#odel the demon knight

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Demon Knight: Odel 2

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Part 1  |   Part 2

A/N:

I wasn’t expecting the number of likes from the previous part, and I want to thank everyone for the kind comments! I’ve been a bit low and didn’t think it would get any likes, so it means the world!

I honestly didn’t know how else to write it, apart from the two of you discussing what to use as a ring.

-

Ad Laetitiam et Pacem Part 2

Sir Odel was a mighty knight indeed: armed and readied for anything to protect you with.

He was one to keep you close and possible enemies away: lending travellers little or no sight of you, pretending the Whitehaven Hold was merely a sight of ruin. You opted for a life of seclusion, finding it rather quaint not having servants at your whim, and the title of runaway seemed to suit your needs.

Odel was a great companion when you needed one in the loneliness: learning more and more about him by the day. He told you of the previous lord he watched and protected, his family, the life he lived and how he came to the pact of defence.

Turns out, it had been a usual occurrence for a demon like himself to make a living out of service to another. He had been a lessor lord in the underworld, a knight bound by service and duty.

He was older than you imagined, older than the soil of the world, borne before all life was created.

“What you’re offering to me,” Odel began, watching as you knitted by the well-lit fire, occupied in thoughts and peaceful silence. “this marriage pact, do you have a ring?”

You snapped up to look at him. “I never thought of that,” you thought carefully. “I guess I said it at the moment. Usually, a lord provides the ring—that’s what my father told me.”

“Your father is most correct,” he said. “Thought there are other items that can be used to replace a ring.”

“How so?”

“Well, some cultures use a sword, an axe or a great axe.” He stated, polishing his sword. “It is for both to present a sword. It represents a ring to give to one another.”

“That’s rather interesting,” you pondered. “Though I don’t think I have the strength to offer you a sword.”

“How about a dagger?”

You watched as the demon knight unsheathed a dagger from his hip, its hilt as black as obsidian, a ruby gem embedded in its hilt in all of its beauty. “I offer you this dagger as a symbol of our marriage.” He stood, walking towards you, his armour creaking as he went.

Before you, he knelt once more, the dagger held up for you. Cautiously, awaiting, you did not grab for it just yet. “I will protect and swear arms to you. Protect you in sickness and in health. For as long as you may live, your life is mine to protect and love.”

You blushed heavily, gingerly taking the dagger carefully in your hands, observing it in amazement. The blade was unlike anything you had seen crafted, the blacksmiths of your father’s kingdom had never seen the likes of this material, nor did you believe it was of this world.

“Wait—how about this.” you patted yourself down quickly, remembering you could have something to offer. The ring was given to you as a gift of your birth. It was small, but with some string, you found on you, you tied it around the ring, offering it closely to the knight to wear.

“I offer you this ring, as a symbol of our marriage.” You began. “I will keep you close to my table, and provide the needs any husband requires.”

“Requires?” He inquired.

“Needs—erm, like kin?” You hesitated, realising how incredulous you sounded.

Odel was silent for some time before a loud chuckle resonated from his armour, old and powerful. “You shan’t expect that from me.” He reassured. “I swear it.”

You nodded, continuing. “I shall adore you, in sickness and in health. Now until the moment of my death.”

Odel looked pleasured, reassured by your words, embracing the ring to his chest. He tied it around him, and the simple act was enough to make you feel a level of comfort.

Princess you had been, now, forever in peace.

[your-average-sentient-suit]

Y - younger (imagine dragons)

O - order (ultrakill soundtrack)

U - ultimate battle of ultimate destiny (lemon demon (only one I could think of))

R - room where it happens (hamilton)

A - another love (tom odell)

V - versus (ultrakill soundtrack)

E - eigth wonder (lemon demon)

R - rules of nature (metal gear rising soundtrack)

A - angry people (lemon demon)

G - get Louis theroux it (tom cardy)

E - earn my life (lemon demon)

S - Satisfied (hamilton)

E - enter hallownest (hollow knight soundtrack)

N - not quite almost Christmas time (tom cardy)

T - the last goodbye (markiplier and the Gregory brothers

I - in the blood (hades soundtrack)

E - easy come easy go (imagine dragons)

N - no more lies (tame impala)

T - the code (nemo)

S - soft fuzzy man (lemon demon)

U - ultrachurch (keygen church)

I - I don't want to be free (markiplier and the Gregory brothers)

T - the stains of time (metal gear rising soundtrack)

Open tags cause that took way too long to do.

rules: pick a song for each letter of your url and tag that many people

Subliminal What Kind of Man Everything She Wants Everytime We Touch Telephone Odds Are Reaper Accidentally In Love Nachde Ne Saare Great DJ Emperor's New Clothes Psychosocial Outside Pretty Girls Toothbrush Alcohol Remedy Toxic

I don't have that many mutuals @alenkorra @badgermolebender @biconickyoshi @lokfeedsthegays @kjthenbee @mellyoraa @ozais-lobotomist @korrasamibottles @assignedpeanutallergyatbirth @appalesbian @thewhorradora @tallanastyflorida @snapcracklepop15 @starshinemaiden sorry if any of you have already done this

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Demon Knight: Odel

[I plan on making a part 2, I just needed to write something, to begin with!]

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Part 1  |   Part 2

Ad Laetitiam et Pacem

“It is set in ink. I will not hear anymore else of it,” your father, the King declared. “You will marry Lord Meriweather’s son by the arrival of spring.”

Perhaps in the hopes of pleasing your father, you would have heeded to words, to remain dutiful as princess of the realm and make your family proud.

That same night when you heard of your fate, you prepared to dress comfortably in a washerwoman’s ensemble, before slipping out the high window.

To hell with the arrangement, I would rather live a life of celibacy. This fate will not ruin my life.

The third daughter out of six and the eighth out of eleven living children, you had many brothers and sisters older that would be set for better matches from well-known lords and ladies. Yet, you were not put to become queen or to be married off to a wealthy lord, you were assigned to marry a minor lordling, his youngest son feeble and health ailing.

Of all the four sons of Lord Meriweather’s brood, you had to be matched with one with no proper destiny. Hugh was sickly and frail, not a knight or the heir to his father’s land, he was predestined to nothingness, and upon your first meeting with him, you snidely advised he was better suited to abstinence than to displeasing his future wife.

To your dissatisfaction, it had to be you that would be disappointed.

The moonlight acted as your only guide as you run blindly through the streets of the capital. Dead of life with only a few patrolling, you were able to squeeze into dark shadows, ducking and weaving before you found yourself on the outskirts of the capital. Its high, towering walls were manned, but you covered your face with your hood, ducking your head as you run out, away from the life you knew.

The adrenaline pumped swiftly in your chest, and a sense of freedom was overwhelming as the smile broadened on your face, racing your body as fast as you could through the woods.

Months of planning had come underway, and the only place you knew would be deserted; was Whitehaven Hold.

Your other option could’ve been to stay with your older sister, Alinor. Eight years your senior, she was married at eight-and-ten to a well-known and comely lord, giving him babes a year into their marriage.

Father will know I will go to her. You knew it would be a rooky mistake. He knew how much you loved your sister, how you missed her dearly after she was sent away to live the rest of her days in someone else’s castle.

Your older brother, Cassius was four-and-twenty, acting as a scholar in the south, but they did not accept women to the life of academics. No, it would’ve been harder to dress as a man to be accepted into his school.

It was a day or two away, and you spent your nights by a fire, rummaging for food and keeping what stale biscuits you hid in your dress pockets. You lay, wide awake, with no knowledge of where exactly you could go next.

The morning came easily when you arrived at the sight, a smouldering heat and smoke billowing from the mess in front of you.

Whitehaven Hold was a twisted, horrid sight. The battlements for a two-hundred-year war, its walls were burnt and destroyed, the stone had crumpled as it burnt and melted like candles, thousands burning inside. It acts as a haunted sight for travellers, with no Lord or Lady sane enough to reside there.

You entered through the battered doors, cold and damp easily enveloped you as you shuddered, looking around. It had been quickly looted of items by travellers, with not a sight of heirlooms or gold in sight. What remained was tattered and worn furniture, rooms dark and clammy and all the very same.

I’m not staying here before I lose my mind. You thought in disgust, but the thought of residing brought you to chuckle. The Lady of Whitehaven Hold- imagine the look on father’s face. It would not be good to stay a day or two before the cold enters your system and bring the chill quickly. It ached in your chest, not knowing where you could go next. South, always south. Away from it all.

The rooms were simple and easy to roam, a large, broken dining hall, fit for a Lord, wife and many heirs, its kitchen located on the far side. The table was battered and disarrayed, little to nothing scattered that remained of contents of food and dirt. You continued, walking past the cold entrance, up towards what remained of the grand staircase.

Spotting at the very top, are three displays of suits of armour, posing in similar positions. Their hands were positioned to have a greatsword in their hands, but only one remained in the grasp, the one in the middle.

You observed its armour, shinier and similar to molten black obsidian, it gleamed as if recently polished. You flicked your finger across the armour, its armour hummed low as you dragged across its armour to inspect for dirt.

“Hmph, just as I thought. A collectable.” You scoffed, wiping the grime from your finger as you stared up into its helm. The helmet was a beautiful display, gleaming in brilliance, except when you looked into the eyeless sockets of its eyes, something was not supposed to be there.

Eyes staring back. Alit with burning, enraged flames.

“There is little of me that I would class as a collectable,” a low, rumbling voice boomed, startling you rigid. You stepped back, towards the staircase, watching in horror. The talon-like fingers twitched momentarily, before another jolted with life, the whole hand was soon moving with existence.

The suit of armour slowly and lazily tested its movements, its long leg swung forward, groaning and choking as the armour moved. His fiery stare was towards you, raging with anger. “You are not meant to be here. You are trespassing.”

“No one lives here.”

“The Lord of Whitehaven Hold resides here, and I must protect my Lord from all.”

To your surprise, his fingers jerked to grip the hilt of his deadly sword tighter, a flash of silver startled you as he unsheathed the mighty weapon, before you were staggering, sprinting back down the stairs, hearing the squeaks of worn armour following hotly behind.

Leaving through the front door was an easier move, but with adrenaline pumping quickly in your chest. You stumbled and fell, your body kicking to keep moving, to hide, to do anything to get away from the deadly sword.

Something swung just behind you, a scream bubbling over you as his sword got caught into the wall, clinging with a hiss as it hit the wall and avoid taking a chunk out of you. You continued to run, in hopes you could find anywhere to hide, but no matter, the knight was hot on your tail.

You swept around the table, the knight rounding the other side, eyes flaming with the sword ready to swing before something caught his eye, something behind you. His sword lowered as he took in the damaged painting behind you, and you too turned to see what it was he was looking over.

The painting was of no doubt, the old Lord of Whitehaven Hold, yet he had been the first and last during the two-hundred-year war, murdered by conspirators who took over his castle after their coup.

There was a sadness that filled the knight’s eyes, lowering his sword, his entire demeanour changed to become defeated. “He’s gone?” His voice was gravelly and soft.

“He was murdered two-hundred years ago,” you spoke carefully, still gazing periodically towards the silver of his large sword. “There has not been another lord of this Hold since.”

The knight did not answer for a moment, looking at the painting with a solemn gaze that was so vivid without seeing the rest of his face. “Oh,” was the only word he spoke, before he sheathed his sword, marching back and away from the hall, back up towards the stairs.

“Hey, where are you going?” You stared in disbelief, uneasily tailing behind him a few feet. You watched how he climbed the stairs stiffly, moving back towards his display.

“I am no longer needed,” he spoke quietly. “I am free from my pact.”

“Pact from what?”

“The pact grants anyone who rules this hold the protection and my sword.” He moved towards to set himself in his display once more, propping the sword out to rest between his hands once more. You were by the bottom of the stairs, cautiously standing there. “I am no longer needed.”

Your cheeks heated the same way a child would grow in a tantrum. “Well, what if I became the next resident?”

His eyes peered over you, wide and in incredulously. “You’re a mere washerwoman.”

You remembered your clothing, the ones you snuck out in, and you knew you had no way of making him believe you. “Would you believe me if I said I was a Princess—and runaway one?”

He scoffed light-heartedly. “You’re rather funny, aren’t you?”

“I am!” You insisted. “My father is the current King, Cassius XV. My oldest brother is Crown Prince Isolde. My mother, Queen Adora, was forty when she passed, giving birth to my youngest sister, Margarita.” You told him your name, the one you despised using.

He did not answer once again, yet he seemed amused. “Anyone could know that of the current rulers.”

“I can read that,” you pointed towards the small display name, written in the old language of Ald, passed down to royalty and nobles to keep alive. “Would a washerwoman know about the culture and language of Ald? Would a washerwoman even know how to read?”

“Maybe so,” he assessed warily. “What is a princess like yourself doing out here?”

“My father wished to have me married off.”

He inquired amusedly. “You ran away from your betrothal? I don’t think I’ve heard of such a thing before.”

“You don’t know many princesses.” You muttered.

“Perhaps,” he mused. “It is known many Princesses of the past have been fond of comely knights and princes from far lands. It would be their dream to be married off.”

“Hugh Meriweather looks more weasel than man.”

The knight looked perplexed, but he did chuckle at your words. “Weasel, you say? I’m unsure there is some tale of a Princess and a weasel.”

Fairy tales are nightmares in reality. Just stories to keep girls happy. You thought. “It isn’t some fairy tale. I have no say in who I can love.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “That is why I’m here. Running away from the fate destined for me; misery, squeezing out babes and dying from childbed fever. You wouldn’t have to worry about being wedded off, you’re just a piece of talking armour.”

The silence that followed your passing words made you realise that you may have overstepped. You peered over at him, and though his face was shielded, you could tell your words had insulted him.

“You’re talking to a piece of talking armour.” He jeered and your cheeks had rouged once more in embarrassment. “What then, little Princess? You believe your father would not find you here?”

“He can sure try to.” You huffed. “I will not leave here.”

If he had eyebrows, you could be sure he had a face of exasperation. “You think you’ll have protection here?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re here.”

“I’m free from my pact, however.” He recalled.

“What about forming a pact with me? It can’t be that bad.” You said excitedly, too naively to think anything of it. You’ve had knights in service of protecting you your entire life: how different could this be?

“Princess,” his voice was laced with unease. “If you go ahead with this, you will need to sacrifice something of your life.”

Your silence was a tell-tell sign that you were uncertain. Sacrifice something, like what? You thought about the things you had to you: you had no titles to own, no claim to the throne, so you couldn’t give that up (you doubted you would’ve if you did own one). It seemed like an easy deal, yet nothing came to mind for you to give in return, until—

“I shall give you my hand in marriage.”

The knight recoiled almost as if he had been burnt in his ink-black armour, his demeanour changed to seem hesitant, almost incredulous to your offer. “What about Hugh the weasel? You don’t think I’m a married man already?” He asked.

“You wouldn’t be here if you were already married now, would you? You would be with your lady wife.”

He seemed pleased by your words, stepping forth towards you, around the table, before he was standing in front of you. His full height towered easily over you, and you imagined what he looked like without the helmet on him.

“I, swear by my name and honour, to protect and keep you in my stay, for as long as you may live. I am yours, Princess," he says. "I will shield your back and give you my life in the moment of need.”

You easily presented your hand to him to take into his, there was warmth oddly in his armoured fingers, and his obsidian suit of armour hummed and almost felt as if it was burning up on the inside before the knight brought your hand to his lips to place a kiss to your knuckles.

“Arise, sir-“

“Odel. Sir Odel.”