#To the point where she still feels like Slate and Puddle are her brothers-- even if Spike and Pine didn't feel like parents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shreddedparchment · 4 years ago

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Pseudo Princess Epilogue

08/21/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,172

Warnings: fluff, talks of sterilization/infertility

A/N: I did promise a surprise. There were some interactions that I wanted to touch on that I couldn’t fit into the last chapter and this just felt right to write. I hope y’all enjoy. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What have you decided?” You wonder, adjusting Joseph in your arms as they begin to tire.

“We’re going to adopt.” Nat’s smile is genuine and yet, you find there’s a sadness in her eyes that breaks your heart.

She looks at Joseph and stares at him for a moment before reaching across the small space between your chairs to caress his little cheek.

“May I be honest with you?” You hesitate but know that you need to say this in order for that sadness to leave her eyes.

Of course, her sadness is her own and you might only help relieve it. You cannot chase it away for good.

“Of course.” She takes her hand back to place over yours.

“I am so glad that you have decided not to see the witch.” You sigh. “After having lost all of you for over a year, the thought of losing more time knowing that I would have had it…”

“I know.” Nat interrupts softly, tearing her eyes down to her hand in yours. “James is the same. He told me to choose what would make me happy and for a moment I considered very much going to see her, but the forced look of detachment on James’s face was heartbreaking. I don’t want him to feel as if his opinion does not matter to me.

“If we cannot both be of one mind in this choice then it is a choice that I cannot make. We were both decided on adoption before I remembered the witch’s offer so, adoption is the only choice my heart can bear to make.” Nat’s feelings are genuine, and you can see the decision has lifted weight from her shoulders.

“You have known that you could not have children for years. Is this really what you wanted. Having them naturally?” You probe, already knowing her answer. “You know that Bucky does not and has not cared if you could give him natural born children.”

“Why do you know me so well?” She huffs a small laugh. “I wanted to give him the life he deserved.”

“The life he deserves is the one he chooses, love. And he chooses to be with you, just as you are. For him you are not lacking in anything.” You point out, remembering the look of utter worship he gives her every time they’re together.

“I know.” Nat nods, smiling wide albeit a little resigned. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly accepted that and that’s why I became so fixated on giving him a child born of us both.”

You scoot closer to the edge of your seat, adjusting the sleeping Joseph in your arms. Now that you’re closer, you can wrap one arm around her back a little, bringing your face down and closer to her own.

“We all love you, Nat. Just as you are. Any child you raise would be lucky to have you as a mother. I know I’ve said it before, but I cannot impress upon you the sincerity of what I say. Trust me. You are perfect to us. If not the world, then to Bucky and myself. And isn’t that enough?”

Her eyes begin to water, and you have the sudden urge to hug her. Before you can, the door to your sitting room opens. Quickly you wipe away the two tears that roll onto Nat’s cheeks as Peter freezes, his eyes wide with surprise. He’s still got his arms extended, feet still in mid-step.

“Oh,” He gasps. “I’m…I didn’t know you were in here your Majesty. I’m so sorry.”

“Peter!” You exclaim, happy to see him.

His face changes, a wide smile replacing the look of shock on his face.

“Hi.” He replies simply, moving towards you as you rise to your feet and with Joseph carefully balanced in your arms, you wrap Peter up in the other.

“It’s so good to see you. When Steve told me you’d left for Father’s castle I was saddened to be denied our reunion.” You chuckle, trying to keep Joseph as still as possible despite knowing that he will not wake even should you need to grab a sword and fight some random attacker.

“I’m sorry, I had to deliver Steve’s invitations for the feast he has planned for when the estate is completed. Only a few weeks now.” Peter says proudly as you pull back to get a look at his face. He seems to be getting taller still. Just over a year and you’re shocked by his growth.

He’s much bigger in muscle mass too.

“Invitations, sure.” Natasha teases, fixing him with a knowing look.

Peter seems to deflate by her implications which raises many questions in your own head.

To allay your confusion, he leads you back to your seat and helps you to sit.

“Morgana and I have actually parted ways.” He says simply, his voice serious but not melancholy.

“Oh.” Nat exclaims, exchanging with you a quick look of concern. “I hope that it was nothing that cannot be mended?”

Peter takes a step back and reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“She is much happier with our engagement at an end. If I am honest, we have been growing apart the last several months. She has been busy undertaking King Stark’s training and I have been busy in the villages with minor disturbances from remnants of Hydra and their various factions.

“Our friendship is just as strong as it ever was, but I don’t believe romance will be a part of our future.” Peter sighs upset despite his words of assurance.

“Last I remember your romance was only just blooming.” You lament, hating to have lost out on the beauty of their love growing.

Now it’s gone?

“Yes.” Peter smiles. “I had high hopes for us but I’m certain this is the right choice for us both.”

“Is this a choice you both made?” Natasha wonders, worried for the young guard.

“We spoke about it at length and we’re sure that it’s for the best.” Peter nods. “Do not worry. We are both perfectly fine.”

Containing your frown is out of the question but he does look as if their choice is one of certainty and you can’t exactly contradict them if they have found what is right for both of them. Even if it’s a shame that you won’t have Peter as a brother-in-law.

With no choice but to move on, you let Natasha take Joseph from your arms as she moves him into the crib nearby.

You have one in here and one in your bedroom.

“So?” You begin, sitting back with a small grimace at the pain in your back. “What brings you to my sitting room? I know you did not come to see me since you didn’t know I was in here.”

As Natasha tucks Joseph in, she waits with observant eyes as if she’s still trying to decide if Peter has told you both the truth about him and Morgana.

“I was sent in to fetch your sewing basket. His Majesty said that he wanted to show it to me so that I’d know what to buy.” Peter explains, his brow furrowed as he observes the grimace on your face and the strange way you’re sitting.

The flowing gown you wear—slate blue around the shoulders down to the constricting bodice where it shifts and mixes with the peony pink fabric beneath the sheer top layer that then flows down to end in that same soft pink—puddles around you, soft to the touch.

It’s finer than anything you’ve worn in a while and the corset you’re wearing now forces your back straight once more.

You’d forgotten how uncomfortable the clothing you'd worn as Queen of Broklin could be. It was a hybrid of both pleasure and pain as the soft fabrics felt cool and heaven in touch but the stiff undergarments to help you fit into such fine dresses were forcing your body to readjust again.

The attempt to slouch and lean back against your chair in search of comfort does not go unnoticed by your once personal guard. Now rehired as you have returned.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” He worries, taking a step closer. His fists open and close as if he’s warring with wanting to reach out and help.

Everyone has been so attentive, so careful with you these past few days after your reappearance. It isn’t even so much that the clothing is too uncomfortable. The corset is tight indeed, but you were so malnourished when Steve found you again that your body had rejected all the rich foods that he’d sent for.

It wasn’t until Natasha thought to bring you simple unseasoned fish, vegetables, and plain water instead of wine that you managed to eat and retain the nutrition. Slowly they added saltier meats and seasoned vegetables and after five days of no missed meals, you were feeling stronger and more like yourself.

The only thing that weighs heavily on your mind still is your son. So much smaller than your daughter was at his age, or so Steve says.

Your husband cried into your chest for that first torturous night. Blissful yet painful. You were all so happy to be back together, finally you were all complete. The piece of yourself that you’d felt was missing had returned in you both, and still it was not enough.

It was excruciating to see your baby girl so grown. Walking, however clumsily, and talking. Her eyes when she sees you are full of confusion. There is no recognition there. Your heart breaks for the bond that you’ve lost.

For Steve, it was the sight of you and Joseph so feeble. So hungry for care and safety. The jumpiness that you’d developed once more having to watch your every step with Phin and the other village men who’d seen an easy target in an orphaned single mother.

He was devastated to know that you’d suffered the birth of your son alone. He hates to know that you fed on rats in your most desperate hours to keep your little one fed. It tears you apart to see him so agonized over it only to see that even through your efforts your son needed a doctor’s care.

Your body is not strong and because of this, everyone has been vigilant with the slightest change in your mood. Steve and Nat especially. Peter has been informed, clearly.

You meet his eyes and offer a smile.

“No. Not exactly. It’s been over a year. I must adjust again, that’s all.” You explain, refusing to give in to their worries about your health.

You feel much stronger already after less than a week. Your son is also more comfortable and seems to fuss a little more now that he has the energy to do so.

Natasha steps towards you, running her hand along the center of your spine.

“Perhaps I laced you too tightly? Once Peter leaves, I can adjust it and give you some relief.” She offers.

“I’m alright.” You smile, resisting the need to grimace again.

Turning back to Peter, you try to distract them.

“Why have you been tasked with the purchase of a sewing box?” This does the trick and both of them forget your discomfort.

“Oh, well his Majesty wishes to tell you himself. I will tell him you’re here and return as soon as I have what I need.” Peter takes a step back, the eagerness to complete his task pulling him away.

“Very well. Hurry back.” You smile at him fondly, a fond lilt to your words. “I have missed you.”

Peter nods, the corners of his lips turned up as he turns and shuts the doors behind him.

“If you aren’t feeling well, Steve will want to know.” Nat frowns, her hand still resting on your back.

“I’m perfectly alright.” You chuckle, reaching back to take her hand and remove it from your spine. “I would like to take a walk.”

You rise and despite yourself, groan as your body stretches. After so much time sleeping in a lumpy bed of hay, a soft plush mattress feels too firm and soft at the same time.

“Y/N…” Nat chastises.

“My body is sore. I’m not used to these soft beds anymore. They feel good when I first lay in them but after a few hours of sleeping my body becomes stiff. It will pass in time, Nat. I promise. I’m alright. Truly.” You walk away from her as you speak, refusing to be stopped and move towards your baby boy to tuck the blanket in around him.

His little crib is the same one that Maggie had slept in when she’d been an infant and your heart fills with warmth that Steve was right and that you would indeed have use for it once again.

Joseph shifts, his little fists flexing open and shutting once again as he coos then sleeps on.

“Will you stay with him?” You whisper, though you don’t need to. Joseph has slept through the worst storms.

“As you wish.” Nat sighs, moving to sit in the chair she’d placed beside him in case you’d wanted to sit down with him.

“If he gets hungry-” You fret.

“I’ll bring him to you.” She promises. “Go, enjoy your walk.”

You leave her in good spirits, feeling free in the safety of the estate walls after so much time spent looking over your shoulder.

Naturally, you allow your heart to lead you and you find yourself at the door to Maggie’s nursery. You can hear Samuel with her, his laugh mixed with her occasional little scream of excitement.

Slowly you open the door, pressing your hand against the wood to keep it as quiet as possible.

You spot them sitting on the floor amongst a pile of pillows that have been strewn across a large thick blanket. The windows on the far side of the room have been thrown open to allow a gentle breeze to cool the room.

Sam holds a luxurious doll made of soft fabric against his leg, his body relaxed as he leans against the wall beside a small shelf full of other toys made of wood and clay. There are other dolls too.

In front of him sits your toddler, her hands wrapped around a large green leg.

With a gasp you push the door open and stop to find Hulk sitting on the other side of the room taking up almost all of it. His arms are casually resting against his knees as your little girl giggles and reaches around to pinch Hulk’s massive calf.

He growls and she laughs again. Then Hulk laughs, and claps his hands twice shaking the entire room.

“Ha-ha!” He says with amusement in his eyes. “Princess laugh funny.”

You look to Sam, uncertainty gripping your chest and he rises then hurries to meet you by the door.

“Your Majesty.” He bows his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be alarmed, they do this often. He won’t hurt her.”

“Queen Flower!” Hulk shouts, raising his hand to wave then points down at your daughter. “Look! Little Princess laugh funny.”

He lifts his massive leg, taking her with it as she sits on his foot and hugs him tighter. As he drops it, she giggles once.

“Do thing, Princess! Make Hulk angry again.” He orders her and like an obedient puppy, she reaches around and pinches his leg again.

Hulk growls. She laughs. He laughs and claps.

The sight, while frightening at first, fills you with joy.

Your little girl has been happy! You’re so grateful to all of them.

“She likes Bruce too, but she and Hulk have this connection that’s hard to argue with. We can’t keep them apart for long.” Sam explains.

“I’m glad.” You nod.

“He takes care of her. When she cries, he gets upset and won’t stop slamming his fists until she stops. That’s how this began.” Sam gestures at them as they continue to play.

“She was crying?” You fret, watching your little girl for the telltale signs that she had been shedding tears.

“She misses Steve. She cries at least once every time he has to meet with anyone for an extended period of time with affairs of the Kingdom. They’ve been attached at the hip since you disappeared.

“I think he clung to her so tightly because he sensed you in her. He was happy to be with her but he knew that something was missing. We all did, only most of us assumed it was Margaret.

“Steve even insisted once that it wasn’t her and that there was someone else that should be at his side. But he went to sleep and we ignored him. We assumed he was merely distraught. When he woke the next morning, he seemed to have forgotten his theory and we thought we were wise to move on.” Sam smiles, shrugging his shoulders as he fixes you with his sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

You and Steve haven’t talked much about your time apart that does not involve the children. Hearing that he'd felt as lost as you had during your separation eases the small bit in your heart that still wonders if Steve is truly in love with you.

“It’s of no importance.” You assure him. “We are together again now. That’s all that matters.”

“Maggie, look who’s here.” Sam calls to her, waiting for her to exclaim in delight at the sight of you.

While you know better.

As you expect she turns to look at you, her little eyes searching your face for recognition and it comes slowly. It isn’t the recognition of a mother yet but she still releases Hulk's leg and with unsteady feet rises and wanders over towards you.

“Hello my sweet flower.” Your heart expands at least fifty sizes—no, a hundred!—as you squat down to be closer to her.

She stumbles as she reaches you but falls into your arms with a giggle that you echo as you wrap your arms around her and lift her to your lap.

She's still so small. A baby. Your baby.

“I was just about to go take a walk in the garden. I want to see all the pretty flowers that your papa planted. Would you like to come with me, little flower?” You wait as she watches your mouth when you’ve finished speaking.

Her own moves silently as she reaches up to fidget with her ear as she thinks about it.

You’ve spent as much time as you can with her these past five days and because you’re in her places of home—her Papa's bed, his presence every moment that he can spare, at his dining table right beside him, in the bath while he sits with her in his lap and the two of you talk.

You’ve bathed her with you and tucked her in. Kissed her cheeks and chastised her when her tantrums grew insolent.

You have made yourself a thorn in her side but a place to seek comfort too.

So, when she turns back to you and places her little hands on your cheeks before wrapping them around your neck, you are ecstatic.

Sam helps you to your feet as Hulk rises and grumbles.

“Queen Flower steal funny baby. Hulk hate Queen Flower!” He says passionately before giving a great hurumph and springing through the large open window.

You watch him go with your mouth slightly open. Maggie turns to wave as Hulk disappears and Sam shakes his head.

“Ba-ba-ba!” Maggie calls out after him, her little hand limp as she swings her arm up and down.

“He doesn’t really hate you. He tells all of us that when we take her.” Sam relays and you’re surprised to feel a wave of relief that Hulk is also just throwing a tantrum.

“I’ve left Nat with Joseph while he sleeps. Will you tell her to bring him down when he wakes? I’d love to have them together. She’s still unsure of him I think.” You’ve noticed your little girl is jealous when Steve holds your son and you want them to love each other despite their time apart.

“Of course. Enjoy your walk, your Majesty. I’ll send a guard down for you as well. Steve would not like you two out in the gardens by yourselves.”

“Thank you, Sam. Are you ready my princess?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been nearly four hours of warm morning sun spent with your daughter in the fragrant peony garden that Steve had built in the estate gardens.

Waves of pink sway in the sultry summer breeze and Maggie’s little legs falter as she inches towards you, her small fist rubbing sleepily at her eye.

She’d spent the morning running after you, giggling loudly before screaming with excitement. She’d fallen many times, then risen and continued the chase. You’d let her catch you and fall to the ground to embrace her before she squirmed from your arms to indicate your turn to chase.

Her adorable antics were topped when she managed to crawl underneath your skirts, painting the bottom her dress—which once again, matches your own just as they had before you’d lost time—green as she rolled around on the soft pea-green blades of grass.

When she tired you two sat in the shade of a large oak giving you a much-needed respite from the blazing sun. She was up after only ten minutes, however. Energetic baby that she is.

All the while, at the edges of the tall blue hydrangea and wine butterfly bush, just out of sight is your guard. Five men circling the outside of the long garden. Out of sight so that they do not disturb you and Maggie though often you catch them peeking over the hedge to catch glimpses of the little miss.

She’s just as popular as she was before you lost her.

Halfway through your walk, Natasha joins you with Joseph. A blanket spread out beneath the oak where she’d sat with him while you played with Maggie.

Stopping, you admire her as she walks towards you. She’s the spitting image of her father and when you’d once thought her lips resembled your own, you can now see that she’s turning into Steve more and more every day.

“Muh-muh-muh…” She mumbles, and your heart skips a beat. “Muh-muh…”

As she reaches you, she lifts her arms towards you, her little rosebud lips fixed into a cranky pout.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” You gush, ducking down to pick her up before you cradle her against your chest. She’s heavy compared to Joseph but you don’t care. You will suffer through aching arms to hold her close.

She immediately lays her head on your shoulder and wraps her arms around her neck again, her eyes closing as you caress the back of her head tenderly.

“Were you attempting to call me ‘Mama’?” You whisper, but she’s already asleep.

With her dozing, you move back towards the oak where Joseph lays on his back playing with his feet.

“Are you hungry?” Natasha wonders, already pushing up onto her knees and grabbing her skirts in preparation.

“A little.” You confess, but I can wait until Maggie wakes before we head back inside.”

“Would you like Steve to kill me for not feeding you?” Nat walks to meet you and then reaches to caress Maggie’s head as she stops beside you. “I’ll see what I can find for us. Will you be alright with them both?”

She seems to really be worried about whether you can handle your children alone and perhaps if you were at your strongest you’d be offended, but you take her words for what they are—love for you.

“Of course I can.” You assure her. “Maggie’s asleep.”

She tilts her head quickly, looking skeptical before she turns and leaves for the house.

As you approach your little boy who has taken to a constant cooing, you wonder how you’ll manage to put Maggie down beside him when you hear a call from the garden gate.

“Y/N!” He calls, deep but vibrant.

His voice is like a siren’s song and you stop and turn without hesitation.

Steve. Your heart is suddenly pounding and you’re eager to see his beautiful face.

As you turn to look, he’s already close, turning his sprint into a jog. His lips are stretched into a happy smile. His eyes are bright, blue as storm clouds, but happy to see you. No, ecstatic. No, he’s full of life at the sight of you, looking as if he’s just quenched a terrible thirst.

“I’ve been all over the estate looking for you.” He gives one long inhale and a quick exhale of breath as if he’s only just catching it.

Had he literally run around looking for you?

“I’m here.” You return his smile. “With our little ones.”

Steve’s cheeks blush a vibrant pink before he takes a half-step towards you and leans in, wrapping his right arm around your waist as he rushes to meet your lips with chaste but hungry kiss.

There’s a need behind his lips that doesn’t equate to desire, and you wonder what it is that he’s searching for.

For you, the press of his mouth against your own sends rapid flutters from your toes to the top of your head making all of your thoughts fuzzy.

As he pulls away, he places both hands on either side of your face. His thumbs are a gentle caress against your skin. His eyes devour your confuddled expression, a look of amusement turning his lips up once more.

“I missed that expression.” He tells you and embarrassment makes you huff a small laugh.

“You’re impossible.”

Steve chuckles.

With your greeting out of the way, his eyes find the baby in your arms then the one on the blanket.

Joseph has also spotted him and has taken to kicking in excitement, his little eyes wide and his mouth a small o as he spews out more goos and coos.

“Did my princess fall asleep?” Steve reaches for her, expertly taking her from you she doesn’t even stir.

“We’ve been out here all morning.” You tell him and with your arms free, you quickly move to Joseph’s side, grabbing him and sitting him upon your lap so that he might look at his papa with more ease.

It only makes him kick faster and you chuckle as he squirms.

“I think your prince would also like your embrace.” You adjust him again, a sigh of relief escaping you after your laugh.

It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice. As he sits himself down on the blanket with you, he places Maggie beside him, stroking her chest to make certain she remains asleep.

“You’re tired.” He frowns but takes Joseph when you lean over and offer him.

He places him between his legs facing him, but when he whines and leans towards him with his little arms reaching, Steve picks him back up and gives him his all his attention while he waits for you to respond.

“We have been enjoying the length of the garden.” You explain, scooting closer to Maggie and moving the hair away from her little face. “Which reminds me, why was it that you made a peony garden even when you did not remember me?”

Steve turns to you, allowing Joseph to push against his lap with his little legs, then looks up towards the branches while he thinks.

As his mind wanders, you admire the sight of him. He looks regal in his short-sleeved cream-colored tunic, the neckline high with tan embroidery along the edge of the seam at the front. It leaves his muscular arms exposed, sinew shifting beneath the smooth golden peach of his skin as your son kicks and Steve keeps him rooted to his spot.

His hair is short once more, trimmed for the heat of the season but his beard is as thick as ever.

Brown trousers and dark brown boots complete his casually regal look and he has never looked so good.

“I don’t think I could properly explain it. The garden back home was full of them around Margaret’s—that is, your pavilion. I knew it as Margaret’s with my memory of you gone.” He fixes his words though you feel only the faintest of shifts in your gut of the old jealousy and resentment you’d felt at the mention of Margaret. “I had no memory of changing her flower for them, but I knew that the reason for it was vital. Then as time went on, I craved the scent of them. Maggie and I would spend hours in your garden. I think even she felt your absence. She was more peaceful whenever we were there where the flowers reminds us both of your pleasing scent.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself.

“What?” Steve turns to you, adjusting Joseph in his arms as the little one tires out and yawns. With his little head resting against Steve’s chest, he begins to drift to sleep. “Why are you always laughing at the things I say?”

You take a few more moments to let the laugh flow, then shake your head.

“I’m not. I’m just…I only began to use scented oils and soaps when I accepted father’s task to marry you. If you want a true example of what I smell like, think back to the moment you met me on the road just days ago.” You explain.

Steve thinks back, the small crease between his eyes deep as he tries to remember.

“You smelled like hay. A little bit like sweat and earth, but also like Joseph. But there was also the scent of peonies in your hair, despite what you say. Perhaps it has become engrained into your very being after soaking in so many baths with it.” Steve smiles, his eyes glazed over as if he’s thinking about it.

The shift of his lips is a little coy, and the pink tint returns with vibrancy to his cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?” You narrow your eyes at him, certain you know exactly what it is he’s thinking.

“I’m not blushing.” He shakes his head, a look of denial plastered across his chiseled features.

“You are. How can you think of me in the bath with our children sleeping right beside us?” You demand, your face fixed into mock shock.

Steve blinks, at a loss at your accusation because it’s probably true.

“What? I am not-I don’t-I haven’t-You don’t-” He sputters, flustered by your flirting.

You chuckle and refocus on your daughter, admiring the way she breathes as she sleeps while thinking with amusement about the amount of times you’ve bathed with your little ones since returning and Steve having joined you often.

“Your Majesties!” From the garden gate Peter rushes, one arm wrapped around a wicker basket, the other carrying a rectangular box sealed with twine.

That must be the sewing kit.

“That took you all morning.” You observe as he approaches then stops at the edge of your blanket and gives you both a quick bow.

“Yes, I wanted to be sure I purchased the correct one.” Peter explains, but Steve’s eyes are on the basket.

“What is that?” He gestures at it, then fixes his gaze on the young knight.

“Oh, Natasha sent me with a lunch. Cold meats and a few mince pies. There’s a jug of wine and a gourd of water in there for her majesty.” He holds it out and Steve takes it, placing it near you.

“Eat.” He says simply. “While you can do so comfortably with the children sleeping.”

He’s probably right. You begin to pull the food from the basket and portion it out onto two small wooden plates Natasha had placed in the basket.

“Where shall I put the kit, your Majesty? The den?” Peter wonders, holding the box with both arms now that they’re free.

“Yes, that seems-” He begins but then stops as the heavy sound of a guard’s armor approaches.

All of you turn to look in his direction.

Behind him follows a girl who looks to be about Peter’s age. Her beauty is undeniable though she walks awkwardly in the simple gray gown she wears. It isn’t anything fancy but probably the nicest dress she owns.

Still nicer than anything you ever owned before you married Steve.

Her hair is long, falling to her waist in a stunning number of braids. Her brown skin shines golden under the summer sun, her eyes a sharp inky black yet wider than normal with the nervous energy you can see flowing through her. Although her facial features are small, they’re also sharp, brows wide and angular.

“She’s finally here.” Steve exclaims, making to rise before he realizes that he’s still cradling Joseph to his chest and sits back down.

“Your Majesty, this girl says she is here for a job?” The guard offers, and gestures to the lovely young lady at his side.

“Yes, thank you. You may go.” Steve dismisses him and waits for him to depart before he addresses the girl. “Hello again, Miss Jones. You’re right on time.”

Miss Jones takes hold of her skirts and quickly ducks into a curtsy as if just remembering she should be doing so.

“I hope I am not intruding.” She says nervously.

“Not at all.” Steve nods. “This is my wife and Queen. You will report directly to her from this day forth.”

“What?!” You gasp, so surprised your smile vanishes. “Report to me?”

“I have hired Miss Jones to assist you with the children. She will be your second lady in waiting to assist you when and if you should need someone and Natasha is not around or has other things to do.” Steve says pointedly. “You shall do whatever her majesty requires but she’s awfully selfless and terrible with implementing her authority so you might have to read into her needs a bit more than I made it sound like when we met before.”

As all of you look back to Miss Jones, you find that she’s still in her curtsy, her legs probably shaking as she teeters from side to side.

“Y-you don’t have to keep bowing.” Peter tells her and she snaps out of it, nearly toppling over as she stands up straight.

“Right,” Miss Jones says, now standing awkwardly before she decides to give you all a tight anxious smile. “I will do everything I can to serve you with honor, your Majesties.”

Steve looks pleased and after a few more moments of considering the girl, you relax.

“Thank you.” You nod. “I will do my best to be as little a burden as I can be.”

“See?” Steve shakes his head and Miss Jones smiles a little more genuinely. “For now, I think you should rest. You must be tired after your journey. Tomorrow you may commence your duties but for now, Peter? Will you show Miss Jones to her quarters?”

Miss Jones curtsies again as Peter bows. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Thank you, your majesties.”

For a moment they both stand there awkwardly, waiting for the other to walk. Peter gestures towards the estate and Miss Jones seems to turn but is uncertain if she should. As he begins to walk, she gathers her skirts a bit so that she might walk beside him with steady feet.

You watch them steal several glances at each other. Miss Jones especially watches Peter with an uncertain but curious gaze.

“Oh, this is for you.” Peter tells her and holds out her sewing kit.

“Thank you.” Miss Jones says, taking the box.

“I can carry it for you.” Peter offers.

“Oh…” Miss Jones hands him the box again and they walk on.

As they reach the garden gate, their voices are faint, but you can just make out what they’re saying as they disappear through the hedge.

“Your gown is lovely.” Peter tells her, nervous for a moment as he offers the compliment.

“Would you like to borrow it?” Miss Jones asks, her face serious as she awaits his answer.

“What?” Peter stops walking, fixing her with a dumbfounded look.

“A jest.” She tells him, stopping too.

“Oh.” Peter smiles and nearly laughs but continues to walk. “Right.”

Miss Jones smiles. “Yes. It wouldn’t fit you. Your shoulders are too wide.”

“What are you smiling about?” Steve wonders, pulling your attention away from Peter and Miss Jones while he lays Joseph down beside Maggie.

You offer him a plate of food, shrugging as your smile grows wider.

“Life has a strange way of giving us just what we need when we need it.” You realize, looking at all three of the loves of your life.

“Just as life brought you to me, do you mean?” Steve nods. “Yes. Just what I needed.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #royal au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader fic #steve rogers x you fic #avengers x reader #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #pseudo princess #daddy!steve rogers x reader

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rael-rider · 3 years ago

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Sam Wilson, Thor, Bucky Barnes, Namorita, Gamora. Scarlet Witch. Shuri. Black Panther. Whichever of these you want to talk about, have at it. Good day.

I’ll do three of these characters and if you really want me to talk about the others just ask me again. I do only three because I tend to ramble sometimes (partially because I can’t decide on one thing for certain questions) and I’ll stretch this to infinity if I do all of them.

Sam Wilson

First impression: I think it was when I was reading older Captain America comics and I got to his first appearance and I vaguely knew he was Cap's partner in the comics at that point. I remember thinking that I liked his power since I love birds and Sam talks to birds, I also liked his chemistry with Steve.

Impression now: He is one of my favorite Cap characters, I really love him and I think a Captain America isn't Captain America without him. Like I consider him essential to the Cap mythos. I love the Gruenwald and Roger Stern runs but my major gripe about those runs is that Sam is barely in them.

Favorite moment: Captain America: Sentinel of Liberty #8-9 AKA the first time Sam became Captain America. I also liked his Generations story with Steve.

Idea for a story: Something that deals with Sam's telepathy and how powerful it is and maybe the fact that it can also extend to other animals, creatures, and aliens that are related to birds (Since the Shi’ar are part birds would his telepathy work on them?). Other than that I guess I would like more stuff with Sam's family.

Unpopular opinion: I don't know if this is unpopular but I liked the Remender Sam Cap run. Probably waaay more than his run with Steve.

Favorite relationship: Sam and Steve obviously is number one, I'm pretty much convinced they're married. I also like Sam's relationship with Sharon, Bucky, Joaquin, and Misty. I pretty much like Sam with a lot of characters although I guess I didn't really care much for his relationship with Jane since that really came out of nowhere and I don't think they ever broke up or anything.

Favorite headcanon: He's worthy of Mjolnir but he just doesn't care to find out. Sam has anxiety and Redwing helps him deal with it. Geese are some of the bird species he doesn't particularly like to talk to because they're major assholes. Crows are some of his favorite because of their ingenuity and how well informed they are (he will get information from them when he's on a stakeout). He knows Steve will do anything for him and sometimes he'll take advantage of that for the most mundane stuff (like getting a glass of milk from him, getting Steve to cook for him, or if Steve is going to an event where he can only bring a +1 Sam gets to be his plus if he wants too). He doesn't really like to call Bucky James because the name reminds him of his nephew James Wilson. Because Bruce Banner refused to give his blood to James Wilson when he was dying (he didn't want to create another Hulk) Sam doesn't exactly see eye to eye with him. Sam has trouble sleeping because he's a light sleeper (he didn't live in a good area while growing up and had to always be alert) and he likes to wake up early.

Black Panther

First impression: First time I saw him was in the Fantastic Four cartoon when I was a kid and I remember thinking he was like a cat version of Batman. He manages to beat the F4 easily if I recall and I thought that was badass.

Impression now: I like T'Challa, I binge read his comics up until the Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda (which I still have to finish).

Favorite moment: When he beats the KKK in McGregor's run that was such a powerful moment. Panther's Quest, his fight with Killmonger in Priest's run.

Idea for a story: I would like Al Ewing to do more stuff with T'Challa, I liked how Ewing handled him in Ultimates. I haven't finished Coates' Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda but what I read I thought was interesting. I guess I want more BP cosmic stuff, the TLA tie-in comic was good too.

Unpopular opinion: I really didn't get that much into Hudlin's Black Panther run.

Favorite relationship: T'Challa and Steve Rogers, T'Challa and his family (Ramonda, Shuri, and yes even Hunter), I enjoyed his big brother type of relationship with Asira AKA Queen Divine Justice. His friendship with Everett Ross in the comics (which I kind of miss). His frenemy relationship with Namor is kind of interesting too.

Favorite headcanon: T'challa exudes confidence and coolness but I imagine he internally freaks out about some things but he's just THAT good at hiding it. He is a bit of a momma's boy. He is angry about Hunter being such a difficult asshole because part of him really wanted to have a normal sibling relationship with him (he might have bonded with Thor over that at some point when Loki was still evil). There are moments he wishes he wasn't King of Wakanda because the responsibility is that great and he wishes to have more freedom. He's very much a tea kind of guy.

Thor

First impression: He popped up in some of the Marvel cartoons that I saw and I just thought he talked funny and like most of the Avengers back then I was vaguely aware of him.

Impression now: I love Thor, I went and did a deep dive of all his comics and he’s a character I really love.

Favorite moment: Various moments from the Walt Simonson run. Like his talk with Jorgumandr before they fought was interesting. How after he literally became a puddle of ashes from how many times the Destroyer kept zapping him trying to kill him(he was unable to die because of a curse from Hela) his spirit jumps into the Destroyer, he goes to Hela's Domain and harasses her until she lifts the curse and returns him to normal. The scene from Thor: Heaven and Earth were he reads a dying Catholic Priest his last rites. Every time he earthbends or shows he's Gaea's son is a pretty cool scene.

Idea for a story: A story were Thor meets his mom's side of the family and acknowledges them as family. Like Gaea is the Earth Goddess in every pantheon and pretty much gave birth to almost every God and Goddess on Earth and is related to them (this would makes Zeus Thor’s nephew and the Hawaiian Goddess Pele his half-sister). I still wonder why no one has made that story (lets face it the whole Phoenix thing? It's going to get retconned).

Unpopular opinion: While Donald Blake isn't necessary for Thor's story now I feel that making him into a different person and not Thor takes a lot of Thor's character and kind takes away an important part of Thor. Mainly the idea that when given a new clean slate in life and being reborn as a mortal, Thor chooses to become a healer. If Blake is a fake person that Odin made (and ugh the whole thing is convoluted now because of it) and Thor never did anything it makes no sense. But the way I see it Odin lied about making Blake out of nothing and he just separated Thor's mortal side from him as a way to take Thor's attachment to Earth. it would explain why Blake is acting the way he is and why Thor has been written as such a jerk lately. I also don’t care for the angry violent Viking portrayal that some writers do with him.

Favorite relationship: Thor and Loki, because the most interesting and complex relationship both of those characters have is with each other (I have a tag for them). I also like Thor's relationship with Steve Rogers who is his favorite mortal alongside Jane. I also like Thor's relationship with Balder (who is also his brother and needs to come back), Sif, and the Warriors Three. I also loooooove Thor and Beta Ray Bill.

Favorite headcanon: I think Thor likes to read books and has some of his own geeky interests that stayed with him from the time he was living as Don.

#wondyanswers

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thewildheroine · 6 years ago

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Fly Away |Twenty- Nine|

Warnings: Child injury/death

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: I just started school this week and it’s already killing me so I’m sorry if I don’t post very consistently or if my writing is bad. I hope you guys enjoy and if you like it please reblog loves!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

|Masterlist|

____________

I stand on the sidewalk, droplets of rain running past my cotton shirt and the black and blue flannel that is two sizes too big on me. My hair has turned three times darker than usual. The weight of water filling my locks is enough to make the back of my neck ache. Parents and students make this already loud corner of the world even more chaotic. I feel my brain go into overload as I try to focus on one thing.

Instead, a giant wave of wind blows right into my face. The air, thick with water, blows straight into my ears and the noise around me grows ten times in volume. I sigh and bow my head. Droplets of icy water beat right against my nape, pushing fatigue further on me until I feel like dropping onto the sidewalk.

“Hi,” a beautiful voice says, abruptly drawing my attention away from all the obnoxious noise. I’m taken aback when I turn to face the kindest face I’ve ever seen. Her cinnamon lips drawn back on her find face to show me a smile. Hands the color of honey are holding onto each other. She holds her head high, seemingly unfazed by the rain. And her eyes, little orbs of purple that are gleaming with light. She keeps up her chin and extends her small hand towards me.

“You’re Y/N, right?” she wonders. I narrow my eyes and nod slowly, untrusting of anyone who comes up and talks to me so randomly. “I’m Heather. I’m in Mrs. Binford’s class too.”

My arms curl around my torso, this place that I’ve appeared in somehow both hot and freezing at the same time. This place vacillates between the two extreme temperatures as I wander around, unsure of where I’m going exactly. I actually don’t even know where I am for that matter. All I know is that this entire plain of existence is pure, blaring white. For a moment I try to shield my eyes, but the light attacks from all directions, and I defeatedly drop my hand back onto my side.

I continue watching the girl in front of me, who I infer is Indian based on the familiarity between her and the second-grade teacher next to our class who speaks with her native accent proudly and will occasionally pass out embroidered silk in history so that we can all inspect it. My hand raises and I shake Heather’s hesitantly. My sleeves are pulled past the base of my fingers so she can’t feel the thick scars lying just beneath.

“Are you waiting for your parents?” Heather asks and looks at the crosswalk as well. I study the way the rain rolls down her tan cheek. Little white freckles are sprinkled gently under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose reminding me of stars. For being just as young as me she seems otherworldly, and although my dad has never encouraged me to believe in anything besides magic, I know she’s an ancient just from the look of her. She had to have lived millions of lifetimes before this if she can hold her head that high and has such a sing-song voice.

“I’m walking home, actually,” I inform her matter-of-factly and start crossing the street. I’m glad for the constant noise of parents picking up their children disappearing. But Heather follows me, her brown lace-up boots that aren’t meant for the rain splashing into puddles.

“I have to walk a little too,” Heather says while catching up with me. She has to widen her steps to keep up, each pace of mine is a little more than one of her normal ones. “Not home though.”

I cock an eyebrow, surprised to hear that someone my age walks home alone by themselves too. Having become so used to the worried glances from other parents I figured no one else did it.

“You too?”I question. “Your parents let you walk home alone?” Heather laughs abruptly, revealing her pearly white teeth that are all perfectly set into her mouth, not one straying from where it should be. She hikes her backpack up on her shoulders to keep it from falling off.

“Your parents let you walk alone,” she remarks, the bite one would expect in a comment such as that non-existent. The only thing I can find in her whole soul is pure compassion. A love that feels more like family than anything I’ve ever known. “Anyways,” Heather begins and casts her gaze up to a sleek black crow that caws on a telephone wire above us, “we’re not walking alone anymore.”

My fingers dig into my sides, desperate to provide more warmth. I can feel bruises forming under the intensity of my grip so I force my hands up to my face and breathe into them. As I’m doing so an idea pops into my mind. I focus my thoughts and prepare to conjure my magic, only there is nothing to be conjured. All I find within myself is a void of what used to be there. An immortal black hole that looms within, simply waiting for the best moment to take the rest of me away.

I drop my hands enough to stare right at my scarred palms. The angry mark that stretches across the skin to serve as a reminder of what I used to have. Of what I used to be. All I can do is wonder what I am now.

“Oh.”

I nod, my thoughts racing through my naturally anxious mind. Mine and Heather’s eyes stay connected a moment longer before I look back down at the sidewalk. The water has become much less of a menace and even the rain doesn’t seem so troubling anymore. I start walking with Heather, this time slowing down so we can walk side by side.

“So,” I drone awkwardly, still very much unsure on how these “social cues” and “conversations” work, “if you’re not walking home then where are you going.” Heather points forward, not once stopping so she can point out a giant brick building a little way down the road. I eye the giant sports fields and the tall black gates. A blue and yellow flag whips around in the rain wildly.

“My brother is waiting for me there. Midtown high school,” she tells me, the topic already making her excited. “It’s a school for super smart kids. It’s called a ‘STEM’ school.” I think on that for a second, my eyes still fixated on the building.

Tears sting at my eyes now. I feel the need to drop onto the ground and let the chaotic temperature shock me to death. My feet stop moving and I stand in the middle of this infinite wasteland that is nothing more than an abyss to me. I feel my fists shaking by my sides; something that would’ve let my magic loose minutes earlier.

Or has it been hours? I try to think of where I was last. My head to turns to see where I came from but all I see is the white slate. Maybe it’s been more than just hours. I might’ve been wandering this vast place for days, weeks, months. Maybe I’ve been here for years. Maybe all I am is a distant memory to the people I once cared about. Maybe… they’re all already gone and I’m the last one left

“Do you want to go there?” I ask Heather, genuinely curious and not just acting on the few pleasantries I’ve learned. Heather’s smile grows and she nods ecstatically.

“Yeah!” she exclaims, her voice becoming a melody. “I want to be one of those cool hackers like in the spies movies I watch with my dad.” Heather turns towards me and grabs my shoulders all of the sudden. It’s like the joy coming off of her in waves radiates into me, making a smile of my own appear. “What about you? What do you wanna do? Maybe science? I think you’d be good at chemistry. My brother hates that class, but I think you’d be awesome. I quickly become overwhelmed because of her pure curiosity and excitable attitude. My mouth opens then closes, and then I look back at the school.

“I like making stuff,” I reply, thinking off all the things I’ve conjured with magic. Machines, and animals, and plants. “Is there anything for that?” Heather’s smile widens even more.

“Engineering!” she shouts loud enough for the entire block to hear. “You could totally do that! We can go to Midtown together and you can make the machines and I can put the computer stuff into them. We could be a spy team!” I watch as Heather explains what we will be doing the next ten years of our lives, a strange adoration I’ve never known lighting up everyone neuron in my brain.

I run my hands through my tangled hair, yanking some strands out of my school with a soft snapping noise that I can only ignore. Tears begin to fall from my bottom lashes and onto my hot cheeks. My eyes snap around wildly, hoping that if I look hard enough some sort of exit may appear before me. There is nothing though. Just a void for me to lose my mind in. A process that is nearly complete already.

I sit on the creaky swings with Heather. Her raven hair is blown back by the intense winds, revealing how her lavender eyes have focused on something far in the distance. There is a thick book in my lap. One that my teacher recommended that I didn’t read since it was so advanced. My eyes aren’t on the text though. They’re on my best friend of seven months who has not spoken a single word throughout the entire day. I huge feat for her.

“Y/N?” Heather murmurs her first word of the day. I can barely catch my name before it’s taken away by the wind. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

A crow caws somewhere. My head lifts upwards and I shoot my bloodshot eyes around to find the source. The tears stop falling and I finally have a moment to breathe in and out, accepting the air that has somehow turned to a consistent temperature of about twenty degrees. A smile spreads over my lips as I stare towards an invisible horizon, prepared to see a beacon of hope in a place that I believed sucked hope dry.

I’m immediately taken aback by Heather’s question. My eyes study Heather whose brows have been knitted together as she gazes at the hazy horizon with clouds building over every skyscraper in sight.

“I guess so.” I remember when I first met her. How I automatically knew that she was an old soul by the way she held herself and spoke. To this day, I’m still a firm believer of that fact. “Why are you asking?" Heather bites the inside of her cheek, asking herself whether or not she should answer.

“Last night my brother said that it was all a lie. My religion,” she informs me. I twist the chains of my swing further so I can face her entirely. “He said there is no Kali or Ganesha and that there definitely isn’t reincarnation. He said it’s all a big fat lie to keep me from being bad.” I see the tears rimming her gleaming purple eyes. It takes every ounce of control I have in my small body to keep my panic from revealing itself.

I push myself forward on the swing, taking my time to think of an honest answer for Heather because that is what she deserves. “I think he could be right,” I answer, “but I also think that you could be right. I don’t think we’re meant to know for sure if there is someone special out there watching over us.” I bite my lip and shrug, taking a moment to close my book. “That wasn’t very nice of him to say that though, and I think that’s what made him wrong. No one knows that truth for sure. We just have faith. Some people have faith that there are gods, others have faith that there is one god, and some people have faith that there isn’t. We can only have faith in what we believe is right.” I watch the skyline too now, the beauty of the sun dipping below the buildings unbelievable.

The caw grows louder and I can hear the beating of wings as my friend approaches from wherever she may be now.

“You are allowed to believe whatever you want to believe and no one can take that away from you,” I reassure before taking her hand in mine and looking back at the schoolyard where other kids play.

Then we’re silent again. Heather’s raven black hair is blown backward by the wind. We both swing back and forth simultaneously as to not put any strain on each other’s arm.

“I’d like to be reincarnated as a crow,” she mumbles randomly. “I like crows. They’re pretty and smart.” I smile and look at my best friend.

“You’d be a really good crow,” I say back, confidence lining each letter. I think of what I’d like to be reincarnated as. I’ve never taken too much of an interest in most animals until Heather began pointing them all out to me, calling them by both there scientific name and short names. I think if I wanted to be reincarnated as anything, I’d want to be Heather’s sister.

Heather purses her lips, a habit I had noticed her mother doing when she would occasionally pick her up from school. She turns towards me, the chains holding the swing up creaking quietly. “Do you believe in magic, Y/N?” she asks. Her eyes lock onto me. I look down at my muddy shoes as I swing forward a bit, the only thing reminding me not to go so high I could fly away being the strain of Heather’s hand holding mine. Once my feet rub against the wood chips again, sending them flying to the sides, I look around.

“Icarus!” I shout, my voice cracking with every syllable but I find that I don’t care. I can hear my friend coming to me. Her wings flapping as hard as possible to reach me.

I twist towards Heather again, this time an intensity has settled into my eyes. “You have to promise not to tell anyone, okay Heather?” My friend gives me a confused look. “You need to pinky promise you will never, ever tell another soul about what I’m going to show you. Do you pinky promise on your life you won’t?” Heather glances around, almost looking for confirmation of what I just said.

“Yes?” she whispers back, the response sounding more like a question than a promise. I accept it though and pull my hands away from the metal chains. Hesitantly, I cup them and place them against my lips, beginning a simple conjuring spell. I watch closely as the young me executes the spell completely and places her two closed hands in Heather’s open ones. Slowly, she opens them, revealing a tiny butterfly.

“Icarus!” I try again. My hair whips over my face as I turn quickly, the direction fo where the noise is coming from still hard to decipher.

Heather’s jaw drops as she looks at my creation. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips as she raises the butterfly to inspect the small thing. I giggle lightly and raise her hands into the air, releasing the butterfly so that it may fly somewhere where it will be safe from the strong winds.

“So,” Heather drones as she watches the dark blue creature disappear, “you’re like a witch.” I chuckle again.

“I guess,” I confirm. “I like to think I’m a good witch though.” Heather’s grip on my hand tightens and she pulls me closer, nearly yanking me right off the swing.

“You’re like Glinda,” she yelps joyfully. “Glinda the good witch!”

One last screech is released into the void, the noise reverberating all around me. Then the beating of wings finishes and I’m left to wait and see if what I heard was real and not just me going mad.

All of the sudden I feel a pulse of energy behind me. I don’t dare turn around out of fear of what it could be. My father, done tormenting me and finally collecting me from this place so that he can take me to his "utopia". Dormammu, who has broken his promise and instead trapped me here with him so he may torture me with my own deepest fears. My friends. My family, standing around me, all of them dead because there was never any hope of us all surviving in the first place.

“Hey Glinda,” a melodious voice says behind me, shocking me straight from my imagination. I dare not turn around as I track the familiarity of the voice. I think of how every syllable sounds like a ballad, how there is a natural trill in her voice one would believe took years to master. I think of her voice, an eternal hymn that people sing on their holy grounds. My heart skips a beat, then another, and then it starts racing again, the realization dawning over me like the sun rising over the New York skyscrapers.

I walk past the alleyway next to our deteriorated apartments. It takes me only a second to sense something wrong before I turn down the dark street. Then I see them. My father and Heather. She has her hands weakly raised above her head, fearing and preparing for the next blow.

I stand and take a deep breath before finally turning to look her in the eye. Her pale purple irises stare right into mine, unafraid to look at me after so many years of being apart. She has developed a natural wave in her once entirely straight, obsidian hair. It dips just past her shoulders. Her smile is glowing with pure white teeth, the sight of something so sincere so striking in this strange place.

He doesn’t go for her head though. He conjures a blade in his hand instead and thrusts it straight into her abdomen. And then everything's a blur.

My magic thrumming inside as I use it to throw him away from my best friend. My sister. He flies ten yards and then collides with a brick wall. Even though I have stopped him I know I haven’t won because I see Heather gasping for air. Her entire face coated with her own dark blood, her hand reaching towards me, and the beautiful purple I love more than anything in the world, the strange and lovely mutation she was named for is fading from her eyes, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

All I can do is cry as I drag her to the hospital, praying that she’ll get the chance to be reincarnated as a crow.

I take one step forward, then another, and then I feel as though I’m floating towards the girl who has, despite the four-month difference, grown slightly taller than me. She waits, patient as ever while I approach, fearing deep in my heart that if I go to quick she may disappear like she did all those years ago. All of the sudden, I’m standing right in front of her. My hand lifts without my permission and brushes against the skin of her shoulder, testing to make sure she isn’t an illusion.

“Heather?” I ask finally. Her smile grows wider somehow as she opens her arms to embrace me.

“I'm here,” she begins, "and you can always call me Icarus if you like that better." And then I’m hugging her tight. Tighter than I’ve ever held anyone. Heather laughs happily and pulls me against her as well, and suddenly all the pain of carrying her quaking body into the hospital emergency room fades. I can no longer feel the way her blood felt coating my hands or the way she whispered my name as the nurse brought her to the emergency room.

And there are so many questions I could ask. How long has she been with me for? Did she plan on falling into the courtyard that day or was that a simple coincidence? How many times did she come back? How many times until she finally came back as the crow? As my Icarus?

I find no reason to ask though. Heather’s here now. My sister, who was the first member of my peculiar family is holding me against her no longer petite body, her love for me rolling from her heart in droves and warming up every aching muscle in my body. As she and I are clinging to each other I think of every crow I ever saw after her death. I think of them all as Heather. Heather watching over me every day like a guardian angel. Heather coming back over and over again as her favorite animal, becoming my own personal flock to protect me no matter what.

____________

A/N: First thing first, Heather is based off a character in the book I’m writing. Secondly, she’s going to be really important to the story line if I decide to do my really stupid thing! YAY❤️❤️❤️

If you would like to be tagged shoot me a message in my inbox or comment below. Please reblog if you guys enjoyed to let others know about the story.❤️❤️❤️❤️

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fableweaver · 6 years ago

Text

Arc of the Valiant Paladin

They docked in Grace Harbor, a small Regarian village south of the Lady of the Rock. Horace paid the boatman, two silver coins for the man’s service and silence. The village was small and homey, a simple fishing village with simple folk. Horace looked at Glen wrapped in the robes of Iris. He could see nothing of his face behind the lacy veil, but his body language spoke of fatigue.

“Are you feeling alright?” Horace asked. “We can rest here if you need to.”

Glen only shook his head and motioned on, squaring his shoulders. Still worried, but deciding it was wiser to keep moving Horace led the way into the village. The docks were busy with fishermen as the men were preparing to cast out for the day’s work. Most here were Regarian with a few Elmerians as deck hands. Hyrians were not the only ones to build boats of course, just the best. A Regarian fishing skiff seemed sad compared to the colorful and artful vessels of the Hyrians.

Past the docks the village was a cozy place with shingled cottages and cobbled streets. Glen stuck close to Horace and as they walked Horace noticed Glen didn’t trip or fall into any puddles. He had been worried about the fine silk robes Glen was to wear, but somehow Glen seemed to avoid any mishaps this time. Horace led the way out of the village and along the road, Glen keeping pace with him.

“We’re going to a farm where Gervase arranged horses and supplies for us,” Horace said turning to Glen realizing that if he had any questions he couldn’t ask them. “Then we’ll ride on to Torington.”

Glen shook his head and began gesturing, but Horace couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Seeing this Glen stopped and picked up a stick.

We can’t go to Torington Glen wrote in the dirt of the road.

“Why not?” Horace asked. “You’ll be safe from Elisha there Glen.”

I need to go to find the song Glen wrote.

“Song?” Horace said. “This has to do with the Phay doesn’t it? I’m not helping you traipse around half the kingdoms Glen. You’re in no shape for an adventure.”

Glen shook his head, pulling up his veil and gesturing. Horace crossed his arms and glared at him, expecting Glen to wilt under his glare and give way. But Glen glared right back at him, his blue eyes set and determined. He only looked away to write in the dirt again and Horace looked down to see what he wrote.

I need to go to Cair Leone! Glen had written it in bold letters and underlined it as well. Horace stared at the name of the city feeling his heart flutter suddenly. Cair Leone the city where Pricilla lived. Desire wared with caution. Gervase had made it so his absence from the knights would not be missed, but only for as long as it took him to get Glen to Torington. After that Horace had to rejoin the army in the east or he could lose his position in the knights.

But just the thought of seeing Pricilla again overcame all desires of standing. It was idiotic, he knew it was a bad idea, but he really wanted to go and see her again even just a glimpse. Horace looked at Glen and saw his brother watching him with a look of sheer determination.

‘If you won’t take me I’ll go alone’ Glen’s eyes said. Horace looked away from his eyes; he had never seen Glen look so determined and confident, only shy and compliant.

“Alright,” Horace said relenting. “Do the Phay really mean that much to you?”

Glen’s eyes filled with tears and he looked away to dry them. He nodded and pulled his veil back in place, radiating sorrow. Deciding not to ask Horace turned back to the road. It was a short walk to the farm Gervase had mentioned and they arrived midmorning. The only one in the farm house was an old Regarian lady, her back bent and eyes blind.

“Gervase told me that you’d be along today,” the old woman said. “You’re timing is good, everyone is out tending to the fields.”

“In winter?” Horace said puzzled.

“There is just as much to do in winter as in the spring,” the old woman answered. “Mainly picking stones from fallow fields. Come, I’ll show you to the barn.”

They followed her through the yard and to the barn where several horses were stabled.

“These two will be yours,” the woman said indicating two stalls. “I would help you saddle them but…”

“Don’t bother milady I can handle it myself,” Horace said and the woman laughed.

“I’ll just go get your supplies then,” she said giggling. Horace kept his smile until she was gone; he knew flattering old women kept them from griping.

By the time he got the horses out and saddled the old lady had returned with the supplies.

“Thank you again for your help,” Horace said to her.

“Tell Gervase to come and visit me sometime,” the woman answered. “I get so lonely in the winter.”

She cackled as she hobbled back to the house, Horace suppressing a gag at the idea of her as a lover. He helped Glen mount before mounting his own horse and they rode off at a steady walk. They rode off joining the road again heading north. Horace noticed that as they rode Glen prayed to the gods, making hand signs to the sky.

“Wait, that’s it,” Horace said when Glen finished. “You can communicate with those hand signs.”

Glen shook his head and made a negative gesture.

“Why not?” Horace asked and Glen sighed. He started to make a few signs with his hands, the sign of aid then the sign of guidance. It took Horace a moment before he realized what Glen was trying to demonstrate instead of say. “The signs are just a few words, there is no way you could form a sentence with them.”

Glen nodded and Horace sighed. It was a good idea, but Glen wouldn’t be able to convey much with just hand signs. Besides, Horace was a bit out of practice in his prayer signs, having focused more on his combat training rather than the prayers.

“Maybe we can get you some slate and chalk to write with,” Horace said instead and Glen nodded. Then Glen waved at him as if he thought of something. Horace rode next to him and Glen held out his hand. Horace gave him his hand and Glen wrote on his hand with his finger. Horace thought this was a good way to communicate as well, thought it was slow since Glen had to spell out everything. “P-A-S-S? Pass, oh you want to see the pass Gervase gave me.”

Glen nodded and Horace searched through his pockets until he found the travel papers Gervase had provided. Glen opened the pass and read through it and the letter that came with it, before he nodded. He held the paper out to Horace, pointing to a spot on the page.

“Torington,” Horace said his heart falling. “It says our destination is Torington. That’s far to the south of here, there is no way we would be traveling north to Cair Leone.”

Glen pointed to himself and then mimed writing.

“You can fix it?” Horace asked and Glen nodded. “What will you need? Ink?”

Glen nodded and then pointed to Horace’s sword.

“A blade?” Horace said and Glen nodded again. “And some pens too I suppose. We can get those in the next village. I doubt anyone will check our papers for a while but they will when we get close to Cair Leone and when we try to get into the city. I have enough coin to get us there and keep us in an inn for a short time, but after that I’m not sure what we’ll do.”

Glen didn’t answer this, probably because he didn’t have an answer. Horace looked at his brother riding next to him; he had pulled back the veil since they were alone on the road. He had scars around his mouth and lips. He was painfully thin, his cheeks hollow and eyes sunken in. Yet he had an air of calm and peace about him, he no longer seemed awkward and odd. It was like for the first time he was comfortable in his skin.

“We can stop early if you feel tired,” Horace said and Glen looked at him. He smiled, holding up his arms to show he was strong, before lowering them to grin sheepishly. “I take it that means you’re up for a long ride?” Glen nodded and smiled.

They rode in silence for a time, the country side of Regis passing them by. The farms of the south were barren now in winter, yet there was only a dusting of snow over the fields and trees. Along the coastal regions Regis was flat lowland good for farming. It was in the foothills of the Spine Mountains where Regis gained its wealth, gold. The Arc River flowed out of the Spine Mountains and into southern Regis, rich with gold. The hills and mountains of that area were heavy with mines for gold, slaves traded from Xin dying in those caves.

As they rode through the peaceful country side Horace grew restless. He was used to the conversation of many young men as they rode, even if he wasn’t participating in it. Horace looked at Glen and saw his eyes were drifting, as if he saw something that wasn’t really there.

“Are you really mad Glen?” Horace asked worried. “What are you looking at?”

Glen looked at him and shook his head, then seemed to think of something. He held out his hand and Horace waited to see what he was doing. A sudden breeze blew down, biting cold and plucking at Glen’s robes. Horace watched startled as the air above Glen’s hand shimmered and then a creature appeared. It was feathery like a bird but vaguely human in shape, limbs thin and spindly. It danced around before vanishing again, the wind dying as it left.

“What was that?” Horace asked in a small voice. Glen took his hand and spelled out a word, but it took Horace a moment to understand. “Sylph? What is a Sylph?” Glen continued to write, tapping Horace’s hand when he finished a word.

“Wild Kin,” Horace said reading along with Glen’s writing. “Is it a Phay?”

Glen shook his head and wrote again.

“Wind Spirit,” Horace read. “So it lives in the wind?” Glen nodded enthused, then he made the gesture of peace and life. “They’re good spirits?” Glen made the sign of evil then. “Bad spirits?” Glen shook his head signing out unity. “They’re both good and bad?” Glen nodded.

“And you can control them?” Horace asked and Glen made a wry face. “Alright sort of control them. Like that fire creature you summoned before.”

Glen took his hand again and spelled out ‘Salamander’.

“How do you know so much about this?” Horace asked. Glen wrote a word that it took Horace a moment to realize it was a name. “Bailey? Who is he?” Glen made the gesture of mother. “She, who is she?” Glen wrote the word ‘witch’ onto Horace’s palm. “She taught you this witchcraft.”

Glen nodded and looked at him worried.

“Relax, I know whatever your powers are you will use them wisely,” Horace answered. “You saved us in that village after all. Thank you for that.”

Glen smiled at him and nodded, Horace smiling back at him. After that Horace just talked to Glen, catching him up on the family. He had been sent back to their family manor after he received his deployment; many noble knights got that right to see their families before they were sent off to war. There was the regular gossip, who had a child, or who married who. Their parents were well, and overjoyed that their son had been declared mad. Horace still remembered sourly his mother nearly cheering in relief at the news.

He hadn’t been this way before; he had agreed with his family that Glen had been a nuisance. But he had seen Glen face off against the Legion; he had saved everyone’s lives then. It had been that event, and Glen’s obvious suffering, that had swayed Horace. He realized there was much more to his brother than he had thought a heart of courage and compassion that was admirable and envious.

As they traveled Horace noticed one thing about Glen that he had never thought of. Glen admired Horace, it was obvious in the way he deferred to him and listened to everything he said. Horace wasn’t sure what to feel about that. He knew before he would have felt glad and arrogant over his younger brother’s admiration. He would have thought it was his right as an old brother to have his younger brother’s admiration. But now Horace wasn’t so sure he felt worthy of Glen’s opinion, if he had been a better brother Glen’s tongue wouldn’t have been cut out. In fact through their childhood Horace could have done a lot more to be a better brother.

Horace did his best to set his doubt aside as they neared Cair Leone. The countryside became richer with farms and villages, more people traveling the roads. Most travelers were Elmerian or Regarian in these parts, but there were still a few Rhodin despite the Regarians’ dislike for the wandering people. The Rhodin went where they pleased and no one could stop them.

At last after two weeks of travel they had arrived at the greatest city in all the kingdoms. Cair Leone spread out before them in a dark line, the palace sitting over all on a hill. They joined the great flow of traffic into Odd Terminal, the southern district where the trade routes met and warehouses stored all the trade goods. The streets here were wide for the flow of traffic, but it still moved slowly.

Horace stood in his stirrups trying to see what the holdup was in the traffic. He could just see over the traffic ahead to see knights surrounding a palanquin of a noble lady. Horace couldn’t see much more other than the traffic was slowed because of the pace of the palanquin. He sat back wondering who was traveling through the Odd Terminal. He looked over at Glen who tipped his head to the side in inquiry. He had pulled his veil over his face so Horace couldn’t see he face now.

“It looks like a noble lady is traveling through here,” Horace said. “We may be caught behind her routine for a while. I know an inn in the merchant quarter that is nice enough, if we could just get there…”

Glen grabbed his arm suddenly and pointed. Horace followed his finger but saw nothing, Glen pointing to one of the warehouses ahead.

“What? I don’t see anything,” Horace said confused. Glen grabbed his head and moved it so he was looking at the roof. Horace squinted, but it took him a moment to spot what Glen had been trying to point out. On the flat top of the warehouse a man crouched behind the wall that topped the roof. He was well camouflaged wearing colors of the brick around him, and he barely moved which made him hard to spot. Horace wondered how on earth Glen had spotted him.

As a knight Horace realized immediately the man’s intentions. He was at a corner where the noble lady’s palanquin would turn, and a perfect place to drop down on her palanquin to kill her. Horace reached down to the holster in his saddle where he had several javelins stored. Gervase had provided him a sword, mail, and at his request javelins. Horace had wanted a lance but Gervase said that would attract too much attention. Now however he wished for a long bow.

Horace carefully drew his javelin, trying not to gain attention and warn his prey. Already his mind was calculating angles and distance and he knew that his only chance of a hit would be when the man dropped down. The lady’s palanquin approached the corner and slowed to make the turn and the assassin stood up. Horace stood in his stirrup, raising his javelin, and threw. The bolt flew true, just as the man jumped from the roof the javelin whistled through the air. It caught him in the chest and he fell short of his mark among the knights guarding the lady’s palanquin.

People cried out in surprise and the traffic slowed to a stop as men shouted orders. There was a moment of confusion as people milled about, but the lady’s palanquin hurried off. Horace watched it go disappointed; he had hoped the lady would come out to thank him. Glen patted him on the shoulder, giving him the sign of greatness and thanks.

“It was a good shot,” Horace said hiding his disappointment.

Traffic had come to a standstill now and Horace was ready to sit in for a long wait when a knight pushed his way through the crowd. He was on foot, while those around them were either on carts or horse, but others still made way for him. He was looking around and when he saw Horace he hurried forward.

He was a Regarian, in his mid-thirties, and wore a distinguishing mustache. He took off his helm as a sign or respect and Horace did the same, though he didn’t dismount in the middle of traffic.

“You are the knight who threw that javelin?” The knight asked.

“I am Sir,” Horace answered. “I am Sir Horace of Tairgare, escorting my cousin Gwen of Tairgare. She has taken oaths of silence and chastity in the name of Iris.”

“I am Sir Bedivere of Sereaux,” the knight answered. “Champion of the Princess Jeanne Drasir. Come with me, the Lady Jeanne would like to have a word with you.”

Feeling both excited and terrified Horace nodded. He was excited because this was his chance to be noticed and gain glory. At the same time he had used a fake name, and if Glen was discovered it would mean his death and Horace’s humiliation. Still he had no choice, but to follow Sir Bedivere as he ordered the people to part to let them through.

They followed Sir Bedivere until he reached a corner where a boy stood holding the reigns of a horse. Bedivere mounted and led the way through the city. As they rode through the city Horace felt his tension begin to rise. The crowds parted for them and they made good time through the city, which gave Horace less time to try to think up a story. They forged their travel papers to reflect Cair Leone as their destination, but hadn’t thought of a back story to go with it. Horace had thought they wouldn’t need it.

They passed through several gates and approached the palace, Horace cobbling together a story he hoped would pass. They reached the courtyard before the palace and dismounted, grooms hurrying to take their horses. Glen stayed close to Horace with his head down so he seemed smaller.

“The Lady Jeanne will be here shortly,” Bedivere said. “We probably beat her here riding as we did.”

“Of course,” Horace said trying to seem unconcerned.

“Perhaps we should move indoors for the Lady Gwen’s comfort?” Bedivere said. Glen answered by waving his hand, making the sign for prayers.

“I believe Lady Gwen wishes to pray,” Horace said. “It is time for High Hour prayers.”

Glen nodded to him before moving a little ways off to pray. He didn’t kneel, probably to preserve the fine silk of his gown. Horace watched as Glen signed to the Gods and wondered about that. Most of the members of the Sect hardly preyed once they became full Sects. It just seemed tedious to pray six times a day, many making the excuse that they were already close with the gods so they didn’t need to pray. Horace had hardly ever prayed, he believed in the gods but to him it seemed like the Sect had taken on a life of its own now. It was an institute of power more than of religion, and that power was slipping now that the cult of the Legion was spreading.

“So what brings you here Sir Horace?” Bedivere asked almost casually. “I am surprised you and your cousin risked the roads given the current uproar and war. Especially in the cold season.”

“It is the cold season that brought us Sir Bedivere,” Horace answered. “Cael’s Day is near and my cousin wished to be in Cair Leone for the festival.”

It was thin but it was the best he could come up with. Bedivere simply nodded, Horace unable to tell if he believed him. They both turned at the sound of boots on cobble stones. Lady Jeanne’s procession had arrived, marching into the courtyard. The men carrying the palanquin set it down with care and the curtains parted.

Lady Jeanne stepped out, one of the knights offering her a hand which she took. She was gorgeous, Horace sure that she had several beauty enchantments. Her raven black hair fell in waves down her back, her skin milky pale, and hazel eyes were like burnished bronze. She wore a fine gown of blue silk and elegant lace, cut in the Markian fashion with bell sleeves and low neck line. She wore jewels as well, a necklace of diamonds, and a silver circlet around her brow.

Her eyes were sharp when she looked at Horace, not with challenge but with what seemed like curiosity. She walked up to him and he realized how tall she was, only half a head shorter than him and he stood six spans tall. She stopped before him and he bowed to her, his mouth dry.

“I owe you my life sir knight,” Lady Jeanne said smoothly; “And that of the child I carry. What is your name?”

“I am Sir Horace of Tairgare,” Horace answered unable to meet her penetrating stare.

“I thank you Sir Horace for your courageous act,” Jeanne said and Horace glanced up just in time to catch a smile from her. “How did you manage to see the assassin before he struck?”

“I didn’t milady my cousin did,” Horace answered indicating Glen standing behind him. “This is the Lady Gwen of Tairgare, a Sect sworn to the goddess Iris.”

“Lady Gwen, I own you thanks as well,” Jeanne said to Glen. Glen only nodded to her and Jeanne frowned.

“Lady Gwen has taken vows of silence and chastity milady,” Horace said quickly and Jeanne’s frown disappeared.

“I see,” Jeanne said. She stared at Glen for a moment, Horace feeling sweat drip down his back. “Lady Gwen you must be very dedicated to your goddess.”

Glen nodded and made the sign of love with his hands.

“My cousin has always been loyal to the gods,” Horace said.

“The Gods are lucky to have such a loyal servant,” Jeanne said still staring at Glen. “What brings you to Cair Leone in such dangerous times Sir Horace?”

“We came to celebrate Cael’s day in the capital,” Horace answered.

“I see, so you were not called off to the war?” Jeanne said.

“I am to go once I escort my cousin back home,” Horace answered his heart pounding.

“Many of my own knights are being sent away,” Jeanne said. “King Arian ordered half of them to march to Lir once the god’s day is past; he says I don’t need ten knights to protect me. After today it is obvious I don’t need more knights just good ones.”

Horace felt his heart race more, was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting?

“My personal Sect also went missing a few weeks back and the Grand Sect has been on my case to get a new one,” Jeanne continued. “My last one spoke too much and scolded me all the time, I think I would like someone who is a bit more silent than her.”

“Milady I don’t think…” Horace started to say but Glen cut him off by grabbing his arm. He stepped forward to Jeanne and bowed to her, making the hand sign of acceptance.

“Does that mean you would take up my proposal?” Jeanne said excited.

“Just a minute milady I have to have a word with my cousin,” Horace said panicked as he took Glen by the arm and pulled him away until they were out of ear shot. “What are you thinking? Our covers aren’t good enough to last through a long period of time Glen. Plus you’ll be discovered. We can’t take up her offer.”

Glen shook his head and mimed out reading and writing.

“Books? You want access to the library in the palace don’t you?” Horace asked and Glen nodded enthusiastically. “Glen there are better ways to get access to the books here.”

Glen then made some signs that Horace couldn’t follow, ending with the sign of the goddess Iris. He mimed threads and pointed to Jeanne.

“What does threads and Iris have to do with this?” Horace asked. Glen just shook his head waving his hands in frustration. “You think this is the right thing to do?” Horace asked and Glen nodded. “Do you think we should tell Jeanne the truth?”

Glen only shrugged, but Horace knew it was best to keep it a secret. He thought for a moment before he remembered who he was dealing with. Lady Jeanne was the future High Queen, she had a certain amount of power. He knew not to tell her the truth, but if she wanted Horace and Glen in her service then she would probably do things to make that happen.

He went back to Jeanne, Glen following him.

“Milady I would be more than willing to serve you, but I’m afraid there is a complicated matter in my family. My sister died of a fever last year, she had been promised in marriage to a wealthy lord. My father is the mayor of Tarigare, and when my sister died he despaired at the idea of losing the chance to elevate our family’s line. Then he remembered my cousin Gwen. He tried to pressure her into the marriage, but my mother kept him at bay for a time. The lord offered to raise the bride price and my mother gave in.

“Gwen has always been loyal to the gods, especially Iris, and had pledged herself to the goddess to forever be a virgin. My father bribed the local Sect to oversee the marriage against her objections and that is when she took the oath of silence. I couldn’t bear to see her married off no matter who it was because she was so loyal to the gods. I took her and we ran. My family cannot learn we are here, they have every legal right to take my cousin back.”

“I see,” Jeanne said. “So you are turning down my offer?”

“No milady,” Horace said quickly. “I am very honored and would love to serve you. I only ask that you keep our identities a secret. Perhaps there is a way you can make it so no one knows who we really are so that I am not called off to war and my cousin not forced into a marriage she does not want to enter.”

Jeanne was silent as she contemplated this. Horace had not been in the Sect when Jeanne had been married, he had been stationed in the palace at the time standing like a statue. He had of course heard the whole story afterwards through all the gossip. Rumor had it that Jeanne was not fond of her husband at all. That had been the main inspiration to Horace’s story.

“I believe I can make it so you and your cousin are safe here,” Jeanne said at last. “I don’t see much of a problem since your cousin hides behind a veil. I am sure she is so beautiful no man would forget her face.”

“I wouldn’t go that far milady,” Horace said with his throat tight. “Not as beautiful as you certainly.”

“I have three beauty sigils so of course I am gorgeous,” Jeanne said tossing a lock of hair back over her shoulder. “Do you have any sigils Sir Horace?”

“No milady my family could never afford them,” Horace answered. Sigils were only ever bought individually from families; the Sect never bought knights sigils. His father had bought some for his older brothers, but of course Horace never got any.

“We’ll have to remedy that,” Jeanne said. “If you are to be in my service you will have to be as strong as my other knights.”

“Thank you milady,” Horace said astonished.

“Does the Lady Gwen wish to have any enchantments done?” Jeanne asked, but Glen shook his head. “Very well, come then and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

They followed Lady Jeanne into the palace, only Sir Bedivere following them after he had a word with a servant.

“What of the other knights?” Horace asked.

“They only guard Jeanne when she goes on her tour of the city every week,” Bedivere answered.

“Sir Bedivere has a set of rooms near the women’s wing,” Jeanne said. “I hope it is alright if you two share rooms. I will see that another bed is set up.”

“It is alright with me,” Horace said glancing over at Bedivere.

“Fine with me as well,” Bedivere answered calmly. Horace looked at Bedivere for signs of resentment, but he was unreadable. After they had settled in their rooms he was given the day to rest. Glen had been given rooms in the women’s wing, Horace worried he would be discovered. Jeanne arranged it so Horace and Bedivere switched shifts guarding her, so Bedivere now had more time to himself. Horace followed Jeanne in the mornings until the afternoon, Bedivere guarding her in the evenings now.

Horace already knew how boring guard duty could be from having guarded the palace before. Luckily for him all the knights that had been here before were now at war, leaving only the older knights behind as guards for the palace. The palace was humming however as all the servants prepared for Cael’s Day. Cael’s Day was one of the most revered of the God’s days, heavily celebrated in Regis and the central kingdoms. So the party that was being thrown was of course huge and lavish.

Horace looked forward to the God’s day; it was a great feast not only because of the revelry, but because of the gifts. Being the father of the Gods Cael was generous, and so gifts were given out on his day. It was usually only gifts to one’s family members, though often suitors would give gifts to their lovers. Horace knew he had little chance, but he still decided to give a gift to Pricilla.

His problem though was what to give her. He had the coin Gervase had given him, which he was planning to save for when he and Glen had to leave Cair Leone. Jeanne had agreed to pay him in a little coin but he had been with her for only a few days and so had yet to be paid. He didn’t want to ask for coin from her. That left his own reserves and as a simple knight of the Sect he had little in way of coin.

It was barely enough to buy some simple silver wire. Horace had always been good with his hands and as a child had often made his Cael Day gifts. Using some pliers he had borrowed from a servant he twisted the wire into an elegant shape to make a bracelet. It took him most of the day before Cael’s Day to finish it but when he was done he felt it was a fair piece of work. Gold would have suited Pricilla more, it would have matched her golden hair, but he couldn’t have afforded gold.

Cael’s day arrived and Horace waited anxiously for his guard duty to be over. In the afternoon there would be a tourney so before it started he went out to search for Pricilla. Asking a few servants he soon tracked her down to the west garden. The garden was covered in snow, artfully decorated for Cael’s Day. The palace had hired several sculptors from Nyrgard to make snow statues and ice sculptures. There were many people gathered in the west garden to admire their work.

Pricilla walked with her mother and several other ladies in waiting, admiring the sculptures of bears and dragons. Horace felt his heart in his mouth as he looked at Pricilla, the winter sunlight glinting off her golden hair. Gathering his courage he walked up to them and bowed.

“Greetings your majesty and princess,” Horace said, keeping his eyes lowered. “My name is Horace of Tairgare.”

“Greetings,” Cecilia said seeming annoyed that he had spoken to them. “What do you want?”

“Princess Pricilla, I have a gift for you this Cael’s Day,” Horace said before Cecilia could dismiss him. He glanced up and was rewarded with a smile from Pricilla which gave him courage. He took out the small box he had tied with a simple blue ribbon for Cael. Pricilla took it with a light of excitement in her eye, which quickly died when she unwrapped the gift.

“What is this?’ she said with distaste as she lifted the bracelet from the box.

“I made it myself milady,” Horace said choking on the words. His face burned with shame as Cecilia and the other ladies tittered behind their hands. Pricilla’s eyes flashed with anger and she twisted the bracelet in her hands and threw it to the ground.

“This piece of trash is worthless,” Pricilla said angrily. “Leave now sir before I call the guards here for your presumptuous actions.”

“Yes milady,” Horace said. He bowed and walked away as quickly as he could, feeling tears choking him. He stopped behind a great fir tree to crouch down and hide. He felt as if Pricilla had twisted his heart and thrown it to the ground not the bracelet. He resisted the urge to weep; if he did he would never stop. Horace felt like the lowest piece of trash in the world. It had been a fool’s hope to think a princess would want anything to do with him a lowly knight with little to his name.

Shame was burning in him, but an angry hope came after as he remembered the tourney. If he could prove himself in the tourney he could show Pricilla how mistaken she had been to reject him. Maybe he could even win her over.

He stood and hurried then for the tourney grounds. Jeanne had entered him and Sir Bedivere in the tourney, Bedivere would joust while Horace would be in the sword fighting competition. There were little competitors in this tourney, most knights and lords had gone off to war with the King. Still the tourney grounds were crowded as the nobles and wealthy gathered for the entertainment.

The grounds were inside the palace grounds, situated in a large field along the west walls of the palace. The jousting was already underway when Horace arrived, but it looked like the sword fights had yet to begin. These tourneys could be dangerous, more died in the sword bouts than jousting. But Horace was skilled in the sword, having a natural gift for it. And Jeanne had already granted him with a strength enchantment and a speed enchantment.

After going to the armor tent Horace walked to the tourney field. He had gotten mail, a breast plate, shoulder guards, a helm, sword, and shield. Some knights wore more, but Horace liked to use his speed to his advantage. He went next to the board where the names of the competing knights were listed and their bouts. He was pleased to see he was going to be fighting soon and that he was in a bracket with some lords. Since the war was going on there were fewer knights around for the tourney and so more lords would be competing in the contest.

Horace waited down near the stands where the other knights waited for their bouts; only few here as the lords all had their own tents in which to wait. Horace glanced up into the stands to the royals. Jeanne sat with the Princess Sherah, talking behind their hands. Horace noticed Glen in his robes of Iris sitting next to Jeanne, his face unreadable behind his veil. Pricilla sat with her mother looking bored. The king’s throne sat empty between the two pairs, Horace wondering where the Prince Elrik was. From what he had heard he would have guessed Elrik would have loved these competitions.

His name was called and Horace walked into the ring. He saluted and bowed to the throne, glancing up at Pricilla. She wasn’t even watching him, with his helm he doubted she even knew it was him since she had probably forgotten his name. He turned his attention instead to his opponent. The man was a lord telling by his fine armor, built much like Horace in the shoulders and chest. Before Horace could measure more the bell rang and his opponent lashed out with his sword.

Horace danced aside, keeping his guard up and ignoring the cheers of the crowd. The lord came at him with wide swings of his sword, powerful strokes but with little aim or precision. Horace could also tell the man was putting a lot of strength into his swings by the air that whistled by as he dodged the man’s sword. The man wasn’t particularly skilled, he just seemed to think that if he swung his sword hard enough he would win.

Horace let him swing his sword for a solid five minutes, dancing aside and dodging each blow. This seemed to infuriate his opponent and the man kept charging at him. Horace could hear his ragged breath and could see his sword arm shaking. He watched several wide openings in his opponent’s guard go past before he chose his moment. The man swung too hard and Horace side stepped him, bringing his sword down on his opponent’s shoulders.

The man grunted, had he not been wearing armor he might have been decapitated. He fell to his knees and struggled to rise. Horace looked to the judge to call the match when the count of ten had been called and his opponent didn’t rise. The judge however did not call it even when it took the other man nearly a minute to rise. Horace felt his ire rise then, the man must have bribed the judge.

His opponent had gotten to his feet and charged him again angrily. Horace dodged the clumsy charge and lashed out with a kick to the man’s back side, sending him into the dirt again. The crowd laughed and cheered to see this, though the nobles of the audience looked grim. Horace ignored them as he walked over to his opponent and lifted him back onto his feet. He saw the man’s blue eyes glaring out at him from his helm and the man lashed out with his sword. Horace stepped back avoiding the blow as he had been expecting it.

His opponent was angry, but so was Horace and now he decided to attack. He swung his sword up and began a rain of blows on the man’s defenses. Horace saw his opponent’s desperation grow as each blow fell, his fine armor becoming dented and scratched. Horace completed the attack by lashing out with his shield, slamming it against his opponent’s and sending the man to the ground for a third time.

This time his opponent didn’t even struggle to rise, he lay in the dirt groaning. Horace looked to the judge once more and saw the man was white with terror. Puzzled Horace looked back to his opponent and only then noticed the sigil he wore on his shield and tunic. A dragon rampant, it was the Prince Elrik he had faced. Horace had been so caught up in Pricilla he hadn’t listened to the judge announce his opponent.

“Sir Horace of Tairgare is the winner,” the judge called out when it was apparent Elrik wasn’t going to get up again. The crowd of common folk applauded followed by a more hesitant applause by the crowd of nobles. Horace could hardly hear it through the ringing in his ears. He had just beat down the crown prince of the High Throne. Worst yet he was one of the sworn knights to his wife.

A mage and healer hurried out and knelt by the prince, taking his helm off. Elrik groaned and the mage cast a sigil over him. Color returned to his face and he slowly woke, looking around confused. He seemed to remember what had happened and sat up. He looked at Horace with utter rage, leaping to his feet as he grabbed his sword.

“How dare you!” Elrik roared. “How dare you beat your prince like a whipped dog? I’ll have you drawn and quartered for this you bastard.”

“Elrik that is enough,” Sherah said coolly from the stands. “It’s about time you got your ass handed to you, it is even better that it is from your wife’s knight.”

Elrik’s face flushed as he turned to his aunt.

“This is a matter for men not women!” he shouted.

“Your father left me in charge Elrik,” Sherah answered mildly. “Go throw a temper tantrum somewhere else.”

“I will not be talked to like some child!” Elrik shouted.

“Then do not act like one,” Sherah said. “Go now or I’ll have the guards drag you off.”

Elrik’s face was so red now Horace wondered if it would explode. He turned to Horace and Horace saw his eyes were wild with rage. Elrik charged him swinging his sword in wild arcs. Horace dodged and blocked Elrik, not with ease but Horace could tell he was in no danger. Elrik however looked to be in danger of chopping off his own head with his wild swings.

Horace waited and once again Elrik over extended and Horace was able to pin his sword arm against his side with his shield. Horace dropped his sword and grabbed Elrik by the throat. He glanced up at Jeanne, seeking permission. She nodded slightly and with a twist Horace broke Elrik’s arm. He screamed like a child, but Horace brought his fist down on his shoulder breaking his collar bone. With one last pull Horace popped Elrik’s arm out of the socket and let him go. Elrik’s eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

Silent hung like a head’s man’s ax over the crowd and the mage hurried forward once more. This time a stretcher was summoned and Elrik was carried off to the medical tent. Horace looked up at the royals wondering what he would see. Jeanne looked exalted, Sherah grinned like a cat, Cecilia seemed to have fainted, and Pricilla looked outraged. Despite the hate on her lovely face Horace didn’t care anymore about what she thought of him. Her brother was horrible and so was she; he didn’t care what she thought of him anymore.

“Well now it is a show,” Sherah said and Horace had a sick feeling she had enjoyed that a little too much. “Well done Sir Horace, the next bout!”

Horace walked off the field feeling sick, but there were more bouts after his. The rest of the tourney went by in a blur even though he fought on until the very last match and won. The victory seemed meaningless now, the cheers of the crowd little better than a racket. He washed and changed out of his sweaty armor into a clean tunic. He went to Jeanne and knelt before her as was customary.

“Well done,” Jeanne said pleased. “And Sir Bedivere won in the jousting, making me the strongest lady in the court. Come.”

She stood and left, Horace following her feeling hollow. He felt a light touch on his hand and turned to see Glen standing next to him. He made the sign of peace and Horace shook his head, unable to answer. Glen made no other motions then, obviously letting Horace be. They walked back to the palace to the main hall where the feast continued. Sherah, Cecelia, and Pricilla had followed them, returning to the main table. Elrik was nowhere to be seen, but he was probably spending the rest of the festival in a drugged stupor.

Jeanne didn’t join the rest of the royals at the table, but rather floated around the room talking to other nobles. Bedivere joined them meaning Horace could have left, but for some reason he didn’t want to be alone. Both knights made an impressive scene flanking Jeanne, both wearing crowns of holly and mistletoe to show their victories. Bedivere received gifts and flirtations from other ladies, but Horace was avoided. Many of the ladies looked on him with fear; he stood in the middle of the crowd like a rock alone in the sea.

It was several hours later when Horace noticed Glen was missing. He looked around wondering where his brother could have gone. Worried he went off in search of him, going out into the hallways of the palace. The halls were only partially lit, few people out in the halls. Horace walked down several halls until he saw a ghostly white figure, Glen in his robes of Iris. He was knelt before one of the tapestries that depicted Iris seeming in prayer.

Horace saw a shadow peel away from the wall and move up to him, the form of a man resolving in the dim light. There was a flash of metal in his hand as he raised a dagger over Glen’s vulnerable back.

“Glen!” Horace shouted and his brother turned just in time to avoid the dagger meant for him. Horace raced ahead but the figure had already fled, running down the corridor. “Are you alright?” Horace asked kneeling next to Glen. He nodded, seeming shaken but he was unharmed. “Who was that? Do you think Elisha found out you were here?”

Glen only shrugged, his body shaking.

“I think we should get you back to the rooms,” Horace said. He helped Glen to his feet, letting him lean on his arm. Horace jumped at nearly every shadow they passed, but they reached the women’s wing safely. The knights let Horace pass and he led Glen to Jeanne’s rooms, helping him sit on the large couch.

“Are you alright?” Horace asked, Glen’s hands were shaking. He nodded though, removing the veil over his face and running his hands through his hair. His hair had grown long in the past few weeks and Horace noticed he really did resemble a woman.

Glen signed writing and Horace hunted around for paper and pen. He found them and set them before Glen on the table.

Who tried to kill me? Glen wrote on the paper.

“I don’t know,” Horace said. “There are thousands of assassins in court, Elisha must have hired one.”

How could Elisha know I was here? Glen wrote. I don’t think it was him.

“Who then?” Horace asked. “We’ve only just got here. I mean I did break Elrik’s arm but that was only a few hours ago. There’s no way he got a hit man, no one could in that short amount of time.”

“You’d be surprised Sir Horace,” Jeanne said coolly. Horace jumped and turned to see her and Sir Bedivere standing at the door. “If you have enough power a man can be hired in a heartbeat.”

“Princess, you hired the assassin?” Horace said surprised.

“I did, but not because you broke Elrik’s arm,” Jeanne said coldly. “But because once again the Sect sent a spy on me. I’m impressed; I had thought it a mere coincidence that you saved my life. I thought a mute would never be a spy. You two had me fooled.”

“Milady I don’t…”

“Do you think I am an idiot,” Jeanne said. “It took me all of two days to realize your cousin is a boy.”

Horace froze, unable to deny her claim. He had always been like that, once caught in a lie he could never keep it up. Before he could say anything however Glen stood up and faced Jeanne. He wasn’t wearing his veil but he had a determined look on his face. He opened his mouth and Jeanne flinched from the mutilation he had undergone. Glen closed his mouth and held out a piece of paper to Jeanne. She looked at it seeming to struggle to read the words.

“I had to hide from the man that did this to me,” Jeanne read the note. “We are not spies.”

She looked at them flatly and crumpled the note, throwing it in the corner.

“It’s true milady,” Horace said. “My brother was accused of witchcraft and Elisha Drakon is set on killing him painfully.”

“Witchcraft?” Jeanne said interested, her manor changing. “You are a witch?”

Glen nodded though Horace wanted to deny it. He couldn’t though, Glen had summoned a fire creature, there was little doubt he was a witch.

“Could you teach me witchcraft?” Jeanne asked.

“Why would you want to learn witchcraft milady?” Horace said shocked.

“To protect my lady,” Jeanne said. She went to her bedroom door and opened it, ushering someone out. The woman was pale and wane but looked like Jeanne. “This is the real lady Jeanne Lonna. I am her double, meant to take an assassin’s blade if need be. Only Elrik’s sadistic nature made the Lady Jeanne unable to bear children. So I bear the child she was meant to bear. If I learn witchcraft I can protect Jeanne all the more.”

Glen sighed and went to the paper again, writing a quick note before handing it to Horace to read aloud.

“The Elder Magic can do much but it cannot protect you from the world,” Horace read. “It is not like the High Magic.”

“I would still learn from you,” Jeanne’s double said. “Let me decide if it is worth it or not.” Glen sighed and nodded. “Good, my name is Lucia what is yours?”

“His real name is Glen,” Horace answered.

“Glen, pleased to meet you,” Lucia said. “It would be best if you remained in disguise. You mentioned Elisha Drakon; I would hear your story Sir Horace so that I can prepare for the danger that might arise.”

“Yes milady,” Horace said. They all sat down and Horace told Lucia about his brother’s trial and banishment. Lucia listened, Jeanne sitting next to her looking like a poor imitation of herself.

“Will you be able to protect us?” Horace asked when he finished the tale.

“Of course,” Lucia answered. “Elisha won’t know you’re here and even if he came here for you I have the power to keep him at bay.”

Horace wasn’t willing to trust that, but he was willing to accept her help.

“I thank you milady and promise that I will continue to guard you as I have. I promise this to you both Lady Jeanne and Lady Lucia, I will protect you.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne said softly. Horace looked at her and saw she was smiling at him with a sad smile like a mother gave to humor a child. Horace felt a chill at the sight of that smile, somehow it forebode darker things to come.

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ecotone99 · 6 years ago

Text

[SF] Echoes of the Past

A bolt of green lightning tore its way through the clouds like a bullet through glass, screeching down towards her at unimaginable speeds. Myra barely had time to react before the arc of tainted fire slammed into the ground in front of her, blinding her like a deer in headlights. It threw her off her feet, catapulting her into the rusted hulk of a car that lay off to the side like the skeleton of some ancient beast. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure, their hands darting frantically above their head as they ran towards her.

She couldn’t tell if the thundering in her ears was from a new bolt of lightning, or the one that had just struck her. Of course, she had seen lightning strike the ground before; in a place this flat, where only a few trees lived, it was sometimes the only place it could go. But for it to strike so close, even when she could see a tree off in the distance… it made her feel like the unluckiest person in the world.

Like luck has anything to do with it, she thought, but the words sounded suppressed, strangely alien; like they weren’t her own.

Myra blinked slowly as dirty white gloves came out of nowhere to grasp her helmet. She could feel the warmth radiating from the hands beneath, through the thin lead-lining of both their suits. A muffled grunt was the only thing that came out of her mouth when she tried to speak, like she was a frenzied animal. The figure shuffled their hands around awkwardly, moving them down to her shoulders. She focused on the words this time before trying to speak, tuning out the acute ringing in her ears.

“Everett?” she croaked, trying to steady her frazzled mind by focusing on her brother’s features that hid behind his visor. He had short chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and cheeks that were covered in messy unkempt stubble. Far from handsome, but like that even mattered in a world so devoid of life.

Her brother held up his hand in front of her face. “Sis?” he said uncertainly in that deep, gruff voice that Myra had gotten so used to. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“My eyes are telling me four,” she said as she reached out her hand, lightly brushing her fingers against her brother’s, “but I’m gonna go with two.” Everett shook his head gently, then pulled her up off the ground. Myra smiled. He still treats me like I’m his little baby sister.

“Nothing’s broken— that I can see, anyway,” Everett said, looking at the small tacpad on her suit arm, “And your vitals are still showing up positive. Bar being struck by lightning, you should be in perfect health!” Everett paused, then spoke again, the cheeriness in his voice overcome with sincerity. “Just be careful next time, sis.”

“Be careful!?” Myra said incredulously. She raised a hand to wipe the messy auburn hair out of her blue eyes, but instead only smacked it against the glass of her visor. Myra blushed as Everett laughed out loud.

“Smooth,” he squeaked in between laughs.

“Yeah yeah, laugh all you want. When you get struck by lightning, we’ll see who’s laughing then.”

They walked for a few hours after that, the entire time spent in total silence. Slowly, they made their way across the waste; over dead, cracked ground littered with snow, occasionally passing within sight of gnarled trees that scraped the sky with bony fingers. The land here was low-lying and flat, which meant only one thing: a lot of lightning. The unrelenting arcs of green fire were rampant in this new, dangerous world. She looked up at the sky, angry. It wasn’t enough to deal with the threat of starvation every day and night, or the ever-present radiation that could kill us in an instant? There had to been literal bolts of fire scorching the landscape too? Myra could feel tears stinging her eyes. When she was younger, she would’ve said that it wasn’t fair, that they didn’t deserve this, that no one did, but she knew now that that was naive. This was their life, and they had to make the best of it.

And yet she still didn’t understand exactly why they were still here in this cold, dark, dead place. All their lives, they lived underground in a tiny slate bunker that was so claustrophobic Myra had found herself sometimes waking from sleep in a cold sweat, afraid that she could no longer breathe. Those stale, bleak chambers had always given her hope that one day she might see the wonders of the surface, see what kind of world she had been living under all that time. But the first day she had suited up and gone outside, any hope she had ever had was crushed. She, her brother, and her father were all trapped in a mummified world covered by a choking thick cloud of black smoke, a tapestry stained by eerie, jagged lines of irradiated lightning that never seemed to stop. The tears started to stab at her eyes again, frantically trying to make their way down her cheeks to pool at the bottom of her helmet. What cruel god thought to keep us alive, if only to wander a lifeless planet for the rest of eternity? Myra looked back at the landscape, her breathing shaky. Why?

She shook her head, and drew her attention back to the barren landscape that surrounded her on all sides. From what she could tell, they were probably somewhere in the old American state of Kansas, but there was no way to know for sure. All her knowledge of the old world was from her father. She had grown up on his stories about great grassy plains and gigantic green forests. The stories had been about all manor of things, from ones about how hundreds of different countries and nations had used to bicker endlessly amongst one another, with others being about the wonders of what humanity could achieve through the use of science and innovation. Her favourites were the ones about the technological marvel that had been the internet, and the ones that involved the great asphalt highways that her father had said lay across the continents like the dead carcasses of gigantic snakes.

But they had been just that; stories. There were no sprawling jungles of concrete and glass, no colossal tankers that would ferry goods across the oceans, no planes that flew through the skies on wings made of steel. There was only the echoes of what once was, the ghosts of the past, all of them cold and empty and dead, left to crumble and fade away in a forgotten world.

As they continued walking, another bolt of lightning crackled through the distant sky, painting a jagged green line across it’s ashy canvas. As the thunder rumbled, they came across a seemingly endless stretch of snowy, cracked bitumen. It was bordered on one side by what seemed like hundreds of wooden poles, a few of them standing tall and proud, others slanted and mangled, and the rest, laid out on the ground in a tangle of rotted wood and black wires. There was a car in the distance, and as the pair drew closer, they saw that all that was left of it was just a shell of twisted metal, scorched by a long-dead flame. The puddle of glass that surrounded the hulk made a quiet clink-clink as they walked over it, but to Myra, it was just as loud as the deafening silence. There was a sign on the right-hand side of the road, and although it was in relatively good condition, Myra could scarce make out what it said.

“East,” she read aloud. Everett turned to look at her, then let out a small sigh.

“Don’t waste time, sis. We’re almost at the city.”

“East,” she said again, pointing at the sign like a curious child. “East. Route 400. I think… I think this is a highway.” Myra looked back at the road, disappointed. It certainly didn’t look like a highway, at least not the way her father had described them. “Where are the hundreds of cars?” she said, thinking out loud. “What about the massive concrete barriers that father said cut through the traffic like lightning through the clouds?”

Her brother shrugged. “Mayhaps there aren’t any big ones, not anymore at least. Father told us all that stuff in stories, sis.” He walked away, motioning for Myra to follow. The further down the road they travelled, the more Myra found herself looking back the way she came, back at the barren, dead landscape. The lifelessness of it made her shiver. What happened here? She wrapped her arms around herself. Why is this world so empty?

The snow was falling lightly by the time they made it to the city. Myra looked at it in awe. Although, like the highway, it wasn’t as impressive as the cities in her father’s stories, there were still countless buildings that strutted out from the ground like trees, but these were far taller than any tree Myra had ever seen. She could see a frozen river that snaked its way around shores of asphalt, and above its shiny silver surface was a bridge, still completely intact and littered with what looked like hundreds of cars, although, to Myra, they looked nothing like the rusted hulks they had passed on their way here. These were completely different, comprised of strange, rectangular shapes, with most of them sporting treads in place of wheels. Attached to them where long tubes that strutted out from their bodies, and she could see that most of them were blackened and burnt; in other words, completely ruined; decimated, even. Everett inhaled sharply at the sight of them.

“These are the weapons of war father told us about,” he said, his voice sad. He pointed at the city, waving his hand from left to right. “Look, they’re all over the streets. So many…”

Myra looked on with her brother, her awe slowly twisting itself into disgust. “Did we do this? To the world, I mean. Did humans…?” She was trying to reach for words, but they were evading her grasp. She felt sick. “Did we… Why would…”

Everett gave her a brief look, then got down on his knees and took out a small device from one of his pockets: a camera. He held it up and took a picture. It made a loud click that echoed across the dead city, across the hundreds and thousands of echoes that were now nothing more than ghosts, silent and unchanging, doomed to forever stand vigil in this dark, dead world. And to Myra, that made the sound all the more louder.

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