#trusts luca with the castle and his new bride

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 5: A Dream

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold meets her new husband.

Read on AO3

Roses are blooming around the castle and she is getting married. Her mother always wanted her to marry in spring when the roses bloom. Now, on this beautiful sunny day, the gray stone walls of the courtyard are covered in a riot of pink roses.  

She walks from the castle to the outer gates where her bridegroom is waiting for her. On one side of her is a smiling blonde woman in a pink and yellow dress. On the other, a dancing blonde girl in yellow and pink. Traditionally, friends and family accompany the bride and groom on their journey to each other. With music and laughter, they take separate routes through the village to meet at the wedding place. 

Her family isn’t there. They do not dance this day. But she has her true friends beside her.

Her bridegroom is a monster and she loves him. He waits for her, attended by a man in a top hat. Her heart swells when they come together, and she sees her own happiness reflected on his face.  

He is dressed in a suit of pure white, which doesn’t suit his green-gray skin or his rotted teeth. Her gown is of midnight blue, so dark it might as well be black. As soon as they join hands, a swirl of magic surrounds them, head to toe. When it fades, they are wearing the same color--a soft, pale blue, the color of a summer sky. 

They have taken on each other’s darkness. They have taken on each other’s light. They are the same now. They are beautiful.

The man in the top hat hands her bridegroom a dagger. He takes it and kneels before her. He offers the blade--the only weapon that can hurt him--into her hands.

She takes it and he stands. They face each other again, surrounded by roses and the people they love. She offers him the dagger and her open hand. He takes them both. 

He cuts a thin line across her palm. There is no pain, but a red slash of blood bubbles up from her pale skin. Then, he presents her with the dagger and his own hand. She takes them both. 

She cuts her beloved, as he has cut her. His blood is darker and thicker than hers. She keeps the dagger. He has surrendered it. All its power is hers forever. 

They put their cuts together, joining at the place where they are open and bleeding. They both have the power to hurt each other. They both willingly put themselves in the other’s hands. They can both use the other to heal their wounds. They are both stronger because they have made themselves weak. 

Her groom waves his uninjured hand over where they are joined. There is a golden glow, and together they say the sacred words:

Blood of my blood.

Flesh of my flesh.

Life of my life.

When they take their hands apart, their cuts have healed to nothing but scars. Scars that will never fade, and will never be permanently forgotten. No matter what happens in the future, they have marked each other forever.

The smiling woman produces a pair of golden rings and hands them to her. She gives one to her groom. He gently slides it over her fourth finger, on the hand with the new scar. She does the same to him. The rings are the same, a matched set, equal and inseparable. 

They are married. 

They seal their union with a kiss.

When she breaks apart from her husband, his eyes are warm and full of tears. It has been such a long road to get to this happiness. And they will have a long road ahead. Misery and darkness await them. Curses and terrors and separation.

But they have this moment. They have this happiness. They have roses, for as long as they will bloom.

The little girl holds a handful of pink rose petals. At her parents’ prompting, she shouts “Hooray!” and throws the petals up into the air.

With a quirk of his fingers, her husband sends a burst of magic into the flowers. They shoot up into the sky, over the castle gates, to the height of the tallest tower. Then the petals explode in bursts of golden light and rain down on all of them. 

The little girl claps and the man and woman laugh and she kisses her husband again in the midst of the storm.

A storm of roses.

And light.

And love. 

****

Mrs. Gold kept her eyes closed after she woke up. She wanted to stay in that dream for as long as she could. The quilt was wrapped around her shoulders, warm and heavy as a lover’s embrace. If she kept her eyes closed, she could still feel the sunshine of this dream wedding day. She could smell the roses and hear her friends cheering. If she kept her eyes closed, she could still see her husband.

Her husband…

Her eyes shot open, but she didn’t move. Mr. Gold wasn’t in the bed; she didn’t feel the weight of him on the mattress. The water wasn’t running in the bathroom. She didn’t hear his footsteps by his closet as he got dressed. Was he sitting in his chair in the parlor? Was he watching her, waiting to see when she woke up? 

Was he still angry from last night? 

Mrs. Gold scowled at that thought. It was so stupid of her to give that snotty waitress enough time to get all her rent money together. She should have known not to go to the diner until Ruby Lucas had already clocked out. 

Next time this happened--because there would be a next time, Mr. Gold would make sure of that--she would have to find Ruby at the Rabbit Hole, long after her shift was over. Hell, she should use Mr. Gold’s money to buy the party girl a few drinks. It might not take much to get her drunk enough to willingly come home with them on Saturday night and they could get some rent money on Sunday.

But no. That wasn’t what Mr. Gold wanted. 

He wasn’t interested in seducing little Ruby. If he wanted to sweet-talk a woman into bed, he wouldn’t have any trouble. The man had a silver tongue, as Mrs. Gold knew very well. No, Mr. Gold wanted Ruby Lucas to have to fuck them. He wanted to make the girl offer herself, to both of them. And he really wanted to make her do it in front of the puritanical Granny Lucas. Mr. Gold didn’t laugh often, but he had been very pleased with himself when he had told her about that plan.

And her stupid, cheap, trashy ass had fucked it up for him!

She sat up in bed and looked around Mr. Gold’s room. Of course he wasn’t around. After that shitshow, she didn’t deserve his attention. 

It was cold when she took the blankets off. That was something they never told you about living in a Victorian mansion--how drafty the place could get. Mr. Gold always wore his suits, so he never noticed the chill. She noticed, but she never complained about it. If she ever did, Mr. Gold would probably just tell her that there were lots of newer, smaller houses in Storybrooke that didn’t have that problem. He was never hesitant about letting her know she could leave. 

Shivering, Mrs. Gold slid her feet into the plush slippers that she kept under the bed. That was one thing about being Mr. Gold’s wife--there was always some luxury to make up for any minor inconveniences. 

Christ, she was still wearing the red panties she’d put on last night! This pair had a hole in the lace the size of a silver dollar. Mr. Gold should have jumped at the chance to make that hole bigger. She’d been saving these panties for an occasion like this, when she would need to make him happy. Even if he didn’t wake her up by fucking her, he should have ripped the panties off her sleeping body last night. This morning she should have been naked and open for him to use as he saw fit. 

God, he really was mad at her.

She started to make Mr. Gold’s bed. Keeping his bedroom in order was something he trusted her with and she didn’t take it lightly. Most of the time, the day after rent day involved quite a bit of cleanup. There were special cleaners for silicone and leather. Today she didn’t even strip the sheets. It wasn’t like they’d been used.

With a sinking feeling of dread, Mrs. Gold got ready for her day. It didn’t surprise her to see that Mr. Gold hadn’t laid out any clothes he wanted her to wear. No, she didn’t deserve that. She would have to go to the armoire in the bedroom parlor and try to put together an outfit that would meet his approval. 

And Mr. Gold could be a difficult man to please. 

She did her best. Her fall wardrobe had a lot of burgundy in it. That was a good apology color--serious but warm, sensual without being too flashy. She couldn’t look like she was trying to get his attention. There was nothing Mr. Gold hated more than unwanted desperation. 

She settled on a smart little burgundy A-line dress with cap sleeves, nevermind the cold. She had to show him that nothing got between him and her body. The cream-colored pashmina scarf was the same shade as her skin. She arranged the scarf so it looked like the dress was lower cut than it was. He’d like that. Hair out of the way, up in a loose bun. The only thing Mr. Gold hated more than her messy hair was how ugly she looked when she had it cut short. So she kept it long and wore it up or back.

What else? Tasteful makeup. Nude heels, gold hoop earrings. The leather oxblood clutch around her wrist with a gold tube of lipstick dangling off the strap. No extra rings besides her wedding band. It was a conservative look, but that was the best choice right now.

But she couldn’t resist sliding on a pair of metallic gold panties under her skirt. It was a long shot, but there was still the possibility that Mr. Gold would accept her apology and want to make up for their uneventful rent day. If he did, she wanted to show her appreciation.

Of course, it was just as likely that Mr. Gold would sneer at her feeble attempts to get back into his good graces. Maybe he would punish her for being presumptuous. 

That could be a good start to the day. 

As ready as she was going to get, Mrs. Gold opened the door and went down to the kitchen.      

****

Breakfast was her responsibility. Even she couldn’t fuck up black coffee and dry toast. Normally if Mr. Gold didn’t have other plans for her, he would be waiting in the dining room with a copy of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. She would get his breakfast ready and serve it to him in silence. She knew better than to try to talk to him until he had set the paper aside.

But today Mr. Gold wasn’t in the dining room. One of the glass doors leading from the kitchen to the back patio was ajar. He stood outside in a beam of morning sun. The light caught the glints of silver in his long hair. He was looking around the landscaped garden like he had never seen it before.

Mrs. Gold stood in the doorway, her hands behind her back. Flowers and plants had absolutely no appeal to her, but watching her husband was always fascinating. 

He was barely dressed, wearing nothing but a shirt and tie, pants, a belt, and shoes and socks. The top button of his shirt was undone and his tie was loose. Though she couldn’t see his face, Mrs. Gold could tell he was in a good mood. His posture was relaxed. He didn’t lean on his cane as he reached out to touch the mums and black-eyed susans the gardener had planted weeks ago.

 So his foot wasn’t bothering him today. That was good. Pain always made him irritable and impatient. Mr. Gold regarded weakness with contempt. His crushed ankle--he said it was a souvenir from a gang war in Glasgow--was his only vulnerability. He hated to be reminded of it. Mrs. Gold took great pains to assure him of his strength and virility in every other aspect. 

When he saw her standing in the doorway, his eyes lit up. Sunlight filled them and she caught the depths of them for just a moment. Normally Mr. Gold’s eyes were dark and solid as a closed door. But sometimes there was light in them. His eyes could shine like chocolate diamonds, faceted and sparkling with a million shades of brown and gold. If he looked at her in the right way, his eyes could become her whole world. 

For a split second, her husband smiled. He looked like he was about to say something. But then a cloud passed over the sun. His jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold. The transformation was so sudden it was like he had pulled on a Halloween mask.

Unconsciously, Mrs. Gold stepped back, away from the sunshine of the garden. She withdrew into the cool, shadowy kitchen and started to make Mr. Gold his coffee. He liked fresh ground beans, dark roast, hot and black.

“Good morning,” he said as he came into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

Some of the tension eased away from Mrs. Gold’s mind. At least he was talking to her.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold!” She spun around with a smile and a twirl of her skirt. He always liked her to smile, even if only so he could tell her to stop smiling. 

Instead of making his way into the dining room, Mr. Gold took a seat at the small prep table in the kitchen. He stretched out his leg and settled into one of the simple wooden chairs. He didn’t say anything, but it didn't feel like he was giving her the silent treatment.

“I’ll have your breakfast ready in just a minute, Mr. Gold.”

“Thank you.”

Halfway between the bread box and the toaster, Mrs. Gold stopped in her tracks. Thank you? Mr. Gold never thanked her. He was only ever polite to people when he was making deals with them, when he had devastating news that he wanted to deliver in the most ironically nice way possible.

For a second, Mrs. Gold’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, Jesus, how mad was he? What was he going to do to her?

But then, as she turned the toaster on to the darkest setting, it occurred to her to listen to how Mr. Gold was speaking to her. He didn’t sound polite. He sounded grateful. He was genuinely thanking her for breakfast--a service she had done for him every day for as long as she could remember.

Weird.  

“Shall I serve you here or in the dining room, Mr. Gold?”

A muscle twitched in his face, but his voice kept the warmth it had had before. “I’ll eat here, if it’s all the same to you, dear. Will you sit with me?”

Mrs. Gold looked over from the shelf where she had been pulling down one of the dishwasher-safe mugs Mr. Gold used for his morning coffee. All of the dishes she handled regularly were cheap and replaceable. Just like her. 

“O-of course, Mr. Gold. I’ll do anything you like.”

It was confusing to serve him in the kitchen instead of the dining room. It was such a 1950’s atmosphere, like an old TV show. Donna Reed pouring coffee for her man straight from the pot as an act of love. Normally, Mr. Gold had more of an 1850’s style--breakfast brought in to the master of the house on a silver tray by a paid servant. That was the role he wanted her to play. 

What role was she playing now? He wanted her to sit across from him at the tiny table on a rickety wooden chair that matched the one he was in. But he was better than that. He deserved better than that. Why was he lowering himself to be on the same level as her?

But this was what he wanted, so she would make it good for him. She bent at the waist with her ass in the air to put his plate and mug on the table. He hadn’t told her what to do once she sat down, so she perched on the edge of the seat and pressed her palms flat against the tabletop. 

She waited for what would come next.

It didn’t take long to realize that she had fucked up his food. He looked down at the black toast and even blacker coffee with bewildered disgust. How had she ruined it this time? It looked the same as every other morning. That was how he told her he liked his breakfast--as black and bitter as his soul.

But instead of yelling at her, Mr. Gold just looked up from his plate with polite curiosity. “Will you fetch the butter?”

Mrs. Gold blinked. Butter? Since when did Mr. Gold like butter on his toast?

She didn’t let her confusion slow her down. There was a solid roll of imported Irish butter in the fridge. Mr. Gold used it for cooking sometimes. 

“I’m sorry, it… might take a while to get warm enough to spread.”

Mr. Gold just sat back in his chair. “Ah,” he said. “Well, no matter then.” He left the toast untouched and took a sip of his coffee.

This time, there was no hiding the revulsion on his face. He winced, like instead of coffee she had poured him a cup of battery acid. Mrs. Gold watched in mute horror as her husband turned his face to the wall and forced himself to swallow the ghastly brew. 

On the verge of tears, Mrs. Gold stood in the center of the kitchen and dug her fingernails into her palms. Fuck. There was no coming back from something this bad. Mr. Gold would have to punish her, in a bad way. She just hoped that he wouldn’t pour the rest of his mug over her head. The coffee was hot, and the stains wouldn’t come out of her scarf.  

She closed her eyes and braced herself for the attack. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Mr. Gold’s voice was calm and patient. “Maybe it will be better with cream and sugar.”

With a grateful nod, Mrs. Gold took the mug over to the counter where the antique ceramic canisters were lined up in an orderly row. Sugar was kept between flour and oats. 

“One spoonful or two?” 

“Start with three and I’ll see if it needs more.”

Mrs. Gold winced as she carefully stirred spoon after spoon of sugar into the coffee. She couldn’t look at her husband. “You don’t--” she started, but couldn’t say it. “I mean, please don’t feel like you need to drink this if it isn’t good enough for you. I don’t know how I managed to get it wrong, but I promise you, I’ll--”

“Stop.” Mr. Gold raised a gentle hand. “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Gold. The coffee is exactly what I’ve trained you to give me. So is the toast. You didn’t do anything wrong. But it seems…” his lips quirked into what might have been a smile. “It seems my tastes have changed since yesterday.”

Her knees went weak. “So you really aren’t mad at me?”

Her husband looked at her for an endless moment. His face was blank, that intentional blankness he put on when he was thinking something, but didn’t want her to know what. Then he looked away. 

“I told you last night that I wasn’t angry with you. I would appreciate it if you believe me when I tell you things, Mrs. Gold.”        

“I do!” She fell to her knees on the cold kitchen tile. “Please, Mr. Gold. Of course, I believe you! I just--I know what a stupid, trashy slut I am. You have every right to be mad at me, for everything.”

He gripped his cane.  “Everything?” he said the word bitterly. Getting up from the table, he took his plate and walked around her to throw his uneaten toast in the garbage. His coffee mug was still on the counter. “Is there cream in the icebox?”

Fighting tears, Mrs. Gold shook her head. “I think there might be a little bit of skim milk. I was going to go to the supermarket today.”

“A fine idea. We can make a list.” 

He was beside her now. The heat of his body radiated into her bare arms and legs. Looking down, she saw that he was standing with his cane in front of him. It was a defensive posture, not an attacking one.

“Do we have a butter dish in the house?”

He held out his hand to help her up. He had a scar on his palm. Had she ever asked how he had gotten that?

Too grateful to speak, she took his hand and got up off her knees. She wiped her fingers under her eyes to get rid of the tears without messing up her makeup. If her face was going to look ruined, she would rather it be for a good reason.

“I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen a butter dish around here, Mr. Gold.”

He nodded. “I’m sure there will be something suitable at the shop. What about a tea kettle? I think instead of coffee, I’d like to try tea in the mornings for a while.”

“There’s a bone china tea set on display in the dining room, Mr. Gold.”

“But a kettle?” His voice was soft. He was being so good to her, even though she was so stupid. “We need something to go on the stove to boil water in.”

She shook her head. Mr. Gold’s house was enormous and packed full of stuff. She would never know everything in it. But she had never come across a tea kettle, not even in any of the crates and boxes in the basement.  

“Very well,” he said. There was a pad of paper and a ball-point pen beside the rotary phone on the kitchen wall. He handed them to her. “Write this down, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” 

She leaned against the island in the center of the kitchen and wrote out Tea Kettle, Butter Dish. As she wrote, her heart rate began to slow down. It felt good to have Mr. Gold give her orders again--especially orders she knew she could obey. 

Opening doors to the cupboards and the fridge, her husband dictated a shopping list: Cream, yeast, breakfast tea, tomatoes. Without being told, Mrs. Gold knew to get the fanciest,  most expensive brands available. He gave her money every week and she was damn well going to spend it.

“Would you like ice cream?”

A delighted shiver went up her spine at the question. The only use Mr. Gold had for ice cream was to dribble a scoop of vanilla over her naked body--the cold, wet, stickiness only occasionally replaced by his hot, hungry mouth. He hadn’t sent her to Any Given Sundae since summer. Maybe he really wasn’t mad at her.

“That would be wonderful, Mr. Gold.” She tried to let her voice alone do the job of expressing her gratitude and her arousal.

“Good. I’d like to see what this ‘rocky road’ flavor is really like.”

Mrs. Gold blinked. He wanted her to buy ice cream so he could eat it? Mr. Gold hated sweets. 

“And you should pick out a flavor you like.”

Now he wanted her to eat sugar and fat? What the hell? What new game was this? Was he going to make her buy something she wanted just so he could throw it out in front of her? What was his plan?

She shook her head. It wasn’t her place to question Mr. Gold. He knew what he was doing. And he was being so nice right now, even if he was being weird. Maybe he felt bad about her freaking out--it would be a first, but it wasn’t totally insane. She would just have to wait and find out. 

“I need salad too,” she said as she wrote. “And cranberry juice.”

That thought lifted her spirits. The grocery store clerks always looked so funny when they saw her buying two or three jugs of unsweetened cranberry juice. Overstocking on a home remedy for a urinary tract infection was a great way to advertise just how often she was getting completely railed by Mr. Gold. 

She could buy more condoms at the grocery store, just to drive home the point. And three of the longest, fattest cucumbers in the produce section. They would go into salads, but no one at the grocery store would think that. This would be a pretty good day after all.   

As she got into the Cadillac and Mr. Gold drove to his pawn shop, her thoughts drifted back to the dream she’d had. 

That wedding was nothing like hers had been. She’d married Mr. Gold in the middle of February, and not in a freaking castle. It had been a civil ceremony at City Hall. Their only witnesses had been Mr. Gold’s gardener and Dr. Archie Hopper, who they’d pulled away from renewing his dog licence.

But everyone in Storybrooke had come out to Dodici’s Dance Hall for the reception. When Mr. Gold invited you somewhere, you went, and you brought a gift you couldn’t afford.

On her wedding day, the only reason anyone but her had smiled was because of the open bar. They didn’t really have friends. Mr. Gold hadn’t had a best man, no one would be her bridesmaid. There was no man in a top hat, no fat woman in a pink dress. There were certainly no little kids throwing flowers. Mr. Gold hated kids, and she hated flowers. 

   There had been no roses when she’d married Mr. Gold. On that day she had done her best to push away every thought she’d ever had about her mother. That was the day she had vowed to be Mrs. Gold. She would never be anyone else again. 

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #once upon a time

[cookie-gal]

Little Mermaid Au - dnsn/ lionheartshipping Headcanons

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

• Leon is the Oldest brother

• The order is: Leon, Raihan, Gordie, Piers, Bede, Victor, and Hop. They are all a year apart.

• Leon's real name is Lionel and Gordie's is Gordon.

• Opal is their mother and she is the Queen of the seas.

• The late King mysteriously died one day when the princes were kids and there were 2 theories were speculated. He was either killed by humans or was killed by Rose, the royal adviser.

• No one knows the true answer. All that was known after the death of the king was that no one can go to the surface and Rose was lost his status and was banished to the outskirts of the sea.

• Before the rule was placed that no one could go to the surface, Leon made a friend in the surface. A young girl with fiery red hair that went by the name 'Nia'. She was a human that loved the ocean and would go there frequently with her friend too.

• Her nickname for Leon was 'Lee'. That stuck with him to the point some he asked his brothers call him that.

• Leon and Nia were fascinated by each other since humans and merfolk had quite the number of differences. Of course merfolk had a fish tail and humans had legs. Merfolk had fin like ears, scales that clustered around their ears and other parts of their face like their cheeks, bridge of their nose, or hairline. They were basically freckles. And they also had sharp teeth. Humans on the other hand had no scales, they had dull teeth with the exception of canines, and they would grow hair on their limbs.

• They were inseparable until the rule was placed and Leon hasn't seen Nia since he was 10.

• He had a crush on her too

• Leon is such a helpful person. He goes around the sea helping people and many merfolk expect his to take the throne one day.

• Leon has such a bad sense of direction that Opal got him a royal campaign. A small merman by the name of Allister. He's just as old as the Hop, 15 years old. Allister is someone Leon confides with his darkest secrets.

• Leon darkest secret is that he visits the surface and collects gadgets and gizmos which he stores in a secret cavern.

• He visits Gloria, a harpy from the surface that also collects gadgets and gizmos that she gives to Leon. She even teaches Leon how to use the foreign objects too.

• All the princes are singers but the most talented singer is Leon, which is ironic since he doesn't practice singing at all and never performs

• The composer that teaches them is a young mermaid that was lowkey adopted by Opal by the name of Marnie. Many mermaids have conspiracy theories that Marnie is the secret daughter of the queen since she looks strikingly like Piers and all the brothers treat her like a sister, but she only happens to look like him. She is as old as Victor, 16 years old.

• She has a large fanbase but she is trying her best to make a name for herself as a great composer of music

• She would have too if it weren't for Leon missing his debut concert because he was at the surface with Gloria

• Leon got chewed out by Opal especially when Allister accidentally mentioned they went to the surface

• Opal assigns Marnie to watch out for Leon which is nerve racking since Leon is unpredictable so she tries her best to convince, with the help of pokemon, him to stay under the sea.

• That fails because he sees a ship and goes to the surface. It was his first time in years since he has seen a ship. Allister reluctantly follows after him

• On the ship was crown Princess Sonia of Galar, aka Nia. She was out exploring the sea since she loves the sea and she wants to find her friend Lee. Her friend Nessa is the royal adviser of her kingdom and as much as she loves the sea, she has to make Sonia go back home because Sonia has to marry. She made an oath to Queen Magnolia to get Sonia married before her 21st birthday which is 2 months from now and planning weddings is hard work especially of the bride is stubborn.

• Sonia has turned down every suiter so far because they are too prim and proper to go out and get their hands dirty.

• Leon over hears this. He can't believe Sonia was more beautiful than he remembered and his heart skipped a beat.

• Suddenly a storm formed and sunk the ship. Leon and Allister did their best to save people. He grabbed Sonia, Nessa, and few others and so did Allister. They took everyone to the beach.

• Leon was worried that Sonia drowned since she sunk the deepest into the water compared to the rest of the survivers. He tried his best to push the water out her lungs. She started coughing. He was so relieved. He sang softly to her.

• Sonia opened her eyes but couldn't see much. But she did see a familiar shade of purple and said, "Lee?" before she passed out.

• Humans were about to hed over to discover the survivors so Leon and Allister jumped back into the sea.

• Leon was love struck. He started to daydream being with Sonia and wanted to see her again

• His brothers immediately noticed Leon's new behavior and deduced that he was in love.

• Opal found out and was so happy to hear that Leon was in love. Surely he was in love with a beautiful and smart mermaid.

• That thought died when Opal found out Leon was in love with a human, had gone up to the surface again, and has a cavern of human junk through Marnie and Allister. Out of rage she destroyed Leon's collection and left him to cry in the cavern. Allister and Marnie tried to apologized but Leon pushed them away.

• Leon was now confronted by Oleana, a mermaid that follows under Rose. She had been watching Leon for a while in secret under Rose's orders. She convinced him to go to Rose's cavern if he wanted to be with his precious little princess.

• Rose had been waiting for Leon. He offered Leon 2 months of life as a human in exchange for his voice. All Leon had to is make Sonia fall in love with him and he will be human forever. To prove that she loves him, they must share a true love's kiss. But if he fails and time runs out, Leon will become a merman again and will be a slave to Rose.

• Leon signs the contract and the deed was done. He is now a human. Marnie and Allister were about to object but Oleana silenced them. They took Leon to the surface before he could drown.

• Gloria finds them and does her best to help him get dressed with a curtain she found along with some rope.

• Though when they see a human approaching, Marnie, Allister, and Gloria hide and leave Leon alone

• The human turned out to be Sonia who was out on a walk with her yamper. Upon seeing Leon, she takes him to the castle to get him dressed and medical help.

• Leon tried to write to Sonia, but he didn't realize that humans have a completely different written language to merfolk. He attempted to write' Leon' but funny enough he wrote "Lionel" instead according to she wanky handwriting.

• Milo, castle staff member, was assigned to help Leon as much as he could. Even though Leon couldn't speak to Milo, he felt like he could trust the man.

• Castle staff loved Leon's company because he is the most lively guest they have ever had.

• Sonia loves Leon's company. He is the first guy she can really go out exploring with since all the guys she was forced to be with have all been snooty and pansies. Leon loves to explore and learn with her and is willing to get down and dirty when he explores the world.

• Sonia taught him to dance too. She was surprised how much of a fast learner he is. To them, dance is the way they can communicate.

• At dinner, Leon brings so much joy. His excitement when he tries a new food is so cute to Sonia. Also he has a funny way to use certain things.

• Nessa and Milo suspect that Sonia and Leon have crushes on each other. Nessa feels bad that she will have to stop the two from furthering their relationship since Sonia must marry a prince or a king. Leon is no where near royalty. The poor man thinks a fork is a comb. She's surprised he can dress himself, even if it's questionable fashion choices.

• Sonia herself is torn about her feelings. She is slowly falling in love with Lionel but she is haunted by the man, who she thinks is he Lee, with the most beautiful voice that saved her from the shipwreck.

• Allister is hiding in the pond in the pond in the castle. He's small enough to hide th heir and can camouflage. Marnie would have a hard time hiding because of her bright pink tail so Leon hide her elsewhere.

• Marnie is hiding in Leon's room. He managed to sneak her into the bath tub. His room has two of them so he doesn't have worry about throwing her out the window and into the sea when he needed to bathe.

• He routinely takes her out into the sea and she also gives him advice to woo Sonia. The night before the 2 months is over, she sets the mood to get the couple to kiss.

• With the help of local water pokemon and Allister, she set the mood. The couple would have kissed too if it weren't for Oleana. She had been watching Leon in the shadows these past 2 months. She knocked the couple over and they left home to the castle completely drenched from head to toe.

• The next day was the final day for Leon to kiss Sonia and it was coincidentally Sonia birthday. It was Nessa's mission to get Sonia married to a prince by the end of the day.

• 6 princes/ kings from other countries came two participate in a singing contest to win Sonia's hand in marriage. The participants were King Lance of Kanto, King Steven from Hoenn, Prince Lucas from Sinnoh, Prince Benga from Unova, Prince Calem from Kalos, and King Kukui from Alola. Unfortunately for everyone, they sing worse than stray meowths.

• Leon is screaming on the inside. He can't reveal himself as the man that saved Sonia because of his situation. So in his last attempt to express his feelings to Sonia, he dances for her, just like when they would dance alone together.

• The princes laughed at him and so did the audience of the contest. Milo and Nessa felt bad for Leon since the poor man had no other way to communicate. Leon ran off and Milo chased after him to comfort him.

• Sonia was sick of the princes and seeing Leon dance, she realized her feelings for him.

• "Nessa, I have chosen the man who won my heart" she walks to Leon and holds his hands, "I chose Lionel".

• Just as they were about to seal their love with a kiss, a voice started to sing. It was Leon's voice. But how? Had Sonia kissed Leon at that moment, everything would gave been fine, but she was distracted by the singing that the sun had sent.

• The voice was actually being used by Rose who appears and takes Leon away. As Leon is being dragged away he becomes a merman again and gets his voice back. He tries to fight back but Rose overpowers him and drags him down into the sea.

• Loud noises were heard from down the hall. It was Marnie who was dragging herself towards the window to jump into the sea. Sonia grabs Marnie who explains the situation briefly and requests that Sonia is to throw her into the sea because she must alert Queen Opal.

• There is complete silence in the room. Sonia rips off her gown and reveals her sailor uniform. She runs off to get her ship and crew to go save Leon. Nessa runs after her to help along with Milo.

• Under the sea, there is a lot of commotion. Leon has seen missing for 2 months now and there is no sign of him. All his brothers have traveled to different parts of the sea to find him. Opal blames herself for her son's disappearance.

• When the family is together trying to figure out more ways to find Leon, Rose busts down the doors and had Leon by his side. He couldn't show his face at all out of shame.

• Opal tries attack Rose who then threatens to kill Leon. He makes a deal with Opal. Either see gives him the trident and becomes a slave or she will never see Leon again.

• Reluctantly she agrees if it means saving her son. She hands over the trident and Rose turns her into a magikarp. Leon is released and Rose leaves to cause Chaos and the first thing he does is start a storm.

• To him, he must destroy the humans in order to save the sea.

• Allister and Marnie were too late to warn the Queen.

• The brothers reunite and rally the pokemon to go defeat Rose.

•Meanwhile on the surface, Sonia is making her way to the storm, determined to save Leon. When she spots Rose, she tries her best to defeat him. Her and all her sailors and commanding their pokemon to hurt the sea Warlock.

• Down below the group and the pokemon were ambushed by Oleana and her pokemon. They took her down easily. Now they had to attack Rose.

• Rose gets mad and causes waves to fling the princes and the water pokemon out of the water. The princes land on Sonia's boat. As much as Leon and Sonia wanted to hug, they had to defeat Rose first.

• Nessa had the idea to launch the ship into Rose which would kill him. But that means everyone on the boat could die since the storm so so strong they would drown. The Princes told them to not worried because they can save them from drowning.

• Sailors got ready to jump off with either a prince, Marnie, Allister or a water pokemon as Sonia Milo and Nessa prepared the ship to impel Rose. They all returned their pokemon into their poke balls.

• Once the ship hit Rose, they all jumped off and watched the sea warlock die. The Trident fell down into the sea. Opal returned back into a mermaid and took hold of the trident again. She also restored and returned order.

• The humans were returned to the surface, no one died and everyone was safe.

• Sonia and Leon were sad because Leon couldn't be with Sonia since they come from 2 different worlds.

• As much it hurt Opal to lose her son, she decided to turn Leon to a human. She used to her powers to do so.

• Sonia and Leon enjoyed and the two promptly started to wedding preperations

• The wedding was grand, both merfolk and humans were invited. And it would be an understatement to say that only a few twars were shed.

• Leon became the ambassador of the sea folk. Raihan became the crown prince of the sea. Marnie got recognized by her bravery along with Allister. Nessa and Milo got married (they would be a side couple throughout the au). And they all lived happily ever after.

#dnsn #lionheartshipping #leon x sonia #champion leon #professor sonia #little mermaid au #the little mermaid #opal #rose #oleana #raihan #gordie #hop #piers #bede #marnie #victor #gloria #nessa #milo #allister #au

[immortalitylostandfound]

Storming the Castle

A Princess Bride AU by @gideongrace​ and @immortalitylostandfound​

Starring:

Billy Hargrove as The Dread Pirate Roberts (Stable Boy)

Steve Harrington as Prince Steve 

Tommy H. as Prince Tommy (Humperdinck)

Carol Talmadge as Countess Carol (The Six Fingered Woman)

Dustin Henderson as the Leader of the Party

Will Byers as The Giant

Lucas Sinclair as The Swordsman

Max Mayfield as The Lab Assistant

Mike Wheeler as Miracle Mike

Jane Hopper as Eleven (Miracle Wife)

Robin Buckley as Steve's Lady-In-Waiting

Playlist here!

Full work also on ao3!

Chapter 1: Teaser

Once upon a time...

A love story started as all stories do; at the beginning. It started with a horse, with a stable boy and his magic touch, and with a little pining on Steve’s part. Okay, maybe a lot of pining. Whoever said ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’ really wasn’t kidding, were they?

Chapter Two: The Stable Boy

Steve only knows the new guy his father had recently hired as Stable Boy, but the sheer amount of want that fills Steve every time he sees the guy could fill an entire ocean, no, the grand canyon, no, the ocean—whatever. The sheer force of Steve's longing for this guy he barely knows, this guy who sneers at nearly every person he comes across but who is always so achingly gentle with the horses, even with the spooked, rough, dangerous ones—especially with the spooked, rough, dangerous ones—is too much to bear. This guy whose hands seem to exist on some plane where magic exists, they must, because every time he lays those hands on one of the horses, no matter how panicked, no matter how lost, no matter how out of their mind gone, that horse always calms down almost instantly, within seconds, with a simple touch, and Steve doesn't know what else to call that but magic.

So, of course, Steve talks to the stable boy the only way he knows how. He gives orders. It’s what he was raised to do. It’s what his parents demand. He’s high born—or will be if his parents have anything to say about it—and he doesn’t know how to communicate with servants except by command. He learns this the first time his longing drags him to the stables. He opens his mouth, wanting to say hello. Wanting to ask a million and one questions. Instead he tells the stable boy to make ready his horse.

He doesn’t even want to ride—it’s cold and raining.

But the stable boy answers his request simply. 

“No problem,” he says, and calm eyes blue as the sea, eyes that Steve has never seen except at a distance, meet his own. The stable boy nods. His eyes linger a moment too long. Then without another word he moves to fetch Steve’s horse. 

When the horse is ready, Steve orders his thick cape fetched. Stalling. Again, those eyes on his. Again the simple words. “No problem—” But this time a smile is tacked on after. “Princess,” the stable boy finishes, near mocking but some gentle quality in the word stops it just short. 

Steve gapes. No servant has ever dared talk to him with such insolence. His first instinct isn’t to punish the guy, though later he realizes it should have been, at least according to the rules laid down by society. His first instinct is to laugh. To grin. Maybe to blush a little, who’s to say?

“I could have you whipped,” he says, playfully. Can’t school his smile enough to intimidate.

The stable boy’s smile grows. Again comes the nod, this time exaggerated, carried on into a flourished bow. He speaks no more. Instead, Steve’s cape is fetched, quick as you please. And when the stable boy returns, that cape is fastened with the deft fingers of those possibly magical hands, is smoothed over Steve’s shaking shoulders with a touch that calms him instantly.

He mounts the horse with no more talk between them, dreading the rain. Takes one quick turn about the field and returns, possibly with the goal of testing this stable boy.

“Stable Boy,” he says, his horse clopping gratefully back into the barn, “Clean my horse. It’s filthy with mud.”

The nod again. The “no problem, Princess.” The grin. The stable boy whistles a tune while Steve watches him rub the horse clean, taking care to check it over thoroughly. He whispers secrets to it as he works. Sings low and melodious, just below hearing, as he walks it back to its stall.

Steve leaves before the stable boy can come back, lay eyes on him again. He longs for those lips to whisper secrets to him. 

Every day he rides, ordering the stable boy to ready his horse and always looking for other odd jobs he can order done to lengthen their time together.

These orders are always met with a knowing smile. A look that lingers just that small bit too long. A nod. Those words.

“No problem, Princess.”

This ridiculous behavior continues as weeks drag into months. The stable boy never tires. Steve’s orders sound more and more like pleas to his own ears.

Please know I wish I could just talk to you. Please don’t grow to hate me. Don’t mistake this for pettiness, haughtiness. Please.

One day it all becomes too ridiculous. There’s some tool hanging directly above Steve in the stable rafters, in easy reach, and he finds he’s running out of chores to stretch their time together.

“Stable boy,” he begins as he always does. “Fetch me that tool.” He points upwards. Swallows. They both know he has no need of the tool in question.

The stable boy regards him calmly. Walks over, slow, purposeful, and leans close to reach the requested tool, never once breaking eye contact. He holds out the tool to Steve. Brushes his finger briefly against Steve’s as he passes the tool over.

“No problem, Princess,” he whispers.

But that’s not what it sounds like. He says those words, that “no problem,” like most would say “I love you.”

And it breaks Steve’s social paralysis.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers back. And in this, returns an I love you of sorts as well. As close as he can manage at the moment. As fully formed. His love shown in this gratitude. 

“Thank you, Billy,” and the meaning is love, regardless of the words. Thank you for everything, he implies. For existing. The words aren’t enough to convey—

“You’re welcome,” Billy says, stopping Steve’s whirling thoughts. “Steve,” he adds with a half-grin.

And Steve laughs, something hard and cold in him breaking loose and melting away with the action. Melting away under magic hands that skim up to grip his arms as lips that whisper secrets come in close to brush Steve’s lips with half a kiss—wait for Steve to make it whole. Which he does. One whole kiss is born between them.

The first of many.

But a wise man once said that the course of true love never did run smooth.

So it is with their love. 

It isn't long before Billy decides that he has to leave. If they are to truly be together forever, like they plan to be, the salary of a stable boy isn’t going to cut it. 

It doesn't matter that Steve tells him he doesn't need to go, that Steve will inherit his father's land someday and he'll more than be able to provide for the both of them. No, Billy has to bring in his fair share of the money for the sake of his pride. To do that, he has to go out and find his fortune. It doesn't matter that Billy's little sister Max doesn't want him to go, either. Doesn't matter how Max begs or pleads. Doesn't matter that she cries. Billy is determined to go and he refuses to change his mind. 

So, after many long conversations and many promises that he will absolutely, without a doubt be perfectly safe and will come home before Steve even knows it, Billy gets on a ship bound for lands unknown.

It isn't three months later that word reaches Steve of Billy’s ship. Word of an attack by pirates. Word that there are no survivors.

Steve becomes inconsolable at the news and for days he barely sleeps, barely eats, barely does so much as leave his room.

To have had everything he'd ever wanted and to lose it—he blames himself. He should never have let Billy go and he knows it.

Life holds no meaning with Billy gone.

And with the arrival of Prince Tommy, acting ruler of Florin, things only get worse.

The prince meets Steve one sunny day while both are out riding. Steve still goes, every day, his one moment of solace. He remembers. Every time he enters the stable and speaks to Billy’s replacement, he feels a fresh cut to that old wound. The pain helps him to remember. Helps to keep him alive, or something close to it. 

On a ride, they meet. And in Steve’s beauty, in his utter lack of guile and gentle manner, Tommy sees a great opportunity. 

He sends word to Steve’s parents that he means to have Steve for marriage. Steve’s parents, of course, are overjoyed at the news. The union Prince Tommy proposes will serve to fulfill their fondest grasping wish.

When Steve refuses Tommy’s offer, that dream seems to shatter. Steve’s father, in his anger, throws Steve from the house, disowning Steve and ordering him never to return.

It’s not long before Steve is found—picked up by the prince’s men and taken to the castle where he’s put in a room that though gilded, is no less a cage. Tommy once again asks for his hand. Asks in a way that makes his threat clear. And Steve, caring nothing for himself and even with their betrayal worried for his family’s safety should he refuse, accepts Tommy’s proposal. 

Tommy, not feeling any true love for Steve, is glad nonetheless at the acquiescence. He has a scheme. Wants desperately to start a war with Guilder and in Steve, whose gentle manner and beauty will ensure the love of every subject, he has the perfect pawn to achieve his ends—or so Tommy’s trusted, six fingered advisor, Carol, informs him.

Killing Steve is such a simple, elegant means to his end. The death will enrage his subjects. They’ll demand he go to war to avenge him. It’s brilliant—he’s got to hand it to Carol. 

Now all Tommy needs are some reputable assassins to convincingly frame Guilder.

Dustin and his Party, in desperate need of coin and with a solid reputation to stand on, accept the job.

“But we’re not killing him,” Will says, giant in stature but gentle in nature as he waits with the others, blocking the road.

“We’re definitely probably not going to have to kill him,” Dustin assures him.

“Maybe just cut him a little,” Lucas says, always eager to make use of his blade.

They wait for their chance to kidnap the beloved new prince.

It doesn't take long.

Today, as every day, they know that Prince Steve will pass on his daily ride through the king’s forest. He will be alone, as he is every day. He will be an easy mark.

Dustin steps out into the middle of the path, hands raised, stopping the Prince as he nears. “Sorry to bother you, but we're poor, lost circus performers,” Dustin says. “Is there a village nearby?”

“There’s nothing around here for miles, Kid,” Steve says, taking the trio in cautiously, not at all suspecting the terrible fate that's about to befall him. 

“Cool,” Dustin says, grinning. “Then no one’s gonna hear you scream.”

And Will walks forward. Eyes closed, he knocks Steve out as gently as possible, then lifts him carefully from his horse.

They plant their evidence, shoo the horse on its way, and after that all that’s left is to set sail for Guilder’s coast, keeping an eye out for likely places to drop the body.

Will and Lucas make ready the ship, starting up a game that Dustin has had his fill of.

Rhyming. It had to be rhyming.

“Will, are there rocks ahead?” Lucas asks, grinning while coiling rope.

“If there are, we’ll all be dead!” Will calls back, hoisting the sail.

“No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Dustin complains.

“Anybody want a peanut?” Will asks.

It's going to be a long journey.

Chapter Three: Inconceivable!

Billy, fortunately, had been following after Steve all day and he follows the kidnappers to their ship, then follows as they head for Guilder, as they head for the Cliffs of Insanity and for once in his entire career as a Pirate, Billy finds himself glad to be without his usual crew, glad he'd taken this smaller ship alone to go and talk to Steve, to ask him why he was marrying that idiot Prince, why he hadn't waited. His usual crew would have asked too many questions and if he is to save Steve, there's no time to waste in answering them.

Slowly but surely, his ship gains on the kidnappers. His ship is smaller and sleeker (not to mention faster and better in nearly every way) so it isn't exactly hard to catch them but it is almost impossible to watch as Steve dives into the dangerous, eel infested waters and not abandon ship and dive in after him. From his spot at the ship's wheel Billy screams for Steve to get out of the water, even though he knows he's too far away to be heard, not that Steve would have listened to him anyway, even if he could have heard him, he's sure.

So he stands there, stuck behind his ship's wheel as he watches Steve get dragged back up onto the relative safety of the other ship. He watches as they continue towards the cliffs. He watches as the three men on board get off and two of them climb onto the shoulders of the ridiculously giant-sized one, watches and holds his breath as they grab Steve and watches as the giant starts to climb up a rope dangling from the top of the cliff to the bottom.

Billy watches all this, and he follows.

But not fast enough to catch up to the giant, even though the man was carrying three others plus himself. Again he finds himself forced to watch; watch as the man he loves is hefted, kicking and screaming up and over the wall where he can't yet follow.

“Inconceivable!” he hears someone shout.

Then, the rope falls away.

Well, that's inconvenient.

“Could you, maybe, I don’t know, climb faster?” a man waiting above calls down. If he was in such an awful hurry, he should have left the rope, shouldn’t he?

Whoever’s up there now isn’t the one he’d heard earlier. Which means that whoever had shouted the first time has probably already run off, probably with Steve in tow.

Well, who says a daring rescue should be easy? Where’s the fun in that?

Still….

“Could you maybe climb faster?” Billy mumbles under his breath. “Asshole.” 

He jumps for the next handhold.

But when another rope comes down, his arms are so spent that he doesn’t think, just takes it. 

Reaching the top, his impatient friend even allows him a breather. Descent of him. 

“Pity you aren’t a woman,” the man says. Billy raises his brows. Some small talk. He sees Billy’s train of thought, waves it off.

“With your tenacity, I’d almost wish you were the one—if you were a woman. A six-fingered woman killed my father, you see, years ago. Over a sword he’d crafted for her. After so long searching for her, training to beat her—” he shrugs. “Well, it’d be nice if it was a challenge, you know?”

He stands. Draws his sword and practices his footwork, loathe to sit still too long, it would seem.

“I know just what I’ll say, if I ever meet her, too.” He takes his stance, facing off against some unseen foe. “‘Hello,’ I’ll say. ‘My name is Lucas Sinclair. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”

“To the point,” Billy says. “I like it.”

He stands. Stretches.

“Shall we?”

“You seem a decent fellow,” Lucas says taking up stance again, this time focused on Billy. “I hate to kill you.” 

He shrugs.

“You seem a decent fellow,” Billy says, smiling, taking a stance to match. “I hate to die.”

The cocky sonovabitch is pretty good with a sword, too, once they finally get down to business.

Too bad for him, Billy is better. Left handed or right.

But he doesn’t kill the man, who waits for death, unarmed and bested. Can’t kill him—skill like his is a work of art. However—

“Can’t have you following me,” he says over the unconscious swordsman’s body. “Nothin personal.”

And onward he rushes after Steve.

Only his catlike reflexes save him from the boulder careening for his head.

“I could’ve killed you if I wanted,” the surprisingly bashful rock chucker says. The giant wields another huge rock like a baseball. “I missed on purpose.”

Well shit, this is gonna slow Billy down.

“Let’s kill each other like men?” he tries.

“No weapons?” the giant says. “Sportsmanlike?”

“Sportsmanlike.” Billy nods.

The next five minutes include much rolling, ducking, and being crushed between a literal rock and the hard back of a giant that didn’t want to be strangled into unconsciousness.

Once the giant finally does drop, Billy takes a moment to rest, standing over the large snoring man. He rubs at his aching shoulder. Cracks his stiff neck.

“No weapons,” he mutters to himself. “Idiot. Ow, fuck.”

And onward he rushes, limping just a bit, after Steve.

till he reaches a clearing and a smug little man, sat at a makeshift little table, Steve blindfolded at his side. A stupid little grin rests on the man’s stupid little face, but Billy ignores it, more concerned with Steve and with looking him over carefully, assessing him for injuries as best he can. Steve seems fine, but it's impossible to tell without asking him and he certainly can't do that right now.

He watches as the fool's lips move, blathering on and on about... something to do with how smart he thinks he is, how Billy can never, ever, not in a million years ever hope to best him at a game of wits and Billy decides to suggest a game.

"This," Billy says, pulling a small pouch from his pocket, "is Iocane powder. It's terribly poisonous. I'll put some of it in one of these glasses of wine here—" he pauses as he grabs the two wine glasses that have been set out before them—though why anyone would stop to set up a nice picnic lunch with wine during a kidnapping, he'll never understand, not if he lives to be a hundred. "And we'll see if you're smart enough to figure out which glass it's in. If you win, you keep the prince and you get to watch me die. If I win, I get the prince and get to watch you die. Fair?"

The fool smiles, his long, brown curly hair bouncing as his head bobs up and down.

"Oh, this'll be fun," he says brightly, like he's excited, like stupid games of chance are what he lives for but also like he has no idea that's what's really going on.

Billy nods back once, succinctly, and turns around to pour the poison into the wine.

"Here we go," he says as he puts the glasses back on the table and slowly pushes one towards the other man. "Now which one has the poison in it?"

"That's easy," the man says. "It's clearly not in the cup you're pushing towards me, that'd be too obvious."

"So your choice is the one I put closest to me?"

"Not quite! I know I can't pick that one either, because—" the man keeps going but Billy stops listening. The man is terribly dull and Billy is already starting to regret not just stabbing him and being done with it. This game isn't nearly as much fun as he'd thought it would be. That and he can't keep his eyes off of Steve and the way he's just sitting there, silent and still, not reacting at all. Weird behavior, so unlike the Steve that Billy remembers, always so vibrant, so loud, so bossy. It's different even just from the way Steve had been kicking and screaming as the giant had dragged him up the side of the cliff less than an hour ago and Billy can't help but wonder if maybe Steve doesn't know who he is, if Steve can't recognize his voice after all this time. Which... might very well be the case. 

He wishes for it not to be true, but he'd be lying if he said that after the years they've been apart that there aren't some details about Steve that have gotten fuzzy for him, too. Like he can no longer remember the exact sound of Steve's laugh or the exact feeling of Steve's skin under his fingers. Because for all that he's dreamed and dreamed of both, those exact details as well as a few others have gotten hazy, like a painting that had been stared at for too long.

But this idiot. He's still going, just talking and talking in circles about which cup to choose. He's taking so long that Billy is just about to give up and stab him when the man finally picks a glass, gathering it up carefully in one hand and swirling it like this is some fancy wine tasting and not a game of choose-your-death.

"You know..." the man says slowly before sipping the wine. "It really was very foolish of you to engage me in a game like this. You have no chance against my superior intellect."

Billy smiles. "Is that so?"

"It absolutely is. You've—" the man's words cut off mid-sentence as the poison spreads throughout his body. One second he's alive—heart beating, lungs taking in air, mouth moving and emitting ceaseless noises and words like if it ever stopped he'd die on the spot and the next he's a corpse, skin losing heat and color as his body begins disposing all unnecessary wastes as that heart and those lungs stop moving. He gives one last shuddering breath and that's it. He's dead. Finito. Kaput. Worm food.

"Well," Billy says, his eyes landing back on Steve and drinking him in slow, like Steve is a drink he's been dying for for years. "I guess that means we can go." He waits, expecting... well, something, some reaction, anything, from Steve now that the kidnappers are all gone but instead he gets nothing. No reaction at all. With the worst sort of sinking feeling in his gut he realizes that Steve really doesn't have even the slightest clue who he is. Steve doesn't recognize him at all. He walks over and jerks the blindfold down to hang around Steve’s neck. Looks Steve in the eye.

“Who are you,” Steve asks, uninterested.

Billy keeps his face blank.

“I’m someone you ought not to fuck with,” he says. He hauls Steve up to standing.  

Maybe, if Steve doesn't recognize him, maybe he'd been wrong all along. Maybe Steve had never loved him. Maybe Steve had been glad to be rid of him. Maybe Steve loved his Prince. A Prince—much more suitable marriage material than a stable boy ever was or could be. 

With a hard glare and rage boiling over in his stomach, Billy grunts, “Move."

 Steve does as asked silently and without complaint.

Chapter Four: No problem, Princess

After some time and much running, they take a tense rest at the top of a great hill. Billy throws Steve down near a fallen tree and watches the royal bastard try to get comfortable. Sees that Steve’s eyes are still locked on him, full of hate. Steve had been staring as they moved, taking Billy in with hard eyes and Billy’s sick of that look on Steve’s face. He wants to tell Steve the truth. No, he wants to drag the hurt out a bit so Steve can feel one iota of the pain Billy’d had to endure at Steve’s hand. Betrayed. Betrayed so cruelly, after dying and being reborn a richer man, all for Steve, only to come back to find him marrying some prince. Impatient. 

It’s a torment. Steve here, staring at him like this, with such loathing, unable to recognize his voice, his touch. A torment.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Steve accuses.

You’re him. Could Steve see after all? See, beneath the mask, some sign of the man he’d claimed to love so deeply?

“Possibly,” Billy says, annoyed, doubting, “Who’s him?”

“Oh, shut up, you’re The Dread Pirate Roberts. Admit it.”

Guess not.

Billy bows. “Proud to. At your service, Princess.”

“Princess,” Steve says softly, eyes drifting far before sharpening with his tongue. “Don’t call me that." 

It was worth a try. Still, nothing. No recognition. He’d stop playing this painful game if Steve would just give him one tiny—

“And if you’re at my service,” Steve says, “you can fuck off and die already.”

Billy clutches his chest. “Ouch,” he says solemnly. He tries not to smile, the hidden smile hiding real pain. “No really, that hurts.” He wanders closer. “What did I ever do to you?”

Steve tilts his head up, staring without seeing.

“Killed the man I love. How 'bout that.”

“Well,” Billy says, tilting his head. “I kill a lot of people. Have to be a little more goddamn specific, there, Princess. Was your love another Prince like this one? That your type?”

Billy has to try hard to keep the longing, the pain, the old reverence out of the word. Princess. He pins up a cruel smile. Lounges against a log, opposite. Steve doesn’t deserve to see his pain.

“Stop calling—” The words come out hot and hard but he deflates mid-word. Eyes travel leagues again as he stares off. 

"He was poor,” Steve breathes, suddenly sounding far away. “Poor. Perfect. But he thought I—” A small, sad smile blooms. “He had eyes like the sea after a storm. And he left, out across the sea, because he thought I—”

His eyes find Billy’s again. Flinty.

“Doesn’t matter. Your ship attacked his, out of all the goddamn ships on the ocean. And The Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

“Can’t afford to look soft,” Billy says, keeping his voice light, sharp smile in place. “People get word, start getting cocky, after that it’s nothing but too much work. Easier just to kill everybody.”

Steve stares, openmouthed, so much hurt in his eyes for a beat. But soon enough he swallows it down. Gets ahold of himself. Gets angry. 

“Oh, that’s cute. I’m in pain and you’ve got jokes.”

Billy clicks his tongue and all the humor drains out of his voice. “Life is pain, Princess.” Billy knows that all too well. “Deal with it.”

He gets up. Plucks a blade of grass and twirls it thoughtfully.

“I remember him, I think,” he begins. “This perfect, poor, idiot of yours.”

Steve refuses to look.

“He died like a man. Didn’t beg. What he did do was ask me to spare him.” Billy pauses, remembering. “Please, he said.”

And Steve’s eyes raise to his. Billy pushes the pain aside to hold that gaze.

“Lucky for him that I killed him when I did. He kept goin' on and on about his true love. Kept describing someone. Guess it had to have been you.”

Billy looks down on Steve, mouth hard.

“Guess I spared him a lot of disappointment, huh?”

Steve stands.

“You think this is fucking funny?”

Billy crowds up closer.

“Kept going on about how faithful you were,” he says, teeth clenched. “How you were waiting for him.”

“Shut up!” Steve yells.

“How long did you wait when Prince Tommy came knocking, huh? An hour? A week?”

“What did it matter?” Steve yells. Then he deflates. “I was already dead. I died that day, when he died out on the ocean I…”

Horse hooves galloping in the distance catch Billy’s attention. Fuck.

“…and you can die too, asshole.”

There's a shove from behind and Billy's tumbling hard down the hill.

And words slip out. The only words he can think to say.

“No—” Pain blooms in his shoulder. “Problem—” His head catches hard and he flips end over end. “Princess!” He wills his body to stay loose, possibly mitigate the damage.

“Billy?!” he hears. And the world is a violent green blur.

Chapter Five: The Fire Swamp

Without thinking, Steve rolls down the hill after Billy. By the time he's halfway down, he's certain he's going to throw up. By the time he reaches the bottom he's surprised he hasn't. 

"What the—" he spits as he finally, blessedly comes to a stop. "How the hell—" He raises a hand to his head and waits for the world to stop spinning.

"Why—"

"I think that just leaves out when and where," Billy says, already standing. Smirking like he hadn't just fallen down a giant hill mere moments ago. Like he isn't dizzy or disoriented at all.

"Were you ever going to tell me you weren't really dead or was I just supposed to mourn you for the rest of my life?" Steve yells, getting to his feet and getting right in Billy's face with it, his hands flying up to land uselessly on the blindfold still hung around his neck.

"You're marrying someone else," Billy says coldly, like that's all that matters, like he still thinks Steve had any choice in the matter.

“Would you just—" Steve says, pushing at the mask still covering the top half of Billy's face. "Take this off." He pushes and pulls at the thing, making little headway until Billy unties it at the back and it falls off, leaving them close enough, Steve leaning close, that they're sharing the same air and staring at each other full on.

And for a long moment, neither of them moves, they just stand there, chests brushing, breathing in the same rhythm, until finally Steve says, "I never wanted to."

Billy takes a step back. "Well, you are."

Steve steps forward, pushing himself up against Billy again, unable to stay away now that he knows the one and only man he's ever loved is alive, still and whole before him. "He heavily implied he'd make things bad for my family if I didn't." He runs his fingers up Billy's chest, unable to stop himself from touching, either, from making really and truly sure that Billy's real. That this is really happening.

Billy grabs his hands, looking like he's about to push him away and Steve could swear, would swear that he feels his heart stutter and roll to a stop in his chest before Billy drags him closer, trapping their hands between the crush of their bodies and Steve feels his heart trip over from silent to roaring as Billy's lips brush across his own. He can feel Billy's own heart rushing to match the accelerated tempo of his against the back of his hand as the kiss deepens and Billy leans up, his whole body stretching like its trying to engulf Steve's.

Steve feels the kiss and the press of Billy's body crest over him like a crashing wave and he lets it drown him, loses himself in the rough slide of Billy's shirt underneath his fingers, in the way Billy's heart crashes against his ribs like its trying to reach out and touch Steve's hand itself, loses himself in the soft press of Billy's lips. He moans into the kiss as Billy slips one of his hands out from between them to grip the back of Steve's neck and thumb gently at the hair there.

When they finally break apart it's only because they both violently need to breathe and even then, the space left between them is nearly non-existent. "I've never wanted anybody else," Steve whispers.

"Yeah, I can see that." Steve can feel the way Billy's mouth curves up more than he can see it. "Can feel that." The hand at Steve's neck drops down, trails along his spine to rest at his hip.

"There will never be anybody else," Steve breathes out, still just stuck on the way Billy feels, that he's real, that he's here. He inhales deeply—the way he smells—it's better than any perfume anyone could ever even dream up. "Never."

"Good," Billy says, voice low and deep, burning into him in a way Steve had forgotten it could.

Neither of them moves, both of them cool with staying frozen in this singular moment for the rest of forever and for a few days after that. Eyes locked. Smiles on their lips. Those magical hands of Billy’s touching Steve again and healing wherever they come to rest.

The sound of horse hooves shatters the spell, echoing down the valley.

“Shit,” Billy says, tracking their hunters with upturned eyes. “Your new boyfriend is a real pain in my ass.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s about to argue but Billy grabs up his hand before he can get a good start. Runs up the back with his thumb and then pulls it in for a quick, unthinking kiss.

“Lucky for us, we can go where they can���t track us,” he says, all cocky smile. “Come on.”

Like Steve’s not gonna follow.

Even if it does involve more running in his less-than-sensible palace shoes.

Billy slows as they enter a root-twisted, creepy-ass forest. They stop. Take the place in. Massive trees block the light out. Strange animal cries reach their ears.

“Hell,” Billy says. “For the dreaded Fire Swamp, this place doesn’t seem so bad.”

Steve gapes at him, eyebrow quirked.

“What? Not saying I wanna build a summer home here or anything, Princess, but the trees are kinda cool, you’ve gotta admit.”

Steve scoffs. Starts walking.

“Some rescue, buddy,” he mumbles as he passes. “Five star stuff, right here.” Gestures around them.

Billy shrugs.

“What was that?” Steve says, stood still and wary. 

The popping comes again. His pant leg catches fire—a great tongue of flame roaring up out of the ground and catching him on fire fire fire oh my god he’s—

He starts dancing wildly, waving his leg.

“I’m on fire! Billy, I’m on fire! Billy, Jesus will you—”

Billy tackles him to the ground. Digs up dirt and starts smothering the flames. After a few handfuls, Steve stops burning. They both sit in the silence after, panting.

“You know what?” Steve says, looking out into the unending maze of trees and woody vines they still have to get through. “It’s official. The Fire Swamp blows.”

He stands, brushing the dirt off of his clothes. Billy joins him on his feet. When the strange popping sound starts up again, Steve all but jumps into Billy’s arms and Billy swings him out of harm's way.

“Why is it only trying to set me on fire?” Steve asks, pissed. Billy sets him on his feet.

“Maybe it’s set off by noise,” he says absently. Holds out his hand to continue.

Everything goes fine for a while after that. Dandy. Billy fills him in on his death and rebirth as a Pirate. Steve doesn’t get barbecued. Billy full-on picks Steve up to help him across a fallen log, still talking, which is pretty freaking hot. Steve doesn’t get barbecued. All good stuff.

He should have known it was too good to be true because one wrong step later and—

—he's completely buried in the lightning sand.

But Billy will save him.

He’d been talking, hadn’t got a breath in before he’d plunged underground.

Billy will save him.

He starts to panic, lungs screaming for air. Begins to thrash and doesn’t even mean to. Doesn’t know what he means to do.

Billy will—

A hand closes on his arm, barely distinguishable from the grip of the ground. And Steve is yanked closer to Billy. Scrambles his arms around Billy’s body once it’s close enough to feel.

The first breath he grabs topside—Billy hauling them up—is the best breath he’s had since his first on this earth. Didn’t think for a moment there he’d ever have another.

“You know.” Billy gasps. “This is a good thing.” Gasp. Finally his breath gets somewhere back to normal. “We already know how not to get killed by two out of three of the worst things in this shithole.” He stands. Offers Steve a hand. “Good thing you’re so clumsy.” He grins.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Steve says, glowering.

Billy leans in and steals Steve’s lips briefly. Not fair.

“Had me scared there for a bit,” Billy whispers after, lips still brushing.

“Yeah,” Steve says back, wanting to hit Billy a little bit less. “Me too. Thanks for, you know, saving my ass. Again.”

Not even a little bit fair.

Billy smiles.

“No problem.”

His hand reaches once more for Steve’s.

And Steve can’t stay mad at the guy.

“So, two out of three,” Steve says. Counts them off, fingers getting involved. “Fire bullshit, sand bullshit, and—oh Jesus, so it’s just the ROUS’s left to tango with. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Rodents of Unusual Size?” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “Now those are some made up bullshit.”

He smiles his usual cocky smile.

Gets knocked to the ground by an ROUS.

Steve’s eyes pop wide as the giant rat goes in for the kill, long teeth bared.

“Bullshit, huh?” he says, involuntarily.

“You know what, Princess, I really don’t need any lip from you right now!”

Billy grapples with the beast, unable to gain the time to pull his sword and skewer it. Cries out as the ROUS bites down hard on his shoulder. 

The sight of blood snaps Steve into action.

He looks for a weapon but he doesn't find one so he barrels in with both fists and starts pounding on the monster's back uselessly, doing no damage whatsoever as underneath it, Billy screams.

"Fuck, the—" Billy grinds out. "The—there's a stick-" his hand flails in the general direction of a truly gigantic stick lying just behind him and Steve scrambles for it, wraps his hands around the thick base end of it and whacks the monster with it until the stick starts coming away bloody, until the monster goes limp, until the monster stops moving, until the monster stops breathing, until—

"Steve!" Billy shouts. "You got it! You got it! You can stop!"

Steve drops the stick and instantaneously his arms grow so heavy he almost can't feel them. He notices that his hair has become damp, sweaty, and is now sticking to his forehead. He pushes the monster's soon-to-be rotting corpse off of Billy and pulls Billy up, his breaths coming fast and heavy and not just from the exertion.

"And now we know we can handle those, too," Billy says, trying to put it off like it's a joke, but Steve isn't having it. He paws at Billy's good shoulder and under his bad one. Billy hisses but lets Steve draw him close.

"I'm not losing you again," Steve says, more deadly serious than he's ever been. "Not ever again." He sticks his face into the side of Billy's neck on his good side and tries not to start shaking.

"And you won't ever have to," Billy says, voice as calm as anything, even as his own hands wrap around Steve's back and rub up and down like Steve's the one that's injured instead of him. Like he's checking Steve over for injuries, rather than the other way around, like it's probably supposed to be after something like that.

They just stand there clinging to each other like that until Steve can breathe normally and Billy stops feeling the incessant need to check Steve over. 

It takes a while.

Chapter Six: Promise?

They don't talk much the rest of the way through the forest, either, choosing instead to look back at each other every few minutes, silently checking to make sure that they're both still here, both still real, both still alive, covered in blood though they might be.

And when they finally break through to the other side Steve lets out a long sigh of relief, then starts up with, "So what do you—" meaning to say so what do you want to do now? But he never finishes the sentence. He's cut off by the sound of horses approaching and the clank and clatter of armor.

"Shit," Billy curses. He draws his sword, wincing as he does so, in so much pain that he’s not likely to be much use in a fight, but bluffing out of habit.

Prince Tommy rides up to them with the biggest, smuggest smile on his face and it makes Steve want to spit as he says, "Steve," all fake concern and barely concealed disdain. "I'm so glad we found you!"

His smile brightens in the most practiced, staged way imaginable. "Let go of this ruffian and come here."

Steve snorts. "Actually, I'm good, thanks." Beside him, he can feel Billy tensing up, like he's going to fight Tommy even outmatched as he is. Even wounded as he is. Like he'd fight Tommy and his goons one handed and blindfolded if he had to.

Steve bites his lip.

He knows he can’t let that happen.

"What..." Tommy says slowly, his perfect, practiced smile slipping for just long enough to show how ugly his face truly is. "What do you mean by that, my love?"

"I am not your love," Steve says, hand reaching out for Billy's and squeezing it. "This is my love. This is the only man I've ever loved, so if you'll excuse us, we'll just be going now."

They make it about three steps before Tommy's horse is blocking their path, that smug, smarmy smile of his having gone fully dark.

The knuckles in Billy's other hand audibly pop as he tightens his fist around his sword hilt.

Steve sucks in a breath.

"Hmmm, no, I don't think so. See, that really doesn't work for me," Tommy says as he raises a hand then flings it towards Billy. "Guards! Arrest the man in black!"

Billy drops Steve's hand as the guards' horses draw closer. It only just barely gives Steve long enough to come up with a plan.

"I'll come with you!" he shouts just as the men start to dismount. "I'll come with you if you promise not to hurt him!"

Tommy smiles again, this time like the cat that ate the canary as Billy yells, "Steve, no!"

Steve turns to Billy, takes his hand, raises it to his lips and kisses it gently. "I'm not losing you again," he says, matter of fact.

Billy is silent as he walks over to Tommy's horse. "Promise," Steve says, the word coming out between his teeth like it's a threat. "You have to promise."

"I promise," Tommy says. He offers Steve a hand up and Steve takes it. "Your boy won't be harmed if you come with me."

"Men," Tommy calls out behind him as they ride away. "Take him wherever he wants to go."

Chapter Seven: The Six-Fingered Woman and The Pit Of Despair

As Tommy passes Carol he slows a moment, their eyes exchanging an altogether different communication.

“As long as he wants to be tortured and killed,” his eyes say.

“Oh, I promise,” hers reply.

Billy knows what comes next. He’s not as naive as Steve is. But God, Billy loves that glass half full outlook the guy works so hard to keep. Even if it does complicate the shit out of Billy’s life sometimes.

“So, you killing me here or do you have a special spot picked out?” Billy looks up into Carol’s cold gaze. “No need to lie about it.”

“Why would I bother?” Carol says. Nods to her men, her hand waving a gesture.

“You have six fingers on your right hand,” Billy says, smiling. “Oh, have you got some hurt coming your way.”

Carol frowns. There's a popping pain in his head. 

The next thing he sees is a root-snarled dungeon ceiling. He moves his eyes—about the only part of him not strapped down—to see who’s cleaning his wound.

“Max?” He strains against his bonds. “The hell are you doing here?”

“My job,” she says, frowning. Keeps cleaning his wound.

“Where the hell am I?” he tries. She’s still pissed at him for leaving. He can tell. She’s cleaning his shoulder pretty goddamn aggressively for someone who’s not pissed at him, for starters.

“The Pit of Despair,” she says. “What the hell did you do this time, Billy? You’ll never escape here, you know. No one will find this place to rescue you either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not, believe me.” Billy stares. Never thought he’d see her again. “Guess you’re stuck with me tilll I die, then,” Billy says, even though what he really wants to know is how she ended up here of all places. But what right does he have to ask? After bailing like he did?

“Yeah,” she says, plunking a bowl down hard. “Till they kill you.”

“So why bother fixing me?” Billy asks, mostly just wanting to hear her talk to him again.

She looks down on him with hard eyes. “Why the fuck do you think?” 

“Cause they’re gonna torture me,” he answers himself. “Of course they are. Whatever.” He’d shrug if he could. “I'm sure I can handle whatever they’ve got planned.”

“Idiot,” Max says. She smacks his shoulder with stinging salve then rubs it in, gentler. Her voice grows gentler, too.

“I wish you were right.”

Her hand rests on his arm. Her eyes fill with resignation.

“They’ve got this machine—”

---

Steve bolts up to sitting out of another nightmare. Gasps and curls into himself and tries to get his bearings. For a moment he’d fooled himself into thinking he was home. In his own bed.

He isn’t.

He jumps out of bed and pulls a pair of breeches on loosely, half tucking in his night tunic. This has to end. He has to end this.

“I can’t do this,” he says, bursting into Prince Tommy’s study. “I won’t. I love Billy. Always have, always will. Too much for this to happen.” He gestures wildly, taking in everything. Tommy, the castle, the wedding, this whole scenario.

“So if you say we’re getting married in ten days, fine. Whatever. Just know I’ll be dead by morning.” Steve rakes his hair. Plants his hands on his hips. “Your move.”

Because Steve can’t take one more goddamn nightmare. He just can’t.

Tommy sets the paper he’d been holding on the table. Stands.

“Alright—“

Robin, his lady-in-waiting, always laces his clothes up too tight. Says it accentuates his figure, but Steve knows it’s on the Prince’s orders. Next morning she’s at it again as if nothing had happened last night. As if she isn’t worried. As if this whole situation isn’t completely impossible.

“He said he sent his four fastest ships to find Billy?” she asks as she finishes dressing him. “And you believed him? God, Steve, sometimes you’re just so—”

Steve sighs. Pulls at his too-tight vest.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much choice, now do I?”

And if that isn’t the story of his life.

Robin just sighs along with him. At least he has one friend in all of this.

Chapter Eight: The Thieves Hideout

Will finds Lucas passed out in the thieves hideout in the forest.

“Okay, you need to get a grip,” he says as he drags Lucas over to a barrel of water and carefully dunks his head in.

It takes two tries but finally Lucas comes up spluttering, looking around wildly. “Will? What the—” he coughs before Will dunks him a third time.

“That time was for the smell,” Will says as he drags Lucas out of the water again. Lucas looks about as pleased as a wet cat but Will only shrugs before dragging him over to the nearest cabin and plonking him down on the ground so he can lean up against one of the porch pillars. “I’ve heard people talking about a six-fingered woman working in the castle. Other people on the brute squad have seen her. I'm on the brute squad now—cleaning out the thieves forest. What are you doing here?” Will asks.

Lucas peers up at him slowly. “I’m waiting for Dustin,” he says, his words dripping out of him as slow as the water drips from his hair. “He said to go back to the beginning, so, here I am.” He waves his arms about drunkenly. “At the beginning!” He looks like he might throw up any second and he can’t seem to stop his head from bobbing up and down like a puppet on strings.

“But…” Will says, unsure of how to broach this particular subject. Ultimately, he just goes for the direct approach: “Dustin is dead.”

Lucas smacks his head against the pillar behind him then groans.

“The Man in Black killed him,” Will says.

---

“I see you’ve healed up nicely,” Carol says as she strolls into the Pit of Despair.

In response, Billy grunts.

“I think it’s about time we got him started on the machine, don’t you?” she says, speaking more to Max than to Billy. Max says nothing and Billy stays silent. He’s decided he’s going to use the one bit of power he’s got left in this terrible place and not speak to Carol. Not at all.

He sees Carol walk closer to the giant machine placed somewhere above him and watches as she caresses it lovingly. “This machine is my life’s work,” she says and when neither Max nor Billy asks any questions about that, she goes on anyway. “It’s designed to suck the life from someone one year at a time.”

She walks closer to Billy and attaches some wires and other bits and pieces to him. He fights off a shiver at the cold press of her fingers on his skin. He tries to think of Steve, of the warmth of his touch, of his laugh, but the cold terror of this place chases away even the idea of a pleasant thought.

“Now,” she says, those cold fingers trailing slowly, delicately up Billy’s forearm to his shoulder before digging in there, trying to elicit a reaction and failing. “Please, when we go through this, be honest about how it makes you feel. Because I am, after all, recording this for science.”

She digs her fingers in deeper and Billy grunts like she’s annoying him rather than the truth—which is that she’s definitely freaking him out. Max is so quiet Billy isn’t even sure she’s still in the room.

Carol walks slowly to the machine, saying, “Now, to start you off, we’ll just go with one year. Make things nice and easy for your first try.”

Billy stays silent.

She flips a big, fat switch on the machine and for the first split-second it’s fine and Billy thinks it’ll be fine, it won’t hurt that much, but then the pain kicks in, starting in his toes and licking up his body like he’s being set on fire an inch at a time. He shuts his eyes to avoid knowing if he might be. Because he might be, it hurts that bad.

Some indeterminate amount of time later—it could be a minute, it could be an hour, Billy has no idea—he hears something click, thinks maybe she’s shut the machine off, but the pain doesn’t stop, it just reverberates, soaring and cresting inside of him, making him forget anything else other than this pain ever existed.

“Now tell me, how did that feel?"

Billy whimpers.

---

Lucas grunts. “Then we should get his help.”

“What?”

Lucas looks up at Will and tries to put on his best determined face but mostly he just makes himself nauseous. “He beat me in a sword fight.” He gets to his feet. He wobbles. A lot.

“He clearly beat you in a fight.” He takes a step and almost throws up. He considers it a massive victory that he doesn’t.

“And he beat Dustin’s brain.” He wobbles a bit more and reaches back to put a hand against the pillar he was leaning against. He closes his eyes against the way the world seems to tilt on its axis and buckle.

“If we’re going to get revenge for my father, we’re going to need his help.” He lets go of the pillar, takes three steps forward and falls flat on his face.

“Sure,” Will says. “But maybe let's wait until you’re sober, yeah?”

From his position in the dirt, Lucas mumbles his assent.

Chapter Nine: The Four Fastest Ships

“Double the guard.”

Keith nods from his position knelt at Tommy’s side. Tommy leans back, sharpening his dagger blade. 

“Prince Steve will be safe, Your Majesty.” Keith says. “The castle doors only have one key and that key stays with me at all—”

“Steve,” Tommy says, standing as Steve enters the room. “My love. What’s up?”

Robin elbows Steve in the side and pushes him, stumbling, into the room. He turns to glare at her. “Ask him!” she mouths before stepping out of sight.

Steve swallows. This is gonna end so badly, he can already tell. He can barely even look at the slimy fuck.

“Look,” he says, stepping forward. “I need to get some answers—“

“Tons of time for questions later,” Tommy says, walking over and placing his hands on Steve’s upper arms, squeezing. Steve has the sudden desire for a bath. He clenches his jaw. 

“Tonight we’ll be married,” Tommy goes on, ignoring Steve’s discomfort. “And tomorrow’s the honeymoon.” He winks at Steve, who throws up in his mouth a little. “You can ask all the questions your little heart desires once we’re on the ship.”

Steve’s stomach drops. Ship. He really might puke here.

“Ship?”

“Yeah. Every ship in my armada will be waiting in Florin channel to leave with us.”

“Every ship?”

And Robin was right. Of course Robin was right. Steve shakes Prince Tommy’s hands from his arms.

“Every ship, huh?” He backs away. “You’re a fucking terrible liar, you know that? You brag too much.”

Tommy gives some silent signal and Keith leaves the room after bowing uncomfortably.

“Watch your mouth,” Tommy says quietly. He walks over to sit at his desk like he doesn’t give a shit what Steve says. But he’s too tense to sit.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, glaring down. “Billy’s gonna show up and save me from this wedding. Watch.”

Tommy scoffs.

“You really are an idiot.”

Steve glares.

“Yeah,” he says, stalking forward. “That’s me! Stupid, naive little Stevie.”

Tommy sheaths the dagger he’d unconsciously picked up. Throws the sheathed weapon to the table.

“What?” Steve goes on. “Scared of what’ll happen to you when Billy does show? Coward?”

“Watch,” Tommy says, jaw clenched, “Your mouth. Or you won’t like what happens, Princess.”

“Don’t you ever fucking call me that,” Steve says, eyes darting to the sheathed dagger on the table. “What are you gonna do to me? You’re not gonna risk hurting me before the wedding, are you, smart guy. And if I do somehow end up marrying you I’ll be happier dead.”

Steve plants his hands on the table. Leans in.

“Billy and I are tied together with stronger bonds than you’ll ever feel in your miserable life. Our love will survive death. True love always wins, in the end. And you are a coward. Pathetic. You’re probably the slimiest little shit ever to crawl the earth!”

Tommy stands, vibrating with anger. He walks slowly to the door. Turns and addresses Steve quietly. Ominously. “You should have watched your mouth.” He smiles like he knows something Steve doesn’t. “You really should have, Princess.”

Then he’s gone. Steve stands in the silence, gut aching.

He picks up the forgotten dagger from the table.

The wedding draws nearer.

---

Three hours to the ceremony and a long unnatural wail echoes across the countryside. It permeates the stone of the castle walls and Steve feels an ache in his chest for the poor creature that makes it. The sound seems to mirror the sound he feels his heart is making. It snakes, echoing, down a busy village street and finds Lucas’s ears.

“It’s him,” Lucas says, pausing to discern the direction it comes from. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“How do you know?” Will asks.

“That’s the sound of ultimate suffering,” Lucas says, remembering the echo of that sound in his own heart the day his father died. “The Man in Black surely makes it now. Nothing but true love would have let him best us for the Prince on that clifftop, Will. Against my sword, your strength, Dustin’s mind? No. It was true love against us that day. Now, the very same man that hired Dustin to murder that true love of his marries his love tonight. The new Prince isn’t likely to see the morning. So you tell me, who else has more cause?”

“I suppose…” Will says, scratching his head.

Lucas starts threading his way through the crowd. Throwing out desperate excuse-mes and pardon-mes as he struggles to gain ground.

“Will,” he says, straining against a large lady carrying a goat. “A little help, maybe?”

“Oh,” Will says, looking down. “Sorry.”

He raises his hands, cupping his mouth for more volume.

“Everybody move!”

The crowd parts. The lady with the goat glares and makes way. And Lucas turns to Will, nodding his thanks.

They hurry through the gap, off to find The Man in Black.

Chapter Ten: The Sound of Ultimate Suffering

The pain of it is worse than any Billy’s ever known, makes him scream louder and harder and longer than he ever would have thought possible and on top of all of that he can hear another, quieter scream flowing alongside his own, like the harmony to a melody for a symphony he’d never in his life wanted to hear and now will never be able to forget.

He thinks it might be coming from Max, could be, based on the look that showed up on her face when Prince Tommy had stormed in and set the machine to its highest setting—50 years—and flipped it on. Could be—

Could be, but—

But—

it could also be that the pain the machine is causing him has split his throat in half and both parts, the harmony and the melody are coming from his own throat. He longs to reach up and to feel it, to see if his throat has really split in half like he thinks maybe it has but his arms are still trapped by his sides in the leather restraints they’ve had him in since he got here and even if they weren’t—even if they weren’t—

He doubts he’d be able to move them anyway; he doubts he could so much as twitch a finger with intention just now what with the way his whole body is twitching, jerking and spasming in a violent and gruesome reaction to the pain.

Every inch of him is on fire, every inch of him is screaming all at once, his heart pounding like an engine that’s missing pieces but somehow is still fighting to try and power his body. And he keeps screaming, keeps screaming and screaming and screaming until screaming is all he has left, until screaming is all he is, but even that stops too as eventually his lungs become too tired, too heavy, the pain too great to carry on carrying on any longer.

It takes longer for the rest of his body to wear itself out and stop its twisting and its shaking, its roiling and agonizing spasms but finally, as his heart slows, so does the twitching and the shaking until eventually he’s lying on the table as still and as silent as he’d previously been loud.

Around him he hears the machine being switched off, hears the water that powers it stop running, hears footsteps, feels a cold and clammy hand press to his neck, hears Max’s fierce, furious voice call out, “You’ve done it. He’s dead.”

He doesn’t see it but he feels Prince Tommy's sneer when he says, “Good. Then I’ll leave it to you to dispose of the body.” Hears more footsteps and the door swinging open, then slamming closed as he feels his lungs fight for just one more breath when Max throws her body on top of his and cries, feels his slowly breaking heart struggle to keep up some sort of rhythm, like his body is trying to tell her not to worry, not to cry ‘cause he’s still here. He’s still alive, even if his mouth won’t move, can’t move to tell her so. 

And even if when she whispers, “Don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here,” into his ear, what she’s really doing is just preparing his body to move, even if what she’s really saying is, “You know you deserved this,” he’s going to pretend what he heard was the first thing because if he’s going to die here, like this, he’d rather think it’s with his sister forgiving him rather than her hating him so much the sight of his near dead body does nothing whatsoever to move her.

He feels the last of the breath left in his useless, battered chest float out through his lips as she moves him onto a cart. Feels the ground pass underneath them and hears the thick wooden wheels click and grumble as she starts wheeling his body out the door.

“I don’t—” he thinks he hears her say, “I don’t know where we’re going to go.” But it’s hard, the world went dark almost the instant the pain hit and now the sound seems to be cutting out, too.

“Billy,” she says, but it sounds like he’s hearing it through cotton, or through absurdly, impossibly thick wool. His head feels like it’s full of wool, too, like each thought has to pass through miles of the stuff just to reach him.

The cart stops and the whole world narrows to the feel of Max’s fingers on his cheek, or at least what his imagination is telling him is Max’s fingers on his cheek as he feels a different kind of burn spread throughout his body, the lack of air spreading to each and every one of his muscles in turn and in turn making them numb as his heart slowly, slowly, slowly rolls itself over, as Max says, “Please, don’t.”

His heart gives one last final thunk, giving Billy just enough time to wish that he could reach out and touch Max’s face and tell her that he’s sorry for everything and to ask her, to beg her, to plead for her to tell Steve what happened to him. Because more than anything he doesn’t want Steve to think that anything could have kept him from rescuing him other than this—than absolute death itself.

Chapter Eleven: Miracle Mike

Lucas follows the tip of his sword through the forest, weaving this way and that, eyes closed.

“Father, guide my sword,” he whispers as he makes his meandering way.

“Hey Lucas,” Will says.

“Not now, not now,” Lucas says, annoyed. “Can’t you see that I’m concentrating?”

He doesn’t dare break the spell by opening his eyes.

“But you’re about to—”

“Ah!” a girl shrieks. Lucas’s eyes fly wide.

“What the hell are you stabbing random people in the ass for?” the redhead yells, stalking toward him and batting his blade aside. “What is that? Oh, hell, I’m bleeding, too! Great! I just bought this dress!”

She’s crying. Had been crying from the look of it. She punches Lucas. It lands harder than he expects it to and he rubs his jaw afterwards, feeling a blush creeping up under his palm. What a right hook. What a girl. Why is she crying? What is happening?

“Sorry,” Will says when Lucas remains silent too long. “But we’ve been looking for him all day long.” He points to The Man in Black, whose still limbs spill over the sides of the small cart the girl had been pushing.

“Billy?” The girl says, her eyes squinting, defensive. “What the hell do you want with him?” Her voice barely trembles. She wipes her eyes and doesn’t let any more tears fall. But Lucas can see that she wants to.

He finally finds his voice. “Revenge," he says.

Good job. Not creepy at all.

“Well,” Max says, swallowing and doing an impressive job of looking like she doesn’t care one way or another, “he’s dead, so….” She raises her eyebrows. That’s that, those eyebrows say.

“Not on him,” Lucas says, raising conciliatory hands and waving her off with them, a little scared of her. “On Prince Tommy—actually on Prince Tommy’s six-fingered henchman, but—you know what, we don’t have time for this. We need The Man in Black—” He stops at her intensified glare. “Er, um, Billy. We need Billy here to stop the royal wedding.”

“Needed, I guess, now,” Will chimes in, hands clasped at his front and eyes downward.

“Needed,” Lucas nods. “No!” Everyone living jumps at his sudden shout. “Need!” He looks to Max. Grabs her shoulder and lowers his voice. “I’m so sorry for this.” He turns to Will.

“Pick him up. Do you have any money?”

“A little,” Will says. “Why?” He picks up Billy’s limp body, leaving the cart behind and not even seeming to feel Max’s blows hitting him, though he is careful not to step on her feet.

“I just hope it’s enough to buy a miracle.”

He takes off. Mostly because Max’s fury begins turning his way at his words.

“I’ve only got forty,” Will says, hurrying after.

He picks Max up and slings her over his other shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says to her, ignoring her yelling and still-pounding fists. “You keep getting in my way and I don’t want to hurt you.”

He walks on after Lucas.

“Wait for me!”

Not long later, Lucas is pounding on the door to a small cottage. After much fuss, a peephole swings open in the door.

“Yes?”

A young, pale face appears, already annoyed.

“Mike,” Lucas says. “I need one of your miracles.”

Miracle Mike takes in the group.

“Do you ever.”

He scratches his cheek.

“Too bad the King’s stinking son fired me, isn’t it?” Miracle Mike says, glaring. “Oh, and thanks for bringing that great memory back, too, Lucas. Really. Appreciate it.” There’s an awkward pause. “Well, it’s been nice chatting.” Mike says, breaking it. “Buh-bye now. We’re closed.”

He slams the door to the peephole shut.

Lucas pounds on the door louder.

“Beat it,” Miracle Mike says, the peephole flying open once more. “Or I’ll call the brute squad.”

“I’m on the brute squad,” Will says, shifting Max’s wriggling body to scratch an itch on his nose.

“You are the brute squad,” Mike says, craning his neck to look Will in the eye.

“It’s important,” Lucas says. He’ll beg the guy if he has to.

“I’m retired,” Mike says, sour. “Anyway, why would you want a miracle from the guy the King’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you wanted me to miracle.”

“He’s already dead,” Lucas says brightly, recognizing a selling point and flaunting it.

“Yeah?” Mike says, scanning the still form draped over Will’s shoulder. “Fine. I’ll take a look. Bring him in.”

Lucas smiles up at Will, who smiles back.

They enter the cottage and Will drops Max, but not before Max gives him one last obligatory pounding on the back; she crosses her arms over her chest and goes silent after that. Watches Billy’s body worriedly. 

“You got money?” Mike asks, palpating Billy’s chest.

“Sixty-five,” Lucas says, hoping to avoid haggling and keep enough for something to eat if he does live. He’d only had thirty, which brought their actual total up to seventy.

“I’ve never worked for that little,” Mike says. “Well,” he pauses. “Once. But that was a noble cause.”

Aha.

“He has a crippled wife,” Lucas lies. “His children—on the brink of starvation.”

“You always have sucked at lying, Lucas.”

Damn.

“I need him to avenge my murdered father.”

“You? Finding that six-fingered woman? Your first story was better,” Mike says. “Probably owes you money, right?” He looks around. “Where’s that bellows? He mutters. “Well, I’ll ask him.”

“He’s dead,” Lucas says.

“Oooh, look who knows so much. As a matter of fact, your friend here is only mostly dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Please, open his mouth.”

Lucas does and Mike inserts the end of the bellows between Billy’s teeth and pumps up Billy’s chest. Once. Twice. Max starts to come forward, mouth open in protest, but Will stops her with a gentle hand. Shakes his head no. She frowns, but stays quiet.

“Buddy! Hey, hello in there! What’s so important, huh?” Mike asks Billy loudly, leaning in. “What have you got that’s worth living for?”

The miracle man pushes down on Billy’s chest.

“Truuuue Loooove,” Billy’s body groans out with the released air.

“True love, you hear that?” Lucas says, excitedly. “What’s a more noble cause than that?”

“Other than a BLT, I can’t think of anything,” Mike says. “But that’s not what he said. He clearly said—”

“Liar!”

A brown-eyed girl enters the room, her dark curls bouncing. “Liar. True love. He said true love, Mike. Friends don’t lie!”

“I’m telling you, I’m not—”

The girl holds out her palm and Miracle Mike rises a solid foot up from the floor, feet kicking feebly. Blood drips from the girl’s nose. She glares.

“Help. Or I dump your ass.”

“I like her,” Max says, smiling.

Chapter Twelve: Brains, Strength, Steel, Attitude and a Wheelbarrow

“Okay, so…” Mike says some time later as he’s putting the finishing touches on the weird, round, little chocolate-coated miracle he’s spent the past hour making. “Give him this, then wait about fifteen minutes.” He passes over it one last time with the little brush in his hand before blowing on it and putting it in a little cloth pouch.

He hands the pouch to Max with less fanfare than something like this probably deserves and she follows his lead by roughly shoving it into the pocket of her sweater.

“The chocolate makes it go down easier,” says the brown-eyed girl, the one who had, oddly, said her name was Eleven, though when Max had asked her why she had such an odd name she’d been met with a resounding chorus of, “Don’t ask!” coming from everyone in the room except for, oddly, Eleven herself.

“Right,” Max says slowly as they all start heading for the door, Will picking up Billy as he passes by the table and glancing over at Max like he won’t hesitate to scoop her up again if she refuses to go with them this time.

Which…

Well…

Max figures for better or for worse (and probably for worse) she’s in this now, so she’s going to see this through to the end, even if she strongly suspects it ends with them near the castle, huddled around the dead body of her brother, wondering why this “cure” didn’t work.

Because she doesn’t entirely believe “only mostly dead” is really a thing because she saw her brother die, she felt it happen, like she felt it in her bones and in her gut strongly enough that the feeling stopped her dragging that cart she’d been carrying him in and she’d had no choice but to scramble back and to check on him, to put her hand to his neck and to feel as his pulse crawled to a stop, to feel it as he died underneath her fingers.

And she sees his body now, has seen it get colder and colder each time she reached out to touch it, to touch him. And each time she wanted to see if some lingering echo was left inside, if there was some part, any part, of her brother left, but every time she tried all she was rewarded with was stillness and silence. And cold. So much cold.

Or in other words, she looked, she wanted to believe, but all she was rewarded with was the complete and utter absence of life.

And how could something like that ever be reversed?

No miracle, no matter how good, no matter how clever nor how chocolate-coated, could ever fix that.

Right?

Right?

But then Eleven reaches out and puts a delicate, soft hand on her shoulder and says, “This will work. Trust me,” and she says it with such deep sincerity and complete and total faith that Max wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, it can.

“Okay,” Max says and she doesn’t quite believe it still, she’s still terrified that there’s no way to get her brother back and that this great, big mistake she’s made is one she’ll have to live with for the rest of her life, however long that might be, but… she wants to believe it. She wants to, so she’s going to try.

Then she catches Lucas looking at her funny so she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders and heads out the door before he gets it into his head to say anything to her about whatever it is he thinks he sees on her face.

She hears footsteps behind her and knows Will and Lucas are following close behind and she hears Mike and Eleven call out, “Good luck storming the castle!” loudly after them. Then, more quietly, almost quietly enough that Max misses it entirely, Mike says, “And you’ll need it, you idiots haven’t got a chance!” which is hastily followed up by the sound of a punch landing and Mike groaning loudly enough that Will almost turns around to see what happened before thinking better of it and continuing on.

They don’t talk much on the way to the castle. Well, Lucas tries to. He keeps asking Max about her favorite things, about what she does for work but Max isn’t in much of a mood to talk, less so about what she’s been up to lately and how it involved helping the people who killed her brother and how she’d known that was their plan, how she’d known and hadn’t cared, had been so busy with her own sense of self-righteous indignation over him leaving her alone with their parents that she’d been willing to watch him die for it.

That is, she had been until it had happened. Until he’d started screaming and she’d screamed with him, realizing entirely too late that what he’d done (or more like hadn’t done) wasn’t, had never, been worth his life.

Will, thankfully, doesn’t seem to be in much of a mood to talk, either, instead opting mostly for occasional grunts every time he switches up the way he’s carrying Billy, not that carrying Billy seems to be any great sort of strain on him at all.

And then, once they’re near enough to the castle they stop behind a big, brick building and Will leans Billy up against the wall and looks to Max. He looks to Max but he doesn’t say anything, just pins her with this important, soul-searing look that takes her a minute to fully get before she finally jumps to her feet, saying, “Oh, right,” and dragging the little pouch from Miracle Mike out from the pocket of her sweater.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she says as she fishes the chocolate-coated miracle from its little cloth pouch and Lucas holds Billy’s head back, elongating his throat so that swallowing will take the least possible amount of effort.

Max carefully presses the candy-shaped, candy-looking miracle past Billy’s lips and into his mouth. And she waits.

And she watches.

And she hopes.

“Is this going to take long?” Will asks, peeking over the castle wall at the armed guard in the courtyard below. “It must be only half an hour till the wedding.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lucas replies, staring at Billy for any signs of movement.

Max crouches down, face intent.

Nothing.

She turns to hide her reddening face and burning eyes. Pretends to check that their escape route is still clear.

Can’t stop the tears coming as the silent seconds drag on.

Shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

---

Billy tastes chocolate. He’s only ever tasted it once, when Steve snuck him a chunk on his Birthday, so it’s confusing that it’s in his mouth now.

Isn’t he dead? He opens his eyes.

Guy looking back at him seems familiar. Billy’s definitely fought him once before.

“Jesus, back for more?” he says, mouth awkward and hard to maneuver. He looks over the guy’s shoulder to see a strangely familiar giant. Great. “Fine, fine,” he says, stretching his jaw then continuing. “I’ll take you both. Come on.”

He hears a wet laugh.

Max?

Billy’s eyes find hers with some difficulty. He manages a weak smile at the sight of her.

“You weren’t fuckin' lying, Shitbird,” he says, voice softer than his choice of words. “That was one rough ride. About killed me.” Knows it had killed him, but she doesn’t need to— Hang the fuck on.

“Why won’t my arms move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Will chimes in.

“We brought you back,” Lucas explains. “Took a miracle—an expensive miracle at that,” he mutters, mourning the weight of coin in his purse. “But then—”

“Okay, enough with the random exposition already, Jesus,” Billy says, clipped. “Just answer one thing. Who are you? I piss you off sometime or something—swear I’ve dueled you or something. And why am I on this wall? And where the fuck is Steve?”

Max gives one wet chuckle and finally wipes her face.

“Let me explain,” Lucas says, finger raised. He pauses a moment, thinking, then lowers it. “Nope, there’s too much. Let me sum up.”

“Fine,” Billy interrupts. Lucas glares. Max kicks his boot.

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, because that’s all he’s fucking got to work with apparently, and Mr. Let Me Explain starts up again.

“Steve is marrying Tommy in a little less than half an hour. So we have to break in, break up the wedding, steal your Prince and make our escape—after I kill Countess Carol.”

“We do, huh? Shit, that’s all?” Billy says. But his face says he’s thinking over the problem. More seriously he says, “doesn’t give us much time.”

“You just wiggled your finger!” Will says, amazed. “That’s wonderful.”

Billy throws him a put-upon glance.

“Always been a quick healer.”

Immediately back to the problem, he goes on. “What are we up against?”

“Only one way in,” Lucas says. Picks Billy up enough that his head can loll back over the parapet and he can get a look at the gate behind them. “And sixty men down there guarding it.”

He lowers Billy back against the wall.

“And we’ve got…?”

“Your brains. Will’s strength. My steel. Her.” Gestures at Max who glares to rival her brother.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “We’re screwed. If I had a month to plan, maybe, but this…” Shakes his head. No chance.

“You just shook your head,” Will says brightly. “That doesn’t make you happy?”

Billy flops his head around to look derisively up at Will.

“My brains, her attitude, his steel and your strength against sixty men and you think a little fucking head jiggle is gonna do it for me? Hmm?”

Will smiles. Billy jiggles his head again. So screwed.

“Now if we only had a goddamn wheelbarrow, I could maybe work with that.”

“Got you covered,” Max says. “Was hauling your heavy dead ass around in one when this stabby idiot and his friend found me.”

She shows him her bloodied dress then winks up at Will. The big guy blushes and scratches his neck.

“You stabbed my sister?!” 

Billy flops menacingly Lucas’s way. Gonna kill the little fucker. But he thinks of Steve—at least once every thirty seconds like clockwork and here it is. Cools it. Billy’ll kill the guy later. They’re under a time crunch, here. 

“Whatever,” he says. Rolls his head limply back to see Max. “Why didn’t you fucking say we had a wheelbarrow in the first place?”

“Oh shut up smartass, like I could have known it’d be useful.”

He raises his eyebrows at that. When the hell isn’t a wheelbarrow useful? But he’s only half invested. Half present. He’s thinking again.

“Give my right nut for a Holocaust Cloak right about now,” he throws out on the off chance.

“There we can’t help you,” Lucas says.

But Will pulls something that strongly resembles a Holocaust Cloak from inside his shirt. Dangles it in front of them.

“Will this work?” he asks.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Lucas says.

“Miracle Mike gave it to me. Fit so nice, he said I could keep it.”

“Alright alright,” Billy says, ready for action. “Come on, help me up.”

They stand, both Will and Lucas supporting his dead weight and Max supervising.

“Now,” Billy says, once they’re more or less upright, “we’ve just got to find me a sword.”

His head flops forward. Shit.

“Why? Lucas asks as Will casually balances Billy’s head back upright on his neck. “You can’t even lift one.”

“Sure,” Billy says, his head flopping backward this time. Will lifts it again. Fucking pats it before taking his hand away. “Thanks,” Billy says through gritted teeth. “But it’s not like anyone besides you three assholes knows that, is it? Anyways, It’ll be good to have once we’re knee deep in shit inside the castle. We’re gonna run into problems in there.”

His head flops forward again. Max begins giggling behind them as they finally get going. Will lifts it up once more and this time keeps his huge hand there holding it straight as they move.

“Problems. Chyeah, I’ll say,” Lucas says, ignoring Billy’s flopping head and Max’s giggling. All business. “How do I find the Countess? Once I do, how do I find you again? Once I do, how do we escape?”

“Don’t bug him,” Will says, turning Billy’s head to look his way while he talks.

Billy bites down the curses he wants to fling at Will for that shit. Jesus fucking—

Will’s oblivious. 

“He’s had a hard day,” the guy says. Billy snorts.

Max’s giggle turns into a full-on laugh that she’s forced to stifle with a hand. She’s gonna regret that shit once Billy can move again.

“Right,” Lucas says, looking back, Will turning Billy’s head to catch the response. “Sorry.”

Will makes Billy nod a few times and at this Max just fucking loses it, dissolving into a fit of giggles that are nearly silent as she runs out of breath. Billy listens to her back there, wheezing, slapping her leg. Bitch. Grimaces and endures his piggyback ride as they make their way off the wall.

“Lucas,” Will whispers as Max’s laughter begins to peter out. “I hope we win.”

And Billy laughs too, at that. Once. Darkly. Thinks of Steve and everything that lies between them. Minutes ticking by and him here just useless.

Yeah, big guy. He closes his eyes. Maybe prays. You and me both.

Chapter Thirteen: The Wedding

A voice calls out from behind Steve: "Excuse me, Prince." 

And it's a voice Steve knows all too well at this point—Countess Carol. 

"What do you think you're doing?" 

Steve climbs down from the window ledge he'd been climbing out of and turns to face her, red-cheeked and red-handed. "Oh, you know, just trying to get a better view," he says, casual as anything, even though they both know that's anything but the truth. 

"Yes, I'm sure you were," Carol says with a smile. She's clearly aiming for her words to sound kind, like she thinks maybe that will fool him somehow, but she winds up mostly face planting into disdain instead. She holds a hand out to him and he takes it, knowing he has no real choice. 

"The wedding is starting soon. Come, I'll walk you there myself, it wouldn't do for you to be late," she says, the razor sharp smile spreading across her face with these words only further illustrating the threat that lies behind them.

They walk out of his chambers and Robin joins them halfway down the hall, linking her arm through Steve's on the opposite side of Carol's. "I told you your stupid escape plan would never work," she whispers into his ear just before they reach the room where the wedding is to be held and all he can do is roll his eyes at her as she splits off from him to take her place in the back row. 

Billy is all he can think about as Carol drags him down the aisle towards Prince Tommy. He hopes Billy will come and rescue him, not that he ever should have had to, it should be Billy he's heading down this aisle towards right now; it never should have ever been anybody else. 

Tommy smiles brightly at him once Steve reaches him. Even reaches out to give him a delicate kiss on the cheek and calls him, "My love," again, like he believes this is real, like he believes any of this matters. Like this is anything more than a sham marriage he's forcing Steve into. 

Like he thinks they really love each other or something. 

Or maybe he's just really good at faking it, Steve doesn't know. Either way, Carol drops his hand as Tommy takes it, making Steve feel less like a human being and more like a parcel exchanging hands.

He basically is, though. Like that's what his life boils down to at this point - he's a thing to be used by someone else and that's it.

The tall, pale, buffoonish priest before them begins rambling the second they turn to face him and his voice alone makes Steve want to tear his own ears off. He has this weird thing with his voice where he pronounces all his r's as w's and also all his l's as w's and it makes him almost impossible to listen to.

And this priest he goes on and on and on about true love like, again, this is a marriage of true love, like Steve's not just standing here waiting for his real true love to come in and save him, like any of this really means anything at all. 

It gets so bad Steve starts to wonder if there's any way he could maybe, possibly just end it all right here, right now when outside there's a loud noise and someone shouting, "Hold the line, men!" and Steve sees the scowl spreading on Tommy's face just as he feels the smile spreading across his own. "Billy's coming for me," he says. "My true love is coming for me."

The look on Tommy's face sinks into something murderously angry, murderously angry but with just an edge of fear and that look of fear has Steve's smile growing bigger even as Tommy says, "He can't be, I killed him," because Steve knows better. He knows, without a doubt, that the noise outside is Billy coming for him. He just knows it.

"If you're so sure he's dead, why do you look so scared?" Steve asks, properly happy for the first time in entirely too long.

Tommy grips Steve's hand tighter and turns his death glare on the priest. "Hurry up!' he insists with a big, sweeping hand gesture.

The priest nods but keeps droning on, only seeming to just be reaching the real beginning of the ceremony proper as he says, "Marriage is about two people coming together in united harmony…" which only serves to make Tommy groan in frustration. 

Outside, someone screams. 

"Just say man and husband!" Tommy shouts. "Just get it over with!"

The Priest nods again only this time he does as ordered, stating: "Man and husband."

And that's it. The ceremony is over. Steve is married and Billy didn't rescue him. 

Next to him, Tommy smirks as Steve feels his heart sink down somewhere past his knees. 

Chapter Fourteen: Vengeance

“Stand your ground!”

Lucas heaves the wheelbarrow forward step by grueling step.

“I am The Dread Pirate Roberts!” Will bellows, standing cloaked atop said wheelbarrow. Billy dangles off of Lucas’s back and almost feels sorry for the guy. Tries to pinwheel his legs along to feel like he’s helping. Max just strolls behind out of sight, watching the scene. Billy can feel her repressed laughter.

Not the time. Jesus. Little sisters.

“There will be no survivors!”

“Now?” Lucas says, shoving one step forward.

“Not yet,” Billy says.

“My men are here! I am here! But soon you will not be here!”

“Now?” Lucas asks, desperate.

“Light him.”

“All your worst nightmares are about to come true!” Will says dramatically as the flames rush up the holocaust cloak. “The Dread Pirate Roberts is here for your souls!"

The castle guard scatters, fleeing this way and that, scared out of their minds by the ruse. Granted, Will’s bulk aflame and coming for you was definite grounds to lose one’s shit. Billy doesn’t blame the cowards one bit.

Max starts laughing outright as Will steps down from the wheelbarrow and smothers the flames from his cloak. Lucas hauls Billy toward the gates sole standing defender who tries to be smart by lowering the portcullis.

“Will!” Lucas shouts. No need. The giant is already lumbering toward the impediment. He gets a grip and hauls the portcullis back up. The castle-crashers all advance, crowding the man against the gate.

Billy stares the man down, partial paralysis be damned.

“Give us the gate key.”

Like he’s even intimidating at all just dangling here.

“I have no gate key.”

See? Fuck.

“Will,” Lucas says calmly. “Rip his arms off.”

And thank God for giants.

“O-oh,” the man stammers, swallowing. “You mean this gate key.”

Max snatches it from him. Curtsies before knocking him unconscious and turning to open the gate.

They stroll into the castle. They have done the inconceivable. Onto the next impossible thing on this evening’s docket.

They wander the halls of the castle. With no real knowledge of its layout, they’re basically counting on fate to send their feet in the right direction and Billy finds he doesn’t really mind that. He has a few good reasons to put his trust in fate. To believe he might come through this with love and limb still intact. Life still to live. He feels Steve close by here. That same connection he’s always felt with him. Steve, warm and his and out there somewhere in the castle. Separated as they are by twisting halls and stony walls, Billy can still feel Steve as if he’s standing here beside him.

Now if only Billy can only figure out how to stand and meet him, that’ll be something.

The unlikely group shuffles awkwardly on.

Countess Carol is the first life they meet, her and four armored guards storming the hallway, blocking their advance, and Lucas steps forward with a triumphant blaze in his eyes at the sight of her. Raises his sword to meet the guard she’s brought with her. Billy watches, dangling from Will’s brawny arm, his own sword dangling just as awkwardly as his body from his pathetically weak grip.

Useless.

“Kill the dark one, the girl and the giant,” Carol says. “But leave the fourth for questioning.”

Billy grins. Cocky bitch ain’t she?

Lucas makes short work of the advancing guard. Stands tall once the last one falls. Raises his sword to Countess Carol.

“Hello,” he says, soft. Deadly. “My name is Lucas Sinclair. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Carol readies her raised blade. Stares Lucas down. Then bolts suddenly, leaving Lucas standing dumbfounded for a beat in her wake.

He unfreezes quick enough and sprints after her.

Billy watches him go. Exchanges a glance with Will.

“What was that all about?” Max asks.

“Will!” they hear echoing down the hall, preventing explanation. “I need you!”

“I can’t leave him and the girl alone, Lucas.”

“He’s getting away from me, Will!” Desperate cries over echoing pounding. “Please!”

Will dangles Billy off a suit of armor.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells him and Max with a frown. Walks off down the corridor.

“Hey,” Billy says to Max as soon as Will lumbers out of sight. “Help me with something, will ya?”

Lucas speeds off after the countess as soon as the door flies from its hinges at the polite suggestion of Will’s fist. He rushes onward, heedless of his surroundings, his focus only on catching her. On forcing her to pay for what she’d done to him. To his father.

Serves him right when he bolts through a door and is stopped cold, stumbling back, when a flung dagger sinks hilt-deep in his abdomen.

Stupid of him. Lost before he’s even begun, his anger getting the better of him. Making him blind. Robbing him of thought.

“I’m sorry father,” he whispers to the ceiling. “I tried. I tried.”

“Ohh,” Countess Carol says, strolling forward. “I remember you. You’re that little brat whose father I taught a lesson all those years ago. Recognize my mark, you see.”

She gestures to the scars on his cheeks. Lucas is paralyzed with the pain in his gut. Can do nothing but listen. Can barely focus.

“Have you been chasing me your whole life only to fail now?” Carol asks, head tilting with interest. “I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” She smiles. “Cool.”

Lucas’s paralysis breaks only enough for him to slide down the wall, legs failing him too. He cradles the knife for a moment, bracing himself, then slides it free. He stares up at Carol, full of hate and unable to contain it.

Figures he might as well use it.

He stands.

“Cute,” Carol says. “Still trying to win? Poor boy.”

She slips forward and stabs out with a smooth killing blow. Lucas is quick with his sword. Deflects it almost enough. His shoulder is impaled.

Carol frowns. Stabs out again. Gets only Lucas’s arm, his defense quicker this time.

She rains down a hard strike from above and he dashes it away, responding in kind. Clashing metal.

“Hello,” he says, stalking forward. “My name is Lucas Sinclair. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

The pain seizes him up and he falls into a table to keep from losing his feet completely. Carol takes the opportunity to strike. Meets his steel. He rises, countering blow after blow. Clash clash.

“Hello,” he begins again. Repeats himself again. Says what he’s been waiting to tell this bitch for years. Lands blow after blow and has her on the defense now. Backing away from him now.

He says it once more for good measure.

“Hello—”

“Stop saying that!” she orders, desperation in her eyes as he deflects one angry blow from her sword and then recreates the wounds she’d given him moments before. Two serpent strikes that she can’t even react to. He drives her farther and farther backwards as those words, words formed and polished over long vengeful years come out again in one final roar.

“Hello!” he says, voice ringing triumphant. “My name is Lucas Sinclair!” Voice quick and sure as his blade. “You killed my father!” Voice eager. “Prepare to die!”

He corners her finally. Swipes her cheek with a gentle stripe to match his scar.

“Offer me money,” he quietly commands.

“Yes,” she hisses out.

He marks the other cheek. Nearly twins now.

“Power too, offer me that.”

“All that I’ve got,” she promises. “More. Please.”

Lucas takes up his stance for one last blow.

“Offer me everything I ask for.”

“Anything you want,” she says, clipped, angry. Strikes out in one final attempt to trick her way past death. He deflects easily. Catches up her arm on a rebounding downstroke and lets her skewer herself on his sword.

The end at last. At last.

“I want my father back, you bitch.”

He shoves the blade deeper. Clean through. Watches the realization of death form in her eyes then kicks her off his blade. She’s dead before she even lands. Her body tumbles, crumpled, to the stones.

Vengeance is his. At last.

Now what?

Chapter Fifteen: To The Pain

Steve walks down the hall in a daze, barely able to follow after the doddering old King and Queen. 

He doesn't know what to do with himself. 

Billy didn't come for him. 

Billy didn't save him.

And if Billy didn't save him there can only be one reason for that—Tommy wasn't lying. 

Billy's dead. 

Billy's dead and Steve has been married to Tommy.

He's actually married to Tommy and the man he loves is dead and now he has to do what he said he'd do.

He has to kill himself. He can't wait. Tommy could come for him at any moment. 

Killing himself now, right now, is his one and only option at this point.

They're almost at his room when he catches up to the King and says, "Goodnight." He almost says, "And I'll see you in the morning," but he doesn't. Because he won't.

The King smiles sweetly at him and says, "Goodnight, dear boy. Sleep well!" before hurrying off down the hall after his wife, not waiting to see if Steve has anything else to say, which is probably for the best as Steve might very well have let slip what he's going to do if asked. 

And so, with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, Steve walks into his room for what he knows will be the last time.

The first thing he sees is the dagger he'd stolen laid out on top of his desk almost like it's been waiting for him. Like this is meant to be. Like this was the way things were always going to play out. 

He sits down slowly, carefully, giving himself plenty of time to back out, to do something else, to do anything else, but he finds himself not wanting to. He can't stand the thought of being married to Tommy. Not for another minute. Not for another second. 

Not a life with no hope of rescue, no way out.

He takes the dagger carefully in one hand and pulls down the neck of his shirt to expose his chest with the other. The cold, cruel steel of it touches his skin and just as he's about to plunge it in and be done with it all, a familiar voice he never thought he'd ever hear again calls out, "I wouldn't be doing that."

Steve turns, excitement building in him so quickly it feels like he might just explode simply by moving around in his chair and internally he sort of feels like that actually happens, like something inside him has exploded and overflowed because there's Billy, lying in his bed like he belongs there.

"Billy!" Steve shouts as he flings himself at his love, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him desperately. He moans Billy's name and calls him darling but Billy makes no move to hold him or to run his hands through his hair or to do much of anything at all, really, and Steve can't stop himself from asking, "Why aren't you holding me?"

In response, Billy grunts, "Careful," like that's supposed to mean something, like Steve is supposed to understand what it's supposed to mean.

He doesn't, so he says, "Really? That's it? That's all you've got?" He sounds annoyed, he knows he does, but he can't help it. This is, quite possibly, the most romantic moment of their entire lives and Billy isn't really saying or doing anything about it. 

But…

It doesn't really matter, Steve decides as he dives in for another round of kisses. Billy's alive and nothing else in the whole world matters. He can feel Billy smile against his lips as they kiss, he can see the happiness sparkling in his eyes but still, all Billy says is, "It is for now." 

Steve shakes his head and settles in, his hands moving up and down Billy's chest, just taking in every glorious inch of him and revelling in each and every breath he feels Billy take. He's so happy, he's so overcome with joy that it takes him a minute to realize that none of this changes quite as much as he wants it to.

"Oh. But… I'm married," he says. "You're too late."

Billy smirks. "Are you sure of that?" 

Steve huffs. "Well, of the two of us I'm the one that was stuck standing there so yes, I'm pretty sure."

"And how do you know?" Billy asks, smirk only growing wider. 

"What do you mean, how do I know? I was there!" 

"Yes, but did you say your vows? Did you say I do?"

Steve pauses. Thinks it over. "No," he says. "I don't suppose I did." 

Billy's tongue flicks out over his lips. "Then that means you aren't married. If you didn't properly finish the ceremony, then you aren't married." He looks somewhere over Steve's shoulder and says, "Isn't that right, Prince Tommy?" 

Steve's stomach does a single, full cartwheel and crashes into his lungs, knocking the breath from him. He doesn't want to look and see Tommy standing behind them. He doesn't want to know.

"It doesn't matter," Tommy says, "We'll just do it again after I kill you." There's the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath and Steve rolls away from Billy to see Tommy standing in the doorway just as he'd feared.

"But a fight to the death seems like the only way I'll ever truly be rid of you, so let's do this," Tommy says to Billy, ignoring Steve completely, like he isn't even here. Normally, Steve would hate that, normally he'd call Tommy out for it but right now it serves his purposes. Right now it gives him time to come up with a plan and to look for a weapon. 

"I have a different idea," Billy says, drawing the words out nice and slow and making Steve wonder if this idea is similar to his whole Iocane powder bit with the kidnappers earlier. He wonders what else Billy could possibly have up his sleeve. "Instead of to the death we'll fight to the pain," Billy says. 

"And that's supposed to mean what exactly?" Tommy says, looking almost… bored. Like this conversation is somehow boring him. Steve's eyes land on the dagger that's still lying on his desk and he wonders if he can get to it without drawing too much attention to himself. He sits up a little on the bed and neither Tommy nor Billy seems to notice.

"Since you are clearly too stupid to know, I'll inform you," Billy says as he pushes himself up against the headboard of the bed. 

"Did you just—" Something in Tommy snaps. "Did you just call me stupid?" 

"I did," Billy says. "But here's what to the pain means. It means that first, I'll cut off your feet, then I'll cut off your hands and after I'm done with that, I'll cut off your nose."

Tommy scowls and draws his sword up along with his chin. "Alright, well—" he starts but Billy cuts him off. 

"I wasn't done!" Billy levels a glare at Tommy, his voice rumbling out from deep within his chest as he says, "After your nose I'll take your eyes." 

Tommy is starting to look frightened, but Steve feels frightened. He knows Billy isn't strong enough to pull off what he's saying he's going to do and he only hopes his own plan, foolish and poorly thought out as it might be, will work.

Still, Tommy acts like he's not scared at all as he says, "Right and then my ears next I'm guessing?" 

Billy sneers and it's dark and it's feral and suddenly Steve knows without a doubt that this is how Billy survived as a Pirate. This look right here. 

"No," Billy says. "That's the point of all of this. I leave you your ears and I leave you your life so that every time someone sees you, every time someone screams in horror at the mere sight of your disgusting, mutilated, freakish body, you'll hear it and you won't stop hearing it. Not until the day you die."

Tommy blanches but still pretends to be unaffected. "I don't believe that. Not for a second. You're bluffing." 

With great effort, Billy pulls himself up so that he's fully standing up on his own and while Tommy is distracted watching this, that's when Steve makes his move. 

He grabs the dagger and has it at Tommy's throat before Tommy is even able to notice. "He might be, but I'm not," Steve growls. "Now put down your weapon." He presses the blade in his hand against Tommy's throat just firmly enough to draw blood and make it sting. 

Tommy's sword clatters to the ground.

Billy takes a step forward, sword in hand and smiles at Steve. "What do you think?" he says. "Should we tie him up?"

"Oh, definitely." 

Chapter Sixteen: The Kiss That Leaves All The Others Behind

“Tie him up tight as you like, Princess.”

Steve huffs a laugh, cinches the ropes till he gets a tight squeal out of Tommy, thinking of the months he’d spent cinched up in restraining palace garb not knowing if it was the cruelly laced clothes or his panic at the thought of life without Billy to blame for his inability to breathe.

A wounded man wanders in and raises eyebrows at the trussed up Prince.

“Going well here too, I see.” He nods to Steve. “Lucas Sinclair, an absolute pleasure, Your Highness.” Immediately he looks to Billy. “Where’s Will?”

“I thought he was with y—oh shit,” Billy says, taking a step too quickly and having second thoughts immediately as his legs turn to jelly beneath him. He hauls himself back to standing with help from the bedpost.

“Okay,” Steve says. “That’s it. What’s wrong with you?”

“He has no strength,” Lucas says and Billy winces. Nods. “He’s only been back from the dead for about forty-five minutes though,” Lucas goes on, “so I’d say he’s doing pretty good, all things considered.”

“Back from the—“ Steve begins, breathless.

“Ha! I knew you were bluffing!” Tommy yells. Swings his attention up to Steve, triumphant. “I knew he was…” He sees the dagger in Steve’s hands, tip inching closer to his neck and he peters off on “bluffing,” clearing his throat uncomfortably afterwards and blessedly shutting his mouth.

Max comes storming into the room already talking, like, “Better not be naked in here Billy I swear to god, okay? I know it’s a romantic moment and all but we’re in the middle of a raid here, and—”

“Max,” Billy nods to her, still hugging the bedpost for support.

She looks relieved. Nods back absently, taking a look around the room. Robin trails in after and raises eyebrows at Prince Tommy’s state before throwing him a sarcastic curtsy. “Your Highness.” And then she throws Steve a smile with a free wink included.

“Your Highness.” Grin playful. “Happily ever after, huh?” she says, motioning with a nod to Billy who’s finally standing under his own power again.

Steve sheathes his dagger and smiles back, swinging that smile over to Billy whose returning smile makes it glow up all the brighter. It's a stretch to hurt his underused cheek muscles. They’ve won. He can’t stop smiling. God, it really might be happily ever after for them. What a thought.

“Yeah,” he says, breath catching on a swell of love for Billy. Joy that he’s here, alive, when Steve had thought him dead. That he’s here and they’ve won. And he can’t stop smiling. And Billy’s eyes capture Steve’s like they always have, the blue of them, the intensity. Steve could stare into them forev—

“Right,” Max says, bringing Steve back to reality, because you can actually hear the eye roll when she speaks. “Well. That’s real sweet and all but can we maybe escape first? Where’s Will?”

“Lucas!”

A faint call drifts in through the open window.

Lucas looks briefly over, but turns his attention and his sword back to Prince Tommy.

“Want me to kill him for you?” he says, eyes darting to Billy. Quick to Steve.

And it’s so tempting. Steve almost says yes. Feels a hand gripping his shoulder and turns to see Billy’s understanding eyes. Billy slowly shaking his head.

“No,” Billy says, reluctantly turning his attention to Lucas. “Let him live a long life shamed by his cowardice. He’s not worth the time spent cleaning his blood from your sword.”

“Lucas!”

The call again, Will down there in the courtyard, trying to yell, but quietly. Like the loudest stage whisper, it cuts through the air.

Lucas shrugs. Knocks the Prince unconscious with the hilt of his sword.

“Hey!” Max calls back, first of them to reach the window. “Up here!”

“Oh, hello pretty lady!” Will calls up, waving a hand holding the reigns of two shining white horses.

Max waves back, blushing. Lucas frowns. Tries to play it off as a grimace afterward, holding his wounded abdomen. Jealous? Him? Please.

“I was looking for you,” Will calls up. “Wandered into the King’s stables and found these five white horses. Figured if we ever found Billy’s Prince there’d be five of us—hello Prince!”

The giant waves up at Steve.

Steve waves back, very confused. Hadn’t this guy kidnapped him before? You just don’t see giants every day. And that other guy too, he’d been there. And what had he meant by back from the dead? 

He sighs. Figures he’ll just keep smiling for now and demand answers later. With violence if need be. Billy so owes him some explanations.

“I call not sharing a horse,” Robin says quickly and quietly through her smile.

“Dibs,” say Billy and Steve simultaneously.

“Shit,” Max hisses, Lucas suspiciously quiet behind her. “Well, Will found the things so I guess that’s me sharing with…” She glares over at Lucas’s state, judgemental eyes scanning him up and down. “What’s your name again? You better not bleed on me, okay? That’s all I’m saying on the matter.”

And with that, she jumps out the window and lands in Will’s arms.

Robin follows, with only the gentlest push from Steve, and Steve jumps down after. Only Lucas and Billy remain above. Billy gestures Lucas to go first and he starts to. Then he leans back against the stone window frame and smiles wistfully.

“You know, I’ve been chasing after revenge so long, now that I’ve caught up, killed Carol, I don’t know what to do. Farm?” Lucas frowns, trying to imagine it. “I’ve never been bored, you know? What will that feel like, I wonder?”

“Well,” Billy says, clapping a hand on Lucas’s shoulder and catching his attention with a sly smile. “Have you ever considered piracy? Got this hunch you’d make a pretty good Dread Pirate Roberts.”

And with another clap on the shoulder, Billy rocks himself awkwardly out the window.

Lucas shrugs and follows after.

They mount up and ride to safety, not stopping till dawn, which they watch from a hilltop overlooking rolling fields for miles. They all pause at the view, Will’s jaw dropped in wonder, Robin wondering how to get off her horse, Max’s arms remaining tight around Lucas despite the blood. And Lucas notices. He smiles.

They’re safe. Free.

Billy’s been watching Steve’s profile or his back for the entire night’s ride, and now all he wants is a glimpse of Steve’s face in this perfect morning light. Wants to see the change freedom brings there.

As if hearing Billy’s silent wish, Steve turns back to him. Smiles. Holds a hand out, inviting. And Billy accepts that invitation; rides his horse up close beside. Whispers to it to stay and be steady.

“Still talking to horses, I see,” Steve says, his smile growing as soft as his lips. And Billy wants to kiss him. Wants to feel that softness again.

“Horses do what I say,” he says instead, pinning up a little grin, eyes still studying those lips.

Steve’s smile widens.

“And I don’t?” he says. Knowing the answer.

Billy chuckles.

“Not ever.”

“But you do what I say,” Steve says, soft, and that smile loses even more definition as his eyes focus in on Billy’s mouth. Catch up with where Billy’s been all along. Same page. Billy doesn’t see those eyes shift. Doesn’t need to. Can feel the soft touch of that new concentration brushing his lips.

“Always,” Billy whispers. Leans closer. Watches Steve do the same, moving to match as true as a reflection.

They’re meant to be this close. Closer.

“Then do what I say now,” Steve whispers back. “Kiss me.”

And Billy licks his lip in anticipation. Can’t refuse an order whispered pretty like that, now can he? Not from Steve.

“No problem, Princess.”

Their lips touch. Are meant to be touching. Together.

They kiss, the new day dawning before them, bright with possibility. They don’t really give a shit. Ignore the dawn and the trill of birdsong. Ignore everything. Exist on a plane of focus only large enough to encompass the press of their lips where they join. As one.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that have been rated the most passionate, the most pure. This kiss leaves them all behind.

The end.

#harringrove #harringrove fanfic #princess bride au #it's done! #and glorious!

[weavingthetapestry]

Isobel Bruce, Queen of Norway (c.1272-1358)

It may come as a surprise to some that the infamous King Robert I was not the first Bruce to wear a crown. That distinction goes instead to one of his many sisters, Isobel, who, in 1293, became Queen of Norway as the wife of King Eirik II, long before her brother got anywhere near the throne.

Isobel Bruce was the daughter of Marjorie, Countess of Carrick, and her second husband Robert Bruce, 6th Lord of Annandale. Some Norwegian historians place Isobel's birth c.1280, but I’m more inclined to agree with other sources that she was the eldest daughter and closer in age to her brother Robert, who was born in 1274. We have almost no certain information about Isobel’s youth, though we can perhaps theorise about her early social surroundings. Bruce ambitions and experiences- especially for Isobel’s generation- were shaped by many diverse political and cultural contexts. The family had a stake in the largely Gaelic world of Irish Sea politics, from Ulster to Carrick; in English-speaking territories as different as Annandale and Essex; and as part of a French-speaking elite among the English and Scottish nobility, with both continental and insular ambitions. The Bruces were also a large family, Isobel having five brothers (Robert, Niall, Edward, Thomas and Alexander) and at least as many sisters (including Christian, Mary, and Matilda). The antiquated assertion that she was married before the Norwegian match (explaining how Thomas Randolph might be nephew to King Robert) seems extremely unlikely however, and it is more probable one of her parents had another daughter named Isobel who was Randolph's mother.

(The lighthouse here is perched on top of what little is left of Turnberry Castle, seat of Isobel’s mother as countess of Carrick, and one of the childhood homes of the Bruce children, maybe even the birthplace of her brother Robert I. It is situated on the Ayrshire coastline, with Ailsa Craig out to sea. Not my picture)

However, despite the lack of information about her early life, Isobel Bruce’s importance increased in the 1290s- as did her family’s importance more generally. King Alexander III of Scotland had died in 1286, his only living descendant being his granddaughter Margaret of Norway, daughter of Eirik II of Norway by his first wife Margaret of Scotland. But in 1290 the Maid of Norway also died, which provoked a competition for the throne commonly called the Great Cause. I won't go into detail here, but briefly the two main contenders were John Balliol and Isobel’s grandfather Robert Bruce, 'the Competitor’. Eventually, Balliol's case triumphed but this didn't extinguish Bruce ambitions regarding the throne. And it was during the final stages of the Great Cause in 1292- not long before her mother’s death in that same year- that the prospect of Isobel marrying the king of Norway initially surfaced.

Eirik II of Norway had been one of the claimants for the Scottish throne, attempting to inherit through Norse reversionary law as the father of the dead Maid of Norway, though probably the Norwegians never had any serious hope of this claim succeeding, and instead used it as an opportunity to wring political and financial concessions from the Scottish and English crowns. Eirik Magnusson was roughly twenty-four years old in 1292, he had been a widower since the age of fifteen, and the late Margaret of Norway had been his only known child (his brother Duke Håkon however was the more viable heir). Aside from these obvious reasons though, it is a little unclear why he married Isobel Bruce the next year. It is possible that the plans had been made in advance of the decision in favour of Balliol’s claim to the Scottish throne in November 1292, and could have represented the Norwegians’ allying themselves with the Bruce claim as another claimant Florence, Count of Holland had. Alternatively, if the plans were made after Balliol’s claim had won out, the Norwegian king may have been strengthening his relations with the Bruces as powerful magnates who were deeply opposed to the new king of Scots, and in doing so strengthened his relationship with Edward I of England. However given that in 1295 Norway entered into a treaty with France- who had also made a treaty with King John of Scotland which would eventually lead to his deposition by Edward I- promising aid against England, it is very difficult to pin down the exact political strategy which Isobel Bruce’s marriage represented. Nonetheless on 28th September 1293*, Isobel and her father Robert Bruce- named as Earl of Carrick though he had resigned the earldom the previous year to his son- received a safe-conduct from Edward I of England to travel to Norway by Christmas that year, and Isobel and Eirik II were likely married in Bergen soon afterward.

Though sources are sparse for Isobel’s marriage, an inventory of some of her belongings does exist, providing rare evidence of a thirteenth century queen’s trousseau. An indenture dated 25th September 1293, preserved in the English archives, lists certain items to be delivered to Audun Hugleiksson (one of Eirik II’s most trusted advisors) and Weyland de Stiklaw in Bergen before Michaelmas, by Henry de Stiklaw, ‘Master’ Nigel Campbell, Lucas de Tany, and Ralph de Arden. The items were for ‘the most serene lady’ the Queen of Norway, and evidently formed part of an expensive trousseau. Among other furnishings and clothing are listed robes of scarlet and miniver, with tunics and supertunics to form four or more outfits, furred cloaks and hoods, coverlets and bed hangings in cloth of gold and miniver (one bearing the arms of France), various cushions and curtains for two couches, and silk to make a cushion for the Queen’s regalia. The list is topped off with 24 silver plates, 12 cups, 24 salt cellars, basins and pitchers and the like, not to mention two small crowns. For a young bride such possessions served as an expression of status as she travelled far from home, and while they were not as extravagant as the more famous trousseau of Isabella of France, they were still rich pickings for the daughter of an earl, calculated to impress as far as her father could afford... 

(Eirik Magnusson, king of Norway. In Norwegian history he is known as ‘priest-hater’ and is remembered for his wars with Denmark and for being dominated by his barons. In Scottish history, he is remembered as having two Scottish queens and especially for being the father of the Maid of Norway. Picture from Wikimedia commons.)

After Isobel’s wedding we lack sources again. Little is known about her life as queen consort, excepting the birth of her daughter in 1297. Ingebjørg Eiriksdatter, likely named for her paternal grandmother, was the only one of Eirik II's two known children to survive him; her half-sister, the unfortunate Margaret, had of course died long before Ingebjørg was born. Thus when Eirik himself died in 1299 the crown passed to his younger brother Duke Håkon, and Isobel, consort for only six years, was left a widow with an infant daughter.

Despite the insecurity that could come with widowhood, Isobel was not in any hurry to remarry. She remained on good terms with King Håkon and the new queen, Eufemia of Rügen, and attended important state occasions. Nevertheless, the winds of change were blowing in Norway. Håkon V’s rule was quite different to his late brother's, and he wasted little time disposing of certain former royal councillors, notably imprisoning and executing Audun Hugleiksson by the dishonourable method of hanging. Håkon also favoured Oslo, and during his reign the city began to outstrip Bergen as a centre of royal power. While Norway under Håkon would have more of an eastern outlook, however, Isobel remained in the west for most of her widowhood, playing an important role in the spiritual life of Bergen.

She still had her daughter’s future to think about however, and in 1300 this may have resulted in a plan to marry Ingebjørg to Jon Magnusson, Earl of Orkney and Caithness, though as this betrothal is only recorded in the Icelandic Annals it is difficult to assess its context. Earl Jon was, by each earldom respectively, subject to Norway and Scotland, and his status was defined by this dual allegiance. During the Wars of Independence, he may have inclined towards the Bruce camp, but this is ultimately unclear. But he was still just as much a Norwegian magnate, and perhaps this convenient position between the two kingdoms was what influenced Isobel's choice. Despite the fact that the prospective bride was only three and the earl much older, these plans may also have been put in place to safeguard her daughter’s future given her uncertain inheritance: Barbara E. Crawford believes that the proposed match, “seems to have been a desperate attempt to find a protector for the fatherless child”. The marriage was not to be, however, as Earl Jon died soon after.

This may not have been the end of Isobel’s interests in Orkney however, as a royal official previously strongly associated with her rose to power there soon afterwards. Weyland de Striklaw, who we already met briefly receiving delivery of the goods for Isobel’s trousseau, had once been a canon of Dunkeld and maybe even Alexander III’s chamberlain, but from the 1290s onward he and his brother Henry were more associated with the Bruces. It seems that he may also have had strong personal feelings on the political situation in Scotland, as in 1297 it was recorded that he had been banished by the English regime in Scotland for failing to obey their government. In any case he found employment in the service of the Norwegian Crown, probably as a result of his association with Isobel (then queen consort) whose patronage may partly account for his prominence in Norwegian royal documents during the last years of the reign of Eirik II and the early years of King Haakon’s rule. Fortune favoured him further after the death of Jon, Earl of Orkney, when he somehow managed to become guardian to the earl’s successor, Magnus, and gained control of administration in Orkney and later Caithness. We have little evidence of Isobel and Weyland’s direct cooperation in this affair, but it seems plausible that, given his earlier association with the queen it was partially her influence that helped him secure his position in Orkney, and could be taken as evidence of Isobel’s discreet political activity after her husband’s death. 

(A much later depiction- with anachronistic kilts- of Isabella’s sister Mary Bruce imprisoned in a cage outside Roxburgh)

Meanwhile, since Isobel's departure in 1293, Scotland had plunged into the first phase of a bitter and prolonged war, both with England and internally. John Balliol had been deposed by Edward I but rebellions still occurred and others claimed the Scottish throne, most notably Isobel’s brother, Robert. In 1306, he had himself crowned king at Scone, but the first year of his ‘reign’ did not go well and he was forced to flee into the west. It is probable that he took refuge in the Western Isles, and also in the islands of Ireland, though some historians have argued that he could perhaps have gone to Orkney or perhaps even Norway. Certainly the ladies of his court, before being captured and handed over to the English, appear to have been heading to the safety of Orkney, where they would then be able to seek protection in the name of the queen dowager. Instead they remained in English captivity until after 1314. Two of the ladies- Isobel's sister, Mary and Isabella, Countess of Buchan- were quite literally imprisoned in ‘cages’ suspended outside the castles of Roxburgh and Berwick. Another of Isobel’s sisters, Christian, endured a slightly less extreme imprisonment at Sixhills nunnery in Lincolnshire, while her sister-in-law, Robert’s queen Elizabeth de Burgh, was held under house arrest. Young Marjorie Bruce, Isobel’s niece had also originally been intended for a cage but was instead transferred to a convent. Isobel’s brother Niall, who had defended Kildrummy Castle while the women escaped north, was executed by the degrading method of being hanged, drawn, and quartered, while two more of her brothers, Thomas and Alexander, were hanged following a failed invasion of Galloway the following year.

Isobel’s feelings about these family tragedies are unknown, though she might at least have been relieved not to be in Scotland. Even so, she did not forget her kin across the sea and would work to muster troops and funds to send to Scotland in support of her brother's claim. She may also have been a positive influence on the proceedings at Inverness in 1312, where the Scots under her brother Robert I confirmed the Treaty of Perth, which had transferred the Western Isles to Scotland in 1266, with the Norwegians. This event is notable for being the first major diplomatic settlement achieved by Robert the Bruce and it is entirely plausible that his sister played a role as a mediator, though we unfortunately again we lack evidence. She is known to have communicated with Christian (who proved a redoubtable woman in her own right), after her sister's release in 1314, and several decades later the two ladies interceded with their nephew David II on behalf of at least one Norwegian merchant. In the end, of course, their brother Robert did become king of Scots in more than name, enjoying an unparalleled ascendancy in his final years. However Isobel’s only other surviving brother, Edward, was not quite so fortunate in his bid to become High King of Ireland, being killed in battle in 1318 and his corpse quartered. Isobel herself never returned to Scotland; nevertheless, she seems to have kept abreast of affairs there, and was certainly contact with the court of her nephew King David, while she maintained at least some some Scottish servants.

(Bergenhus fortress- this would have been the site of the major royal residence in Bergen during Isobel’s day. The hall on the left was built in the mid-thirteenth century during the reign of her husband’s grandfather Håkon IV- the same king famous in Scotland for his involvement in the Battle of Largs. The tower on the right incorporates the only other surviving mediaeval bit of the fortress, ‘the keep by the sea’, built in the 1270s by Magnus VI, and rebuilt into its present form in the sixteenth century by then governor Erik Rosenkrantz, employing Scottish workmen. Photo from wikimedia commons). 

Meanwhile Isobel was busy in Norway. She continued to use her position as queen dowager to influence political affairs and remained on good terms with both Håkon V and, much later, his successor Magnus VII. The latter king was the son of Isobel’s niece, another Ingebjørg, one of the two daughters of King Håkon. In 1312, in a double wedding in Oslo, Isobel’s daughter Ingebjørg and her cousin of the same name married two younger brothers of the king of Sweden. Ingebjørg Håkonsdatter married the elder of the two, Erik the Duke of Södermanland (and other territories), while Ingebjørg Eiriksdatter married Valdemar, Duke of Finland, Uppland, and Öland. Isobel was present at the wedding and probably had a hand in organising the match, but her daughter’s marriage would not last long. The two Swedish princes had long been mistrusted by their elder brother King Birger, and eventually, in 1317, they were arrested at a banquet at Nyköping Castle and held in the dungeons until their suspicious deaths there sometime after January 1318, having possibly been starved to death. Their widows, the Duchesses Ingebjørg, did not simply roll over and accept this, however, and became the leaders of their husbands’ supporters, who in 1318 sent King Birger into exile in Denmark and crowned Magnus, the son of Ingebjørg Håkonsdatter, king of Sweden, while he succeeded his grandfather Håkon V as king of Norway in 1319. The regency was held by Magnus’ mother and grandmother, and Ingebjørg Eiriksdatter also held a seat on the regency council, though it is difficult to ascertain how much influence she actually wielded. We also have no evidence of her relationship with her mother Isobel, which again is very frustrating, but it is likely that Isobel followed the events in Sweden closely, and she would have been even more interested after Magnus VII became king of Norway too, as she remained on friendly terms with the new king.

Most notably, Isobel was heavily involved in the promotion of religious activity in Bergen. In 1305, she attended the consecration of Arne Sigurdsson as bishop of Bergen, an important public occasion at which King Hakon and Queen Eufemia were also present. Whether she was also present in 1301 for the execution of the ‘false Margaret’- a woman who had claimed to be the late Maid of Norway and who inspired a small martyr cult- is unknown, though her strong association with both Bergen and Orkney would have meant that she was well acquainted with the details. In 1324 Bishop Arne’s brother and successor, Audfinn Sigurdsson gifted her several religious houses in Holmen, in return for her donations and patronage of the Church in Bergen. She continued to be associated with the bishops of Bergen in other ways- for example, in 1339, when Isobel and Bishop Haakon Erlingsson successfully interceded with King Magnus on behalf of a prisoner, and the two seem to have worked together politically on other occasions. Religious patronage was often an important part of queenship, but surviving records indicate that Isobel was particularly active in Bergen during her widowhood, and had a strong relationship with the city’s bishops.

(Above: the first folio from an Old French version of William of Tyre’s  “Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum”, which belonged to Isobel Bruce, and the ex libris announcing her ownership is in red ink across the top of the page. Below: one of the illuminations from the Ms. See here for more of the book.)

Although the church in Bergen where she was buried no longer stands, one particularly fascinating object associated with Isobel has luckily survived the centuries- a manuscript known as Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana Pal. Lat. 1963, which contains an Old French translation of William of Tyre’s “Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum”. This was a crusading chronicle and history of the kingdom of Jerusalem written in the twelfth century, originally in Latin, whose Old French translation became particularly popular in western Europe in the thirteenth century. The version which survives in Pal. Lat. 1963, however, is particularly interesting as it is the only work in French known to have been in Norway in its time period, and furthermore the manuscript itself appears to have been made in the middle east, probably in Antioch, thus raising many questions as to how it ended up in Norway (various Scottish, English, French, Norwegian, and ecclesiastical routes have been theorised, see the article in sources for more). We can be certain that it belonged to Isobel at some point however, as on the first and last folios, the words “Liber Domine Isabelle, Dei gratia Regina Norwegie” are clearly printed in red. 

It is unclear what conclusions we can draw about her literary interests from her possession of this book, though Isobel might have had many reasons to be interested in William of Tyre’s chronicle- her father and grandfather are both supposed to have gone on crusade, while it was famously her brother Robert Bruce’s ambition to lead a crusade himself, thus Isobel came from a family with a strong interest in crusade and it is not impossible that this interest was shared by daughters as well as sons. The Norwegians also had their own crusading tradition, most notably during the First Crusade, which is the conflict primarily dealt with in William of Tyre’s history. Even if we cannot be sure that the subject matter reflects Isobel’s personal interests, an indication that at least one of the book’s readers had an interest in Scottish affairs is evident from a piece of thirteenth century marginalia on folio 78vb. Written in French, this is inserted next to a passage which gives a list of various kings (including of England and France) who were on the throne when Jerusalem was captured in the First Crusade in 1099, and adds, ‘et en escoce le bon Roy David le p’mier de ce nom’ (loosely, ‘and in Scotland the good king David the first of this name’). In fact David I did not succeed to the Scottish throne until 1124, but despite this mistake it is interesting that at some point someone reading the manuscript- whether Isobel or perhaps someone associated with her- felt it important to add some Scottish context to the events of this very precious book. (It is also worth noting that the Bruces derived their claim to the throne through their descent from David I’s youngest grandson, while Isobel’s nephew was to become David II). It is unclear if Isobel owned any more books- though given her spirituality and rank it’s entirely possible- and was never famed as a literary patron as her contemporary Queen Eufemia was, but the fact that this book survives offers a fascinating glimpse into the life and interests of an otherwise very shadowy queen. 

Isobel lived a long life and she never remarried. Her daughter appears to have predeceased her, and though some sources indicate Ingebjørg may have had children, when she died in Sweden in 1357, Isobel was named as her heir under reversionary law. Around about the same time (1356/7) her similarly long-lived sister Christian died and was interred in Dunfermline, where Robert I was also buried. Isobel herself probably died in 1358, in Bergen. She was possibly in her eighties by then, and had outlived her husband by nearly sixty years. Though we know little about her, and her activity is often shadowy, it seems that she quite ably wielded influence as a queen, particularly as dowager, and her patronage may have been of importance to the careers of men like Weyland de Stiklaw, though often this influence and patronage was exercised discreetly. Her contribution to the histories of Scotland and Norway may have been small, and certainly less adventurous than that of her brother, but nonetheless her career throws up some interesting perspectives on the cultural links of Norway and Scotland, the role of women and queens, and the history of the Bruce dynasty.

*The calendar says the safe-conduct was issued in 1292, but I agree with Barrow that it’s probably misplaced and refers to the following year. 

Selected references:

Regesta Norvegica- here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here (calendared not originals)

Calendar of Documents relating to Scotland, Vol. II

“Islandske Annaler Indtil 1578″, Gustav Storm.

“North Sea Kingdoms, North Sea Bureaucrat: A Royal Official Who Transcended National Boundaries”, Barbara E. Crawford in the Scottish Historical Review, 1990

“A Manuscript of the Old French William of Tyre (Pal. Lat. 1963) in Norway”, by Bjorn Bandlien

“Norwegian Foreign Policy and the Maid of Norway”, Knut Helle in the Scottish Historical Review, 1990

“Robert Bruce: King of Scots”, G.W.S. Barrow

I should also mention that Isabella Bruce has a chapter in  “Eufemia: Oslos middelalderdronning” (ed.) Bjorn Bandlien, but the nearest library copy is in London so I was not able to consult it. However if I ever do get the chance I will update any of this as necessary. There were some other books I consulted as well but the above were the major sources.

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