#Eyes of the dragon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

defectivevillain · 1 year ago

Text

poisoned propriety

Pairing: Flagg/Reader

summary: In light of your mother’s death, you’re crowned the King of Delain. Flagg simply wants to manipulate you into doing his bidding. Somehow, it is more difficult than Flagg expects it to be.

reader's pronouns: he/him

[ao3 version]

I'm not quite sure this will have an audience other than myself, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Flagg doesn’t know how to feel about you.

He has been an advisor to many different kings over the years. He has gone by many different names, too—Bill, Browson, and most recently, Flagg. Indeed, Flagg is not a mortal being. He is beyond such weakness and vulnerability; his flesh and blood are not so feeble as to perish due to age. Flagg has existed for centuries and he will continue to exist, until Delain itself is nothing more than a pile of rubble.

For the past few centuries, the kings he worked alongside were rather unremarkable. Furthermore, they weren’t incredibly bright—which allowed for Flagg to begin laying the foundation for his future schemes. However, the coronation of your mother threw a wrench in his carefully-laid plans. Indeed, she had been rather suspicious of him. That hadn’t boded well for him; Flagg only made a few strides towards the ideal Delain he envisioned during her reign. Once she died, he couldn’t help but feel a bit more optimistic about his prospects.

As her eldest son, you were named king following your mother’s death. When you were crowned, Flagg was fairly confident in his ability to manipulate you. He knew you were a bit of an anomaly as far as royalty went—and you still are, years after your coronation. For example, you don’t have any children. Everyone knows that a king should have at least one potential heir. When you die, there will be no one to replace you. Despite Flagg and nearly every other person’s reminders that you should really have an heir, you don’t do anything of the sort. Instead, you act as father to Peter and Thomas, young orphans. The two boys initially worked in the castle as stablehands, but after you met them, they quickly became permanent residents of the castle and honorary members of the royal family. Delain was initially very invested in your sudden interest in the two boys, and many of the townsfolk scorned you for your refusal to secure your royal bloodline and produce an heir. You didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of you, weirdly enough.

Now, Flagg can’t help but observe your interactions with the two boys. The two are brothers, yet they act rather differently from one another. Peter is charming, intelligent, and honest. Thomas almost seems to be the shadow of his older brother. Flagg can’t stop a smile from spreading on his face when he notices how Thomas seems to simmer in irritation and anger whenever you give his older brother attention. That jealousy is certainly something that can be exploited, and Flagg plans to do just that.

His opportunity comes when he stumbles upon Thomas crafting a model ship one day. Flagg watches silently, dimly, as the boy puts clear effort into each piece of the ship. Any other time, the magician likely would have been spotted by Thomas. However, the boy seems so thoroughly engrossed in his craft that he doesn’t display any signs of noticing Flagg’s presence. Flagg stands by and watches for a while, before Thomas eventually gets up to his feet and walks out of the room—evidently to deliver his gift. The magician follows in the shadowed secret corridor nearby, until he is comfortably situated behind the eyes of your beloved dragon.

It doesn’t take long for Thomas to come to your door. You quickly let him in and Flagg watches as the boy somewhat awkwardly hides the ship behind his back. You clearly notice that he’s holding something, but you must be pretending not to notice it for Thomas’s sake. Eventually, the boy explains his gift and shows it to you. Flagg watches with bated breath.

“Oh, Thomas,” you breathe, your voice sounding strangely choked. You hold the model in your hands with extreme care, as if afraid that the slightest of movements may ruin the craftsmanship. Your gaze flits about the ship, evidently taking in the minute details that Thomas spent a considerable amount of time on. Flagg feels a twisted grin growing on his face as he waits for you to drop the ship to the floor and crush it underfoot. This will be the catalyst for Thomas’s distrust—the crack in the ground of your relationship that will soon grow to be an impassable chasm. “This is wonderful—so carefully crafted. You must’ve spent hours on this.”

Flagg stills. He quite nearly gives away his presence behind the dragon, as he inhales sharply in surprise. For a fraction of a moment, he swears he sees your gaze flit to the dragon’s eyes and, subsequently, him. Flagg quickly rids himself of the notion, putting it down to his overactive imagination.

“Well,” Thomas responds humbly, his cheeks dusted pink. He averts his eyes, but the pleased pull to his lips suggests that he’s very happy about your reaction. You must sense that the boy isn’t quite sure what to say, because you continue to pile on the praise.

“It’s beautiful,” you say sincerely, not a hint of dishonesty anywhere in your expression. Flagg looks at the ship scrupulously, unable to see past the somewhat clumsy and childlike craftsmanship. These things don’t seem to bother you in the slightest. The magician watches as you reach out and ruffle the boy's hair. “Thank you, son.”

Flagg feels his jaw snap with the pressure with which he’s gritting his teeth. Thomas looks happy—far happier than Flagg has ever seen him. There’s a bright smile on his face and he quickly launches himself into your arms. Flagg scoffs before abandoning his espionage, feeling a sudden desire to be with his poisons.

Flagg knows that he still has Thomas in his grasp, thankfully. The younger brother may have slipped from it momentarily with that moment—the pride in your eyes as you complimented him on his ship—but Flagg is certain he’ll have Thomas eating from the palm of his hand soon enough. Thomas is afraid of him, and the magician plans to utilize that fear as much as possible. When Flagg notices that the boy is acting particularly despondent one day, he decides to make a move.

“Thomas, you look rather sad,” Flagg remarks casually. He’s been debating the proper timing of this interaction, but he thinks now will have to do. If the magician waits too long, Thomas won’t even entertain the thought. “Mind if I show you something?”

“Will there be bats?” Thomas asks guardedly.

“No bats, dear boy,” Flagg replies honestly, amusement seeping into his voice as he remembers the boy’s frightened reaction to the bats. “Come on, then.” This solidifies the matter in the boy’s eyes, evidently. Flagg nearly simpers in satisfaction as the orphan follows after him (albeit apprehensively). When the two of them finish making their way down the dark hall, Flagg stops and turns to face the younger brother. Thomas is staring at him with thinly-veiled apprehension. “You must be quiet.” Flagg reprimands, before motioning for the boy to approach. The boy sidles up to him and the magician gestures for him to lean forward. Thomas does so, staring into your private quarters. He must sense that something isn’t quite right, because he pulls back to stare at Flagg.

“What is this?” Thomas whispers quietly.

“We are looking at the King through his most valuable possession,” Flagg answers. It takes a moment for the boy to realize the implications of that statement.

“The dragon,” Thomas whispers aloud. He evidently gets over his apprehension, because he leans forward and stares ahead greedily—as if drinking in everything he can see.

“Indeed,” Flagg remarks. He allows the air to fall to silence after that, knowing that whatever Thomas sees will speak for itself. Surely, you must have some unflattering habits in seclusion. Flagg intends to expose them to the impressionable young boy. He waits a few moments, only to find that Thomas is mysteriously silent. Resisting the urge to groan in annoyance, Flagg peeks through the other eye of the dragon.

You’re seated on a plush armchair in the center of the room, one leg casually crossed over the other. The room is uncomfortably silent and the lack of noise buzzes in Flagg’s ears. The magician sneers and waits for you to do something unflattering, to say something that will break your relationship with Thomas right in two. You don’t do anything of the sort—instead peacefully reading. Flagg must remind himself to be patient. Surely, you will expose your true nature soon enough.

Time passes and you don’t budge from your original position. In fact, you hardly move at all. Flagg’s heart nearly leaps from his chest when he finally sees your left arm move, only for you to drink a sip of water and return to your reading. After a few hours, it’s clear that this venture is nothing except a colossal waste of time. Flagg chances a glance at Thomas, interested in seeing what the boy thinks. Frustratingly enough, there’s a fond smile on the boy’s face as he watches. Flagg’s irritation grows in response. He brought Thomas here to prove that the King wasn’t the venerated leader everyone thought him to be. Instead, he seems to have only further solidified the boy’s love for you.

As Flagg takes Thomas through the dim corridor and back to his room, he reflects on the week’s events. You’re quickly growing to be a problem. Flagg needs to get rid of you and he needs to do it quickly. It seems as if, with each passing moment, you’re charming yet another person. Nearly all of Delain is besotted with you. Kings like you are rather rare, but they’re perhaps the most dangerous. A King beloved by his people has nearly limitless power.

Flagg muses on the thought that night and falls into a restless sleep. His dreams that night are… intriguing. He has the typical few dreams—killing you with poison, stabbing a knife through your chest. However, he has a new dream that night. At some point throughout the night, Flagg blinks his eyes open and finds that he isn’t alone. There’s someone lying next to him on his bed. The magician casts a wary glance to his side, only to find you staring at him with those knowing eyes of yours.

“What are you doing here?” Flagg can’t help but ask.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say with an amused smile. There’s something soft in your expression and Flagg has to resist the visceral urge to look behind him. Surely that compassion—that love—isn’t meant for him. It must be for someone else. His thoughts must show on his face, because you sigh and place a hand on his cheek. “What’s the matter?”

Flagg shakes his head. He has no idea how to describe what exactly his problem is—that he devoted his time here to killing you and is now struggling to do it. How is he supposed to explain the effect you have on him?

If he thought your presence was unexpected, what you do next is entirely unforeseen. You’re leaning impossibly closer and, after a brief pause, closing the distance between you to kiss him. Flagg instinctually stiffens and you’re quick to pull away, a frown on your face.

“Are you alright?” You ask. Flagg stares at his King, his head buzzing.

“Of course,” Flagg then responds, because he’s nothing if not a liar. He makes an effort to smile—an effort that is surprisingly easy—and leans forward to kiss you. Just as his hands slip down to your waist, you’re lurching backwards with a pained exhale of breath. Flagg opens his eyes, only to find a knife stuck through your chest. You’re looking down at the knife with dread and the expression on your face is wide-eyed betrayal. Flagg reaches out to you, but you’re careening backwards with surprising speed. He stretches his arm further, further, further-

Flagg wakes breathing hard, his clothes sticking to his skin with sweat. He takes several moments to remember how to breathe again, before he pushes himself up and moves towards the bathroom. There, he’s quick to look in the mirror—unsurprised to find dark shadows forming under his eyes. With unsteady hands, Flagg splashes water on his face. What was that dream? Why were you in his bed?

If sleep was difficult before, it’s nearly impossible to find after that dream. A few hours later, Flagg lets out a groan and gets out of bed, abandoning the notion of slumber. He busies himself with reorganizing his potions—then painstakingly taking inventory of everything he has. It’s menial labor, but it keeps him busy. By the time he’s done, Flagg comes to one unshakeable conclusion: you must die. Your persistence and your unwillingness to fall prey to his schemes are quickly becoming unbearable. You’re even invading his dreams. Flagg clenches his fist and glances at his crystal. The magician is possessed with a sudden clearheadedness. He knows what he has to do.

Flagg resolutely tugs his key from where it sits on his chest and removes it from his neck. The magician leans forward and places the key in the kleffa lock, a maleficent smile growing on his face. Dragon’s Sand should do the job quite nicely. The poison isn’t quick-acting; in fact, it may make you feel more vigorous and well-rested before it sets your lungs ablaze and steams you from the inside out. The cruel smirk reflected on Flagg’s face now would be enough to send anyone running.

There’s a knock on his door. Flagg’s concentration is broken and he curses, before growling and moving towards the door. When he swings it open, he’s surprised to find a mere servant waiting for him. He doesn’t even get to utter a word before the servant is worriedly talking with lightning speed. Flagg eventually has to hold up a hand to get them to slow down and repeat themself. The servant takes a deep breath and reiterates their message.

“Sir, it’s the King,” the servant chokes out through quick breaths. “He is unwell.”

Perfect. Flagg hides a grin behind his hand, before mustering up some panic and asking the servant where you’re located. The servant responds that you’re in your quarters and Flagg is quick to push past his uninvited visitor and walk down the halls towards your chambers.

He arrives at your door, only to find numerous servants scattered around the hall. As he steps through the crowd, he’s vaguely aware of the hushed whispers and hissed remarks that pass over their lips. Flagg pays the servants no mind and instead moves to enter your room. He opens the door slightly, before closing it behind him—you probably wouldn’t want anyone to see this. This motion makes Flagg stop in his tracks. Why is he thinking about what you would desire? He shakes his head and looks over to your bed.

The King of Delain is reclined back in bed, skin sheening with sweat. Your eyes are dull as you stare up at the ceiling. There’s no hint of the lively intelligence that you always seem to possess. In fact, Flagg isn’t even sure if you notice him. He clears his throat a bit too loudly to alert you to his presence. You tilt your head down and blink at him drearily.

“Flagg,” you greet him, your eyes glassy and hazy. It almost seems like you’re looking through him. The thought is unnerving.

“My Lord,” Flagg responds, hands twitching to do something. Theoretically, he could kill you right now. However, there’s something about the way you shake and shiver under your thin sheets that discourages him from doing so. When he looks down at your uncharacteristically vulnerable form, all Flagg feels is a strange desire to protect you.

“You look rather shaken,” you remark with detachedness. Your gaze is honed in on him, yet Flagg feels none of the cool pressure that typically comes with it.

“My Lord,” Flagg breaks off, the words falling to dust in his mouth. He’s never felt so choked by emotion before. What is happening to him? “I am fine. Shouldn’t you be worrying for yourself?”

“Ah, I suppose,” you acquiesce, before a hacking cough rips itself from your throat. Flagg raises his eyebrows at that. He’s admittedly confused as to how you contracted such a sickness. From what he’s witnessing, the magician thinks he may be unfamiliar with this illness. “Thank you for visiting me, Flagg.”

“Of course.” Flagg says. When he turns his back, he grasps at his necklace—in what he recognizes as a nervous twitch that he hasn’t performed in years. To his surprise, when his hand reaches his collarbone, all he feels is skin. Flagg looks down at his chest. His key is gone. The key to the cleffa lock that has rested on his chest for millennia is gone.

“Flagg.”

You’re calling his name again. Flagg turns around and manifests a look of nonchalance. The sight that reaches his eyes is enough to rip a startled gasp out of his throat. You’re sitting up in bed, a familiar cord wrapped around your wrist. His cleffa key dangles from your fingers and waves at him mockingly.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore,” you say with twinkling eyes, a slight smile on your face. Flagg feels all pretense completely shatter and he makes a grab for the necklace, only for you to pull it away quickly. Despite your illness, you seem to be unusually cognizant of your surroundings. Flagg is brutally aware that there are guards outside and servants nearby, therefore, he doesn’t make a move to try to grab the necklace again. Instead, he only… stares.

How did you get the necklace? Flagg always wears it around his neck; he has been wearing it all day. You must’ve somehow stolen it from him in the short time of his visit. His eyebrows furrow and his mind is straining to rationalize your nearly impossible actions. Flagg is a rather observant man; no one has ever dared to steal something from him—let alone in front of his very eyes.

Thankfully, it seems as if your tricky ploy took up a good chunk of your stamina—you’re quickly leaning back into the pillow at your back with a pained grimace. The key is still held in a tight grip, dispelling any of Flagg’s notions of getting it back soon. The magician stands silently as you adjust your posture and recline to your original position. You close your eyes and Flagg takes that as a dismissal. Just as he’s about to leave, he hears you utter one final statement.

“Good night, Browson,” you murmur, so quietly that the magician has to strain to hear it.

“Good night, My Lord,” Flagg responds habitually, moving towards the door. The realization comes crashing down on him just as he crosses the threshold of your doorway. Heart racing, Flagg glances back at you—only to find that you seem to be asleep already. Pushing past the dread coiling in his chest, the magician walks back to his room. It isn’t until he’s safely within the confines of his quarters that his mask of composure shatters.

Browson… The magician hasn’t heard that name in a long time. Flagg has never breathed a word of his immortality to anyone. Yet, in a fevered haze, you bid him farewell using the name he had all those years ago. Surely, your statement can’t be a coincidence or a mistake. You must know about his status as an immortal. That’s the only explanation. But… how?

Inexplicably, Flagg spends an unreasonable amount of time in his room after that, experimenting with potions in an attempt to find an effective cure for your illness. He knows that he shouldn’t be trying to develop a cure; if anything, he should let this sickness run its course. After all, it is very likely that this mysterious illness is powerful enough to kill you; you may be young, but you’re still a mere mortal. Despite these recognitions, he continues to develop an antidote for you. Flagg tells himself that it’s his job—people would grow suspicious if he made no attempt to cure you of this ailment.

The first antidote he creates doesn’t work. Isn’t that a truly twisted irony? The only time he desires for his medicine to cure you of your ailment, it doesn’t help in the slightest. Flagg is summoned back to your quarters several times after that, and each time he feels his murderous resolve growing weaker and weaker in the face of your exhausted smile. You must be incredibly fatigued, yet you still put on a smile for others. A true King, Flagg can’t help but acknowledge.

Before long, Flagg’s willpower breaks completely. He makes another antidote—this time, with the bone-deep urge to witness you return to health. Flagg has never made such a potion before. Indeed, intent is a powerful weapon when used correctly. When Flagg administers this antidote, you begin to heal. He watches as the light slowly returns to your eyes. The magician can’t help but question his own actions. Indeed, your bout of illness would have been an opportune time for you to die. Why didn’t he kill you? This may be the toughest question Flagg has ever had to answer.

When you recover days later, everyone in Delain seems to breathe a sigh of relief. It doesn’t take long for the suggestion of a feast in celebration of your recovery to reach the ears of many castlefolk. While Flagg knows you aren’t the gloating type—or the type to truly enjoy such a big event—he knows you wouldn’t dare to rob the people of their joy, fleeting as it may be. Unsurprisingly, you agree to the idea and the banquet is scheduled for the next day.

Flagg spends the day before the event in his quarters. He’s certainly not avoiding you; rather, he’s busy. Surely you will be just fine without his assistance. After all, you’re now in possession of his key—which gives you access to Dragon’s Sand. That thought is certainly worrying; he spends most of the afternoon attempting to devise a plan to retrieve his necklace. His sleep that night isn’t as restless as the one the night before; however, you still sneak into his dreams.

Flagg wakes the next morning with a pounding headache and a strange feeling in his chest. He changes into his more elegant garments and makes his way to the banquet hall—resigned to the fact that he needs to at least make an appearance at the feast. Everyone knows him to be the reclusive magician; furthermore, the general populace holds a healthy amount of fear for him. Flagg uses this to his advantage, as he walks through the banquet hall without a single person stopping him for conversation.

Flagg idly wonders where you are. It doesn’t take long to find an answer to that question, as his eyes fall on your figure near the center of the room. Something about you looks different and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what it is. His brass key rests on your chest, shimmering as it catches the light. A plethora of different feelings hit Flagg all at once. One sentiment prevails over all the rest, and it is a sentiment so unusual that he finds himself frozen in place as he contemplates its presence. The sight of you wearing his necklace incites an unfamiliar feeling of possessiveness within his blackened heart. He watches as you socialize with several different people, unaware of the fact that you’re practically wearing Flagg’s mark on your chest.

He can’t help but notice that one man seems particularly shameless, as he places a hand on your forearm and speaks to you while standing rather close. Disgust and irritation battle for prominence in Flagg’s heart. He doesn’t realize he’s moving until he’s suddenly standing before the group.

“Greetings,” Flagg remarks, eyebrows furrowing when he notices the stranger inch towards you once more. “My King, I’m afraid I come bearing news.” He then glances about the group that has gathered around you, trying to nonverbally convey the fact that he needs privacy for the conversation. You seem to understand.

“Very well,” you say with a nod, turning your attention to the group of people assembled before you. “Everyone, please enjoy the feast in my momentary absence. I will return soon enough.” You follow Flagg out of the banquet hall and onto a secluded balcony.

“What is the matter?” You ask in the brisk night air, letting your arms fall to rest on the railing.

“My Lord, I-” Flagg breaks off, confused as to how his voice doesn’t seem to be working in the manner he desires. He’s never been so tongue-tied before, and he almost has to wonder if a small part of that speechlessness should be attributed to your manner of dress for this evening. Indeed, you’re wearing luxurious, elegant robes that fit you perfectly. Your eyes are bright—no longer uncharacteristically dull from illness—and there’s an easy smile on your face. Flagg feels robbed of his breath.

“You spoke of news,” you prompt him, an understanding smile on your face.

“Yes, I did,” Flagg confirms. He tries to search his mind for a justifiable explanation but he comes up short. He watches as you begin to grow impatient with him. After all, he did interrupt your prior conversation with the other partygoers. You’re clearly waiting for him to say something, but Flagg can’t find the words.

“Well, if you have nothing to say, I should go back-” You try to say.

“Wait, My Lord,” Flagg interjects quickly, shooting an arm out and grasping your forearm gently. You raise an eyebrow at him and the magician is quick to remove his hand. “I...dreamt of you.” You still for a moment, eyes momentarily widening.

“What was the nature of this dream?” You ask. That question is the only one he had feared. Flagg isn’t sure how to explain what he saw or the feelings that the dream incited in him.

“It opened my mind to other possibilities,” he eventually manages to say.

“Such as?” You probe, your eyes glittering as you stare at him. Flagg suddenly feels the need to avert his eyes, lest he become blinded by your light.

“Such as… you and I,” Flagg supplements, feeling uncharacteristically apprehensive about the coming conversation. “I find myself… unable to dispel you from my thoughts.”

“You meant to kill me,” you recall, your hand clasped around his key. It’s clear you don’t really believe him and, somehow, Flagg feels the need to reassure you.

“I wasn’t sure how to handle the feelings you provoked within me.” Flagg breaks off, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “Do you remember what you called me, the night I visited you in your chambers?” Your brows furrow in concentration.

“Browson,” you recall after a moment. “It wasn’t exactly hard to puzzle out,” you continue, after evidently sensing his unspoken questions. “You’ve been here since my mother’s coronation, which was many years ago. The advisors in the past were all remarkably similar to you, despite their differing appearances. Besides, you are… rather powerful. I surmised you want more than to be my mere advisor.”

“Correct,” Flagg admits. “I have spent centuries advising the Kings in Delain. Every one, I have managed to bend to my will. Every single one… except you.” The admission hurts to speak. “You consistently defy my expectations. You are constantly ruining my carefully-laid plans and it is infuriating.”

“However… I’ve grown to appreciate your quick wit and sharp intellect. I have been in Delain for many years, yet I have never felt so wholly understood by another person—and a mortal, no less.” You don’t look very surprised by the mention of his immortality, and Flagg suspects that you already had your theories surrounding his unusually long life.

“My King,” Flagg remarks, his heart racing inexplicably. He can’t remember the last time he had such an uncomfortable physical sensation. It takes a few moments for him to recollect his thoughts. You’re looking at him expectantly. There’s nothing but patience in your gaze. Flagg realizes he’s been struck with a rather mundane feeling: anxiety. He takes a deep breath. “May I have this dance?”

“Yes, you may,” you reply gracefully. Flagg feels an unfamiliar joy tugging his lips upwards into a smile. He leads you back to the banquet hall, unable to quite tear his eyes away from you. It seems his goals have... changed.

#defectivevillain #the eyes of the dragon #Stephen king #eyes of the dragon #flagg x reader #flagg x male reader #male reader #masc reader #x male reader

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