nikki-93

[yioh]

I HAVE A SHORT STORY IDEA …..

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Thorns

Summary: A tale as old as time. Dom stumbled upon a castle and perhaps something more. (will be a series) 

Warning: some language, it’s a slow ass burn y’all 

The legend was a juicy one, so juicy many an author had taken time to transcribe their own version of the tale. Some were incredibly far-fetched, others took a strict moral approach. Those who know the in parties involved agree the events occurred in a similar manner. 

Long ago in the English country side, a small kingdom sprang up. The castle was idyllic, with sweeping rose gardens and stables, ivy crawling up the towers, and a lavish ballroom for parties. Known for a variety of goods that grew just a bit too magically, the kingdom prospered. Magic was not unreasonable in the kingdom and served as a comfort, especially as protection from the restless wolves that lurked beyond the castle walls. 

Still, life was pleasant and just until the princess came of age. Perhaps it was the philosophy she took to reading, or the endless days bemoaning to the kitchen staff, but Y/N simply could not believe she was expected to get married at the tender age of 16. It was disgusting. Damn near revolting and illegal. 

So when the royal ball brought conquests from around the world to try and whoo her, they all failed. One by one she rejected every prince (and the occasional princess) in their hand in marriage. Most took the rejection with stride or at the very least were so royally cold it did not matter that is until one rather evil prince (speculation was his name was Loki and remained second in line to the throne) was rejected. 

“You pathetic quim. Any girl would consider it an honor to marry me in Asgard.” He hissed like a snake, moving around her as she tried to cross the floor. 

“Then leave.” She stepped onto the throne, overlooking all of the hall. “Anyone who shares his sentiment may leave as well.” 

“If you so desperately want to be alone, alone with the wolves for eternity you shall be.” 

All at once, Loki brandished a staff, twirling it around his head as a beam of green light struck the fair princess in her chest. Amidst the chaos the crowd fled, leaving a collapsed Y/N in the arms of the king and queen and the staff. 

“Send for the witch!” The queen shrieked, a notable lack of concern for her daughter present. A curse one was a curse on all. 

Ashley arrived wearing a cloak that disguised the beauty beneath. For hours she tended to the young princess, doing her best to reverse the spell. In the end, she managed to alter things just enough that hopefully the young princess would have some time. In good faith and service, she remained in the castle which would come to be a blessing as the young beauty would soon become a beast. 

----

Many years later, a musician woke from his slumber with a stretch. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn as he rushed to get dressed for the day. Today, Dominic Harrison was going to make it big. The village could just suck it. If he didn’t, he supposed he could return to the small minded village and marry a simple small minded girl, but that was hardly Plan B. 

Kissing his mother and father, he loaded the cart and hitched his horse. His younger sisters rushed out to hug him farewell, housecoats billowing behind them. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye!” They accused. 

“Me? Never. I was just letting my girls rest.” He pinched a cheek and nose for good measure. “Now, what do my darlings want me to bring back for them?Crepes? Biscuits? A puppy?”

“A rose!” 

He smiled his crooked smile. “Those are my favorite, why don’t you pick something else?” 

“Biscuits then, but get a rose for you.” 

Dom couldn’t believe he was so blessed with such a loving family and such darling sisters. He did intend on expanding his family one day, he just hoped it would be with someone as loving as he. 

With his final goodbyes, he mounted his horse and headed off. He had made the journey plenty of times in 22 years, no doubt this time would be any different. This thought would soon prove naive as a storm swept in, his horse tossing him off and running straight toward the castle gates. 

Running to catch up with his beloved pet, Dom heard the howls began to echo through the woods. With a strangled cry of frustration, he met up at the gates with his horse, holding the reign in his hands. 

“Please!” He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. The royal family weren’t exactly the most helpful or kind bunch from what he had heard in his lifetime. Dom shook the rusting gates, the thought hitting him he didn’t know when the last time the gates had been opened. 

A low creak pushed the rusting gates open just enough for him and his horse to squeeze on through. Kissing the Saint Christopher that hung from his neck, Dom led his horse inside the gates. The rusted metal clanged shut trapping him in. 

“Don’t worry, bubba, we’ll be alright.” He assured, stroking his horses mane as they ventured up the drive to the castle. “Look, there’s a stable for ya.” 

Leading bubba into the stable, the horse whinnied happily entering a stall with plenty of hay and water. “You stay here, I’m going to see if I can get some shelter.”

Soaked to his core, he trudged on to the castle, stopping only briefly to smell the roses that grew in twisted  knots on a trellis. How beautiful they were, he was certain his sisters would love one. 

He plucked a red one off the vine. “How delightful.” 

“Who goes there?” 

Dom jumped in fright, turning quickly to find a short young woman, arms crossed. A cloak covered her head which paired with long tendrils of hair covered her face. “Please, I mean no harm. I just got lost, the storm spooked my horse and I-”

“So you steal a rose?” How cold Dom felt in her presence. “Guards!” 

A small army dressed in faded tunics baring the royal arms surrounded him and ceased his arms, struggling he was carried down into the depths of the castle. 

----

“Princess? Perhaps it might be wise to offer our guest a room of his own?”

 The question was posed by Harry, one of the most faithful members of the staff. Once upon a time he sang for the crown at parties and balls, now he kept the castle a foot and kept Y/N company in her chamber. He was not usually so bold in his distaste of her actions, though he was always quite kind. 

“Harry, I said no.” Y/N turned her back to him and focused her attention once more on the wilting rose that remained encased in glass on her balcony. 

“But what if-”

“But nothing!” She had turned cold in her isolation, her view of the world tainted by such loneliness, her view of men tainted with the oppression they caused (except for Harry it wasn’t his fault, nothing ever was). “Besides, who could ever love me?” The list of reasons to not were ever growing. 

Harry crossed the room in two brief strides, his professional guard dropping as he scooped her into his arms. “Y/N, don’t think like that. We all love you and if I could break it, you know I would.” 

Tears fell onto the glass dome encasing the rose as the two fell into silence. Once Y/N curled up into a ball and fell into fitful sleep, Harry grabbed a candle stick and rushed into the prisons. 

The chill made his teeth chatter as he tsked under his breath. “Princess’ll learn one of these days, only way somebody’s gonna love her is if she’s fucking nice.” He continued his grumbling as he reached the cells. 

Drawing out his keys, he unlocked the cell revealing a strapping young lad that reminded him of himself when he first arrived at the castle. “Hello mate, I’d like to offer my most sincere apologies for the treatment you have received up until now.”

“Pop your clogs.” Dom spat, squinting his eyes at the stranger. Under any other circumstance, literally any other one, he would be jumping the tall man’s bones because damn he was pretty. 

“Well that’s not very nice at all.” Harry quipped unlocking the cell door and holding it open. 

“You arrest people for picking a bloody rose around here?” 

A harsh look clouded the servants face, eyes turning sharp. “Some suffer eternal damnation for one.” Um, what the fuck? Dom thought. “Unless you would like to spend the night freezing down here, I suggest you follow me.” 

Sucking in a bated breath he decided he had one option and that was to follow the stranger. Harry flashed a dimpled grin, “Name’s Harry. The delightful princess you met earlier is her royal highness Y/N.”

“She’s a peach.” Dom scoffed keeping his stride in time with Harry’s, a frown lacing the other man’s face. 

“Things were not always like this.”

“What happened?”

Harry shook his head, leading him into one of the many unused guest chambers. “Nothing you need to worry your little head about right now. For now, dry off and rest we cannot have our guest getting ill.” 

Now, Dom wasn’t entirely sure he was a guest, or at the very least a willing guest, but he desperately wanted warmth and to sleep so he complied. He found robes of the finest silk and immediately thought of how much his mum and sisters would love the extravagance of it all. 

It was the first time he cried to go home. 

[smolbeandrabbles]

Hail To The King -  Henry IV & Reader (The King)

There’s absolutely zero ‘X’ to be had here. & To be used for platonic relationships #AppreciateThePlatonics

Author’s Note: 🎉🎉YES. I freakin’ DID.🎉🎉 Something else will have to come along and be freakin’ SPECTACULAR to stop this from being my movie of the year. Honestly, everyone involved in this movie should be super proud of themselves. This is an absolute gem. And I’m sure I’ll be raving about it for years to come... AND. If there’s one thing I love, it’s a good song. Especially when it fits the source material! Hail To The King - Avenged Sevenfold

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this apart from the words, which I wrote with mine own hand. I will not take away from the fantastic job David and Joel did. Also, seen as Shakespeare pretty much wrote fanfiction of history... this is like... fanfiction of fanfiction (of fanfiction?) Premise: As the King’s Guard it is your duty to protect him from anything. And you’ve done that well over the number of years you have served. There’s just one problem, what happens when you come face to face with the one thing you can’t protect him from...?

Words: 5371

Warnings: swearing / If you’ve not seen the movie and know nothing of the plays then... uh... spoilers!

__________

Royal flames will carve a path in chaos Bringing daylight to the night Death is riding in to town with armor... Blood is spilled while holding keys to the throne... No mercy from the edge of the blade Dare escape and learn the price to be paid Let the water flow in shades of red now Arrows black out all the light Death is riding in to town with armor They come to grant you your rights

There's a taste of fear When the henchmen call Iron fist to tame them Iron fist to claim it all Hail to the King Hail to the one Kneel to the crown Stand in the sun Hail to the King ---

If you’d ever bothered to trace your family history back, you wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a long line of you that had ended up in the service of whatever royal family was going. You had followed your father, and his father before him, and his before him… All in an array of vastly different roles – sure – but all in direct service to the King. Only difference here was you were female – and happened to have the most physical occupation of them all. King’s Guard. It had probably made sense when he was younger and getting himself into trouble – or dragging you half way across the country onto battlefields for his father and cousin. When you were more friends than anything else… But… When he became King? Shirked was the idea that he should have a woman defend him. But, apparently his thought process was quite the opposite; what kind of woman were you if you were the one charged with defending his life at every moment? Formidable. Worthy of being at his side.  And you were glad for it. You held his confidence, his council and were damn well needed when the realm started their many rebellions – that was before you counted assassination attempts. So when distain was still noted, but had considerably died down, you though you might be owed apologies. Or at least a thank you. No such luck from most of his other advisors. But you didn’t much care for them; you were much more invested now in his children. With his daughters now married into foreign families you had little opportunity to see them. But his four sons, who still liked to practice their swordsmanship, and on occasion treat you like you were still in your twenties and they were still under ten, were fast growing into tough young men of their own. With many responsibilities. Thomas was the one who had taken to this with the most resolve, that was immediately recognisable – and now he too was council to his father. John and Humphrey were content to rest on their laurels, and that made sense – they were likely to never inherit the crown, and you knew that if ever called to such service they would jump at the chance. …Then there was Hal… “Where is that boy of mine-??!” You were snapped from your deep thought, huddled sitting on the wooden steps, by the voice of your King. “Likely in town...” you tipped your head back, eyeing him curiously, he could only be talking about his eldest with a tone like that... “Would you like me to go get him?” It was as much your duty to know the whereabouts of those boys at all times. Henry already looked weary at the notion; “Is that your job?” “Not really.” You stood, brushing yourself down; “But sometimes I do like taking a walk...” He sat back for a second to regard you; “I’ll permit it, but hurry straight back.” You gave a nod of agreement “Your Majesty.” You turned with a smile “Oh-! And Y/N?” “Yes?” You twisted once more, now backing out of the throne room; “Knock some sense into him, would you?!” You gave a laugh “Even when they were younger I always thought it was easier said than done... I’ll see what I can do!” ** You didn’t have to stroll that far and had barely made it out of the castle grounds before you ran into him, looking about as worse for wear as you expected these days. But he was in the company of a man you didn’t recognise; causing your thumb to loosen your blade from its sheath; “Eastcheap no good for tonight then?” Hal sent his eyes heavenward, usually he’d take your snark and give you attitude of his own with amusement. Now it didn’t matter what you said, or how, it would simply be taken as another bout of chiding from his father. Hal essentially saw you as an extension of him now – and he had little patience for either. “…No.” “Well then you best get back inside and cleaned up. I shouldn’t like to send you to your father straight away, but he was asking after you…” and there it was… Hal sighed as if this would be a great effort on his part; “Fine.” You turned you attention from the prince to his companion and drew your eyes up and down him for some explanation. “And you are-!?” “Y/N…” You shot Hal a look to silence him.  “Falstaff, M’Lady…” It was a name you recognised… a seasoned warrior from a previous Kings reign. Although, he didn’t exactly look like that anymore. You wondered where Hal may have dug him up from. But could already jump to obvious conclusions. You folded your arms. “Oh, so you’re the bad influence.” His eyes flicked around the castle walls but didn’t meet your face; “I... don’t know how I feel about being called that.” You turned to Hal, still standing there awkwardly; “Don’t look at me, I’m not the one you answer to, get inside...” “But-!” “Get inside!!” You jerked your thumb over your shoulder, never one for liking repeating yourself.  He sighed, eyes downcast and trudged past you into the castle.  You shook your head and turned back to his companion, who was staring at your armour;  “And who exactly are you?” You folded your arms, eyebrow raised; “That’s a joke right? And not a very funny one...” you walked down the steps to effectively get up in his face - it worked well enough for him to take a pace back “You certainly look like a bad influence.” He smirked gently; “What, and you’re the good one?” You gave a shrug “I’m not here to be either - but seen as he appears a little wayward from time to time I do like to attempt a bit of steering... God knows what would happen if I didn’t.” He surveyed you again; “You’re King’s guard.” “Correct.” “Will you be Hal’s too?”  Part of you wanted to scoff, first it would have to happen – and tension in this family was high enough; “Unless he removes me from service...” you narrowed your eyes at the notion though, “But if I was you, I would have care how I spoke.” One too many strange men appearing on castle grounds got a girl wise to these things. He bent to examine your weaponry “Why? Would you run that through me?” You rolled your shoulders in a shrug; “I can think of worse things to do with my time...” “Surely all that is heavy? Don’t you take a break?”  You raised an eyebrow “It’s... my job.” Not as heavy as the weight of the Kingdom I should think, in its current state. “I see, is that it? Stand around like that all day.” “Occasionally I train Hal and his siblings in combat - which they will obviously need if things continue the way they are. And I advise, on occasion...” you placed your hands on your hips; what it was to him however was beyond you. Still, he nodded his head to the gate that his friend had just disappeared through. “You gonna advise the kid too?” You scoffed this time; “Ha-! Well I’d certainly give him a lot better advice than you.” He gave another smirk “we’ll see about that.”

**

As you expected the ill-feeling continued, and eventually Hal stopped coming around all together. You weren’t exactly surprised, and neither was Henry, which you were glad of. He wasn’t all as delusional as they would call him. However, your King was getting wise to his own mortality. He’d survived a few illnesses so far – but now he was getting older they were getting harder to fight. And today as you looked over the palace gardens his musings caught your attention; “I must call him back.” You were torn between his health as a priority and the knowledge that before something really awful happened, their relationship should be allowed to mend; “Will seeing him not strain you?” “Don’t you ever get tired of telling me what to do?” “I get worried.” You slid off the stone ledge you were sat on, “Now more than ever...” “Mortal life is such...” You lowered your head; “...But I did not expect it to be so sudden... this is my duty, what do I do without you...?” “Continue on.” “If your heir allows it.” “Why should he not?” “I don’t know... children have a funny way of looking at things...” You only began to walk as he did, and slow... you had never been more alert in your entire life - not even when you used to ride the battlefield together and his very life depended on yours. When enemies and weapons surrounded you.

But this was the second time in your life you had felt powerless to stop something. And the first was with his wife. You adored her too, and essentially became her Queens guard. Retaking that oath on their wedding day. It had happened similarly... how were you supposed to protect him from something like this...  And now enemies were on all sides too, what with the addition of Henry Percy to the rebellions. You should have dispatched him yourself over that dinner. You could reprimand yourself over that one later though… Still, in honesty, who would morn beside his father-!? Would you simply be fighting a losing battle? But you couldn’t give up - not on a man that meant so much to you.

*** Similar discussion rolled around again a week later, whilst you were waiting for the servants to finish dressing him one morning. You were the only one in this castle looped into everything. What Henry didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him – what the advisors weren’t telling you, you would gain from those in Henry’s inner most circle – the 4 or 5 of you that held his closest confidence. There was something in your demeanor that made you perfect to stand by his side and defend him, as well as make the right connections to have all the information at your disposal at any one time. Anyone who needed to know it would know in due time. Kindness paid you well, but being quiet and unassuming was twice as powerful. 

“I must speak to Hal, don’t you think? Before this gets worse.” This time your answer was different, if Henry were to listen to reason, he would do it now; “I do believe that wouldn’t go amiss.” He nodded, turning to let them smooth out his cloak ready for another communal day listening to very boring stories where you would try not to roll your eyes. You used to give each other similar looks of distain back in his younger days... Now Henry seemed to make snap judgments that didn’t make him very popular; and it was your duty to stand and listen and accept it. Having said that, if he turned to anyone, it was still to you. “I will summon him, then, lay down the rules. How I expect my succession to go.” “If I may, he only needs some straight and narrow. And giving it to him as laid down should help him with that…” you gave a nod of approval to his suggestion “Firm but fair.” He was giving you that look again that meant you didn’t necessarily believe in your suggestion “…Y/N… The truth from you now.” He dipped his head but kept those piercing blue eyes on you. You breathed a heavy sigh; “…Go easy on the firm…” You gave a gentle smile “…I believe the fair will be what he needs most.” ***

As the meeting was adjourned you allowed yourself to lower your head into your hands; oh, Lord above what have you done? Clearly whatever you had said days previously had gone over his head, been forgotten, or someone else in this room had put other notions in his head. You glared at his row of ‘advisors’ – you could make a fair few guesses. If only you were just allowed to go around and take them all out without some yelling treason and getting you killed. You ground your teeth and excused yourself from your King for a moment. “Tell me this wasn’t someone else’s idea?” Thomas gave a shrug “…I… Cannot say I knew it was coming. But neither can I say it’s a surprise.” “Whether that be Hal or the battle?” “Oh. The battle was set… Why?” “Would you like me to accompany you?” He politely shook his head; “Your place is at my fathers side.” “I know that, but he’s hardly about to fight a war is he…” “You may stay, if I need you I will send for you…” Thomas was always your favourite, you didn’t like the idea that he was about to walk into this on his fathers orders “…You promise?” “I promise.” “Well then you best keep it, if you are to succeed him, then I would expect you to already be utilizing me.” He gave a smile at that, and a confident nod; “Perhaps I shall see you on the battlefield?” You reflected his warm smile with your own; “Until such a time, Thomas! I wish you luck!” It wasn’t so hard to catch Henry after talking quickly to Thomas and even less hard to get him to usher all his other bickering advisors away; “When I said talk to Hal, that isn’t exactly what I had in mind!!” “...What? Do you believe me to have lapsed in judgement...?” “He is your son! I would just expect that...” You held your tongue at the look he was giving you “That boy is no son of mine, do you think he cares? He would sooner see me dead than come to my heed - and he said it himself, he does not seek the crown of England.” You tried to not look so hurt; what had caused such a rift... you had your own ideas... Hal had always been the wayward unruly one... but the eldest. You always thought he would come back, and perhaps he would have. But both he and his father shared a similar distaste for one another’s company that had never really healed. Not even now, when Henry, like it or not was a dead man walking.

 **

  Things declined, and fast. It wasn’t like you could say one day he was fine and the next he wasn’t, he’d been ailing for a while - but you expected it to draw itself out a little longer... but when hour two of you sitting in the throne room alone rolled around you knew something was wrong. And you knew he’d long since lost the strength to wander alone; so he wouldn’t be in any of the places you would have usually found him pondering life. You decided you’d rather be in trouble for not being here when he arrived than leaving anything too late.  And you were right; although when you got to his bedchamber only his doctor was still present. You stood in the doorway patiently, and he spotted you, whispering something to your King he came over; “I fear we are at the end...” It was like getting stabbed through the heart with your own sword, and as expected you couldn’t hold the dread from your voice; “...Is there nothing...” “Y/N I have done all I can... I know this is particular hard on y-” “You have NO idea how hard this is for me!” You spat back a little more venomously than you really meant. You were angry, confused, scared, upset.  Henry had always laughed and told you your face was too emotional, and you always pushed him and told him you were his emotional support. At least you could actually roll your eyes when someone came to him with something stupid. Not that you were supposed to, but sometimes needs must. The doctor looked more than a little taken aback, so your expression softened and you lowered your eyes “Forgive me this is just... after losing her I... I thought I would lose my life before he did...” “Have you not done your job amicably well if he is dying like this?” “In agony? When I cannot do anything? Should the King’s Guard really outlive their King?”  You were met with a silence, before the doctor turned to Henry again; “He will need rest... but you may stay...” “How long...?” “Little more than a week, I wouldn’t hope to expect that...” You swallowed back your tears, and he lay a hand on your arm; “...Y/N... I am sorry...” “...Are preparations made... is no one going to...” “What are preparations now? After Thomas-” You shot him another look “So we need to debate over Hal, now?” “Y/N... until he-” “For goodnessake...” You shook your head; fine. If his other advisors won’t say it, you would. Your smile was a thin line; “Thank you Doctor... I’ll take it from here...”

Those were some of the hardest steps you’d ever had to take, which you thought was pretty pathetic on your part. He’s your King dammit! It doesn’t matter for how much longer, he is NOW! It’s YOUR job to be his strength, while he still has some of his own... But he was your whole life, your whole world, your best friend. And if there was something to go through, you’d probably been through it together. And for all the talk of you supposedly saving his life, you couldn’t count the number of times he’d saved yours. Your eyes flicked to the castle grounds visible from the window, and you were glad they hadn’t left it dark in here. Though if they had you’d have done something about it. Always the rebellious one. You sat on the edge of his bed and sighed gently... if this really was it then you’d never get to walk with him anywhere again, let alone out there. You were starting to wish you’d savoured yesterday that little more. It wasn’t long before his hand took yours, and you were forced to smile. His voice was weak but held that amusement that let you know he wasn’t truly done yet. “...Never thought you’d have to see me like this...” You shook your head, eyes still on the scenery “...this is you we’re talking about... I’ve seen much worse.” He managed a chuckle; “Oh! About to get a collective embarrassing life story, am I?�� “I’ll spare you that, your Grace.” “Oh. The honour is mine...”  You laughed, despite the circumstances... “But in seriousness... we do need to talk about what happens next.” “Hal?” Your nod was barely there, unless he was about to offer up a second suggestion; “Who else?” There was a grumble and Henry withdrew his hand, which made you look back to him; “...I didn’t wish to see you lose any of them before your own life... but we can’t pretend it didn’t happen... Henry if you don’t name an heir there will be chaos... even if Hal is the more obvious choice... I don’t trust-” anyone! He sighed; “You never have.” “No. With good reason! Everyone here is here for themselves...” “And you aren’t?” “Thought it might be obvious by my title...” I’m here for you. You folded your arms “And if I have to tell you some home truths, so be it. I’m not afraid to do so.” “...Do you think he’s ready?” “I think he’ll be different.” “That wasn’t an answer to my question.” “How can anyone be ready? I’m not ready, and I’ve been preparing for what happens if I don’t do my job for 20 years-!” “You cannot shield me from this one...” “And how do you think THAT makes me feel-!?” There was sudden silence at the way you’d raised your voice and you sighed again “Forgive me, I...”

His hand reached out again and this time he brushed away the single tear that had escaped; “Do not waste your tears on me... crying is all but useless.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as it graduated to despair; “What am I supposed to do without you..?” “I told you. You will do your duty. And you better damn well do it good - that boy will need it.” You blinked a few times, allowing for a pause worthy of the significance, and raised an eyebrow; “Is that you agreeing with me on this one-!?” He chuckled again, “Come now; I don’t often disagree with your judgement.” “This is a major judgement...” you took his hands back in yours “Henry, it needs to be your decision and they all need to hear you say it...” “And they will, even if it’s the last thing I say...” You sighed gently again with a nod, despite your frustration, even now he wasn’t willing to mend fences. Well. You don’t know why you expected it. “May I stay?” “You may...” he closed his eyes again “... That way you can tell everyone else to leave.” You couldn’t help but grin, even though he couldn’t see it; oh you’d only wanted to do THAT from the second you’d been appointed... You left his bed, and settled in a chair, relaxing; “With pleasure..!” You ended up reading, head propped up in your hand and sword braced against the wall. It wasn’t something you had much occasion to do these days, and you for once gained your enjoyment from being absorbed in books, and not parrying in the courtyard with adolescent males who still hadn’t figured out a way to beat you yet that didn’t involve foul play. You smiled absentmindedly at the memory as you read on; no prizes for guessing which member of the family you ought to be thanking for that. Your eyes flicked up as he murmured something, and everything stilled for a moment. He murmured it again – a little louder but barely enough for you to catch it; you placed a marker in the book and slid it from your knee – leaning forward and focusing on him. It sounded like a string of nonsense – and you realised that he must be lost in dreaming. That didn’t make your approach any less curious. You stopped just short as he mumbled again; “…Mary…" Oh… Henry…  You crouched beside him, lacing your fingers with his. He repeated her name a little louder now, and his fingers closed around yours tighter – as if desperate not to let go. His calling of her more urgent. You bit your lip gently, and attempted to calm him with gentle hushed tones of your own. And all at once you knew. He would have her back, he would get to see her again. You knitted your eyebrows together – was it fair to keep him here, to pray to God few more precious hours as much as you did, when all he’d wanted since she’d died was to see her again? It was like everything was being forced into perspective – and when he relaxed you dropped your hand from his and looked Heavenwards. He was your everything. But you should be thinking about his everything… ‘Forgive me…’ ** Every morning since then you’d been the first one to his room. For a start, there was no way you were letting anyone else beat you to the King’s side, and you wanted to pay damn close attention to the kinds of poison they might be whispering. On occasion you would simply make sure your sword hit something as you moved, to keep them in line. Your concern now was them leading him to something when he had very little effort to fight it off. He’d already made some rash decisions when he was completely lucid... some of the people that came to him had good points-! Even if they went about it the wrong way...  

But, people had been calling him delusional for a little while and you weren’t having that, or anything else, happen now. So you watched them all with a particular form of glower. You’d only left his side to rest. Not that you got much of that done either - pacing the halls outside your room instead. You would wait in his, but, you had to at least act like life may go on. It wouldn’t. You would be just as delusional for thinking so... This morning however, was worse than all the rest. You took the steps 3 at a time and walked that corridor as briskly as you had any other day. But as you turned into his room you knew something was badly wrong. And that made you sprint the rest of the way, to your knees.  His breathing was laboured, and even in taking his hand there was no strength left.  “Henry...” He barely opened his eyes to you; “Y/N...” His voice was just as weak. And for the first time since he’d been bed bound, you didn’t want to cry. Some kind of amicable strength overcame you. “Save your words, My King... I shall gather everyone...” you knew he knew too.  A shiver ran through him that you also didn’t like. Just stay alive... please until Hal is here... stay alive...  You stood, and were about to turn and run from the room once more, but something stopped you. You reached down gently, and tucked his dark hair away from his face. Then you bent - and pressed a short kiss to his forehead. It wasn’t enough, but it was what you needed to say.

** You didn’t know if you were supposed to be running quite this fast in mail; and your sword occasionally banging into you caused a dull pain, but you didn’t care. Everyone you could think that would need to be there you roused from sleep, or any other mundane task they might be doing, in order to be by his side. And by the time you got back they were ready to administer last rights.

You stood in the centre of that room and surveyed it, a slow smooth circle until you were facing him again. Everyone was solemn and quiet. And there wasn’t anyone missing to be doing the task, either. You were about to raise the noise level; “Where is Hal?” “...Why would...” “Are you serious?! Without putting too finer point on it - we will need a new King. An heir to the throne of England. We can’t exactly have the first choice can we - where is Hal!?” “The King has not named Hal as the success-” “Are you JOKING!” You took an intimidating step forward, “Who else, pray tell, will sit on the Throne of England??! Would you like to call the Scots? The Welsh? The French? Hal is the heir and Henry’s eldest son...” “This King has not-” “RETRIEVE HAL FROM TOWN. One of you! NOW!” There was another silence like they weren’t going to heed your words. But within it a second weaker voice; “Hal...” You all turned at the sound of your King “...He must... you must...” You turned to them all with a sharp look; “I believe that is deceleration enough - one of you GO-!”

To be honest if your look was going to do anything it would well have murdered them on the spot, but it didn’t - so William was the one to volunteer to go. And you at least gave him a glum smile of thanks, before taking a deep breath and nodding to the Archbishop. It was time. Like it or not. And you didn’t.

***

You couldn’t stay, you should have been in that room but you couldn’t bare it. Watching his heart break over Mary was one thing too many even now; having him watch yours do the same wasn’t something you could do to him as he died. Instead you stood outside, one foot up against the wall. Your thoughts both equally merciful and selfish. Let it be quick and have him suffer no more... let him linger a while I’m not ready yet... But you weren’t even there, would it matter now. There was sudden screaming from the entrance way that made you look up; “Where is the monster!?” You sighed, Oh...Hal... You were right, fences could never be mended... would they be even now? All you could really be glad of was that he came.

Hal paused as he wheeled around the corner and caught sight of you. And composed himself, solemnly, you wouldn’t trust to hope he would be doing it for any reason other than you. Hal and yourself had never had any reason to not get along, other than the man you served. His walk slowed a little but he understood the urgency. His nod to you meant a great deal more than he would realise. You smiled gently at his interactions. He was like you, maybe that’s what Henry saw that he didn’t like. You weren’t opposed to the shakeup. You and he were two sides of the same coin - Hal and you would become the same side - there would be a lack of balance there - but you had discipline and your nature suited you to your job. There was a point where Henry liked that. Maybe he just didn’t want to see it in his own son. Either way, he was never blaming you for it.

**

You weren’t sure you had ever felt like this. Hollow emptiness, maybe, but it hurt so bad. You’d had weeks and months of this and you all knew what was coming. And yet... When it happened it was unbearable. There was sudden shuffling... and you knew everyone was dropping to Hal’s feet. You were still stood outside. They accepted because why? Because he had said so as he died? Because it was the only way? - if Hal relieved you from duty you could stick around. If he didn’t, you had a feeling he would need you more than his father did. Discord from the outside was naught like fighting something from within. Enemies on all sides once more. In a different way... You were aware of your tears this time and decided that this once you were allowed to not keep them at bay. You were conscious of Hal’s exit from the room and pulled yourself away from the wall. He paused, and turned to you. You took a breath, knowing you were duty bound to kneel to your King. And you would - but before you could even take the step he held his hand out. “You do not need to-” “It would be improper of me to not-” Hal was incredibly soft spoken, and that tone would serve him well; “Y/N - given your standing with my father, I would not have you submit in such a way before I am truly crowned...” he paused, and tilted his head, he saw those tears. And yet you should still be getting down on your knees... “...You will stay... in office?” You opened your mouth, but what to say, of course you would accept, and Henry had asked it of you. But did you risk looking too eager, everyone else would likely be forced, and yet he was giving you the choice. You countered; “If you would wish me to... and permit me to... I will stay.” He nodded in agreement “You are my Kings Guard.” “As you are my King.” There was a clear decision in that sentence that flickered across your face and Hal’s eyes at the sentiment. “...That is agreeable. You served my father well. I am of mind enough to know you shall do the same for me.”  You gave a nod, Henry V... that’s what he would be... your second, and your second term in such an office. You could only hope not to outlive this one, and that he would reign for many a year. You bowed instead, low, so low you might as well have knelt. And when you stood again you were smiling. All hail a new era - maybe one England desperately needed.

“Hail to the King.”

---

Hope you know I wasn’t resisting at least ONE GIF.

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby #MendoTagSquad.

[mizznancywheelerfic]

OG Jonsa. Crackship Jonsa. If it’s not your thing, turn away, but this fic is still cute to me so imma post it. Bye. 

Title: A Castle of Snow

by eleanor_rigby

Summary:

Stark Wildlings AU. Sansa was a gentle girl dreaming of castles and princes. However, she was also born into the world of the Free Folk where women are stolen unless they’re of the fiercest kind.

Published at: 2013-01-01

Revised at: 2013-01-01 07:00:00 -0500

Sansa lay on the cold snow with her dagger firmly pressed against her chest.  She usually held the weapon in her the pocket of her thick, woolen breeches, but tonight she decided to keep it close. The night was always the most dangerous part of any day. Indeed, that was the time when many of the women of the clan were taken, right in the dead of night while the others slept.

The moon shone brightly tonight and Sansa’s eyes focused on the glowing orb, comforted by the thought that she might be able to view an attacker if he came her way.

For now, all was calm.

Ever since Sansa was one-and-ten, the women had warned her to be vigilant of any man who might try and steal her from the clan. They all said she was already beautiful and men would be more than thrilled to steal a girl with her looks. She may have been young, but that would be of little thought to potential attackers.

Indeed, there had been close incidents. The first occurred when the vicious blonde boy from a larger clan named Joffrey came close to stealing her before Sansa’s direwolf, Lady, slew him by tearing apart his throat with her teeth. Sansa could recall the way he sputtered and cried as the direwolf snatched his last moments of life. Her eyes widened with fear, but there was a strange mixture of compassion and elation in her belly.  

Yet, Lady was gone now.

Not long after Joffrey’s death, Sansa had found the great wolf drenched in her own blood one morning. How she cried for her poor direwolf. Sansa’s younger sister, Arya, suspecte d that Joffrey’s mother slew the wolf in revenge. While Sansa did not like to believe the worst of people, it seemed possible that the great spearwife, Cersei, would take revenge for the death of her beloved, horrific son. Sansa knew she was feared by all, even by the most fearsome of warriors.

Nevertheless, the others told her to quit her crying and move past the wolf’s death. That was far easier said than in practice.  Sansa knew her tears and gentle nature were not approved by anyone but her family. Her mother said she would surely be stolen if she did never come into her fighting skills. Sansa was never a fighter, and she knew would never be a spearwife. It hurt to fall short of such expectations.

There were a few times Sansa tried to throw an arrow or swing a weapon, but they were always far too heavy or they would not hit their target by a long shot. Her failures caused the other boys and girls to giggle at her weak combat skills and the laughter brou ght tears to Sansa’s eyes every time. The only comfort would come when her mother’s hand would always caress her chesnut hair and tell her she would grow into her skills eventually, but they never did come. The disappointment in their eyes was never hard to miss, though they tried to hide it.

The second time a man tried to steal Sansa; she was three-and-ten. Only a few months passed since Joffrey attempted to steal her, but Lady was not here to save Sansa from the abductor this time. She knew who the man was as soon as she found herself cradled in his large arms and stared at the ugly, disfigured face above her. The man was called Sandor, or the Hound, and he was known to be particularly large and horrible in attitude and combat. In the past, Sansa had noticed him looking at her intensely when she helped gather kindling or make songs for the companion birds, but she did not suspect he would attempt to steal her. But he was too large for her to fight off. The few pu nches she attempted made no sound. All she could do was weep and beg him to set her free, but he did no such thing.

Her savior came in the form of a direwolf she could make out in the distance over Sandor’s shoulder. For a second, she wondered if Lady returned to save her.

But Lady’s dead. It can’t be her. Only the stories and songs are full of ghosts…

When the figured emerged from the shadows, it became clear the beast was not Lady. The creature was Arya’s direwolf, Nymeria. The Hound dropped her to the ground as the wolf sunk her sharp teeth into his leg. Sansa scrambled up from the snow and the Hound fell upon his knees. Another figure came running as the Hound yelled out in agony. Sansa was glad to be free of his grip, but she was mortified by the brutal attack in front of her. Death would never be something she to which she ever could become accustomed.  As she took her eyes from the bloody sight, her eyes were met with the vision of Arya running towards her. She was much disheveled and carried her little wooden practice sword. Before Sansa could say anything, Arya grabbed her by the hand. They ran back to the camp and slept closely to each other, trying their best not to wake anyone.

Sansa turned to whisper in Arya’s ear.

“Thank you for s-saving me. How did you know I was being stolen?”

“Well, Nymeria was licking my face an awful lot, and then I got up to swat her off. When I looked around, I couldn’t see you. Everyone knows that you wouldn’t be out this late, and half the men here and in the other clans talk about stealing you. Don’t be stupid.”

Then Arya turned to sleep, and Sansa leaned over to hold her younger sister by the waist, tears streaming down her eyes.

So close.

In the morning, Nymeria was sleeping at their feet with her fur stained with red blood.

No one said a word of what occurred, but Sansa knew they must have known. Now, the others in the clan looked at her with less pity, but Sansa took no pride in what happened to the men.

As the clan moved on to different places for supplies and food, she stood next to her mother and begged for stories. It had been that way since was a small child. Catelyn tried not to tell her anymore stories, for they were not appropriate for a girl of her age, but Sansa’s attitude perked when she was being told a tale of a southron knight and his lady. Sansa loved those the best, though no one could fathom why. She simply loved hearing of the southron kingdoms below the Wall. They all sounded so lovely and remarkable. So different from this desolate, cold world she only knew.

“Don’t start getting thoughts about becoming no lady, Sansa. You’re of the Free Folk. You must concentrate on being fierce, not manners,” her mother once told her.

Sansa turned pink. “I never said I wanted to be a lady! I just like hearing the stories, that’s all.”

Catelyn raised an eyebrow and turned to face the clan. Sansa did the same and viewed Arya playing with the boys, especially that one large, dark-haired boy she seemed to favor so much, Gendry. She could also see all the girls fighting with one another. They never allowed Sansa to play with them, so Sansa usually stayed at her mother’s side as a result. A feeling of sadness filled her belly as Sansa feared she would never fit in.

In the coming days, Sansa caught a glimpse of the Wall as they strode past it on their journeys. She had never been so far south in her entire life. Her neck caught a strain because of how much she tried to take in all of it before the clan moved past. Once, she had been told that there were castles on the other side where the southron crows lived. Her eyes could not see castles through the thick, dark ice, but she knew they must be there. Perhaps they were made of ice as well.

A castle of snow…how wonderful to see. If only I could.

Their clan was a small but fierce. Men followed her father, Ned, because he was true and formidable at once. He was as cold as the north itself and he even had respect from the crows.

The crows would never bother with them before, but they were apparently under the command of a boy if the new whispers were true. Sansa kept her ears open at these whispers and learned that he was also known to be the youngest son of the south's Dragon King.

“Another one of those fucking dragons,” said one of the men who escaped from a clash with the crows.

Sansa’s heart fluttered at the thought of a prince being so close. She wondered if he was handsome and valiant as the princes in the tales.

Would he also be violet-eyed and silver-haired?

Sansa’s eyes took a break from gazing at the moon and she closed them.  Within a few seconds the peace of sleep came, but the dagger she held to her chest remained firmly in her grip.

The sleep did not last long. Sounds of fighting filled Sansa’s dreams, and she soon realized that the noises were not from the dream world she was immersed in. She got up immediately and tried to see amidst the chaos. The light of the moon could only serve so well while men and women were fighting in every direction.

She did see men in black, though.

They’re fighting the crows.

Then, a voice that sounded like her mother yelled out, “Run, Sansa!”

Sansa wasted no time and obeyed the command. She ran as fast as she could and wished with all her heart that Lady could be at her side once again. Lady would have protected her in such a fierce battle. Sansa knew it.

Her feet were sore and painful by the time she stopped running. She paid no attention to which direction she was headed and collapsed between large hills of snow. Tears trickled down her frost-tingled cheeks.

I can’t go any further. It’s too painful. Please, let someone find me before I die. I swear I’ll never wish ill on Jeyne again. Even when she’s teasing me before the other girls. Please…

Sansa awoke to the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. For a moment she thought it might be one of her siblings, and tried to move the hand away without bothering to open her eyes. Then she remembered the circumstances of last night, and her eyes snapped open. Sansa sat up immediately and looked upon the stranger before her.

He was a crow.

He was tall and handsome with dark hair. His face was long and solemn, but there was a quality that Sansa was thought was beautiful. He must have been six-and-ten if she were to guess.

There was only silence between the two until he asked, “Who are you?”

Sansa paused for a second.

“I’m…Sansa. Who are you?”

The man stood straight before saying, “I’m the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

He’s the prince they spoke of. He does not look like how I imagined a prince. Handsome, yes, but he looks too serious. His hair is dark and he has grey eyes. I thought princes were of more fair coloring like the stories tell, but I suppose not.

As Sansa surveyed the sight, she noticed rough-looking man not far behind from the prince.

“Lord Snow, you got one of those wildlings?” the man said.

The prince turned his face from Sansa to answer, “Yes, but she’s just a girl.”

Soon the man was standing right next to the prince and right before Sansa.

The man looked her up and down before saying, “She’s a pretty one. Must be one of Ned’s followers. Maybe she’s a spearwife. Better to kill her now before she gets any ideas.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “I’m not a spearwife! I promise I won’t hurt either of you. I’m a horrible fighter. My father is Ned. Please, take me back. I swear he won’t hurt you.”

Her eyes became glassy and she turned all her attention to the prince. His handsome face bore a frown.

“Perhaps she is right. I knew a spearwife before, and she would’ve killed us by now. This girl is not a fighter. I would return you to your father, but I believe they’ve long departed.  For now, you can come to the Wall,” the prince said solemnly before putting his hand out for her to take.

The rough man did not looked please as Sansa took the prince’s hand and stood up.

“What are you gonna do with this wildling? And a girl, too!  Gods, you’re a soft one, Snow.”

The prince sighed as the three walked.

“She can stay in Castle Black for the time being. Ned’s clan might be angry, but they hate Tywin’s forces as much as we do. This girl, Sansa, is it?” he turned to Sansa for confirmation and she nodded, “she could help us.”

The rough man merely spat in the snow and said, “Sam’ll be jealous of your new lady love, Lord Snow.”

Sansa turned pink at the words, “lady love.”

Am I to be his lady love? No, don’t be stupid. He’s only taking you to this castle until they can meet your father again.  But perhaps…

Sansa turned her head to gaze once again at the prince’s face and their eyes met. His greys softened at her before his cheeks turned a little red and he fixed his eyes upon the great wall before them.

[irasciblempresse]

              Queen Iracebeth of Crims. Spurred and cast aside as a child, despised as a young queen, she took the throne amidst a national crisis by means of logic and intimidation. She and her husband, King Acheonickolas, would rule over one of Underland’s golden ages and bring forth ten children. When a badly intentioned Knave sought power over this, the golden age ended with the ugly thud of the king’s head on the paving stones of the execution courtyard. Her sister took the throne for two brief years before Iracebeth returned, the power of an army and the fabled Jabberwock at her side. A deeply paranoid, furious woman, her second reign was marked by death and destruction. When Underland was near rot and ruin, the avior Alice wielded the Vorpal Sword against the Jabberwock and brought about the Frabjous Day. Now crowned, Queen Mirana banished Iracebeth to the Badlands with her conspirator Ilosovic Stayne. The two parted ways and with the help of the demigod Time, she built a life and plan in exile. When Alice returned to Underland, Iracebeth took her chance, traveling back in time to either seek truth to retrieve the crown, or plunge the world into rust. She was unable to act on the first, but Mirana stopped her before it was too late to stop the second. A newfound understanding between them, the sisters returned as equals once more, functioning as a team in their last reigning years.

             Iracebeth of Crims. Queen, Tyrant, Mother, Murderer, Lover. A notable figure in history, to say nothing else. Her first reign was one of Underland’s most profitable prosperous eras. The second, the bloodiest, most fearful since the Good Lady and Lord created the world. When examined, historians have difficulty determining exactly what the break was. After all, she was an ill-tempered, bloodthirsty woman during the best of times. What could lead to such a polarized legacy?

             Eldest to King Stongard and Queen Constala, much was expected of Iracebeth before she had even come into the world. When she was born disfigured, those expectations became binding ropes. However, after two hundred years without an heiress to their name, an ugly daughter couldn’t be cast aside. Beggars can’t be choosers, by they may yet be controlling.

             Iracebeth spent her days in lessons from the time she could walk until she came of age. Her time was monitored, either by an endless string of tutors or her parents reviewing her progress. She learned quickly, but never quickly enough. She would miss meals if her marks weren’t up to royal standards. Iracebeth would often fall asleep before her night nurse had even finished dressing her in the evenings.

             There were many who mentioned her head but only a few did so to upset her. The general tone was pity-little comfort for a daughter who felt the weight of a country on her shoulders. Stongard and Constala weren’t afraid to remind her that her failure would ruin Underland. She worked herself to exhaustion and frequent illness. Her needs were utterly ignored, until she lost her self-restraint. She was generally considered a quiet child, which made her tantrums all the more effective. Tantrums stopped lessons. They let her have a few hours to herself.

When she was seven years old, Queen Constala gave birth to another heiress – Mirana. Mirana was what both Queen and Country was after – a healthy, pretty girl. Had she been born several years earlier, she would doubtlessly have been named heiress outright, her older sister quietly pushed into the background. However, Iracebeth was officially confirmed as Duchess of Crims, and Underland’s enemies were watching. Any sign of weakness might have been an invitation for war.

             So Iracebeth continued in her studies, pushed further and further by her parents’ increasing requirements and the implicit threat of another to take her place.

             In truth, Mirana only fared slightly better. She wasn’t ground down as badly and her parents favored her, but to call Stongard and Constala loving is a gross overstatement. Mirana was largely left alone, watching as the king and queen compared their daughters relentlessly – uncomfortable, but powerless to change the situation.

             As she grew older, Iracebeth’s outbursts became more and more common. Despite their increased frequency, they kept working on her parents. She was able to wrench a few hours away to herself, which she usually spent in the forest. Ever since she was young, she was fascinated with biology. There was a sort of kinship between the princess and Underland’s less savory creatures. She learned that Mome-wraths were dangerous in large groups but became cuddly little monsters on their own. Quaranths loved their necks being scratched, and Jubjub birds could be tamed if they were raised from chicks. She didn’t always return unscathed, but she was always curious for more. On one such excursion, when she snuck out at night, she witnessed one of Underland’s most sacred events. A Frabjous Day.

Lightening cracked across the sky and in the last few moments of the battle, the Champion slashed his vorpal blade clean through the weakened creature’s neck. Young Iracebeth only saw a handsome creature being slaughtered without reason. Cold, alone, and hidden, she stayed, frozen in the thickets. The Champion retreated with the Jabberwock’s head, triumphant to show Underland that it was safe once more. The princess stayed hidden until she heard the cries of a new creature entering the world. Neither chaos nor order may rule Underland forever, and as one Jabberwock dies, another takes its place. She rose and discovered a hatching Jabberwock chick. Frightened, but fueled by rage at the perceived injustice, she was determined to raise it.

Her teens were even more difficult. She was smart as a whip and growing twice as violent. It became apparent that that her physical state wouldn’t be mended or that it would regress with age. She became more defiant to her parents, rage fueling newfound courage to contradict her parents’ wishes. She spent more time in the forest. Her coming-out Ball was an entire disaster as the princess overhead several maids gossiping about her – that Constala had attempted to arrange several marriages for her. That all fell through when they caught sight of her at the ball. She had her first public tantrum, threatening the maids and refusing to calm down for days. Her anger had become a resting state, the only way of leveraging her power. As long as she was princess, she could do nothing, but when they angered a future queen – that was remembered better for some reason.

This came to a head on Mirana’s 21st birthday. In Private, the King and Queen made it clear to their daughters that, upon their deaths, Mirana was to inherit the throne. This was what both daughters had feared since they were children. Iracebeth was crushed. That was the last day she would speak to her parents.

In this time, she had one comfort. Acheonickolas, a duke’s son from the North. They met when she was 20, and he was 19, at a Valentine’s day ball. The combination of a party and it being her birthday made her even more misanthropic, until a tall boy asked her to dance. She instantly rejected his offer but allowed him to keep her company in her misery. His infectious sense of humor and refusal to be turned away by her anger made even the infamously unsmiling Princess Iracebeth giggle. They danced and shared a first kiss together. They courted in semi-secrecy until Stongard approached her about another arranged marriage – at this point, already thinking of ways to hide her once Mirana took the throne. He and Constala disapproved of the match but didn’t believe it would last.

Though furious with her parents, Iracebeth upheld the appearance expected of her. She carried on with her visits and campaign, fiancé turned husband in tow. They were married in an unexpectedly quiet ceremony. The King and Queen were present, but their blessing was conspicuous by its absence. Another few years passed, and a daughter was born. Adorava, proof of the young couple’s love, and for many, evidence that their sudden marriage was not too hasty. Soon afterward, Stongard and Constala passed away. Emerald cough passed through Witzend, felling man in the capital. Both daughters were away on different campaigns, leaving the two royals alone, their last words unremembered and unrecorded.

             When they reconvened, Iracebeth was prepared to fight. She had a husband, an heiress, and the education Mirana had forgone. Only Mirana and Iracebeth knew of their parents’ wishes, and as such, the former conceded the crown to her eldest sister.

              The moment she did, so she was thrust into war with the countries to the East and South. Underland had steadily lost territory through Stongard and Constatala’s appeasement strategies, and with Underland appearing to be on the brink of civil war, her enemies decided to strike. Though she had inherited a weak army, Iracebeth quickly developed the card guard, a force of animated statutes under the queen’s command. The war between lasted three years, requiring Iracebeth to demonstrate all her battle knowledge and diplomatic understanding. At the end, she stood exhausted, but triumphant. Outside forces had not set foot in Underland once thought he wars – this clear victory quieted dissenting voices which had once demanded that Mirana take the throne in her stead.      

             Iracebeth was finally crowned properly by the High Priestess of the Lady in the Year 3603. Her reign, though born out of war, was unexpectedly peaceful. The good King Acheonickolas was responsible. Though the late king and queen were skeptical, Acheonickolas and Iracebeth were undoubtedly firsts. A dopey, pun-loving narcoleptic, he was the only one to bring the queen to her senses. They would rule together for 148 blissful years and bring nine more children into the world. The Kingdom’s economy recovered and experienced a boom in trade, since it could now continue without fear of pillaging without consequence at the boarders. Underland was at peace.

             But things were not as cheery at home. After more than one hundred and fifty years of marital bliss, things began to crumble. An interloper, head of the royal guard, and knave of hearts – Ilosovic Stayne – had a plane to rise higher than his station. He preyed on the queen’s paranoia and the king’s jealousy until Iracebeth broke. He was sentenced to death by beheading on charges of treason and infidelity. He met his fate in February of 3798.

              Many feared an Iracebeth unchained, but for two years she was silent. As the terms of compromise were broken, Mirana took the crown. Iracebeth offered no resistance. Little is known about this time in her life, as all but her closest advisors – many of whom were later killed – were evicted from Salazen Grum.

              In autumn of 3800, Iracebeth struck Witzend with a force not seen before. Her Jabberwock, grown and entirely loyal to her, an entire cavalry of Underland’s most fearsome beasts, and a card guard, now thousands strong. Mirana never stood a chance. She retreated to marmoreal, leaving Underland to fear and ruin under a paranoid, tyrannical Iracebeth.

             The second reign was marked by a revolving door of courtier, daily executions, and harsh inquisitions into any man, woman, or otherwise sentient being which had supported Mirana in the War Between. All but her closet friends – the Mockturtle and Robespierre, her executioner – were put under scrutiny. Ilosovic Stayne, the man who had inadvertently set the pendulum into motion was brought up on multiple charges of treason, espionage, and most tellingly of all, infidelity. Insecure as Iracebeth was, she required the validation of a lover. Thinking it may lead to a more secure station and power with it, Stayne initiated a visceral whirlwind courtship. Whether or not either believed in the love they proclaimed for one another nightly is up for debate, but as the world increasingly turned against them, they were pressed closer and closer together.

            Unbeknownst to the Knave or the country, Iracebeth saw another man in the wee hours. More than a man. A god.

             Iracebeth’s dedication to the Good Lord and Lady was unwavering, but her affiliation to the demigods had not been so solid. She had respect for Water, the Sun and Moon, and Nature of course. During her first reign, her tithes were split evenly between Love and Industry, and at current she spent more time praying to War than she cared to admit. As a child, she had even attempted to call on the Grand Star with pleas of beauty. But Time had always eluded her, as had Destiny and the vague memory of Hope.

            When her second reign began, however, she’d had a breakneck introduction to the diety as well as the concept. He had come to her, accusing her of stealing the orraculum. She had done no such thing, and after a long argument followed by the mutuall realization that one of Mirana’s forces had stolen it in her stead, Iracebeth agreed to retrieve it for him. She was motivated by self-interest – every moment her sister’s forces spent with the oracle was one moment of advantage against her – and religious devotion. As the two remained in communication, a friendship grew between them. Time’s proud, pompous nature matched Iracebeth’s cold self-regard, compounded by her more open nature when she wasn’t required to be a queen. By the end of her second regin, the two had grown fond of each other such to an extent that they were courting in all but name and reputation.

             Even the retrieval of the orraculum could not stop the events detailed within it. Alice returned to Underland and wielding the Vorpal Sword, brought about another Frabjous Day. Mirana, unable in victory to sentence death because of her vows, banished Iracebeth and her knave to the Badlands until the end of Underland. Stayne begged for mercy, going so far as to attempt assassination on the battlefield, but was stopped by a well-placed hatpin. Already on the rocks. This broke the pair entirely. The first action they took after being abandoned by the soldiers was to shatter the shackles which connected them. They split and never saw each other for as long as the other lived.

            Utterly alone and left to the elements, Iracebeth called upon her only remaining friend – her Tiktok. Her Time.

            Already distrustful of Mirana by her perceived thieving nature, Time was furious at Mirana’s abandonment of his love. Of course, he knew what Iracebeth had done, but he had seen her gradually recover in his arms as they grew closer. He gave her a castle and servants, built after his own hands to keep her as comfortable as he could. Thoroughly in love now, he did everything he could to console her and perhaps help her move on, but the ex-queen was focused on one thing and one thing alone – revenge. She knew that Time held everything she needed, but her feelings left her unable to take his chronospheres by force. They lived in a tense sort of love for several decades until the third coming of Alice.

            Convinced of her ability to change Time for the better, she stole the choronsophere. Time dutifully chased her, even with his own dysfunction while Iracebeth bade her own Time. It was only a matter of him until Alice returned to the present and when she did, she took her chance. Iracebeth’s guards restrained Alice and her allies while Iracebeth returned to Witzend all those years ago. Precisely what she would do depended on what she saw. Five years after Mirana’s birth, young Iracebeth had overhead her parents speaking of one of the girls – how weak-willed and difficult how she was. How stupid, how dull, how ugly. She had convinced herself they were speaking about Mirana. She’d based her entire campaign around her perceived superiority, but she could never be certain. If she was correct, she could return to the present. She was correct, she was the proper heiress – if not… She could wait until her younger self came to hear the conversation and doom Underland along with her.

            Perhaps unsurprisingly to the outside observer, Stongard criticized their eldest and frozen with a combination of fury and deep self-hatred, she heard herself triple down the stairs. Just as she would have been confronted with her younger self, she was pulled back by a mysterious hand.

           Mirana, who had borrowed Time’s own method of transport pulled her away just before destruction. The two spoke for the first time in years and equally. Iracebeth heard what had followed the discussion of the eldest heiress – a complete discretion of their youngest. That if Iracebeth was weak-willed, it was nothing compared to Mirana. That they hoped to Goddess above that it never came to the spare. Numb, the sisters returned to the appropriate time and place. Iracebeth was given a choice; continue living in exile, or return to Underland to be tried for her crimes.

         She took the latter.

         The argument presented against the death penalty was not that the exiled queen could be reformed or even that the death penalty was inhumane – rather, it was the knowledge that living without title was significantly harsher than ending her life a martyr. Many had wished for her swift death on the Frabjous Day, but given recent events which had been let loose, their hatred overrode their ears. Iracebeth was allowed to live under a sort of house arrest. She spoke no words during the trial, neither in defense nor damnation.

          In the waning years, Iracebeth was quiet. She aided Mirana in legislation and stayed council. The victory of the war of the Cards was due in no small part to her guidance, hidden from the public at all costs. Iracebeth died in 3999, surrounded by her ten children. Mirana still lived but remained childless. Upon her death, Adorava, duchess of Crims, would take the throne.

         Though most Underlandians would loathe to hear it, Iracebeth’s goal was met. Her daughter inherited the throne and would rule for ages to come. Even as long as her daughter’s reign lasted one millennium, the Queen of Hearts would leave a legacy set in stone.

[hildiraphillips]

The Master

Preceded by The Covenant. Followed by The Apprentice.

(This story has entirely too many words, but I did not want to split it. It is the second to last piece of Hildira’s storyline. )

“I have been troubled with doubt since meeting you all that time ago, Hildira Rosaline. It is not so great that I have fallen like my brothers and sisters that have become Forsworn, but it is like a seed that grows in the back of my mind. What I ask of you is perhaps a selfish desire, but it is greatly important to me. I, like other Ascended, have surrendered my memories. I do not know if I wish for them back... but I wish to understand the thread of fate that connects us. And so thus...” She gestured towards the soul mirror that stood before them. 

The paladin had followed her into the cliffs surrounding this  mechanical wonder the Kyrian called the Mnemonic Locus. They had eventually come to stand before a great piece of intricately-carved crystal. It was blue, but looked familiar, and Hildira shuddered. She had seen its make before, in the Maw- that was what had been used to tear the piece out of her soul. 

“You have helped me a great deal, Truthseer. It is only fair I help you in return, no? Tell me what you seek within my head, and it is yours to, ah... see? I should hope not to lose the memories. I am in your debt, even still.” 

“It is ironic that I am a keeper of Truth, but I did not offer that myself when we first met. You see, Truthseer is merely my title. My name is Hildira, as well.”

The knight froze in place. She knew only one being who shared her name, and they were long dead. Was there truly a chance...?

The Kyrian spoke again. “Many come to Bastion who share first names, but... when I saw your face and the brief glimpses of your memory, I felt something stirred within me. But no matter how hard I try to grasp at it, it eludes me. It is maddening. I only know that we are bound in some way, and that you were important to me in life.”

“I... I think I finally understand what all of this means,” the paladin assured gently, a warmth spreading in her chest. “I will do whatever is necessary to help you understand.” Everything made sense to her. There was but one reason why fate had brought her to this moment, and it was to share it with this being who she had once known. She blinked back a few tears- turning her face so that the Truthseer - so that Hildira - could not see them. 

“Before you is a soul mirror,” the Kyrian said. “You can guide me through your memory until we find... whatever we seek, at least. I admit some amount of hesitation. To seek answers in our pasts is not the Path. But... perhaps the Path is changing.”

“Of course, Hildira,” the younger paladin said with a single nod. Determination filled her, and she guided some of her own anima into the soul mirror, activating it and letting it take her memories. “I understand your fear. But I know who you are, and... it is the honor of a lifetime to show you how the honorable and brave woman you were in life. Perhaps we shall start from the beginning, as is best for telling stories.” 

They delved into Hildira Rosaline’s memory. It was strange to navigate one’s own thoughts, but the paladin soon found she could focus her gaze onto specific parts. Her early years were not as hazy as they were before- she could find whatever she needed...

“There was once a young woman,” she began. “her name was Rosaline Faris.” She guided the Kyrian to follow her as she showed a young girl with dirty blonde hair. “She played along the nearby river in the town of Southshore, was chased by murlocs along the beaches, and braved nearby caves in the hills along the coast. Her parents were distant- concerned more with trying to make ends meet as they managed one of the town’s inns than raising their daughter. But it was no matter. There were worse parents to have than distant ones.” 

There was confusion sensed from the Kyrian at this choice of memory, but Hildira offered gentle reassurance to her as she guided their sight towards the next memory. “A knight strode into a chapel in the town of Southshore- she began to pray, but noticed a certain girl spying upon her from behind. They talked for hours of the Light, of faith... and then a few days later, the knight offered her a choice. She chose to go with her.”

The memories flew by quickly. A journey towards a holy city protected by paladins. A time spent training and being a page... and then a few years later, the girl and the knight met again. “The girl became her squire- just as had been promised to her years earlier. The knight herself was a knight-errant, and spent her time wandering the kingdoms, seeking people in need of help. She held no lands and spent the nights in barracks or taverns, or slept out underneath the stars.”

Months flew past, and then years of memory. It imparted only the briefest of details for the Kyrian, but enough to gain a story.. The girl became a headstrong teenager in time, growing taller and stronger the longer she journeyed the seven kingdoms with the knight. “I grew up with her,” Hildira said. “She was as close as a sister, but a mentor in truth. She made me everything I am, taught me righteousness and how to walk in the Light. I looked up to her and all she represented. Her name was Hildira Phillips. She is the real one. I am but an impostor.” 

Somewhere in her consciousness beyond the memories, she felt the Kyrian beside her trembling, and then drop to a knee. Their connection was broken, and the paladin pulled back from examining the memories. She gave her a few minutes to process what she had seen, and then the paladin reached an arm around her comfortingly. A little while longer, and she continued their tale.

“She had a passion for wandering, and a love for helping the forgotten and downtrodden. Her time was spent mending old fences and seeking lost livestock as much as it was battling monsters. She taught me the joy of helping others, and the importance of service.”  More memories flew past. The first time she held a proper shield. The first time she wore the Silver Hand’s colors. The knight’s presence was ever comforting to her, a rock for her to build her base off of. The younger woman idolized her.

There were brief memories of fights. Disagreements over the fate of the orcs, or how hard her training was, or what a knight’s purpose was in certain situations. Desires to go home, or to find an easier master to serve under, or to do more glorious tasks than helping commonfolk. “We fought, as all companions do. Were you perfect? No, hardly. You told me of how you had done selfish things in the past. But... you were my teacher. And that meant the world to me. You took on an innkeep’s daughter and made her a knight.”

The memories shifted to more fragmented ones. Legions of skeletal soldiers, valiant rescues of civilians, and the spread of a great sickness. “Then the world fell into a reign of chaos. Undead destroyed our home nation, Lordaeron. As the dead rose and the demons came, you and I chose to rescue as many as we could. It was hard, and the times made it dangerous. A few times, I nearly fell ill with the plague myself. But you were always there to protect me, and the rest of those under your care. Eventually, we could save no more, and chose to make a dangerous crossing through the mountains.”

The scenes shifted to a land of winter, displaying an abandoned kingdom. Refugees huddled together for warmth, led on by the intrepid knight and squire. They were low on food and provisions, but the fear in their eyes spoke of more pressing worries than just those. They were being hunted. “A demon lord and his hounds stalked us through the mountain passes in Alterac. I do not know why. Perhaps they merely wanted to slaughter us, or perhaps we were merely in the way of their true goal.”

The refugees crowded into a ruined tower along the pass, long abandoned by Alterac. It would have to serve as shelter. The knight and squire closed the doors and barred them... “We chose to make our stand outside the tower. The hounds were difficult. I had never seen a demon before, and suddenly we were faced with many of them. You struck down many of them with your flail, but they... just kept coming. I fought as best I could, but I was no match for demons.”

From the younger woman’s perspective, they saw he struggle against even one of the hounds as the older knight carved through a host of them armed with flail and sword. A shadow loomed in the distance. “The demon lord came as the hounds swarmed you. He sought to kill me and break your spirit before he killed you, too. The battle was fierce...

The memories of the duel were brief and painful. A felsteel blade slammed against the squire’s meager defenses again and again until the flurry of blows had shattered her weapon and rent her shield in two. It was tinged by horror as something obscured her view of the demon that would surely end her life- an armored form, hurling herself in front of her squire.

“You leapt in front without hesitation- it was a mortal blow.” The younger paladin allowed a moment for the realization to sink in for her former master. The two were surrounded by a the hounds and the demon lord. The wounded knight stood up and gave herself up to the Light entirely. Holy energy surged through her wounded body, radiating outwards and vaporizing the demonic hounds around them in an instant. The blinding light overwhelmed everything around them... and then it was gone, and her spent form crumpled. 

The next memory was difficult to watch, seen through a haze of tears- the demon lord had not been destroyed, but the apprentice grasped her master’s flail and struck him down before he could recover. She knelt by the seared, bloodied form of her master and broke.

And then the connection ended, and her arm pulled away from the soul mirror as she fell. It had been a long time since she had relived that trauma, and now both of them had shared it a second time. Both wept openly, leaning against each other in the first true display of deep emotion Hildira had ever seen from a Kyrian. Neither could muster any words for a long time.