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norel-ravenclaw · 2 years ago

Text

Light & Shadow

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: Sariel Noir

Genre: (Mostly) Fluffy Teen Romance

Rating: sfw

Word count: 2130

Description: A young noblewoman is debuted at the palace, learning politics and high society, and catches the attention of the extraordinary boy they call The Devil. (Inspired by the adorable teen Sariel)

Notes: Includes references to the fanfic I’ll eventually write about my oc Norel. I didn’t mean for this to be so long 😅

She came to the palace the day before her sixteenth birthday.

I know because I’d been following one of the maids who helped tailor her debut gown. The information gained by my spying was a dead end, but something about the new noblewoman caught my eye.

So naive. Pampered and sheltered. The way she walks is so self conscious, her eyes flicking every which way, aware of everyone noticing her. She’ll be just another useless marionette for someone to pull her strings.

With this appraisal, I let out a sigh and return to the task assigned to me by the King. There’s no reason to spare any further thought on her.

The following day however, one of the ministers training me drags me to the society ball where the eldest prince will debut with the rest of the young nobles for the season.

She is there, on the sidelines. Her red gown is striking, and yet she doesn’t seem keen on seeking out attention. She follows her father around the room, greeting nobles and ministers. Her smile is polite, yet there is a distance in her eyes. I am not familiar with her father. Who are they and what do they want?

At that moment, she happens to glance my way.

I sharply look away. My heart speeds up - response to having been caught, and I focus briefly on calming it. Another nobleman approaches the minister and myself, and I am distracted by the conversation.

When it’s finished, I hazard a glance at the newcomers. She and her father are sharing hushed conversation. Then he leaves towards the refreshment table. Her eyes scan the room, her fingers restlessly fidgeting with her rings.

Feeling pity for the floundering fool, I find myself walking over to her - not fully a conscious choice.

I am vaguely surprised that she notices me quickly, drawing herself up slightly as I approach. She must be intimidated. I put on a smile.

Whatever am I doing? Ah well, at least I can get out of tedious and pointless conversing for a few minutes.

“You are a new face here.”

She tries to mask her wary expression with a polite smile and an elegant curtsey. “Just so. I am Lady Norel Aldavir of Phoenix, sir. Encantado.“

A foreigner, hm? Only once have I read of the kingdom of Phoenix. I return her bow. “Sariel Noir, apprentice minister of the royal court.”

Her eyes spark at this information. “Indeed? Perhaps we will get to study together, then. My father and I will be here at the palace for a few months for such training.”

“Is that so?” A small commotion at the front of the ballroom catches both our attention as a horde of teenage noblewomen begin to crowd around someone. No question who that someone is. “The dancing will begin soon. Are you going to dance with Prince Jin?”

She looks back to me and shrugs. At least she knows how to make gestures like that elegantly. It might serve her well. “The prince? No, I think not. I have no such lofty ambitions. Besides, isn’t he fourteen?”

I raise a brow at her and put on a smile. “He is. And you are… sixteen? I hardly think two years would get in the way of something transcendent as love.”

The lady laughs at this. It is, I have to admit, a lovely sound. Her voice is, in general, quite pleasing. …A strange observation.

“Love? I doubt that is on those girls’ minds. The novelty of a prince growing up, the whispers of power and money in their ears from their families.” She sighs. “Just children wanting adventure and practicing their mimicry of other people’s ambitions.”

I can’t help but stare at her for a moment. “…Indeed?”

The energy in the room elevates as the musicians begin to play. The Prime Minister hosting the ball claims the first dance with his wife, and soon the rest of the attendees begins to join in.

Before I quite realize what I’m doing, I hold out my hand to her. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

She looks somewhat surprised, but quickly smiles. “Oh? I would be honoured.”

With her hand in mine, we make our way through the crowd to the dancefloor. I put my hand on her waist and begin. She looks stiff. Naturally graceful, obviously practiced, yet uncoordinated. It’s obvious how much she’s concentrating on the steps.

I lean close to murmur in her ear. “Relax. Let me lead you.”

She blushes fiercely, nearly stumbling. “…I’ll try.”

Pulling her a little closer, I hold her gaze, forcing her to concentrate on me instead of her feet. It starts to help. Soon, she is moving much more naturally, and her attention is able to drift to the swirling skirts and melody around us. As she starts to take it in, her forced smile relaxes into true enjoyment.

“Good girl. That’s it.”

Her lips drop open, and her entire face and shoulders flush red. “I- …Beg your pardon.”

I can’t help but laugh. Adorable. I want to tease her more.

“Hehe, are you shy, my lady? The Palace is a den of beasts. You’ll be devoured if you hesitate.”

Her expression shifts into something contemplative before she smirks sardonically. “Says to me, a viper.”

My expression mirrors hers now. “Ah, so you see me for what I am then, hm?”

Her gaze searches me, and for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel a pang of… uncomfortable vulnerability. “Not yet. But would you hate me when I come to see what you don’t want to be seen?”

The dance comes to an end, and while the couples around us stop to bow to each other and applaud the musicians, we stand before each other. Red and black, two pawns on a chessboard seeking to understand how people want to use them in their game.

She is more perceptive than most. However, when wondering what she would do if she were to truly see me, the deepest, darkest parts of my shadowy self that even I don’t care to acknowledge… Would she take advantage of those weaknesses like others would?

Looking into those clear eyes, I nearly concede to hope. As though voicing my thoughts, she chuckles softly.

“What a terrifying thing, to be truly seen, hm?” Seeing my frozen state, she has mercy. “Fortunately for you, Sariel Noir, I don’t know anything more than what you’ve shown me now.”

My smile is tinged with reluctant concession, once again facing fully the realities of my unconventional life. “Perhaps we should leave it at that, then.”

Soft hearted thing that she is, she appears slightly saddened by the idea. “Perhaps.” Dropping into a graceful curtsey, she says, “Thank you for the dance, sir. You are talented.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

And that’s the end of it.

…Until.

Every morning in the study room, apprentice ministers and young nobles meet to learn the ways of politics.

The lady I danced with proves to be diligent and hardworking. She has a mind for studying, even if her memory does struggle. Yet she works harder than any of the others to compensate for such flaws.

The answers she gives are wise and practical, yet in tune with human philosophy - why the lot of these spoiled brats and myself are in this room to begin with.

Seeing the effect she has on them, I elect to add my own encouragement from time to time - though generally laced with thinly veiled threats and manipulation to get them to straighten up and fly right. She and I always sit in the back row -evidently our comfort zone- and she will always shoot me a thoroughly amused grin when I do this.

One day after lessons have finished, I find myself in an empty hallway looking out the towering windows. Sleep has once again evaded me and I’m exhausted, with many more hours left to endure. I sigh heavily.

A set of footsteps brings me back to the present. Clicking heels: a woman. Moderate pace: perhaps they’re lost in this less popular wing of the castle, and are looking for their way back. Soon the cadence of the steps strikes me as familiar. Her.

I don’t turn back to look at her, and leave her to do what she will. Her steps slow as she draws nearer. When she stops a short way back from me, I finally acknowledge her. “You have something to say to me, my lady?”

She shuffles, and I nearly wonder if she’ll take the opportunity to run. But as she approaches, I remember that she manages to subvert my expectations at every turn.

“Sariel Noir.”

Her voice is heavy, hesitant. I turn towards her and see her solemn expression.

She has taken to clasping her hands behind her back to minimize the urge to fidget, but now her hands are twisting her rings. Like when I first saw her. Her voice is a bit halting as she forces herself to speak her mind.

“I… wished to thank you. I met His Majesty yesterday in the library. He… told me about you. About how he brought you here and… what you do. What you’re training to do. To be.”

My jaw clenches in horror and anger. Damn that bastard…

“And you are afraid of me now, hm?” I say, my expression hardening. “You should be fearful of the devil.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, as though this wasn’t something she had considered. “N-no, it’s not that.” She takes a breath. “I don’t know if you want this, if you would leave here if you could. But the way you speak in lessons makes me believe that you truly do wish to protect this country and its people. It means something to you.

“Maybe it’s just pretty words to you, to placate the ministers and inspire the rest of us. But it’s action taken on such pretty sentiments that have allowed my family and I to have a safe place to live these last years.”

She glances aside, pain filling her eyes. I notice how she stretches her wrist until it clicks, a frequent habit of hers in lessons. “We had much to recover from after… an incident, in Phoenix. It is because of the constant efforts and sacrifice of people like you who have trained to defend and promote peace that we could start anew in a quiet place. We were able to heal.”

The glow of the nearly setting sun casts her in gold. Seeing how she stands tall before me despite her reservations, her expression solemn yet filled with gratitude, her hair swept up in an elegant style as usual. In this moment, to me she is the embodiment of what it means to be noble.

“And so, I wanted to thank you for protecting us. For working so hard and sacrificing more than anyone - much less someone so young - should ever have to endure. I’m sorry for your pain, and for the selfishness and cruelty of those around you. But… thank you, nonetheless. For my family and all of this kingdom.”

She drops into a deep curtsey, her hands positioned in the way I’ve since learned is traditional in Phoenix. A fist over her heart - symbolizing the strongest loyalty. And an open hand at her side - symbolizing respect and deference.

Somehow the sight makes my heart race. Her words. Her bravery in the face of someone who has been drenched in blood. Her profound compassion. Hardly naive, and yet genuine.

While she slowly rises, I step up to her. When she raises her head, she starts a little at seeing me so close all of a sudden.

Everything in my mind screams at me to stop. Everything in my heart screams at me to not stop.

“Oh… Sari- mph?!“

I kiss her.

It’s little more than a peck, and yet everything she has made this tainted heart feel is poured into the motion of pressing my mouth against her soft, full lips.

How could the devil feel such things for such an angel? How cruel…

But oh, how sweet is the shocked expression on her now flushed face, frozen for me to enjoy briefly.

The urge to pull her into my arms and either kiss her again or break down in tears is overwhelming, and I practically run in my haste to stop it.

But just as I reach the corner to the hallway, I hazard a glance back. Her hand is at her lips, still rooted to the spot. Bathed in now blazing golden light, that light steals into my shadowed heart, fortifying me for my own return into the shadows.

Thanks for reading! Post, repost this, I don’t care lol. Please let me know if you have suggestions on how to improve my writing. But pls be nice bc I am a soft sad bean <3

#this adorable traumatized bean someone hug him please #i would have had such a huge crush on him at sixteen are you kidding me #norel writes #sariel noir #ikepri sariel #ikemen prince sariel #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikeprince

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wild-houseplant · 2 years ago

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kissu prompt for Rhodri and Zevran if you're doing them 👀 kissing the tears from their cheeks

Icemeister!!! Believe it or not I had something fitting in my WIPs folder that I've been looking to finish for a while. This little postwar oneshot delves into Zevran's PTSD, so fair warning to anyone feeling a bit unsteady today. It ends nicely, at least. :D :D :D Thank you so much for the ask!!! Let's get to it!! (more under the cut- at 1500 it's one of my shorter ones xD )

It had become surprisingly hot in the market square. Zevran huffed a breath of wry surprise as he wiped new sweat beads off his brow. When did it get hot in Denerim?

The answer, of course, was that it didn’t, and he was now turning into one of these icy Fereldans. What was next? Dog worship? A secret affinity for mud? Would he ever hear the end of it if he told Rhodri?

Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about. He pushed the notion aside and cast his eyes around for a distraction.

The square was teeming with people. In the month that had passed since the end of the Blight, it was one of the only places that had been fully repaired. Consequently, as one of the few reasonably desirable places to be, people came like iron filings to a magnet. Stalls spilled out onto the paths when there was no more space in the perimeter, and people bottlenecked as they jostled and fought their way forward in the silent manner Fereldans had.

Not that there was no noise to be had. Merchants’ shouts and petitions rang through the glut, children screamed as they played, and there was always a mabari barking about something or other.

And it was so hot. Andraste’s grace, he was sweating like a sinner in the Chantry. Heatstroke, probably; no wonder his hands were shaking. He shouldn’t have said no to that apple juice vendor. Oh, the shame of having to turn to Rhodri and ask that they go somewhere cooler.

In Denerim.

She wouldn’t tease him, though. Not when his hands were shaking.

Zevran turned to his right and she was gone. He glanced down at his hand. She always held his hand, fingers constantly massaging his-- empty.

The air went stale in his lungs. Gone?

He steadied himself with a breath and scanned the crowds for her. The people were swirling around him, spinning out in all directions. No single current of motion his eyes could train on to look for gaps, and it was so hot. Stifling.

Off to his right, a flash of orange invaded his periphery, screaming through the marketplace and setting everything it passed ablaze. Hot. Hot. Where was she…

He tried to call her name, but the air trickled uselessly through his tight throat. A shout reached his ears, and then another. ‘Run,’ they’d said, and ‘ogre,’ and he had to find her now.

Zevran strained his ears as he followed the flow of the crowd. Not Rhodri’s voice. Not that one, either. No, that one was a little too high. She was here somewhere. She needed him. The place was going up in smoke and she needed him.

He broke through the bustle, finding refuge and a viewpoint in an abandoned, muddy spot. The throngs of people were no easier to examine from a clear vantage point; why did she always wear black?

Where is she…

“Zev?”

A surge of energy tore through him strong enough to make his skin ache. Something cricked in his neck as his head snapped around to the direction of her voice. Urgent, firm, alert. Nowhere to be seen, though, obscured by the crush of people coursing around between them.

“Zev!”

He edged a furious, despairing growl out through gritted teeth.

She needs me where is she

He ducked back into the swarm and weaved his way toward the sound, habit the only thing keeping him from shoving the bovine humans in front of him.

Her face materialised in the sea of heads up ahead, a mass of blood and pulp and char.

No, it wasn't. The skin was intact, because the furrow in her brow disappeared when she saw him. Why, he couldn't imagine, and the words of self-deprecating questions drowned in the screams pealing between his ears.

Rhodri was in front of him. Or he was in front of her. Someone had closed the gap. He grabbed her arms, his shaky fingers pulling the loose sleeves back to check for other injury. There was no doubt something, but I can help, my love. Mi Rhodri. I can help, I’m not too late. My darling. Stay with me, let Alistair kill it please please please

"Dulcis." Rhodri's hands went onto his, stilling them ever so gently while she shook her sleeves back down. Wide, gentle eyes inspected him. "You're unwell. Come, my love." She released his hands to reach around and hitch him up to her. "Wrap your legs around me, hmm? Nice and tightly-- yes, like that, dulcis, bonus. Ah, perbonus."

More words came as she walked. Easy assurances, that he was with her, that things were well, that they were moving to their accommodations to get out of the bustle, all went on a loop. The repetition was soothing in its simplicity and predictability, assuaged frantic, cycling doubts of mishearings and misunderstandings.

Long, splayed fingers brushed up and down his back; relief breached the cracks in his numbness, and in the manufactured privacy of her arms, Zevran wept. Such awful noises through a kinked-off throat, too many chokes and sobs, and nowhere near enough apologies for it. Too much evidence of it all right down her front. Third time this week he’d shattered like glass over nothing.

She was going to get sick of him like this. As though there weren’t enough to make her sick of him as it was.

"Zev. Dulcis."

He anchored his fists into her robes to lift his head. It was better that he couldn't see her face through the swimming blur; he blinked anyway.

They were in their room again. Rhodri was watching him with a tenderness that risked fresh tears. It was in the eyes, mostly, but there was a tiny, warm bend in her lips as well and how had he ever seen anything but gentleness in that face?

She combed her fingers through his hair and lay them both down on the bed. "Hello."

"Forgive me," he croaked. "There was… ah…"

Thick, hard arms pulled him up in line with her face. Rhodri clucked her tongue softly and kissed away the fat tear under his eye he thought he’d blinked back.

“Corculum. No apology, hmm?” She kissed his other cheek, and then over both his eyes to catch more threatening water, breathing the same soft, unintelligible line of Tevene between each press of her mouth.

“No apology,” she said again. “These things, the memories, they happen. Thank you for letting me help. How are you feeling now?”

He nodded and pressed a tired, salty kiss on the corner of her mouth. “The worst is over, I do believe.”

"What set it off? Last time it was that guard shouting outside the tavern.” Rhodri frowned. “I don’t recall hearing anything like that this time."

"Mm. It was the heat, would you believe it. It was… stifling in the marketplace. To think at the time I appreciated the heat of those fires, no?" He chuckled weakly.

"Ah." Rhodri nodded solemnly. "Do you know, dulcis, I think we might be going about this the wrong way.��

“Oh?”

She hummed. “I've always believed that if something bad enough happens to someone, the place where it happened will be ruined for them beyond repair. And…” Rhodri shrugged. “I don’t know. I think going somewhere like the marketplace makes for unnecessary suffering for you.”

Zevran hooked one ankle around hers and dragged her leg in between his. “You think so?”

“I do. The world is so small, and we could be any number of places, finding new happiness.” She shook her head. “Why are we circling back to misery instead?”

He sighed. “It has happened in happier places, as well, for no reason.”

“Very true. It won’t completely fix things, I know, but perhaps it will make life a little easier if we minimise the bad times where we can."

Zevran gave a weak, wet chuckle. "I do not know where else you will find your peanuts than the market square."

Rhodri watched him without a hint of a smile. "In what world," she asked gravely, "does a bag of peanuts take precedence over your comfort?"

"Ah," he offered. "I had meant it as a joke, in fact."

She watched him closely, not saying a word. A year ago, he would have been saying his last prayers, and now the intent scanning was enough to coax a smile out of him.

He took one of her hands and kissed her fingertips. “Not one of my better ones, is it?”

“No.” Rhodri shook her head. “Should I do one of those polite laughs, though?”

“Mmm…” Zevran chuckled. “I think that opportunity has come and gone. So we are to move on, then? Is it time to go home to Minrathous?”

The Warden– his Warden– snuggled him into her. Her chest rumbled against his as she gave a thoughtful hum.

“We have to decide together,” she replied after a moment, “but that would be my suggestion. We’re fit enough to travel now, and our family is expecting us. And truly, I don’t think there’s anything left here for us.”

Zevran absently twiddled one of her fingers. “Was there much here for us to begin with? Contractual obligations aside, of course.”

Her bitter scoff made his eyebrows rise.

“Loved ones aside,” she said, “absolutely not. Wretched fucking place this is.”

He snickered. “Quite right, my love. Then it’s settled? Onward and outward, to our sun-kissed paradise?”

“Ah!” She grinned. “Music to my ears, dulcis.”

#Thank you again for the ask you cool cool bean!!#Rhodri Amell #(those two end up borderline loathing Ferelden by the end of the Blight Year)#Askin' games #Sorry about giving you that extra trauma that makes you go to pieces at the drop of certain hats Zevvo #I think that traumatic grief ends up being a smidge too overpowering for him to conceal properly so Zev has to #put her out of his mind often in Antiva so that the Crows don't cotton on #I swear my worldstate Zev survives on sheer will- and brainpower alone during those three years away #anyway ramble over here is one of Zevran's flashbacks playing out

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