#her plan was to get the marriage annulled afterwards somehow (she has not thought this through At All god bless <3)

[xenon-demon]

I... have no idea what this is. No that's a lie I know exactly what this is, it's 2.6k of a Frozen AU with Steve as Elsa and Robin as Anna that I wrote in a fugue state after seeing a friend's production of Frozen: The Musical tonight. I have several WIPs I'm supposed to be working on and this is exactly none of them. Bone apple teeth. (Also I'm genuinely unsure if my usual crew of beloved enablers would even WANT to be tagged in this so... for now I'm not doing a taglist, and if I write any more of this AU I'll do one next time 😂)

“Steve!”

At the sound of his name, the Prince — now King, and boy is Robin going to take a while to get used to that — turns his head towards her. Seeing it's Robin, Steve gives his apologies to whatever noble he was talking to and steps away from their conversation. He makes his way over to Robin in just a few short strides, but his eyes flick back and forth between Robin and her new... well. She doesn't really want to think about what Eddie now is to her. In any case, she can already see a questioning frown start to brew on Steve's face, meaning this will be a much harder sell than she expected.

“Robin!” Steve exclaims, his gaze almost immediately sliding over to Eddie and giving him a once-over. He sounds markedly more subdued when he continues, “I see you've... made a friend.”

“Well, I wouldn't say a friend exactly!” Robin laughs, shrill and stilted, and gives Eddie's arm a pointed squeeze when he doesn't immediately join in. Getting the hint, Eddie finally starts laughing along. Hopefully Steve didn't notice her hinting, since she's had her arm wrapped around Eddie's since before she even called him over.

Steve raises an eyebrow at her, and shit does she need to keep this moving.

“This,” Robin announces, using the hand that's not around Eddie's arm to do a quick flourish in the direction of his face, “is Prince Edward of the Kingdom of Forest-Upon-Hills. We met at the ball tonight.”

“It's an absolute pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” says Eddie, trying his best to show the proper respect and bow as he does so. Robin's death grip on his arm prevents him from getting very far.

“Likewise,” Steve replies, sounding incredibly skeptical of this whole conversation. He then shoots Robin a look, which, rude, but also entirely warranted given what she's about to ask him.

Steeling herself, Robin begins to say, “Prince Edward and I-”

“Just Eddie is fine,” Eddie interrupts her, leaning in a little bit closer to her as he whispers. He's got terrible volume control, however, so she wouldn't know it was meant to be a whisper if she hadn't spent the past two hours talking to him.

“Not one for formalities, Prince Eddie?” Steve asks, the weight of his gaze finally leaving Robin's shoulders for a moment. God, she often wishes her brother was easier to read, but never as strongly as she does right now.

Eddie, meanwhile, straightens up so quickly it's like he's been electrocuted.

“Uh, not particularly, no. They grate on me,” Eddie says. He pauses for a moment, and Robin can see the deliberation on his face before he adds, “Your Majesty.”

“I'm not one for formalities either, Prince Eddie,” Steve says. His mouth twitches into a very small smile. “I prefer Steve.”

There's a pause, then, where Steve and Eddie are locked into some strange stare-down, while Robin looks on in vague exasperation. She's pretty sure she could strip naked and swing from the chandelier in the center of the ballroom and neither of them would take any notice of her. She's about to intervene, actually, because they really do not have time for whatever this is, when Eddie miraculously breaks the spell himself. He blinks a bit, looking away from Steve and back to Robin, face significantly more flushed than it was a minute ago.

“I believe you were saying something to K- to Steve, Princess?” Eddie asks, just about tripping over Steve's new title on instinct before catching himself.

Robin just barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes. She really is the bravest, most long-suffering warrior in all of Hawkins.

Putting her brave face back on, Robin turns to her brother and says, “Yes I was, thank you Eddie, I was saying that Prince Eddie and I-” and here she falters, because Steve looks back at her and meets her gaze. She swallows, trying to be subtle, and looks very pointedly at Steve's forehead instead of his eyes. She can't do this if she's looking him in the eye.

She takes another half second to compose herself, then rips the band-aid off.

“Prince Eddie and I seek your blessing for our marriage.”

“Excuse me?” Steve says, more like demands, almost choking on nothing. Robin's never seen her brother this off-kilter in her life. He doesn't even try to compose himself at  all before he says, “Robin, can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?”

Robin swallows guiltily, knowing he'll see straight through her if she agrees.

“No. Anything you want to say to me, you can say to both of us,” Robin says, and how her voice stays steady, she doesn't even know. It probably helps that she's still not looking Steve in the eye.

“Robin- I don't-” Steve interrupts himself to run his gloved hands down his face. He pauses for a moment, face completely covered by his hands, and takes a deep sigh. When he removes his hands and starts speaking again, his voice is measured. Calm. Deadly.

“Rob, you can't marry a man you just met,” Steve states. The word man falls heavy off his tongue, and Robin knew she would regret coming out as a lesbian, she just didn't think it would be like this. Squaring herself up for the best performance of her life, Robin begins her improvised speech full of bullshit to convince her brother to let her do this.

Before she can, however, Eddie chimes in with, "You can if it's true love." Steve doesn't even spare Eddie a glance, but his frown does deepen significantly. Shit.

“Steve,” Robin begins, trying very hard to stay calm, “Eddie and I have a connection unlike any I've ever felt before. I lo-love him”—shit, she could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat saying that, and judging by the almost-imperceptible twitch in Steve's eye, he knows too—“and I think it's time I start giving back to the Kingdom of Hawkins.”

“Giving back?” Steve asks, and fuck he's folding his arms across his chest now. “How exactly is this giving back to the kingdom? What you're doing is running headfirst into the first bad decision you can find.”

”I'm a bad decision?” Eddie asks. Both Robin and Steve ignore him.

“No, Steve, I'm giving back by giving the kingdom a new celebration to look forward to after your coronation,” Robin hisses. “A royal wedding is another opportunity to open the castle gates and bring the kingdom together-”

“Absolutely not,” Steve snaps, interrupting her. “We are not opening up the castle gates again for a long time.”

“Why not, Steve?” Robin snaps back. “Tonight's been great for the kingdom's morale, it's been great for you to see people and actually socialize-”

“You have no idea what's good for me, Robin,” Steve says, making her stop dead. It hurts, hearing Steve say that like it's obvious and she's stupid for not knowing it already. What hurts more is that it’s true.

Once it's clear Robin won't keep talking, Steve continues, “You asked for my blessing, and I do not give it. I don't approve of this, and if you're doing this in some misguided attempt to make me happy- quite frankly you've gone insane if you think this would make me happy.”

With that, he turns to walk away.

Okay, sure, she has no idea what Steve's whole deal is or why he's always shutting her out, but Robin is sure she knows what will help.

Sure, part of this crazy scheme is the vague idea that if Robin has a picture-perfect capable-of-bearing-children partnership, then Steve will be under less pressure himself to marry someone who can produce an heir. Maybe, with less scrutiny on his personal choices, he'll learn to relax and open up more over time. That idea falls apart pretty quickly, however, as the thought of producing an heir with a man - even one as fun to talk to as Eddie - makes her want to gouge her own eyes out. No, the real reasoning behind Robin's (admittedly insane) plan to marry someone she met two hours ago at her brother's coronation is so she has an ironclad reason for Steve to open the gates again. Sure, ideally it would've been a woman who caught her eye tonight, but she can't be picky. Robin doesn't meet anyone, especially with the castle locked up like it always is, and she has yet to think of something other than a wedding that would convince Steve to open the gates. Then Eddie came along, laughing and flirting (she thinks, at least; Robin's tried to black that part out) and professing his undying true love to her, and this was the best opportunity she was ever going to get.

And she has to convince her brother to open the gates again. Steve's been thriving tonight. He clearly loves the thrum of people, all of them dancing and laughing and enjoying themselves, and he's slowly coming out of his shell with every conversation he has with their subjects. Robin's spent more time talking to her brother tonight than she has in a long, long time. Too long for her to try to quantify it without crying.

Watching her brother turn away from her, the promise of a relationship with him going forward about to slip through her fingers, she knows she has to do something.

“Steve, wait-” Robin says, reaching out for Steve. She grabs him by the hand, feeling the soft cotton of the white gloves he always, always wears.

“Enough, Robin,” Steve says, not even looking back as he yanks his hand out of her grip. She's trying to hold on, though, so she's left holding his glove as Steve pulls his now-bare hand away from her. God, how upsetting is it that it's been years since she saw the back of her own brother's hands?

Steve swears, then, under his breath. Robin almost doesn't hear it; almost.

“Robin, give me my glove.” Steve's not asking; he's demanding. Robin can work with this.

“Not unless you talk to me about why you won't open the gates. Look at how tonight went, it's been so good for you-”

“This isn't up for debate, Robin, give me my glove,” and Steve reaches for it then, but Robin quickly holds the glove up high above her head before he can grab it.

“Why isn't it up for debate? Why do you isolate yourself all the time?” Robin's almost dancing now, twisting and turning as she tries to keep the glove away from Steve's grabbing hands. It doesn't help that he's taller than her, but she's more agile than people think, especially since Steve's in full coronation regalia right now. The material's stiff as a board at the best of times.

“You wouldn't understand, just give me the- ugh!” Steve's stopped trying to grab the glove, instead trying to restrain her and make it easier to grab.

“Maybe I would understand if you'd talk to me instead of shutting me out all the time-” Steve's almost got her in a headlock, but Robin ducks out from underneath it and quickly steps away and out of Steve's reach.

“Robin, that's enough!” Steve shouts, and then several things happen consecutively.

Steve reaches out towards Robin with his right hand, the one missing the glove.

Robin thinks she's going crazy, but- what look like snowflakes shoot out from Steve's hand where he's reached for her.

The crowd, most of whom had turned to look at Steve's shout, gasp, almost in unison.

“I- Steve-” Robin says, not quite sure where to start with the -- actually quite sizable -- pile of snow now on the ballroom floor.

“No,” Steve gasps, and Robin's never heard her brother so distraught. It makes something keen inside her, the sheer anguish in his voice. “No, no no no, this can't be happening, this can't-” Steve reaches up to pull at this hair, but more snow and ice shoots out from his hand as soon as it's pointing towards the ceiling. He flinches away from his own hand, sheer terror on his face, but with every movement Steve makes more and more snow and ice surrounds him. Within a few seconds, there's a wind picking up as well, and it's like a snowstorm is starting to form right there in the castle dining room.

The crowd, originally shocked into silence, starts to move again. Robin hears screaming, people running, shouting from the guards about an evacuation plan, but it's all faint and distorted like she's underwater. All she can focus on right now is Steve, the way his terror is only worsening by the moment.

“Steve, let me help you,” Robin calls over the roar of the crowd and the storm, taking a few steps towards him. She needs to get his attention before getting closer, the last thing she wants to do right now is startle him.

“Stay away from me!” Steve yells, holding up his hands in an instinctive 'stay back' gesture. Yet more ice shoots out towards Robin as he does so. “I’m not safe!”

“I don't care! You're my brother!” Robin shouts back, but Steve doesn't seem to hear her. He's looking down at his hands in horror, then at the waist-high line of ice between the two of them.

Robin somehow knows what he's going to do the moment before he does it.

“Steve!” Robin screams, breaking into a run. Steve's faster than her, always has been, so he makes it to the doors of the ballroom well before she can catch him. It also helps that people, even the guards posted at the doors, part to make room for him whenever he draws near. Seeing Steve push open the ballroom doors just enough to slip through them, Robin yells again, “Steve! Stop!”

“Princess Robin!” Someone crashes into Robin then, nearly sending the two of them flying. (Robin mentally thanks whatever God there may be that she wore pants and not a dress.) After regaining her footing, Robin looks at her assailant to find- oh, it's that guy. The Duke of one of their main trading partners, Tommy something. Haggard? Halfwit? Yeah, something like that.

“Princess Robin,” Tommy Hapless says, bending over with one hand on his knees and the other holding Robin's elbow as he catches his breath. God, Robin does not have time for this. “Princess, you can't- we need guidance. We need someone to... to lead us while the King is... indisposed.”

“I really don't have time for this,” Robin snaps, brushing his hand off her elbow. “Steve's my brother, I have to find him before he gets hurt!”

“I don't think... he's the one who'll be getting hurt,” Tommy Hanger-On says between gasps, quietly, but not so quiet Robin doesn't hear. She makes a point to stomp on his toes as she stalks off towards Eddie, who is doing his best to help people follow the evacuation advice. He looks faintly queasy, and very much like he would rather be literally anywhere else, but he's actually doing a pretty good job of guiding people where the guards want them.

Eddie doesn't notice her coming, so he jumps when Robin grabs him by the shoulder. She turns him around to face her, then grabs him by the other shoulder as well so she's looking him right in the eyes.

“I need to find Steve,” Robin says, not waiting for Eddie to finish whatever question he's opened his mouth to ask before continuing, “Can you take care of the kingdom until we get back?”

Eddie goes pale instantly. “What? I can't-”

“You're a prince, right? I know Forest-Upon-Hills is a pretty small kingdom, but how different can Hawkins really be?” Eddie doesn't look reassured, but Robin cares very little about that right now. She claps him on both shoulders in what she hopes is an encouraging gesture.

She grabs Eddie's hand and thrusts it up into the air, shouting, “Prince Eddie is in charge until I return!”

She then drops his hand before turning and running out into the night, ignoring the chaos behind her and the faint sounds of Eddie's confused protests.

Nothing matters to her now except for finding Steve.

[ivarthebadbitch]

Strange things can happen

Chapter 15 summary: Ubbe attempts to turn on the charm for Aldreda, and Ivar has some unexpected visitors.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 2466

Notes: Yes, I know I said no chapter this week, but lucky(?) for you, I actually got my shit together. No promises for next week though!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 15: All we can do is...

Although Aldreda had by her own choice been sequestered in a spare room for much of the day after speaking to her grandfather, with no particular desire to see or talk to anybody, the news of the unexpected arrival of Ragnar Lothbrok and his son Ubbe around sundown had trickled in nevertheless. Not for the first time, she wanted to be a thousand miles away from this place. Getting herself smuggled out of the palace in a wine barrel increasingly sounded like a reasonable solution to all her problems. Maybe Ivar had been on to something after all.

But before she could start planning her escape in earnest, there was a knock on the door. She reluctantly got up to answer it. It turned out to be her father, with a vaguely familiar-looking Northman hovering behind him in the hallway. Her heart immediately sank. 

“Aldreda, may I present Ragnar Lothbrok’s other son, Ubbe,” he said with a strained smile, motioning for Ivar’s brother to step forward. She was extremely relieved in that moment that she was still dressed and did not have to meet Ivar’s brother while wearing her nightgown.

After glancing at Aethelwulf, Ubbe hesitated and dipped into what Aldreda supposed was some sort of bow. Then, to her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it. “Hello,” he said in English.

She let go of his hand and curtsied back awkwardly. “My lord Ubbe, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He stared at her in confusion. Her father nudged her and murmured, “I don’t think he knows our language.”

“Oh,” she said. Embarrassingly enough, though Ivar’s English had improved to a remarkable degree in the past couple months, the same could not be said for her Norse. She frantically tried to recall her vocabulary. “Ah...how are you?”

He seemed relieved to hear her speak his language, however badly, and he smiled at her. “Our journey was long and difficult, but I am better now that I have met you.”

She had no idea what to say to that in either language. “Thank you,” she finally replied. Then she turned to her father. “I would like to speak to you,” she said in English.

He looked surprised. “Oh, of course. Right now?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head at Ubbe. “And alone.”

“Right.” Her father grasped Ubbe by the elbow and then escorted him back into the hallway with a polite smile before closing the door in his face.

“What is going on, Father?” she demanded once the door was closed.

He took a seat at the desk and ran his hands through his hair wearily. “Should the annulment proceed—and now it certainly will—Ragnar Lothbrok has proposed that you marry Ubbe. Your grandfather was receptive to the idea.”

She supposed she should have expected this: to be handed off immediately to the next available suitor with no say of her own, or even the faintest gesture that her feelings might have mattered in the least. Somehow, foolishly, she had thought that maybe this time would be different. But clearly she was mistaken. Judith had been right after all.

“And you?” she asked in a small voice. 

Her father sighed and looked away. “I did not like the idea of you marrying Ivar,” he said. “Neither of you even had time to get to know each other before you wed, though I admit I was too quick to judge him. You did your duty, of course, for the good of Wessex. But sometimes our hearts pull us in other directions, and that is no sin. Though your grandfather and Ragnar Lothbrok would like this matter resolved quickly, I have requested that you be allowed to decide whether the match is to proceed, and that Ubbe be baptized into our faith. They have agreed to these conditions.”

She threw herself into his arms without hesitation. “Thank you,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. Then she stepped back with a frown. “What will happen to Ivar?”

“The king has decided that the annulment can be formalized the day after tomorrow, once the final details have been worked out with Ragnar Lothbrok,” he said. “Afterwards, Ivar will return to Kattegat with his father. Ubbe will remain here and preparations will be made for the engagement. Tomorrow, you should spend at least a little time with him.”

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. It is for the best, she told herself for the thousandth time. Ivar could hate her if that was what he needed. She hoped he wouldn’t.

Her father squeezed her shoulder. “All my life, I have tried to do the right thing for my country, and my father, and my god,” he said. “I believed that if doing the right thing came at the expense of my personal happiness, then the cost was worth it. But now I see that these two things may not always be in opposition to each other. Sometimes happiness can be the right thing, and I would very much wish for all my children to be happy. I am sure that your mother would have wanted the same.” 

“Yes, Father,” she whispered. She was a woman now; she knew she should maintain her composure and not weep in front of him. Once she started, she would not be able to stop.

It must have been obvious. “Oh, my dear,” her father said gently, pulling her close and touching his forehead to hers, and she lost herself entirely. She sobbed in his arms for what felt like an eternity as he patted her back and murmured soothing words. Finally, as her sobs began to subside, he poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the desk and gave her his handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

“You always raised me to understand my duty towards others came first,” she said once she could speak again. She blew her nose and returned the handkerchief. “In a way, that made everything easier, because then I could say I didn’t have a choice. But what if I make the wrong choice now? What if I make a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it?”

He squeezed her hand. “We can’t always fix everything,” he said. “All we can do is the best that we can.”

With that, her father smiled and left her. Alone in her room, she undressed, blew out the candles, and climbed into bed. She didn’t think she would sleep at all that night, but somehow she had exhausted herself. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she was fast asleep.

                                                              **

When Ivar woke in the morning, the sun was already shining high in the sky and flooding the room with light. He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Usually, Aldreda would wake before him, and she would eventually nudge him to get up. But she hadn’t slept there last night, presumably having found herself another room for the time being. Of course, it hardly made sense for them to continue to share a bed if they were no longer going to be married.

His stomach growled and he suddenly realized he was ravenous. He might have elected to stay in bed all day otherwise, having nowhere else to go and nothing to do, but he finally forced himself up, washed his face, and slowly got dressed. Then he crawled over to the door, and finding it still locked from the outside, he banged on it until an annoyed guard opened it and glared down at him.

“Does King Ecbert mean for me to starve?” he snapped.

The guard closed the door in his face without a word, but within ten minutes, a servant came by with a plate of food and then hurried out before Ivar could make any additional demands. He wolfed his breakfast down in minutes. Once he was done, he picked up the plate and turned it around in his hands a few times. Even though he felt a little better after eating, he thought he would feel much better if he threw the plate at the locked door.

The moment it left his hands, the door opened without warning and his father stepped inside. The plate struck him squarely in the chest and bounced off. It clattered around noisily on the floor until Ragnar bent down with a groan to pick it up and set it on the table. 

“Father,” Ivar said in what he hoped was a steady voice, staring up at him.

“Ivar.” Ragnar sighed and sank down to the ground with his back to the door and legs splayed. “I am meeting again with King Ecbert today. Tomorrow morning, you’ll go to the priest and the marriage will be annulled. Then you and I will return right away to Kattegat while Ubbe remains here to be formally engaged to Aldreda. You will do this without making a scene and embarrassing your people, your family, and yourself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” he said dully.

“Hm.” Ragnar tilted his head back against the door. “Do you have anything to say to me, boy?” 

He had spent hours since yesterday working through various defenses and excuses for his behavior, but in that moment, his mind went blank. He picked at the fabric of his pants, overcome by emotion. “You left me,” he said at last, his voice suddenly breaking. “You left me again and you didn’t even bother to ask how I felt about it.”

Ragnar watched him in silence. As a child, Ivar had seen his father as a giant, unreachable and untouchable, but in this moment, sitting across from him—all he looked like was a tired old man, nothing like the great king and warrior he had always idolized. 

“I remember, you know,” Ivar continued. “Sigurd said I just dreamed it and I couldn’t possibly remember because I was only a baby back then, and maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. I remember looking up at your face. I remember you leaving me somewhere cold. You said you did it because you thought my legs were a weakness and I would die anyway. But I don’t care anymore why you left me. I just want to know if you’re sorry that you did it.”

Without taking his eyes off him, Ragnar slowly got to his feet. “Do you think you’re the first child to be left by his father?” he asked harshly. “I survived. You survived. The gods willed it. It doesn’t matter whether I’m sorry or not.”

With that, he turned and left as abruptly as he had come, leaving Ivar sitting alone on the floor. He sat there in silence and watched the shadows creep along the walls and listened to the sounds of the servants walking by in the hall, laughing and arguing cheerfully. If the door had been unlocked, he would have been tempted to charge out of the room, snarling curses to make them turn and run, but Ragnar had of course been careful to lock the door behind him. Even if his father was not sorry, he was ashamed of what he had done, Ivar realized. It still hurt. But he remembered what Aethelwulf had told him in the carriage: that he didn’t have to make the same mistakes as his parents; that it was possible to be better. He hoped he was right.

With nothing else to do, Ivar finally hauled himself back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling as the sun gradually sank below the horizon. He tried without success to avoid thinking about Aldreda, who was probably off having dinner with Ubbe and blushing when he smiled at her. His brothers all knew how to charm women; a skill he had never bothered to try to pick up—what was the use? He’d never be like them. 

He unsuccessfully tried to wrench his thoughts away from Aldreda and Ubbe and plan for his future back in Kattegat, but he just couldn’t shake the image out of his mind. If Ubbe really could make her happy, though...if this was really what she wanted...well, maybe that was what mattered most. Maybe he just had to figure out how to let her go. 

At some point in the evening, the servants came in to light the candles and bring him another plate of food, even though he had no appetite. He lay back on the bed, shut his eyes, and firmly ignored them, which no doubt made them happy. He even let himself doze for a while. His dreams were fragmented and hazy: he was lying in a tent in Mercia with Aldreda curled up at his side; he was on the boat to England again, watching Jormungandr rising out of the dark water to strike; he was sitting on the throne of Kattegat before a room full of cheering skeletons; he was his own father, looking down at the helpless infant in his arms. No other way, my son. 

He woke to a hesitant knock at the door. “Fuck off,” he snapped sleepily in Norse. It was probably Ubbe dropping by with some long winded explanation about how this was all being done for Ivar’s own good. Ubbe was the last person on earth he wanted to see right now.

He sat up in surprise when Aldreda poked her head inside. She had a hesitant look on her face, as though she thought he would shout at her. “Sorry, I thought you were my brother,” he explained sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.

“Can I come in?” she asked. Before he could answer, she quickly added, “You can say no. That’s all right too. I just...I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Some part of him wanted to refuse out of spite; to say don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon enough and won’t have to look at me anymore, just like you wanted, same as everybody else. He could watch her expression turn from uncertainty to shock before slamming the door. Then she would go back to her own room and he would lie in bed awake all night, and he would only see her one last time in the morning to formally annul the marriage before getting sent home. That would be the end of it. 

She hovered in the doorway, hair loose over her shoulders and dark circles under her eyes for lack of sleep. In that moment, she didn’t look like a princess of Wessex or the granddaughter of a king: just a girl, not much older than himself, and no more certain about the future than he was. He sighed and shifted over on the bed to make room for her. After a few seconds, she stepped inside, shut the door, and joined him.

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

Sorry for the delay! Life hit the fan after posting chapter 1, so to make up for the GIGANTO delay, I’m posting 2 chapters today! The plot thickens :D 

M/M Romance, Arranged Marriage  - Also available on AO3 

Chapter 2: The Marriage Contract

"...And he has grown up so much, of course! A lovely young man. And with wonderful prospects, too, you would of course have seen in the papers about his engagement to Henry Shawdun?" My mother tittered over a glass of brandy, waving her fan freely at the assembled ladies in the room. She was a tiny woman, and the generous cream-colored sofa she sat in almost swallowed her.

In my single-minded desperation to get home, I had forgotten that she would be entertaining today. I had hired the first hackney that would take me and ran into the house, winded and rumpled. Her friends turned to look at me, genteel smiles freezing at my harried appearance.

"Philip?" The couch released my mother as she stood to look at me. "I thought you were spending the day with Henry?" Her tone told me that all her assembled friends knew I was to spend the day with Henry and I had better come up with a convincing story fast.

"He started feeling quite ill, I'm afraid. Heat exhaustion, Henry thinks. He sent me home post-haste to refresh myself so I would not feel the same." I laughed with a dry throat. "A day like this, we were so lost in each other we didn't stop for even a sip of water. He sends his apologies." My own words were giving me heat exhaustion. I put my hand to my forehead. "But I'm afraid he was too right in his fears, because I do feel a bit of a headache. Do excuse me ladies, I should lie down." With a small, polite bow and a pointed look at Mother, I headed to the stairs with as much grace as a dusty coat and flyaway hair would allow.

I did have a headache. I hadn't drunk enough that day, and had spent the better part of the afternoon dodging through odd nooks of the city in my mad dash for freedom.

Or the illusion of freedom. I knew at the end of the day, no matter how far I ran, he would eventually appear, waving the marriage contract in my face with my hopeful parents and a solemn priest in tow.

Truly there was nothing much wrong with Henry. He was rich and generous with his funds. And handsome; my description at the dress shop was accurate in every way except the slight build and the freckles. As for build, he had a naturally strong build, tall and muscular. And as for the freckles, those were mine. And if I could give them to him, I would.

No, it wasn't Henry's appearance or lack of eligibility that made me resent him so. It was his personality--smug, self-assured, cocky--and the painful fact that I was inescapably tied to him for the rest of my life. His every smirk reminded me that we would be shackled together, and there was nothing I could do about it. When he entered a room it became a jail, and my every dash from his company was my own small way of fighting to breathe.

There had to be a way to break this engagement. Surely the contract came with its own set of loopholes, how's and heretofore’s, something .

If only I could get a glimpse of it. There were only two copies, one held by my father in his private deposit box and another held in the Shawdun mansion, presumably under lock and key. I refused to go to Shawdun mansion except under duress; I hadn't been there since the engagement dinner two years ago except when dragged by my parents for social to do's.

Desperation required I make an exception. If I so much as made an innocent inquiry as to our copy of the contract my father would become suspicious. Nothing would get in the way of him being able to continue his wanton lifestyle. I went to rest with this idea firmly in my mind.

And woke up the next morning with a plan.

Putting on my finest cravat and hose, I reached for one of my nicer suits of clothing, gritting my teeth as I peeled off the tailor's card with Henry's name on it. If I were to show up unannounced, I would have to do all else I could to make a good impression. And pray that Henry was in a good mood and ready to oblige my unusual request.

I grabbed a gentleman's taxi this time, riding in clean comfort to the Shawdun family's massive mansion. They lived right next to the Countess in town and,title or not, were one of the most influential names in the city. The townhouse had a massive garden, with a long path leading to the front of the house.

...

"Is Mr. Henry Shawdun at home this morning?"

"I'm afraid Master Henry is out visiting. Is he expecting you?"

I thought quickly. "Ah, yes. Indeed he is. We arranged to meet in his study not five minutes from now. If you would be so kind as to escort me there, I'm more than happy to wait for him to conclude his other business and meet me then; he told me himself I was free to make myself comfortable."

The butler nodded thoughtfully and led me through the house. "The young master Henry doesn't have a study, but I imagine he meant the business study. I will seat you there and send someone to inform you when he arrives."

"Thank you." I murmured, excitement warming the pit of my stomach. This could not have gone better! The butler led me into the study and shut the door behind him.

As soon as I heard the latch click, I stood. No telling how much time I would have before Henry arrived back home. I looked at the papers littering the top of the desk, but none were the one I needed. Then I gently opened the drawers one a time, rifling gently and making sure to replace everything exactly where I'd left it. Nothing.

In desperation, I glanced around the room, felt under the desk for a secret door, cabinet, a nook where a roll of paper could be hiding. My eye caught on a painting of Henry next to his father. They both looked solemnly at me, as though judging my every move. Henry, unlike myself, had inherited his father's traits, large built and dark hair with piercing blue eyes. I had inherited my mother's: small, though not as slight as she, with hazel eyes and freckles. I looked away from the photo, scowling.

Next to the painting on the wall was an ornate parchment, framed in a dark burnished wood. It looked like a certificate of sorts, signed at the bottom and stamped with two seals in blue wax. One was a simple merchant's seal, a hammer over a crate, that I recognized as the Shawdun family seal. The other one was... Ours.

I walked over to the frame, squinting to read the tangled script. Surely this had to be it!  

" In exchange for debts accrued over a lifetime, and the provision of a comfortable life, Sir Roland Edward Mallory does promise his son, Philip Alexander in marriage to Henry Matthias Shawdun. In the union, Henry Matthias will take on the Mallory name and all titles owed to the family. The family endowment and all honors at court will be shared by the two as wedded partners.

This is a declaration of engagement. The engagement cannot be annulled lest all forgiven debts be recounted and accrued to the Mallory name in payment of debt, in addition to ten thousand pounds in payment for embarrassment to the Shawdun family name."

I sighed in defeat. Never in a thousand years could we pay such a sum. Blearily I read on.

However, if Henry Shawdun conceives a child with another partner, thus performing a breaking of trust and shaming Philip Alexander, the marriage will be annulled and all debts assumed by the Shawdun family shall remain their responsibility, and the ten thousands pounds penalty will not apply. However, no further assets will be sent to the Mallory household and all ties broken thereforth.

I felt a glimmer of hope at that. Such a debt I at least had a prayer of paying.

In addition, if Mr. George Shawdun or Mr. Henry Shawdun were to annul the engagement himself, the above would apply, and they would owe two hundred and fifty pounds to the Marjory Family for embarrassment accrued.

The bottom of the contract was signed by my father Aloysius Marjory and Henry's father, George Shawdun. I paid little attention to their signatures. Henry would never agree to annul our engagement, but if I could somehow put him in the path of a beautiful woman... Afterwards I would be near penniless, a working man with two aging parents in need of support, but I could do it. I would do it if it meant not spending my life tied permanently to that cursed man, at the disposal of his family and their every whim. The title-hungry new money would not be sucking me dry.

Gleefully, I turned to leave. I could feign a headache and get out of the house before Henry even arrived. I reached for the doorknob when it rattled under my hand and the large form of George Shawdun himself filled the doorway.

He was not as tall as Henry, and far rounder in the middle. His hair was silvering, but had not receded in the slightest, still spilling over his forehead in the fashion many of the rich merchant's class had taken to wearing about town. His eyes regarded me solemnly over a set of wire glasses. I felt like a crate of merchandise opened for his inspection.

"Young Sir Mallory. I wasn't expecting you here."

I summoned my most innocent and charming grin. "Mr. Shawdun. I came here by request of your son, but he never arrived for the appointment, and now I must return home to attend to my mother."

He sniffed at me curiously. "Of course. You will of course be attending our small to-do this weekend with Henry. I trust you saw the invitation? Our footman told me it was delivered straight into your hand." He smiled down at me, expectantly

Disgusting social climbers!

I fought up a grin. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world." Unless Henry is unfit to be wed to me any longer.

Henry would conceive with a woman before the weekend, I was determined. It was only a matter of which one.

I pondered this problem as the same butler escorted me to the front door and into a waiting carriage. Certainly there was no shortage of women who would be eager to be wed into one of the richest families. I had already spent many a social gathering suffering their ire, glowering at me as though my attachment to one of the most eligible bachelors in the county was somehow my doing or something I was remotely pleased about.

Two particularly charming and aggressive specimens came to mind; Lady Evelyne Egret, and Lady Burnett de Witt. Of all the young women I knew who were eligible and jealous, they were as shameless as they were well attached. I quickly added Miss Lyla Havisham to the list, as she was a cunning, sharp woman who would be motivated to social climb. Any one of them being caught in an indiscretion would mean a quick marriage and my freedom.

When the taxi arrived home, I already had the beginnings of a plan in my head. A drawing room gathering. Intimate, low lighting. Wine and spirits flowing freely. Poetry, to feed the romantic air of the room. And then I would be called urgently away late in the evening, leaving a very drunk, hopefully aroused Henry alone in the company of three equally ambitious,  determined young ladies. The rest would surely take care of itself.

Chuckling, I hustled to my writing desk and went about writing the invitations.

[him-e]

How do you think a Jon and Sansa and Arya reunion will happen in the books? I've always suspected Sansa would reunite with Jon first and from there bide their time with war preparations (not so much unlike the show). With Arya, I always thought grrm was saving this reunion last, like right before the big battle, only to have it taken away again (since I think Jon may be living on borrowed time). It seems like some heartbreaking thing grrm would do.

Yes, Jon and Sansa are poised to be the first Starks to reunite in the books too, if anything because they’re the ones who are actually in Westeros at the moment (not counting the lands beyond the Wall, obviously). As for how it goes… I suspect Sansa will at some point flee the marriage with Harry, possibly with some help from Lothor Brune and/or the Blackfish and/or Brienne (not sure if this happens before or after the wedding and that’s a crucial variable imho, because if it’s the latter, then according to LF’s plans she is revealed as Sansa Stark). After that, going to Jon (the only sibling she knows is alive and now wielding enough power to offer some protection, as lord commander of the NW) is the most logical step. However, I’m not sure how this ties with the Battle of Ice’s outcome—will Stannis be holding Winterfell by the time she reunites with Jon? That seems likely, as the general consensus is that Stannis prevails, but it would also take away from Jon and Sansa the pleasure of dealing personally with Ramsay (especially Jon vs Ramsay is something that I struggle to believe George won’t be tempted to write, you know? the whole facing your shadow thing, and Ramsay is Jon’s shadow), so uhm, I’m a bit confused about this. 

It’s also possible that Sansa does not, in fact, flee from Harry. That everything goes as in LF’s plans, she marries Harry (not sure how LF is going to obtain an annulment of her previous marriage for Tyrion, though) and they all march North only to find a resurrected, darker Jon (backed by Robb’s will) and a finally retrieved Rickon (supported by Manderly) which opens the controversy of who has the strongest claim to Winterfell (and clearly, between Robb’s will and Rickon’s trueborn-ness, Sansa has the weakest, cue her lowkey resenting being passed over as in the show, etc.)

either way, I’m sure some succession drama involving her, Jon and Rickon is going to happen one way or another, so yeah, I don’t expect things to go smoothly between Jon and Sansa, at least for a while. Nevertheless I can’t WAIT to see how GRRM writes their interactions. And their internal monologues when they reunite, and afterwards. I hope we get both their povs.

Arya and Jon will find each other again later on, I agree on that too. It makes sense that GRRM keeps withdrawing this reunion, surely more poignant and more anticipated by the reader than the Jon/Sansa one due to the stronger emotional backdrop their relationship has (though the latter might be more interesting as it must establish a dynamic that we’ve never seen on page). The most important thing comes last, that’s the spirit. The way I imagine it, it’s some really epic scenario in which Arya arrives to Winterfell at the head of her pack of wolves, riding Nymeria, while Jon is either with Ghost or already on Viserion’s back. Alternatively Arya, too used to being extra cautious (no longer trusting reunions to go well after what happened at the Red Wedding), first approaches Jon wearing someone else’s face but then, overwhelmed by emotions, reveals herself. It would be an incredible thing to read, either from Jon’s or from Arya’s pov. After that, it really depends on the circumstances how long they get to be together before Jon leaves for the final stand (I still hope he survives! but I admit the chances are slim). I wonder if Arya and Jon’s bond will deepen now that they’ve both developed their warging skills, and if so, if Arya will “feel” Jon’s ultimate sacrifice. Or a part of Jon somehow survives in Ghost, and only Arya, through Nymeria, will be able to reach that small sparkle of him.

But yes if Jon is truly destined to die, George will tear our hearts apart with this relationship, no doubt.