#but like it was a political marriage and the king wasnt interested in me romantically

[pumpkin-padparadscha]

had a dream last night about a sexy genderqueer jester in neon drag makeup who was soooo sensually attractive, he had his kind-of-goatee painted neon yellow. i want him so bad... he did acrobatics and his group went to gay rughts marches to perform...

[mrsjadecurtiss]

Your thoughts on your Roose ships made me interested in all three of them for their very different dynamics. Do you have any (shippy) scenarios you'd love to see art for? Vivian

Hiii Vivian, sorry for the long wait! Glad you found my thoughts interesting :''')

From my Roose ships, currently i'm the most into Roose/Catelyn and Roose/Barbrey :) No direct preference, do the one that appeals to you most! :D With both of them im fine with both just hanging out/interacting and more romantic art, whatever you're most comfortable with.

Scenario wise...

Roose/Cat:

Roose/Cat is the one where i most often think about affectionate scenarios like hand touches, kissing... Usually I ship it as branching AU during the war of the five kings (I never ship Roosecat while Ned is alive); They would need to be secretive because societal circumstances wouldnt approve, like a secret romance, i think that's always exciting (reminds me of medieval romance tropes). I also like the angle that after Ned's death she'd like to have someone to find comfort in, and maybe could be somewhat comforted by how callous he is as some sort of toxic way to cope with grief, maybe also leaning into him awakening some of the traits in her she'd get as stoneheart...

Arranged marriage AU (post aGoT, idk why Robb would demand it but suspension of disbelief on that part) is also interesting... It is not a marriage for love obviously so not really a happy wedding, but also not a miserable affair because he is at least somewhat her age and behaves politely... Mixed feelings from Cat's side obviously because she just had such a happy marriage... Interesting contrast between her looking past Ned's cold exterior into his good heart, and Roose being similarly outwardly reserved but then so morally bankrupt... Maybe she would still find something to like, it could again lean into what i said about finding comfort in the darkness

If you want canon scenes, I love their interaction in Catelyn VI aSoS, Roose still wet from the rain, offering her a piece of Theon's finger skin... Cannot get enough of that scene what did he mean by this!! Also any speculative interactions between them during the war of the five kings where it fits in canon is great for me.

I also kind of like the idea of Stoneheart x Roose, i love the sort of vampire x human vibes (i like roose vampire AUs the most when he is the human... after all a guy who gets leeched would be the victim of a vampire, not the vampire himself). Can lean a little into romance novel art lol

Roose/Barbrey:

With them it's a bit more about the tension... Barbrey is independent and can exercise power in her role as the Widow of Barrowton, and so she would never marry him or even indulge in a romance because that would mean giving up her own power... As his wife she would be his property (compare this meta), so they can only truly be equal if they are never together; meaninig she is the one best suited to be his partner for the same reason that she can never be his partner, I find that contrast so fascinating. Though for the sake of AU i also indulge in openly romantic scenarios ;)

For canon scenes, they obviously share some in the books which i love (Reek III and a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD). I also find scene ideas of them before the events of Asoiaf interesting, especially the time when she is already a widow; them meeting at events and festivities or her coming to the Dreadfort to visit her sister, I imagine she and Roose get along well and have some fun chemistry (though NOT in a cheating way, i think Barb would never do that to her sister and be offended if he tried anything)... They would also bond over Domeric especially after Bethany's death... Could imagine them meeting at Barbrey's wedding, or when Domeric is dropped off at Barrowton when he becomes a page...

With both of the ships, while i do like explicitly romantic prompts like kissing, im almost more interested in like romantic tension and undertones... secret hand touches... or scenes of them bonding over something... I love good buildup, tension, implication, slow burn, that kind of stuff.

Hope this wasnt too rambly!! Feel free to hit me up if you have more questions :D

[pinkletterday]

For The Good Of The Realm Ch1

Pairing: Barry Allen/ Oliver Queen

Rating: Mature

Tags: Arranged marriage AU, high fantasy, royalty

Summary: Marrying the ward of King Thawne was an impulse decision for High King Oliver and some in the politically tense Opal Realm are not best pleased by the union. Least of all the new Prince Consort himself.

Notes: I started writing this as a smutty one-shot for Blue, then it grew a plot and decided it was a slow-burn, then worldbuilding happened by chapter 3 and now I’m reworking it into something more plotty and less cisnormative. But till then going leave the completed chapters here for anyone interested to read.

CHAPTER 1

The Opal King’s Garrison outpost in the Plains had a festive air that night, for the High King himself and his Queensmen had arrived to make camp on his way back from the Citadel to his own home in Starling. News had come of his unexpected wedding to the young Lord Allendale of the Middle Kingdom and, though taken aback, the Garrison had welcomed their company warmly with a great feast. Every torch and brazier among the pavillions were lit joyfully, chasing away the darkness and chill of the flat land, and knights and servants of every rank and gender laughed and drank among the blazing campfires.

Yet the honored guest of the night was currently staring into the flames in a brown study, as the most trusted swordsiblings of the Queensmen Guard lay dozing around him, well-fed and mellow.

“Gods, man, I’ve seen you cut down the Seven Armies of Tarth and woo the wives of dukes and serving girls at their own tables these past five years. But one glare from a sweet little lordling and you��ve got more nerves than the first time you got your dick wet.”

King Oliver glared at his best friend the Duke of Merlyn as the men gathered around the campfire all laughed.

"Have a care, Merlyn. That sweet little lordling is your prince consort now. And I've don't have nerves,” he added, sulkily.

“Remember how you soused yourself in almost an entire wine barrel before you worked yourself up to do it that first time?" grinned Tommy, “you strode into my room thumping your chest in the wee hours afterwards and puked over my window onto Dame Thessel’s pug. She still hates me.”

"Thank you, Thomas, what would I do without your loyalty and encouragement,” deadpanned Oliver as his men rolled around laughing. “Oh yes, live a more dignifed life.”

“Why would you need encouragement, Oliver?” asked General Diggle. The head of his King’s Guard would not have been so informal beyond this intimate circle of friends, people who had proven their worth and fought at his back for half a lifetime, it felt like. “It’s not as though you’ve not been married before. I know you still grieve Samantha’s passing but its not as though you’ve been a monk before or since.”

“Samantha and I were a marriage of convenience, John. We grew up together and knew what was expected of us. Neither of us had any illusions of what our life together would be like. I had my lovers and, once she gave me our heir, she had hers.” Oliver’s sadness was not at the lovelessness of their marriage but for his son’s loss of his mother. Samantha had been a capable ruler, a good friend and loving mother. He still missed being able to entrust his household to her.

This time Tommy and Diggle both looked perplexed. “And is this not a marriage of convenience? King Thawne wanted to keep our favour without yielding his lands, so threw his ward at your head. Just as well, his own son was a comely enough lad but didn’t seem quite to your taste,” Tommy huffed a laugh and swigged his mead.

Oliver leaned closer to his two most trusted friends, away from even the passive ears of his friends. “Thawne was trying to secure our favour by negotiating a tithe, a generous one. It was I who asked for his ward’s hand to seal the alliance. He could not say no even if he had wanted.”

Diggle’s eyes pierced him with his customary calculating intelligence but Tommy almost dropped his tankard. “What in blazes? Why? Good gods, man, if you wanted to bed him surely there were easier ways -”

“Be quiet, Merlyn!” Oliver hissed in irritation. “If I wished to advertise it to all of Starling I would have done it myself! Listen.”

“After Merlyn had the Duke and Duchess of Allendale executed for their part in the Resistance, King Thawne was made Barry’s ward. His parents were popular, but the King was not, though he declared his kingdom neutral in the Reign of Darkness. The people barely saw hide nor hair of Barry even after I overthrew Merlyn, and my intelligence reported that he was only ever permitted the company of a handful of Thawne’s court, and none of his surviving relatives.”

“I saw how he was in that place. Lonely, eager to please and strictly controlled, Eobard circling him like a vulture, to what end I do not know. Even Westfold and Raymond could see it; they were both created by Thawne but either could scarcely stand the man. I did not know what fate would have befallen him had I left him in that place, so I did the only thing I could think of.”

There was a silence.

Tommy set his heavily depleted tankard down and held up a finger. “Your Highness,” he said slowly, “forgive me if I misunderstand, but it seems to me that you said you just fucking got married to a wet behind the years puppy of an easily-conquered vassal kingdom just to play knight in shining armour.”

“Well, I am a king and if my squire were more diligent in his duties my armour would shine as well,” Oliver leaned back easily and aimed a light kick at the dozing Roy Harper near his feet. The boy drowsily held up a middle finger, rolled over and continued sleeping.

Diggle snorted. “Just as well King Thawne didnt see for himself the harsh discipline of your company,” he chuckled as Oliver’s gauntlet went whizzing past his ear.

“All right, so you saved your uh, gentleman in distress,” said Tommy. “Still doesn’t explain the nerves -”

“ - I don’t have nerves -”

“- or why you’ve been shy to so much as get near him over the three days we rode from the Plains to the garrison. Not exactly the best way to allay a young lad’s nerves before his wedding night. He must think you a right churl.”

“What?” This genuinely had not occurred to Oliver. “I was simply trying to give him some space…to process.”

“If you give him anymore space, the boy could till a small field on it,” scoffed Tommy.

“It’s true, Oliver,” said Diggle. “We know you well enough to see your nerves -”

“ - by all the gods, will you two -”

“ - but to the rest of the world you simply appear aloof and taciturn. You’ve been treating the poor boy like forgotten luggage since the ceremony.”

Oliver looked into the fire in a manner he would be irked to hear described as brooding. “I went to pay my respects to him after Thawne agreed to the betrothal. He…did not seem pleased. Polite but almost frigidly so. And then during the ceremony he met my eyes exactly once - and there was such venom in them! As though I was taking him hostage!”

Diggle leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose and Tommy flopped on his back and groaned.

“Oliver, you did to all intents and purposes, take him hostage,” said his friend with uncharacteristic seriousness, “As far as he knows he stood to inherit a duchy of his own kingdom until your roving eye happened upon him and demanded his hand under threat of dire political repercussions were he to refuse!”

“That’s how royalty is supposed to be!,” exclaimed Oliver defensively, “we marry for wars and alliances and trades! I’m not taking away his title, I'm raising his standing! Thawne would not dare move against him now that he is the Prince Consort of Starling!”

Diggle had a reputation to rival Oliver’s own as a war-hardened warrior but the dark eyes he turned to his friend were deep and profound, in that way that reminded Oliver that his friend was first and foremost a husband and father.

“You of all people should know that young men and women do not necessarily resign themselves to what is expected of them,” he said gently, and the memories of a youth spent cavorting and disappointing his long-dead father arose and gnawed at Oliver’s heart. “If duty and obligation were all that drove us the world might be a simpler and more terrible place. Once upon a time you too dreamed of a life and a love you couldn’t have.”

Oliver looked carefully away from a suddenly still Tommy and swallowed down the tightness in his chest. “Laurel found a man much better than I could ever be,” Tommy made as though to lay a hand on his shoulder but then withdrew, “and I only dreamed of running away from a life I wasnt prepared to face. Are you saying Bartholomew is the same?”

“I think he has lived his life hoping against hope,” said Diggle thoughtfully. “and that he needs affection and respect more than space. He is yet barely nineteen summers past, Oliver. You need to speak to him and get to know his expectations.”

There was a pause as all three men contemplated the issue.

“He seems like the drippy, romantic sort,” volunteered Tommy helpfully. “Recite him some poetry! Compliment his derriere! With poetry.”

Diggle groaned and stood up to pour himself more mead and Oliver looked at his friend incredulously. “Poetry?”

“Well, I don’t know, some people have preference for that sort of thing,” Tommy shrugged. “Laurel likes it. Sometimes. It makes her laugh.”

“I recant it all, Laurel married a halfwit,” said Oliver tartly. Tommy wasnt allowed a chance to retort before Lady Smoak appeared before them.

Oliver stood up as she approached.

“Your Majesty, His Highness the Prince will receive you now,” she announced, curtesying low before him very properly. Oliver looked narrowly at his friend, whose demurely downcast eyes were dancing with mirth. It was typical of Felicity to make fun of him while playing by court rules.

Everyone gathered themselves up and stood at attention but a ripple of stifled laughter ran among Oliver’s inner circle.

“Thank you, Lady Smoak,” he said graciously, “please lead the way. And my Lord Merlyn,” he firmly pulled the flushed and swaying man to him by the elbow, “not a word to anyone! You gossip worse than a washer-woman when you’ve been in your cups.”

“Pffft! Slander and infamy! I’d challenge you to a duel, sir, if I could be arsed!” Tommy pushed him away and gesticulated expansively as the soldiers laughed. “I am a grown man, and I keep my own counsel!”

“Good,” said Oliver, striding away. “And when Laurel and Sara inevitably get you to spill it all I would appreciate it if you withheld the part about my "nerves”. I’ve had enough heckling for one campaign.“

….

The pavillion was the largest one in the garrison, put up a discreet distance away from the others living quarters yet encircled day and night by the King’s Guard. The canvas was draped in the gold and red banners of his consort’s standard rather than the green and onyx of his own - one of the many small accomodations Oliver had made to make his consort more comfortable.

He hesitated before entering and caught Lady Smoak’s shoulder. "Felicity, is he -” he struggled to find the words.

Felicity laid her hand comfortingly over Oliver’s own but looked at him sternly, in much the way Diggle did.

“He’s very scared and very brave,” she said in carefully low voice. “Mostly because some hedge-born oaf of a king spent three days not speaking to him! Really, Oliver-”

“Yes, I know I know!” he cut her off desperately. “I’ve been a fool. Just please tell me how to put it right!”

Felicity sighed and rolled her eyes but they looked on him fondly. “Just speak to him gently and with respect. Be yourself,” her pretty blue eyes shone with sly merriment, “show him how stupidly infatuated with him you are.”

“I’m not -”

But Felicity had already given his shoulder an irreverent swat and was picking her skirts across the grass.

Oliver sighed and cleared his throat awkwardly.

No answer. He cleared it a little louder.

“Would Your Majesty like to come in?” called a voice impatiently.

Oliver flushed and entered. Immediately he was enveloped in the humid warmth of the carpeted pavillion, mahogany furniture gleaming in the lantern light draped in furs and velvets and wool. The burning camp fires and braziers outside made the canvas walls glow golden. Upon the sprawling fawn fur-covered bed was seated the new Prince, head held high as though the bed were his own throne.

This was why Oliver had kept his distance. He could not admit it to even those closest to him, but the beautiful youth made him feel tongue-tied, ungainly and at a loss. Not just because of his lanky, lissom beauty - Oliver had travelled the width and breath of the Opal Kingdoms and bedded men and women just as attractive as the prince. But because of that blazing gaze and sloping shoulders held so ramrod straight, where before a puppyish eagerness had fuelled an almost reckless boldness, quicksilver smiles and hands gesturing animatedly when he rambled unself-conscously about one of the myriad subjects that had caught his fancy.

It had first irritated and amused Oliver, this child who couldn’t stay his tongue, and then inspired a great protectiveness in him that had caught him off guard. He would have used his clout to intimidate Thawne into keeping the prince safe, but as Barry continued to hover around him like a rather endearing and awestruck fly, Oliver had realized he couldnt bear to leave him behind to Thawne’s tender mercies. The proposal had been almost spur of the moment on his part, certainly it had discombobulated Thawne entirely. Oliver had seen the wheels behind his conniving eyes turning, trying to turn it to his advantage, but there was never a question of refusing the High King of the Opal Realm.

Oliver had expected Barry to be thrown and confused, for they had forged only a tentative friendship during his brief tour of the Plains, very far from a courtship. But he had not been prepared to meet with the icy, aloof creature whose eyes had gone cold with betrayal. There had been no time or space to explain himself. Worse, Oliver only realized how much he missed and desired the boy’s warmth and attention once it had been withdrawn from him.

Barry was wrapped in a deep red robe, hair still damp from the hot scented bath Oliver had ordered drawn for him. The lantern light made his delicate face ethereal, his pale skin glistening dewey and smooth. Oliver’s mouth felt dry.

“Would Your Majesty like something warm to drink?” Barry said condescendingly. “You appear to have caught a cough outside,” his lip curled in what might have been a smile but was closer to a sneer.

Oliver began to clear his throat again before catching himself. “No, er. That’s alright. I’m fine.”

Barry nodded, and continued staring at him impassively with a curious head tilt. Oliver was unpleasantly reminded of the way his mother would trip up visiting dignitiaries by assaulting them with gracious patience.

He took a deep breath. “Barry, I…I owe you an explanation.”

“You are the High King of the Opal Realm, Your Majesty,” said Barry still with that awful courteousness, “you owe no one anything.”

“That’s not true. I owe many people many things,” said Oliver, honestly. “I owe a friend an apology when I have inadvertently stolen him from his home.”

“Mayhap your friend would listen to and accept your apology,” said Barry, not bothering to hide the bite in his tone now, “but I am your consort, and my only desire is to fulfill myduty on my wedding night.”

“I had a consort before,” said Oliver mildly, “ she was my friend.”

“Yes well, probably you were wed in different circumstances,” said Barry. His eyes were a storm in his carved marble face. “Now if you don’t mind -” he stood up and the robe began to fall from his broad shoulders.

“You were in danger from your guardian!” Oliver burst out and Barry froze, clutching the robe. “I was only trying to protect you!”

Barry stared at him for a long moment. And then began to laugh.

“It’s true!” said Oliver desperately. He strode forward and caught him by the shoulders, shaking him. “He had nefarious intentions- my spies said - I know you love him but you have to -,”

“ Did you think I didn’t know?”

Oliver stepped away, startled. “What?”

Barry continued laughing but it was an awful, bitter, near-hysterical laughter. “I see what happened. You rode into the palace on your steed and beheld a naive boy manipulated by the man he was fool enough to trust, because I alone of the kingdom didnt know of his hand in my parents’ betrayal, I was a puppet blindly eating out of his hand like a pig for slaughter. And you thought - why leave well enough alone, or even discuss your intelligence with me when you can gain a new toy and be the white knight -”

“It wasn’t like that!” Oliver finally found his tongue. “Barry, I swear, I thought you didn’t know! You were always so happy and blithe and…and,” innocent“…young!”

“So?” the Prince snapped, “I’ve been smiling and young all my life! I was thought too young to know that the Resistance never betrayed my parents, to ever be taken seriously when spent my life keeping faith that I would avenge their murder, kept smiling when I discovered the rumours were true and the man I loved like a father would destroy me like he had my family, kept finding reasons to trust and pray and hope - had my beloved attendants sent away to protect them and allay my king’s suspicions. Spent months convincing Eddie of the truth and persuading him to my side, building an alliance with Viscount West, the Earl of Raymond and Lady Stein.”

“I am young and inexperienced and I was uncertain and fearful but I would think of you every time, you who had been lost to the Opal Realm for years and yet survived on only your wits and came back to defeat the Pretender in single combat! You who was living proof to me that the impossible could happen, your righteousness and your strength…oh I was so happy when you finally came to the Plains. I was considering taking you into my confidence but then thought that you might not believe me, I had no credibility…but I thought I had earned, if not your friendship, then at least some respect!”

Oliver was frozen as Barry sank down onto the bed and buried his head in his hands, trembling after his furious diatribe.

“Maybe I would have succeeded, maybe I would have failed and been killed in the attempt,” he murmured sadly, scrubbing his hands down a face now streaked with tears. “But it would have been on my terms. After a lifetime of living manipulated and silenced and never allowed to draw free breath - finally my destiny would have been in my own hands. It may have been a foolish dream, but it was my own.”

He crumpled in on himself, huddling into the thick robe as though cold and shook with silent sobs.

Oliver slowly walked up to him and kneeled at his feet.

“I am so sorry,” he said, hand hovering over the prince’s slim wrist. “Barry, I have made a terrible mistake. Help me put it right.”

“It’s a little late for that,” said Barry, eyes red and face resigned, and Oliver couldnt honestly say it was an improvement. “We were married under sacred covenant in front of your entourage and most of the Plains. Rushed it might have been but binding it certainly is,” his mouth turned down wryly, “believe me, I searched for a loophole.”

The thought of the prince burning the candle at both ends in the nights leading to their wedding, desperately trying to find a way out filled Oliver with an ever more crushing sense of mortification. No wonder he had looked so gaunt and pale at the ceremony, no wonder the Houses of Westfold and Stein had turned so frosty to him.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” asked Oliver. “Did you think I would be so set on carrying you off against your will?”

Barry avoided his eyes, instead focusing on the hands clenched in fistfuls of robe on his lap.

“Eobard announced his son’s betrothal to Lady Iris on the same day,” he said quietly. “I was planning to ask for her hand. I do not know if she would have accepted, or if she knew of my feelings. But I was promised to you, the High King, and had no reasonable protest to voice. Eddie marrying into the Wests will consolidate their standing in court, and she consented of her own free will. Even if you released me now, she is lost to me. And had I stayed, I would be expected to stand at their wedding as the King’s ward.” Tears clung to the long sweep of lashes, and he brushed them away with trembling hands. “I couldn’t…I can’t…”

As a child, Oliver had once caught a small bird that had wandered into his chambers. Exhulting in his prize, he had run back to his mother and opened his hands to show her his trophy, only to see the poor creature crumpled and stunned, wings broken. It was the first time of many that he had known that devastation, yet as his heart sank like a stone inside him now, the guilt felt just as fresh and unbearable.

Prince Barry’s averted gaze turned hard and cold again. “Even if you did free me, I did not know if you would take offence. To fall out of favour of the High King would be ruinous to the Plains. And from a purely political point of view, it is an advantageous match for my plans,” his lips curved in a brittle smile, “just not for my happiness.”

There was a long pause as the prince’s shallow breaths evened. Oliver stayed on his knees, absorbing the new reality and the addition of yet another grievious mistake to his storied career.

He reached out and gently cupped Barry’s wet cheek, turning his face toward him. “Barry, look at me,” the young man raised his eyes relunctantly, reddened and wet but still so lovely. Oliver gazed deep into them, humble and tender. “I have done you great wrong with my misjudgement. I would not fault you for even hating me for what I have wrought upon your life. It is too late to turn back time, but from here on I will abide by your wishes and take no decisions without you. You are my consort, and I shall make you my co-ruler,” Barry’s eyes went wide at this, “I promise you, Bartholomew, Lord of the Allendale, that I will do everything in my power to help you bring your parents’ killer to justice.”

The prince looked warily at Oliver. “Is that an oath, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, it is,” said Oliver, desperate for him to see his earnestness. “I swear I never thought to trifle with our union, nor to treat you as lesser than you are.”

“What am I to you?” he asked, suddenly seeming genuinely curious. “Why did you ask for my hand? You seemed to barely tolerate me before, let alone desire me. You could have anyone in the Opal Realm you wanted, especially a princess who could beget you more children.”

“I do not need to marry to have more children,” said Oliver wryly. “I can beget a child by any woman I please or adopt one already born and proclaim them heirs. And now any child born of you will be as of my own blood as well.”

“You would permit me to lie with women outside of the marriage bed?”

Oliver shrugged. “‘Tis how my sister was conceived. And the usual practice among noble unions where one is Unwombed.”

“Yes, but it is the more powerful lord who has the right to beget, while the consort is to submit,” Barry pointed out. “Tis the heirs of your blood and name that will claim my lands.”

Oliver waved this away dismissively. “I am not a traditionalist. All I ask is that you be kind to my son, William, and treat him as your own. He is a very bright and sensitive boy, with a loving heart. Not unlike you.”

“I would never treat any child unkindly, Your Majesty, but pray do not compare me to your child,” said Barry, wrinkling his nose so adorably that Oliver had to stifle a smile. “You were certain he would not rather a mother than another father?”

“A parent knows no gender, my Prince,” said Oliver gently. “And between my mother and sister and the Ladies Lance and Smoak, he has no lack of female influence.”

“It is the Lady Smoak who helped me prepare, is it not?” said Barry, brightening slightly. “I like her. She seems very agreeable.”

Once again, that sudden shift from resolute man to hopeful boy. It was as mercurial and tremulous as spring weather, and kept Oliver off-balance yet intrigued.

“Yes, she is one of my closest friends,” said Oliver, trying to ignore a small spark of jealousy at the interest in Barry’s voice. It was rather strange, after years being jealous of Felicity’s suitors, to suddenly feel jealous of her.

“Just a friend?” Barry seemed to have caught the minute shift in his expression.

Oliver took a deep breath, reminded himself of his promise and spoke unfaltering, “Only a friend now, though we used to be lovers some seasons past. She is to wed Ambassador Palmer soon.”

“Sir Raymond Palmer of the Legends?” a hint of excitement crept into the boy’s voice. “He resides in Starling now?”

Oliver fought down a prickle of irritation rather stronger than what he usually felt at the mention of Sir Palmer. “Yes, he has set up an armory there,” full of new-fangled inventions he did not trust, “and the Legends are just a name they call themselves, they aren’t really-”

“Does he still go adventuring with them? Have they found Captain Snart yet?,” more of Barry’s despondency fell away with each question. “He is of the Plains, you know, before he went sailing and became famous. He used to give me souvenirs of his travels when we met at the jousting tournaments,” this last with an actual small, reminiscent smile.

“He’s a pirate, Barry!” said Oliver in consternation.

“Used to be,” said the Prince firmly, whose smile became rather knowing, “and a very handsome one too.”

Oliver stared at the Prince until the younger man looked away, lips twitching. He suddenly realized that he was still kneeling on the ground and rose to his feet, dusting off his britches, trying not to seem as wrong-footed as he felt.

“You never answered my question,” said Barry, face upturned to him. “Why choose me?”

“Because I desired you,” said Oliver, ashamed. Yes, he had been captivated and covetous as he had not been since Laurel, since Felicity. Those had ended so badly that the feelings had frightened him, which is why he had first tried to deny and dismiss and then rationalize them to allow himself what he wanted. “I wanted to protect you, but being around you…you made me feel light and hopeful. I thought I would be able to keep you safe and happy.” Keep you with me.

“Keep me in another gilded cage, you mean,” bitterness again laced Barry’s words, and Oliver flinched. “And here I could have sworn you thought me a damned nuisance.”

“That too,” said Oliver, unable to stop a smile.

Barry’s head whipped up in surprise before he could hide it. It was the prince’s turn to stare at him now while Oliver tried not to smile. After a while Barry own lips quirked up at the corners seemingly despite himself, and he ducked his head, the golden light illuminating a becoming rose flush on his cheeks. He drew the robe tighter around himself and played nervously with the girdle.

“So what happens now?” he asked in a small voice. “Do we still consummate our marriage?”

Oliver sat down next to him on the warm fawn fur coverlet. “Do you want to?” he asked, carefully.

The tips of the Prince’s ears went redder. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said stubbornly, not meeting his eyes. “The covenant of royal marriage states that consummation must take place before the next new moon after the ceremony. That’s barely fourteen days from now. As annulment would be disastrous to me and my kingdom, it must be done.”

“It appears so,” said Oliver gently. “But I have never taken an unwilling person to bed with me, and never will.”

Barry kept his eyes downcast, worrying at his girdle again. Oliver’s swept over his graceful form once more, lingering on the plush pink lips and long neck speckled with a trail of moles that disappeared down his shoulder. He wanted to follow it with his mouth, pressing kisses to the dewy pink skin whose light cinnamon scent teased him even now. His cock, rather long neglected, was starting to take interest regardless of the solemnity of the moment.

Oliver willed back his desire and laid his hand between them, palm up in clear invitation. After a moment’s hesitation, Barry slowly set his own hand upon it.

“We have a fortnight before the Rite of Sealing must be performed,” Oliver said, intently tracing the length of the delicate, graceful fingers with his rough, blunt ones. “In that time we can become comfortable with each other, so that we may consummate with minimal discomfort. Have you lain with anyone else before?”

The blush deepened again. “No, I - I am untouched, Your Highness.”

Oliver studied the boy’s face, still holding his hand in a gentle clasp. “You can be honest with me, Barry. I have no fantasies of deflowering anyone. At your age I was very far from virgin and suffered no lack of willing bed-mates,” he said wryly.

“But I am not you, sire,” said Barry, and the droop of his head became rather brooding. “I am not the most self-assured in that regard, and any who appeared to desire me feared the King more. Besides,” the lines of sadness deepened again, “I only ever wished to make love, and I only ever loved one person.”

Would the regret ever stop stabbing at Oliver? He raised Barry’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “It is early yet for us to speak of love, if indeed you ever could after my misdeeds. Nevertheless, I can make it a painless and pleasurable memory for you, if you allow me. Once our union has been cemented, you need never entertain me in your bed again if you do not desire it.”

Barry looked at him with open curiosity. "Did you love her?” he asked in yet another one of his whiplash conversational turns. “Your late queen?”

“Yes, as a friend,” said Oliver with the customary pang of guilt at her mention. “She was a sweet, dutiful and loyal companion to me and a loving mother to our son. I miss her greatly.”

“Is that what you wish me to be?” asked Barry, in the manner one trying to make sense of a puzzle. “A friend who takes care of your household and son?”

He hesitated. “At the very least.”

“And at the most?” Barry held his chin proudly, eyes bold with challenge, a boy defiantly hefting a too-heavy sword.

Oliver cupped the side of his face and carressed the line of his cheekbone with his thumb tenderly, heart skipping a beat as Barry’s eyes fluttered at the contact. “At the most, I would wish you to be my lover,” he said low and soft, heart full of yearning as he traced the strong, slender lines of the young man’s body wrapped in scarlet. “But that much neither of us can force.”

The rose in the cheek under his thumb deepened, Adam's apple bobbing in a swallow, but the prince's expression remained wary. “And tonight?”

“Tonight we rest,” said Oliver simply. “We have cleared a misunderstanding and at daybreak we must resume an arduous journey back to Starling. Let’s sleep and see what the morning brings. What say you?”

The Prince heaved a sigh of relief and nodded. Pressing a last kiss to the soft hand, Oliver got up and started throwing blankets on the floor.

“What are you doing?” asked Barry in confusion.

“Taking the floor,” said Oliver matter-of-factly.

“You do not wish to share the bed?”

“Do you wish to share the bed?” he asked pointedly. His groom faltered.

“But it isn’t right for one of your station to lie on the floor!” Barry objected instead. “You should take the bed.”

“I told you, as far as I am concerned, as my consort you now share my station,” said Oliver, unlacing his boots. “If it troubles you so, we can alternate after tonight until I can arrange your own chambers in Starling.”

He divested himself of his tunic and stripped to his undershirt to find the prince staring at him, mouth agape. Oliver concealed his amusement.

“Good night, husband,” he said politely, about to extinguish the lantern.

Barry’s jaw snapped shut, suddenly coming back to himself. “G-good night my king,” he mumbled, flustered.

There was only the sound of rustling blankets in the semi-darkness and sighs while they settled into sleep. Oliver lay awake, listening to the prince toss and turn on the bed.

Silence fell in a veil as shadows flickered against the tent walls still glowing gold from the burning braziers outside. 

“I don’t hate you,” the boy whispered.

“Beg pardon?”

“I don’t hate you,” he repeated. “I feel like I ought to, but I don’t. I don’t know why,” this sounding baffled at himself.

Oliver was lost in emotions he couldn’t begin to decipher.

“I’m still angry though.”

He exhaled deeply. “I know.”

..

CHAPTER 2