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elfyourmother · 3 years

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Prompt #5: Resolution (Free Day)

(Gisele x Haurchefant, 5.5k words.)

Haurchefant had never flown home with such speed as he did that day.

Aetheryte travel was, to his great dismay, entirely out of the question, as the crystal had been locked down ever since Vishap’s assault upon the Steps of Faith, as a precautionary measure; t’would seem heretics had infiltrated the Temple Knights, and Ser Aymeric was chary indeed. So it was that Haurchefant readied Chretienne’s saddle himself, stroking the bird’s deep black feathers with great affection before hoisting himself up into it with the practiced ease of one who spent a lifetime as such. And as the first steely light of dawn shone dull through the wintry skies of the Highlands, he tore through the western gate of Camp Dragonhead like a man possessed.

She had been bred for speed, his darling chocobo, and Haurchefant put it to good use, though he did not favor the winds to take flight that day, and feared the cannons besides; only a fool would approach the Holy See by the skies, these days when the Temple Knights were more likely than not to shoot first and only to make inquiries of the cadaver left behind.

Thus, he trod the well-worn road to the Gates of Judgment on chocoboback. It was brisk that morning, unusually so even for the Central Highlands, but it invigorated him—not even the dry, frigid air could stand between him and his goal. For it was no mere social call he set to make that day upon the stately manor he called home. Three precious lives were held in the balance—one more precious still, dearer to him than none other save sweet Francel, and that was only for the length and breadth of their shared history. Haurchefant had little doubt she would come to stand; she occupied his every waking moment not devoted to the defense of his beloved homeland. That Eorzea itself teetered in the balance by extension meant little to Haurchefant, in truth. It was thoughts of her—his Gisele—that drove him to push his strong bird nearly to her limits, racing the length of the snowbound valley at a breakneck gallop. By the time he reached the Gates, she was near lathered, and when he dismounted, he swallowed the pang of guilt that gripped his chest, and gently stroked her feathers, whispering comforting endearments.

“Forgive me, it was for good reason,” he murmured, then led her by the reins to the ever present guards.

“These gates are closed by order of the Archbishop—” one began, but the other glared daggers at him.

“Have you been in your cups enough to not recognize the Lord Commander of Camp Dragonhead when you see him?” the second sighed, long suffering. He turned to Haurchefant, bowing his head. “My lord, pray forgive his impertinence. Of course you may pass. May the Fury guide your steps.”

Haurchefant nodded. “And yours as well, good man,” he said.

The long, harrowing bridge which spanned the tumultuous, storm-lashed winds of the Sea of Clouds still bore the scars of the battle some few weeks past, from Vishap’s assault, and Haurchefant’s eyes narrowed as he walked Chretienne across the scorched stones. It was one matter to hear tell of the destruction of Daniffen’s Collar, but it was altogether another matter entire to see the end result of it so plain before his eyes. He curled the mail-sheathed fingers of his gauntleted hand into a fist about the leather rein, unconsciously, heat rising up from his belly to sear his face. The closer he got to the gates, the fresher the scars; it must have been the previous day’s assault at fault.

The Lord Commander had bid the Fortemps knights to hold fast at Camp Dragonhead, guarding the eastern passages against any incursions of reinforcements by the aevises of the fallen Steel Vigil or heretics alike. And Haurchefant would never, could never question Ser Aymeric’s judgment, for his tactical acumen was beyond reproach, and he himself saw the need for it. But it did not mean he was not seized by guilt, wondering if his men would have made a difference had they bolstered the defenders at the gates. It was as he told himself, however: men could perish drowning in the wake of what might have been. If he had led the Fortemps knights to join the defense at the gates, there may well have been far more Dravanians free to join the assault upon the city, and the bloodshed would have been even worse.

And he would not have been present at the fortress to receive the refugee Scions the past night, either.

The sight of Foundation shattered his heart in twain, still. So many wooden structures there were, in this part of the city, and so many had been reduced to smoking, charred ashes. The dead were still being carted away in wagons, by the Temple Knights. Chirurgeons attended the wounded upon the very streets, beneath the shroud of vast canvas tents; the hospitaliers certainly seemed to have their hands full. And his eyes grew wide, as he gazed up in horror to see the familiar statue of Saint Valeroyant before which he had prayed so often as a lad scorched and beheaded. He took a deep, ragged breath, and exhaled, shaking his head as he continued walking forth toward home, through streets eerily devoid of life.

When he reached the Pillars, twas as though nothing at all had happened; mayhap a few more knights upon the watch at the Last Vigil, but otherwise it seemed as ordinary a day as any other within the rarefied heights of the Holy See, and Haurchefant snorted, firmly shoving down the powerful sense of anger that roiled in his blood at it. His day’s purpose would not be served by such pique.

Twas Ser Pauleaux who stood watch that day, when he reached the manor, and he stood straighter upon Haurchefant’s approach, though beaming from ear to ear with bright and dazzling eyes. Haurchefant would know that smile anywhere, of a surety.

“Welcome home, my lord!” Ser Pauleaux exclaimed, bowing deeply.

“Good day, ser knight! I hope it finds you well,” Haurchefant replied, with a cordial incline of his head.

“Far better now that Lord Haurchefant has graced us with his brilliant, if elusive presence,” Pauleaux said, with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Haurchefant laughed, clapping him upon the shoulder with a firm grip—and a light massage of the chain which sheathed it. Still so strong, his broad shoulder, Haurchefant mused silently, pursing his lips.

“Forgive me if my duties keep me from home far too often,” he purred, winking at the fellow, who immediately turned red as a ripe Dzemael tomato. “Pray, good man, is his lordship presently in residence?”

“Yes, my lord. He just returned from his morning constitutional some moments ago. Shall I see to Chretienne?”

Haurchefant nodded, handing Pauleaux the bird’s reins. “I thank you kindly. Pray forgive me, but I must take my leave. I come on a dire matter that requires my father’s attention. I bid you good day.”

With that, he swept past him to enter the manor.

“Young master!” Firmien exclaimed warmly, the old steward greeting him at the door. He beckoned to a familiar servant then, tall and straightbacked, his dark hair slicked back neatly. Grantien was a good man, Haurchefant thought, loyal and faithful, and was a fine addition to the small legion of retainers in the house’s employ. He was brought on upon Firmien’s own recommendation, and while he had served only a few weeks as Haurchefant’s manservant, but he had already proven indispensable more than once, particularly as a messenger to the Scions’ Antecedent. At that, Haurchefant could not help but frown a little, sighing. The loss of Mistress Warde had taken an incalculable toll upon Gisele, and she need not have spoken too much upon it for Haurchefant to know it was so. He knew a shattered heart when he saw one. And it was why he had come, beyond all else.

Haurchefant greeted Grantien with a warm smile, handing him his heavy black riding cape, and turned to Firmien. “Where is my father, do you know?”

“In his office.”

The smile crumbled from Haurchefant’s lips, along with the rest of his face, at the sound of that brusque, familiar tone. He glanced up to see Artoirel, with arms folded against his chest, standing in front of the mantle with a narrowed gaze.

“Brother,” Haurchefant said by way of greeting, in as neutral a tone as he could manage, as Grantien and Firmien prudently withdrew with no small amount of haste.

Artoirel’s mien was cool, the frosty smile upon his lips nowhere near the vicinity of his steel-blue eyes, which were hard as agates. “Brother. Tell me, to what do we owe the pleasure of your exalted presence gracing the manor this day? Have you run out of sellsword skirts and trousers to chase at the fortress, at the last?”

Haurchefant clinched his jaw, grinding his teeth. As always, Artoirel cast his line with casual cruelty, with the crudest bait upon the hook. But Haurchefant would not rise to it, not this time. He must not, he thought firmly. “Nay. I must speak with Father on a matter of dire urgency,” he replied flatly, exhaling through mildly flared nostrils, his hands trembling at his sides.

“What urgency might there be for the Lord Commander of Camp Dragonhead himself to vacate his post in a time of increased hostilities?” Artoirel asked.

Haurchefant straightened yet further, narrowing his eyes. “Tis a matter for the Count’s ears, and his alone. You may be his trueborn heir, but tis all you are, and I do not answer to you. Only to him, and the Fury herself,” he replied darkly. “So, unless you plan to sprout the sacred lance and hoplon within your hands, I shall go now to see my father.”

With that, Haurchefant swept past his fuming brother, through the furthest doors of the foyer, and traversed the broad stair up to the Count’s quarters, and knocked upon the intricately carved doors painted scarlet which led to his personal library.

“Yes?” the voice was muffled from behind the door, but distinct.

“Tis only me, my lord,” Haurchefant replied, adding hastily, “Haurchefant.”

The door swung open so swiftly it rather startled him, in truth, and Edmont stood at the threshold drawing him into his arms for a warm embrace.

“Haurchefant!” Edmont sighed, with no small amount of relief in his voice, squeezing him tightly. It struck him as passing strange, but Haurchefant returned it, wrapping his arms about his father, and unconsciously plunked his chin upon his shoulder. He had outstripped the elder Fortemps in height nearly as soon as he made his majority, but somewhat seemed frailer in him now than Haurchefant remembered. The old injury, mayhap, which banished him from the field for good. As it was, when he pulled away, he leaned upon his finely wrought, gilt-edged cane.

“Hello, Father,” Haurchefant replied, a bit awkwardly. His heart was thundering within his chest, his palms grown clammy within his gauntlets, and he removed them by turns then with mildly trembling hands, setting them down upon a nearby table.

“What brings you home this day? Bear you news from Dragonhead?” Edmont asked. He turned to the dark cabinet beside him, retrieving a large decanter from within, and poured out cordial in a pair of finely struck crystal goblets, passing one to Haurchefant.

He gladly took it into his shaking hand, immensely grateful for his father’s hospitality. “Thank you. Yes, of a sort,” he answered, and took a long sip. It tasted of apricot, and burned mild and smooth with a hint of sweetness down his throat, doing much to settle his frayed nerves.

Edmont raised his dark brows, as he lifted his own glass to his lips. “And?” Haurchefant took another drink, longer that time, and inhaled deeply the familiar scent of dark, polished chestnut which permeated Edmont’s library, with the faint hint of well-kept parchment. It was comforting, in its own way, and helped as much as the cordial. “Father, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn begged an audience with me last night. Whilst the Dravanians lay siege to Foundation yesterday, it seems there was a coup staged in Ul’dah, with the Sultana assassinated and General Raubahn imprisoned. The Scions were falsely implicated by the Crystal Blades, and only three managed to flee the desert: Mistress Surana, Master Leveilleur, and their secretary Tataru Taru. Not knowing where else to turn, they bid Master Garlond spirit them safely to Camp Dragonhead upon his airship, and beyond our walls they remain safely ensconced, for even the long arm of the Syndicate does not reach so far as Coerthas,” he said darkly.

“By the Fury!” Edmont gasped, incredulous, and turned the corner of his desk to sink into his tall chair. “This tale you bring beggars belief.”

“I swear I do not play you false when I bring it, Father.”

Edmont sighed, shaking his head, and took a long drink of his own. “I know, Haurchefant. Tis too wild to be false. Who rules there, now, in Ul'dah?”

“I cannot fairly say. Likely the rest of the Syndicate. It seemed this dire event unfolded in the midst of the reception Ser Aymeric attended at the palace last night. Teledji Adeleji named Sultana Nanamo’s assassin Gisele herself, slandering her as a murderess before all gathered, but was cut down shortly thereafter by Raubahn, which is why he was imprisoned. Gisele suspects Lord Lolorito rules as yet, but the Brass Blades were loyal to Adeleji’s coin, as were the Crystal Braves. Tis a sordid affair our friends have been thrust in the center of.”

“The Warrior of Light?” Edmont balked. “How absurd. Surely no one would believe such rot, she’s Raubahn’s right hand.”

Haurchefant’s brow furrowed low. “I do not know. What I do know is I cannot—we cannot permit these lies to stand. I know her, Father, and she is no murderess. Gisele is the kindest, most compassionate woman I have ever known, and a heroine of the realm besides. No truer friend can one have, and she loved Nanamo as her own sister; I heard the anguish in her voice, as she told us what transpired, she is haunted by these things. Even if I believed her capable of such a terrible act, it could never be the Sultana.”

Edmont sighed. “Tis an unfortunate and cruel turn of events indeed, Haurchefant, but I do not understand why you are here.”

Haurchefant swallowed hard, and took a long swig from his glass, along with another deep breath, all to steady himself. Still he trembled when he made his intention plain, however. “I come bearing petition from her, and Master Alphinaud: they seek sanctuary within the Holy See, for it is the one place the Syndicate cannot hunt them. And though I have vowed to do all that I can to aid them, and stymie their pursuers, tis only a matter of time before such pursuers come calling and mine subterfuge and veneer of frosty Coerthan inhospitality runs thin. But those foul jackals dare not chase them here. The Holy See is the only place in all Eorzea where remaining Scions shall be safe while unraveling the dire conspiracy which hounds them,” he said at last, grave and severe. “The Gates of Judgment must be opened to them.”

He feared he overstepped then, for Edmont sat in deathly silence; the old manner of silence he so detested as a boy, with his shoulders pulled back, his hands folded primly as he rested his elbows upon the desk, staring at him overlong, as though he were boring holes through him. And just as he had so many times as a boy, Haurchefant found himself squirming beneath the weight of it. He downed the rest of the contents of his glass; anything to avoid that withering stare, and that godsdamned, oppressive silence that suffocated him. And he remembered why he was so absent from these walls, so often and for so long.

“Are you mad?” Edmont said at last, puncturing that silence with but three sharp words, uttered in the softest tone, that felt as daggers punching through the weak places of Haurchefant’s fine chain.

“But we must—”

“This city has only just suffered the most grievous attack upon its walls in centuries, Foundation is still smoldering, and you would pry open those gates? Where does House Fortemps stand to profit by inserting ourselves within Ul’dahn intrigues, for that matter?” Edmont demanded. “We risk much in jeopardizing our contracts with the consortium, and I should not have to tell you how dire it would be should the flow of iron from Thanalan cease, at a time when the Horde is escalating its attacks.”

“Father!” Haurchefant gasped incredulously, his nostrils flaring, blood boiling within his veins. “You cannot be serious! Is this how House Fortemps repays her debts? Is this how we treat with our friends, in their time of need?”

“The Scions received materiel in good faith, Haurchefant. That is surely enough.”

“That was for Lady Iceheart,” Haurchefant countered. “What of the debt incurred in the name House Haillenarte, our closest ally? Lest you forget, Father, Gisele uncovered a false Inquisitor and saved Francel the fate of Witchdrop, she washed clean his name—the name of my dearest, and oldest companion. Think you I would not do everything within my power to clean her own name, stained by accusations just as monstrous, just as false?”

“Haurchefant,” Edmont began, his eyes narrowed, “I do not doubt her innocence. Ser Aymeric has commended her well, Mistress Surana, and he is a steady and sober man—”

“Unlike me,” Haurchefant spat, bitterly. He would speak what his father would leave unspoken, what he always left unspoken these long years. For all he claimed to the contrary, why else would he spend so many of them so distant, were Haurchefant not a disappointment in his eyes? He was Edmont’s bastard get, after all, one not worthy of any name but Greystone, as he had been reminded over and again the whole of his life. Fit to hold court in a stone fortress, of a surety, but far from the lofty Pillars which gossiped about his every move and perpetually questioned his father’s judgment.

He did not care, in truth, for names and titles; “Silver Fuller” was aught that mattered to him, etched upon the beautiful mythrite blade he’d wielded since earning it with his deeds. But he did care for the distance, far more than he cared to dwell upon. It was a simple thing to ignore it, certainly, when his days were full to the brim with scouting reports, and war counsels, and requisition orders and inspections, between which he so furiously sculpted his physique for glorious nights spent with the myriad nubile adventurers and strapping mercenaries which warmed his bed. And he adored those nights. They allowed him to endure, betimes when nothing else did; when patrols returned with fewer in number than which they set out, when the freshly driven snow ran red with the blood of those loyal and faithful under his command and he could no naught but commend them to the Fury’s frozen halls with prayers and libations of mead. And they permitted him to forget it was a manner of exile, to keep peace within the manor. The emotional distance was simple to forget, when bolstered by that which was physical.

But it was not so simple a thing, however to endure his father’s distance within these walls, in his father’s august presence. Indeed, these were mayhap the most words the two men had exchanged in years entire.

“You have been among the finest knights who have ever served our house, my son,” Edmont said sharply. “And you have led Camp Dragonhead ably these years, do not doubt that. No finer a knight commander has served in its stewardship for generations. But I fear your emotions, however sincere they may be for this woman, do cloud your judgment. My son, I beg you to see reason; there is naught to be gained in this. We cannot afford to take upon ourselves a crusade that is not our own, not when we are so vulnerable, not when the might of the Dravanians may well fall upon us at any moment—”

“FATHER, I LOVE HER!”

He bellowed the words and they seemed somewhat outside himself, as though someone else had cried them at the top of his lungs, but his cheeks were burning, his blood beating in his ears, and he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks; some small part of his consciousness was mortified, as soon as it happened, for he had not shed tears in anger since he was a boy—not before his father. Haurchefant swiped at his eyes, shaking, and rushed the cabinet in but a single long stride, his hands shaking as he poured yet more apricot brandy into his glass.

“Haurchefant,” his father said, sighing again, from across the room, still seated at his desk.

Haurchefant blinked hard, and took another long drink, before dragging a hand down his face, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He turned then to face his father once more, striding to the desk behind which he sat with his eyes full and startled, at last sinking to his knees, with his head bowed, eyes clamped shut for a moment, and Gisele’s beautiful face swam before his vision, bronze and tear stained. He remembered how his heart shattered to see her so disheveled and bloodied, resembling naught of the spirited lady adventurer who exchanged such pleasant flirtations with him upon so many occasions, nor the mighty sorceress that brought heretics and Primals and the Black Wolf of Garlemald himself to his knees. He remembered how broken and so very small her voice sounded as she recounted the horrors she had endured that night, in his office. He remembered the way she trembled in his arms, clinging to him in the night, and how desperately he wished he could kiss away her tears. And his heart grew full at the memory of it, of how he squeezed her tightly, of how he would have given anything to protect that brave and fragile woman in his arms, how she confided in him and placed her faith in him, when so many had betrayed her—upon two worlds. For his was the hearth to which this remarkable woman fled seeking warmth in the cold of her darkest night, and he would do anything, give anything, to see her safe in his arms once more.

How could he so cower before his father, when she needed him so?

He rose up then, standing tall, finding the steel once more in his spine, to lower his gaze upon his father. “I love Gisele Surana, the Warrior of Light, she who is the greatest heroine Eorzea has ever known. And she has lost so much, Father; suffered so grievously, beyond all ken. She is lost, and alone, bereft of all who cared for her in this world save two, who share her need. By the Fury, Gisele needs me, Father! And I would be her shield, I would protect her with all that I am, no matter the dire conspiracy that has brought her low, even if Nidhogg himself was its architect! Even should all the world hate her, if all the world despised her and feared her and named her a murderess, yet still I would be her knight. Because I love her. And a knight lives to serve,” Haurchefant declared, defiantly.

It was Edmont then, who could not bear the weight of Haurchefant’s stare, and lowered his gaze to shut his own eyes, sighing deeply as he rested his brow against his hands; twas then Haurchefant noted the faint hint of a smile beneath them. And then he rose from his chair, crossing around the wide corner of his desk, to stand face to face with Haurchefant, glancing up at him, with his hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “Let none gainsay the strength of your heart, my son,” Edmont said softly. “What would you have me do? But speak the word, and I shall do all that is within my power as ruling Count of House Fortemps.”

Haurchefant’s shoulders relaxed beneath his father’s hands, and he exhaled a breath he did not realize he’d been holding. “I have asked naught of you ever in my life, Father, save to be a knight in service to my house,” he said.

“I know, Haurche,” Edmont said. He raised a hand up to cup Haurchefant’s cheek within his withering palm. “What would you have me do?”

“I would beseech you, Father: petition the Lord Commander, the magistrate, the Archbishop himself, whomsoever you must, but pray throw wide those gates to our friends in desperate need, that they might find sanctuary here, within the Holy See herself. Invoke Gisele’s deeds at Snowcloak, upon the Steps of Faith if you must. But the Scions must come to Ishgard, mayhap as retainers of House Fortemps,” Haurchefant answered.

Edmont nodded, and idly wiped away the salty remnants of tears from the high point of Haurchefant’s cheekbone with his thumb, before fondly patting it. “Very well. You have my vow, in the name of the Fury, it shall be done. But I do not think even retainers would be permitted to cross the Steps, not now. A stronger claim will surely be necessary, for foreigners to gain the gates.” He paused, pursing his lips in thought but a moment, then smiled. “I shall make them wards of the House. That shall give them all the claim they require.”

Haurchefant’s heart nearly stopped within his chest. “My lord shall have his jest,” he balked.

“Tis no jest,” Edmont replied, smiling in reassurance. He squeezed Haurchefant’s cheek before withdrawing to his desk, searching for fresh parchment, reaching for his inkpot. “I shall draw up the petition immediately, but it shall likely take time to be heard by the Vault, even should I present it before sundown. Seek Eugenie in the kitchens before you leave, there is as yet tea and café au lait from the morning’s repast. You should move swiftly, however, for the skywatchers have noted an ugly storm blowing in from Abalathia’s Spine, and the roads may grow impassable.”

“But, Father…”

Edmont smiled. “I do not mean to chase you away, do not misunderstand. But you said it yourself, lad: she needs you. Go to her, and be a comfort.” It was a tempting offer, of course, but Haurchefant shook his head. Fleeing back without surety to provide would prove little comfort to her at all, and he dared not raise her hopes with promises of a petition only to see them dashed were the outcome unfavorable.

“Nay, Father, I shall remain here. I will not return to her until I know with all certainty that she and her comrades will find sanctuary within these walls. I cannot give her false hope, it would destroy her,” Haurchefant said. Edmont quirked his brow in surprise, but nodded his head in approval. “A sober decision, indeed. Very well. I shall have Firmien bring us some morsels then, and we shall break bread. There is much we must discuss, I think.”

Much indeed, Haurchefant thought, smiling for the first time he left Gisele’s side.

Over butter-rich, flaky pastries and warm drink was Edmont’s petition was completed, and together father and son submitted not long afterwards, to the Supreme Tribunal’s magistrate of civil affairs. Haurchefant was immensely grateful for his father’s cleverness, for it proved quite the ingenious scheme, seeking to make Wards of the Scions. It was a far simpler matter than begging open the gates themselves, one merely of receiving the right signatures as it turned out, for the High Houses governed their own such affairs in sovereignty, needing only declare their intent to the Vault. There was also precedent for such a thing, for Ser Lucia herself, the Lord Commander’s own right hand, was deemed a Ward of a House Minor, and she was a foreigner, though Haurchefant did not know from whence she hailed, merely a land to the East. With the war intensified, however, and the Holy See teetering upon a knife’s edge, granting a trio of foreigners the dispensation of a High House proved a rare but expected point of contention.

For once, however, the isolation which had set his homeland apart from the rest of Eorzea had proven a boon rather than an infuriating hindrance, to Haurchefant. So far as he knew, news of the Sultana’s assassination had not reached the Holy See; none in Ishgard knew of what transpired far away in the Thanalan desert, save himself and his father. Even Ser Aymeric, who had been present that night, had left before Teledji Adeledji’s bitter accusations were made, and blood was spilled in the Sultana’s palace, for the alarum had sounded here in the city, when the Dravanian siege had begun. Few knew of the Scions within the walls of the city, at any rate; like as not believed to be a company of foreign sellswords as anything else.

In the end, twas Gisele’s heroics upon the Steps of Faith, and at Snowcloak against Lady Iceheart, which proved the difference in the deliberations. Ser Aymeric himself vouched for her character, and that of Master Alphinaud, submitting a brief upon their behalf as soon as Haurchefant asked if he might intervene. And of a surety did Haurchefant nearly weep to see that letter, before Ser Lucia brought it before the magistrate, such effusive praise the Lord Commander heaped upon his dear sorceress. No flattery it was, either, but fairly earned by all Gisele had done for Ishgard’s defense—and the Scions by extension. But it was an act that Haurchefant would never forget for all his days, such kindness the Lord Commander showed in their hour of need, and for naught in return.

Haurchefant bided his time conversing with Ser Yaelle over linkpearl, receiving reports upon the Horde’s movements, which seemed fewer still since the assault upon Foundation. It was a relief, in more ways than one. But he spent his days in counsel with his father, speaking of matters weighty and inconsequential by turns. And by the hours, he seemed to feel that distance shrinking, inexplicably; even Artoirel seemed more amiable, sympathetic to the Scions’ cause, or at least did not gainsay it. Emmanellain was, of course, Emmanellain, may the Fury bless him for it. Content enough he was to lose soundly at Triple Triad in the parlor, the way it was when they were children, though as men grown this time the wagers were not for wooden chocobos and toy shields, but rather fine whiskey and salacious drawings. He’d missed it, in truth, more than he could say.

Late afternoon, upon the third day of waiting, the Tribunal’s messenger arrived at last with the edict: House Fortemps’ petition was accepted, and the three should be wards. The manor erupted into a flurry of activity, naturally, for quarters would need to be prepared for their new guests, both private and for the work of the order, with supplies procured, clothing, and so on. And their papers still needed to be finalized before they could set forth through the Gates of Judgment. There was naught more that Haurchefant could do, and so he saddled Chretienne once more, even as the storm rolled over Abalathia’s Spine; it was as delayed as the resolution, but he cared not. He would bring her surety, at last.

The sun had been smothered in a dull, colorless sky, and frigid wind whistled all about him, as he raced down the road, attempting to outrun the storm, flying with all haste down the eastern road back to Camp Dragonhead. Icy shards stung his his cheeks, though the deep hood of his traveling cloak was raised. Still he rode as a man possessed, entirely undaunted, filled with determination. Twas when the sun began to sink lower upon the horizon, setting hairline fractures of ochre and violet within the iron gray skies above the Highlands, that the massive stone walls of the fortress beckoned in the distance, the twinkling of the fires along the parapets beckoning him onward, to home. His eyes grew wide in amazement as he spied a single spot of color upon the highest parapet: a scarlet cloak blowing in the wind, along with a wealth of curls snowy white and soft as a karakul lamb’s wool, gloved hands clutching the pendant about her neck as she always did when anxious.

Haurchefant grinned, and urged the bird on faster, his heart pounding such warmth to course through him that the cold was as naught.

For she awaited him, his Gisele, keeping his hearth; twas her that warmed him, more than any flame, and he would protect it for all his days, if only she but asked.

#ffxivwrite2021 #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant x wol #gisele surana #bisho writes #lord baestone #otp: silver dove #behold: what haurche was doing while gisele waited for him to come back in a warmerheart

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snowbellewells · 4 years

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CS January Joy Day 30: “Save Me the Last Dance”

(Apologies for the confusion to anyone who saw this fic posted a couple days ago. I was accidentally early and on the wrong day, so I took it down and am reposting now. Hope you will enjoy!!)

I have had this basic idea floating around in my head for a long time, and almost psyched myself out of it. Since I had wanted to do it for so long, it was like I forgot how I wanted to go about it (if that even makes any sense!) I had the lyrics of the oldies song “Save the Last Dance for Me” (and probably repeated viewings of “The Wedding Date” too! ;) spark the actual idea, and then that line of Killian’s (“Go on, charm your princes…”) so I simply needed to fill in the rest around that imagined scene. Thanks so much to @csjanuaryjoy for giving me the chance to finally get this done by focusing on something fun and a little spicy, but most of all - happy and free of angst.

***This takes place in some post- Season 6 world where they all returned to the Enchanted Forest, as I had always hoped they would do at the show’s end...

She knew exactly what she was doing, of that he was certain. Killian felt his tongue slip out to graze his bottom lip hungrily as he watched his love work the room, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘The saucy minx,’ his subconscious chuckled while he shook his head at his own body’s helpless reaction to his princess wife - even after nearly six years of marriage. Emma Swan - well, Emma Jones - was truly a marvel; that fact had never once changed, from the very first day he had laid eyes upon her in the charred and smoking remains of a refuge camp, all the way up to the present moment as she smiled and curtsied in her formal gown and jewelled tiara.

It was clear to Killian that she would never cease to take his breath away - and the quick, smug glance she cut at him from the corner of her eye, while the foreign dignitary from Agrabah she was greeting with all proper pomp and polite reserve was bowing to her, told him that she knew it as well. Though Emma might still be that “tough lass” he’d taken her for as they climbed the giant’s beanstalk, when she still didn’t trust him and made a formidable adversary cloaked in distrust and suspicion as much as her denim and leather, Killian also got to experience the softness and warmth beneath her armor, more so than he’d really had a right to hope for at the outset. After half a decade of marriage, he was privy to the perfect way her body fit in his embrace, how she rubbed the chilly tip of her nose in the hollow of his throat as she fought against waking in the morning, and the sensual slide of her skin, the softest and most enflaming sensation he had ever encountered, against his own. Yes, Killian knew all those parts of her well, and hoarded each one as the finest treasure, the way any good pirate would. And because he knew her mind and her secrets, he also knew when she was teasing him - as she was doing just then.

Ostensibly, Princess Emma had every reason not to come immediately stand beside him and enjoy his sole companionship. Some three years prior, her family - and most of the inhabitants of Storybrooke - had chosen to return to the Enchanted Forest, their true home and intended birthright, feeling the responsibility to heal and repair their land and set it to rights could no longer be ignored. It had taken hard work and time, not to mention much diplomacy and negotiation, to see the renewal of Misthaven to full prominence and strength, the way it had been once upon a time, but as this celebratory ball commemorated, their homeland was once more taking its place as a center of government and commerce worthy of note. The turnout of their numerous foreign allies and partners for this occasion proved it even more definitively. As the crown princess, it was Emma’s duty to greet the visiting nobles and gathered emissaries, to listen and make them feel welcome. However, though his Swan cared deeply for her country and her people, she was not one to linger in meaningless pandering and conversation when she could avoid it. Normally she would have made short work of the rounds that were necessary, but he could tell she was set on tormenting him, determined to keep her distance for the sake of driving him slowly insane with need.

The vision of her in the red dress she wore - off the shoulders with fluttering cap sleeves, but fitted all the way throughout the bodice and over her hips to the knees where it flared out in what was called a mermaid skirt (though he knew that term would make Ariel’s brow crinkle in consternation and perplexity if she heard it). The shimmering gown was bright red, and reminded him vividly of the vision she had been at the first ball they ever attended together, the first time they had danced, when he couldn’t have imagined just how much they would come to mean to each other. His mouth went suddenly dry as she leaned over to speak playfully with the diplomat’s young daughter, and deliberately gave him a look down the fitted bodice that no one else would catch. She could tell exactly what it did to him, if the wink she sent his way was any indication.

Finally, the crowd waiting to speak with the princess thinned, and he saw Emma’s mother shoo her toward the dance floor as if releasing her from official duty. It might actually be only a short respite; they couldn’t afford to snub or neglect any of those who had gathered in gratitude after all. He also knew Emma well enough to understand that though she might look as graceful as her namesake avian creature, she would never choose to unwind or cut loose while dressed up in heels and finery, doing proper ballroom dances in front of so many watching eyes. She was more inclined to curl up in her beloved hoodies and sweats or go out sailing with him when she truly wished to feel at ease.

Regardless, he would take the chance to cut which was being placed before him. Sliding over to stand before her, Killian raised his brow at Emma as she drew in a sharp breath of surprise at his sudden appearance, and how close he pressed to her before holding out his hand and hook to pull her into a familiar waltz. Still, there was nothing simple or understated about the scorching look her offered her, making certain she felt the heat simmering from his every pore, the sheer desire burning within his eyes, even as his hand played over her back and his hook brushed an escaped golden tentril of her hair off her forehead before trailing along her collarbone, cool against her rapidly warming skin.

The smirk that crossed his face at the gasp escaping his Savior’s painted lips was as taunting and rakish as any he had ever worn in his most daring years of piracy. Leaning nearer still, he could practically feel Emma’s heart hammering, so rapidly that he feared a moment for it beating out of her chest. She clutched the open collar of his shirt, thumb rubbing through the coarse chest hair she loved, just barely peeping out and giving a hint at the rapscallion beneath his respectable garb.

Before he could think to rein in the impulse that took him over, Killian darted forward to nip at the lobe of her delicate ear, tongue playing briefly with the dangling pearl drop of her earring until a quiet little whimper escaped her for him alone to hear, even as they mostly looked to be dancing sedately to anyone else’s eyes.

Pulling back slightly to search his face, Emma’s expression clearly asked her husband what he was doing, and Killian leaned in to whisper at her cheek, his stubble abrading her pale, flawless skin, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “Oh Princess… you’ve been playing quite the dangerous game.”

“Me?” she whispered breathlessly, attempting to feign innocence though her voice was light and thready, and he could see a shiver run through her.

“Oh yes, Love,” he nodded, a wicked smile stretching across his devilishly handsome features as he pressed her. “You know just what you’ve been doing to me all night. I’m onto you, Wife.”

Emma smirked back at him now, sliding into the playful banter that had been a part of their relationship almost from its very beginning. “Is that so? And what am I doing, Husband?” she shot back in jesting challenge.

“Driving me wild,” he growled into the sensitive curve of her neck and shoulder, making her flinch away and flush all the way up to the roots of her golden curls and down until it disappeared into the corset of her dress.

They continued to dance, though they moved closer to the edge of the large marbled palace floor and away from the many other couples. Their steps also slowed as they rotated in smaller circles - more and more caught up in each other.

Killian had her right where he wanted as he murmured for Emma’s hearing alone. “You may have your fun being the perfect royal for now, Darling. Charm your princes and bewitch your knights. Laugh and dance and make nice, enchant them all… but don’t forget who will take you home when the night is over. Then you’re mine… and you won’t be so proper.”

His eyes glimmered with blue fire as those words sunk in, and Emma’s chest visibly seemed to heave across the tightly cinched corset in a struggle to draw breath once he had stolen it. Killian licked his lips salaciously, holding her in his stare, and Emma nearly tripped, her knees went so weak. If she hadn’t already been clutching him tightly, she would have fallen in a puddle at his feet.

It seemed the Princess of Misthaven deemed her duties that night fulfilled after all, as it was not much longer before she and her pirate consort husband disappeared for the evening - no doubt saving the very last intimate dance for each other alone.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @let-it-raines @shireness-says @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @effulgentcolors @branlovestowrite @lfh1226-linda @thislassishooked @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @profdanglaisstuff @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @resident-of-storybrooke

#csjj2020 #cs januaryjoy #day 30 #cs enchanted forest ff #cs oneshot #save me the last dance

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autochthonousone · 4 years

Text

Unbroken Bonds

It was curious. Suns had gone on after the events that transpired within Aislinn’s laboratory and he’d not felt an ounce of trepidation. All that he’d felt was a mounting sense of anticipation. A glowing ember of elation attributed to something that he’d dared never to hope. Even amidst the chaos of the procedure he’d swore to temper his expectations. To rein in his wild yearnings. It was only a recipe for his heart to be torn asunder in the same way that it had nearly a decade ago when he’d believed his brother killed.

But then he said ‘Ren’.

A simple gesture. A word that was meaningless to anyone that hadn’t grown up with the Ala Mhigan knight. It was a name that had long since fallen out of use in favor of his epithet ‘Armsbreaker’. Even the man himself had never used it, nor had he ever asked for it to be used by others. Yet, when spoken by one who’d lived those years of his life with him -- his very blood -- there was no denying the impact that it had on the knight as he sank to the ground beside his beleaguered beloved; his eye shimmering with the silent threat of tears.

Now he stood outside the door of Aislinn’s apartment with Eliane ( @tea-and-conspiracy ) at his side, his hand desperately clasped around the elezen woman’s own. It was now that he felt the trepidation. The sense of subtle dread as he stood upon the precipice of what he’d never had the courage to hope. It terrified him. This lofty height that he felt himself ascending toward, the gradual lifting of the burden that he’d mantled himself with for all these years. Should it all come crashing down upon him now he feared that he would never truly be the same.

No doubt Eliane could feel this rising tide of emotion within the knight, a gentle pressure being returned to the knight’s hand as she cast a warm, calming look upon him with her vibrant, minty gaze. She, too, had her own recent experiences with daring to hope. No doubt she understood that which he was going through. The vulnerability of such a feeling.

“Pray, have faith, my love.” She offered in quiet assurance as her lips slipped into a gentle smile.

The knight’s reply was a slow bow of his head and grateful expression whilst he flooded his lungs with a deep breath. The calming effect of her reassurances taking quick hold. He had no reason for doubt. Between Eliane and Aislinn, Bertram was in hands far more capable than his own. It was they that had performed the miracle.

“Right.” Barengar’s low voice rumbled in a subdued response.

It was at this moment that the door to Aislinn’s apartment opened and Barengar’s heart nearly skipped a beat. His stormy blue gaze snapped to the door as the woman slipped out to join Eliane and Barengar just outside. No words were exchanged. There was but a meaningful, if not gentle, look from Aislinn ( @lettersnorth ) and a slow nod of her head as she stepped away from the still open door. When she stepped passed the highlander she hesitated for just a moment before lightly touching a hand to the man’s shoulder.

It was time.

The hand fell away as Aislinn moved aside, Barengar’s meeting the gaze of his childhood friend briefly before falling back to Eliane’s. With silent encouragement she gave his hand one last squeeze before attempting to usher unto the open door.

Another deep breath and before Barengar knew it he was standing within the apartment, closing the door behind him. His eyes immediately feel upon the man sitting upon the Ul’dahn sofa, gazing into the fire with his one remaining eye. He didn’t look up to Barengar immediately upon the elder highlander’s entrance. Yet, when he did, he was upon his feet just as quickly. Bertram’s gaze fixated upon Barengar in complete silence.

Immediately Barengar’s mind began to write itself a fiction. That the fury still nested deep within his brother’s mind. That they may have restored his mind but he yet remained unable to be near him as some form of painful justice. The warrior’s mouth opened but words failed to leave his tongue as the breath uselessly drained from his lungs. He could feel his, usually, staid heart hammering within his chest.

But then Bertram moved. He moved with urgency and haste straight toward his brother. Barengar almost reacted to shield himself but Bertram was simply too quick. Before the knight knew it his brother’s arms were around him in a desperate embrace, squeezing tight around his elder brother.

“Ren.” Bertram breathed with pain in his voice, still clinging tight to his brother, “I’ve been horrible to you. I … don’t know what to say.”

The Armsbreaker was stunned, his eyes wide as his mind struggled to accept reality for what it was. As something that he’d never believed he’d ever experience again. Yet here he was within the embrace of his long tormented and long believed lost brother. The moment was too surreal, his mind could not accept it as reality. That is until he heard his childhood nickname from the tongue of his brother. It was then that everything came crashing down.

Barengar’s arms immediately wrapped around Bertram, one hand gripping firmly upon the younger Greyshark’s blonde hair as he pressed his lips into the crown of his younger brother. His eyes welled with unbidden moisture as emotions of rare potency stormed within the man with a torrential force. It was not long before the tears were openly streaming down his face.

“No. No.” The knight responded with a voice that croaked with emotion, yet still had the force behind its intent. “Ain’t any o’ that y’r fault, Bertram. None o’ it.”

“I tried to kill you, Ren.” Bertram pushed back against his brother’s dismissal of the guilt.

Barengar simply clung tight to his brother for a moment longer before moving his hands to Bertram’s shoulders and pushing him back so that he could look his, slightly shorter, brother in the eyes. There was a deep and firm resolve within the elder’s gaze. A look that Bertram now recalled with the greatest of acuity. It was an expression that brought a sense of peace and comfort.

“And ain’t any ‘o that y’r doin’, Bertram. Y’were used by a monster o’a man.”

There was a span of silence that held between the two Greysharks for several moments before Bertram relented, his shoulders deflating slightly as his breath evacuated his lungs. There wasn’t any use in arguing otherwise with him when Barengar looked like that. Not that he wished to. If anything the younger brother took solace in knowing that some things had never changed. Even in the face of everything that’s happened to them.

He was still Barengar.

Bertram slowly lowered himself back down upon the sofa and drew in a deep breath to center himself. Attempting to make use of some of the techniques that he’d come to learn from his father’s soul crystal. Though he could only do so much, nor would he wish to curb this feeling in its entirety. While overwhelming it wasn’t bad. Quite the opposite. It was a profound sense of relief, a notion that everything just might be okay.

Barengar watched his brother as he sank back down to the sofa before moving to settle himself down nearby on the bend of the ‘L’ shaped seating. He allowed Bertram to have some space as his brother fought to keep himself from bending to the intensity of emotion. The thought itself shined a spotlight on the tear streaks that still stained his own face, his arm rising up to use a sleeve to wipe them away.

“I … can’t just let him get away with it, Ren.”

Bertram’s voice was quiet and pensive when he finally broke the silence. It took Barengar a moment to process what it was that his younger brother meant, but it didn’t take long. He knew exactly who he was talking about. It was a sentiment that very few involved in the situation would disagree upon.

Osmund Garrett needed to pay for what he’s done. Not just to Bertram; to countless victims of his ‘grand’ experiments. The trail of blood and tears that stained his ‘Path of Progress’. There was simply no recourse.

“An’ we won’t, Bertram.” He asserted firmly, making it clear he felt the same way. “Bu’ chasin’ shadows ain’t goin’ t’do anythin’ f’r us. Y’need t’take y’r time. Jus’ … be you f’r a minute.”

Bertram turned his gaze upon Barengar for a moment, looking as though he were about to argue with him but relented in the end. He simply let out a quiet sigh and nodded his head in concession. He couldn’t exactly argue with that logic. If he ran off to chase ghosts now he’d only be falling back into a dismal pattern.

“Jus’ … take s’me time. M’sure tha’ Aislinn’d be glad t’put y’up f’r as long as y’need. Bu’ y’r always welcome t’c’me stay wit’ Ellie an’ I. S’more th’n enough room.” Barengar commented with wry amusement before he continued, his tone growing softer for a moment. “Ther’s … a lot t’catch up ‘pon.”

There’s a span of silence once again as Bertram’s gaze slowly shifts toward the gentle glow of the hearth. A slight smile slowly formed upon his lips in the wake of an unspoken thought before he looked back to Barengar with that same smile. He wasn’t wrong on that particular note. There was so much that he didn’t know. So much that he hadn’t yet learned. He hadn’t just talked with his brother for far, far too long.

“You’re right about that, Ren …” He turned so that he was more directly facing his brother. “Why don’t you start?”

And so they talked. As brothers should. Each accounting their lives in the wake of their tragic divergence from one another to the best of their ability. They came to know each other all over again.

The Greyshark brothers were finally reunited.

#Barengar Armsbreaker #Bertram Windshadow #Eliane Dufresne #Aislinn North #ffxiv roleplay #my writing

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flourchildwrites · 5 years

Note

64 and 25 on the AU mashup. I know I usually ask for Royai, but this time around can I request Havolina? Please? :D Thank you

A/N: Oh my, @ruikosakuragi ! I fell in love with this prompt the moment I saw it. You requested numbers 64 (star crossed lovers) and 25 (fairy tale AU) with a havolina ship. And when I sat down to write, I was in a terrible, terrible funk. Nothing like a little havolina angst to put me in a better mood. (We don’t have time to unpack why writing angst brightens my day.) Thank you for this prompt, and thanks for being one of my favorite readers and writers!

Read on AO3

Whenever Jean Havoc went missing, his mother knew where to find him. Up the stone staircases of the ivy encased castle, through corridors cloaked in thick tapestries bearing the Armstrong family crest and into the hall of portraits she went. A young boy of 12, already a knight in training, stared up at a dark-haired woman with enigmatic eyes and a kind smile. Squire Havoc didn’t put much stock in the written word; he preferred his daggers and swords, but he learned enough to decipher her name, etched into the golden plaque beneath the frame.

Princess Rebecca Talia of Catalina

La Belle au bois dormant

The boy was favored amongst the castles’ inhabitants. With sun-bleached hair, boyish freckles and a penchant for lighthearted mischief, he captured the hearts of every last scullery maid and made fast friends with the king’s young son, Alexander, a mere six months Havoc’s junior. His mother, Claudia frowned, as she watched her boy munch a stolen croissant from the kitchens while he gazed longingly at the portrait. Practically the only person who had not taken a shine to Jean was the queen, and her bedchambers were too close for comfort.

“Come away from there, my son,” Claudia beckoned. “Come quickly before the queen sees you. Why must you always return to this picture?”

Young Jean sighed, shoulders hunched forward as he tore his eyes away from the old portrait and heeded his mother’s call. He didn’t know why he returned to gaze at the woman day after day, sneaking up from the stables with straw in his sleeves and mud on his boots. But there was an undeniable connection, a pull in her directions like an invisible string of fate that bound them together no matter how far he strayed. Still, Havoc knew his mother had no stomach for such fairy tales.

“I like to keep her company,” he answered. “She’s so pretty, but her eyes are lonely. Don’t you think?”

Claudia grabbed her son’s hand and guided him quickly through the castle with featherlight footsteps. “I shouldn’t like to find you there again,” she said pointedly as if she knew he would return regardless.

Jean understood her perfectly.

…

Sixteen-year-old Jean visited her in the night when the light of the full moon spilled through the windows of the castle. While other senior squires warmed the beds of those with bodies, the sins of the flesh never occupied Jean for long. He loved them but left them with ease, ever drawn to the beloved portrait of Rebecca.

In his youth, Jean had always known to her to beautiful. But as the years passed, the young squire noticed the fullness of her rosy lips and the blush in her cheek. The swell of her breasts entranced him further, hastening lustful dreams where she led him toward a cobwebbed bedchamber. Still, Rebecca’s chestnut eyes were her most alluring feature. Ever pleading, wanting the company of a man who lived a century after the date scribbled in the corner of the painting.

“Who goes there?” A booming voice interrupted Havoc’s reverie, sounding from down the hall.

Jean stirred, muscles sluggish from the day’s exertions. It might have been better to turn tail, but the squire stood his ground. He adopted an unassuming posture and ran a hand through his unkempt hair.

“Just me, Prince Alexander,” he announced. “Squire Jean.”

The prince approached with heavy footfalls against the thick, red rug. Even in his night clothes, Alex looked intimidating, burly and otherwise big. His muscles tested the elasticity of his night tunic.

“I might have known,” he chuckled. “You’re not here for my sister Catherine, are you? I’d hate to have to challenge you to a duel, friend.”

“Too young,” Havoc smirked, cocky as ever. “I’ve always liked this painting. The woman in it is… There’s no one else like her. Too bad she’s long gone.”

Alex grinned, too broadly for Jean to ignore. He was a terrible liar at the best of times, and he loved gossip more than the washerwomen who babbled ceaselessly as they worked. Havoc cast the prince an expectant sideways glance.

“Isn’t she dead? What aren’t you telling me, Alex?”

The prince kept his own counsel for a moment, no more, before letting loose the story of sleeping beauty, Princess Rebecca, with glee. Enchanted by a bitter alchemist as an infant, the young women fell victim to a ghastly prophecy. In retaliation for her father’s hubris, she plucked her finger on a splinter while spinning flax and fell into an endless slumber.

“The sage Hohenheim managed to save her,” Alex explained, “but his counter-circle put the rest of Catalina to sleep in exchange for the princess’s life. His prophecy foretells that she will sleep until the firstborn son of the Southern Kingdom’s 12th king wakes her. And should she rule with him standing by her side, their united kingdoms will be prosperous.”

Havoc could barely believe his ears. He made a face dripping with incredulity. “And how much longer does the princess have to wait?”

“Until I wake her with a kiss,” Alex replied. “The firstborn son of the 12th king is me.”

…

“Ami Jean, lève ton verre, et surtout, ne le renverse pas! Et porte-le du frontibus…”

King Alexander’s boisterous song rattled the dust from the rafters in the great hall as he drunkenly lumbered amidst the merrymaking. The knighting ceremony was a festive occasion, beloved by the Southern Kingdom for its pageantry and splendor. Sir Vato sat in deep conversation with a Northern scholar as Sir Roy and Dame Riza cut striking figures on the dance floor. The pair’s silver armor glinted in the soft candlelight as they sashayed past Sir Kain, his arm draped over the shoulders of an attractive stable hand.

Claudia caught her son’s eye from around the curtain of the servant’s quarters. The proud glint of her gaze spoke of volumes of pride, and Sir Jean grinned dashingly in response with a toast in her direction. Claudia, whose once brown hair was now stained by starlight, would never be permitted to make merry with her son, but she watched, happy for his good fortune. And Havoc silently thanked the anonymous benefactor who championed his cause all the way to knighthood.

“Sir Jean!” Havoc turned, searching for the regal body matching the royal voice. Its owner appeared behind him, dressed in decadent purple robes.

“King Alexander.” Jean bowed with the balanced poise.

“None of that now, Havoc,” the king chuckled. “We’ve known each other too long to be beholden to formalities.”

“My greatest ambition is to be of service to you, sire.” The practiced words fell from his lips like butter, and not for the first time, Havoc wondered if he meant them.

“Then be of service, you shall,” he announced. “My father has been dead these nine months, and I find myself in want of a queen before my coronation. You will help me fetch her.”

Jean hadn’t visited Princess Rebecca’s portrait in quite some time, and at the age of 21, he had seemingly caught up to her. Nevertheless, time had ticked by quicker since King Phillip has passed. All eyes had turned to his friend, Alex.

“I hardly think you’d need me to help you find a wife,” Sir Jean offered. “Lady Maria, for example, seems up to the task, and you like her, as I recall.”

“I do like her, but,” Alex pulled Jean in close, ducking his head to whisper in his ear, “Lady Maria will not bring prosperity to my kingdom and unite us with the Catalina territory. I want her. I want Princess Rebecca. Are you with me, Sir Jean?”

Who was a knight to refuse his king?

…

The bramble of thorns encasing the Catalina territory was worse than expected. Poisonous fog stung the eyes and hovered low to the ground, claiming the lives of the wounded fallen. Dark creatures of legend and myth with tattered black wings swooped from the skies to pierce intruders with their filthy claws. Early on, Sir Roy was blinded by the gas, and Dame Riza nearly bled out after being attacked by a vicious airborne beast. Sirs Heymans and Kain escorted their fellows back to the relative safety of the Southern Kingdom.

And on the fifth day, madness set in; King Alexander was affected.

Summoning all his mental fortitude, Jean pressed onward with his ruler in tow. He grabbed the reins of the king’s horse and followed his instincts. The young knight’s sense of direction was clouded by muck and mire of his mind’s own creation, but something primal stirred, pulling Havoc along a clear path hidden in the quagmire.

At daybreak, he saw the tall turrets of an ancient castle, older and more massive than any building in the Southern Kingdom. At the foot of the castle, royal guards in dust-covered tunics slumbered, slumped against the frigid stone; their weapons still poised in their hands. The air was stale, but decay had inexplicably spared the old Kingdom of Catalina. Every detail of daily life was still and held static, tinged with a purple glow, the calling card of alchemical mayhem.

“Oh mon Dieu! It’s true,” Jean gasped. He took in greedy breaths of clean, if dank, air. Alongside him, Alex followed suit, recovering from his mania.

“I should name my firstborn son after you if we live through this,” Alex said, coughing. “How did you know that way?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” he quipped, ever the picture of ease under pressure.

Sir Jean and King Alexander navigated the winding staircases of Catalina castle. Climbing ever higher, they sought the tallest turret of the highest tower, a room that kissed the edges of the darkened clouds overhead. Somewhere along the way, Sir Jean’s feet began to move of their own accord. Without rhyme or reason, he followed a siren’s call, a haunting tune that resonated in his heart.

At last, they found her chamber. The walls were draped with dusty tapestries, and long canopy curtains fluttered in the dreary breeze, obscuring her sleeping figure from Jean’s prying eyes. Alex moved forward, pushing the curtains aside. He sat cautiously next to the sleeping woman with red lips, raven hair and slender fingers folded over her flowing red robes. Princess Rebecca looked serene but deathly pale. Havoc fought the compulsion to go to her as his friend and king laid a tender kiss on his beloved’s lips.

She remained as still and silent as the grave.

“I don’t understand,” Alex exclaimed. “I am the firstborn son of the 12th king of the Southern Kingdom. I am the only one who can break the spell.”

“It’s alchemy,” Sir Jean responded. “Things go wrong in the best transmutations. Princess Rebecca might be stuck in eternal slumber.”

The king left the princess’s bedside, not bothering to draw the curtain as he turned to leave. “Some of my best knights were harmed during this foolish endeavor,” he growled, “and for what purpose?”

Jean couldn’t help himself. He ducked under the gossamer curtain and kneeled next to the bed with a reverent posture. Havoc brought the beauty’s hands to rest in his own, so cold and small. He noticed the fabled splinter still lodged under her fingernail and plucked it out, regretting that she should be left so beautiful and unblemished against the current of time.

A breath. A twitch. The delicate flutter of her eyelashes.

“My king! She wakes!” Havoc exclaimed, standing up and pushing himself back from his intimate pose. He embellished for good measure as Alex entered the room. “You have awakened her. See?”

Chestnut eyes, a heartbreaking shade of gold veiled in melancholy cream, fluttered open and stared into Jean’s face. Her lips moved uncertainly, drawing Jean back to her bedside. He smiled, as brilliantly as the sun.

“Don’t try to speak so soon,” Sir Jean cautioned. He wet her lips tenderly with water from his canteen.

“My king,” she said, looking up at Jean.

“It is I who am your king,” Alex interrupted. He scooped her up in his arms as Havoc pocketed the splinter along with his broken heart.

…

Prophecies were a funny thing, Jean decided, as he gazed up at the official portrait of the Southern Kingdom 12th king, hung proudly in the royal family’s private suite. King Philip had always been kind to Havoc, favoring him to a fault, and promoting the child to squire at a young age despite his discipline issues. What’s more, Havoc recalled that King Phillip had never once corrected foreign dignitaries when they mistook Jean and Alex for brothers. Perhaps, Jean should have put the pieces together sooner.

Why say “the firstborn son of the 12th king” when one could simply say the 13th king? Havoc knew the answer (for all the good it did).

Princess Rebecca Talia of Catalina was now Queen Rebecca, bound by the ties of holy matrimony to Jean’s childhood friend and king. Alex was a good man and a just ruler. It pained Havoc to harbor lustful thoughts for his friend’s bride. Yet, however wrong it felt, the feel of Havoc’s mouth against the hollow of Rebecca’s throat eased his ailing conscience time and time again.

In any other life, their stars would have aligned.

“Must you always leave me so soon?” Rebecca cooed. She drew the covers playfully over her swollen belly as she watched her lover dress, preparing to leave using the secret passageway behind the bureau. Havoc tried not to stare, but it was hard to remember that, in the light of day, they could be no more than a queen and her knight.

“Damn,” he exhaled, half-tempted to throw it all away right then and there. He pressed his nose into the soft lavender scent of Rebecca’s hair and caressed her waist possessively, in awe of the new life dwelling within her. Like all their other stolen moments, Jean tucked the memory of holding her so close away for safe keeping. Bedding a queen was hardly a luxury that a knight could regularly afford.

…

Princess Chloe was christened on a blustery Autumn morning just as the leaves began to fall from their trees. Naturally, King Alexander and Queen Rebecca were wary, refusing all gifts from the alchemists in attendance, including the famed Brothers Elric, for fear of history repeating itself. The ceremony was brief but beautiful, drawing attendees from across the four kingdoms. Banners in the great hall proudly displayed the Southern Kingdom’s union with the rediscovered Catalina territory, and as far as anyone besides the queen and her favorite knight knew, there was no better symbol of that unity that the princess.

Sir Jean stood sentry beside the Queen, watching over Rebecca as their newborn infant suckled at her mother’s breast. It wasn’t much, Havoc knew, but it would have to be enough. For as long as his body drew breath, he would never leave Rebecca, bound by ties of duty and fate. He stood silently by his beloved’s side as she ruled with King Alexander.

The Southern Kingdom prospered, as the sage Hohenheim had foretold.

Like what you read? Send me a FANFICTION TROPE MASH UP ask.

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darkhymns-fic · 7 years

Text

The Rebel and the Captain

An AU based on the concept of Asgore having died from the buttercups pie instead of just getting food poisoning, leaving Toriel to rule the Underground by herself.

Fandom: Undertale Characters: Undyne, Papyrus, Gerson, Toriel Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3 Notes: Written by Sky. Special thanks to my Discord friends for all their encouragement and inspiring me to write this alternate universe story. Small reference to this comic. (It is a good comic, check it out.)

Ever since King Asgore was poisoned by the first fallen human, the Underground has been full of tension. Queen Toriel decreed that all humans be treated with kindness, and that no violence may befall them. In fact, it is said that she has cared for the previous humans that fell, just as she had done with the human that had murdered her beloved King.

The Rebels disagreed with this edict, vowing to gather the human souls to break through the barrier and finally be free. The Rebels believed in fighting for what's right, while the Queen vehemently opposed them with her Royal Captain and her guards.

Undyne, the Rebel Leader, believes in their cause. But a certain skeleton has been getting in her way lately...

The wind was howling.

Queen Toriel shuddered. She looked to the small crack above, and noticed dark clouds gathering on the outside world. A storm was coming. It would be violent, certainly. It was times like this that she was glad they stayed Underground. If only the other monsters could understand the dangers.

She took a sip of her tea. Still too bitter. Her eyes fell upon the old king’s throne, now covered in a sheet, placed away in the corner of her garden. It wasn’t dusty. She cleaned it regularly. She wouldn’t allow it to dirty.

While the outside world may have been cold and angry, the garden seemed happy today. A few flowers disobeyed and wilted here and there, while others might have grown far too large, but for the most part, they listened to her. Toriel never could quite handle the flowers the same way he could.

Despite it all, it was another good day in the Underground. Maybe she’d visit her royal scientists today and see their progress! Those two always seemed so happy to see her. Truth be told, they never failed to brighten her day either. Especially Sans.

A cold wind bit into her fur. She shivered, finding her eyes had fallen upon the empty throne yet again. She fought the urge to apologize.

An explosion boomed into her sensitive ears, causing the Queen to flinch. Thunder?

“YOUR HONOR!” The sound grew louder. “YOUR HONOR!”

Toriel let out a sigh of relief. With a polite smile, she greeted the knight. “Yes, Captain Papyrus? Something to report?”

The knight’s heavy armor clanked and jingled all while his bones rattled to the rhythm of his jogging. As usual, the bone white chest piece was polished to an excruciatingly bright sheen, capable of blinding any who might dare to stare at it too long.

“YOUR HONOR!” Papyrus boomed, his voice muffled under his helmet. Strangely, the helmet was shaped almost exactly like his actual skull. With a huff, he removed his skull helmet, revealing what appeared to be the exact same face. “INCREDIBLE NEWS, YOUR HONOR!”

Toriel flinched again, his voice now even louder without the helmet. She never could bring herself to correct the knight that it was ‘your majesty’ and not ‘your honor.’ She cleared her throat, attempting to sound more royal. Papyrus liked that. “What news do you bring, Captain?”

Of course, nearly every day Papyrus came bursting in with ‘incredible news’ about how a cat monster was stuck in a tree, or how Shyren was holding a concert, or how well his pet rock was doing that day. Toriel did not mind. She handpicked the tall excitable skeleton after all.

Under her rein, it was imperative that all humans be treated with the same respect and dignity as any other monster. Papyrus had proven to be one of the most hardest-working and gentle souls she had ever met. He was always very eager to help any monster in need, and often created enjoyable puzzles for future humans (or monsters) to solve. Queen Toriel, of course, made sure every puzzle was safe! She would often even help Captain Papyrus create new enjoyable puzzles for the kids.

In her eyes, no one could be better suited for the job of keeping the peace. Yet still, the wind howled. Toriel did fear for his safety at times. She had hoped the armor he designed would be strong enough to protect him from any harm.

As if waiting for her inner monologue to finish, Papyrus bowed before Toriel. She usually would never allow anyone to bow before her, but Papyrus seemed to really enjoy the authenticity. “YOUR HONOR, THERE’S BEEN REPORTS OF A HUMAN!”

Her royal façade shattered. That smile faltered. “A… human?” she repeated dumbly. Her next words were only audible to her. “Already?”

Papyrus looked up at her, his eyes glistening with heroic sparkles. “YES! HOW EXCITING! I CAN’T WAIT TO MEET THEM! BUT, I FIGURED I SHOULD TELL YOU FIRST!”

Toriel’s thoughts whirled like the storm above. While she did not fear the human, she did fear the consequences. Not all monsters were so keen on staying in the Underground. Not all monsters wished to treat humans with kindness.

“WELL IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME, YOUR HONOR, I HAVE A HUMAN TO CAPTURE!” He paused then added: “AND ESCORT SAFELY TO YOUR HOME!” In a flash, he donned his skull helmet and ran towards the garden’s exit, his red scarf fluttering with glee behind him.

“Papyrus, wait!” she called out.

Thunder boomed, and her voice was drowned out by the muffled ‘NYEH HEH HEH’s in his helmet. Before she could give chase, he was already gone. Toriel looked back to her home. She would need to prepare.

Her eyes fell to the old throne once more. She prayed he would be all right.

She hated it here.

“hOI! i’M tE-”

“You’re Temmie, I know,” Undyne groaned as she strolled past the various vibrating monsters. She pointed at the Temmie next to the first and the ones next to that one. “And you’re Temmie, and you’re Temmie, and you’re Bob. I know. I’ve been coming here every day for years, and you all say the same damn thing.”

The Temmies grew silent, looking amongst each other. Finally, they stood still. Maybe she had gotten through to them?

“hOI! i’M tEMMIE!”

Undyne threw her claws in the air. “Ngaaaaah!!” Despite her threatening motions, the Temmies continued to stare and vibrate like always.

Temmie Village bustled with various Temmie activity, as usual. Hungry Temmies lined up at the shop to buy their Tem Flakes, using their own Tem Flakes as currency. Temmies chattered amongst Temmies about their rich deep Temmie lore with zero details past that. It was the same maddening process every day.

Undyne shook her head and tried to ignore it. She ducked and crawled through a small hole in the cave’s wall, and as usual, she had the most distinct scale crawling feeling of being watched. Every time. As she stepped out into the secret room, sweaty grunts entered her fishy ears.

“Hello, Undyne ;),” Aaron winked, his muscles glistening with way too much sweat. He flexed next to a pair of dumbbells, practicing for anyone that might challenge him. He was the perfect defense to keep the Temmies away. mUSCLES r nOT cUTE!

“Hey, Aaron,” Undyne waved. She was always glad to have him around, even if he wasn’t part of the cause. A flexing challenge usually helped with any stress she might be feeling. However, today wasn’t the day for flexing. Something was in the air. Her spear hand tensed, itching to be used.

Looking past a pair of worn and possibly angry-looking dummies, Undyne found herself at the Rebel Base. It wasn’t too showy, and it didn’t need to be. The base’s wooden boards were rickety and scratched after generations of use, but somehow this old thing managed to stay standing. Inside held several tables and chairs, some holding unfinished card games, others Nice Cream wrappers and old burnt doggy treats. Weapons of all kinds lined the walls, from spears with dog faces, to matching his/her axes. It was a sty that desperately needed some cleaning, but that was for another time.

The Rebels formed themselves many years before Undyne was even born. They had been a part of the Underground since anyone could remember. If Undyne had been the leader back then, she would have named it something cooler, but apparently it was named in honor of old King Asgore who was never great at names.

It's been told that the poor guy died due to food poisoning by flowers from his old garden. Sad way to go. Worst part was the King’s own adopted human kid was the perpetrator. Killed himself, and his dad. The King’s blood related son died soon after as well, although not much information is known about that. More than likely that human’s doing as well.

The Queen wanted everyone to forget it happened, wanted to pretend that humans did nothing wrong. As if the humans weren’t responsible for banishing them underground like they were diseased mutants, jailing them and tossing away the key. And some monsters did forgive and forget. But not everyone. Not the Rebels. They wouldn’t forget what the humans did, and they wouldn’t forgive so easily either. It was shortly after the old King’s death that the Rebels had formed, demanding for a change. It was at that time the group was at its absolute largest, too. That was a long time ago though.

The Queen passed an order to everyone in the Underground to treat any potential human like they would any other monster. With kindness and respect. Undyne spat just thinking of it. The Queen thinks it’s better to stay Underground! She doesn’t care about the overcrowding, she doesn’t care that they’ll never see the outside world, see the stars.

But the Rebels do.

Undyne moved through a door, her dirty boots squeaking against the floorboards. The old Rebel leaders stared at her through their painted canvases, their will for a better monster life filling her with determination. They worked hard, they kept these old tales intact, and now it was up to Undyne to keep them strong.

Past the paintings, past another set of old doors, Undyne made it to her seldom used office. It was a dingy little place, papers and maps strewn about haphazardly. On her desk, a half-eaten Crab Apple lay, nearly rotten, and mostly forgotten. She pushed that and her old cup of Sea Tea over onto the floor, her claws reaching underneath.

With a satisfying click! And the whirring of an old antique machine, a secret compartment opened in one of the moldy walls.

She wanted to see them again today. She needed to remember…

She had both her eyes back then. Strangely enough, it felt harder to see.

Like most monsters, Undyne had lived in New Home. Of course, back then, she had no home, no parents to speak of. She couldn’t remember them either, nor did she wish to. Sadly, this wasn’t entirely uncommon. New Home was (and still is) overcrowded. Undyne knew the other kids without parents or homes as well, and she liked them. Queen Toriel tried to set up homes and schools for any homeless monsters, but it simply wasn’t enough.

That’s not to say Undyne was unhappy. Even as a little street urchin, she enjoyed finding a new hole to sleep in, new places to explore, new food to steal. Sometimes things could get a little dire. Sometimes she’d go a day or two without eating, but it was okay. Sometimes the weaker monsters couldn’t steal like she could. Even as a child, Undyne would give up her snacks for the few that couldn’t get their own. It was all right. Queen Toriel was doing her best, they’d say. She did a good job, they’d say.

While there was always plenty of room in places like Snowdin or Hotland, most monsters simply could not live in those climates. So most lived in New Home. New areas were being dug out by the Queen’s orders every day, but it wasn’t enough. But it was okay. She was trying her best. Some were unhappy. Some wanted to leave the Underground. That just wasn’t possible. Some were afraid to criticize the Queen’s decision, and Undyne didn’t blame them.

“I hate it here!” A monster child said, looking up at the cavern’s looming stalactites. “I want to see the outside! I want more room to play!”

Undyne growled then, her little scaly hands turned to fists. “You watch what you say about the Queen!”

She forgot what the child looked like. “What do you care about her? You live on the streets!”

She remembered growing angry then, ready to hit the opposing child. Her dirty fangs grit together. “I don’t care! I like it here!”

She didn’t forget what the child had said. “Well, you might like it here, but I don’t!”

Undyne’s stomach growled. Two days had passed again, and she had eaten nothing more than a morsel. It was getting harder and harder to steal from shops. Most places knew her now, ready for “that scaly street urchin.” Ugh, why did she share that bisicle with that dirty little cat and alligator.

Because they were hungry, too. She had to help them. Who else would?

The stone buildings of New Home felt so much bigger back then. She couldn’t understand it at her age. How could it be so crowded when the buildings were so big? She remembered vividly pushing through Froggits, dodging through Whimsalot’s fluttering wings, and sliding by slimy moldsmals. A normal day in New Home.

“Wah hah hah! Thank you kindly!” A scratchy old voice rose above the usual chatter of the monster filled street. Undyne couldn’t help but grin. Hopefully, whoever this guy was, he had some food.

Ignoring a Loox’s cries, “Don’t bully me!” Undyne nimbly hopped off their head and onto a soft striped awning, above the crowded streets. From up here, she could see her target clearly, just across the way. He was busy with a customer.

“Wah hah hah!” She remembered thinking back then how genuine his laughter felt. Her child mind didn’t know how to put it into words, and her growling belly fogged her thoughts. He was just some old turtle, selling weird crab shaped apples and tea on a flimsy wooden stand. Focusing harder, she noticed the old turtle’s eye stayed permanently shut.

Perfect. How could anyone with only one eye be strong?

His wispy old beard reminded her of the wizards that other monsters talked about. Liver spots littered his grey green scales like gross puddles on the street. The old man barely even had any teeth left! What teeth he did have were misshapen and ugly. Probably couldn’t even eat the apples he was selling. Really, she’d be doing him a favor with her theft!

With a hop, she was back among the river of monsters, swimming through their bodies with ease. With all the monsters about, there was no chance he’d see her. Soon she was under the stand, her little body not even tall enough to see over it.

“Wah hah hah! Careful with all that nothing ya bought!” The old voice laughed as an unpleased monster left. This was Undyne’s chance. In a quick motion, she snatched an apple in one claw, and stole a nice cup of tea in the other. There was no way he noticed, it was too busy. She didn’t even need to run.

Undyne quickly took a bite out of the apple. Fruity and savory. The texture was soft like crab meat. Grinning, she drank from the cup, tasting a delicious sweet and salty liquid. Things just tasted so much better when you were hungry! Especially free food. This might have been the easiest meal she had gotten in a while, too!

“Woah there!” A wrinkly hand grabbed her by the scruff of her tattered striped shirt. “Scuse’ me little missy, but I think ya forgot to pay! Wah hah hah!” His grip was rough, holding her a little too tight, betraying that genuine laugh. The crowd of monsters gave the old man space, like a rock cutting a river in two.

Undyne whirled around, clutching the food and drink like her life depended on it. It probably did. “I didn’t forget!” she yelled, angry that this old man was defending his stolen goods. “Leave me alone!” Her hands full, she snapped her fangs at his fingers, expecting him to flinch and let her go.

Instead, she found her mouth full of gross salty old scales. Her fangs were sharp and pierced through his arm like they were rusty shields. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“Must be mighty hungry, aint ya?” He said, his lone eye wide, staring deep into her. She wouldn’t admit it then, but it frightened her. He saw too much. Saw through her. “But I’ll have to ask ya to at least eat the apple before ya start eating me, wah hah hah!”

Undyne growled and struggled, tossing little curled claws at the arm. No one could hold her! No one! No one had ever stopped her before! “Let me go!” she screeched.

Like the old man’s laugh, his frown, too, was genuine. Annoyed. “Calm down, ya little urchin!”

Maybe it was respect. Maybe it was fear. But Undyne stopped biting and punching, and stared up at the old man, still defiant.

His frown vanished, replaced again with that warm, half toothy smile. “Much better! Now, what ya did just now was mighty wrong, ya know.” He nodded. “Where’s your parents, little urchin?”

“I don’t got any!” Undyne yelled, on the verge of tears she was so angry. She never cried. “I don’t need any!”

His eye blinked. Again, he stared. Stared into her. Too deeply. She couldn’t help but shiver. An odd noise escaped his dry lips. “Well, either way, you can’t be goin’ around stealing from people, ya hear?” He looked over to his stand, forcing Undyne to see as well. A huge dark weapon gleamed, blunt, and black. Probably even older than this old man. “People call me the Hammer of Justice, ya know.”

So, it was a fight then, huh!? Undyne was no stranger to fights. She dropped the tea onto the stone concrete and reached for a nearby stick. It was more like a twig really. “Yeah!? Well!...” She gripped the branch hard, feeling it already crumbling in her claws. “I’m the Spear of Justice! I’m not afraid of you!” She pointed the little leafy thing directly at his one good eye.

The old turtle stared at the little girl before him, brandishing an old stick. In an instant, his grip on her faltered, and his laughter boomed again. “WAH HAH! HAH!”

She was free now. She could have run away. The old man could barely control himself, slapping his scaly old knees and wheezing like a fool. She could have escaped. “What’s so funny?!” Undyne demanded, shoving her stick closer to his shell, threatening to poke it. She didn’t like being laughed at.

Undyne moved to Waterfall soon after. Gerson’s home was always available to her, anytime she pleased. Whenever she returned, she always found the bed neatly made, a fresh crab apple, and sea tea sitting nearby.

She much preferred Waterfall over New Home. Undyne would spend most of her years growing up, and picking fights in the dark, damp caves, enjoying the watery lakes spread throughout. She even made friends for once. Maybe Gerson was a good influence on her. Maybe she just didn’t need to fight as much as she had at New Home.

Dogamy, Dogaressa, Doggo, Greater Dog, and Lesser Dog. They were just pups back then, but they were rambunctious and excitable. They followed Undyne around, and she was all too happy to pet and roughhouse with their seemingly unlimited energy. Others might look at her funny when she went to the cold frigid lands of Snowdin to visit the dogs, but even as a kid, she’d beat up anyone who talked smack about her or her friends.

“When I grow up, I’m gonna join the Royal Guard!” Undyne roared, readying a heroic stance against little Dogamy and Dogaressa. Even back then, they were inseparable.

Dogamy held his plastic toy axe in front of Dogaressa, his fangs showing in a mock growl. Dogaressa sported a similar stance, but her teeth looked sharper, her growl more menacing. “I’m gonna join them too! (I’ll be the Captain of the Royal Guard!)”

Doggo stood under a snowy tree, smoking his dog treats. It was a bad habit he had learned early on, and he hid it from his parents well. Undyne and the others swore they would never tell on him. Greater Dog and Lesser dog simply looked on the mock fight, tongues lolling and tails wagging.

Undyne cackled, her light green spear shimmering in her hand. It faded in and out, as she hadn’t quite learned how to control it fully yet. “No way! I’m gonna be the captain! And I’ll destroy the Rebels myself!” With a bit too much force, she pushed Dogamy into the fluffy white snow.

His eyes lit up with tears, while Dogaressa’s lit with rage. “Owwwwooo!! (Why’d you push him so hard?!)”

In her excitement, she forgot that it was Dogaressa who was more okay with roughhousing. She didn’t mean to make him cry. “Well, maybe he shouldn’t be such a baby!”

At the very least, Dogaressa made for a great opponent afterwards. Undyne couldn’t even remember who won that fight. Probably Undyne. Yeah.

The first time she met Queen Toriel was strange. Undyne had always heard of her, but never seen her in person. There were so many people to meet, so many people to help, she never quite had the time to see them all. Undyne remembered holding the Queen up on some unrealistic pedestal, but then again, most everyone did.

Toriel was tall. Very tall. Undyne was impressed. She must be so strong! She must be unstoppable! Her feet crunched in the snow as she waved goodbye to the people in Snowdin. Undyne and the dogs hid stealthily behind the trees, watching her every move. Once Toriel thought she was out of sight, her smile broke, and a deep sad frown washed over her muzzle. Undyne didn’t think much of it back then.

All she knew was she had to defeat the Queen. If she could fight the Queen and win, she’d be the strongest in all the Underground! Everyone would know it! The Queen would be so impressed, she’d make Undyne Captain of the Royal Guard right there! It was perfect! Her little heart pounded in anticipation, her spear hand clenching and unclenching.

The Queen drew near, and Undyne knew it was the perfect time to strike. “Ngaaah! Stop right there!” She roared, leaping in front of the immense monster before her. The dogs stood behind her, tails wagging, toy weapons at the ready.

The Queen let out a small noise of shock, clearly impressed with Undyne’s cunning. “Oh, goodness!” She breathed a sigh of relief, as if worried it might have been something worse. “Hello there, children!” Her smile then was so warm and so comforting. Something Undyne never understood. It made her heart heavy.

Focusing her energy, Undyne clenched at the spear in her hand. She wouldn’t let it fade out of existence now! She needed her full power! “I’m Undyne, the Spear of Justice! I demand you fight me!” She had practiced that line many times just in case of such an occasion.

The Queen blinked, appearing confused. She didn’t take a battle stance.

Undyne wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Fight me, now!” She cried, leaping forward towards the Queen.

In a swift movement, the Queen snatched up Undyne, halting her heroic charge. “Now now, my child!” She said, her eyes glowing with great power yet also a warm gentleness. “Fighting is wrong.”

The words felt like a stab to the gut. Instantly the spear blinked out of her hand. Undyne’s body felt limp, weak. “Wrong?” she repeated dumbly.

The Queen nodded with the sternness of a parent Undyne never knew. “That’s right. Fighting is bad. In the Underground, we talk through our problems, and we never hurt anyone. Hurting someone else is wrong. You must only be kind.”

Undyne couldn’t believe it. Her mind faltered, seemed to drown in a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. She meant to speak, but words wouldn’t come out.

Am I a bad person?

Queen Toriel saw the effect her words had on Undyne. She frowned. However, something in the distance compelled her to move quickly. She put down the little fish girl gently, noting that the dogs had also backed down. “Oh, my children…” she sighed. It appeared she wanted to stay longer, but simply couldn’t. “I am not angry with you. I mean only for you to learn kindness.”

Undyne couldn’t even look up at her.

“Here, my child,” the Queen said after a moment. “Please, take this.” She gently placed a plate into Undyne’s claws, a warm fluffy piece of pie seemingly floating atop it. Where did the Queen keep this?

Again, the Queen looked out into the distance. Quickly, she knelt, close to Undyne’s eye level. Those fiery red eyes stared deep into hers, and she could feel a strange invading judgement again. Toriel licked her index finger and gently rubbed a dirty scrape off Undyne’s face. With a sigh, she shook her head and went down the snowy road.

The pie was delicious, but left a bitter aftertaste.

She went home to Gerson later that day. Undyne didn’t mind sleeping out on her own usually, but she felt strange. She stared at the cave floor instead of looking forward. She couldn’t make her spear appear at all anymore.

“Wah hah hah!” Gerson greeted with his usual laugh. “Hey there, little urchin!”

She moved past his store’s stand and to the bed at the end of the room. She flicked the little blue mushroom light on. With a sigh she said, “Hey, Gerson,” and bit into her Crab Apple. It tasted sour compared to the pie she had earlier.

Gerson may have had only one eye, and that eye barely worked, but he could always see through her. Back then, it felt like some kind of superpower to little Undyne. How could he know she was feeling bad? It was because he was a hero, of course!

No, she was just really obvious.

“What’s wrong?” Gerson asked, a toothy old smile on his wrinkled face. “I’ve never seen the Stick of Justice look so sad before! Wah hah!”

Undyne growled. “Spear of Justice! I’m the Spear!”

“Wah hah hah! Believe me, I haven’t forgotten!” He laughed again.

But instead of shouting further, Undyne just bit into her soft apple again. Gerson frowned. Usually his teases got her out of any funk she was in.

For a while, the two listened to the gentle drips and drops of Waterfall. The echoes and the echo flowers flowing together with little droplets, sounding like a cascade of water all around. She wasn’t sure why she said what she said next.

“Grandpa,” Undyne cringed, usually avoiding calling him that. He didn’t tease her for it. Merely moved closer. Then the words simply spilled out. “Am I a bad person?”

Gerson let out a grunt of surprise. “What! No! No, of course not my little urchin!” His cracked and scaly hands patted her head gently, a strange yet comforting feeling. “Why, you’re the Spear of Justice, remember! Why would you ever think that?”

Undyne hated this feeling. The words kept spilling out, falling into the cave, the echo flowers nearby mocking her every step. She didn’t want to say them, but it kept happening. “I… um… Queen Toriel…”

Gerson’s eye widened, he had probably already figured out what happened.

“She told me fighting was bad. But I love fighting, Gran-er, Gerson! Is it—is it really wrong to fight?” She hesitated, a little hiccup escaping. She wasn’t crying! “I had to fight, sometimes! I had to!” She paused. “Didn’t I?”

Gerson let out a groan and scratched the back of his head. “Ahh, well, Undyne…” he sighed. “Don’t let ol’ Toriel get to you like that.” She noticed then, how he never referred to her as the Queen. “She’s a good lady! A very good lady! She knows what’s best for us, for sure!” He kept scratching his head. “She’s been through a lot. She tries her best.”

Undyne didn’t understand. She looked up at the old turtle who for once fumbled over his words. “I don’t think she knows,” Gerson went on. “That sometimes fighting is the only way. Maybe she just refuses to think that now.”

“Does that mean…” Gears turned in her little cranium, and she never forgot this moment. “The Queen is wrong?”

His head sure seemed itchy. Couldn’t stop scratching at it. “Ah, well!” Gerson was at a loss. “Nobody’s perfect, my little urchin! But…” He stopped scratching finally and looked back to Undyne, a big goofy grin on his face. “If she thinks you’re bad for fighting, then she’s as wrong as wrong can be! Wah hah hah! I know you’re a good little girl, and I know you’ll be a hero when you grow up! Fighting or not!”

Undyne took a sip of her sea tea. The sweetness energized her.

He never did agree on her joining the Rebels, though. But he still supported her, in his own way.

Undyne found herself in the present again. Her empty eye socket felt cold, the skin beneath her eyepatch irritated. The thing in her claws felt smooth, yet still tough. She eyed it harshly, touching it with a hate filled gentleness. She could crush it. Destroy it right there. But she needed it. They all needed it.

Again her empty eye socket writhed. She wanted to rub it, scratch it, do something to fix it, but she learned long long ago that nothing would fix it…

The day she lost her eye felt like every other day. The scolding of Queen Toriel had already been but a distant memory. Not forgotten, however. It was there, always there, but she didn’t take heed to it so much.

The dogs came to Waterfall today to visit. Lesser Dog and Greater Dog loved the new smells, the strange waters, and the constant barking of the echo flowers. Those two never quite realized it was just their own barking echoing back at them. She wondered if there were still echo flowers out there somewhere barking and yipping like that day. She hoped so.

Dogamy and Dogaressa hated the water. Doggo wasn’t a fan either, but as long as he had his treats, he didn’t care. Greater Dog had already grown into quite the big puffball even at their young age, towering over the tiny little fluffball that was Lesser Dog. Undyne was never sure if they were brothers or just good friends. She never felt comfortable asking, and Greater Dog wasn’t the best at conversations.

While Greater and Lesser still hadn’t learned to walk on two legs yet, they did love going for a swim in the lakes. Their little and giant feet treading water happily, swimming in circles. Every so often they’d jump back out, shake all the loose water from their fur, and splash the rest of the group unknowingly in the process.

“No! No more water! (I hate water! Cut it out!)” Dogamy and Dogaressa cried/growled.

Undyne laughed. She’d go swimming with the dogs, too, pretending to be a deadly shark out to prey on them. Greater and Lesser dog simply licked her face before she attacked, never realizing she was trying to impose danger.

Something strange happened though. Something no one could predict, something very few in the Underground even realized happened.

Reeds rustled nearby, grass shaking and shivering with the presence of something. Dogamy whined but held his toy axe in front of Dogaressa anyway. Dogaressa scooted in front, baring her fangs. “H-hey, who’s that smell?! (Identify yoursmelf!)” Their nostrils flared, indicating it was a strange smell indeed.

Those two were always so jumpy. Undyne wasn’t afraid. When a pale little form tumbled out of the reeds, she and her doggy friends ran forward towards it. The dogs sniffed the thing like mad, tails whirring like well-oiled machines, noses huffing, and only one growler and one whiner.

Undyne looked over the little thing. They were smaller than she was, skinny too. She’d seen this before too many times. Looked like the poor thing hadn’t eaten in days. They wore a big pair of glasses, fogged up and cloudy, hiding their eyes away. In their hand, they clutched a notebook and pencil tightly. Something was off about this monster. They were so fleshy, even a little twitchy. It wasn’t like any monster she had seen before.

A tentative hand pet Lesser Dog’s fur, stroking sweetly. At times, their little hand would clutch the fur a little too hard, but Lesser Dog didn’t notice, licking their pale face at any possible instance. That face. Their lips curled into a smile sometimes, like a nervous twitch. Greater Dog wanted some pets, too, but they looked a bit too afraid to pet that big furry form, even though Undyne was certain Greater Dog would never hurt a fly.

The revelation stabbed into her skull. “You’re a human!” Undyne shouted, practically hopping with excitement. A human! Wow! She’d heard stories about them from other monsters, and Toriel’s laws claiming to treat humans with respect. They were harmless, nice creatures, and although they were different, should be treated like any other monster.

If only she had known better.

The human flinched at the shout, again gripping Lesser Dog’s fur too tightly. They didn’t seem to talk much. Maybe too afraid to speak. Maybe too hungry to speak. Maybe unable, or simply too far gone. Dogamy’s tail turned into a high-speed wag, escaping from between his legs once he heard. Dogaressa was still cautious. Smart. “A human! A human! Wow! Please pet me too! (Humans are weird!)”

Undyne could hardly contain her glee. She could take this human to Queen Toriel! Toriel wouldn’t be angry at her anymore if she saw how well she could take care of this human! She’d be Captain of the Royal Guard and beating up bad guys in no time! Gerson’s home wasn’t too far from here, maybe he could help as well! Everyone would be so proud of her!

Before her thoughts could take her away any farther, a deep voice burned: “Children! Get away from that human, at once!” His throat sounded scorched and hot, and it commanded authority.

Undyne looked back and saw them for the first time. The Rebels. She’d heard stories about them, some good, most bad. They disobeyed the Queen, refused to take any humans to her, and distrusted the lot of them. The dragon monster before her stood tall, his green scales gleaming with power and danger. His horns were twisted and sharpened to a wicked edge, and his eyes burned holes into the little human.

Next to him another large man stood, powerful and fierce, despite his fluffy bunny ears. Undyne would later learn that these two were 01 and 02’s fathers. But she had only recognized the dragon, as the current leader of the Rebels. His armor was nothing like the Queen’s knights armor. It didn’t shine, it didn’t glimmer, it looked like rough leather hastily strewn together by unskilled hands. They didn’t have the resources like the Queen did.

Undyne wasn’t afraid of them. She jumped in front of the human, spear firmly in hand. Her eyes glared deeply into the rebel leader’s own, and she felt the human behind her twitch in fear again, nearing a convulsion. The human was clearly sick. “No way! You’re the bad guys! You’re not getting this human!”

The dragon frowned deeply, while the bunny knight grimaced, gritting his teeth not in anger, but in worry. “Please!” The dragon’s voice burned and begged. “Step away! Let us handle the creature!” It sounded as if it hurt just to speak, flames licking the air around his mouth.

The dogs soon followed Undyne’s lead, even Dogaressa. They all believed in their Queen, and knew what it meant to allow the Rebels control over a human. They growled and barked, forming a barrier around the human, all except Lesser Dog, who continued to enjoy his petting session. The petting was getting more fervent, a little rougher.

The Rebels wouldn’t make a move yet. Undyne, back then, thought maybe she had intimidated them. No, the Rebels feared for Undyne’s safety. The large bunny man stepped forward, concern in his eyes. “Like, dudes, please! We, uh… we like promise, we won’t take the human! Just get away from it!”

The leader’s eyes glared at his friend in silent communication. He let out a sigh, and realized it was the best course of action. “He’s right. We promise to leave the human alone, if you kids will just stay away from it.”

Undyne grit her fangs together. “And why should I believe you?”

The human flinched again at the shouting. That nervous twitch of a smile spreading wider and wider. They clutched at Lesser Dog’s fur now, almost as tightly as the notepad they held. Lesser Dog let out a small whine. They gripped too hard.

Flames bled out stronger than before as his voice scratched and burned. “We fight for all monster kind!” The Rebel Leader said, his throat smoking. “We only wish to protect everyone, to help those too weak to help themselves. If it means letting the human go to protect you all, we will gladly obey.” He paused, took a careful step forward. “Now, please, move away from the human.”

Undyne mistook the fear in his eyes for malice. She felt the human shivering behind her, felt their fear coursing through her. It made her feel strange, feel frightened. It was clearly the Rebels tricking her! “We will never let you have them!” Undyne shouted, her voice echoing throughout all of Waterfall.

Something happened. She must have shocked the human. Or maybe this was just the way of humans. The human jolted at her roar, their body no longer shivering, no longer twitching. In a flash, Lesser Dog was gone. Dust. Undyne’s mind couldn’t process. She wasn’t sure when, but she found herself staring at that smiling face, eyes hidden behind cloudy glasses. The other dogs were shocked too, Greater Dog especially so.

In one hand, the human held their notebook, and in the other a simple pencil, although the black point of it shone with dust and darkness. The Rebels shouted something, but Undyne didn’t hear. There was another shouting behind the human, an old raspy voice, and a clunking form. The human stepped closer to Undyne, that grin haunting her dreams for years to come.

She couldn’t attack them. It was wrong. Her mind was reeling. Lesser Dog just died? What?

Undyne’s last memory was of the human barreling forward, pencil in hand, point aimed for her face. After that, it was black…

Her missing eye writhed in pain, burned with an invisible heat. She ignored it like she always did. Undyne’s claws scraped against the glass, watching the purple soul of that human twitch, it’s movements seemingly mimicking her phantom eye. She wished she could destroy it. For everything it did.

Greater Dog never quite got over Lesser Dog’s death. Sure, he’d still wag his tail, he’d still love a game of fetch, but his tail never wagged quite as much. He jumped at sudden movements, whined in his sleep, and howled some nights. Undyne trained Greater Dog as best she could in spear techniques, but that big fluffy dog could never find the anger needed to attack. She respected Greater Dog for that.

That human all those years ago went unnoticed through the Underground. Apparently hiding, dodging past all manner of monsters. She never understood why the human decided to come out to her and the dogs that day. Only the Rebels had caught wind of the human, but by the time they had, obviously, it was too late.

Whatever happened, that human’s soul was captured. It was the fourth soul the Rebels held onto. Other humans in the past that made it to Toriel might have died by now, but that naïve Queen refused to at least hand over the souls after they died natural deaths. No, she let them free, a complete waste! She’d sentence her own kind to this jail just to comfort a few human souls? Was she so blind?

Undyne grunted and slid the soul back into the secret compartment, where the others glowed and hummed silently to themselves. Four souls. She’d never gotten one herself, but she was prepared. She might never see the day the monsters would free themselves from the Underground, but she’d do all she could to make sure they would someday.

The old Rebel Leader’s son stayed in the group, but he chose not to lead. Like his father, he wasn’t much for words. He preferred Undyne become leader, and she was all too eager to oblige.

The Rebels had been kind to her. Taught her the history of monsterkind that Queen Toriel was too afraid to tell. That purple soul human was not the first to kill a monster, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Undyne bit into the soft supple meat of the Crab Apple, the sweetness of it leaving a nostalgic taste in her body and mind.

She needed to hold onto that anger. The rage kept her going. When it all felt pointless, when it felt like the world was against her, she just needed to remember. Remember Lesser Dog. Remember the sad faces of those monsters who wished to leave.

“Boss!” A voice barked, stomping into her shoddy little office. “Boss! Boss, where are you!?”

It was Doggo. Undyne made the conscious effort to get up so he could see her clearly. “I’m here, Doggo, what’s up?”

A doggy treat burnt dangerously close to his lips, but in his haste, he didn’t notice. “A human! There’s been human sightings going around!”

Undyne grit her fangs. “What? Are you sure!?”

“One hundred percent!” He said. “Uh… Boss? You still here?”

The Rebel leader sighed and stepped to the side. “Yes. But uh, how can you be so sure?” You know, what with your terrible eye sight.

Doggo coughed up his doggy treat onto the floor, wiping his burnt lips. “I had Dogamy and Dogaressa sniff around Snowdin, Boss! They recognize the scent as human for sure!”

Those two wouldn’t get their smells wrong. Not about this. Undyne tossed her Crab Apple to the floor with the rest of them. “All right, Doggo. Good work. I want you and the other dogs to watch Snowdin, got it? I’ll look through Waterfall myself. Call up Number 1 and Number 2 and make sure they watch over Hotland.”

Doggo nodded, searching his pockets for another doggy treat already. When he couldn’t find one, he shifted his eyes from left to right. “Uh, but… One last thing, Boss. What should we do about that Royal Guard Captain?”

Undyne groaned. She had forgotten about that.

“Should I take care of him?” Doggo asked, his knife gleaming.

Her fist pounded down onto her desk, causing Doggo to yip. “No!” She roared. “No. I’ll handle him.”

“Of course, Boss!” Doggo nodded with a salute. “I’ll be sure to keep my eyes peeled! Nothing will get by me!”

She doubted that. “Doggo!” Undyne called after him, stopping him in his tracks. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her claws shook. “Be careful. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

A doggy treat burned in his drooling muzzle already. With a stern nod, he looked back to her. “I will, Boss.” Then he walked off.

Undyne stared after him and considered.

The Captain of the Royal Guard, the Great Papyrus. It was as much of a mouthful as he was a thorn in her side. As she donned her rough leather armor, ignoring the cracks and shudders from years of use, she remembered her first official day as the Rebel Leader. Her second meeting with the queen, and her first with that damn knight…

Her emerald spear crackled with energy, pulsing and flaring, threatening to burst at the lightest touch. Undyne’s boots stomped up the steps of New Home and into the Queen’s chambers. She growled, fangs bared, a frown of disgust stuck to her lips. No one had stopped her so far! Not a single guard! Did they not fear her? Did they not care? Where they simply just lazy?

A Knight Knight’s towering form shadowed the hallway to the Queen’s garden. Her black armor gleamed dangerously against the light from the stained-glass windows. Undyne prepared for a fight, took a battle position, and then sighed. A snore grumbled out of the Knight Knight, her enormous mace used only to prop herself up. Undyne easily maneuvered around the titan, seething with rage.

As Undyne neared the garden, a wandering Whimsalot found her in their gaze. “Halt!” the small fluttering monster ordered, rushing toward her. They held a bow, gripped firm in their gauntlet, and yet did not keep it at the ready. “What business do you have here, madam?”

Did they not even know who she was?!

“I’m here to see the Queen,” Undyne growled through grit teeth.

The Whimsalot shook their head and then nodded in thought. “Ah, yes, of course! She’s right through that door, enjoying a nice snail pie in the garden. Please enjoy yourself!” With that, it fluttered away, completely ignoring the malice in her eye or the spear in hand.

This woman had no place being Queen! Her knights were overly trusting, unprepared, and just plain lazy! When Undyne ruled the Underground, she would make changes around here. She couldn’t understand why previous Rebel Leaders didn’t simply take over. Sure, they spoke of respecting her, realizing all the good she had done for the Underground, but couldn’t they see what they could do if they took it themselves?

It had been a long time coming. Now that Undyne was the Rebel Leader, there was no one to stop her, no one to tell her otherwise. Undyne kicked open the double doors to the garden, a gust of wind knocking the flowers about.

“Oh?” A gentle voice hummed. “A visitor?” The Queen smiled sweetly, pie placed delicately on the plate, and a warm tea seated next to it. She didn’t seem to notice Undyne’s threatening aura, or even remember her. “Would you like some pie?”

Undyne slammed the butt of her spear against the dirt, cracking the ground dangerously. “No!” She yelled, enraged further by her lack of defenses. “I am Undyne, leader of the Rebels! I demand you step down from the throne this instant!”

The Queen frowned, quickly realizing the seriousness of the situation. “Undyne? But the previous leader…”

“He’s gone!” She said with a pang of sadness. “Whatever truce you may have had with each other is over. I am the leader now, and I suggest you step aside like the rest of your inexperienced knights! I will lead the monsters of the Underground to the outside! I will offer them a choice to leave, where you gave them none.”

Queen Toriel shook her head, eyes defiant. “I apologize, but I will not step down simply because you tell me to!”

“You leave our own people to suffer for your cowardice!”

Toriel grimaced, clutching at her royal robes. “I… I do all that I can.”

“Then give us the human souls, at least!” Undyne demanded, taking another step forward.

Again she shook her head, eyes ablaze. “I will not, nor will I ever. All humans deserve the same respect as monsters.”

“And yet you force us to live underground like rats!”

She would not falter. “I do not deny the problems my decisions might cause, but I believe they are for the best for all of us.”

Undyne took another step forward, spear edge sharp. “And I believe we deserve a choice in what we think is best. I believe the weak deserve to be heard! I believe they deserve to be protected from the humans and not fall victim to their every whim!”

The Queen let out an exhaust-filled sigh, as if she’s been arguing this for centuries. “I will not step down,” she said quietly, firmly.

“Then I’ll make you,” Undyne threatened.

The Queen never flinched, showed no fear. Undyne couldn’t help but respect that. She knew, deep in her heart, Toriel was not a bad person. But she had to go. “Do what you must,” the Queen replied, a shimmer of flames in her palms, and a sad frown upon her muzzle.

It was settled. No more talking. No more words!

Undyne cried out, her pent-up frustration, her rage, her sadness, and charged forth, spear in hand. Still, the Queen did not flinch, merely readied herself, the flames burning brighter. The poor, the weak, and even Lesser Dog’s voice blared in her mind, begging for a better life. She threw the spear forward and it crackled like lightning, ready to pierce its target.

“NOT SO FAST, EVIL DOER!” a voice boomed like thunder. Undyne nearly tripped over herself. The spear struck a bone white shield, denting its perfectly smooth metal form. “YOUR HONOR, I WILL PROTECT YOU!”

“Papyrus!” Toriel yelled, her flames already extinguished as she worried over the tall skeleton before her. “Are you all right?!”

Just where the heck did this guy even come from?! It was like he floated in without a sound!

The Knight arose super cooly from his shielded position, his scarf fluttering in the breeze from above, and his skull grinning with a hint of smugness. “NYEH HEH HEH! NO ATTACK IS TOO STRONG FOR THE ROYAL GUARD CAPTAIN THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

While his confidence was impressive, Undyne had bigger fish to fry. Ugh. Not a great expression. “Whoever you are, get out of the way! My fight is with the Queen! Not you!”

Striking another wicked cool pose, the knight proceeded to remove his skull off his shoulders. Wait what?! “I CAN’T ALLOW ANY HARM TO COME TO THE QUEEN!” He said, his voice somehow even louder. Undyne realized that this knight was wearing a helmet replicating his skull. Beneath that smugly smiling skull laid …. Another smugly smiling skull. “OR ELSE I WOULD BE A PRETTY BAD ROYAL GUARD!” He winked. “AND I’D RATHER BE A PRETTY RAD ROYAL GUARD. NYEH HEH HEH!”

Okay, that was good.

Undyne shook her head. She was getting distracted! “Fine, then! So I have to fight against your best knight before I can fight you, eh? I don’t care!”

The Knight known as Papyrus shook his skull. “OH, WOWIE, NO!” He posed again, his boney armor shining way too bright in her eye. “FIGHTING IS WRONG! I JUST PROTECT THE QUEEN AND MAKE PUZZLES!” He paused for a moment thinking. “AND SPAGHETTI. I’M ALSO THE ROYAL CHEF.”

The goat queen smiled sheepishly.

Undyne couldn’t believe what she was seeing or hearing. “No?! What do you mean no!? Then get out of the way and let me fight her!”

Again, he shook his head. “I’M SORRY! IT IS MY DUTY TO PROTECT THE QUEEN!” He placed his shield against his palms and plopped a glob of soggy noodles and watery sauce upon it. “CAN I INTEREST YOU IN SOMETHING TO EAT INSTEAD?”

Undyne’s claw turned into a fist and she grit her teeth. Did he mock her?! Who was this knight?! Was he trying to get into her head!? It didn’t matter! She wouldn’t let this weirdo stop her!

“Forget it, then!” Undyne yelled, charging forward again. She’d ignore this foolish knight and go for the Queen anyway! With a flash, she shot her spear forward, aiming straight at the queen.

Somehow, Papyrus’ eyes bulged out of his sockets. Although she was pretty sure he had no eyes?! Also, what!? How did her spear end up in the knight?! The spear stuck into his breastplate, cracking the once pristine armor. “WOWIE, THAT WAS A LITTLE PAINFUL!” he said cheerfully.

“Papyrus, please!” Toriel begged. “I will be quite all right! Please, leave this to me!”

Undyne’s rage was bleeding out like sauce on frozen spaghetti. She pulled the spear out of the knight. “I… didn’t mean to hit you! Damn it!”

Papyrus simply smiled. “PRETTY COOL, NYEH?”

The Rebel leader scowled. “No! It’s not cool at all! Get out of the way!”

“AGAIN, SORRY, BUT I AM SIMPLY TOO RAD TO DO THAT!”

No! She couldn’t let this rage leave her! She couldn’t leave here empty handed! Undyne would take the throne! With another roar, she charged forward, this time with a good ol’ fashioned fist. Her strike was fast, accurate, and powerful, she wouldn’t miss Toriel this time!

Her knuckles slammed against a metal skull, leaving his head vibrating and her fist bruised. “OWWIE!” Papyrus said as his eyes bulged out and pinged against his helmet.

“Papyrus, please, that’s enough!”

“Yeah, stop it, will ya!?” Undyne realized too late she had just agreed with her enemy.

“NO CAN DO!” Papyrus continued, picking himself up off the dirt, his beautiful armor scuffed and battered now.

Undyne was furious. Her blood boiled. But she was not angry with the Queen or her knight. She was angry with herself. She couldn’t keep attacking someone who wouldn’t fight back! Especially a fellow monster! Her spear blipped out of existence.

Papyrus noticed this. “NYEH HEH HEH! DO YOU GIVE UP TO THE AWESOME POWER OF THE GREAT CAPTAIN ROYAL GUARD PAPYRUS?!” He paused. “OR WAS IT CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD, COMMA, THE GREAT PAPYRUS?”

Everything she had worked so hard for! All those monsters that were counting on her! All the training, all the fighting, all the preparing for this moment!

Her claws clenched and unclenched, trying desperately to hold onto that anger that fueled her moments ago. But it was all wrong! It didn’t feel right, not anymore. With a grunt, she finally said, “I won’t give up that easily. You haven’t seen the last of me.” She cringed at that last part. She didn’t mean to sound like a stereotypical villain.

Luckily, Papyrus’ smile only grew wider, his eyes sparkling with hope, and even a bit of admiration. He seemed to enjoy that final line. “I CERTAINLY HOPE NOT! I THINK WE’LL MAKE GREAT FRIENDS!”

Queen Toriel stared onward at the strange events unfolding before her. She didn’t understand. But then again, not many would. Not even Undyne.

“Pft, friends with you?” Undyne spat on a flower nearby as she stomped away. “I will never be friends with you. You and the Queen are my enemy, you understand?”

She never forgot that laugh of his. Full of confidence, even after taking so many attacks head on. “NYEH HEH HEH! WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!” Deep down, she also felt some form of admiration.

That was a few years ago, however. Undyne had no plans on losing again. A human was too dangerous, too important to lose. She was willing to do whatever it took to defeat her enemy.

“HELLO, MR. GERSON!” Papyrus shouted cheerily. He had two important missions today! Find the human, and find the leader of the Rebels, Undyne! She was a cunning fish, a strong fighter, and kept her secret hideout extremely…. Secret! But the Royal Captain had his own ways of finding her.

“CAN UNDYNE COME OUT AND PLAY?”

His bones rattled as he waited. The old turtle grandpa turned around, his smiling face soon fading once he saw who it was. Gerson loved Papyrus! He didn’t feel the need to have a fake smile around him! The Royal Guard was so happy he had gotten so close to him! “Oh. It’s you.”

Papyrus struck a cool pose. “THAT’S RIGHT! CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD--”

“The Great Papyrus, yes, I know, sonny,” he sighed. Papyrus made sure to always tell everyone his name and occupation! It was very important! And he liked doing it. “For the one-hundred-and-fiftieth time, Undyne does not live here.”

“ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTYSIX,” Papyrus corrected. It was his duty to keep the citizens well informed.

Gerson closed his one good eye and mumbled something to himself before continuing. More than likely a compliment to Papyrus’ informative ways! “You know she has her own home, don’t ya?”

“YES!” Papyrus nodded, his bones rattling and his armor clanking together noisily. “I KNOCKED FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT, LEFT TWELVE VOICE MAILS, TWENTY-TWO TEXTS, AND EVEN ASKED HER SPOOKY NEIGHBOR FOR HER WHEREABOUTS!” He paused. “TWICE!”

The old turtle crossed his arms and leaned against his store’s stand. “Then what in Fluffybun’s name makes ya think I’d know where she is, ya bonehead?”

“YOU’RE HER GRANDPA!” Papyrus stated, his information never wrong. “IF ANYONE ELSE KNEW, IT’D BE YOU!”

He flinched at the word. His lips seemed unsure as to what expression they wished to show. “Bah, I aint her grandpa. Never was.”

Papyrus doubted that. He peered into the cave behind the store front, and he found a bed with several action figures scooted into the back, a poster of the old Rebel leader, and a fresh Crab Apple and Sea Tea waiting on the desk nearby. He wondered how this ancient turtle carried on. His store still sold the same old Torn Notebook and Cloudy Glasses as always. Papyrus asked where he had obtained such strange objects before, but Gerson always kept quiet.

The storekeeper didn’t like roaming eye sockets. “You gonna buy some junk this time or not? I tell ya again, I don’t know where she is! I never will neither!”

Strange that such a close friend of the Queen kept an old Rebel poster. “FAIR ENOUGH, MY GOOD CHUM!”

“Aint your chum, ya chumbucket,” Gerson grumbled.

Papyrus chose to ignore that! “COULD YOU PASS ON A MESSAGE TO HER IF YOU SEE HER THEN?”

He sighed. “All right.”

Papyrus had to choose his next words carefully. He was certain that the Rebel Leader herself would hear this. It was absolutely imperative that he get it right, or the consequences would be dire. It was a matter of life or death.

“CAN YOU ASK HER IF WE CAN MOVE MOVIE NIGHT NEXT WEEK TO SIX P.M. INSTEAD OF FIVE? THE QUEEN HAS HAD SOMETHING UNEXPECTED COME UP, AND I DON’T WANT TO BE LATE!”

Gerson’s eye went wide with the seriousness of the situation. “What in… …” he stumbled over his words before accepting defeat. “I’ll tell her if I see her, dagnabbit.” Again, he muttered something under his breath about how he couldn’t understand something or other. Baffled by the Royal Guard Captain’s raddness no doubt!

“THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” Papyrus said with a salute. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing that movie night would be saved. Well, he didn’t breathe or sigh, but he pretended to! It was still very relieving.

Next up, finding the human and escorting them to the Queen!

Undyne’s fist clenched and unclenched unconsciously as she patrolled through Waterfall. Her single eye roved through every corner, every reedy bush like a search light. Her spears begged to appear, begged to slash and stab at even the tiniest of movements, but she held them out of existence, out of her mind. She held onto that feeling. She would need it.

So far, there had been no reports of monster deaths, injured monsters, or missing monsters. This was good, except Undyne knew better than anyone that this did not mean the Underground was safe. Peaceful or not, this human would need to be dealt with, for all their sakes.

Yet, it bit at her mind. What if the human wasn’t a threat? What if the human was peaceful? What if Queen Toriel was right? Would she be able to take the soul of this human? It gnawed, it clawed, it bore deeper into her skull. Visions of Lesser Dog’s tail wagging entered her mind, as well as a dusty notebook. She wished Gerson would be rid of the thing. Why did he hang onto it? Why did he try to sell it still?

“I aint letting it go to waste,” he had said one time, his voice strained, practically foreign to Undyne. “That’s what you Rebels are doin’ aint ya? Not lettin’ anything go to waste? Well, let an old man side with your ideals just this once.” He wouldn’t speak of it again. It was around that time he retired his Hammer of Justice title and even the hammer itself. Stubborn old man. She never meant to burden him.

“Enough!” Undyne shouted to herself, as if it would lessen the torrent of thoughts. An echo flower repeated her: “Enough!” Over and over. The sound was harsh and frightening. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what she felt. She had to do this for everyone.

Strangely, she wondered what the old King might have done, had he been around still.

Finally, her mind’s incessant thoughts quieted. A rustling in the reeds caught her attention. A small fleshy thing stumbled out, blue and purple stripes across its chest. No longer did her memories torment her. It was as clear as water. A human. She grinned.

“You!” Her voice boomed, a commanding aura to it that forced the human to heed her. A faded band aid stuck to its knee, threatening to fall off at any moment due to extended use. In its right hand it held a stick, brownish green leaves barely hanging onto its dead form. The human looked up, its expressionless face revealing little.

“You’re the little brat that’s been talk of the town, huh?” She hissed, looking down on it with disgust. Barely even stood up to her knee.

The human nodded silently. Did it not fear her? Had the other monsters treated it so well? This one looked different than the one before all those years ago. This one didn’t twitch, didn’t look quite so starved. However, this one hid much. It didn’t ready its weapon. Maybe it would only strike when her guard was down as well.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She ignored it. She only felt the burning itch of her missing eye. That was all she needed now. A spear materialized in her hand, like it had always been there, waiting. “Well, punk, it was nice not knowing ya,” she growled. “Goodbye.”

The spear shot forward. She heard nothing anymore. The silence deafened her. Good. Her spear hit its mark. A direct hit! … But …. It was stuck. What? This sensation wasn’t right. She shook her head again, allowed herself back into reality.

A pale white blinded her. The spear was wedged firmly into a shield, blocking the human completely. Undyne felt dizzy. “What?!” Her words nearly drooled out. “Papyrus?!” How?!

“NYEH HEH HEH!” His helmet smirked at her as always behind the shield. The human was safe and sound. “I TRIED YELLING TO HALT, BUT YOUR DEEP ANGST-FILLED ACTIONS IGNORED ME! I HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO SURPRISE YOU WITH MY RAD STYLE YET AGAIN!”

Undyne groaned, wishing she could get to that little brat’s neck. That damned skeleton again! It took every ounce of herself to strike at the human, every drop of her rage! Somewhere, deep inside, she sighed with relief, but her conscious body and mind shook with anger. She wouldn’t let the human live, she couldn’t let the human live. If she had to suffer again to strike at the thing, then so be it! If only Papyrus would just leave her alone about this!

“I’m not playing this game again!” Undyne yelled, gripping a spear in her hand. She wasn’t sure when it appeared, again. “Enough fooling around, stay out of my way!”

The helmet still smiled at her as always, but his voice betrayed it, ever so slightly. “I’M SORRY! I WON’T LET YOU TAKE THE HUMAN! IT IS MY DUTY TO PROTECT THEM!” The human in question stayed behind the skeleton’s shield, looking between the fighters with curious eyes. It didn’t seem to understand the danger it was in. Or maybe it did and just didn’t care.

Again, she felt that rage bubbling up. “That thing’s an it, not a them!” She spat. “Again, the Queen shows more kindness to humans than to the monsters themselves!”

Papyrus kept his shield steady, but she noticed his helmet turned away. “I AM SORRY. THE QUEEN TRIES HER BEST TO PROTECT EVERYONE.”

“Tries her best, tries her best, tries her best!” Undyne mocked, unable to control her anger. “That’s what I’ve heard my whole life! Her best isn’t good enough! Don’t you see, Papyrus?!” He was too naïve. He was always too naïve.

His voice didn’t boom out this time. “I do,” he replied. For a moment, Undyne felt guilty, felt ashamed. He composed himself again. “BUT I SIDE WITH HER ON THIS! THE QUEEN IS RIGHT! FIGHTING MAY LOOK SUPER COOL, BUT IT IS WRONG! EVERYONE DESERVES A CHANCE AT A BETTER LIFE!” He paused before adding. “AND DR. ALPHYS AND EVEN MY BROTHER ARE WORKING HARD TO FIND A PEACEFUL WAY AROUND THE BARRIER!”

Undyne shook her head. She’d been down this road thousands of times, had shouting matches with Papyrus every other week, with both trying to get the other to join their side. Now would be no different. The Royal Scientists overworked themselves daily, Alphys especially, trying to find another alternative to break through the barrier. Undyne knew that the outcome was unlikely, (from her conversations with Alphys) especially with that lazy partner of hers, Sans. The only real option was gathering human souls.

“Fine then,” she said with a sigh, her anger more or less under control now. “We fight over the human! Whoever wins, keeps the stupid thing!”

“I WON’T FIGHT!” Papyrus yelled stubbornly.

Undyne grinned. She had planned for this. She may not have been a master strategist, but when it came to getting into fights, no one could beat her. “Not a fight. Just a spar, like usual.”

“WOWIE!” Papyrus said, straightening himself up. “THAT’S A GREAT IDEA!” He gently pushed the human, motioning for it to give them space and wait near a cavern wall. It obeyed, but Undyne noted the eyes darting to the side, evaluating ways to escape.

His usual demeanor had already returned, and his armor looked as if it shone even brighter. “BY THE WAY, ARE WE STILL UP FOR MOVIE NIGHT? I TRIED CALLING YOU THIRTY TIMES! I LEFT TWELVE VOICEMAILS AND TWENTY-TWO TEXTS AND…”

Aw geez. She remembered now. Undyne had thrown her phone into a lake after calling the Royal Scientist Alphys up and asking her: “How’s the weather?” What a stupid thing to say! Especially to someone who worked for her enemy! Gah, as if it was hard enough to get in touch with her, working all day with Papyrus’ lazy brother! She had to go and ask, “How’s the weather?” That didn’t even make sense!

“I, uh, lost it,” Undyne lied, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. “Also, I mean, yeah, movie night is still on, I guess,” she mumbled. Boy, this wasn’t the kind of banter she expected between her biggest enemy before fighting.

“OH GOOD!” Papyrus clapped his armored hands happily. “I MAY BE AN HOUR OR SO LATE, IS THAT ALL RIGHT?”

Undyne knew Alphys was always especially busy, and every hour she could spend with that little nerd was precious. “I, uh, yeah, I think that’ll be all right. Alphys doesn’t have much time off, so we might start without you?”

“OH, THAT’S FINE!” Papyrus nodded. “I’LL MAKE SURE TO BRING OVER MY FAMOUS POP SPAGHETTI CORN TO MAKE UP FOR IT!”

Some extra alone time with the Royal Scientist would be great, she thought to herself. If only The Queen hadn’t gotten her furry mitts all over Alphys as well, then maybe it would be easier to tell her—

The human moved slowly to the left, making way towards one of the cavern paths. “Hey!” Undyne roared, pointing at it and halting it in its tracks. “No moving!” She growled. She needed to focus! Papyrus always did this! But… she was glad he did.

“WELL, I SUPPOSE WE SHOULD START!” Papyrus nodded. “I JUST WANT TO SAY, NO MATTER WHO WINS OR LOSES, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MY BEST FRIEND, UNDYNE!”

Resisting the urge to puke, Undyne sighed instead. She still couldn’t believe she was best friends with her biggest enemy. “Yeah, yeah.”

“COME ON, SAY IT!” Papyrus demanded.

“You’re my best friend too,” she huffed.

She could tell his eyes were shining underneath his helmet. “I TOLD YOU ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!” He nyeh’d and heh’d.

This was the only time she was willing to admit defeat. “Yeah, yeah,” she repeated, her scales heating with embarrassment. She clenched her spear. “Enough, nerd talk, already! Let’s get to the fight!”

“SPAR!” Papyrus corrected, a bit apprehensive. Undyne knew he was naïve, but on some level, Papyrus must have known what this was.

“Sure, whatever!”

He unsheathed his weapon from its scabbard. The bone shaped sword gleamed white like his armor. What a dorky weapon! Undyne never understood how it fit in his scabbard. “WELL THEN, REBEL LEADER UNDYNE, PREPARE YOURSELF!”

She adored these dramatic encounters inwardly. She couldn’t help herself but play along somewhat. Undyne’s spear blipped into existence, glowing dangerously. With a quick look, she made sure that the human was there. It stared at them, looking confused. That puny thing wasn’t worth thinking about.

“Let’s go!” Undyne yelled, throwing herself forward, adrenaline exploding through her body…

Her “spars” with Papyrus weren’t always so enjoyable at first.

As the newly appointed Rebel Leader, and the newly failed usurper of the throne, Undyne vowed to capture any and all humans that fell down. That meant training her crew as well. The Rebels willing to fight were quite small, consisting only of her childhood dog friends, and the two sons of the previous Rebel Leaders.

Number 1 and Number 2 were all they wished to go by. Number 2 was quiet, not quite so great with people, but he carried with him that silent dignity. Number 1 was chatty, like his father as well, and never left 2’s side. Where 1 had trouble speaking, 2 was always there to help get his point across. They were extremely close, especially since they grew up together.

“Listen up, punks!” Undyne yelled, glaring into her subordinate’s eyes one after the other. Dogamy and Dogaressa stopped nuzzling noses, Doggo quit smoking, and Greater Dog… well he kept wagging his tail and staring as usual. Undyne could never quite be harsh with him. Number 2 stood proudly, saluting her, causing Number 1 to follow as well.

They were a ragtag bunch, not quite fit for war, but they were her bunch, and she felt pride seeing just how hard they worked every day. Not many were willing to follow the Rebels, and even less willing to put themselves in danger.

Frigid Snowdin air cut at her scales, but she ignored it as usual. “Today we’re going to learn just how to deal with a human when we see one. Got that?” The dogs nodded. Number 1 and Number 2 nodded as well, but with hesitation. They’d never seen a human. Only heard the stories. This practice was more for them.

Undyne reached behind a tree and plopped a stuffed dummy down into the crunchy snow. The stitching was cheap, and it wore the old striped shirt Undyne wore when she was a child, but it got the job done. Upon its head, she had placed a dirty mop end to replicate disgusting human hair. The face of the dummy was expressionless, unreadable.

Dogamy and Dogaressa growled and barked at the dummy, while Doggo glared daggers at it. Greater Dog simply whined. Number 1 and Number 2 weren’t quite sure how to react. 1 looked over to 2 and felt the need to speak. “Like, dude, that’s what a human looks like?”

Undyne nodded, making sure to give it a tap now and again so Doggo could see it. “That’s right, Number 1.”

The bunny rebel couldn’t quite grasp the danger. Even the dragon’s flames seemed to flicker out. “Bro, I don’t know, that thing doesn’t seem like, very dangerous, you know?”

She wasn’t mad. She fell for the same trap. “That’s where your wrong, Number 1. Number 2, I see you have doubts as well.” Undyne still remembered those cloudy glasses, that twitching wicked smile. It had seemed so innocent back then, somehow. “Humans are extremely dangerous, and capable of destroying us monsters with ease if we’re not careful. It may look harmless, but I’m convinced that’s part of their natural evolution!”

A puff of smoke rose out of Number 2’s gullet as he spoke. “Is that…?”

He didn’t say anymore, but Undyne understood him perfectly. “Yes. This is what the human looked like.” The one that killed Lesser Dog. She wouldn’t say it in front of Greater Dog. Number 2 nodded solemnly, clenching his fists. Where as Undyne may have failed to get through to 1, Number 2 did not. Number 1 saw this reaction and followed as well, again, mimicking his motion. She’d make sure to keep them together. They worked much better as a team.

“Humans are small and sneaky,” Undyne continued. “Always be on the lookout for one, always! They may sneak by through reeds, hide in the shadows, or any kind of small hole or crack in the wall, like the roaches they are.

“But the most important rule when it comes to dealing with humans! Do not fight it!” Undyne explained, stressing the point. “Tell me right away you see a human! I will deal with it!” She paused. “However, if you find a human threatening innocent monsters, or you have no choice but to fight for defense, you must be prepared! Understand?”

They nodded.

Good. She hoped they would never be forced to fight a human. She couldn’t bear losing more friends. “Now, humans may be extremely dangerous, but that does not mean they’re invincible,” she explained, her green spear already in hand, snowflakes melting into waterdrops around it. “From what I’ve been told, and what I’ve learned, humans are made of soft mushy flesh.” She pointed the tip of her spear at the human dummy’s neck. “This is one of their many weaknesses! Strike a human here, and you will find yourself a quick victory!

“However,” Undyne continued. “They’re fast and agile creatures. Capable of multiple flips, the ability to run up walls, and even flight if they’re strong enough!” She had learned this from Dr. Alphys’ human documentaries that Queen Toriel hid from the monster population. “You may not be able to strike their necks, but a blow to the head will still do a decent amount of damage! Any attacks that can generally pierce their soft pudgy exteriors will do.” She paused before adding, “Crushing their bones is also a valid option.”

Number 1 cringed, but the others held strong.

He would have to learn. Undyne sighed. “A moment’s weakness could cost you your life! If the opportunity presents itself, strike quickly and accurately!” She gripped the spear in her hand and ignored the rattling and clanking of armor. “Allow me to demonstrate!”

The dummy was so puny now. Whenever she remembered the human, it looked so big, so frightening. But now? How could one of these things possibly stop her? With a grunt, she stabbed her spear forward directly into the neck of the dummy. It struck with a satisfying pang! “And that is how you should ideally finish off a human!”

They stared at her with wide eyes, shocked, and confused. What, was it that gruesome? She looked over to see what had happened to the dummy.

“NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

Papyrus had shielded her target with his body. Again.

“Oh my freaking god!” Undyne growled, losing her leader’s cool instantly. “Are you kidding me!?”

“THE GREAT ROYAL PAPYRUS CAPTAIN NEVER KIDS!” He said cooly, his helmet mocking her with its smile. “THE HUMAN MAY BE FAKE, BUT I WILL NOT ALLOW ANY HARM TO COME OF THEM, STILL!”

Again, he ruined her plans! Again! He made a mockery of her in front of her own troops! The nerve of this knight! “Ngaaaaah!” Undyne screamed in rage, striking Papyrus directly in the chest plate.

The Knight, of course, took the blow without so much as a struggle. His armor dented, his skeletal body inside surely bruised. “I SUPPOSE I DESERVED THAT!” He coughed, wincing.

Rage boiling, Undyne said, “Fight me already, you coward!” Where was the honor in beating up someone who wouldn’t even fight back!?

The Rebels looked on with even more confused stares. “Uh, like, dude, you need some help or…”

“No, damn it!” She yelled. “Stay out of it!”

Papyrus attempted to buff out the mark in his armor, lamenting at its now lackluster shine. With a sigh, he left it be. “I MIGHT BE A COWARD,” he admitted. “BUT I WILL NOT FIGHT. I WILL NEVER FIGHT! I’LL FIGHT YOU ON THAT!” He paused. “WAIT.”

What was wrong with this idiot!? Why was he doing this to her?! Although, she had to admit, it took guts to stand up to her. It took even more guts to take a punch to said gut on multiple occasions and stay standing.

“You…. you…!” she couldn’t even think of the proper insult. Or maybe it was just hard to insult him. “You must have learned to fight!” She yelled, exasperated. Her eye’s gaze fell to the scabbard. “What else is that sword for?!”

Papyrus audibly winked, somehow. “AH, SO YOU NOTICED BONECALIBER, NYEH?” He laughed with glee. “YES, I DO KNOW HOW TO FIGHT! BUT I ONLY SPAR BETWEEN MY TROOPS! IT KEEPS YOU FIT AND GIVES YOU MUSCLES!” He flexed, as if his muscles could show through his armor. As if it was even possible for him to have muscles in the first place!

“Then spar with me!” Undyne blurted out, unaware of the possible consequences.

Papyrus quickly removed his skull---er---helmet, revealing sparkling eyes. “YOU REALLY MEAN IT? YOU WANT TO GET BUFF AND EXERCISE WITH ME?”

“I don’t care what I have to do if it means you’ll fight back!” Undyne said through gritted fangs.

“GREAT!” Papyrus cheered. “I’LL SET UP A SCHEDULE! WE’LL SPAR TOGETHER ONCE A WEEK! WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO MEET?”

“Ngaaaaaaaaah!”

“YOUR HOUSE THEN! THAT SOUNDS GREAT!” Papyrus continued, oblivious to her rage. “I’LL BE THERE TOMORROW, AFTER MY SHIFT WITH THE QUEEN! WE’LL SPAR EVERY WEEK AFTER THAT!”

“I’ll break your bony spine!” Undyne threatened, seeing red.

He simply smiled wider at that. “OH, I HOPE SO! YOU WILL GET ME SO STRONG! WE’LL BE BEST FRIENDS!”

“I swear on my life, I will never be friends with you, damn it!”

“NYEH-HEH-HEH!” He laughed, ignoring her again. “NONE CAN RESIST THE GREAT PAPYRUS ROYAL GUARD’S CHARM! YOU’LL SEE!” His scarf fluttering in the wintery breeze, Papyrus sped away in the opposite direction nyehing and hehing the whole way. She hated him. She hated him so much! She couldn’t wait to utterly destroy him!

“Dude…” Number 1 said dumbly. “Like, what just happened?”

“Nothing!” Undyne roared, spear still firmly in claw. “Now, as I was saying, damn it! Here’s how you kill a human!” In a flash of anger, she stabbed at where the human dummy was previously. Her spear landed in a soft puffy patch of snow harmlessly.

She looked in the distance, foaming at the mouth, and saw Papyrus carrying her dummy away to safety, skipping with glee…

Sweat stung her eye, soaking her eyepatch. Her spear clashed with his sword, leaving them locked in a power struggle. She had always overpowered him when this happened before! Why was it hard now? His armor seemed heavier, his strength felt unreal. Maybe Papyrus never went all out in their previous spars. Maybe Papyrus knew how important the human truly was. Or maybe Undyne’s will was faltering against him.

She grit her fangs together, dug her boots into the soft dirt below, and pushed with all her strength. Papyrus wouldn’t give an inch. Their weapons scraped and twitched, just barely holding together. In the corner of her eye, she saw a movement.

The human moved slowly to the left, hoping to escape behind Undyne while she was busy. “Damn it, you little brat!” She said, struggling. With what little strength she could muster, spears shot down into the ground in front of the human, barring its way forward. Papyrus, strangely enough, took advantage of this opportunity. He had never been one to fight even kind of unfairly. Her muscles felt like exploding, her legs wanted to give out.

“MY APOLOGIES!” Papyrus called out, suddenly. The human attempted to make it by Papyrus this time instead. With his shield arm, he raised his bony hand into the air, causing his goofy cartoon bones to block off the human’s other escape. “I’M AFRAID I CANNOT LET YOU ESCAPE EITHER! IT IS SIMPLY TOO DANGEROUS!”

Thankfully, the human gave up, probably realizing it was best to let the two tire themselves out even more. Undyne felt Papyrus’ power wane, his attention fall. If he was willing to give it all he had, she would too. With a burst of energy, Undyne pushed hard against the armored skeleton, and knocked him backwards with a swift kick to the chest.

He nearly toppled over himself, his heavy armor clumsily clanking as he clamored into a calm state. To his side, a dark chasm loomed, endlessly drinking the liquids from the many waterfalls, and devouring the infinite boulders that crashed down into its gaping mouth. It had taken Undyne a long time to set up that physics breaking trap, and she was never quite sure how to make it stop anyway.

“IMPRESSIVE!” Papyrus shouted, attempting to catch his breath. Undyne, too, was too exhausted to press the attack again, at least for this moment. “BUT I ASSURE YOU, THE JUST POWER OF GOOD AND LAW WILL ALWAYS WIN!” He struck another pose, his cracked armor shining like an old muddied and rusty watch.

“I am the good guy here!” Undyne argued through panting breaths.

Papyrus paused for a moment, a gauntlet stroking his broken helmet’s chin. “HMM. THAT IS TRUE! YOU ARE INDEED NOT BAD. DOES THAT MAKE ME THE BAD GUY IN THIS SITUATION?”

Undyne was awestruck. Only Papyrus could start a philosophical argument mid fight. “No! You’re … you’re not bad either!”

“BUT WHY WOULD GOOD GUYS FIGHT EACH OTHER?”

“Spar,” Undyne corrected.

“RIGHT. WHY WOULD GOOD GUYS SPAR TOGETHER LIKE THIS?”

Her head was pounding. Her breaths steadied. “I don’t know! That’s not my problem!” She shook her head. “Are you giving up, then!?” She hoped he would say yes.

Papyrus also shook his head, reading his sword and shield once more. “NEVER!” He charged forward. “I HOPE YOU’RE READY FOR MY NEW ATTACK!” He always had to warn her of his new attacks. Maybe he wanted to show off, or maybe he just didn’t want to hurt her. Either way, it couldn’t have been that special.

Undyne pressed her boots into the ground again, preparing. Papyrus swung his bone sword overhead, Undyne threw her hands into the air, preparing for an easy block with her spear. “NYEH-HEH!” Papyrus laughed. His sword glowed a bright sapphire, burning with energy. Undyne flinched, attempting to keep her spear prepared, but it went straight through! What!?

Bonk!

Undyne reeled backwards from the attack, unconsciously grasping at her head where the blow was struck. Her vision blurred, and three Papyruses posed before her, clearly impressed with themselves. “HOW DID YOU LIKE MY NEW BLUE ATTACK?” He said, explaining instead of finishing her off. “SANS TAUGHT ME THIS ONE! HE SAID IT’S CALLED ‘MIND GAMES!’”

Ugh. Of course, that brother of his was a bad influence. Surprising that lazy brother would even teach him a fighting technique. Must have been worried about his friendship with the leader of a dangerous enemies. The jerk.

“YOU SEE!” Papyrus continued. Alphys’ human documentaries always showed that historically all humans explained their attacks in great detail to the enemy for some reason. Papyrus enjoyed those parts. “MY BLUE ATTACKS ARE STRONGER AGAINST MOVING TARGETS! WHEN YOU HELD YOUR SPEAR STATIONARY, BUT FLINCHED YOURSELF, I WAS ABLE TO GO STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR DEFENSES!”

“Yeah, I figured that out!” Undyne growled, rubbing her bruised temple. An attack like that should have done more damage.

“IMPRESSIVE, NO?” Papyrus asked.

… It was pretty impressive. The human even nodded. Little brat. “You know that’s not gonna work twice on me, right?” Undyne growled, her vision becoming clearer, pain subsiding slightly.

“NYEH-HEH-HEH! WE’LL SEE!”

Cocky. She wasn’t about to let him win. “You should have kept attacking while you had the chance,” Undyne growled, her strength returning. “You always do this!”

For once he didn’t reply.

“Bah, enough talking!” She groaned, spears materializing around his armored body. She had had enough of this. The human was too important to play these games. She clenched her fist, and the spears shot forward towards him. He’d be forced to block.

He did not. Instead he slammed his shield forward into her body, knocking the wind out of her, yet again. Each spear struck his armor, cracks spiderwebbing throughout, piercing through and striking Papyrus at the core. It must have hurt, since for once he didn’t even cry out in his goofy way. Instead, he pushed the attack, swiping his bone sword again.

Undyne regained her composure quickly, holding her ground steadily. The blue attack was strong, but she stood firm, and her block held. Soon, it was nothing but a flurry of blue and green. Each traded each other blow for blow, each strike hitting harder than the last. Papyrus no longer posed, no longer let up, but neither did she.

Her spears cut deep, and his bones bruised her scales, her flimsy leather armor barely absorbing the attacks. Without his usual banter, she slipped into a trance like state, attacking and countering, dodging and standing still to avoid his blue attacks. He was tiring. His armor was too heavy, his shield too cumbersome.

Soon, his shield was gone, a broken lump of useless metal, pierced to shreds. Papyrus still didn’t stop. His helmet’s teeth were broken, the replica skull malformed and dented. His chest no longer puffed out, no longer extruded an aura of buff muscles, instead caved in on itself. Still, Papyrus didn’t give up. His attacks were too easy to read, too slow now. He backed away, but she gave him no ground, her spears thrusting forever onward, a second wind in her fighting now.

Desperately, Papyrus swung horizontally towards her, the blue magic flickering out like a cheap lightbulb. It came to her naturally. She stood still, and it passed through uselessly. He was open. She struck forward again, a powerful blow, her spear dead center on his skull.

“N-NYEH!” He cried, finally, his skull flying off into the chasm. No, she breathed a sigh of relief. His helmet. But, she saw his face now, finally. Sweating, exhausted and bruised. Their spars had never gone this far. She hesitated as Papyrus stumbled backwards, appearing ashamed to have lost his skull, or maybe ashamed to show his face.

His crumpled boots fell to the rushing waters behind. It wasn’t deep, but the water had created a sticky mud that trapped the skeleton. He didn’t appear to have the strength to free himself anymore. In the next instant, a boulder struck him, and he toppled over like a plastic action figure.

“Papyrus!” Undyne yelled, her fighter’s high gone. He grasped the cliff’s edge, his body hanging dangerously over the chasm’s mouth.

“I’M FINE!” Papyrus replied with a stutter.

“No, you’re not, you idiot!” Undyne lunged forward, grabbing his gauntlet. Her power was drained, as was his. She could pull him up, but it would take every bit of her energy. Out of the corner of her eye, a movement, that damned brat! She saw it sneaking away. She tried to summon another wall of spears. She couldn’t.

“UNDYNE, I’M FINE!” He clearly lied. “YOU WON FAIR AND SQUARE! DON’T LET THE HUMAN GET AWAY!” His body hung limp. He had given up.

The Rebel Leader couldn’t let that human escape! Monsters were counting on her! It could hurt someone! This was their chance to be one step closer to being free! To giving all monsters the choice they deserved. She could help protect those too weak to defend themselves, too quiet to speak up for themselves! Lesser Dog died because of those disgusting humans!

“A FALL LIKE THIS WON’T HURT THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” He continued, but his eye sockets betrayed his confidence. “YOU’RE THE HERO HERE! GO, EVERYONE IS COUNTING ON YOU!”

Her grip lessened. She had to save the Underground. He was an enemy. She had to do whatever it took for her fellow monsters. The old king probably would have done the same. There was no chance for a grey area anymore. She could still catch that human if she let go now.

“No!” She screamed, holding on tight. “I’m not letting my best friend die, you bonehead!” With a grunt, she pulled harder, arms crying out in pain. “What kind of hero to monster kind would I be if I chose a human’s life over a monster’s?!”

“BUT YOU WON!”

“I don’t care!” She yelled. “This way, we’re both losers! Now pull yourself up, you coward!”

Somehow, it took him a moment to decide if it was worth it or not. But her words rang true. If he was a loser, at least he was a loser with his best friend. His other arm shook as he grasped the edge, using every bit of his energy to pull himself up.

With a grunt, she finally pulled him up to safety.

The two sprawled out in the mud, chests heaving, dirtied, disgusting and weak. For a while, Undyne simply stared up at the cavern’s ceiling, gazing at the sparkling drops of water, imagining if this is what the stars might look like.

“UNDYNE,” Papyrus huffed, still lying beside her like a sack of discarded bones. “I’M SORRY.”

She didn’t even have the energy to turn to him. She stared up at the sparkling cavern walls, dreaming of what could have been. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong, Paps,” she said finally.

He must have been looking up at the dark stalactites as well, imagining the twinkle of stars. “MAYBE YOU’RE RIGHT.” He stalled, as if it pained him to speak. “RIGHT ABOUT THE HUMAN. I SHOULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN IN THE WAY.”

Undyne snorted, a light laughter escaping her sharp fangs. It hurt too much. “You know, Paps, I was thinking the same thing. Maybe you’re the one in the right. Maybe taking the human is wrong.”

She heard bones rattling, dirt scraping. He sat up. “BUT, UNDYNE! THE OUTSIDE COULD BE WONDERFUL! IMAGINE HOW HAPPY EVERYONE WOULD BE!”

Again, she laughed, clutching her stomach. It hurt so much. Finally, this was what she wanted! Papyrus was on her side. But the funniest thing? She said, “I don’t know if it’s worth it, though, Paps.” Now she was on the opposite side still.

“IT MUST BE!” He shouted.

Even now, they couldn’t agree. “Look what I did to you,” she said, her laughter harsh and dry. She finally had what she wanted, yet she was no longer sure of herself. She was never sure of herself. “I almost let you fall, you know.” She had never felt such guilt before. The shame stuck to her, clotted between her scales like mud.

“BUT YOU DIDN’T!”

She stopped laughing. She couldn’t understand. He was right on that point, technically, at least.

“ONE OF US MUST BE RIGHT!” Papyrus sounded as unsure as her now, although slightly annoyed. It must not have been often he questioned himself either.

“Maybe we’re both wrong?” Undyne sighed, finding a more comfortable position in the dirt.

Papyrus made a loud ‘HMM’ to himself, rubbing his bony jaw audibly. “YOU MAY BE RIGHT.”

Again, she couldn’t help but laugh, but at least this time it didn’t hurt as much. Her strength was returning, at least a little.

“THIS MORALITY STUFF IS PRETTY HARD,” Papyrus admitted. “WHAT DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD DO?”

Undyne let out a grunt, feeling a renewed vigor inside her gut. She sat up with Papyrus and looked him dead in the eye sockets. She’d tell him exactly how she felt, she was confident now.

“I don’t know!”

“THAT’S NOT VERY HELPFUL.” He frowned.

“Who cares!” Undyne yelled. “I’ll figure something out!”

It wasn’t often that Papyrus played the voice of reason. “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE HUMAN?”

Again, she shrugged. She needed to kill the little brat. There was no question about that. The soul was of vital importance. On that, she would never falter. Even if it hurt her, even if it felt wrong, she needed to. For those that were unhappy. For everyone. Even for Papyrus. “Maybe nothing needs to be done just yet. Maybe we can work something out.”

She said the words aloud but didn’t believe them. Toriel would never hand over the soul, even if the human lived a full life and died of natural causes. She might have no choice. But, at least until then, she could try. She could keep an eye on the human, make sure it never hurt anyone. Maybe it didn’t need to die yet. Or maybe she just needed time to get her strength back.

“THAT WOULD BE NICE!” Papyrus said with a smile, but it wasn’t quite as confident as usual. Even he must have had doubts. Would he still get in her way? She wondered.

But, for now, it didn’t matter. She sat back with her friend, enjoying his company, listening to the droplets of water fall. “Only thing I know for sure now is, we’re both losers.” She grinned.

She’d never felt so happy to be a loser.

“THE BEST LOSERS!” Papyrus added. “NO ONE CAN BEAT US AT LOSING! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

“Damn straight!” Undyne roared, laughing heartily again. “If only people could have seen us lose to each other! Our moves were so good!”

“OH YES! YOU WERE GREAT, UNDYNE! ALMOST AS GREAT AS ME!”

For a while, they forgot about the human, forgot about their rivalry. There was something so simplistic and fun in just sharing stories, or practicing their cool moves for their next heart-stopping spar. And maybe that was what was missing – a simple friendship where it didn’t feel like the fate of the Underground was set on her shoulders.

At the very least, her time with Papyrus was a nice break from her goal. That was all it was, she would tell herself, but she would enjoy the heck out of it for as long as she could.

#undyne #papyrus #undertale #toriel #gerson #fanfiction #one shot #sky's fanfics

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littleladyyred · 7 years

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The Tie That Binds: Chapter Three

Link arrives at Hyrule Castle, and finds himself face to face with someone he definitely didn’t expect.

[AO3 LINK]

Chapter Select

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Chapter Three

~Devil in a Blue Dress ~

The amount of emotion that swirled around in Link’s chest was unbearable, to say the least. Ten years worth of memories, buried within the depths of his mind, slowly rising again to the surface as he and the rest of the royals graced through the black gates of Castle Town. Link closed his eyes and gripped Epona’s reins tight, as he refused to look at the curious faces that had begun to form a line around the succession. He didn’t want to see or recognize anything, or anyone for that matter. He didn’t want to remember what his life was like before the incident. To remember all of the times he had run down these very streets, playing tag and hide and seek with Amie and all his other friends. He didn’t want to remember the way he and his father would spar in the front yard, the clanking of wooden training weapons filling the air, while his mother sat upon the porch, watching briefly as she held her nose in her favorite book—

He—didn’t want to remember.

Because if he remembered this, then he would also remember that the incident ruined everything.

That the incident ruined him.

“Link.”

He heard his name and was forced to open his eyes. It appeared that the succession had came to a stand still, most of the Knights and Guards abandoning the group to go off and join with their families. A sudden flash of his own father, coming home from a long trip and finally gracing through the door, captured his mind. A memory of Link running down the stairs and jumping up and into his father’s arms as his mother stood in the kitchen, preparing supper—

Link forced himself to freeze the memory before any more emotion could compromise him. He lifted his eyes to his speaker. The King was now riding next to him, his white hair blowing in the wind.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

No. Link thought. I’m far from alight. But he held his tongue from saying that. Instead, he just silently nodded his head.

King Rhoam gave him a look of incredulity, but didn’t necessarily call him out on it. “Follow me.” He said as he motioned his horse forward. Link obeyed, keeping his vision set ahead. It took him a moment to see that they were headed for another gate, much similar to the one they had already passed through. It was massive, and the frame was made completely from obsidian. The door itself was crafted with glass and painted in the center was the Hyrule Wingcrest.

Link tilted his head to the sky and suddenly realized the beauty that mounted above him. He may have had some memories of Hyrule Castle from his early childhood, but none of them amounted to what was suddenly upon him. This was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The architecture was outstanding and the attention to detail, even more so. And it was tall—so tall that Link could swear it was touching the clouds.

The gateway approached quickly, and as they crossed underneath, more recollection began to wash over Link. A memory of his father, walking him down these very pathways, recanting stories and legends of all the battles that had taken place here at the Castle. Telling him the stories of fallen Heroes and Champions, and how they had given their life to save the ancient Kingdom. Link had listened, quietly intrigued at the battle driven stories filled with blood, gore and sacrifice. Those were always his favorite.

Now he hated them.

Link shook the memory from his wired brain as the King halted his horse and dismounted. Behind them, the castle entrance rattled and creaked before the old rusty hinges came to life. Link glanced back just on time to see the obsidian gates sealing behind him.

No turning back now. He thought

Not that he could, even if he wanted too…

With Castle Town now locked behind him, Link felt a little bit at ease. At least now, (hopefully) he wouldn’t have to be bombarded with old and unnerving memories. Maybe now he could just focus on the situation at hand and go back to ignoring and suppressing his emotions. He dismounted Epona, and took a deep breath. The hardest part had still yet to come, but Link couldn’t help but feel a sense of calmness now that he allowed himself to realize he had made it to Central Hyrule in one piece.

Mipha would be glad, He thought.

“Welcome back, your grace.” A royal Guardsman made his way over to where Link and the King were stood. He was dressed like all the others in the Capital, sterling silver armor gleaming in the dusk light. He had a mop of jet black hair and a beard that covered most of his face. His posture was tall and stern as he spoke with King Rhoam. “How was your trip?”

“Tiring.” Rhoam mumbled as he handed the reins of his horse over to the Guardsman. “I’m getting old, Dario.”

“Oh please, you grace,” Dario took the reins, a smile tugging underneath his beard. “You’re young compared to the Maesters.”

“Don’t flatter your King,” He grinned, a hint a tease in his voice. Rhoam walked closer to where Link was standing and grabbed Epona’s reins as well, handing them over. “Take them both to the stables.”

“Of course, and shall I inform the chef to prepare for supper now that you’ve returned?” Dario questioned.

“Please.” The King answered simply.

As the black haired Guardsman began to walk Epona away, Link felt a lump form in his throat. He had grown attached to her rather quickly over the past few days and the thought of her being alone in a stable full of strange horses just didn’t sit right with him. He would have felt much better if she had stayed with him…Even if that meant him having to sleep outside again…

“I’ll have your belongings brought up to your room.” King Rhoam’s voice filled his ears, pulling his attention away from his beloved steed.

Link gave him wary, yet questionable look. “My…room?”

“You’ll be staying in the Castle, of course.” He placed a hand on Link’s shoulder, making him feel uncomfortable. “You’re a guest. An esteemed one, at that.”

Link gulped. He had been in the Capital a total of ten minutes and already he felt like an immense amount of pressure was being put on him. Already being given titles he’s yet to earn. He did his best to appear normal. Again, silently nodding while forcing himself to not break eye contact with his Majesty.

King Rhoam, satisfied with his response, dropped the hand from shoulder and began to walk up the slanted granite aisle. He called out over his shoulder. “This way, boy.”

Link followed behind, jogging to keep pace with the King. He lead them through a massive archway, made entirely of gray masonry. Beyond that lied a dimly lit corridor which eventually turned into a stone staircase, leading up and into the Castle hallways.

There were more people trailing through the regal halls then Link had expected. Every few minutes or so, someone new would pass by, shoulders brushing his as they did. Some appeared to be servants and maids, while others were Knights and perhaps advisers. Either way, to say that Link felt out of place, was an understatement. He looked filthy compared to all of the pristine Royals. He looked like a peasant who had somehow gotten lost and managed to break into the establishment. If it wasn’t for the King’s escort, Link was more than certain he would have been mistakenly thrown out by now.

Soon, after what felt like hours of slipping through endless passageways, they finally made their way into the main foyer, which the King referred to as The Grand Atrium. The space was incredible, and once again Link found himself in awe as he stood in the middle of the Palace. The ceiling was immense and made entirely out of glass. The marvelous sun rays shined through, giving the brilliant room a golden glow. Intricate porcelain columns stood high, while a magnificent spiral staircase was placed perfectly in the center, the royal red carpet flowing down the steps like a bleeding waterfall.

“This is where I leave you.” King Rhoam stopped his march and turned to Link, whose gaze was tilted up, eyes drinking the stunning arena. “Your room is up those stairs, down the hall, and third door on the right. I’ll have someone sent to you when supper is ready.”

Link then moved his sight to Rhoam, who had already turned away and begun to take leave. He opened his mouth, racking his brain for words, but before he could even formulate a response, Link was alone and left to his own devices.

He wasn’t sure what to do first. A part of him wanted to explore. To run down the labyrinthine halls and allow himself to get lost within the beauty that was Hyrule Castle. Another part, wanted to retreat to his room and shut himself off from the world and his racing thoughts. Somehow, while weighing out the two options, he found himself climbing the spiral staircase. Slowly placing one foot in front of the other as he made his way up to the second floor.

Upon reaching the top, Link was greeted with an overabundance of paintings, hung up on the noble walls. They were in all different sizes, and a few must have been quite old, given by the faded colors and aged state of the parchment. Some were of impeccable detail, capturing every line and element perfectly of a face, while others were haphazard and messy, just briefly bleeding colors together to create an image underneath. As he paced down the corridor, eyes lingering over the ancient canvases, he noticed that most of them portrayed numerous members of the royal family. Generations and generations of Kings and Queens, and most of the faces, Link didn’t seem to recognize at all.

There was however, one portrait he most definitely could identify. It was the most recent portrait of the royal family, featuring King Rhoam, his Queen and a little girl, who stood in between them. The painting may have been more recent than the rest, but was still at least over a decade old. Rhoam was pictured with a head full of yellow hair, accompanied by a neatly groomed beard of the same shade. The Queen, portrayed much the same with her own sunlight locks, giving her flawless skin a glow which made her appear ethereal. And the little girl, no older then five or six, also was shown with golden strands which fell gracefully around her small frame. Her eyes were the color of emeralds and they sparkled in a way that looked so realistic, even for a painting.

Link found his eyes lingering on the little girl. He felt something stir within him, as if he had seen her before, as if he had known her. He assumed the girl was the Princess, given that fact that she was placed between the two rulers of Hyrule. Link scanned his brain for any memories of her, any moments he might have graced his eyes upon her while living in Castle Town, but found none. All he could find was this feeling of—something—he couldn’t quite put his hands on. He didn’t understand why he was drawn to her, or what this feeling was..but he knew, deep somewhere in his memories, he had known her. And not just from word of mouth, as the Hyrule family was quite the popular topic throughout the Hylians, No—he knew her. As if they were friends before—or acquaintances, or—something—

Link turned away from the painting, his head and chest hurting with this feeling. Just as he did so, he felt another pressure suddenly upon his chest. This pressure was warm and inviting and smelled like dandelions and hyrule herb. This pressure was the feeling of someone unintentionally bumping into him as they hurried down the silent hallway.

Link stumbled back at the sudden pressure of someone crashing into him, as multiple books and papers fell at his feet. They hit the ground with a thump, followed by a breathy curse.

“Shit.”

Whoever had bumped into Link was now kneeling in front of him, hands scouring the ceramic tiled floor. They wore an elegant blue velvet cloak, the hood cast over their head and covering up their identity. All Link could see were a few long strands of blond that managed to slip out as they bent over. It was a female, he noted. He could tell by her small frame and the daintiness of her hands and pale fingers. He could also tell by the soft and honey-covered voice that blew musically past her lips.

“I-I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t even see you there. I was in such a hurry, I-”

“It’s…ok…” Link said quietly as he bent down to help her pick up what she had dropped all over the floor. There were ancient books, for the most part, covered in text he didn’t recognize. Perhaps a different language, he thought. However most of the writings were symbols and hieroglyphics, which didn’t necessarily fit into any language Link had ever heard of. As for the various singles of parchment, that littered the ground, he took notice that they seemed to be schematics for a machine of some sort. Although, what kind of machine would be this intricate? He mused as he tilted his head, trying to make sense of the complicated diagram. He was shortly interrupted by the sound of her voice again, singing to him in a way that made him feel beat in his chest.

“No, it’s not. I should’ve been—” She stopped then. Her wondrous vocals coming to a halt as she looked up at Link. He met her eyes and felt a lump in his throat as that feeling began to creep up in his chest again.

With her now looking directly at him, the hood fell back a bit, giving him a little access to her features. Astonishing emerald eyes beamed into his, while her sun kissed hair swept beautifully around her heart-shaped face. Her skin was pale, but her lips and cheeks were pink, and Link couldn’t help but feel the aching presence of remembrance as he studied her face. He also felt another beat in his chest. And even though his view was obstructed mostly by the azure hood, it was obvious to him that he didn’t need to see the rest of her, underneath that cloak. He could already tell she was undeniable beautiful.

She tilted her head and studied Link’s features as well. Her eyes filling up with the same confusion, yet familiarity. Did she feel it too, He thought. This aching feeling of recognition…She spoke then, lips parting and a warm breath drawn his way, causing an involuntary shiver.

“Have we met before?” She asked. Her voice was so soft—so sweet—he almost melted just at the sound of it.

So she did feel it. She must of, hence her question. She was so familiar, it hurt to look at her. To gaze into those endless tender eyes…Those eyes—he knew those eyes…but from where? Link thought of the painting…the little girl sat in between King Rhoam and his Queen. Could this be her, but…grown up? Could this be the Princess?

No, He thought. She couldn’t be. This girl, that was staring upon him, she was dressed as a commoner. Cloaked in a Hylian Hood and was wearing normal Hylian clothes underneath. If this was the Princess of Hyrule, wouldn’t she be dressed as one? And what would she be doing with all of those books and diagrams? Link had heard many stories of the Princess, and most of which contained her attending to royal duties. Link had never heard of any talk of the Princess burying her nose in research or even remotely being known as a scholar.

Link then became very aware that she was waiting for him to answer. Goddess knows how long he’s just been sat there, gawking at her. He opened his mouth, words nervously stumbling out. “I…don’t think so…?”

She breathed again, the warmth sending a chill to course through his entire body. She wasn’t satisfied with his answer. “Your face,” She murmured. “It’s so familiar, are you sure?”

He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure at all. Because she was—so familiar—and it pained him that he couldn’t place why. Why did he know her? How did he know her? He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He seemed to have lost his voice. Just as he went to try again, she sighed and hastily grabbed the books and papers out of his hands (which he had completely forgotten he was still holding).

“Nevermind,” She breathed. She stood up, picking up the rest of the continents she had lost to the floor. Link rose to his feet as well, a little shocked at her sudden movement. She met his eyes once more before turning on her heel and whisking away, her words lingering in the air. “I’m sorry, again. I should have been paying attention. Forgive me.”

And then she was gone.

————

Link found his room not long after the mysterious girl dashed away, their brief and awkward encounter making his cheek red and his heart race. Thankfully, as he entered the bright and regal guest room, his bags were there, just like the King had promised. They were set up neatly in the corner, right next to a small balcony that lead outside. Long sheer curtains hung around the terrace doorway, the sleek material blowing in the open wind. It gave the room a chill, despite the warm colors of red and orange that made up the entirety of the space, and Link found that the cool air seemed to help the burning heat that was now spreading over more of his face.

He rummaged through his bags, searching for a clean pair of clothes and then began his way into the bathroom which was attached guest chambers. After the day he had, he needed a bath. He needed to soak and relax and just hope that the rest of his stay wouldn’t be as awkward and unnerving. As he laid in the heated water, steam filling up his nostrils and giving his complexion a watery glow, he found his mind wandering. And unfortunately (or fortunately..?) for him, it kept wandering back to the golden girl he’d met in the hallway.

Her lushness eyes kept appearing behind his own closed eyelids. The image of her hair, trailing down the side of her face, her cheeks and lips flushed pink—

And still—Link could place why she was so damn familiar.

It was pointless, trying to reconcile with the fact that there was something about her that unconsciously drew him in. Even though he had only been in her presence for less than five minutes, he couldn’t stop this feeling, and he couldn’t stop her from clouding his thoughts.

Link pulled his eyes open, the steam from the bath swirling around him. He wondered if he would see her again. If she would still be around the Castle…If she lived in the Castle. He wondered what she was doing hurrying down the hallways, or perhaps where she was headed. And he wondered why she held all of those ancient books and texts and what she could have possibly been doing with stuff like that. Was she was an adviser? A handmaiden? Or a servant or—

Knock, Knock.

A brief and sudden sound came at the door, causing Link to jump slightly. He pushed any other thoughts of this girl from his head as he hastily removed himself from the tepid bath water. While fetching his clothes, another knock came. This time louder, as if whoever was knocking was unsure if he had heard them the first time. Link managed to open the door just as he finished pulling a fresh tunic over his head.

He was met with a girl, hair the color of fire and eyes the color of leaves. She was a servant, he assumed. Given by the beige apron that was pulled around a brown shapeless dress. She had a bow tied in her hair, but that did little to nothing for the scarlet curls that sprang around her face.

“The King beckons you, sir Link. Supper is ready.” She spoke, her accent thick with the Capital’s tongue.

Sir Link….? He thought. I’m a ‘sir’ now?

“Thank you,” Link shifted awkwardly in the archway before shutting his chambers and quickly brushing over his appearance. He had pulled his hair back into the classic ponytail, and was now clothed with a fresh Hylian tunic. The colors of red and green complimented him nicely, accentuating his crystal eyes. He took a breath once more, mentally praying to Hylia that supper would be quick and uneventful, before grasping the golden metal handle and yanking open the heavy door.

The walk to the dining room was short. Passing back down the spiral stairs, and just a few hallways later he was there, standing in front of the large wooden entrance. He felt himself, more than once, begin to fidget with his hands. Twisting and turning his fingers as his palms turned sweaty. He thought of Mipha as he did this. He thought of the Village he had left behind, and how just two days ago, he would have never guessed he would be here: standing in the middle of Hyrule Castle, about to have supper with the King.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick he pick up from his mother, before finally working up the courage to grace inside.

Link was immediately hit with the smell of honey-steamed meat, followed by a hint of perfectly baked bread and crisp apple pies. The aroma of the different foods flowed into his senses, making his stomach growl. He had forgotten exactly how hungry he was, until he walked into the cloud of delicious scents. The room itself was tremendous. The ceilings were high with great stone beams of support, casting from one side to another. Chandeliers made from pure iron hung delicately from above, while golden candles flickered around the rims. Banners with the Hyrule emblem dangled across the gray masonry walls, while streaks of the setting sun peered in through the windows.

He cautiously moved down the few stairs he was greeted with, until his feet hit the stone brick ground, covered with the scarlet royal carpet. A few heads of servants and maids turned his way, giving him a look of uncertainty. Link ignored them and pressed on further until he could see the King sat at the very back table, a cup of wine in his hand as he casually lifted to his lips.

The King noticed Link then, standing up and waved his hand. “Come, boy. Glad you could make it.”

As he moved closer to the table and chairs, Link noticed that the King was not alone. He was accompanied by a girl, no older than sixteen, with hair spun from gold and a smile like the sun.

Link froze.

It was the girl from the hallway.

Time seemed to slow down as the two of them met eyes, slowing realizing what they were seeing. The girl was dressed much different from when he had seen her earlier in the hallway. She wore a dress made of blue silk, which elegantly flowed over her body like a cascading river. Her hair was long, so long that Link could swear it was touching the ground, and it was pinned back slightly behind her pointed ears, allowing her forest eyes to be free from obstruction.

But the thing that was most noticeable about this girl, was the golden plated band that wrapped around her head, giving her a look of royalty.

“Zelda, this is Aiden’s son, Link. And Link, this is my daughter, Zelda. Princess of Hyrule.” King Rhoam spoke but Link was barely listening as his thoughts were louder and overbearing.

Princess.

She was….the Princess.

The mysterious girl, who had clouded Link’s brain for the entire evening and who had bumped into him in the hallway—and was inches from his face—was Princess Zelda….

Link felt like he couldn’t breath. How could she be the Princess??? She was dressed as a commoner earlier and she had been wearing a Hylian Hood, as if she were hiding from someone? Why was she in disguise? What was she doing with all of those books and diagrams? Where was she running too? Why was she running?

Eons and eons of questions rattled his brain as Link slowly forgot that he was in public and was still staring directly at the Princess. The sound of her standing up and out of her dining chair seemed to jolt him back to reality, but her voice is what really captured his attention.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was soft and sweet and oh so delectable. It suddenly brought him back to the hallway, where her face was inches from his and he could smell her hair and feel her breath every time she spoke—

Goddess, Link thought. What the hell is wrong with me?

Forcing his mind to stop running, he managed to open his mouth and let a few messy words stumble out. “Same to you, Princess.” He bowed his head as the King watched his mannerisms.

Link gulped. This dinner is going to be much more awkward than he anticipated.

He was sure Hylia was playing some sick joke on him.

“Please, have a seat.” Rhoam motioned for him to sit in the chair across from Zelda. Link slowly obliged.

Servants then began to bring around dinner. Platters of all kinds of food, laid out on the table. Rhom began to help himself, while Zelda seemed distracted. Link (even though he was starving) only grabbed very little, as he didn’t want to look like a slob (or even worse, a glutton) in front of the royal family. They ate silently for several minutes until King Rhoam began a conversation.

“I’ve brought the two of you together tonight, as I would like you to get acquainted.” He said. Zelda met Link’s eyes, confusion blossoming on her face. Link could only assume, he looked much to the same.

“As you both know, the Calamity is rising.” The King continued. “The war will be upon us soon, and the two of you will be at the front lines—”

“Wait.” Zelda’s voice traveled across the table, immediately catching Link’s attention. “What do you mean the two of us? What does he have to do with the war to come?” Her words may have sounded gentle, but there was a hint of insolent buried deep within.

Rhoam looked sharply at his daughter, and she returned his glare with one of her own. Her eyes grew dark and suddenly her sweet and innocent look was gone and instead replaced with an arrogant looking one.

Link remained silent, as the two of them shared a conversation solely in glares. He started bouncing his leg, up and down, underneath the table as way to hopefully calm his rapid nerves. He had a horrible feeling this dinner was going to end disastrously.

And just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Rhoam spoke again, directing full attention to Link.

“He is Farore’s Champion. The Hero of Hyrule.”

Hero. The word echoed his his brain as Zelda’s bright green eyes widened. She parted her lips slightly and her expression softened. If Link had to guess, it almost appeared as if a look of worry began to cross her features.

He began to squirm under her scrutiny gaze, face heating up and his leg bouncing faster. Unconsciously he bit the inside of his cheek and wished that this damned dinner would just end already. As he worked up the courage to possible say something, anything to redirect the conversation elsewhere, she spoke and all of his words died in his throat.

“You’re the Hero of Legend?” Her voice seemed to tremble and before Link could even think about answering, she asked another question. A question he really wished she hadn’t. “Do you have the sword?”

The sword that seals the darkness.

The sword that only the chosen Hero could wield.

The sword that was hidden, deep within the Lost Woods, just waiting to be claimed—

The sword…that Link didn’t have…but was supposed too…

He wasn’t sure how long he was silent for, as his mind began to race once more. He was startled when his lips parted unconsciously, allowing words to seep through.

“No.” Link said, so quiet—he was sure that neither the Princess or The King had heard him. “Not yet.”

The look he was given by Princess Zelda herself, was one of the coldest and condescending looks he had ever been given in his entire life.

“How can you be the Hero of Legend if you don’t even have the sword?” Her voice was like ice, slicing his skin and piercing his soul, causing his breathing to suddenly stop. She sounded so different then the sweet girl he had met in the hallway, Link was convinced that the Princess had switched places with some sort of evil twin of hers.

“He may not have it yet, but he will.” King Rhoam spoke for Link, but Zelda’s glare did not falter. She held it sternly even has her father continued. “He starts training tomorrow, and once he’s strong enough, he will set out to the Lost Woods to obtain it.”

The Princess was quick to answer, her tongue still harsh. “And what if he doesn’t return? Or even worse, what if he does, but he’s empty handed? Will he still be the Hero of Hyrule then?”

The King’s face began to redden, obviously becoming angry at his Daughter’s sharp words. He opened his mouth to rebut her argument, but Link spoke instead. The tones of his voice were low but stern, and for a moment, Link wasn’t even sure if it was he who was speaking.

“I won’t fail.”

The words were simple, but the meaning behind them was solid. Link didn’t know what overcame him, but suddenly he didn’t feel like himself. He felt confident, he felt strong, he felt—

Courageous.

Zelda, taken back by his sudden boldness, looked at him incredulously. She leaned into her chair, emerald eyes never leaving his sapphire’s. They sat like that for several heartbeats, and somewhere along the line, Link stopped biting his cheek and bouncing his leg. He was completely calm, completely content—completely fearless.

It was odd, this feeling.

It was something he hadn’t felt in all of seven years.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of stares, Zelda narrowed her eyes and broke the tension, speaking with words as cold as the Mountains in Hebra.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

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