, then crossed the room to quickly procure a thick woolen blanket from the small straw bed. 

“Here.” He draped the warm fabric over your shoulders. “Sorry it’s not much.”

“It’s quite all right… What happened to the old lady?” 

He shook his head as he returned to his treatment of your wound. “She was already bit. I was too late… Cared for ‘er as long as I could, but no one knew back then that even just one bite means you’re dead. The fever killed ‘er… And then, I didn’t know she’d turn, too. Found out real quick that’s how it spreads, and that you gotta kill the brain.” He gestured accordingly to his own head. “And now this place is mine, I guess.”

“I thought you lived on your lord’s fief?” you asked. “You live here?”

He used his teeth to rip a piece of cotton gauze from its roll, then lifted your ankle from its place on his leg to wrap it and conceal the herbal remedy. “I travel between,” he said simply. “Stayin’ in one place never suited me.”

To an extent, you understood that. Though you always valued your home, you’d been stuck in one place for so long that it became less of a home and more of a hostage situation. “You must value your freedom,” you remarked. “Tell me, what did you put on my ankle?”

He scoffed through an ever-so-slight, crooked smirk. “You ask many questions, princess.”

A rosy pink blush bloomed upon your cheeks, accompanied by a gentle heat that wasn’t just radiating from the nearby flame of the hearth. “Well,” you said, straightening your back as his words reminded you of your status, “I think I’m entitled to know what kind of remedy you’ve applied to my wound, knight.”

He gently replaced your skirt over your ankles as he spoke, listing the ingredients. “Arnica, witch hazel, lavender… All good for pain and swelling.”

“Oh? You’re skilled in herbalism?”

“Another question…”

You tilted your head in faux offense at the observation. “I’m entitled to ask whatever questions I wish, knight.”

With a huff, he leaned back to scoot himself onto his own pillow, then kicked off his heavy leather boots. “I wouldn’t say ‘skilled’,” he replied at length. “Just… somethin’ I had to learn.”

Curiosity made you raise an eyebrow at that, and your prying was certainly nowhere near its end. “Why?”

Any other person had asked him this many questions about himself, he might’ve lost his nerve and said some rather vulgar things, but you were a lady. More than that, you were a princess. More than that, you were… something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He knew you were beautiful, of course. He had eyes. There was more that drew him to you, that made him care what you thought of him and made him care about you. 

Despite his usual tendency to become frustrated at this kind of questioning, he couldn’t bring himself to feel agitated at all. In fact, he felt at ease, like he wanted to tell you about himself. Somehow, that look in your eyes told him you weren’t just asking because it seemed the proper thing to do—you were asking him these things because you cared to know about him. No one had cared in that way before. Maybe the duke came close, but he didn’t have this effect on the knight. It was unique to you, this wave of earnestness and openness. For such a closed-off man, he found it very hard to keep his guard up much longer. 

Still, he wondered, if he let his guard down too far, could he stop himself from scaring you away? You were a sensitive thing, he’d realized. You were innocent, too. The things he’d seen and done would surely frighten you, chase you away from him when he’d only just begun to grow fond of you in some strange way. The more you knew about him, the more you’d find him repulsive, he thought. And yet, it was still so tempting. 

“Left home when I was sixteen,” he said. “Had to learn how to take care of myself. Well, learned most of that when I was...” He had to stop himself, his lips hanging open slightly in midair. If he kept going, he might’ve revealed too much, how “pathetic” his life had been. Surely you wouldn’t understand. You’d think he was trying to earn your pity, but all he wanted, as he looked into your eyes and melted into them like they were two pools of warm liquid honey, was to know that you cared about the words that struggled to will themselves into existence. Those soft, warm eyes would prove successful in swallowing him whole, into an abyss of unabashed honesty. Why was he bearing his soul? What good would it do? He didn’t know. In fact, he was sure it would only cause you to look down upon him, but he was wise enough to know that no one before had ever really asked about these things. No one before had ever cared like this. That was why he was hesitant—it was simply uncharted territory. But, then again, everything about you was uncharted territory, and if you asked, it must’ve meant you cared.

“When I was a child, my mother died,” he said. “My father couldn’t handle it… Turned to the bottle, became a lousy sot.” He swallowed hard as a bit of bile came to rise in his throat. He wasn’t sure what came over him—except, well, he’d never spoken these words out loud before. Certainly not in front of a princess. You didn’t stop him, though. In fact, you held a soft gaze, encouraging him with your pleading eyes for him to continue, not with pity, but with sympathy. How strange, you opened him up with just your kind, understanding face. “He, uh, would hurt me… Enough to break skin.” He gestured loosely towards the leftover salve. “This stuff would help with the bruises. Needed other things for the cuts, but I know all of it. Helps in war, too.”

Understanding his hesitancy to speak more about his childhood, you inquired about that—war. Perhaps it wasn’t a much more cheerful subject, but there was something you’d been wondering about since you first met the mysterious knight. 

“War… Is that how you got your scar?”

It took him a moment to register your question, as he had so many scars now, it was hard to keep track of them all, but you gestured your finger to point towards his face, and he cursed himself for not thinking of the long red stripe running down over his left eye, At times, you yourself had forgotten it was there, its pigment blending in with the tone of his tanned skin in certain lights, but it had intrigued you since you first saw him. 

“It’s a battle scar,” he answered. “Yeah…” 

“I read that battle scars are honorable to knights.”

“They are,” he responded quickly, as if defending himself, despite a lack of anything to really defend. But his tone soon shifted as he processed your words. “You… read about knights?”

Swallowing hard, you averted your gaze to try to find some respite from the embarrassment of admitting that you found his kind to be fascinating. To say you read about knights would be an understatement. Your father housed an impressive collection of literature in his cabinet, many of which you’d secretly take to the solar and read by candlelight in the wee hours of the morning when a particularly restless sleep became too much to bear. Among those books were the most popular chivalric romances—The Knight’s Tale, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Le Morte d’Arthur, Erec and Enide, Sir Eglamour of Artois… Daryl wasn’t like any of those knights, though. He was… better, you decided. He was real.

“I do,” you spoke shakily. “I—I… know a bit.” You never stuttered. Why were you stuttering? Eugene had all but trained you out of the habit in your public speaking lessons. He hadn’t prepared you for the intensity of Sir Daryl’s gaze, how it reduced your poise to a shiver. And yet still, you were the most poised woman he ever met. 

In fact, he didn’t notice your stuttering at all. It was hard to let anything distract him from every word you said, every open and close of your plush lips that were made glossy and smooth from suet and marjoram, with just a touch of red wine to paint a delicious tint across the plump skin. The musky amber scent of civet oil mingled with the floral marjoram to tickle his nose so heavenly, even from this distance. Each movement of your lips only carried the scent further, like it was floating on angel’s wings to him, and only him. For a brief, anxious moment, he pondered upon the taste, and the texture… How his lips would feel against yours. 

Lust is a sin, he told himself, despite having not paid a visit to a chapel since his knighthood. Still, a knight should respect the laws of God. Like all the knights in the stories you read, he was beginning to face temptation. 

With a quiet huff, he yanked himself from his intrusive thoughts to face you with a slight smirk. “I guess you’re fond of Sir Lancelot?” he asked. 

Not at all, you thought. I am more fond of Sir Daryl. 

It was twilight when you arrived back at the castle, slipping through the Tombs and coming out into the gloomy dungeons in the dark underbelly of the keep. To distract the guards that stood near your chambers, Daryl alerted them to a “walker that must’ve slipped through the walls,” but used the opportunity to sneak you into your room. 

The knight ushered you in the room with a frantically waving hand. With a slight limp from your injury, you stumbled in laughing. Giddy, that was the only way to describe it. You were giddy from adrenaline, and felt a surge of fiery energy flow through you like a match being struck. Indeed, the whole day had been exhilarating, though terrifying at points. Ultimately, it was everything you’d dreamed it would be, and more. 

And you couldn’t help but admit that it felt wonderful to break the rules, to do something reckless for once. You were a little afraid it would become an addictive habit, but it was worth it. To see the things you saw, to behold new landscapes and to feel unburdened by the oppressive walls of that old gray castle… Oh, it was a wonderful feeling.

You couldn’t contain your excitement much longer—when the heavy wooden doors closed with a quiet clack of the latch, you opened your arms to rush towards the knight with an exuberant, but hushed, “We did it!”

His eyes widened as he felt your warm, soft arms around his torso, his chest pressed against yours so close that he could feel your swift heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. Whatever overcame you, it must’ve been born of your excitement, and he couldn’t hide the fact that he was excited, too. For what, he did not know. The day was over, his task was complete. He’d taken you outside the kingdom, allowed you to do as you please as he kept a watchful eye, keeping you safe from harm… Well, there were some slip-ups, but he was successful in his mission. 

Perhaps he was excited because he, too, felt the adrenaline rush, the excursion having been the most treacherous crime he’d ever committed, and he’d committed a few. Petty theft and a few drunken brawls, to be specific, but you’d never know that. Not as long as he could help it. 

Despite his hands and arms floating awkwardly around the curves of your waist, he didn’t dare touch you. There was an innate desire to, of course, but it wouldn’t be right. None of this was right, in truth, but there was no going back now, and he didn’t want to go back. He didn’t regret a thing, and that scared him a little bit. How on Earth could that scare him? Nothing scared him. His own feelings baffled him, especially when that musky amber scent came back with a succulent vengeance to assault his senses with the most indulgent perfume he’d ever had the pleasure of falling victim to. For a moment, he closed his eyes, taking in a quiet, deep inhale. That was the closest he could let himself get to doing anything he might’ve been wanting to do.

When you realized he wasn’t holding you back, you pulled away from the stoic man. Clarity returned to replace the intoxication of the adrenaline, and you cleared your throat to change the atmosphere back to that of knight and princess, not acquaintances of equal standing.

“Thank you, Sir Daryl,” you said. He winced for a moment at the title, having gotten a little accustomed to the simple name upon your lilted voice. Now, it was formal again, direct yet gentle. It still sounded beautiful, the way you spoke, but it was different. Only now, he noticed that it softened even more, as if your words were resting on downy pillows that filled with increasingly plush goose feathers each time you spoke to him. “Today was the best day of my life.”

Quite frankly, he found that very hard to believe. So hard to believe, in fact, that he let out a puff of air between lips that formed a wry smile. “What’re you talkin’ about, woman?”

“Woman?”

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes… What I mean to say is, what you’ve done for me today was what I’ve wanted for so long, and now I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Thank you.”

A pregnant silence hung in the air between you before you turned to cross the room over to your vanity, where your jewelry casket sat. You rummaged through to once again procure his payment. 

“No, your highness,” spoke the knight, his steps getting heavy as he approached you from behind. “I told you, I can’t accept that.”

You turned to face him with a smile, and a glimmering ruby brooch encrusted in silver filigree, characterized by delicate, swirling arabesques. “Nonsense,” you replied. “Please, knight. It would please me so for you to take this… And, there’s always more… For next time.”

Raising his eyes from the gem in your hand, he searched your gaze for earnestness. Indeed, you looked not unlike you had that night you begged him. You had that desperation in your eyes, that lust for freedom and exploration. The difference was, there was now a smile upon your face. That was even more tempting for him. A smile like that was dangerous, as he was sure you could just about convince him of anything. 

“Next time?”

“Yes, next time my father is gone. Of course, if you’re agreeable to it.”

Agreeable to it? Your beauty was intoxicating, and exposure to it was like radiation—surely no good for him in the long run. That all being said, there was something tempting about the danger of it all, the wrongness. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, not since before he was bound by the laws of chivalry. It was wrong of him to do this with you, but it had an effect like theriac; it was both an antidote and an addiction. 

With a hefty huff, he took the jewel from your hand, stuffing it into the simple embroidered chaneries hanging from his belt. 

That night, he agreed to another excursion, whenever that might be. Now, he seemed to be officially at your every beck and call, waiting for the signal to come and rescue you from your entrapment. In a way, he himself had become trapped, a chaperon condemned to serve you until your whims ebbed and flowed away from him and his outside world that he knew so well. It wasn’t this in itself that frightened him, though—it was the fact that when he thought of the next time he’d have to be your escort, subject to your will, he smiled. This realization of his devotion to you made the subconscious depths of his mind aware of one important thing: you weren’t just any princess, you were his princess.

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 4: Only Your Word

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: references to sexuality (ooo spicy), women not having rights I guess?, idk what else ❧ Word Count: 6.5k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Four months have passed since Sir Daryl first escorted you outside the castle walls, and you've grown quite fond of him, just as he has grown fond of you. However, there's trouble afoot with the mysterious Sir Negan and his Saviors gaining the upper hand against King Ezekiel's forces, and it is revealed that Sir Negan's threats hold more water than you initially thought.

❧ A/N: Ayyy this is a fun chapter. I loved writing in Michonne and Maggie as reader's ladies-in-waiting! And yeah, the princess and the knight are starting to fall for each other. Lots of mutual pining going on. Oh, and a really, really cute scene between them at the end... I also loved her convo with Ezekiel. Oh, and Shiva makes an appearance too! Just lots of fun stuff this chapter.

The lady’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk, while the other lady side-eyed her with a similar expression of impish delight.

“What are you looking so smug for, Margaret?” you asked, letting your needlework settle into your lap. “And you, Michonne? Did you not come from the duke’s bed this morning, hm?”

The dread-locked woman’s smile faded, but Margaret only bursted out into a loud cacophony of laughter. “Oh, you’re both lecherous, lascivious, unchaste women.”

“I am not!” you replied quickly, serious in your tone. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’ll have you know that I am as pure as the driven snow. Michonne is the unchaste one, I tell you.”

“There’s no reason I shouldn’t court the duke,” defended Michonne. “We’re of the same social standing. It is you, your highness, who is sleeping with―”

You dropped your embroidery hoop once more, this time with more fervor as you scowled at your lady-in-waiting and pointed accusatory in her direction. “I am sleeping with no one!” you replied. “And you’d better not spread that rumor, Michonne. I’m quite serious.”

Margaret stood from her chair to cross the solar and throw herself dramatically on the upholstered chaise lounge upon which you sat. With a flourish, she grabbed your hoop and tossed it carelessly upon the timber floor. 

“Excuse you, madam!” you laughed.

“Tell us about Sir Daryl,” she replied, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She nudged your shoulder with increasingly impatient shoves as you remained silent, hindering a giggle.

“Yes, tell us about how gallant he is,” laughed Michonne.

“Is he quite… muscular?” prodded Margaret.

Informing your ladies-in-waiting about the several excursions with the knight you’d made in the last four months was quickly becoming regretful. They’d been begging you for over a week to spill the details, each time insisting upon something more happening. But, alas, there wasn’t much to tell. Sir Daryl was your friend, yes, but nothing more. He cared for you, and, in many ways, you cared for him. He wasn’t like any knight you’d ever read about, he was… unconventional. He obeyed his lord, but he abided by his own code of conduct first and foremost. That code of conduct was not purely based in chivalry, as most knights seemed to be. 

That all being said, he was still so valiant, heroic, noble, even, in his own way. He was both the perfect picture of a knight, and the exact opposite. It almost frustrated you how much of a contradiction he was, and it led you to think of him much more than you would’ve had he been completely straightforward and easily understood, but he wasn’t. Even after five or six different trips to the outside, you still couldn’t quite get a handle on him. It thrilled you more than you were willing to outwardly admit, but inside you, you did feel a strange tickle at the pit of your stomach whenever you heard his voice call your name, or his hand touched you to instruct you with his knife, after he insisted that you learn to defend yourself against the Dead.

In your thoughts, you’d become too lost to recall Margaret’s question, until it boomeranged back into the forefront of your mind―is he quite muscular? 

A man’s figure had never really intrigued you before. What you knew of most men in court was that they were most often clad in loose-fitting tunics that failed to reveal any kind of silhouette. Daryl dressed not too dissimilarly, but the minimal armor he wore was tight-fitting enough to outline the brawny frame underneath. There were times he’d had to strip himself of his outer layers, namely his cloak and his surcote, until he was just in his linen shirt and chausses. Despite every convention that told you to pay no mind to the man’s undergarments, you found it nearly impossible not to allow yourself one or two curious moments to look upon the knight’s build. 

Of course he was quite muscular, he had to be. Though during your outings he did not wear a full suit of armor, he still carried about his person a heavy baldric and a greatsword, as well as an arbalest and a myriad of other weapons you could not bear to count. But he seemed soft, too, not having flesh that stretched thin over his lean muscles. No, he was still quite bulky, and warm. Very warm. So warm you but had to stand beside him to feel it. 

It occurred to you then how much time you’d spent thinking about the knight’s body, and how close you’d been to seeing it bare.

“I do not know, Margaret,” you lied. “How would I know such a thing?”

The lady narrowed her olive-colored eyes with knitted brows that further served to question you. Disbelief had characterized the ladies’ attitudes towards your denial, though it was true that you’d never touched the man more than a hug. If that was love, then perhaps you were in love, but you weren’t quite that naïve. At least, you weren’t naïve enough to admit it. 

“All knights are muscular,” answered Michonne matter-of-factly. “Let her highness be. Poor thing must already receive quite the thumping from Sir Dar―”

“Thumping?!” you replied, your horrified voice resounding over the ladies’ raucous laughter. “You’re terrible!”

The ladies’ mirth soon died down to a faltering giggle. Margaret sat up straight as she reached her hands up to fix her pearl-encrusted hennin, adjusting the translucent white veil back to its original dignified position. 

“Have you thought of it?” she asked with a smirk. 

“Of what?” You feigned innocence until the last possible second. It wouldn’t be befitting of a lady to even insinuate that you knew what she was talking about, but you did. From the moment he first put his hands on you, you knew of that desire, though you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t him who sparked it, but just the feeling. Any man could give you that feeling, right? Not just some knight… 

“Of laying with him?”

“No, not at all,” you lied again. “That would be wrong, you know that. We’re not married, and we could never be married, anyway. In any case, my feelings are not of that nature.”

Even as those false words tore through your vocal cords, you knew it was wrong, and you realized then, with a pit forming in your stomach and a rush of tingles surging through your veins, that you did feel some kind of attraction to the knight. It was evident in every thought of him that lingered in your mind long after he’d leave you alone in your chambers after a day of frolicking in the meadows and listening to the soft-spoken, knowledgeable man speak of every herb and tree and flower, his voice both gentle like a whisper and rough like sandpaper. 

You found that an emptiness creeped up on you at times when he wasn’t near you, a sense of something missing that had taken root inside your heart. When those roots were torn from you, you would soothe yourself with the recorded memory of his voice, his face, his body… 

Perhaps I do feel something for Sir Daryl, you thought to yourself.

But it didn’t matter what the true nature of your feelings were. The truth was that you could never admit these thoughts to anyone, not even him, and especially not your father. 

It wasn’t like you found yourself rather fond of a man like Duke Richard, who was below your class, but high enough to be your suitor. A knight was below nobility. Higher than the serfs, but too low for a woman of your status, the highest status. He would’ve been able to court a lady perhaps, like Michonne or Margaret, or any woman of noble birth, but not you. Certainly not you. 

So you willed the thoughts from your mind whenever they materialized, however they did so. The difficulty was in denying yourself the strange pleasure you felt from thinking of him, the longing. It was nearly unbearable to send those enchanting little shivers away, or to tear your gaze from him when you spotted him from a distance in the courtyard or the great hall. Oh, how you wished to allow yourself the thrill of thinking of him and his sweetness, his kindness, his devotion to you… But it was much too risky. 

What you didn’t know, though, was how he ached for you, too.

That very same evening, you’d been called to dinner with your father in the great hall, just as usual, but there was something on the king’s mind. His joviality was much more subdued, almost to the point of melancholy, but he kept his spirits up artificially. Smiles were propped up on crutches and laughs were haphazardly pieced together by glue. In fact, he hadn’t been himself for a while, but it was a gradual change in demeanor that seemed to evolve into a darker shade of blue as the days went by. 

There was much for him to be saddened by―the world was broken, he was indefinitely grieving the tragic loss of your mother, but these things had always been there since the Scourge began. No, this was something different, but you weren’t going to prod him, since it seemed that he himself wanted to display his usual image of jolly optimism.

As you poked at your generous helping of pheasant and turnips, the king talked at length about his plans for the upcoming annual jousting tournament, to which you simply nodded and interjected occasional brief acknowledgements. Noticing your lack of enthusiasm on the topic, he ventured to change the subject.

“I’ve been told you’ve fallen ill several times when I’m away,” he said, garnering your attention rather ungraciously as you bit your tongue in the midst of chewing on the tender game. As you dabbed your lips with your cloth serviette, he continued, his voice not coated in distrust or suspicion of your subterfuge, but drenched in fatherly concern. “Tell me, what seems to be the ailment, my dear? I could send for the apothecary… I’m concerned for you. I couldn’t bear to think…” His voice quivered before it trailed off into nothingness. Reaching across the surface of the wooden table, he grasped your hand. “Speak to me.”

What were you to say? Oh, father, I’m perfectly fine. In fact, I might be falling in love with a knight who is so graciously sneaking me out of the kingdom when you’re away! Or, if you continued the ruse, you were sure that the king’s apothecary would diagnose you with a typical case of hysteria, or perhaps a wandering womb. Perhaps both. A woman’s medical health was scarcely taken seriously, and besides, there was nothing wrong with you, anyway. If you were found to be hysteric, there was a chance you’d be married off immediately to whatever suitor was closest at hand. Afterall, the first and foremost remedy for a hysterical woman was sex with a man. Something about “sexual frustration” and the “healing properties of semen.” You weren’t entirely sure, as you’d put down that book on common medical ailments about as soon as you picked it up. It all seemed like hogwash to you.

“I’m fine, father,” you replied with a smile, though you still had to work up some kind of story to explain your illness. “It’s just… headaches.” That seemed to concern him more, though you were sure any description of symptoms would cause him worry. “It’s nothing serious. It’s probably just… foul air, or something of that sort. Nothing to worry about.”

You startled for a moment when a loud chuff from the tiger (yes, the tiger) at your father’s feet reverberated through you. “Oh!” you breathed, your hand holding your heart as you calmed. “Shiva… Father, may I feed her the rest of my pheasant? I’m full.”

The king seemed distracted now, his eyes roaming aimlessly towards the roaring fire of the hearth. “What? Oh, yes…” He pursed his lips to make a kissing sound at the cat, to which the great animal stood on its four feet. Her warm amber colored eyes followed his hand, which pointed towards you as you held out the game for the tiger. 

“Come here, my pet,” you cooed, having become quite accustomed to the exotic animal in your home. Ezekiel was never a conventional king, after all, and he took great care of Shiva, so why not keep her in the house? She was a beautiful creature, slyly slinking across the great hall with her prize after receiving a gentle pat between her ears from you. 

And now, you raised your eyes to look concerned at your father, whose behavior as of late worried you. “Now, won’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” Not only were you fretting for him, but it took the weight of your deception off your shoulders for a moment as you shifted the conversation to him. “You’ve been acting stranger than me. Is it…” The Saviors, you wanted to say, but you had to be careful, as the king must not know that you’d heard about the attacks, and that you’d known all this time that his trips were to meet with neighboring kingdoms to discuss what to do about the infamous Sir Negan and his band of violent plunderers. 

And, of course, there was the issue of… what you’d heard the man had wanted. You hadn’t heard word of this threat in months, not since you eavesdropped on your father’s conversation with the constable, but it hadn’t left your mind since. In fact, the only times you could forget about it were the times you spent close to Sir Daryl, who seemed to whisk you away on a new adventure each time you climbed on the back of his horse, holding tight to his waist and feeling the warmth of his broad back as you rested your chin happily upon his shoulder. His warm, earthy scent had lingered, too, as well as the feeling of his strong, brawny frame barely fitting in your arms’ grasp. 

Oh, yes. Father. “What is troubling you, father?”

In his heart, he knew you deserved to know, but he’d been dreading it until the last possible second, until he knew for sure whether or not the threat was completely legitimate, and not just some dramatic ramblings of a negligible ne’er-do-well. Now, though, it seemed that the threat of Sir Negan and the Saviors was very real, and very serious. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat as he straightened his back and narrowed his warm brown eyes to a dark, foreboding stare. Whatever he was about to say, you were half-certain you’d know what it would be, but that look on his face was not encouraging. Could it have been worse than what you’d already heard? Of course it could… It’s much more common for things to turn worse rather than better, you’d come to realize.

“There has been… something troubling me for quite some time, daughter. I―I was… not anticipating worrying you with the comings-and-goings in the kingdom. I always tried to keep such things off your mind, to not burden you with matters of petty crime or town gossip, but there’s…” He shifted again, a discomfort contorting his face as he tried to hold back a grimace. You’d never really seen such anger hidden behind his eyes, coming out so visibly. It made your heart race and your hand shake as you raised your goblet of cider to your lips. 

“My dear,” he sighed, “there’s peril in Alexandria. I must admit, I didn’t think it was this serious, but I’m afraid I can’t deny it any longer.”

A silence followed, torturing you as you waited for him to speak again. “Just tell me,” you said. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Please don’t give me to that man.

Knowing he was now left with the consequences of delaying his vague warnings, he inhaled deeply before speaking, his voice eerily calm, though you knew such a tone hid a terrible anxiety. 

“For the past four months,” he began, “the constable has been dealing with some… unsavory characters. They’re not from our kingdom, in fact, we do not know where they come from, other than a that it is a fortress known only as the Sanctuary… It’s a group of thugs. Racketeers, extortionists, thieves, whatever you want to call them. They’re led by a knight who calls himself Sir Negan.” At this point, he let out a heavy, deep huff. Even the mention of the man’s name seemed to disturb him. It certainly disturbed you, your body shivering as you inched closer and closer to the reveal of whatever terror was troubling the usually jovial king, and whatever news you were to receive regarding Sir Negan and his… desires.

“Sir Negan,” he continued, “he’s a very bad man… I won’t go into the details in front of you, because it’s surely nothing a lady needs to hear, but there is something you need to know.”

No, please… Please, father. 

In any other situation, the feeling of his warm hand cupping yours would’ve been welcome, but now, it only seemed like an attempt to reduce the blow of whatever terrible news you were about to receive. You felt as though your blood was rushing to your head, coagulating around the top. You blinked hard and sucked in strained, short breaths. 

To make matters worse, he drew out the heavy, unbearable silence of anticipation until the last possible second before he spoke again, finally relieving you of your anxiety, though you only felt like fainting when the words were fully processed by your dizzied mind. 

“He demands your hand in marriage.”

Pulling your hand away shakily you palmed your forehead, as if such a movement could possibly put an end to the incessant pounding. 

Though you knew this was coming, and you’d tried to prepare yourself to hear it for the past four months, you’d hoped that the knight would’ve been defeated, or he would’ve called off his threats when Alexandria’s militia cracked down on his men’s crime sprees, but no, this was not the case, and now you had to face the fact that this wasn’t just some idle threat or empty effort at intimidation, it was real, and it was getting closer. 

The king uttered your name a few times, but it was a blurred sound. Only when you blinked yourself back to reality did you process his words. “My dear…” He seemed near speechless, too, but his voice pulled through. “He’s left us numerous… messages, all of which threaten to seize the throne of Alexandria by force, unless I give you to him.”

But you wouldn’t, you thought. Please, father. You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t. 

This time, both of his hands reached out to form a cradle around yours. No longer was it a foreboding presence, but a comforting one. You raised your wet eyes to look at him, a small smile forming. How could he smile at a time like this? 

He squeezed your hands, then spoke in an almost dulcet, sentimental tone. “But I’d let this castle burn to embers before I would ever let a man like that take you away.”

Thank God!

“Oh, father,” you sighed in relief, though it was a short-lived comfort. The thought of your kingdom that you loved so much burning to the ground, or being ransacked and sieged by such scoundrels… It filled you with a rage and a fear and a sadness beyond anything you’d felt before. You didn’t know you could feel so hot, but your anger was prickling at your skin like the wild flames of a raging fire. “But… we cannot let them kill our people, take our kingdom. Can’t the constable form a battalion to fight them? This… sanctuary… If you know where it is, you could send a cavalry of your best knights to wipe them out, couldn’t you?”

“That’s the problem—we have no way of knowing where the Sanctuary is. We’ve tried capturing a Savior, interrogating him, but he was so loyal to Negan, even said he was Negan. They all say that—‘I’m Negan. We’re all Negan.’ All we know of Negan, besides his rather bold demands, is that he wields a spiked mace and wears black plate armor. Besides that, we know from neighboring kingdoms that they, too, have been weakened by the Saviors, and it appears that, if we tried to form a coalition against them, our combined defenses would not be enough to hold against them. Their numbers are great, and it’s only a matter of time before they stir up more trouble, which is why I’ve decided that you are to be accompanied from now on by a personal bodyguard, just in case.”

You perked up at that, back straightened and eyes staring wide at your father, not so much in shock, but in excitement, because you immediately had a particular knight in mind. 

“Of course, we’ll still be trying to get whatever information we can, following leads to see where this Sanctuary is, but first and foremost, I want my daughter to be safe, no matter what. Day and night. Always under the supervision of a bodyguard.”

Oh, please, father… Let me choose him. 

“Yes, father,” you replied with a nod, and a sweet smile, as you prepared yourself to beg on your knees to choose. Of course Sir Daryl would have to be your bodyguard, no question. You trusted him more than any of the king’s guards, and you were sure that every other knight in Alexandria paled in comparison to the gallantry of Sir Daryl of House Dixon. And besides, you felt safe with him. “Pray, who will you assign to be my bodyguard? Or will I be able to choose?”

The king raised a wiry gray eyebrow. “Oh… Well, I was thinking of assigning one of my guards, but is there someone in particular you had in mind?”

Trying not to appear too eager, you shrugged your shoulders as you picked up your fork to play with the leftover cold turnips on your plate. If you weren’t trying to remain nonchalant, you would’ve screamed his name to the heavens—Sir Daryl! 

“I’d like to think about it,” you said. “I will let you know soon. I’m rather spent. I think I’ll retire now.”

With an exchange of goodnights and I love you’s, you retreated to your quarters with a spring in your step, eager to next see Sir Daryl, and to ask him to be your protector, officially.

The wind stirred up a flurry of leaves in the distance, while a dark cluster of clouds began to converge above you. A single, featherlight droplet landed upon your cheek, but you only smiled up at the gray sky above you. It was good to feel the rain. Back at the keep, your father would never allow you to set foot into the courtyard in this weather for fear of you catching cold, and perhaps that made the rain all the more magical for you. Its forbiddenness only perpetuated your intrigue. 

When a chill wind made you visibly shiver, you were reminded of the knight’s presence as he draped his heavy wool cloak over your shoulders. “We should go back,” he said, his voice low and raspy. You’d grown so comforted by it, its scratchiness akin to the very same wool you felt tickling your fingers as you bundled yourself up. 

“Just a little while longer?” you asked. After a while, you’d begun to notice Sir Daryl was more accommodating to you when widened your eyes or spoke with a particular lilt. In fact, you couldn’t recall a recent time in which the man had said no to you. “Please?”

He bent his outstretched leg with a huff, resting his elbow upon his knee as he debated for a moment, knowing full well that your saccharine pleas were going to win out in the end anyway. In fact, he didn’t want to head back, either. He wanted to stay planted in this circle of overgrown grass, surrounded by the ancient standing stones that towered over the two of you, making you both feel so small, so unimportant. Somehow, it was a welcome relief for both of you, being in this world where status and circumstance didn’t seem to matter. 

Whatever fight was in him, it melted like an ice cube over an open flame when your lips curled into an effortless smile, your gaze directed at him, and only him. Just a little smile sent his way was enough to make him feel more special than any nobleman. So, he gave in, as he knew he would. He always did. 

“Just a little while,” he agreed, leaning back on his forearms to stretch out his legs once again. Closing his eyes, he held his face flat up to the sprinkling cloud above, with a slight upward tilt of his pleasantly hairy chin. You followed suit, leaning back to turn on your side and admire his profile—his short, snub nose, wispy brown hairs hanging unruly over his forehead and climbing over his cheeks like overgrown ivy. Somewhere in the darkness of his mop of wavy locks, there was a sliver of pale skin poking out, identifying his ear. It was one of the many small details of him you admired, and you found yourself wanting to outstretch your finger and just trace the helix of his ear, but your shyness overcame you, as it always did whenever you thought of touching him. Lately, you’d thought of touching him in places you’d never even seen drawings of before. Actually, you almost had no idea what to expect of those places, but you imagined them nonetheless.

“Daryl?” you asked, letting your head fall into the cradle of your arm as you tried to memorize this angle of him, just for your own pleasure. He was making you so selfish, in that everything he did was becoming an indulgence for you. 

“Hm?” he answered with a grunt. 

In a matter of moments, you had to actually think about what you were going to say. You hadn’t thought that far ahead, you just wanted to say his name. Maybe, in your subconscious, you really wanted to ask if he’d let you hold his hand. Your innocence wouldn’t let you do much more than that, but even that was more than you should’ve done. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Your breath shuddered when he turned to look at you, his eyes sleepy and soft. “Nothin’.” That was a lie. He’d been thinking about you, as he always did these days. He was thinking about all the things he was too afraid to do, and how he might’ve done them if only he could gather the strength to. 

“Nothing?”

“Nothin’.”

“That’s impossible,” you laughed, using your arm to prop yourself up until you were looking down on him. His eyes followed you curiously, and yours trailed down the buttons of his charcoal colored pourpoint. The garment was tight-fitting, hugging the man’s strapping frame. When your eyes reached his belt, you ripped your gaze away, back to his face. “How can one not think? I’m always thinking.”

“Just… wasn’t thinkin’ about anythin’ in particular. What were you thinkin’ about, then, princess?”

You. 

“Well, lots of things, like how it’s dangerous for us to be out here.”

“No shit,” he snickered playfully. Though you’d never really heard such language used in front of you before, you found it quite amusing when the knight cursed. 

“I mean, with the Saviors… Surely you’ve heard of them.”

“Mm, heard some talk about it.”

You wished you could've been so blissfully unaware enough to say you’d only heard “some talk.” You wondered just what kind of talk he’d heard, and if he knew of Negan’s plans. Only three nights ago had the king confirmed your worst fears, and it plagued your mind more than it had since the first you heard of it. That reminded you… At some point today, you’d have to work up the courage to ask the knight to be your bodyguard. Just how on Earth were you going to do that? 

“What did you hear?”

He felt the shiver in your voice, but it didn’t seem to be from the cold wind or raindrops. It came from inside you, and now, he grew a little worried, as if you knew something he didn’t. He sat up slowly, almost cautiously. “Not much, just that the constable was strengthening Alexandria’s defenses in case of an attack. Why? Did you hear something more?”

“Well… Yes. There’s more.” As you debated on whether or not to tell him of what troubled you so, you felt a tightening around your body. Daryl’s gloved hands were wrapping you more snugly in his cloak, to which you raised your head and smiled up at him. Without any words between you, he met your gaze, and offered a slight smile in return. “Thank you.”

“You seem cold…” he replied quickly, trailing off before clearing his throat. “And sad.” 

Actually, you were quite warm, but it was the sadness, and the fear, inside you that made you shiver. “I’m a bit melancholy. I… do not know if I should tell you what troubles me.”

He chewed his bottom lip while his brows furrowed in concentrated thought. He had to tread this territory carefully, knowing his position. Status dictated everything, from the food one ate to the clothes on one’s back. Despite how close he felt to you now, he couldn’t risk knowing too much of what he wasn’t entitled to know. But, then again, he’d already broken almost every rule in the book, all for your sake. If he decided that he could break yet another rule, just to alleviate the sadness in your heart, he’d find a way to forgive himself.

“Princess,” he said, the reiteration of your title having become somewhat of an affectionate pet name for you, now that most verbal social niceties were extinct between you two. “I don’t wanna… stick my nose where it don’t belong, but, if I may… You should know that you can tell me anything.”

“I can?” you replied, relief lighting up your face even at the idea of finally being able to tell someone of your worries. When you recalled the contents of what you were about to tell him, the color drained from your visage.

He only could focus on a few of the keywords, but they were the ones that melded together to fill his heart with dread—Sir Negan… demanding… hand in marriage. 

No, was his first thought, and it slowly morphed into a whirlwind of dizzied pleas that bounced off the walls of his head, directed towards whatever unseen force directed the universe and made his worst dream come true. For you to leave, to be taken against your will and to see the real evils of this world, that was something he hadn’t been able to quite fathom, though it plagued his mind whenever he remembered the risk of developing these feelings for you. He should’ve known all along that as soon as he allowed his inescapable tenderness for you to invade every nook and cranny of his heart, he’d have to face some kind of ache much greater than his fear of his affections going unrequited. No, this was much worse. The prospect of you getting hurt was beyond any other pain.

“But my father won’t let it happen,” you added, only slightly abating his worries. Still, he knew about men like this. They’d stop at nothing to get what they want, especially in a world where it’s just too easy to take. “But Sir Negan’s threats terrify me. I… wonder if it would be better for the kingdom, to spare so many lives, for my father to just—”

“No,” he interjected. “No, that’s not an option.”

As always, you were amused by his sudden boldness. “I do not want the kingdom to fall because of my father’s pride.”

“It’s not pride,” he replied. Never in a million years did he think he’d defend the decision of a monarch, and yet, here he was. “It’s the right thing to do. He loves you. No one should ever just give away someone they love.”

And then it hit him, his lips hanging open ever so slightly, chapped against the cold wind. Like the Red Sea, his mind diverged into two disparate voices, one that seemed to be his own, the other, some much more chivalrous caricature of himself.

First, his own voice choked out: I love you. 

The farcical knight replied, Shut your mouth, you lecherous fopdoodle. No you do not.

Yes, I do.

No, you do not. Lust. Do not lust in your heart after her beauty or let her captivate you with her eyes.

If you spit another useless bible verse at me, I’ll drill a hole in my head.

And, in a matter of milliseconds, the voice left, with only Daryl’s own inner voice there to come to terms with what his feelings really meant. 

I won’t let anyone have her.

With night came the usual routine—Daryl thought of some distraction to occupy the guards before he escorted you back to your chambers. This time, his cautiousness led him to latch your windows shut himself, and to leave a freshly sharpened knife upon your bedside table. 

It only reminded you again of what you’d yet to ask of him. 

“Daryl?” you said, halting him in his tracks just as he was about to take his leave. “May I ask something of you, if I haven’t asked too much of you already?”

Before he turned back to face you, he smiled sweetly to himself, a smile he had to hide from you, lest he seem too eager to serve you, but, oh, he was. He lived to serve you now. Not the duke, not the king, not even God—not anyone else but you. 

“Yes, milady?” he replied formally. It almost threw you for a loop, the way he could swing so effortlessly between decorum and familiarity. “And don’t give me another shiny thing.”

Actually, you weren’t even sure if you had any more shiny things to give to him, since you’d given him a different piece of jewelry each time he returned you home safely. “No,” you replied with a chuckle under your breath. “It isn’t that. I actually wanted to ask… Well, my father says I must choose someone to be my personal bodyguard, and…” Swallowing hard, you shrugged your shoulders as a girlish bashfulness overcame you. Unbecoming behavior for a princess, your etiquette instructor would’ve said. “You make me feel safe.”

The voice inside his head returned for a split second, just to frantically reiterate what he’d said earlier: I love you I love you I love you I—

“And I know you’ve done so much for me already that it’s terribly ungracious of me to ask you to do such a thing, and you are under absolutely no obligation to say yes, but—”

“I’ll be your bodyguard.” Indeed, he was sure he would not be able to handle the idea of any other man protecting you in such a... thorough way.

“Oh?” You sighed as the tightness escaped from your diaphragm. “Oh, Daryl, thank you. I don’t think I could ever repay you for anything you’ve done for me.” But how you wished you could, in ways that your innocent mind couldn’t have even fully fathomed. Your heart and your body, however, knew all too well. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said bluntly. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”

But you could still give him something. Not jewelry, but something that symbolized much more than that. 

The sparkle of the flame that reflected against the steel of the knife upon your bedside table attracted your attention as your mind instructed you to cross the room and take the blade in your hands. Strange, you’d never held a knife before. Well, only steak knives. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” asked the knight. “I said I’d do it.”

“I am not going to kill you, sir,” you laughed, crossing back over to him with your other arm outstretched, the long, flared sleeve of your scarlet houppelande hanging most elegantly before him. “Hold my sleeve, if you please.”

The knight’s gaze turned characteristically suspicious, with narrowed eyes studying your almost mischievous face. After all, you’d never done anything like this before. “Why?”

“Just hold my sleeve… Keep it steady.”

Cautiously, he took the end of the fabric between his calloused fingers. It was soft, like everything about you. Luxurious silk of this kind was truly hard to come by, and he almost feared he’d ruin it just with one touch. 

As you raised your dominant hand, the one that held the knife, he began to worry. “Careful with that thing,” he said, following the blade with his eye as you raised it to your sleeve, just below your arm. His confusion at your actions was overwhelmed by his irrational fear that you’d cut yourself. 

As the long vermillion shard of your sleeve fell to the floor, he nearly let out a gasp. “Now why the hell did you do that, woman? This some kind of new fashion statement?”

“No!” you laughed, bending over to retrieve the fallen garment. With the knife now replaced on your nightstand, your delicate fingers worked to fold the piece of fabric into a triangular shape. Despite his suspicions, he didn’t dare assume he knew what you were doing, until he did. “Ahem… Sir Daryl of House Dixon, oh gallant knight, will you accept this favor, and be my champion?”

If he hadn’t been frozen in awe and confusion, he might’ve laughed at your sudden formality, but you seemed serious. “What?”

That response almost stripped you of all your shaky confidence. Almost. “Have you never accepted a lady’s favor?”

Never been given one. 

“I, uh… Why?”

“Why what?” you laughed.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

You rolled your eyes, as to you it was obvious. Who else would you give a favor to? Besides, he was the only knight you knew well enough to do so. 

“Because a lady always bestows her favor upon her favorite knight.”

He swore he could feel every nerve in his body twitch and tighten with every second he replayed that word in his mind. Favorite. He was sure that in all his life, he’d never been anyone’s favorite anything.

“So, will you accept?”

Words were never the knight’s strong suit. At times, he found actions to be much easier for him to communicate through, and this seemed to be one of those times. 

He wasn’t sure of the official ceremony, or if there even was one, but he was already a bit weak in the knees anyway, so he decided to let himself kneel before you, hand held out to accept your favor. 

Only three words persisted in his head when you delicately bestowed the red sleeve upon his palm: I love you. 

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 2: Me, Who Was Once Serene

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of a deceased parent, very mild angst/sadness ❧ Word Count: 6.6k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: You work up the courage to ask the knight for his help in escaping the castle for a day outside the walls, but his response is not quite what you were hoping for. Just when it seems that all hope of freedom is lost, the knight surprises you, and you surprise the knight, too.

❧ A/N: Well I was not intending for this to become an enemies to lovers thing, but it kind of did lol. I mean, it's very mild enemies to lovers, but it still counts. I really loved writing this chapter because it's sort of the first interaction between the princess and the knight (aka Daryl). And I must say that I have so much fun writing Duke Richard. He is a total fuckboy in this series, which is not too far off from the actual character in the show considering Rick gets quite a bit of action and is kind of a manwhore. I love his relationship with Daryl too. Rickyl if you squint. Anyway, enjoy the second part! <3

“I won’t do it, your highness!” said Elizabeth, shaking her head as she pulled back the covers of your bed. “It’s just wrong.”

“Please, Beth,” you said, turning her away from her duties to grab her hands in a pleading motion. “I beg of you, not as your princess, but as your friend.”

The tight-lipped young woman shook her head more fervently this time. Her cheeks were still red from the moment you’d asked her to do this favor, which you knew was, as she had said, wrong. 

Wrong, but you were desperate. Desperate to leave the castle, desperate to get away from these drab stone walls and these lonely, sorrowful nights. If you had to be lonely, at least you could be lonely out there, where surely there was some kind of happiness. If happiness wasn’t here, it was out there, and you needed to find it. It wasn’t going to come to you, it needed to be earned, you surmised. 

Sure, there was evil out there. There was pestilence and murder and lies and deceit, but there was beauty, too. There must’ve been something worthwhile, something to make all that pain in the world worth it. And now, knowing what you knew, you needed something to keep your mind off… Sir Negan. 

That very same morning, you’d overheard the man’s threat, his demand for your hand in marriage, otherwise he’d have his knights pillage Alexandria until there was nothing left of your home. The words of that filthy missive echoed all around you as your weak legs carried you away from the door, your dizzied head commanding you towards your bedchamber to fling your vulnerable body onto your featherbed, where you’d confined yourself as you prayed for today to be just a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.

Escape, escape, your mind’s voice repeated. Just for a day… The knight, Sir Daryl… He could help! He will help! Surely, he’ll help.

When the cover of night fell over the kingdom, you seized your opportunity. Elizabeth always came in at this time, and no one would suspect her. 

“I—I’m sorry, your highness,” she said. “But I can’t. I cannot bring a strange man to your bedchamber in the dead of night. It’s improper, unseemly, unbecoming… What on Earth would someone think if they saw him leaving your chamber? Nothing good! Besides… What do you want with him, anyway?”

“Nothing improper!” you replied quickly, eager to dispel any ideas Elizabeth might’ve had. “I assure you, it’s just to…” You had been reluctant to inform Elizabeth of your plans, but you supposed she was close to you, having had intimate knowledge of you and your every movement. She would need to know, but just her. Just her and the knight. “Well, I suppose I should tell you, Beth. I plan to ask him to escort me outside the kingdom.”

The young girl’s deep blue eyes widened like saucers, her lips parting as she let out a strangled gasp. “No, no your highness. You mustn’t go out there.” She tightened her hold of your hands as she held them up in a praying motion. “The Dead are out there.” She spoke with a whisper now, as if afraid of her own words, so much so that she didn’t even want to hear them. 

“That’s why I need him,” you assured her. “I need a guard, someone to protect me.”

“And… and you’d never return?”

“No, no! Of course I’d return. I just need to leave at least once, just to remember what it’s like out there. Even if it’s not like how it used to be, it’s what I want.” 

Elizabeth began to mutter and ramble in panicked, barely intelligible pleas. She nearly bent down on her knees, her hands still clasped with yours, begging for you not to leave. Though you understood her fear, you grew tired of her refusal. This was all you’d ever asked of her. Most days, you refused her servitude, offering her ample time to her studies and her friends at court, but tonight, you needed one thing. 

“Elizabeth,” you said, more sternly now. There weren’t many times you used your authority as a princess to demand something, and your heart hurt having to do it, but this was all you wanted—your freedom. “Fetch me the knight. I won’t have these histrionics.” You tugged your hands away from the girl, then turned to your vanity, upon which sat an ornate golden little casket, holding just a sampling of your finest jewelry. You’d caught Elizabeth eying the precious gems more than once, and you took note of how much she asked about the beautiful bejeweled accessories adorning your body.  

There was one in particular you knew she adored—a short beaded necklace of white diamonds surrounding a center pendant of emerald entwined with an intricate filigree of pure gold. It would no doubt sell for a pretty penny, or she could wear it herself. It was of no consequence to you. All you wanted was to see that knight.

“Beth,” you said, approaching the girl with the necklace laced around your fingers. Her already pale face blanched in awe of the sparkling jewels, those which she had seen so often but had never seen not around your neck. “I give you this, in exchange for bringing the knight here. I’ll even give it to you before, just please… Please do this for me.”

“But… what if I get caught?”

“I’ll take responsibility, Beth. Please.” Not waiting for her answer, you took her trembling hand to dangle the string of rare gems into her soft palm. You curled her fingers around it, assuring her that the jewels were, indeed, hers, with the hopes that she’d follow your orders. 

The girl shook her head, but you recognized that sigh—a sigh of acquiescence. 

She left the room in a hurry, her dainty feet almost tripping over each other in a nervous panic. You just hoped she didn’t trip over herself in front of the stoic knight, lest she embroil you in secondhand embarrassment.

But, in a way, you were already ashamed by your boldness, something that had never come naturally to you. Perhaps that’s why you couldn’t approach the knight yourself, but if you had done it yourself, you might’ve been more ashamed. As you waited, you paced restlessly around your bedchamber, twisting your hair so much that the movement only strengthened the scent of your hair, dusted with the powder of dried rose, nutmeg, and cloves. It was a brief respite from your unease, but as the door creaked open steadily, propped open by Elizabeth’s shaky hand, you seemed to forget how to breathe on your own. Each intake of air became purposeful and voluntary as you became aware of every pound of your racing heart. Why you reacted so potently, you couldn’t be quite sure, though it must’ve had to do with how the knight was scowling at you, entering your room with slow, heavy steps that would’ve shaken the gold chandelier overhead if he was just a bit bigger.

You’d never been so frightened in your own chamber, and you knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but there was still this intimidation that overcame you, leading you to hesitantly side-step around the knight before you began to close the door behind him with a careful, delicate touch. Elizabeth stood on the other side, wide-eyed and wordlessly communicating her own fear to you. Then, she muttered a weak, stuttering, “Y-your highness—”

“Go to your quarters,” you replied quietly. The girl stood still, staring blankly at the knight over your shoulder. You could only feel his presence now, and it was oppressive, warying. The man hadn’t spoken a word, and yet, you already knew his repulsion, his distaste for having been brought here. But… why would he come? Surely there was room in his heart to help you. “Now, Beth.”

You watched from the crack of the door as she left, her blue-eyed gaze turning back to you every now and then as she scurried away towards the servants’ quarters. Her worry for you was greatly appreciated, but also quite irritating, considering you were almost ten years older than her. At least she was loyal, you supposed. Now, the knight…

With a sigh, you turned to face him. Still as a statue, and cold as one, too. You hoped your smile would soften him, so you allowed your lips to curl into a gentle grin. “Good evening, Sir Daryl.”

In the warm flickering light of your bedroom, without the distraction of the duke and your father, you were able to more keenly study his features. He appeared to be more noble than you remembered, but with a certain… provincial charm. Indeed, he didn’t possess the sharp, narrow features you normally associated with knights. His face was wider than most, but with high cheekbones that weren’t severe, but rounded, and yet still defined somehow. He had a strong chin, but not as strong as the duke’s. It was subtle, wide, making his face a well-proportioned oval shape. Upon that chin were a smattering of ashy brown hairs that formed a very faint ring of wiry stubble around his lips of pale rosy pink. To match were his furrowed brows, indicating an expression of confused concentration as he studied your movements carefully.

He looked, if you were being honest, like a peasant, his warm-toned skin tanned from sun exposure and his eyes underscored by half-moons of tired, puffy skin. It was charming, though. Everything about him was quite charming, in his own little way. 

But he was cold and rigid, wound up tighter than a tourniquet. Even your friendly words of welcome seemed to do little to calm him. He didn’t respond, only narrowed his crystalline blue eyes as you walked towards him, your steps slow and careful, as if approaching a wild animal caught in a trap. 

“Well, you’re probably wondering why I sent for you,” you spoke, your attempts to remain dignified faltering slightly as your voice shook under his intense gaze. Few things had this effect on you, certainly not a knight. “I, um—ahem, I have a favor to ask of you.”

His eyes trailed for a moment down to your delicate fingers, almost completely covered by the long, flared sleeves of your gown, its color a rich violet that glimmered indigo when the light fell over the luxurious velvet fabric. It would’ve enchanted him, had he not been skeptical of you, your intentions still unclear. 

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, not wanting to engage with you more than he needed to. 

The brusque response was foreign to you. You were so taken aback that you felt your feet begin to stagger backwards, as if the force of his indelicateness was physically strong enough to push you. It wasn’t what you had expected from the knight in the slightest. He seemed… irritated. No one spoke to you like that, not ever.

“Well, I—I…” Stuttering? Why are you stuttering? “I just wanted to ask if… I wanted to ask if you would…” 

The knight stepped forward, each heavy breath he drew making your heart beat faster. You felt small, weak. Again, this was foreign to you. Usually, you had complete control of your surroundings. Is this what the real world was like? Harsh and cold? That’s what the knight represented to you, after all—the real world. That’s what drew you to him. He was the embodiment of that, and who better to help you?

“What?” the knight insisted. “You bring me here in the dead of night to stutter at me?”

How dare you!

But alas, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. That stare was haunting, and you were sure that you wouldn’t soon forget it. 

“Would you… escort me outside the kingdom?”

He stepped back. This time, your words had blown him away. “What?” he asked, his tone less questioning and more… accusing. 

It wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for. Yes, your highness was the expectation, and you hadn’t prepared yourself for rejection. At least, not adequately. 

“I—I haven’t been outside the castle in ten years,” you explained quickly, hoping not to lose the knight’s attention. “I want to go outside, just for a day, or—or a few days, not all at once, and only when my father is gone, and we’d be back before nightfall. You’ll be at court for a while, and you see, I couldn’t ask a guard because they’re so loyal to my father, they’d tell him. And you… Well, I hope you won’t tell him. You must know the outside world very well, since you live on the outskirts of Alexandria. And I already thought of a way out—there are tunnels that run under the castle and come out in the woods. Escape routes, in case of a siege…” 

Your long-winded, hurried speech trailed off as you stared blankly at his concentrated eyes. You couldn’t read his expression now, but it was cold. Just looking at him made you cold. God forbid you touch him—it would leave you with frostbite.

“Knight?” you questions shakily, tilting your head as if to find another angle to study his face. At every angle you tried, he still confounded you. “Please answer me, I beg of you. Spare me the embarrassment.”

Just as you didn’t know what to make of him, he didn’t know what to make of you. A princess, wanting to go outside? Wanting to see the pestilence that had overrun the world, turning it into some decrepit wasteland teeming with restless souls in the shape of rotting corpses that roamed the Earth in search of nothing but more flesh to feed upon? Who in their right mind would want to see such a thing? 

No, he couldn’t wrap his head around it, and in his irritable state, he couldn’t shake these spiteful thoughts from his mind. Spoiled brat, he thought. Spoon-fed and ignorant. 

When he didn’t answer, only stewing in his own thoughts of dismay, you circled around him to rummage through the drawer of your nightstand. In it was a secret velvet-lined compartment, holding your most prized jewels. A pair of genuine pearl earrings, dangling from gold encrusted amethysts. It had worked on Elizabeth, why wouldn’t it work on the knight? Of course, he didn’t look the sort to wear precious jewels, but he did look the sort to value money, and these were worth a great deal at any merchant or jeweler. 

“Here,” you said, turning to hold out your hand. The knight’s eyes glimmered with the reflection off the refined amethysts, but you were too afraid to touch him, to hand him the jewels by force the way you had with Elizabeth. He was much more intimidating, so much so that you feared he’d crush your hand in his large, strong ones if you dared to touch him. 

“These are worth at least three pounds. They should more than cover your expenses to help me, and there’s more where that came from.”

You held your hand out further, gesturing for him to take the jewelry from you, but he did nothing. In fact, his face seemed to tighten, his lips drawn in a severe line as his pupils became like pinpoints the way they were boring through you. 

But, finally, he spoke. “No way in Hell.”

There was more he wanted to say, of course. There was always more he wanted to say, but he’d already been less than chivalrous towards you, and if he said much else, he might end up with his head on a chopping block. 

He pushed past you, your hand trembling as you were left with the pair of earrings still resting in your palm. Before he could leave, you turned and hurried towards him, taking his hand to pull his body back to face you. In the process, your earrings clattered delicately to the ground. 

“Please!” you begged, just one step closer to getting on your knees and groveling. “You’re the only one who can help me! I—I can’t go out there alone, and I need to go out there.”

For a moment, he met your eyes. They were full and watery, your long lashes fluttering frantically as you tried to hide your sorrow for fear of embarrassment, but how could you embarrass yourself much more than you already had? Begging a knight. The behavior was unseemly. 

But his gaze soon ripped away, like a splinter being dislodged from flesh, only there was no relief, just pain. “You wanna go out there?” he retorted, his reddened, strained face jutting towards you. His voice was so loud, so guttural and rough. No one had ever spoken to you like that. “You wanna see the Dead up close, see what they do to people? They’d rip you to shreds, your highness. They’d leave you to rot in the dirt till your eyes open back up, but you won’t be alive, you’ll be a monster, just like them, and those shiny jewels won’t be able to help you then. No, there ain’t nothin’ out there. All there is for you is death.”

Rendered silent, you only stepped back, away from him. He left you stunned and hurt, but the only emotion at the forefront of your mind was anger, and it took control of your tongue before anything else could. 

“How dare you,” you muttered, voice slowly rising much higher than its natural softness. “To speak to a lady like that, much less a princess… Where did you take your oath of chivalry, a brothel?! You ought to have your title stripped, Sir! I ask you earnestly to assist me, to help bring me some kind of joy in this miserable place, and you speak to me like this?! You’re a sorry excuse for a knight!”

“And you don’t know how good you got it, princess.”

He left with a slam of the door, so hard that the flames of the sconces on either side shivered and nearly extinguished from the gust of wind. With less hope than you’d ever had before, you cried yourself to sleep again.

The king’s garden was magnificent, the knight had to admit. It wasn’t overly manicured or pruned, but it wasn’t overgrown, either. It looked… healthy, lush and green. Ivy grew in large bushes and creeped up the stone walls that separated the castle from the outside world. Tall, colorful hollyhocks towered over the smaller foliage, namely rose bushes and Canterbury bells. Their unruly, yet delicate, leaves spilled over into one of the many ponds spread about the courtyard, where two graceful white swans swam languidly between lilypads, one following the other. 

Daryl recalled the king saying something earlier, how he always had the cooks serve swan meat at his annual banquet, but not these swans, no. These swans were special, their wings clipped to stay confined to the idyllic garden, safe from the jaws of the Dead. Still, the knight couldn’t shake the desperation in your voice last night, the tears that began to trickle down your soft, rouged cheek as you pleaded for him to help you. Like one of the king’s swans, you were trapped, he knew that.

He didn’t regret his response, though. Well, he regretted his harshness, his lack of chivalry, but he was never good at chivalry. Sorry excuse for a knight, you’d said. You weren’t entirely wrong, as far as he was concerned. 

He never wanted it. Knighthood was a universal boyhood dream, but few ever amounted to that status. Even the nobility who tried would have to prove themselves for many years, but for Daryl, the odds were stacked against him from the start. Somehow, he was given this title, without much of a choice. If one is presented with a title, one must take it. Who was he to deny the king’s judgment? He became a knight, took the oath, made a promise to a god he wasn’t sure he even believed in. Sorry excuse for a knight indeed. 

“This place is like a dream,” remarked Richard, walking ahead of Daryl on the cobbled path as he admired the marble statue of a woman nestled in the corner of the garden. She looked regal, with a bejeweled crown sitting gracefully atop the wimple that shrouded her noble features. Climbing up her gown were delicate vines of dark green ivy.

When the duke couldn’t feel the knight’s presence, he turned to see him focused on the white swans, the birds’ heads now touched together in a kind of embrace. “Daryl?” Richard called back. The nobleman walked back to the knight, who seemed entranced by the swans. “I know sulking is sort of your specialty, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ponder so intently over waterfowl.” 

Daryl blinked his eyes away from the swans, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry, my liege. I was… distracted.”

The duke tilted his head and raised his brow. “You’ve been distracted all day. It’s not like you. You’ve tripped over your cloak twice… I beat you in archery this morning, and you’re usually always so good with the arbalest…. Plenty of beautiful women here. Is there a maiden that catches your eye?”

“No,” Daryl replied quickly, much more loudly than usual. “No, no, that’s not it. I’m just…”

The knight trailed off, his usually crystal clear eyes of blue turning a bit vague, as if clouded by his thoughts. “Daryl?”

“Yes?”

“You’re just… what?”

He shook his head again, dismissing the subject. In his heart, though, he knew what it was—guilt. Exhausting, confounding, nauseating guilt. Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw your hand outstretched to give him those earrings, the likes of which he’d never seen before. He’d seen wealthy women before—Lady Lorraine, Richard’s late wife, was always dressed nicely, adorned in fine jewels, but nothing like this. And to think, the princess was willing to just give these precious items to a knight? 

It presented Daryl with two different explanations. One, you were so spoiled, so ungrateful for your wealth, that the worth and craftsmanship of these trinkets meant nothing to you, that you were ignorant of their value because you could have anything in the world that you wanted. Or two, you were so desperate to get out of this kingdom that you were willing to give a stranger your most valuable possessions. He wasn’t sure which explanation would’ve comforted him more, but he was sure of one thing—you knew not what you asked of him. 

And how was he to tell the duke the cause of his distraction? Of course, Richard was a trusted friend, but if he told the king that his knight entered the princess’s bedchamber, he was sure he’d be banished from court at best, drawn and quartered at worst. 

But Daryl never held anything secret from his lord. He might not have always abided by the knights’ code of conduct, but when it came to honesty, he held it above all else. 

The knight looked around anxiously for a moment, then grabbed a hold of the duke’s forearm to lead him towards the marble statue in the corner of the garden, where surely no guards or groundskeepers or molecatchers would hear their conversation. 

“Last night,” Daryl spoke, his voice hushed and low, “the princess… called for me. In her quarters.”

Richard raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a slight smirk. “Did you answer her call?”

The knight scoffed at the man’s suggestion. “Yes, but—”

“You knave!” Richard laughed. “I knew she was eying you the other night. Far more interested in you than me. I’d love to ask what it was like, but a gentleman never inquires about a lady’s… bedroom habits.”

The knight shook his head in vehement denial. “No, no, that’s not what happened. She called me to her chambers to… ask me if I’d escort her outside the walls.”

Richard’s smile drooped into a frown, his cheerful eyes turning from a happy squint to a concerned stare. “Oh, that’s quite serious, then, isn’t it?”

The knight nodded. “Yes, it’s serious. She offered me jewels… She even started to cry. Christ, I could’ve sworn she would’ve gotten down on her hands and knees and begged me.”

“What did you do?”

“I said no.” Well, he said more than that, but his honesty had its limits, even for the duke. “I couldn’t do that, not with the king’s law. No one leaves unless they have his word, and he’d never let that girl out, not even if she asked.”

“That’s why she asked you,” Richard pointed out. “Hasn’t been out in ten years… Not since the queen died.” He gestured towards the statue, the monument erected in honor of the late queen, your mother. 

It hadn’t even occurred to him, the reasons why you weren’t allowed to leave, even if you asked. He knew the queen had died, but he didn’t know how. 

“How did she die?” asked the knight.

Richard shot him a confused glance, almost of disbelief. “You don’t know?” Daryl responded with only a shake of his head and a brief grunt. “Well, I heard it was very bad. The Dead got her. When the Scourge first broke out, the Dead got in the walls somehow, overrun the castle. The keep was swarmed. All I know is, they ripped her to shreds.”

Those words nearly knocked the wind out of him—ripped her to shreds. He remembered uttering those same words to the princess last night, as a warning, but it came across almost as a threat. 

They’d rip you to shreds. 

What a horrible thing he’d said. He realized it now, and when he thought back to your face, he could see the same face in that solemn marble statue, staring down at him, castigating him.

“The king was devastated, of course,” Richard continued. “When the hoard was cleared, he shut the kingdom’s gates, writing the law that states only those with his permission can leave or enter. And the castle… That was closed off for good. He wouldn’t risk the gates even opening again, for fear that the Dead would somehow slip through, and his daughter would suffer that same fate.”

He pondered for a moment, having been pulverized by this new sense of guilt that completely eclipsed whatever shame he already suffered from. This was much worse. In his heart, he began to feel sympathy, something he’d never thought he’d feel for a royal. Why should he sympathize with those born with a silver spoon? 

But he knew what it felt like. He’d lost his mother at a much younger age, but the memory still chilled him to the bone. She died horribly, too, from a terrible sweating sickness. It must’ve been worse for you, he thought, having been much older, and much more likely that the memory would be potent. 

It struck him so deeply that he knew he wouldn’t be able to find peace with his decision. After several moments of chaotic thoughts, riddled with voices from all different directions inside his head, he came to a conclusion—help the princess. 

“Milord,” he began, his eyes not yet looking the duke in the eye, “what if I… did decide to help her?”

Richard tilted his head, as if to gauge whether or not the knight was serious. He was. “Well, I… think it’s pretty damn stupid.” Daryl couldn’t help but agree. “If you get caught, you’ll be hanged. My reputation will be destroyed. The princess will never see the light of day again.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t?”

The duke raised a brow, a hint of a smile forming in his lips. “I never said that.”

The light, muffled patter at the door was hardly enough to awaken you, but when it became more rushed, heavier, you blinked open your tired eyes to look up at the familiar ornate wood carving of your canopy. It was a curious occurrence, since no one ever came to your bedchamber at night, not until last night, that is. But in that case, you’d invited him. Tonight, you weren’t expecting anyone. 

In fact, you hadn’t spoken to anyone all day, lost in your thoughts and dreading the reality of your situation. Not only were you trapped, you felt more worry than usual. The so-called Saviors and their leader, Sir Negan, were on your mind, to the point that you couldn’t even attend your tutoring session with Eugene. No, everything was so wrong, and the brief flame of hope that Sir Daryl’s presence had sparked in you was extinguished.

With the strike of a match, you lit up the candlestick upon your bedside table, and scooped up a bundle of your ivory silk nightgown to tread lightly across the cold wood planks of your bedroom floor. 

“Beth?” you whispered against the door. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” a gruff, guttural voice replied. 

Your eyes grew dry as you stared blankly at the doorknob, your mouth hanging open as you registered the situation—the knight was at your door. 

A deep huff from the other side alerted you from your slight stupor. “C’mon, I don’t got all day.”

Wordlessly, you twisted the lock and unlatched the chain to open the door, through which the knight hurriedly pushed past you, entering your bedchamber with another huff. 

“Do you know how much trouble I’d get in if one of those guards out there caught me knockin’ on your door? I’d be a dead man.” he asked, his voice nearly loud enough to reach a perilous volume. Indeed, a man knocking on a maiden’s bedchamber door at the stroke of midnight was not becoming. It became punishable by death when the maiden in question was a princess.

You held your shaky finger to your lips, your other hand still holding the flickering candlestick, illuminating his serious face. “Shh!” you replied. “What are you doing here?”

He was asking himself that same question, but he mulled it over in his head enough times to know that he wasn’t going to change his mind now. Whatever compelled him, he chalked it up to pity. He knew, though, that there was more to it—empathy. 

No one hated being trapped more than him. He figured if he was in your situation, he would’ve tried to break out of here a long time ago. Not even the worldly comforts nor earthly delights of this castle could compare to the feeling of freedom, and that was something he valued above all else in this world. 

But, to answer your question, he skipped over a few of the sentences he had rehearsed in his head on the way here. “When am I taking you?”

You stepped back, almost so far that the glow of your candle nearly abandoned his face altogether. For a moment, his heart sank, thinking your expression of shock was indicative of some kind of fear. Did he frighten you? Were you offended by him? More importantly, why would he even care?

But you weren’t frightened. Well, maybe a little, as the reality of this situation kicked in. The dream was getting closer to becoming tangible, no longer just a vision that held your thoughts hostage at every waking hour, and every hour you slept, too. You had become so accustomed to the dream being just a dream, but now, that dream was, in a way, standing right in front of you. 

“Tak-taking… taking me where?” You knew, but you couldn’t believe it. 

“Outside…” He noticed your glimmering eyes drifting towards your feet like two falling stars, fizzling out as your eyelids prevented him from knowing whether or not there were tears forming. “I… I’m sorry. For what I said.”

Your eyes lifted in response to his words. Words that almost sounded foreign to him, but they were sincere. You could tell, somehow. And yet, his words from yesterday had been ingrained in you, crystal clear. They were sharp enough to cut through bone, loud enough to be heard from the heavens, sorrowful enough to drag through your gut like a funeral procession. But, with all the time you had to repeat those words back in your head, you’d come to the conclusion that he was right. 

“But what you said, it’s true. I shouldn’t have come to you with this. It was selfish, ignorant. I know that now. You shouldn’t risk your life for my whims.”

To that, he could only reply, “That’s bullshit.”

You blinked hard in disbelief. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“That’s ridiculous,” he reiterated. He wasn’t about to argue the logistics or morality of this agreement, he simply wanted this conversation to end as soon as it began. Otherwise, he was sure he’d get cold feet. “Now, you gonna tell me when I’m taking you out or not?”

It was a slow development, but soon, your plush lips began to upturn into a smile. It wasn’t like the one you’d shown for the duke. It was genuine, formed by true delight, with still just a glint of disbelief and slight fear in your eyes. 

“Well, I happen to know that a week from today, my father is leaving for some important meeting. That would be the perfect time.”

The knight of few words only nodded, his face that of stone. “A’right… A week from today, early morning. Be ready.” Your heart dropped as he turned to leave, his gloved hands lifting the dark hood of his cloak over his head. 

“Wait!” you called out in a whispered yell. Without hesitation, you retrieved from your nightstand that same pair of earrings he’d so brazenly rejected the night before. Though you were now quite frightened to approach him with the jewels, you simply had to repay him in some way for the joy he’d given you, and this was all you had. 

His eyes trailed to the sparkling gems cradled in your delicate, noticeably unsullied hands. Though the gesture had offended him at first, he looked up to see the genuine thanks in your face. You weren’t ungrateful, as he’d thought. You were kind, the type of thing so many people out in the world you so desperately wanted to see would take advantage of. He couldn’t be one of those people.

“I… I know these jewels are meaningless to you,” you said softly, “but they mean a great deal to me, and I want you to know that… this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

This time, you did what you were too afraid to do last night—you unfurled his tight fist to lay open his palm, upon which you carefully placed the earrings. He could only inspect your face, as if searching for some kind of hidden agenda, but deep down, he knew it was useless. There wasn’t anything hidden—you wore your heart on your sleeve. You were true, and, above all else, Daryl knew your heart was full of virtue.

His eyes turned down in a flash, though, when your gaze met his. He instead admired the handiwork of the earrings, how much thought had gone into each minute detail. In some deep part of him, he wondered how they had looked on you, but that thought was quickly dissolved when you spoke again, with that voice of velvety honey.

“And if you find the monetary value not to your liking, you could always give them to your lady.”

He swallowed hard, his hand still laying flat and suspended in midair. “I have no lady, your highness.”

Your breath hitched. It was a dainty little breath, the kind only princess would make, of course. “Oh… Well, perhaps you could give them to a lady you admire, or anyone who would cherish them as much as I have.”

A swirl of some foreign feeling meandered in his stomach. Though he couldn’t quite identify the feeling, he could only describe it as sweet. 

“I cannot accept these,” he rasped, jutting his hand a little towards you. “Besides, knights shouldn’t take payment from ladies.”

You almost let out a chuckle at that, the knight who’d already broken just about every chivalric law in regards to women was now suddenly a paragon of virtue. But it appeared he was quite serious, and you weren’t about to ruin your chances of seeing the outside world by laughing in your escort’s face.

“Don’t see it as a payment,” you replied, “but a gift, to do with what you like. In any case, I command you to take them.”

A small chill ran up his spine, which astounded him. No woman, and hardly any men, had provoked such an intimidation within him. He closed his hand over the jewels, carefully tucking them into the pocket of his cloak.

“Now, go,” you ordered. “Till next we meet, knight.”

That very same night, Sir Daryl retreated to his quarters with a lighter step than he had had on the way to your chamber. The relief he felt was enough to render him satisfied with his ultimate decision to assist you, though he knew the consequences of being found out were great.

In the dim light of a lone lantern sitting atop his chest of drawers, the knight stripped himself of his lightly padded gambeson, the knots of which descending vertically down his torso. His tired fingers unlaced each knot mindlessly, his thoughts occupied elsewhere, though he himself was uncertain of their exact whereabouts.

With his shirts removed, he turned back the blankets atop his modest bed, fit for a knight. Just as he was about to settle in, the shadow of his cloak hanging upon a hook behind the door reminded him of the glimmering treasures inside.

Her earrings.

Now, what on Earth was he going to do with earrings?

Well, he’d thought about selling them, as you said, but it truly was against his own code of honor. In any case, he didn’t need the money—he was well-off enough to live comfortably on his lord’s land. 

And he had no one to give them to, no maiden he wanted to woo or mother he wanted to impress. As he turned the crystalline objects around in his hand, he found himself entranced by their beauty. A part of him couldn’t believe he was holding in his hands such valuable items, but another part, a quieter, more subdued part, was just thinking about how those earrings had been worn by the most beautiful woman in Alexandria, perhaps beyond.

He wasn’t immune to your beauty. It was the kind of beauty that left no survivors. It didn’t carry a misericorde to slay a suffering victim and spare him the agony left in its wake. No, this kind of beauty was ruthless, vicious, merciless. While you yourself were none of those things, not in the slightest, your beauty was a worse torture than a Judas cradle or a Catherine wheel. That was how unrelenting it was.

That all being said, it wasn’t a terrible thing. In fact, thinking back to the smile that graced your soft, unblemished face was… pleasing. Not agonizing at all. And to think that his words, his promise to you, had invoked such joy. 

Him, a sorry excuse for a knight. 

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

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