#I'm considering repurposing this premise for an original novel at some point

[miss-ingno]

The Thorns of a Rose

Fandom: ragehappy Ship: Turnfree, Turnwood, pre-Turnfreewod Words: 5.1k Tags: king au, Queen!Meg, King!Ryan, King Consort!Gavin, forced marriage, arranged marriage, wedding, presumed character death, grief/mourning, abandoned work

Summary: After losing the war to King Ryan, Meg is forced to marry him as part of her surrender. With Gavin dead, what choice does she have? (But is he, really?)

A/N: Posting this along other WIPs I’m abandoning in this fandom due to the reveals in October. I wrote this prior to what happened and can’t find it in myself to continue the story any longer. I still adore the premise and don’t want the effort I put into it to be wasted, though, hence why I’m sharing it with y’all.

Read here on Ao3.

***

The sun was shining on the day of her wedding. It felt like a betrayal.

Meg stood still in front of the mirror as her handmaidens fussed over her dress and her hair. It was a beautiful thing, the dress, a layer of heavy brocade over the finest wool, with rare jewels in dark colours stitched between the golden embroidery. The overskirt was of finest silk, cream with golden pearls hidden in the folds, only peeking out as she moved. Another layer on top of that in red gossamer so fine it was almost transparent, bordered in a strip of gold made from foreign material she'd never seen before.

Red and gold. Haywood colours.

Her handmaidens finished pinning up her hair in the circlet of braids piled on top of her head. They spread out the veil behind her and Meg eyed it impassively through the mirror. It had a long train, forcing two of them to hold the heavy thing in place while a third clasped it beneath the braids. Objectively it was a beautiful piece, red silk and more of the foreign gold bordering it, smoothly transitioning into the embroidery. Splinters of a jewel blacker than the darkest night were sprinkled liberally across it.

Obsidian, it was called. Another thing Haywood's kingdom was known for.

Her nails dug into her palms. Meg forced herself to breathe through the rising heat in her lungs. She was a Queen, not a prize to be won. How dare her court sell her and her queendom off to the enemy. How dare he lay claim to her like this, each stitch a mockery of their 'union'. Remind her and everyone else with each layer, each embroidered scene of Haywood's victories, each bloody jewel that she was surrendering her sovereignty.

As quickly as the rage came it subsided. Meg closed her eyes, fighting down the rock in her throat. She wouldn't cry. She would not give them the satisfaction.

"My lady?" one of her handmaidens spoke up. Meg blinked her eyes open and glanced at her.

She didn't even know her name. All her personal servants had been replaced by Haywood, specifically chosen for their loyalty. For her own 'safety'.

The woman was maybe half a decade younger than her, Meg decided, mustering her. Pale and blue-eyed like most people from the North. She was holding up a tiara made of gold, embracing obsidian ovals in its loops. Another slap to the face, forcing her to wear the crown of a princess rather than her own. Fitting, perhaps, since they forced her to surrender her crown already. She was nothing more than an empty symbol now.

Wordlessly, she bowed her head.

The tiara wasn't nearly as heavy as the crown she was used to. The weight of the veil helped, dragging on her hair, threatening to cause her head to ache during the proceedings. Good. Maybe if it hurt enough, the ache of her heart would be less obvious.

The handmaiden stepped back, clasping her hands demurely in front of her. Meg turned to look in the mirror. She looked pretty, she supposed. Were it for any other occasion, another man she'd delight in the glitter of the jewels, the cut of the dress. She wanted, more than anything, for the door to open and Gavin to sneak in, to make a show of bowing and kissing her ring. He would compliment and tease her in equal measure, eyes dancing with mirth and open admiration, lightening her burden. Meg swallowed, blinking rapidly against the tears threatening to spill.

It could never happen again.

Head held high, Meg left her chambers, her maids hurrying to carry the long train so it wouldn't gather dust and dirt until they reached the chapel. A pure veil and a pure dress for a less than pure bride, but she supposed they were all pretending. She marched down the stairs with determination, and it felt like she was on her way to a funeral.

She should be. She was still in mourning.

Instead, she was expected to celebrate her marriage.

Her stomach twisted at the thought. She knew it was the only way to save her queendom, to spare her people total annihilation. The war had stretched over years already and they all were tired of it. With the enemy knocking at the capital, holding half her land hostage… it seemed like a good compromise, she supposed. Her council had urged her to consider the proposal, even before her love was gone.

She had laughed at them then, yet here she was, going through with their crazy plan.

She hoped wherever he was, Gavin could forgive her.

Meg stalked down the stairs with her head held high, the train of her veil and her dress dragging behind her like a heavy weight, an anchor trying to hold her back from making this mistake. Servants hurried ahead, opening the grand doors of the castle for her. The sun shone directly in her eyes, blinding her, forcing her to pause at the bottom of the stairs.

Outside, the courtyard was filled with all the minor nobles and rich merchants who didn't rank high enough for a seat closer to the chapel. They parted for her, their murmurs and whispers crashing over her like the sea.

She knew the rumours. How she had angered the gods. How she had gone against divine rule to marry a commoner. How her love had brought misfortune to her house and lands. How they would have won the war, had she not chosen Gavin.

How she now must repent for her sins by bowing to the conqueror king.

Hundreds of flowers, white, yellow, and red, were woven into garlands hung on posts along the chairs. The white marble pillars of the chapel gleamed golden and pristine in the sun, the round roof providing the only shade. Beyond the altar stood the mural of her ancestor, the founder of her line, telling a tale of victory against evil, against corruption. It was the only thing that reminded the court of her blood, of her right to rule. Everything else was dressed in Haywood colours, according to Haywood traditions. Even the priest waiting for them at the altar was of Haywood's faith, ordained to his patron deity.

The priest was talking to her future husband, drowned out by the noises of the court. Haywood himself had his back turned to her as she walked down the aisle. A dark red cloak billowed on the wind behind him, revealing dark-clad hose and sturdy, black-dyed leather boots but not much more. On his head sat the same heavy crown. It was solid gold in the back but Meg knew it held two huge rubies and an even bigger piece of dark grey opal between them in the front. As the crowd hushed, the priest glanced up, then straightened.

Finally Haywood himself turned around.

It wasn't the first time they met. A week ago she had officially surrendered her crown to him, when he arrived after the fighting had ceased. After Gavin hadn't returned from battle, that one last, desperate push to free the capital.

A week since she had officially accepted his suit.

No proper courtship nor gifts. She supposed he hadn't demanded any treasures or concessions upon his victory, and that might be counted. There was no time to prepare a wedding, and Meg couldn't help but feel suspicious how quickly a fitting dress was adjusted for her. But whether it was Haywood's arrogance that she would give in eventually, or her own court's hope she would give up Gavin for this…

Haywood's face was smooth as stone and just as expressive as he watched her walk towards the chapel. In that, she could not read him. She had expected gleeful triumph over his victory, but he'd remained expressionless when she surrendered, and it stayed unchanged when she agreed to marriage. He had barely spared her a second look once the negotiations ended and left swiftly. His advisors had shown more greed in their eyes than the conqueror himself.

With all eyes on her, Meg tried to emulate Haywood's blank expression. She wouldn't show weakness in the face of the enemy.

Too soon she was standing in front of the altar, shoulder to shoulder with her soon-to-be husband. The priest addressed the gathered nobles, his speech dry and droning as he read passages from their holy book. At first Meg tried to follow along, but how any of this pertained to a wedding she had difficulty grasping. She tuned him out, focussing on the mural of her history over his shoulder as the words buzzed at her ears like an annoying fly.

Her great-great-great-grandmother had been the youngest of many children, but had proven the most capable ruler. Twice she had rebuffed invasion by their neighbours, twice she had saved their people from starving after a flood and after a drought. Twice she had tricked powerful beings through finding the loopholes in their deals. And once she had killed a great wyrm which came down from the mountains to slaughter the villages.

Meg took a deep breath, bracing herself. She may have lost the war, but she wasn't dead yet. She would bide her time and be clever, and with time she would slay her demons, too.

The priest moved on to bestow many blessings upon Haywood, praising his greatest victories. Meg grit her teeth when her queendom was listed as the last of a series of conquests. And then she nearly broke her teeth when the priest slyly alluded to her as the next conquest. Jerking her gaze away from the priest's leer, she tried to focus on her ancestor's painted face, a rumble of laughter rolling through the crowd at the priest's 'joke'.

Busy as she was trying to reign in her temper, it took her a while to notice Haywood wasn't laughing.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw him stare the priest down with a slightly furrowed brow and a curl of distaste around his lips. She half-wondered what about this whole spiel pissed him off, but couldn’t really muster the energy to think about it for long. The priest seemed to catch on to his sovereign's displeasure, growing pale and clearing his throat, hurrying on with the ceremony. He flipped through several pages and read out a passage with a much squeakier voice than before.

It seemed to take forever till they came to the relevant part of the ceremony, and yet it was all a blur to Meg. Her neck hurt, and she was sweating under the heavy layers from standing in the sun the entire time.

“King Ryan, son of James the Third, son of Edward the Second, rightful king by divine blood over the lands of…” Just a trace of impatience showed on Haywood’s face as the priest rattled off his titles and titled lands one by one. The priest hastened on, “...presents this ring as a promise to be a dutiful husband to the Lady Margarita-”

Meg hissed at the deformation of her name, and the lack of subtlety in dropping her titles entirely. Anger bubbled up in her chest, and she stared fixedly ahead less she did something she’d later regret.

"...to protect and cherish as his lawfully wedded wife, should she accept."

Meg silently gave Haywood her hand, grateful that her fingers weren’t trembling. She couldn't quite meet his eyes as he slipped a band of gold onto her ring finger, splinters of ruby lining a bigger chip of obsidian, signifying she had officially joined the Haywood house under his name. That she left her family, her line, her right to rule behind.

Next he offered her a new signet ring, one no less obvious in meaning. The Haywood bull framed her family's insignia between its massive horns.

"In the eyes of God, and all the witnesses gathered here today, I pronounce you husband and wife."

No offering was expected of her, Haywood's advisors had explained. She was offering herself and her surrender as gifts, but no symbol of that could be exchanged at a wedding. It would ruin the sanctity of tradition, they had said. It was just another way to emphasize their unequal standing, Meg supposed, anger burning away to leave only exhaustion behind.

"You may kiss the bride."

The priest's voice tore her from her musings, and Meg tensed, bracing herself. She knew to expect it, of course, and it was Haywood's right now to demand this of her at any time he wished. But she couldn't imagine betraying Gavin like that. To kiss anyone else…

She turned to face Haywood, her heart thumping a heavy beat in her too tight chest. He was watching her from sharp, blue eyes. Meg could only hope her face didn't betray her turmoil, or if it did that it would amuse her… husband.

But Haywood surprised her by lifting her hand to his mouth, kissing her signet ring. A sign of respect, of recognizing her authority, diminished as it was.

Then he turned his back on the priest, dismissing him. He offered Meg his arm and she took it, aware of all the eyes on them. She went through the motions absently, greeting the well-wishers and leaving her husband to handle them, her mind awhirr. He had not kissed her at the first opportunity. Did he see their union simply as a political match? Or perhaps he was an inherently private person.

One by one the courtiers paid their respects, their wishes of peaceful matrimony laced with innuendo and mentions of their future heirs.

She missed Gavin with a throbbing ache. He would know what to say to these peacocks, just enough sly ambiguity to make her laugh but the courtiers unable to take offense at his words and studied innocence. None of them had offered anything similar at their wedding, their words stiff and just this side of disapproval to be acceptable. Barely. And yet that day remained one of her happiest memories.

Meg didn't want to taint it by comparing it to this farce.

Haywood led her through the crowds and into the dining hall, where she sat through the feast and endless speeches inclining her head in polite acknowledgement whenever prompted and not tasting anything but ash. Her stomach roiled with every bite she forced herself to take.

Nothing had tasted right since news of Gavin's death reached her.

The day passed in a blur. There were entertainers, dancers and jugglers and bards after the meal, and the wine flowed freely. Queasy as she felt, Meg barely touched her glass. Haywood sat like a statue next to her, so still that when he finally moved, she flinched. Haywood stood abruptly, his eyes on her as he held out a hand, which she took out of reflex. He watched her still as she rose, and she met his piercing blue gaze with a stubborn tilt of her chin.

"We will be retiring for the night," Haywood announced to the court, who cheered in response.

Meg's stomach dropped.

She followed Haywood out in a daze, trying to tune out the shouted wishes of fertility and success, praying the gods may look upon their marriage kindly. It rankled because she knew her court kept an eye on her monthlies when it was Gavin for the opposite reason. They never had a child, but they thought they'd have time.

She was so out of it, she didn't realize they'd stopped in the middle of the hallway until Haywood spoke up.

"We have no need of you at this point. Feel free to return to the festivities."

His voice was pure steel, unbending and commanding. Meg shook herself out of her maudlin thoughts and turned with Haywood to face the nobles who had followed them. Some she recognized from Haywood's advisory council, others were more familiar to her, influential elders from her own court. Her stomach swooped and bile rose in her throat. They had refused to witness her first wedding night in an attempt to throw doubts towards its legitimacy. Neither she nor Gavin had cared, then. But now…

"Your Majesty, it is traditional to witness the consumption of a royal marriage, to ensure it is done correctly," one of her nobles rebuked with a polite bow. Haywood waved his words away, expression turning towards irritability.

"There is no need. The tradition is in place to assure a virgin bride, which is obviously not the case in this union, and thus witnesses are unnecessary."

"But Your Majesty-!" the nobles protested nearly as one.

"No." Haywood's hand cut through the air and straight through their objections. "You are dismissed."

A young lady knight from the kingsguard peeled off the wall to stand between them and the advisors, arms crossed over her chest. "You heard the king."

Haywood whirled around, his red cloak billowing behind him as he stalked down the corridor. Meg followed at a more sedate pace, not really able to hurry along with her heavy dress and train. To her surprise, Haywood waited for her at the corner.

"My apologies," he murmured before offering his arm to her. Curious despite herself she took it, mustering him from the corner of her eyes.

She hadn't really paid him, or anyone truly, much attention for most of the proceedings. Perhaps she should have, if only to gain the measure of the man she was now bound to. His unwillingness to allow witnesses was both a relief and a concern. He might simply be a private man - or have depraved tastes he wished to keep from the court. She couldn't say which was more likely, and it left her anxious.

Two guards remained outside the doors to her chambers, while another two proceeded into the rooms to check them. Meg supposed she should feel grateful that it was the same lady knight who checked her bedchamber, but she simply felt emotionally exhausted. The lady knight remained inside the bedchamber, and servants followed them inside. Her new maids descended on her, giggling amongst themselves as they hastily pulled up a privacy screen between her and the manservants helping the king out of his heavy cloak and boots.

Meg averted her eyes, nerves fluttering. She handed off the tiara to one of the handmaidens while another two unclasped the veil, rolling it up to be taken to the launderers. Then they stripped her of layer upon layer of her wedding dress with practiced hands, another detangling her braids and taking a brush to her hair. Each layer she lost felt like a shield breaking, like one by one she was losing her protection from the reality before her. Finally the corset came loose, leaving her only in chemise, underskirt, and bloomers.

She could feel Haywood’s stare across the privacy screen and forced herself to meet his eyes. He, too, was left only in a loose undershirt and cotton drawers.

“Leave us,” Haywood ordered, not looking away from her.

The servants murmured acquiescence and bowed, before hurrying out. Once they had vanished through the door, the lady knight posted there took another close look around the room and then left herself, drawing the door shut behind her.

Meg exhaled shakily. They were alone for the first time.

Haywood stalked to the washing bowl, untying his shirt as he walked. Then he poured water from the pitcher before picking up a cloth from the stack next to it. The movements were stiff, awkward, and it occurred to Meg that this might be his first time. That he might be a virgin, unlike herself. Not what she had expected from the conqueror king, if she was honest with herself.

"I suppose I should apologize for the intrusion," Haywood mused, his back turned to her. Meg took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the privacy screen.

"I can't imagine why you would." She crossed her arms under her breasts, not comfortable in this state of dress around her new husband. "Are these chambers not yours, now?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Haywood snorted as he dragged the wet cloth over his neck and under his arms. "I don't intend to spend much time here. It'd be a shame to leave these beautiful chambers standing empty."

Anxiety wrapped around her chest like a vice and squeezed.

"And who is supposed to move into them, then? Whoever you name steward in your absence?"

Haywood paused mid-wipe and turned to stare at her, blinking in obvious confusion. It was the first expression she saw on his face not tinted by anger.

"...they are your chambers, are they not?" he finally ventured, folding the cloth over the lip of the bowl.

"They are the chambers of the highest ranking member of these lands." Meg narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t given it a second thought when Haywood hadn’t demanded to move in the moment he arrived, instead staying in guest quarters. And if she had, she’d have assumed it to be symbolic at best and not last past the wedding. "Which I am no longer."

"Then you can keep them." Haywood shrugged. "Like I said, I do not intend to stay long. I'm sure adequate accomodations can be found within this wing of the castle."

She wanted to ask after his intentions, but that new line of thought distracted her, anxiety racing up her spine. She bit her lip. "The royal chambers are connected to that of the consort."

Gavin's chambers. They'd remained untouched by her order since his death, no matter how much the court had grumbled. She wasn't ready for that last proof of his existence in her life to vanish, but if Haywood requested those-

"I'm certain there are other rooms that will do," he interrupted her thoughts. Something softened in his face and he reached for her hands, squeezing them. "My condolences for your loss."

A hysterical laugh escaped Meg's lips before she pressed them together tightly. How funny that he should be the first to say those words to her and actually sound like he meant it. When it was his army, his war that brought death and destruction to her lands, her people, and ultimately her love.

"Thank you," Meg murmured once she had the tears threatening to spill under control. She licked her dry lips, pulling her hands out of his grasp. He let her go, and even went so far as to step back, giving her more space. His actions were entirely unpredictable, she could not figure him out. She needed more information, if only to prepare herself. "When do we leave?"

"I was thinking of staying a month, perhaps two. Long enough to settle matters here."

His tone was nonchalant, off-hand, like her heart wasn't aching at the very thought. Like he wasn't tearing the last bit of familiarity from her grasp, dealing her fragile control a shattering blow.

"And who…" Meg had to clear her throat. "Who will be in charge in your absence?"

There were several nobles of high enough rank and with enough influence in her own court, and surely they would jockey for the position. But then, she felt certain Haywood would entrust the oversight of her queendom to one of his own people. A close cousin, perhaps, tied to him by blood.

"You, of course," Haywood broke into her musings. He was watching her with a curious tilt to his head.

"I… what?" Meg wasn't sure she heard right.

"Who better to rule over this kingdom than its rightful queen?" Haywood shrugged, and Meg bit her lip, fighting the urge to correct his word choice. Her lands had been conquered and all but annexed to Haywood's own. In all senses, it was a kingdom now, with its sovereign ruler the king before her. "Certainly you know what your people need best."

"I would hope so," Meg agreed, stalling as her brain tried to catch up with the unexpected situation. A part of her just wanted to move on, to not look a gift horse in the mouth, but. She hesitated. "Surely your council will be against that arrangement, though. It seems… perhaps not the best choice, to leave a recently conquered enemy with its governing structure intact."

"Perhaps," Haywood agreed, a pleased smile curling around his lips. "I have two months to determine the political climate at your court and your own disposition towards your new king. However-" Here he arched a brow at her. "-I will take it as a good sign you brought that very concern up yourself."

Flummoxed, Meg gaped at him and his sheer audacity. She huffed, closing her mouth and crossing her arms, before sitting on the foot of the bed to muster him. She tried to see things from his perspective. His kingdom had expanded very rapidly in recent years, and he'd only taken over for his late father halfway through. He had finished the wars he'd inherited in his favour, but he hadn't had much time at his own court to establish himself as king, rather than crown prince.

"People will expect to see me at your court," Meg pointed out, and Haywood nodded immediately.

"Eventually, yes. I will introduce you. However, I am aware of how… unusual the situation is. Under normal circumstances you would not have remarried this soon."

Meg swallowed around the knot in her throat and averted her eyes, tears stinging in the corners. She gave him a sharp nod.

It was sweet, in a way, that he would offer her time and space to mourn.

Haywood walked up to her, hesitating with his hand hovering in the air, before carefully, gently settling on her shoulder. His warmth radiated through the cotton straight into her skin, leaving her shivering. She glanced up at him from under her long lashes, unsure how to react. Should she invite him to sit with her? Make the first move? The thought shuddered through her, leaving disgust and guilt in its wake. Perhaps Haywood was less the monster than she imagined, but to break her vows to Gavin-

She was newly wed. It was expected of her.

She couldn't.

"That doesn't give us much time to conceive an heir," she blurted out, the words rushing out against her will, driven by fear and denial both. Haywood froze for several long seconds that felt like an eternity, before falling to his knees in front of her.

"You are in mourning," he stated with insistent emphasis, his hands covering hers on her lap. "I wouldn't- I shan't-" He paused, taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts. "I will not ask you to lay with me until you are ready. And I swear I will not force myself on you, tonight or any other."

"It's expected," Meg pointed out, somewhat bewildered, but mostly overwhelmed by relief. Her shoulders slumped, her stomach unknotting. She should just take him at his word, but instead she found herself arguing. "They, the court, they will- the servants, they talk."

Haywood's brow inched up by increments. "Then we will have to make it look good when they wake us on the morrow."

"Rumpled sheets won't be enough." Meg felt a blush creep up her neck and ducked her head. "They, uh, they've seen the state of this room in the aftermath before."

"So it's a little different when it's us." Haywood shrugged as if that wasn't a problem. "Can you recreate some of it?"

"I meant rather that men, in my experience, seem very… interested in carnal acts come morning," Meg explained with burgeoning amusement, watching from the corner of her eyes as Haywood turned red, clearly embarrassed.

"Then we will stage something… appropriate," he suggested slowly, not meeting her eyes, "and I will send the servants away for privacy. As long as we establish a pattern," he hurried on in a rush, much to Meg's growing amusement, "they will come to expect it and no longer question the validity of our… marriage."

As soon as the bubble of laughter rose in her chest, it popped with a resonating ache. This sort of mischief, of plotting around the court reminded her so much of Gavin it hurt. She missed him, she missed him so much. She wished he'd never left on his foolish errand. She wouldn't be in this situation if he hadn't.

Meg didn't realize she was crying until Haywood cautiously wiped her tears away with his thumb.

It was like a dam broke. She stared at Haywood through the hazy veil of tears for what felt like an eternity, then a sob crept up her throat. Meg threw herself forward, clutching at his cotton shirt and burying her face in his shoulder. Haywood, further dispelling her earlier notions of his character, simply cradled her head and smoothed a hand down her back, letting her cry herself out. She shook apart in his arms, allowing the memories to overwhelm her.

The fear as the tide of war kept turning against them. Report upon report of failed battles, of an army inching ever closer. The desperation as they realized they were surrounded, the capital under siege. The determination in Gavin's face as he shared his plans with her.

Lying awake in his arms that night, praying for his safe return.

The shock, the resignation when he did not. When word of his death reached her on the heels of demands to surrender. The panic, the chaos of voices cascading down on her as her court tried to convince her on the path forward, words that rushed past her ears insubstantial as smoke.

She couldn't remember when she gave in. When she agreed.

She hadn't cried, not once. There hadn't been time. When the shock faded it was all she could do to hold onto her control, to not show weakness during the negotiations.

And now she lay crying in his arms, his shirt wet with tears and snot. Her next sob broke on a laugh, and she pulled back, shaking her head. Using the sleeve of her chemise she wiped ineffectively at her face.

"Two months," she murmured, her voice breaking on a croak. She cleared her throat and repeated, "Two months. I can do that."

Two months to mourn, to come to terms with the gaping hole in her chest. Two months to linger on Gavin's ghost in her life. Two months to play the subordinate Queen, to let her new husband take the reins and not worry about anything.

Two months to herself, and then she would return to her duties as if nothing happened.

"Two months," Haywood agreed, his hands hovering in the air awkwardly. Meg nodded, lips pressed together in a determined line.

"Let's do this."

***

Quick plot overview, for those curious where this was gonna go:

Gavin isn’t dead, but hiding with rebels

Meg turns out pregnant - everyone assumes it’s Ryan’s obvs

Ryan and Meg know it’s Gavin’s though and conspire to keep the secret

this + some other subplots leads to Meg trusting Ryan and slowly falling in love

meanwhile, Gavin infiltrates the castle staff as a rebel spy, plotting to kill the Conqueror King

reveals and confrontations happen. Much angst, such tension.