#dirthamen 'oh are you trying to woo a lover?'

[selenelavellan]

Off Guard

Selene’s POV of some of the events of the Four Kingdoms AU

Aelynthi and Melarue belong to @justanartsysideblog

Dirthamen and the Evanuris based on @feynites writing

TW for drug use and brief mentions of violence.

Selene has always known she was a selfish child.

Luck. It had been pure luck that had seen her saved by her Nanae, in the wreckage of the village she was born in. The village which rumors claim she burnt down herself, an infant with terrible magics, an insatiable appetite, and a burning desire for a larger life.

Selene has never known if they were right or not; but she supposes it doesn't matter now.

She is her parents child, her brothers sister, and whoever she may have been before that no longer matters.

She has never been very good at denying herself. It was this trait that found her her closest and only consort; the spirit of desire, Des. Embodied now, after seemingly endless petitions in her youth. A gift from her Nanae for her 100th year.

He has helped her get into all sorts of trouble since then. He's wonderful, and she loves her best friend very dearly.

Had thought, in fact, that he would be the only one she would ever love in such a way. Until she had met the masked man at the party, with the gentle hands and the clever conversation and the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.

It had only been after the fact that she discovered their families were going to war.

A war they each would have a hand in leading.

It should have been a deterrent.

If she were wiser, she might've channeled her lingering feelings for him into defeating his troops, into trapping and overpowering him and proving to herself that he wasn't worthy of the time he has spent occupying her stray thoughts.

But he surprised her at every turn.

Selene spent decades studying the patterns and movements of the Evanuris troops; studied the training reports sent back by her nanaes spies, kept a close ear out for the movement of supplies and weaponry being traded and dispersed, and a watchful eye on the fluctuating magics of their kingdoms.

It is an interesting back and forth between them; she discovers the pattern and achieves victory, only for him to approach their next confrontation with an entirely unpredictable strategy. It keeps her on her toes; alert, and intrigued.

Somehow more intriguing is the way he behaves in his own victories. He does not torture his prisoners, those that have returned are always unscathed save for wounds sustained on the battlefield. There is no cruelty to his designs; the deaths he deals are swift and often painless. He does not desecrate corpses or lie in his agreements.

It's honorable. Respectable.

And very, unfairly, attractive.

The surrender is a surprise to Selene. She had been poring over reports when the news arrives; she had known that her final move would be soon, that they were steadily closing in on his home, and she had expected him to pull away. To run to his parents sides and avoid his brothers fate.

Nearly a thousand years of deliberating how to capture him, and he has delivered himself willingly.

Even now, in this, he has managed to catch her off guard.

She has a brief, fleeting moment of awe for whatever sort of magic he possesses that manages to bewilder her so easily, before she steels herself back into the General she is.

This is no time for her crush.

–

...It is actually a rather apt time for her crush, it turns out.

Her parents and the other members of the council are debating what sort of conditions they should accept Dirthamen's surrender under. What could possibly, permanently, permit them his loyalty.

“A betrothal,” Selene blurts out before she can think better of it.

All eyes turn to her, and she watches as her Nanae's eyebrow slowly slides up to their hairline.

“That is...” She clears her throat. “We accepted a betrothal for Princess Andruil and Lady Ghilan'nains alliance. It seems only fair to make the same offer to Prince Dirthamen.”

“And who, dear daughter, would you propose to betroth to the prince?” Her Nanae asks slowly, purposefully, never breaking eye contact.

“Myself,” She admits, trying not to slink away from their stare. “We offered Aelynthi for Prince Arethfal; I am the next in line. I do not believe he would accept anything less without taking it as a slight against him.”

“He is surrendering,” One of the council members scoffs. “Any slights against him are well earned.”

Selene frowns, ignoring the sting in her chest of their insult to this man she has fought so well for so long. “Would you offer up one of your own children then, my Lord?”

The council members mouth shuts immediately, as Selene returns her gaze to her Nanae. “I do not mind,” She says, pushing down as hard as she might on any hint of eagerness that might be trying to claw its way to the surface. “It is the logical choice; and a sacrifice I am willing to make for the sake of peace.”

–

The evening before she leaves for Prince Dirthamens land, she is a nervous wreck.

She is not entirely sure how she even ended up here anymore; about to be betrothed to the man she has been fighting and thinking of for a millenia, peace between them nearly in her grasp.

“It could still be a trap,” She muses aloud, twisting in her silken bed sheets and failing to focus on anything else.

Des sighs as his head pokes out from the sheets, chin still shining while his tongue drags over his lips. “That seems unlikely.”

“And why do you think that is?”

He shrugs, hair sliding off of his shoulder with the movement while his lips curl into a wicked, knowing grin. “You have better taste in people than that.”

–

She does not sleep so well as she had hoped, even after Des's attempts to exhaust her.

“Here,” He finally says, handing her an old stemmed glass cylinder and lighting it quickly with his magics. “This, at least, always manages to calm you down.”

Selene stares for a moment at the smoke rising from the water and the plant packed tightly into its stem.

“This seems...unwise.”

“Your call,” Des hums, taking a small puff of his own. “If you'd rather run the risk of lighting up his drapery or leaving a trail of ash on your way over, that's completely up to you.”

Selene pouts for a moment before seizing the pipe from her consort. “All right,” She relents. “Just...one puff. To get me through the journey.”

–

She hates to admit when Des is right, because it always goes straight to his head.

But the journey is much more pleasant under the effects of his favorite plant.

The conversation with her brother is lovely, and even his too accurate teasing doesn't bother her the way it sometimes does.

She sobers up right about the time they reach Prince Dirthamen's doors.

Selene manages to keep it together fairly well, she thinks. She keeps her sparks contained when he removes his mask and reveals one of the most beautifully unique faces she's ever seen, and only somewhat stumbles over the words of betrothal that will connect them for the rest of their lives.

She'll admit, things got a little away from her when he gave her the bracelet.

She hadn't expected it; caught off guard yet again.

It's an exquisite gift, and the only thing she can think of that could even compare is her favorite hair pin; so she gives it to him in turn. Equal exchange. A good starting point for their relationship.

...betrothal. Not relationship.

...hm.

--

She's still in a bit of a youthfully giddy daze for their journey back home, staring at her new bracelet out of the corner of her eye whenever she can manage it.

The attack takes her by surprise. Steals her attention and transforms her at once from her love-struck thoughts back into the General she is.

She strikes up her sword and her flames and commands their party; sees loss and death and failure staring back at her and thinks that she can, at least, minimize the damage. Her brother will not fall from her own short comings.

There; an exit, a break in the rocky outcropping in the distance.

“We will push through their flank and regroup there!” She commands, loudly enough that she knows her brother can hear. “Aelynthi, do not wait for me!”

He will not fall, he will not die this day to Elgar'nans armies because she was selfish, because of her wants, because of her failures.

“I am not leaving!” He calls back, stubborn as always as he looses another arrow into the battle.

Selene curses beneath her breath and wishes for once in her life he would just listen to her. Of course he won't though; he is good, he is better than she is, more fit to rule and without the taste for blood and battle that she has been forced to develop over her lifetime, and he would not knowingly leave her.

“I will meet you-” She starts, unsure of where she is planning to end the sentence, knowing that the chances of meeting him again after this are slim to none, they are going to lose and she will fall to the flames of another and that grates and scrapes at her in a way that only fuels her anger further- before a raven cries out overhead, streaking across the battlefield.

The ground shakes with the weight of an army, and as her head turns to gaze upon this development, she sees it; a banner she has seen a thousand times before, has seen singed and bloodied and torn asunder under her own orders, coming up behind them.

Lead by her husband.

Defending her.

She resists the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it; this man, this past enemy, this prince come to save her.

Save them.

Like the stories Nanae used to tell her when she was little. Stories of love, and hope, and happily ever afters.

In her wildest dreams, she would never dare to dream of something like this. Her husband riding up beside her in battle, glistening and chivalrous and beautiful beside her; her token in his hair.

Her heart skips a beat and her throat dries at the sight, and for a moment she forgets the battle. Only sees this man that has stolen so many of her thoughts for so long wearing a token of hers publicly, supporting her without shame and with the full force of his legions behind him.

Behind them.

“I learned of my fathers intent and rode with haste,” he informs her. As though this were normal, as though they have always fought side by side, defending and saving one another and fighting for the same cause.

The bracelet glistens against her wrist, and she stumbles over her words.

“I appreciate your aid,” She manages. Stuck and unsure of what to do, of his ability to catch her so off balance, even now. Every aspect of him is strange and so counter to what she expected; that a man who surrendered only weeks ago would rush to her side to help like this. Would fight so surely against his own father because he has made her a promise, and fully intends to follow it through.

Selene is thankful she is on her mount, because she thinks her knees would have given out had she been standing.

–

The meeting with Elgar'nan and Mythal is...tense. At best.

Dirthamen sits beside her, back straight but mask on and his emotions reigned in as tightly as she has ever seen them.

It does not take long at all for her to see why he is behaving in such a way. Elgar'nan is raging and Mythal is seething and Elgar'nan has, for some unknowable reason decided to focus all of his rage on his son.

Well, perhaps not so unknowable. She would likely have died without his intervention, after all.

Elgar'nans fist goes up, and Dirthamen's eyes go down, and Selene has drawn her sword before she even realizes it.

Suddenly she is standing, sword ablaze with her purple flames pointed and pressing at the throat of Lord Elgar'nan. The other members of the room freeze, seemingly caught off guard by her sudden act of aggression.

Good, she thinks. It is about time they were the ones who were shocked.

“You may have thought it acceptable to speak to Prince Dirthamen this way when he was your son,” She says, not bothering to hide the venom of her words. “But he is my husband now, and I will not permit him to be spoken to with anything less than the respect that position entitles him to. Leave now, and you may return when you are ready to speak to him with the level of respect and honor he has earned.”

Lord Elgar'nan blinks uncertainly at her, hand twitching dangerously before her sword presses against his throat with just enough force to draw a small trickle of blood, the heat of her flames causing sweat to condensate on his collarbones.

Lady Mythals eyes narrow slightly before she finally speaks. “I see you have allowed emotions to complicate this arrangement, and our negotiations.”

“Whatever emotional entanglements have arisen from our engagement is no concern of yours,” Selene spits back before she can think better of it.

Damn.

Mythal calms Elgar'nan just enough for Selene to pull her sword from his throat, and Selene realizes, as they gaze back at her with hatred and betrayal, that there is no hope for these negotiations.

Her selfishness has caused her to fail, yet again.

The hand wearing the starlight bracelet grabs Dirthamen's, and pulls him out of the room with their heads held high.

It is not until they are safely in a private hall that she allows herself to panic.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

She's tipped her hand; confessed her feelings in the most improper way imaginable and in front of her betrothed's parents no less. The last people who ever needed to know of such things.

Damn.

“Thank you,” Dirthamen bows. “For lying like that in front of them. I apologize for my fathers behavior, and my own reluctance to combat it. It was very kind of you to pretend to care for me that way.”

Selene feels her heart break, just a little, at his words.

Pretend?

There is nothing false about her emotions for him; she loves him, dearly and truly and with every hidden corner of her blackened heart. Does he think she has been lying to him all this time, only acting as though she is smitten and grateful for his presence? No. No, she must make it clear. Surely, word will spread of the meetings events; he must know the truth before they can use it against him.

Selene kneels down, her armor plates clanking slightly as one knee makes contact with the cold marble beneath them. She reaches out for one of his hands, still gloved but she will not push against whatever protections make him feel safe and invulnerable in her Nanae's lands. Her lips press against the back of the smooth leather, while she recites her poem. Rough and unpolished, unfit for a public presentation, but as honest as she can manage.

“I have walked through fields of ash and embers

through valleys deep and unremembered.

flown through skies of every hue and never observed one more like you

my thoughts are seized, consumed, and swallowed

the walls of a heart that once were hollowed

are filled and warmed by eyes of blue

abundant and teeming with love; for you.”

She waits then, in the still silence of the hall. For him to respond, to answer. To pull his hand away and dismiss her affections, or to sweep her up and accept them. To ask for time, to do...anything. She would do anything to make the strain of this moment come to an end.

“Did you write that for your lover?” Dirthamen finally asks, with an unfeigned innocence.

Selene feels her heart shatter in her chest.

He does not...She has confessed, she has presented him with a gift, she has declared him her husband, she has confronted his family, she has given him a poem and still. Still, he can not even comprehend the thought that her emotions are meant for him. That these gestures, their interactions, their betrothal may have been born from a place of love.

How little must he think of her, to not even be able to conceive the possibility that she would feel genuine devotion to him, even now. With her down on one knee, his hand near her lips while she lays herself bare with a confession, a poem...and for him to think it must be meant for another?

He will never see her as anything more than the conditions of a contract, she realizes.

She has forced herself into a position more painful and more dangerous than anything she had ever considered.

He has caught her off guard, once again.

She stands, releasing his hand to pat at her knees as she stands straight and bites back tears. “Yes,” She lies. Rambling her way out of the situation, words pouring out of her and out of her control “Yes, of course. I simply thought that perhaps-perhaps you would give me your opinion on it. It still needs work, of course. It is not ready for a true performance yet. Still needs to be polished and reworked and made polite for the public-it sounded so vulnerable, didn't it? Far too raw, far too, too...” She forces out an undignified snort, rather than allowing a sob to escape her throat. “Far too vulnerable. I should-that is, I should report back to my Nanae about the meeting. Thank you for your time, I really-I appreciate it. Appreciate you. Respectfully. Cordially. I'm just going to-” She gestures off down the hall, walking quickly in the same direction before he can interrupt her. Can ask for further elaboration and she can make an even larger mess of things.

Selene has always known she was a selfish child.

She will have to work harder still, to ensure no one else suffers for her shortcomings.