#as someone who has a fixation on medieval times and eloping this is peak to me

[diyasgarden]

live recording of me reading this except all you're going to see is me swooning repeatedly

A Life of Our Own

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pairing: knight!patrick x princess!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: smut, p in v, mentions of god and oppressive societal structures, fem!reader

a/n: long awaited part 3 (“official” final part) of the knight patrick au!! I’ve literally been writing and rewriting this for over a month so I feel really accomplished in finishing it. I feel like this mini series has really been a labor of love and is the type of writing I really love doing, so I hope you all love it!! (Also I’ll openly admit, this was very hastily proofread so there’s a chance there’s mistakes and whatnot)

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After that night, you and Patrick became inseparable. Of course, he was meant to follow you at all times, so by order, you were inseparable, but you both made certain to take full advantage of that. You spent days in the garden chatting away as he tried to stand stoic, obeying his orders but ultimately failing when you would place a woven flower crown onto his head or flick water from the fountain onto him. And there was many a night where he would sneak into your chambers when the rest of the castle wasn’t listening, sometimes to fuck, sometimes to talk into the wee hours of the night, and other times to just to be held. Your attraction was more than just sexual or lustful or something simple of that nature. You were in love.

On a particularly cool night in the castle, in which you and Patrick found yourselves wrapped in each other’s embrace in your bed, a plan was hatched.

"I wish we could be married..." you muse mindlessly as you trace the toned muscles on his bicep.

"Why can't we," he asks softly, turning towards you just a bit more to gauge your reaction. The smile painting his face is boyish and charming, purposely oblivious to the great divide between the two of you.

"Patrick... you know why," you sigh sorrowfully. He sees in your eyes that you long to be his in every sense of the word, in the eyes of the law and the kingdom and God. He frowns, then.

Letting out a thoughtful hum, Patrick thinks. "What if I were to speak to your father...?"

"My father? He would never allow it... he'd find it... preposterous. He'd likely banish you even for thinking it." You thought for a moment, the silence between the two of you tense, but not uncomfortable. “Perhaps,” you faltered for a moment, “we could run away..." Slowly, you move to lock your gaze on him, hope dancing behind your irises.

He smiles, but it feels as if his warmth is masking a sort of grimace. “I couldn’t ask that of you. To leave your life, your world, behind all for me. I would never think to take you away from your life here.” It was simple, straightforward, almost even cold, but he was honest.

“What life can I have if I must love you in secret?” Your response was so plain yet so true. “Patrick, my life is yours. My life is in your hands here, why should that change anywhere else? I am already stifled in my station here as a woman and, at the same time, unfairly lauded for the circumstantial chance I was born into. With you I am equal. In you I find my freedom, my salvation, my devotion. You would not be taking me away from anything here, but instead offering me the life I truly desire.” He sat momentarily in awe, chest pounding as your words lingered in his head. You two had exchanged many a sweet nothing, but these were no longer sweet nothings. These were sacred vows.

Continuing, you sat up, taking his hands in yours to ground yourself as well as find your strength in being together with him. “It would not be a sin, a crime, none of it would be a fault. To love as we do, how we do, that is the holiest thing, is it not?” You searched his face for an answer, longing to hear him relent and give in. The way his eyes scanned your features, a deep line growing between his brows as he was deep in thought, left you feeling bare in a way you’d never felt before. This was how he was, he could see you, all of you, through the layers of petticoats and lavish fabrics, he could see through the makeup and intricately done hair. And you wanted nothing more than to feel seen like that for the rest of eternity. His eyes flitted away quickly, as if he could no longer bear to face his feelings so boldly as you did.

With a shaky sigh, his eyes returned to yours, softening. “It is…” he affirmed. “You are the holiest thing, my dear.” A gleeful smile spread across your features and you leaned in, kissing him gently on the cheek. Your hands roamed his body, his face, through his hair. It is like you were trying to trace his form, memorize it (as if you hadn’t already done so long ago) and prove to yourself that this was real.

“When shall we leave,” you asked in a hushed voice, eager to begin your life -a real life- with him as soon as possible.

“Is tomorrow night too soon,” he returns, his desire to be your husband just as strong as yours to be his wife. Every second you two are just another secret in the palace walls breaks him. He wants to give you more, even if that means leaving the world you have always known behind.

“I would leave this minute if we could,” you whisper, close enough now that you can feel his warm breath dancing along your skin.

“I will fetch my steed tomorrow and tie him up around the back of the castle. By nightfall, once everyone has gone to sleep, we can take our leave.” He pauses, a look of fear crossing his features, but it appears to be mixed with something much warmer… enthusiasm perhaps? “A friend of mine lives in the neighboring town and we can sleep in his cottage for the night,” he continues. “We should be gone by sunrise, though. The moment they find you missing they will be searching all surrounding areas, and we don’t want to be found, do we?”

“No,” you shake your head.

He looks away from you yet again, the same conflicted look washing over him. “Please,” he begins, stopping again to catch his breath, though he has hardly spoken enough to be breathless. “Please, if you change your mind, do not hesitate to tell me, darling. Once we are gone we cannot return, but if you call it off I will obey your wish.” It is clear he is ridden with guilt, feeling as if he has made up your mind for you; as if he is some venomous force pulling you from your true life.

“I won’t change my mind, Patrick, I assure you.” Your hand traces his face, following his cheekbones down to his jaw. “I wish to spend the rest of my life with you… I cannot dream of calling that off.” Gently, your thumb brushes over his lower lip, a bit chapped from the cool temperature, but yours nonetheless. “I only ask, if I leave behind the crown, will I still be your princess?” Your eyes meet his, wide and pleading.

“Always, my princess. Always.”

The two of you fall asleep in each other's arms, Patrick waking up early in the morning to take his position again at your door like always. When you woke, you felt a nervous pit in your stomach. To think that this would be your last day in the palace you had spent your entire life in, grown up in, stirred an unexpected fear in you facing the reality of the secret promise you and Patrick had made. Those same walls that raised you, though, consumed you, leaving you powerless, unknowing, and trapped. You reminded yourself that while the palace had offered you warmth through your nurse, your ladies in waiting, and of course Patrick, it also represented an institution that would never see you win. Already, you had heard talks from the King and Queen of marrying you off to the warring kingdom’s young, arrogant prince, and the thought was sickening. You knew you were not a political pawn, not a mere princess, but a woman, a human, flesh and blood, a beating heart that held more power than any monarch. And you knew above all that Sir Patrick, your knight in shining armor, saw all of that and more in you.

The day passed with menial succession, similar to most of your days. Patrick followed closely, as usual, though the air between the two of you felt tense –not with any sort of malice, but with a mutual concern for the risk you two were soon to take. “M’lady, if I may,” he begins, pulling your focus from the book you held. Truthfully, the words in the book passed you by, your thoughts too crowded to focus on the pages. Upon your attention, he continued cautiously. “Should something,” he paused again, regaining his composure, “should something go wrong… can you promise me you will allow me to take the blame? If we are found out–”

Not wanting to hear any more, you interrupted, bringing your soft hands to cup his stubley face. “We won’t be. We’re careful, we’ve thought it out… Please, have faith, and put these worries aside. I shan’t leave you, even if the worst may come.” Your fingers played with the curls at the nape of his neck as you offered him the softest gaze imaginable, like a warm sheet of silk or cashmere washing over him.

“Of course, my love.” He brings a chaste kiss to your lips, speaking yet again in defense of his concern. “I only want what’s best for you…” The words rolled off his tongue quietly, as if it was a secret. As if he had not already devoted his post, his life, to protecting yours.

At nightfall, while you ate supper, Patrick excused himself to ready his horse for your departure. You found great difficulty in smiling and feigning merriment at a grand dining table surrounded by those who had kept you in your gilded cage. More upsetting, those who would shrink and take disgust in the love you share with a humble night. As if nobility and royalty are so distinct anyways. It is all a joke like those told by a court jester, though, in this instance you felt like the court jester and the audience wasn’t laughing. Patiently, you waited until the table had cleared, save your parents, the King and Queen.

“Dearest, is something wrong,” the rich voice of your mother calls from across the table. Panic rushes through every fiber of your being, afraid you have been much too obvious with your disdain for your present situation. As you were trained to do, though, you conduct yourself calmly and cautiously, as though your heart were not pounding at the seemingly simple question.

“Only tired, Mother,” you assure with a calculated smile, just sweet enough but clearly forced in an attempt to back up your claims of tiredness.

“Why? You can rest easy now that we have appointed Sir Patrick as your knight. Of course, you could rest easier if you were to be wed, as that is the greatest security a woman can have. And if you married we could dismiss Sir Patrick back to his original post.” Your father’s booming voice yet again reminded you why your only option was to escape. Even Patrick being your personal knight was meant to be temporary, and how could you go on if you lost him in your life for good. Would you be doomed to stealing glances and chance encounters like that of your first? It was not worth thinking of. You shouldn’t even consider it, because you knew tonight would change everything. Or, God rest your soul, you hoped.

Cutting your father off (you had tuned out his ramblings long ago), you stood. “Might I be excused? I’d like to adjourn to bed if it is agreeable.” You could take no more of the royal foolishness. Thankfully, you were dismissed, allowing you to return to the safe haven of your room. As you sped through the hall, you lost your footing when a hand reached out from an alcove, grabbing your wrist and pulling you in. Before you could react, Patrick clasped a hand over your mouth, smiling down at you and bringing a finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion.

“It’s only me, my love,” he whispers softly, tenderly. In the low light of the candles illuminating the hall, he looks breathtaking. Bathed in hues of gold and orange, the shadowy contours of his face are only further deepened, emphasizing his angular features in a way more romantic, you think, than even the finest poets could describe. “The servants won’t retire until roughly midnight, maybe later, but they linger about, so we need to be sure they see you enter your chambers before we take our leave.” You nod, understanding and appreciating the caution he has taken to ensure your safe passage.

As he guides you to your chambers, a strong hand subtly held on the small of your back, you think of just how close to freedom you truly are. How soon enough, you and Patrick could truly live and love freely. How you could have a chance at a real future together; marriage; children. Your nerves were shot, both excitement and fear thrumming through your entire body in a way that was hard to contain. When you reached your room, Patrick took his post outside your door, nodding in quiet reassurance. Inside, however, alone with your thoughts, you felt like a mad woman.

It was impossible to rest, let alone sleep for the few hours before you would take your leave. All you could manage was pacing your room, back and forth, endlessly. You felt consumed by your overwhelming love for the man right outside your door, but equally consumed by woe and anxieties that rolled and swelled like waves through your mind. Selfishly, your fear that a terrible fate would befall Patrick outweighed your fear of God. After all, sin was the last thing you were concerned with anymore. Busying your mind to distract from your nerves, you decided to try to memorize every detail of your room, the room you had lived in your entire life. As you looked to the walls, the windows, the patterns of the window panes, you realized that the room had never truly felt alive until you let Patrick into it. Before, the moonlight felt cold, like a distant observer of your solitude, but now the moon reminded you of him. That first night in your room, where the blue-ish light shone down through the glass and onto him, was the first time it felt warm, as light is supposed to feel. It was then you realized that you would not miss the room at all, though it brought you many great memories, as a room full of love is still only a room, but the love inside transcends.

Before long, you had calmed yourself enough to drift off, if only for a couple hours. The feeling of warmth against your skin caused you to stir, realizing that Patrick was at your bedside calling softly to you. “Princess, it is time,” his voice was hushed but excitement clearly rang through in his tone. You followed him, grabbing the satchel you had packed a few garments (and your circlet, figuring you could sell it) in. Without any light, the two of you crept out of your room and through the dark corridors of the palace, finally reaching the back stables where his horse waited readily.

Patrick was sure to help you up onto the horse. “My apologies that there isn’t more time for introductions. I’m sure you two will become fast friends later.” He mounted the horse, giving him a quick pet before taking hold of the reins and calling out a soft ‘ya’, the steed racing into action upon its cue. You held tightly to him as you watched the castle grow smaller and smaller in the distance, until you could no longer make it out under the cover of darkness. You rode until dawn, thankfully reaching the nearing kingdom’s town and finding Patrick’s companion, Arthur –Art for short, who had previously offered you shelter before daybreak.

“It’s not much, but it can offer you security for the day,” his friend croaked, his voice cold, but kind in an odd sort of way. His cottage in the village was small and a little further from the main town, but that was better under these circumstances. The room you would be in, luckily, did not have any windows but as he said, it was small and simple, though you didn’t mind in the slightest. After a life of luxury, simple was all you truly desired. “I would advise you two get further away as soon as possible, though. Once they realize your gone,” he fixed his gaze on you, “if they haven’t already, this is the next place they’d look after your town.” It didn’t exactly quell your anxieties, but Patrick wrapped an arm around your shoulder, offering you much more comfort than one may think, and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thank you,” you spoke gently. “We can never repay the kindness you have shown us, truly.” But his friend only shook his head, chuckling in response.

“Nonsense. I owe my life to your knight, here. ‘Tis the least I could do for you, your majesty.”

Holed up inside the room, now, you and Patrick could finally relax, at least to some degree. He sighed heavily as he sat on the end of the bed, leaning hunched over his knees in exhaustion. You were so grateful to him. He had borne the brunt of the hardship that came with this plan, leading strong and unwavering to help reassure you, but you could see now in his physicality just how scared he was too. Crawling behind him on the bed, you massaged his shoulders tenderly, longing to be his relief.

“You don’t have to do that…” he murmurs quietly. “You’ve hardly slept at all.”

“You haven’t slept at all,” you remind him. He doesn’t say another word, but from the way he allows his tense, muscular shoulders to relax with your touch, you could tell he had relented.

The two of you slept through a majority of the day, the lack of windows certainly helping, before rising when called by Art. “The coast is clear. Some knights came into town asking questions but to my knowledge they have no leads and think you were both taken by rivals,” he reported, straight to the point. It was a relief to hear that they had no real idea where you had gone. “I suggest you two get going then,” he urged, fixing a pointed eye on Patrick. Patrick agreed, of course, thanking his friend several times over and insisting he would repay him someday.

Within the following night and into the day, we had made it further, to a point that we didn’t have to fear suspicion. It’s not like news ever reached these far off forest villages, anyways. After a few days of travel, the two of you seeking sanctuary in a local cathedral in your current town, you elected to marry. A priest did so, his witness one of the nuns. Patrick was clad in his finest tunic (which, truly speaking needed restitching in certain places) and pants, while you wore your white, velvet gown (notably, the only full gown you had packed, packing chemises and underdresses the rest of the way for their ease and lighter storage). The vows, though traditional, were beautiful and the two of you could not have been happier than when you were finally, really permitted to kiss under the eyes of God.

On the move again, you and Patrick finally reached your destination, a stout little cottage tucked away deep into the woods hundreds of miles from your kingdom. “My mother’s cousin lived here,” Patrick explains. The two of you observe the ivy grown walls and the foggy, circular windows. “He’ll either be home, or he’s died.” Though morbid, you understood, the plague claiming many lives over the years. To neither of your surprise really, the door opens easily and the home appears long abandoned. You enter, taking in the dusty interior. It’s quaint in a comfortable way. Patrick turns to you after setting down the few things you had brought, an unfamiliar look on his face. “Can you be happy here,” he asked plainly, eyes hopeful but a wash of embarrassment apparent in his voice.

Your brows knitted together. “My dearest,” you utter, coming closer and resting your arms around his shoulders as you look into his eyes. “Wherever you are is where I am happiest. And I know here we can share a long, beautiful life.” You brought a hand up to cup his face, rubbing your thumb along his jaw, the familiar scratch of his stubble playing against your fingertips. You lean in, slightly tip toed, kissing him sweetly. When you pull away, you fix your gaze on him again, humming as you think. “We are free from the confines of the palace walls. Please, do not put up walls now in the name of ‘protecting me’.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against you as if he were trying to melt into you.

“Okay…” he whispers softly.

After resting, working to clean up the place, and making it more of a real home, you and Patrick are finally able to settle into your new life. He travels into the village, not far from the cottage, some days to sell things, some days to buy things. Together, you start a garden, something you had always wanted to do, though your family would not let you at the castle. You find peace in wearing less opulent, constricting clothing, enjoying the freedom lighter fabrics and less layers offer. But what you enjoy the most is waking up next to Patrick every morning, seeing him finally in the morning sunlight, as opposed to the secretive moonlight.

“Mmph… ‘morning,” he mumbles as he rolls over, slinging an arm around you. He pulls you in closer to him, his bare chest warm like a furnace as you nuzzle against him. You pepper chaste kisses along his jaw, trying to wake him up a bit more. Though he once followed the rigid regimen of the King’s guard, rising early and resting late, he now reverted to his nature, able to sleep deep into the afternoon.

“I had the most wonderful dream…” you spoke, carding your fingers through his curls and tracing along the winding patterns they made. When he hummed in acknowledgment, eyes flitting open (though still hanging heavy), you continued. “We were in the garden, just out back, and we had children. Children, Pat!” You sat up slightly. “A little girl, with dark curly hair like yours was running around picking daisies,” you gushed, not realizing how thrilling an idea it truly was until you divulged. “And we had a son, too. He looked to be older than our girl, only by a little bit though. His eyes were just like yours and his freckles too.”

“Imagine that…” he commented, sitting up a bit to match you. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, yawning before turning to face you. “Is that something you want? Children, I mean?” You blushed at that, a grin you couldn’t hide making its way onto your face without even trying. You nodded then, enthusiasm clearly apparent. “Well what are we waiting for,” a smirk grew on his face as he turned to you.

Patrick rolls over so that he is now on top of you, placing sloppy kisses all over your face. “I love you, my angel,” he mumbles against the skin of your ear as he nibbles at it lightly. He moves his hands to pull your sleeping gown up and over your head, revealing your breasts. Returning to kiss your neck, he palmed at your breasts, adoring the little mewls and breaths you let out. “You’re divine, love. Like some mythic goddess or an angel fallen to our Earth.” You can already feel his hard length straining in his trousers against your leg, reaching a hand down to offer him some relief too.

He sighs, melting against you like wax to your flame. His eyes flutter shut and you take in the details of his face; the way his eyelashes sit heavily like a curtain over his under eyes, his freckles scattered about his face as if God himself had flicked a paintbrush on his skin, the fine little wrinkles in his lips, so memorized in your head that you could likely recognize him from his lips alone. Then, he sat up, untying the drawstring of his trousers and revealing himself to you. The image of his taut abs, winding hairs scattered about and leading down to his hardened member would linger in your mind for the rest of your life, you thought. Though you had his body memorized, every time you saw him you were still in awe of how statuesque he was. No artist could ever truly capture the beauty of your husband.

Climbing back in the sheets, Patrick swirled his fingers gently around your opening, ensuring you were ready for him before moving to line himself up. As he looked down at you, he had never felt more sure of anything in his life. After all the turmoil, anxieties, and fear, he knew together you had made the best decision, the right decision, and hearing you speak so hopefully for your future together only cemented how much he yearned for that. He sheathed himself inside of you slowly, allowing you the time to adjust while you left out quiet gasping breaths. He reached out, cupping your jaw and kissing you deeply, passionately, before slowly rocking his hips. You felt so safe in his arms, so loved, and that was the most alluring feeling you could imagine. Knowing he wanted you, all of you, the good and the bad, for better or worse… it made your heart skip a beat. Even just thinking of how much you loved him, you clenched around him, causing him to groan into your hair.

“You’re too good to be true…” he huffed as his hips quickened in pace. He laid a flattened palm against your lower stomach, pushing ever so slightly while he gave you deeper, longer thrusts. The sounds you were making now were even prettier, leaving him powerless against his desire for you. As his strokes grow rapid, more desperate –messier, even– he brings his face in line with yours, not kissing you just yet but halting so close that you could feel his hot breath against your lips with each exhale. “I love you,” he grunts, he was lost in his motions but his tone remained as meaningful as when he had uttered those same words at the altar when you were wed. Hearing the tenderness, the raw honesty of those three words, you spasmed around him, chest heaving as you reached your high. As he continued thrusting into you, he finally closed the space between you, your lips slotting together like they had been made for each other. You could feel him spilling inside of you, filling you up with his seed exactly as you had desired. He refrained from moving immediately, merely remaining inside of you, motionless, and lazily mouthing at your shoulder. “Finally mine…” you could make out of his mumbling. “My lovely bride… my beautiful wife…” And you just held him.

Five years later…

“Arthur, fetch you sister, dear,” you instructed your son while continuing your stitching. The curly haired boy ran out of the room, returning quickly with your daughter in tow. “Delphine,” you started. “Come here, darling.” She toddled over to you and you held up your cloth work to her little body, trying to gauge if it would fit. “I think that’ll do…” you mumble, more to yourself than to either of them. “Go play, children. Your father should return home soon.” Patrick had taken a job at a stable, caring for the horses and ensuring they were ridden while their owners boarded them. You now spend most of your days tending to the garden, reading, and caring for your children. You were so proud of them. Arthur, named after Patrick’s kindest friend, was brave like Patrick, and Delphine was remarkably intelligent for her age, already doing well with the simple reading lessons you were giving them.

You could hear the whinnying of Patrick’s horse and the cheers from your children outside and knew in an instant that he had returned. Eagerly, you abandoned your work to greet him. Watching him hop off the horse and scoop your children into his arms, you couldn’t help but smile. Walking over to him, you couldn’t help but notice how he needed to shave, his salt and pepper beard actually starting to form a beard, but honestly you didn’t really mind. In tiny little spots, strands of hair had started greying ever so slightly, something you joked was because of the stress of your kids, though in reality they were the best you two could have asked for. “I missed you,” you confessed as he pulled you flush against him in a tight hug.

He laughed at that, handsome smile fully on display. “I only left this morning,” he chimed in response. Your family had set off, trailing inside to start preparing supper. “How are you feeling? How’s the baby?” He came closer to where you rested against the carved wooden table, placing a gentle palm against your stomach, only a small bump thus far.

“I think the sickness has finally passed,” you muse. “I’m feeling good.” You reach up, clutching his jaw then to keep his focus on you. “This is the last one, though,” you insist, playfully but with an undertone of seriousness.

“You say that now…” he replies smoothly.

“Now and forever,” you reaffirm, fixing him with a serious eye.

“Alright. Whatever you desire, my princess, it will be done… Or, I suppose in this case, it won’t be done.” A soft laugh leaves him, like music to your ears. You are glad to hear him laugh, something you didn’t hear from him often when you were still a princess.

“What have I said about calling me that?”

“I told you then and I will tell you now, you will always be my princess, royal or not.”