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artficlly · 2 years ago

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lady of the ghosts [chapter 4]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: violence, blood, religious worship, mention of war, mention of death, sexism, swearing, yelling, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: oh my gosh this chapter got so big for what!! i had an entire extra section planned for the end of this chapter but it will have to go into the next chapter because i'm already 2k over my goal length. i watched a knights tale and had to add in the jousting drama because that movie is great. if you check out the chapter masterlist linked below there is some concept art i made (should i make some of the temple? idk if people actually like the art or just want to read lmk) as well as a map! i'm gonna be updating the map with new locations as the story progresses. thank you for reading as well as all of the likes/reblogs. as always, not proof read - sorry for any typos!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

You had never found violence disturbing. Combat and fighting were a large portion of Faliene’s tradition; grievances and arguments were often solved with a fist or blade. In order to survive the arctic conditions, one had to be strong. The men of Faliene crafted themselves like a blade in a forge, one made with salt and snow. They constructed themselves to be as massive and colossal as the Stormfall Mountains and as strong and ferocious as the waves of salt water that pounded the shore. As a child, you never found value in a sharp tongue; instead, you watched as the sailors pulled in the cargo, deciding that their rippling muscles were the epitome of power. It was only as you grew older that you realized that words could be just as violent as a fist.

The Lady next to you flinched as splinters of wood exploded across the lists field, the crowd roaring as a knight slumped from his horse onto the muddy ground below. You had watched jousting before, but never at an event this size. Previously, you had observed the Haiford knights training while strutting and winking in front of the ladies watching from the balconies. Jousting had never been much of a sport in Faliene, with your people preferring to go straight to steel.

For the third time that afternoon, Steve paraded down the lists victorious. He had never mentioned to you his proficiency with a lance, but it seemed there were many things he hadn’t mentioned. Catching glances at Peggy all afternoon, you watched the way she blushed every time he won or covered her eyes with nerves as he galloped beside the tilt. From the way he looked back at her, searching the crowd after every strike, it seemed her feelings weren’t one-sided. Even if you were silently happy for the pair, you couldn’t help but let worry gnaw at your stomach. It was hard to predict how their flirtations might be perceived, especially by King Harrison, who seemed to still be in active negotiations with James.

It had been a few days since the dreaded encounter with Rumlow. A few rainy days had left the guests stuck inside Cala’s Keep for endless social teas and tours around every inch of the Keep. Thankfully, the rain had cleared, leaving the weather agreeable enough for the ladies, lords, and royalty to parade their way down for the tournament. Though dark clouds still hung in the sky, threatening to spill at any moment. While watching the rain thunder down the last few days, you came to realize why they called it the wet season rather than winter. You were grateful to get some space away from Lord Rumlow and King Harrison, even if they hadn’t spoken to you in days. You had watched them circle you like southern vultures. Often, you would find them whispering away to each other in corners, conspiring about your eventual marriage, no doubt.

The lists had been split into two sides. Your side featured a long wooden stand that traveled the length of the lists, divided into several boxes in which different groupings sat. The royal families attending the Galanta Season each had their own box to themselves near the center. You were seated with the lords and ladies of Haiford in one of the boxes further away from the central action. King James had a box in the very center, filled with his advisors and the higher-ranking aristocrats of his court. Running parallel to the aristocrat stands were the commoners' stands – men, women, and children all packed into the small space. You watched as they practically crawled over one another in excitement to catch a glimpse of Steve as he marched past on his chestnut stallion.

Steve was wearing heavier armor than usual, the steel thick and covering every inch of his body. You were surprised he could move in all of it, but you had read that heavy armor was often flexible and made specifically for the wearer. You had also noted how he was wearing his family's sigil – a bull's head – rather than his usual knight's armor of the Barnes’ shield. His stallion’s caparison and barding had been similarly styled to Galanta colors, the caparison being emerald green in color with silver and red accents. Across the sides of the fabric, a rearing bull had been embroidered. The barding had been designed with similar steel and leather as Steve’s armor, sporting two bullhorns that curled near the stallion's ears.

Steve’s blond locks disappeared beneath the steel helmet, latching the leather strap as he settled his horse in place. Steve had won all of his heats so far, leaving the final match of the day between him and Sir Wilson. Steve’s squire, Peter, nervously dashed around making final adjustments to the Knight’s armor before the match started.

The rules of jousting were simple: the opponents would race down each side of the tilt and try to knock the other off their horse by smashing the tip of their lance into the other's chest. The two would then decide whether to draw or continue the contest with a brief sword fight to decide the winner if both were simultaneously knocked off the horse. If you had any knowledge of jousting, you would know that Steve was skilled at it because he was brave. There was no real technique or skill that he possessed that was better than any of the other knights – only that he didn’t seem to fear being injured. The helmet Steve sported was an armet helmet, meaning his entire face was covered except for a small slit cut out for the eyes. The armet helmet had its benefits; in comparison to other designs, it gave the wearer a reasonably clear view of the target. Its drawback was that many of the wearers would suddenly raise their heads to shield their eyes from the lance when the wood splintered; otherwise, they ran the risk of getting the splinters in their eyes and becoming blinded. However, when they reared their heads, they lost sight of their target in the crucial seconds before the strike, running the risk of completely missing them. Steve though… Steve never reared his head. As the wood exploded across his armor, he kept his eyes on the target the entire run, gambling with fate.

The crowd exploded into cheers as Steve’s lance shattered across Sir Wilson’s chest, causing him to jolt backwards in his saddle. After a few strides of his horse continuing to gallop, Sir Wilson lost his seat and fell to the mud. Your lips curve into a smile, your eyes finding Peggy as she audibly gasps with a beaming smile. Steve abandons the remainder of his lance with Peter, making a short victory lap around the lists. With his helmet successfully placed in his lap, he grins at the crowd with the wave of his armored hand. As he passes by your box, you lock eyes. His blond strands are slick with sweat against the back of his neck and forehead. He gives you a toothy beam along with a curt nod as he passes by, only halting his stallion in front of James’ stand.

“Congratulations, Sir Rogers!” James exclaims with a grin. You watch his profile as he stands at the railing of his stand, hands lazily slung over the wood as he looks down at Steve.

“I was hoping to challenge you to a round, Your Majesty.” Steve shouts up in return, a smirk forming over his face as he braces his forearms atop the helmet in his lap. It was unfamiliar to hear Steve refer to James as Your Majesty. It was always Bucky, Jamie, or just James. It seemed that in the public eye, they conformed to formalities.

“You tempt me.” James chuckles. The lists have gone quiet as everyone watches the interaction with interest.

James had a reputation for being a laid-back and informal king ever since he was crowned. When you arrived in Galanta, you discovered that it would not only be with his knights and advisors as you had initially assumed. James was said to be a social king who was open to discussing how to improve his rule with all citizens of the kingdom, regardless of their status. You had heard how he had single-handedly won back his people after his parents blunder with Hydrina. In addition to winning a war, acknowledging and assisting bordering villages with Hydrina when raids were imminent, he also increased many of his subjects' economies and general well-being. You believed that he was King Harrison's opposite in many ways.

“I will send my squire to retrieve your horse and armor.” Steve calls to James, who nods his head at the knight.

“Very well.” James responds. The crowd burst into excited cheers. You watch as they push forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of their king as he descends the wooden stairs to the lists.

Your row of stands is alive with muttering and chatter as James disappears to suit up. Kings weren’t normally the type to enter tournaments; they were too dangerous, even if every precaution was taken. You expected that James had jousted with Steve before; it seemed like the type of activity that the two would have undertaken in their youth. You had heard Steve mention all the sword-fighting training they had completed in the muddy courtyard of Cala’s Keep as boys. Considering that James had led a siege on the capital of Hydrina and come out victorious, you doubted that a length of hollow wood would unseat him easily.

The field erupted into cheers once more as the two men emerged back into the lists upon the backs of their horses. They looked like a pair of warriors, near godlike. In stark contrast to Steve, James rode a heavy, pale-coated stallion. The stallion was a cross-breed of some type, sleek enough for speed and agility but drafty enough to be a descendant of a plow horse. The pale stallion's muscles trembled; you couldn’t imagine the pure force the animal must hold. Its caparison and barding were similar to Steve’s stallion, emerald green with the embroidered gold shield and plated steel to protect the horse from the lance's shards. James was covered shoulder to toe in steel armor, the starred shield engraved into the chest. His helmet sat in his lap, leaving only his face bare. You watched his brunet tendrils shift and curl in the breeze, a ragged smirk crossing his lips as he caught your eye.

His azure eyes consume you; you swear they are as blue as the glacier waters that flowed in Faliene. Sucking in a sharp breath, you watch with interest as James pulls his stallion to a halt in front of your stand, the animal shifting on his feet impatiently. The lords and ladies around you break out into whispers between each other. You ignore them, muttering turning to white noise as you study James with an inquisitive tilt of your head. He smirks at you cockily, his posture relaxed as he braces the heel of his palm against the pommel of his saddle.

“Lady Y/N,” James calls up to you as the crowd grows still and silent around you. It appeared that even the common people understood that what was happening wasn’t proper. Even if it was unspoken, everyone knew that James was entangled with Peggy; everyone knew you weren’t a prize but rather a burden. You can’t help yourself, unhurriedly rising from your seat. From the way he smirks at you, you know he can’t help himself either. Your walk towards the wooden railing was purposeful and graceful, aware of the thousands of burning eyes watching your every movement. You pause in front of the railing, hands delicately placed upon the wood.

“Dare I ask for a token of your favor?” James asks, the metal of his armor clinking as he raises his lance. A sweet smile graces your face, your hand reaching to steady the tip of the lance against the railing.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” You answer, much to the delight of James. Your fingers find the back of your neck, unhooking the clasp of your trident necklace. You wrap the silver chain around the end of the lance three times, clasping it back together tightly. The silver trident pendant dangles from the end of the lance, with the chain securing it in place. “May you strike hard and true.”

“With your favor, I am sure I will.” James replies, carefully withdrawing the lance from the railing. As you sit down, ignoring the whispers and stares from the lords and ladies around you. James’ voice echoes in your mind, a small smile forming as you clasp your hands in your lap. For just that moment, you decided to ignore the obvious reason why you shouldn’t be happy. James had practically announced to the world his interest in you; the backlash you would receive would be immense. But you didn’t care. You would live in ignorant bliss for that moment.

As James finds his position at the end of the tilt, you pry your eyes away towards Steve. It seemed that while you were distracted, Steve had asked for his own favor. A handkerchief was tied to the end of his lance, made of white cotton with gold embroidery around the edges. Even from a distance, you knew who it belonged to; you wouldn’t even need to read the initials that read P.C. While James had dared to ask for your favor, directly opposing King Harrison, Steve had asked for Princess Peggy’s favor, which she had given.

As the two horses dance in place, you watch as the silver pedant swings from the end of the lance. You doubted you would ever see it again, but you didn’t care. When the lance would break across Steve’s chest, it would be lost to the mud. You wondered if you failed your purpose – became one with the ghosts of Faliene – if they would find that trident in the mud centuries later. A piece of history, a piece of Faliene, sealed away forever.

A flag was waved, and the horses were off. You watched, breath held, as they charged towards each other. Even beneath all the armor, you could tell the strength the horses held, the intensity, and the pure muscle behind each stride. As they grew closer within seconds, neither horse nor rider shied away. Like Steve, James did not lift his head to avoid the splinters. Instead, he charged directly into them.

Bits of painted wood exploded, littering the muddy earth. Upon impact, James was thrown backwards in his saddle, slumping briefly as he gripped the reins with one hand, the other abandoning the remainder of his lance. Both men had struck true, yet they still held on. You watched as they readjusted themselves into their saddles, easing their horses to a stop. You could hear Steve roar with excited laughter beneath his helmet as Peter rushed forward to hand him another lance. You could imagine the smirk that would be across James face as he gripped the new lance that was handed to him. There was a cool ease to the way he held himself, like this was just child's play to him.

The crowd exploded into cheers and hollers as the two men lined up once more. Their horses' hooves ate up the earth with ease as they stormed forward. The second strike was more violent than the first, with the impact of the lance upon each other's chest sending them both flying from the saddle. The crowd hums with excitement, watching as James gets to his feet with a wheezing laugh.

If Steve was winded, he didn’t show it for long. Staggering to his feet, he pulls the helmet from his head, chucking it to the ground beside him. His hair is messy, an excited smirk across his face as he pulls his sword. James copies his actions, swirling his sword as Steve climbs over the tilt. The two circle each other for a moment, crowds pushing forward to the railing to watch the fight unfold.

Like Steve’s Ravensclaw, James' blade is similarly made from an Asgardian forge. You can’t make out the fine details from so far away, but you can make out the swirling black patterns that decorate the metal. The two men are quick and agile on their feet, despite the heavy armor. You can hardly process their movements; each strike and dodge is a blur as they flit around each other.

As the metal clangs together, you stand from your seat. You join a few of the lords and ladies by the railing, watching as Steve slowly weakens. You can tell they are both tired, their movements becoming sloppier as they sink deeper into the mud. The blades meet once more; Steve’s face strains as they brace their swords in a battle of strength. The crowds are teeming with excitement, and a roar comes over the people as Steve slides in the mud and falls to his knees. He goes to block, but James is too fast, driving his blade forward so the tip rests under Steve’s chin. There is a pause between the two, with Steve silently acknowledging James’ win with a grin. The two laugh, with James helping the knight to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder. You watch with a smile, joining the clapping that consumes the arena.

—

The tournament had ended with all the knights and James doing a final victory lap around the lists. The celebrations were short-lived as the skies opened up and torrential rain engulfed the arena, drenching all of those inside. The crowds scattered, returning to the shelter of their homes or taverns to celebrate. The knights used the colorful banners of their house sigil to cover themselves from the rain, retreating to the stables and courtyard while the aristocrats returned to Cala’s Keep.

You stood by the railing for a few minutes, hoping to catch a last glimpse of James. When the rain grew heavier and your hair became slick against your scalp, you finally gave in. You could tell yourself it was because you wanted an update on Rumlow after your conversation in the gardens, but you knew it was untrue. You hadn’t spoken in a few days, and yet you were craving to speak to him once more. As unusual as it was, you enjoyed talking to the king. You liked how you could be at ease around him and how he would laugh at your judgmental comments and speak his mind. It reminded you of how lonely you had been in Haiford until Steve came along. You found yourself subconsciously seeking their company because you enjoyed their presence. It would make marrying all the more isolated, knowing that you would likely never see them again.

By the time you returned to Cala’s Keep, you were half-drowned by the rain. Your hair had come loose in places, and strands stuck to your face and neck. Your dress was soaked; the light fabric turned heavy and clung against your skin. The main entrance was full of activity, with maids and footmen rushing around with clothes to be dried and fresh towels. Some lords and ladies still lingered, their hair and clothes damp, as they chatted excitedly about the day's events. They didn’t pay you much attention; your shoes were clicking against the hardwood floor. Dodging a panicked-looking ladies maid, you make your way to the grand staircase.

“You!” A scathing voice shouts over the babble of the room, causing it to fall silent. A few bewildered looks are shared, with footmen pausing in their place as a seething Prince Micheal marches across the room. You are stunned into speechlessness, taking a step back as Prince Micheal closes the distance between the two of you. Behind him, an aggravated King Harrison follows along with an amused Lord Rumlow.

“You really don’t know your place, do you?” Micheal snarls, his face barely inches from your own as you back into the railing of the stairs.

“I’m sorry?” You splutter, your hand bracing against the smooth stone. King Harrison watches with narrowed eyes, his crow's feet prominent, as he motions for Micheal to step out of the way.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, girl.” King Harrison hisses; his hands are shaking with rage, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. “You’re not worthy of a knight, yet you think yourself worthy of a king?”

This was the backlash you had anticipated. You just hadn’t expected it to be so public and immediate. A few of the ladies flash you a sympathetic look, while others sneer in delight. Ladies maids rush past, trying to make themselves invisible as the situation unfolds. Setting your jaw with a sharp exhale, you stand your ground.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. Was I supposed to deny him in front of all of his subjects?”

Blinding white rage flashes over King Harrison’s features, his lip curling in a snarl. You barely have time to register his movements before he has struck you, the blow of his palm against your cheek leaving you to stumble further into the railing with a gasp.

“I am sick of your words and your presence, girl. You should have known better than to have been put in that situation. I have seen you slinking around him like a bitch in heat.” King Harrison snaps, his voice loud in comparison to the deadly silence that has swept over the room.

You are silent, a palm raised to your cheek to cradle the tender flesh as pain blossoms. Prince Michael chuckles, eyeing you with an amused glare. “Who knew that a slap was all it took to silence the bitch?”

“You will apologize to Lord Rumlow.” King Harrison speaks, his voice low and deadly. Your eyes flash upwards to meet him, a dark glare settling over your features. Your mind is empty, only pounding behind your ears as an icy rage settles in your bones. You don’t shake or go red in the face, instead running a tongue over your bottom lip with a challenging smirk.

“Why should I? I am not going to marry him.”

Fury flashes over King Harrison’s features once more, and you watch his shoulders shift as he raises his hand once more. You anticipate the strike and the pain that will bloom across your smooth skin.

“Father! That is enough!” Princess Peggy cries, dashing between you and King Harrison, who quickly drops his hand. “There has been a misunderstanding, I assure you. Please allow Lady Y/N to return to her rooms, and I will explain?”

Prince Micheal grunts in annoyance, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance. King Harrison swallows slowly, noticing the curious gazes that watch the interaction and nods. His expression has softened with confusion as he watches his daughter's concerned features. Peggy sends you a large smile, though there is a hint of panic laced into her expression. You graciously nod your head at her, your eyes sweeping over the three men who watch you with distaste.

“Your Majesties, Lord Rumlow.” You mutter, quickly ascending the stairs before any of them can change their minds.

—

The temple within the walls of Cala’s Keep was bigger than you expected. It stood on the other side of the castle gardens, its cobbled stone barely visible through layers of moss and ivy. The structure was huge and looming, with a high ceiling thatched with reed. There were numerous rooms in the temple, each honoring a different deity. Although the people of the Northern Continent were not strict about religious worship, many prayed in temples throughout the land.

Inside, the temperature was humid, with a foggy wetness clinging to the walls and the statues within. The entrance room was filled with plants, droplets dripping from their leaves onto the worn stone floor. You could make out strands of grass and groupings of moss within the cracks, left undisturbed to grow in the darkness.

Candles flickered in the dim room, barely igniting the curved stone doorways that lined the room. Your eyes flickered between each doorway, making note of the symbols carved above each. Wheat, symbolizing Dima, God of Harvest, and a sword for Bele the Headless, God of War and Chaos. Countless rooms and countless symbols paraded your vision; baskets with fresh food, precious stones, and wooden effigies were left as offerings in front of each. A familiar symbol greets you – a trident for Nemue, Goddess of the Sea. The basket outside her door is empty, with a few strands of grass poking through the woven twine. You linger there for a moment, feeling her call. The hem of your skirt is wet from the walk over, the grass of the gardens is still wet from the earlier rain. Your hair is loose, cascading down your back, and damp from the humidity. Despite being days away from the ocean, you can taste the salt. You can feel the crash of the waves beneath your skin, churning with a primordial power.

Your eyes snap away from the trident doorway you had meant to visit, instead turning to another familiar symbol – The Wolf Mother, Rieka. Goddess of Fertility and Motherhood. The symbol carved above the door frame is her snarling teeth. The basket contains one gift, a sheet of linen that has been carefully folded. You could recognize the red and gold embroidery anywhere, Peggy.

The room is brighter as you step in, and the floor is lined with hundreds of candles. A path is cleared for you to walk down; the stone floor curves where thousands of feet have previously walked the same path. At the center of the room stands a large bronze statue, towering nearly as high as the ceiling itself. The bronze shows the likeness of a woman, naked, with two children held to her breast. Her head is that of a wolf, teeth bared and snarling as she stares down the path. The candles cast light across the bronze, filling the room with an orange hue. Peggy stands before the statue, hands clasped in front of her. The light hits her skin with a glow, and the humidity makes loose strands of her hair curl.

“Does she call to you?” You ask quietly, pausing a few paces away. Peggy looks over her shoulder at you, a sad smile playing across her pink lips.

“No. She never has. Does she call you?” She asks, her own voice low. You are quiet in thought for a moment, the thumping in your heart more reminiscent of waves than flowing blood. You feel an itch under your skin and the piercing sting of salt water spraying across your face. A reminder.

“No.” You breathe, watching as Peggy outstretches her hand to stroke the shin of the statue. “The way of the wolf has never called me.”

“And you call yourself a Haifordian?” Peggy snorts.

“A Falienean, yes, never a Haifordian. I fear I was born from saltwater, and I am destined for a saltwater grave.” You reply, stepping forward so you are shoulder-to-shoulder with the Princess.

“You Falieneans are always so dramatic.” Peggy jokes before her smile slips into a frown. “I am sorry about my father earlier. He shouldn’t have struck you like that.” Withdrawing her hand from the bronze as she turns to face you. You subconsciously reach for your face, fingers trailing across the forming bruise along your cheekbone.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You reassured her.

“It feels like it is. Hiding these past few years…everything is my fault. I should have told my father earlier to avoid this mess and his expectations.” Peggy explains, and you give her a surprised look.

“Years? How long have you and Steve...?” You trail off your question as you see Peggy blush at the mention of Steve.

“Since the war. He was so strong and kind when everything seemed so…bleak. I knew my father expected me to marry, but I never anticipated him continuing his discussion of joining Haiford and Galanta.” You are silent as Peggy speaks, your mind churning. You had yet to process how Steve managed to keep this from you. He was a good knight and a kind soul, but at times he wasn’t the brightest. You were the bright one; how had you not seen this? Were you too caught up in your own life to notice the looks shared between them?

“Do you love him?” You ask, and Peggy sucks in a sharp breath.

“I think I do.”

“Marry him. I’m sure James will grant him land and maybe even a higher title for his contributions during the war. It will secure a connection between Galanta and Haiford like your father wanted; Steve is one of James’ most trusted advisors–” You start turning to face the princess, but she cuts you off.

“I can’t.” Peggy laments with a sigh. “I have a duty to my father, my brother, and my people. If my father wants me to marry a king, then I will have to marry a king. Micheal is too brash with decisions, he will find himself in need of help when he is king, and only a blood connection with Galanta royalty could provide it.”

“You are a Princess. You have every right to marry whomever you want. Galanta is in Haiford’s debt, Steve has James’ ear... The only allegiance you need is the one to your heart.” You express, hand reaching to stroke her shoulder comfortingly.

“It isn’t that simple. I don’t have a choice like you do.” She snaps, and you pause your movements.

“You think I have a choice?” You laugh bitterly. Peggy’s lips set into a fine line as she presses them together, her gaze refusing to meet yours.

“My father would kill Steve if I married him.” She murmurs.

“He wouldn’t. It would cause a war, you must know how close Steve and James are. The way they talk of each other, one would think they were blood brothers.” You comment, and Peggy glances sideways at you.

“You seem to know James well.” You catch her backhanded comment, biting your tongue with narrowed eyes. You know she doesn’t mean it maliciously, but you can’t help but feel defensive after King Harrison’s attack on you earlier.

“No. Not really, I just know all the things Steve has told me.” You start with words that are slow and purposeful. “And considering it seems I don’t know Steve at all, you two have managed to keep this a secret for so long. I fear I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Steve wanted to tell you, but we couldn’t for our own safety.” Peggy says, sighing through her nose. “But I think you know James better than you give yourself credit.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We have known each other, what? A week? How can you know such things–?” You protest, only to be cut off.

“You are a better match for him than I! You have similar interests and similar life experiences. He has lost his entire family and nearly his kingdom because of Hydrina. I don’t think anyone other than you could truly understand that.” Peggy explains, her voice raised to get her point across. You shake your head in disbelief, watching as grief crosses her face. You understood her pain. She wanted so desperately to love James, to understand his pain, and to please her father. But she had fallen for another man.

“Marrying someone like James is a dream – a happy one, but nevertheless a dream. I can’t afford to dream, I too have a duty like you.” You sigh, your expression softening. “He has a kingdom to run, he won’t bother himself with the politics of another kingdom's dying city.” You mutter, and Peggy gives you a hard look before continuing.

“There is a darkness inside of you because of all that has happened in Faliene. You are angry, I can tell. The way you looked at my father today when he struck you...” Peggy trails off. “James has had that same darkness ever since Rebecca and the war. Steve has seen it too, and it scares him. He is restless and unhappy. I think you and Faliene would be a welcome distraction. I think you could help each other.” She looks at you with a smile spreading across her face. You reluctantly oblige as she reaches out, taking her hands in yours.

“I fear we are overstepping boundaries by assuming things we do not know to be true.” You say, wanting to change the subject. You don’t feel like filling your head with fantasies.

“It seems we are both too stubborn to take what we truly want. I only want you to find happiness.” She speaks softly, her hands squeezing yours.

“And happiness is all I want for you also, but you are running out of time by allowing your father to believe you are truly invested in James. Marry Steve, then we will talk of my happiness.” You reply dismissively.

“Maybe I will hold you to that.” She replies with a giggle. Your heart aches, wishing you could also giggle happily about the prospects of marriage. Instead, it filled you with dread. There is a twitch in your chest – a knowing one. That feeling told you that the both of you may never marry the people you truly dreamed of.

—

Standing in front of the doorframe, you could feel a thrumming in your ears once more. It sounded like waves crashing against the rocks in the port. The stone doorframe was slick with droplets of water and moss hanging from the cracks. The sound, the smell... It reminded you of the crypt that lay beneath the ground on the island of Tilla, which sat off the shore of Faliene’s port.

Peggy was long gone, disappearing from The Wolf Mother’s room back into the gardens. She had invited you to join her and come to her rooms in Cala’s Keep for tea. You had declined, instead deciding to answer the call that haunted the temple halls. So you stood, hesitating, outside the room of Nemue. You could hear the crashing of waves, despite knowing they were not there. You could feel the rush of water as the tide pulled the salt water between your legs, yet there was no tide to be found in the humid temple.

After a shuddering breath, you lean down, placing your bracelet into the twine basket beside the door frame. The bracelet was one that would be made by girls down on the shores of Faliene and sold to travelers and traders as tokens of luck while crossing the Northern Ocean. Strands of black seaweed had been dried and braided, looping carefully through small seashells that had washed up onto the beach.

The room of Nemue was cast in a blue glow. A large blue stained-glass window stood at the back of the room, the last of the afternoon rays streaming through. The light bounced against the water that filled the entire room, reflecting strands of blue and white light across the ceiling and walls. You carefully step onto the stepping stones, which form a path to the statue, being careful to avoid dipping the hems of your skirts into the water below.

The statue of Neume towered above you, made from carved white marble. Her form was naked below the waist; the only covering she had were lines of pearl necklaces that covered her neck, chest, and breasts. Her hair flowed out to her waist, braids entwined between them, and her face was obscured by a net that covered her features like a veil. She stood proudly and powerfully, one cupped hand outstretched downward to meet your eye level. At her feet lay a marble basin of salt water with a wooden ladle inside.

Your movements are slow as you scoop salt water into the ladle, pouring it into the statue's cupped hand. The water overflows, dripping down the back of her hand and back into the basin. You watch, mesmerized for a moment, despite having done these exact motions multiple times during your life.

“Show me what to do, Mother Neume. I fight hard for Faliene and for your sons and daughters. Yet I am lost. Lend me your strength and your wisdom. I am your daughter, one of the saltwater. Help me find my way, help me know how to fix this.” You whisper to the statue, watching as the water's reflection dances across the statue's obscured face.

Your finger dips into the pool of water held within her cupped hand. Using the moisture, you draw the symbol of the trident on your forehead, letting your muscles trace the familiar pattern without much thought. In silence, you feel a bead of water form, sliding down your nose before you capture it on your tongue. The taste of salt spreads across your tongue, the similarity and nostalgia of the taste almost making a sob rise in your chest. How many years have you been away from the sea? How many years had it been since you swam and tasted the salt waters of the Northern Ocean?

The sound of rushing water grows louder, and your stare locks onto a droplet of water that hangs from the statue's fingertips. The crashing is near deafening as you stare, like a tidal wave has swept through the temple and is smashing against the stone walls. You could see the spray of salt water silencing the candles in The Mother Wolf’s room, the way the water would swirl around the statue of Bele the Headless. For a moment, you swear the saltwater in Neume’s cupped palm is blood, sticky, and crimson as it stains her white marble. A ragged gasp rises in your throat as panic sets in, and the taste of salt in your mouth turns coppery and metallic–

“Y/N.” A voice calls, a short gasp leaving your throat as you clutch your chest. Halfway down the stepping stones stands James, the blue reflection of the water shimmering across his body. Blades of grass stick to the leather of his shoe, and the hem of his pants is damp. Had he followed you through the gardens? How long had he been standing there? The room itself was darker than you remembered; the afternoon sun was no longer streaming through the stained glass window.

“You have a habit of startling me.” You reply, your hand finding the edge of the marble basin as you compose yourself.

James is silent, his face set into a frown. He strides forward, easily clearing the stepping stones. His eyes examine your face, breath catching in your throat as he stands in front of you with an intense stare. His hand reaches out, gently lifting your chin. You oblige wordlessly, allowing him to guide you to tilt your head so he can examine the forming bruise across your cheek.

“If I had known King Harrison would do such a thing, I would have never asked for your favor like that.” His thumb strokes over the bruise, the touch light and feather-like. You draw in a sharp breath, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment.

“It isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.” You murmur to him, swallowing hard as you feel his hand withdraw.

“Yes, but I should have known. It was careless of me not to think of the consequences.” He replies quietly, and you open your eyes fully with a frown.

“It is over now, do not worry yourself.”

“I should have the hand he struck you with cut off.” James replies with a grumble, his tattooed hand raising to rub the stubble across his jaw.

“You are angry.” You observe, head tilted.

“And you aren’t?” He replies sharply, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course I am, I am just not in a position where I can so openly express it.” You reply, your voice soft, as you turn around to face the statue once more. The marble is clean and white; the salt water is no longer blood. You frown slightly, your fingers tracing over the lip of the marble basin.

“Then let me be angry on your behalf.” You inhale a sharp breath at his words, freezing your movements. You have to remind yourself of your words to Peggy, men like James were a dream, not reality. As much as you wanted to lose yourself in such a fantasy, you had to stay focused.

“No.”

“No?” James responds, his voice laced with confusion and maybe a bit of disappointment.

“You are in debt to Haiford, it is best to keep them as an ally. You never know when Hydrina may rise again.” You explain, slowly turning to face him with a sad smile. His dark lashes flutter as he looks you up and down, eyes as blue as the stained glass window behind you. He stews in contemplation over your words, as if knowing you are right.

“I should have wiped out Hydrina when I had the chance.” He sighs. “That way I wouldn’t have to play these games with Harrison.” His tongue rolls over his bottom lip, and tattooed fingers are now running through his brunet hair. Some of the strands have curled due to the humidity, tangling around his skin.

“You still have a chance to get rid of Hydrina.” You reassure him, twisting the silver rings around your fingers. You hesitate over your next words for a moment, unsure, before deciding to take the plunge. “Peggy said you have a darkness inside of you because of all that Hydrina did. I don’t think she is wrong, but I don’t think you should be afraid of it. I think you should embrace it.”

“Are you afraid of that darkness? Like Steve and Peggy are?” Bucky asks, his voice low. His eyes dip to your fidgeting fingers, then to your face as you tilt your head in thought.

“No,” you state. “I think that kind of darkness, that kind of anger... I think it is powerful. If you truly wish Hydrina dead, then why not just do it?”

“Because my people are tired of war and tired of fighting. I want to be known for being a prosperous king, not a warmonger.” He explains with a sigh, and you shake your head at him.

“And how are you supposed to be prosperous with the threat of Hydrina raiding your bordering villages year after year? How will your people truly be at peace with the threat of death looming at their door? In order to be successful, you must take it.”

“You are saying that I should go to war?” He asks, his voice amused as a ghost of a smile graces his lips.

“No. I am saying that you shouldn’t feel guilty if you decide to give into this anger. You shouldn’t be guilty if a time comes when you must act. Hydrina has taken everything from you, why shouldn’t you return the favor? You are capable of greatness if you are willing to take risks.” You respond, daring to take a step closer to him. The stone around the statue is limited; your bodies are so close that you swear you can feel his breath fanning across your skin. His smile remains, his shoulders relaxing as he listens.

“Is it selfish that I am glad you are not marrying Rumlow? You would be wasted on him.”

“And who would you have me marry instead?” You reply breathlessly, keeping your gaze steady as one of James’ hands closes the distance between you, resting lightly on the curve of your waist.

“Someone you want to marry, not someone who has been chosen for you. Someone who will allow you to reach the greatness you are capable of.”

He is so close that a senseless part of you wishes to reach out and hold him. You couldn’t help but feel sour that Peggy was right in some ways. He understood you, your situation, and your dreams in a way that no one else had. You wanted to whisper to him right there in that temple that you would marry him. He could help you, and he could help Faliene. But you knew it would never work. There were other other circumstances: King Harrison, Peggy... you were two separate kingdoms apart and he far out-ranked you.

“I wish King Harrison understood my perspective as well as you do.” You choke out, your tongue feeling thick and bitter. If only society were not so strict and both your situations weren’t so complicated. If only you were a princess of a flourishing kingdom, or he was not in debt to Haiford because of the war.

“He has not lost everything. Everything he has is because it has been handed to him. He will never understand what we understand.” Bucky replies quietly, though you can see the disappointment in his eyes and the reluctance to move his hand or gaze.

“Why are you here, James?” You ask, eyes casting across the room. You had been so caught up in his presence and the vision you had received that you hadn’t thought to question why he was here. Or how he had found you.

“Your maid said you came here. I came to return this.” His hand leaves your waist as he reaches into a pocket, pulling your trident necklace from within. You are silent in surprise, watching the chain slide over his finger as he holds it out towards you.

“How did you find it? I thought it would be lost forever in the lists.” You breathe, hand outstretched, as he drops it in your palm. You watch as the chain pools against your skin, the metal still clean and shiny, like it hadn’t been lost to the mud mere hours ago.

“I spent an hour searching the mud in the rain. I think Steve’s squire thought I was insane.” He chuckles, and you beam up at him, a warmth spreading up your neck. “Here, turn around.”

You oblige, turning to face Neume’s statue. The room is darker now, with barely any light reflecting from the water. James’ carefully pushes some loose strands of hair away from the back of your neck, looping the silver chain around. The metal is cool against your sternum as he carefully clasps it in place.

“Now tell me, why are you hiding away in the temple?” James asks, breath warm against the back of your neck.

“I came here to pray to Neume and ask for guidance with the situation in Faliene.” You admit, fingers stroking over the cool metal of the trident pedant as you turn to face him.

“And what did she show you?” He asks, and he has to look down to view your face as the two of you are so close. You chew your lip momentarily, wondering if you should tell him the truth or not.

“Blood. The salt water turned into blood, and waves consumed the temple, swallowing the other statues whole.” You divulge, your gaze moving to look over his shoulder with a wince. You were unsure of his position on magic and deities; if it were like most Galantian’s he would think you were speaking nonsense.

“Sounds like a battle is ahead of you. Maybe greatness lies behind a series of battles for both of us? The more we talk, the more I find similarities in our destiny.” James hums in thought.

“Do not worry yourself trying to please me by decoding this madness. You probably think I am unsound, I know that most Galantians don’t believe in gods and magic.” You keep your gaze averted, shaking your head with a worried laugh.

“You would be surprised, I have witnessed some things that have changed my mind.”

Your eyes snap to him, blinking in surprise. “Like what?”

“Asgardian magic healed my arm during the war when all of the medics thought I was moments away from my last breath. It changed something in me, and I felt... a calling.” He confesses, and you eye him with intrigue.

“A calling to who?”

“Vitharn.”

You are silent. Vitharn, The Wraith, God of Vengeance and Death. One of the most feared gods, said to drive men to madness and bloodlust. His basket, you recall, was brimming full of gifts. It seemed that even in the fields of Galanta, the people feared Vitharn and his powers. One would pray to him and give him offerings in the hope that his cruel attention would sway elsewhere when battle came. The people who responded to Vitharn's call were brutal in battle, driven by rage and a desire to annihilate. They were called many names throughout the continent: bloodhounds, berserkers, reavers – you knew them as Korpr, Crows of Death. As you stare at him, stories and questions click into place. The siege on Hydrina’s capital – no normal man could have slaughtered all of those men as well as King Alexander without injury.

“The Wraith?” You whisper the question, watching as a dark look comes over his features.

“Are you afraid?” He asks, his voice husky. Your eyelashes drop in a slow blink.

“No.” You breathe; a smile forming. “I think vengeance called you for a reason.”

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