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Part One - The Proposal

Call of Duty Medieval AU Knight!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Princess!Reader

With tired feet threatening to drag with every step he takes across the stone floors, feeling as heavy as the considerable armour he dons from head to toe, he pushes the immense doors open and steps into the room, dreading that he knows already what is to occur beyond these walls.

Though not a scholar by any means, and with one too many blows to the head throughout his years of combat, he remains far from a stupid man, wise enough to know what he is about to walk into, why the had King insisted that he cut his morning hunt short, a request the gluttonous man rarely makes, and present himself before the royal at once.

The young man had hoped to avoid this day if only for just a short while longer, to delay the inevitable conclusion he was walking towards at this very moment, but alas, the Gods had a different fate in mind for him it seemed.

To think, how different life has already become since the Queen’s passing no more than a fortnight ago, a sudden pain in her chest having worsened overnight until the bells in the steeple were announcing her demise for all the kingdom to hear.

With the customary period of grieving scarcely come and gone, her subjects were still mourning the loss of the singular person capable of keeping the King in line, all while the now widowed man was already itching for change.

“Took you long enough.” The King was to be found where he was always sure to be, at the head of the table decorated in a lavish feast, now only to enjoyed by one. He’d at least had the decency to wipe the remaining ale from his lips before addressing his most trusted knight, a few persistent droplets clinging to the scruff around his mouth.

Still clad in his bloodstained armour, for a short hunt did not necessarily equate an unsuccessful hunt, the Knight’s prizes were being dragged into the kitchens as they spoke, leaving blood stained trails in their wake. He stepped purposefully further into the grand room, his every step intentional until he was near enough to his King to detect the subtle sway in the way the older man held his cup.

The man was drunk, as he had been for a very long time now, though not yet appearing belligerently so.

In spite of his heavy armour and chain mail underneath, Ghost moved as silently as his name might suggest as he moved to kneel before his highness, lowering his gaze to the expensively tiled floor beneath him, one he’d come to know with great familiarity after nearly two decades under the man’s service.

“Enough of tha’. Stand up, boy.” The King’s booming voice echoed through the room, commanding his knight to rise. “What’d you bring me back today, hm?”

“Snagged a pair o’ deer up by the creek. Dozen or so hares. Few birds.” Ghost’s low timbre reached the man’s ears at the same time as his cup reached his lips again. He need not know about the boar he and his men had nearly caught before they were summoned back to the castle, what the man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Good, good. A more than adequate prize, considering. Very good. You never fail to succeed, do you Ghost?”

“Sir.” Was the only reply he would offer, along with a curt nod, never one to bask in the man’s praise.

“Haven’t called you here to discuss game, however.” The greying man clarified, glancing around to his handful of servants in waiting, stood silently in the shadows of the room, prepared to answer to their King’s beck and call. “Leave us.” He instructed, not needing to repeat himself before every soul was scattering this way and that, all too eager to be out of the man’s sight, though a few were certain to be found with ears pressed up against key holes in hopes of eavesdropping.

“I will keep this short, not interested in formalities these days.” the man began, grunting as he struggled to stand from his seat, swaying slightly in place until he was near enough to the knight to see his reflection in his armour. “Twenty-five years is entirely too long to have kept her sheltered the way her mother did. Ridiculous. As if keeping one hidden away would bring the others back. Senile woman. Should have done this ages ago. Long overdue. Owe every grey hair on me to that wench.”

Ghost allowed to man to ramble on, mumbling between sentences as though he could not decide whether he was speaking to himself or the only other soul in the room. Ghost remained steadfast in his place as he listened to the man go on, eyes silently taking him in. It was hard to believe sometimes, that this was the same man, the supposed King, who had over two decades ago slain each and every member of his family, sparing only the young boy he once was, bringing him back to the kingdom to be raised into the fearsome Knight they now called Ghost, only to repay the debt of having spared him his life. Never once had Ghost looked up to the fat man before him, not during his tainted childhood, and certainly not now as a man twice his size, serving him bravely throughout the years as he always has, though forever carrying a flame of hatred for his heighness.

“Her mother is gone now, gone, rest her soul. I need her gone, as well. Taken care of. No longer my burden, if you understand.” The King continued, finally slowing in his speech to glance up at the Knight for he stood easily over a foot taller than most men in the court.

“Are you askin’ me to kill her, sir?” Ghost inquired, without a hint of emotion in his tone. He was all too aware as to the her they were referring to.

“Worse.” The King clarified before taking another swig of his drink, his teeth coloured a deep red when he opened his mouth again to bear a snarky grin at the younger man. “I’m askin’ you to marry her.”

With a steadying breath, you dared to inch yourself closer yet, ignoring the tumultuous feeling in your stomach as the toes of your shoes dragged any loose hay along the floorboards with you. Your fingers clutched the at the fabric of your skirts, keeping them lifted enough as to not trip and fall too soon. Perhaps the impact would not be as painful as you were imagining, perhaps the fall would be the most frightening part of it all, a mere few seconds of wind rushing past your ears until it was all over, your woes solved for all eternity. Let them think what they might, say what they please, it would be of no matter to you in the end, nothing more than a stain on the cobblestones below when it was all said and done.

“What in the- what do ye think yer doin’ up there m’lady? ‘Ave ye gone mad?” A familiar accent called from the ground, the annoyance in his voice clear as day.

“Is it not evident, Mr MacTavish? That I am in the midst of ending my suffering once and for all.” You declared with your chin held high, refusing to meet his eyes as you attempted again to convince yourself to go through with this, to remember that this would be the lesser of two evils, the solution to a problem you could not otherwise solve.

“Come again?”

“I clearly intend to kill myself, MacTavish.”

“Not if yer intention involves jumping from there, m’lady.” The handsome stable hand clarified from the ground.

“I beg your pardon?” Only now glancing down at the man stood a mere few yards away, hearing his grunt of effort as he threw down the sack of grains he’d been carrying over one shoulder, his piercing azure eyes squinting to decipher your form through the low light of the torch flames.

“S’not high enough, ma’am. You’ll twist yer ankle at best, but yer certainly not going to kill yer self from that height. Sorry to disappoint ye.”

“Oh. Well- are you certain?”

“Positive. I myself jump down from there often, an’ I’m afraid I’m still standin’. Ye did not want to go any higher than that, did ye?” He questioned, stepping slowly closer with every word he spoke.

“Well, I am still a tad afraid of heights, you see.” You admitted, pinching the fabric of your sleeves in worry.

“Aye, I remember well. I’ve rescued enough of yer kites over the years, m’lady.” He agreed all too nonchalantly, not a trace of panic to be found in his voice, only mild irritation at the inconvenience you were creating for him.

“I see- uh- this doesn’t change my intentions! I will- I will find another way.”

“Of course, of course. Did ye want a rope perhaps? Seems like a fine night for a hanging, if ye prefer.”

“Gods no.” You rejected the idea outright, having witnessed one too many public hangings to know that the men’s limbs kicked and thrashed too much for your liking, fighting for life far longer than you’d prefer to experience yourself.

“Agreed. Perhaps we could fill a pail with water and ye could drown yerself. Nah, on second thought, ye deserve something quicker. A beheading might do the trick, though if yer aim was to remain subtle that one might be a touch too-

“Oh, forget it!” You exclaimed, stepping back from the edge of the barn’s second storey, all but huffing as you made your way down the rickety ladder, careful not to trip over your skirts in the process, though uncaring for how dirty or ripped they might become. None of it mattered anymore, carried the same importance as it might have only a moon ago, not when your mother was gone, the only person left in your family who loved you for who you were, the only one who stood up for you against your father.

“Now, don’t suppose ye’d want to tell me what this is all about then?” He asked soon as your two feet were safe on the ground again, reaching across to pull a strand of hay from your hair.

“Do not stand here and treat me as though I were a fool, pretending as though you haven’t heard.” You bit back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I would imagine the deaf are the only few who have not heard the news at this point.”

“Ye always have had a way with words, haven’t ye m’lady?”

“John…”

“Apologies. Only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He answered somewhat sheepishly, at least pretending to appear remorseful for his teasing. “Though I suppose it is a rather improper time to jest.”

“An excellent deduction.” You snapped, though the soft look in his eyes already had your cold exterior melting, unable to keep the facade up around him. “John- what am I to do? This- this all feels like a terrible dream.”

“Nothing is set in stone yet, m’lady. There has been no official announcem-”

“There will be no announcement! No engagement! They will shove me into a wedding dress and stick me at the altar as though I were a child’s doll and that is how the world will find out! You know how my father is, he will see to that this happens as quickly as possible.” You couldn’t help but to whine, unable to grapple with the idea that your worst dreams were coming true, that the day you’d been dreading since you were a little girl was finally coming to fruition.

With nothing to be said, John opened his arms in invitation, not a word needed as you stepped into his embrace and allowed his embrace to be the first comfort you experienced in a long time.

“What shall we do, John? How do you imagine we stop this from happening?” You spoke into his chemise, the smell of wood and dirt and sweat emanating off of him a familiar and safe aroma during such a tumultuous time.

“Ach, I dinna ken, m’lady.” He replied, leaning his cheek against the top of your head as his hands soothed up and down your back.

“There must be something that can be done. We simply have to think. Perhaps we could-”

“M’lady.” John interrupted apologetically, the look on his face when he pulled back was a pained one, a regretful expression you did not often see from the bold, confident man you’d come to know over the years. “M’afraid there’s nothing to be done this time, other than grin and bear it.”

“You’re speaking as though this is certain to happen!” You gasped, pulling back from his embrace, upset by the way he was unwilling to fight for you and your freedom as you were.

“And yer speaking as though ye have a say in any of it.” He countered. “What exactly do ye predict will happen to ye if you refuse your father, hm? What do ye think he’ll do to ye? Send ye away something far away if we’re lucky. Say he did so and jus’ throw ye down in the dungeons instead?”

You stared down at the ground as you toed a clump of dirt, the truth in his words not anything new to you, though hearing it from him didn’t lessen the sting or soften the impact.

“Now I pray every mornin’ and every night that yer mam’s soul rests in peace, Gods bless her. But she isn’t here anymore, m’lady. She can’t protect ye from this any longer. M’afraid I can’t protect ye from this, either. Oh, please no- do not cry, m’lady. Cannot bear to see ye cry.”

John quickly stepped forward and closed the gap between you both again, pulling you back into him as your tears threatened to spill over, the frustration and anger and sadness and helplessness and fear catching up to you all at once as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that this would be your new reality, whether you liked it or not.

For better or worse, as they say.

The stars had shifted outside, the darkness growing deeper as he hours changed and sand fell through the glass. John had calmed you down some, as he always seemed to be able to do, and had you both now sitting semi-comfortably together in the corner of the barn, seated on bales of hay and safe from any prying eyes. This had always been your little corner, a spot solely for the two of you, ever since John had begun working in the stables and caught your eye.

“John,” you whispered to him, though there was no one near, the words you were about to speak feeling too sacred to be said too loud. “I am frightened.”

“Aye, I dinna blame ye.” He replied, tightening his hold around your shoulders as you leaned further into his touch. “Cannot imagine being in your shoes.”

“He will kill me.”

“Nah, yer father will not lay a finger on ye m’lady. Not if you do as he wishes.”

“No, not him.” You clarified, shaking your head as you pictured a pair of dark eyes peering through the small slits of a Knights helm. “The Ghost.”

“Oh. Him.” Was the only reply John could manage, staring off into the distance with you as you both appeared to imagine the man in question. “I dinna believe he’ll hurt you, m’lady.”

“You know as well as I do the things he has done. He is cold, ruthless. Not a single one of his enemies has survived him.”

“Well, you will have to ensure you do not become his enemy in that case.” He tried to tease, though the smile never quite reached his eyes as he said it.

“John.” You spoke again, turning to meet his gaze as you took a steadying breath, not failing to notice the way his eyes dropped to your bosom for a fleeting second as your chest rose and fell. “I want you to take me.”

“M’lady, they would kill us both if we tried to run anyw-”

“No, no.” You interrupted him, correcting his misunderstanding. “Not take me as in flee. I- I want you to take me, John. To bed.”

“Oh. Oh.” John replied, his cheeks reddening to a deep crimson as he scratched the back of his neck, eyes scanning your face. “M’lady, you know I could not.”

“I will not have that monster be the first person to touch me, John. I want it to be you, after all.”

“Bonnie,” the pet name he used for you on rare occasions slipping out as you cupped his cheek with a warm hand, trying to convey the severity of your words to him. “Ye do not know how I long for ye. How much I wish I could be the one to feel ye, to show ye what pleasure can be found in another’s touch.”

Whether by gravity or coincidence, you knew you were both inching closer to one another, hot breaths beginning to fan across the other’s cheeks with every word said between you.

“Then please John, take me. Have me. I am yours.”

He plucked your hand from his cheek with both of his, bringing your palm up to his chapped lips for a kiss as he shut his eyes, as though he were in pain doing so.

“M’lady, ye know well as I do that we could never. The risks far outweigh anything else, I fear. Ye cannot imagine how it pains me to say so, for I do want ye. I need ye.” He registered, tightening his hold on your hand as he pressed it against his chemise where you could feel his heart beating beneath. “But I’ve always known that I can never have ye.”

Though his answer was expected, the disappointment was still poignant, an ache settling deep in the cavities of your heart as you nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“I can-” he added, reaching a single finger up under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. “Give ye this, however.”

That was the night John MacTavish gave you what you’d always dreamt he would, your very first kiss, tucked safely together in the back of that barn without a soul around to judge you, to sell you out, to report back to your father and ruin you.

If only life could have ended there, with his lips on yours, his arms around you and yours around him, hearts pressed together as they beat as one.

But alas, fate had other plans in store. And though you had never feared goblins or ghouls as a young girl, had never worried about the shadows under your bed or shapes in your wardrobe, you found yourself now with a growing fear of ghosts. Or at least, the Ghost.

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